“That isn’t precisely what I said,” said Maude. “I said I didn’t see how anyone could drink from its horn while it was still alive.”
“Obviously we’d have to kill it,” said Tertius. “But before we can do that we have to find it.”
“That shouldn’t be too difficult,” said Brian. “Wouldn’t it live in a cave in one of the cliffs?”
“I’ve no idea,” said Tertius. “I told you I don’t believe there is such a thing.”
“What about Saint George?” asked Brian.
“I always thought that what he fought was a crocodile.”
“Do you mean a cockadrill serpent?”
“It’s been called that, but actually it’s a large reptile that lives in Africa. Only of course it doesn’t have horns.”
They were in the wood now, riding toward the lake. Suddenly Gaillard tossed his head and snorted and, almost as if it were in answer, they heard a deep rumbling sound ahead of them, followed by a loud splashing. Raising his hand in warning, Brian checked Gaillard and they dismounted. Tying the horses and the mule to trees, they began working their way through the thick underbrush. When they reached the edge of the wood, Brian carefully parted the fronds of tall fern and peered out.
And there, some forty or fifty yards away, was the dragon.
It was not at all what Brian had expected. It was not scaly, did not have wings or claws, and did not breathe fire. But it was still the largest and most frightening-looking creature he had ever seen.
It stood at least twice as high and was more than twice as long as a bull. Its skin was gray and wrinkled, and its tail was heavy and so long that it trailed on tile ground. But the strangest part of it was its head, which was enormous, almost a third the side of its body. It had three horns; two projecting forward menacingly from above its eyes and a third one rising from its nose. Its whole head seemed to be armored, and a frill of bone extended out from the back of it like some curious neckguard.
Brian heard Tertius gasp and turned to look at him.
“I said I didn’t believe there was such a thing,” whispered Tertius, “and I still don’t. It’s a triceratops.”
“What’s that?”
“A dinosaur, one of the ornithiscians. They’ve supposedly been extinct for thousands of years.”
“Well, this one isn’t,” said Maude. “It’s here, waiting for our dragon slayer.” Then to Brian, “What are you going to do about it?”
“I’m not sure yet,” said Brian.
As soon as he had seen the monster, he had drawn Starflame. The huge creature was not going to be easy to deal with. Arrows would be useless against it: it was so big that they would seem no more than pinpricks. The best way to kill it would have been on horseback with a lance as Saint George had done with his dragon. But Brian did not have a lance. That left his sword. And though he knew he would have to move quickly to avoid the beast’s horns, he was convinced he could do so.
Tense and excited, but curiously unafraid, he stood up. And as he picked out the place where he would drive Starflame home, the monster turned. It had been standing knee-deep in the lake, drinking. Now, rumbling and wheezing deep in its chest, it splashed back to shore and came toward them. It moved slowly, heavily, almost painfully. And as it plodded along the bank with its great horned head swinging from side to side, they could see that its small eyes were dull and rheumy.
“I think it’s blind,” said Brian.
“Not quite, but almost,” said Tertius. “It’s very old.”
“All the better for you, Brian,” said Maude.
“No, it’s not,” said Brian. It was almost opposite them now, still moving slowly, still wheezing plaintively. “I’m not going to kill it.”
“Why not?”
“Because I can’t. It’s practically helpless.”
“Step out there and show yourself and you’ll see how helpless it is.”
“It doesn’t matter. I still can’t do it.”
“What about your quest?”
“Perhaps we can find another one who’s younger and fiercer and really doing harm, devastating the land.”
“And to whom they sacrifice beautiful maidens. Then you can rescue her and live happily ever after.”
“Please don’t, Maude,” said Brian unhappily. “I’m probably not a good knight errant or a good quester, but I just can’t do it.”
“Then that’s that,” said Maude. “Somehow I don’t think there is another one. I have a feeling he’s the last dragon in the world. You’re sure you don’t want the glory of killing it?”
“Yes.”
“I’m glad,” said Tertius.
At that moment, as if it had been in pain of some sort but now felt better, the great horned monster picked up its head and began moving faster, almost gamboling on the grassy margin of the lake. And while, because of its size, there was something ludicrous about its behavior, there was also something infinitely touching about it.
Out of the corner of his eye, Brian saw Maude’s face soften. They watched the dragon until it disappeared into the wood on the far side of the lake. Then, mounting their horses, they went back the way they had come.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
They paused when they reached the head of the valley. They were on a ridge that ran north and south with the dragon’s valley on one side of them and the hermit’s on the other. Brian was curiously reluctant to retrace his steps and Maude and Tertius admitted that they were too.
“Then which way shall we go?” asked Brian. “North or south?”
“I don’t know,” said Tertius. “You decide, Maude.”
“Very well.”
Riding a short distance away, she sat with her back to them as if waiting for something. Suddenly, far above them in the almost cloudless sky, a black dot appeared. With wings folded, it dropped down toward them. When it was just over their heads, its wings opened and they could see that it was that smallest of falcons, a merlin. It circled around them once, twice, so close that they could see its hooked beak and fierce round eyes. Then, straight as an arrow, it flew toward the South. Without a word, they turned their horses and rode after it.
