Night of the Dragon

by Webb, Peggy

  Underneath his cloak was the secret weapon Merlin had fashioned for the knights during the Gaelic Wars. Dragon removed his hood and dragged it over his head, then lifted the hood back into place. More than a mask, it had the look and feel of the face of an old woman. With his blend of sorcery and wisdom, Merlin had made the faces so that King Arthur's warriors had gone into the enemy camp unsuspected, innocently peddling fruit and flowers and baubles, until the signal for attack came. Completely taken by surprise, the enemy fell quickly.

  But Dragon had more than the mask; he had one of Merlin's famous sleep potions and a flask of mead. Armed for battle, he quit caution and boldly approached the guards.

  "Good evening," he said, adopting the quavery voice of an old woman.

  "Get out of here, old woman." One of the guards drew back his hand to slap Dragon, but the other stilled his hand.

  "Wait, fool. What do you think an old woman is doing down here this time of night."

  He roughly caught Dragon by the shoulder. "Speak up, old woman, or be prepared to lose your head. Who sent you here?"

  In the torture room Lydia was listening with avid interest. Dragon avoided looking directly at her. There were many things that could give him away, especially to Lydia—his shoes, his hands, even the cloak which he had wrapped around her not two weeks earlier when a sudden spring rain had chilled her as they'd walked through the meadow at dusk.

  Silently he willed Lydia to be still. Then he ducked his head in a subservient posture and answered the guard.

  "Malcolm," he said, naming one of the guards he'd left tied in the stables. "His wife sent something to warm his bones this wet and chilly night." Dragon produced the mead, heavily laced with sleeping potion. "Malcolm asked me to bring you some. He's a kind and generous man."

  The guards were still not convinced. Dragon curbed his impatience. He wanted to tie them up, grab the keys, and go straight to Lydia. But her safety depended on him, and if he tied up the guards inside the dungeon as well as those outside, then Arthur would surely know that Dragon had defied direct orders from the king.

  "Who are you and why didn't she come herself?" This from the guard holding his shoulder.

  "She's great with child. I'm the midwife."

  "Now, who's the fool." The first guard grabbed the mead and took a big swig. "Go, old crone. You did what you came for."

  Dragon curtsied, then disappeared around the corner while the guards took turns with the flask. Within minutes they were piled on the floor, snoring. He took their keys, then ripped off his mask.

  "Dragon!" Lydia was on her feet, chains clanking.

  "Did you think I wouldn't come for you?"

  He unlocked her chains, pulled her fiercely into his embrace. His lips were on her hair, her eyes, her cheeks, her mouth. Between kisses he murmured her name, over and over again, a prayer, a poem, a promise.

  "Let's get out of this place," she said.

  Dragon sank against the wall and cradled her in his lap.

  "That's my first instinct, Lydia. To leave Camelot with you, to leave and never look back."

  "Then let's do it."

  "We would always be fugitives, banished from Camelot forever ... if we managed to escape with our lives. Under King Arthur's rule, England is a good place to live, but other kings are not so wise, other countries not so civilized." He pressed her cheek against his chest and kissed the top of her head. "No, Lydia, I won't subject you to that land of life."

  "Then what are we going to do?"

  "There's only one thing to do." The words were heavy on Dragon's heart, and he thought speaking them aloud would surely kill him. "You must return home, to your country, your century."

  Lydia touched the ring on her finger. Any minute now she would be whisked away from him. Forever.

  Dragon stood up, cupped her face, and kissed her tenderly. "Farewell, Lydia."

  She gripped the front of his tunic, her knuckles as white as her face.

  "If you think I'm going to turn tail and run, then you don't know me very well."

  Even under the most dreadful conditions, Lydia could make him smile.

  "You don't have a tail," he said.

  "Yes, I do, and you know every inch of it by heart."

  Dragon resisted the urge to pull her into his arms once more. Such an act would be purely selfish. But selfishness went against everything in the knight's code of honor.

  "Hurry, Lydia. You don't have much time. Morning will come soon." Too soon. Already Dragon could feel its approach.