They rode south for several days, through windswept uplands where deer bounded off with long, effortless leaps as they approached, then paused to watch them as they passed. As they came down off the high ground, the heather, furze and bracken gave way first to pines and then to oaks and beeches. The fourth day after leaving the dragon’s valley, the forest began to open up and the track that they were following became a road that wound through fields and meadows where sheep and cattle grazed. At about noon they heard hammering and, rounding a bend, they found themselves at a fork. The road they were on went down a hill to a small village, while a path branched off to the left toward the crest of the hill. Standing at the fork and nailing a sign to a weathered post was a man who seemed strangely out of place there.
He was small, dark and sharp-featured. And though his clothes were dusty and somewhat worn, they were those of a townsman rather than a countryman. Seeing them, he took off his cap with a flourish and bowed, saying, “A very good day to you, gentles.”
They returned his greeting and paused to read the sign he had just put up. It pointed to the left and it read:
THIS WAY TO THE GIANT.
SINGLE COMBATS AT ANY HOUR OF
THE DAY OR NIGHT.
THIS WAY TO THE WITCH.
FORTUNES TOLD. ALSO SPELLS, CHARMS,
AND CURSES.
“Is he really a giant?” asked Brian.
“He is indeed,” said the man.
“And is he dangerous?”
“There have been no complaints about him that I know of,” said the man carefully.
“About his being dangerous or not dangerous?”
“Both,” said the man. “Or either, as the case may be.”
“What about the witch?” asked Tertius.
“She is said to be his sister,” said the man. “A very interesting
family.”
“Would you like to see her?” Brian asked Tertius. “I know that what you were looking for was a magician, but …”
“I don’t know,” said Tertius. “It sounds a little commercial to me.”
“Are you talking about the sign?” asked the man. “Do you think it should be phrased differently?”
“I don’t think there should be any sign at all. Exactly who are you?”
“The name’s David,” said the man, bowing again. “David ap David. Welsh, of course. Formerly a scribe and chronicler, one of the most eminent chroniclers in Camelot.”
“What did you chronicle?” asked Brian.
“The gestes, deeds and exploits of the knights,” said David ap David. “When they returned from a quest, I would take down the tale of their adventures. As you’d suspect, their accounts were often surprisingly similar and sometimes a little dull. So, in putting them into their final form, I would do a certain amount of polishing and embroidering. And,” he coughed discreetly, “in certain cases I would arrange to have them turned into chansons or ballads.”
“You’re not a chronicler,” said Tertius. “You’re a premature p.r.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“A public relations man.”
“I’m afraid I’ve never heard that term.”
“You seem to have managed well enough in spite of it,” said Tertius. “But what are you doing here?”
“Well, you know how things are at Camelot right now—practically nothing happening—so I thought I’d travel around a bit, see what I could do elsewhere. When I got here, I found the whole shire was in a very bad way.”
“Bad how?”
“Very poor crops this year. The obvious thing to do was to attract questers. And though this is off the beaten track, I thought it could be done. I told the locals what had happened elsewhere, how there are dozens of knights riding west every week to take a whack at that villain, Sir Bruce Sans Pité, because I’d described his nefarious deeds in several of my chronicles. And almost as many going north after Sir Seferides and Sir Palomides.”
“Are they villains too?” asked Brian.
“Well, they’re Saracens,” said David.
“What about the giant and his sister?” asked Maude.
“What makes them villains?”
“Why, I don’t know that they are,” said David. “But apparently he is a giant, and …” He broke off, for Maude was looking at him coldly and with obvious distaste. “Beg pardon, ma’am, but are you a witch?”
“Of course she’s not,” said Brian.
“Don’t be too sure,” said Maude. Then to David, “Have you seen them yourself?”
“The giant and his sister! No. It didn’t seem necessary. I mean, the locals have told me all about them, and …”
“I think you should see them,” said Maude. “With us.”
“But …” Then, as Maude continued to look at him, “Just as you say, ma’am.”
He mounted his horse, a dispirited jade that was grazing at the side of the road, and followed them along the path to the left. They halted when they reached the crest of the hill. Below them, in a hollow, was a cottage that, at first glance, seemed no different from any other. It was only when Brian looked at it closely that he realized the door was some ten or twelve feet high.
Though smoke rose from the chimney, there was no one in sight. But as they started down into the hollow, David ap David’s horse snorted and, almost at once, the giant appeared from behind the cottage.
Like the cottage, at first glance there did not seem to be anything strange or different about him: he looked like an ordinary farmer in low boots and a tunic belted at the waist. It was only when Brian saw that it was not a cat or a small dog he carried under his arm but a full-grown sheep that he realized the man was almost twice as tall as other men.
The giant stood there for a moment, looking at them. Then, dropping the sheep, he picked up an enormous club.
“Lamorna!” he called, his eyes on Brian. “Here’s another one!”