  "Don't you think if I were planning to go back home, I'd have already made my exit?" Fierce, determined, courageous, she stood on tiptoe, her face only inches from his. "Don't you think I would have whisked myself back in time the minute Sir Charles and all his witch-hunters raided your castle, looking for proof of my perfidy?"

  "Leave, Lydia. That's an order."

  She pressed tightly against him, her jaw set at a stubborn angle. But her face, her eyes were soft and glowing with an eternal fire.

  "Haven't you learned anything these last few weeks, Dragon? Number one, you can't order me around. Number two ..." A tear made a glistening trail through the grime on her lovely face. "I love you, you bullheaded knight. If I have only one more day, one more hour, one more minute to live, I'd rather spend that time with you than spend the rest of my life in California without you."

  "There will be somebody else, somebody from your own culture, your own century."

  "I traveled through time to find you, Dragon. I know that now. You are my true love, my soul mate, and I will never leave you. Never."

  Dragon knew Lydia would not be dissuaded. The heart has its own reasons, and love is a thief that steals both sight and reason. Merlin had told him those things, sitting around the campfires at night while King Arthur and his loyal troops prepared to attack during the Gaelic Wars.

  Lydia's foolish heart would not be moved, and Dragon's foolish heart was secretly relieved. He kissed her again, a lingering kiss that sealed their bond as surely as it stole their breaths. Then he led her to a corner, spread his cloak, and drew her down with him. Sighing, she cuddled close.

  "Oh, Dragon. What are we going to do?"

  "Tomorrow you will be tried. The king has given his promise that you will receive a fair hearing. Tell the truth, Lydia, and you have nothing to fear."

  Even as he reassured her, Dragon's own heart was tight with fear. Arthur was wise and compassionate, but he would not be the only person casting a vote to determine Lydia's innocence or guilt.

  "Hold me, Dragon. Just hold me."

  His back against the cold stone walls of the dungeon, Dragon held her until he intuitively felt the stirring of the morning.

  "I must leave you for a while, Lydia."

  "I know."

  Outwardly he was calm, but inside he felt as if he were a star ripped from the heavens and consigned to the darkness of the underworld. He kissed her, a bittersweet farewell.

  "I'll protect you, Lydia. As long as I live, no harm will come to you."

  She smiled. "I'm fine, Dragon, as long as I have you."

  His heart thundered against hers as he embraced her.

  "Go," she whispered. "Go now, before I beg you to stay."

  He left quickly, left his beloved in chains while he returned the keys to her jailers. It was still dark outside, the morning sun totally obscured by black thunder heads. Hidden by his cloak and the storm, Dragon rode away from the dungeon and toward the arena where Lydia would be tried.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  They came for Lydia shortly after dawn. Still in chains, flanked by burly guards, she was led out of the dungeon and into a dark day, as sheets of rain poured relentlessly over the city. As she had since the moment of her capture, Lydia thought fleetingly of escape, of returning to her cozy bookshop where she could sit in a corner during a business lull and read everything from Plato to Peanuts.

  She squeezed her hand into a tight fist, and the dragon ring bit into her fl
esh. They hadn't taken that. Neither had they taken the necklace Dragon had given her. Its weight was a comfort around her neck, a connection to the man who held her in Camelot.

  She couldn't go home. It was that simple. One ring and two people. One ticket to freedom. The kind of love she had found with Dragon came only once in a lifetime. She would not be free without him. On the contrary, her life would be a prison of loneliness, loss of joy, and loss of soul.

  What sense did it make to flee from one prison into another?

  There was a hush as she entered the arena, a sense that the large crowd held its collective breath. Lydia blocked out the crowd, blocked out all the faces except one. Dragon. Sitting still and contained on the left- hand side of King Arthur.

  He signaled with his eyes, sent courage, compassion, and love. Lydia wrapped his soul messages around her like a cloak. Head high, chin out, she was led to face her accusers.

  o0o

  Sir Charles stepped forward, finger pointed. "This woman is a witch."

  A ripple of horror ran through the crowd. Dragon's heart fell. As a Knight of the Round Table it was his duty to sit in judgment against any person accused of a crime against the king. Witchcraft, by its very nature, was such a crime. With their wily ways and black magic, witches had been known to topple kingdoms.