Tertius had been studying him; his craggy features, large head and protruding jaw.
“Acromegaly,” he said. “A pituitary type.”
“What’s that mean?” asked Brian.
“An overactive pituitary gland.”
“But he’s a real giant.”
“Oh, yes. There’s no doubt about that.”
Now the cottage door opened and a woman hurried out. Though she carried a broom, she did not look at all like a witch, for she was plump and pleasant looking. And while she was of average height, standing next to her giant brother she seemed no bigger than a child.
“Who are you?” she asked. “And what do you want?”
“We’re travelers,” said Maude. “And we just wanted to see you, talk to you.”
“You’re a knight, aren’t you?” said the giant to Brian.
“No. A squire.”
“That’s just as bad,” said the giant, his club poised, “if not worse. You come here with those great big spears of yours and the next thing I know …”
“But I haven’t got a spear,” said Brian.
“That’s true,” said the giant. “But you’ve got a sword, and … you mean you don’t want to fight me?”
“No. Why should I?”
“I don’t know,” said the giant. “But then I don’t understand what’s been happening here lately either. We were born here, Lamorna and I,” he explained earnestly and a little plaintively, “and everyone in these parts knows us. Whenever they need help with something, lifting a roof beam, pulling a cow from a bog or dragging a rock from a field, they call on me. ‘Get Giles,’ they say. We never had any trouble with them. Then, a few days ago, strangers started coming here.”
“Knights,” said his sister. “All in armor. They’d gawk at Giles as if he were some sort of monster and then, as he said, they’d come riding at him with those great long spears.”
“And what happened?” asked Tertius.
“The first one took me by surprise and almost stuck me,” said Giles. “But I knocked him off his horse and threw him in the ditch. I was ready for the next one and the ones after that, served them the same way. And those I didn’t take care of, Lamorna did. Right handy with her broom she is.”
“What I can’t understand,” said Lamorna, “is how it all began, why it’s happening.”
“We can tell you that,” said Maude. “Well?” she said, fixing David ap David with an icy stare.
“I meant no harm by it,” he said awkwardly. “I was thinking about the others, the locals.”
“You mean he had something to do with it?” said Giles. “What?”
“I just put up a few signs,” said David. Then as Giles and Lamorna as well as Maude looked at him he added, “There’s nothing to get upset about. I’ll take them down again. At least … Could I leave up just one or two?”
“No!” said Maude.
“All right, all right. I’ll go take care of them right away. But I’d like to come back afterward and talk to you,” he said to Giles.
“About what?”
“A proposal that might put some silver in both our purses. There aren’t all that many giants around, you know. Not real ones. And since the magnates are always looking for something new and different to bring jousters to their tourneys, I thought I might take you over to the one they’re holding at Belvoir next week. We could put you up against, say, half a dozen knights …”
Giles had been leaning on his club while they talked. Now, with a sudden roar, he raised it high and ran toward David ap David. His face pale, the little man turned his horse and went galloping away up the hill.
“Giles!” called Lamorna sharply as the giant started after him.
“I’m sorry,” he said, coming back. “If there’s one thing I hate, it’s violence. But there was something about that man.…”
“Don’t apologize,” said Maude. “The only thing I’m sorry about is that you did
n’t catch him.”
“Then he isn’t a friend of yours?”
“We only met him a short while ago,” said Brian, “putting up one of his signs. If he doesn’t take it down, we will.”
“I’m very grateful to you,” said Giles, but he added anxiously, “Are you sure you don’t want to fight? As I said, I hate violence. But if it’s important to you … I mean, if you’ve taken a vow or are on a quest of some sort …”
“I am on a quest,” said Brian. “But it has nothing to do with fighting giants.”
“I’m delighted to hear that,” said Giles, relaxing. “In that case, you must come in and have a little something with us.”
“It’s very kind of you,” said Brian. “But …”
“I insist,” said Giles. “Lamorna baked some pasties this morning. She makes very good pasties.”
“These should be good,” said Lamorna, “now that turnips are in. This way.”
Dismounting, they followed the giant and his sister into the cottage. They found themselves in a curious room for, while the table and benches were of normal size, there was one chair in it that was so huge it made everything else seem as if it had been made for children. While Lamorna bustled about warming up the pasties, Giles poured out ale for them. He gave Maude and Tertius tankards.
“You must drink from this,” he said to Brian, handing him an enormous drinking horn. “It’s something we keep for honored guests, and it will bring you good fortune.”
Though he took it with both hands, it was so heavy that Brian could barely lift it. But, toasting the giant, he drank long and deeply from it, then lowered it and looked at it. It was almost four feet long and like no horn he had ever seen before. For while it was white as ivory, it was not curved but straight and had a spiral running around it from its pointed tip to the silver mounting of its rim.
Tertius had been looking at it too.
“It’s a narwhale’s tusk,” he said.
“Is it?” said Giles. “That’s very interesting. It’s been in the family for generations, and we’ve never been sure what it was. We’ve always called it the dragon’s horn.”
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