  Sir Charles was the only knight who didn't sit beside the king and his queen. As the accuser he was exempt from that duty.

  As a lover, Dragon was not. Torn, he watched Lydia face the crowd. She was not defiant, not smug, merely courageous, every bit as courageous as the day she'd defended herself against the dragon with a small pocketknife.

  "As you know, Sir Charles, these are serious charges."

  In his role as judge Arthur was solemn, the usual twinkle in his eye missing. Dragon also sensed in him a deep melancholy. Sensitive and compassionate, Arthur hated the task of meting out any form of justice that touched one of his beloved knights.

  Dragon was torn asunder. He longed to be with Lydia, to put his arm around her and face her accusers, but he loved Arthur, too, and his sworn duty was to the king. By maintaining his role as knight could he sway the opinion in favor of Lydia? Could he save her on the bench, or was the best defense to stand beside her in the arena?

  "We have proof." Much to Dragon's horror, Charles produced the bag containing Lydia's belongings.

  Guilt tore at Dragon. He should never have returned them to her. He should have kept them safely hidden in his dungeon. Or destroyed them. Anything, anything but this.

  Charles took out the shoes first, pointing out the strange design, the foreign materials.

  "And look. See how the heels glow."

  Gasps from the crowd. Booing. Heartsick, Dragon listened. In trials such as Lydia's the power of the crowd to sway votes was enormous.

  "And see these clothes . . . touch them and they change colors."

  Catcalls from the crowd. Chanting. "Witch, witch, witch."

  The evidence of her clothing was damaging, but the thing she called a disc player was inflammatory. When Sir Charles turned it on and the awful sounds filled the arena, the crowd sat for a moment in stunned silence, and then they reacted.

  "Witch," they yelled. "Witch. Burn her. Burn her." Two of the women burst into the arena wielding sticks. The guards herded them back.

  White-knuckled and rigid, Dragon held himself in his chair by sheer willpower. Fight from a position of strength, he kept telling himself. Don't react. Don't be rash.

  "Enough." Arthur's command along with his imposing presence was enough to quell the crowd. "Camelot was founded on the principles of honor, truth, and justice. I will not have this trial turned into a circus." He sat back down and turned to Charles. "Proceed."

  One by one Charles took Lydia's belongings from her pack, and at the sight of each one the crowd roared its disapproval. Dragon glanced at the other knights, trying to read their minds, trying to guess their intentions. Percival looked thoughtful. He could always be counted on to search for the truth. Gawain and Galahad looked at Lydia as if she were going to turn them into frogs at any moment. Dragon had expected no less. They were the ones who had accompanied Sir Charles to his castle when she was arrested. It was hard to read Lancelot. On Guinevere's right, he seemed more concerned with her well-being than with what was happening at the trial.

  One by one Dragon studied the other knights, their set faces, their grim mouths. With instincts honed by experience, he was almost certain of the outcome. No amount of convincing would change them, no amount of logic. Lydia was lost unless she could persuade them by sympathy.

  "Is that all the evidence, Sir Charles?"

  "No. My wife has the other."

  Lady Catherine told the story of Lydia's eye falling into her soup. The evidence had vanished, she said, but all who knew Lady Catherine would attest to her honesty as well as to her common sense.

  "She's a witch, capable of tossing away her eyes and turning them to stone."

  An eerie silence fell over the crowd, as if they were suddenly paralyzed by fear. Pale and fragile-looking, Lydia awaited her turn. Dragon caught her eye.

  "Don't be afraid. Truth will triumph." He spoke the words silently, hoping she would somehow hear. She touched the necklace at her throat, closed her hand around it, and held on.

  "Lydia, what do you have to say in your defense?" Arthur said.

  "I am not a witch." Her voice was strong and clear. "I have no magic powers, and I have no wicked motives. I admire and respect the royal couple, and I bear nothing but the greatest goodwill for Camelot."

  It was a heartfelt statement, effective in its very simplicity. Arthur's face softened, and Percival looked sympathetic, but the rest of the knights were unmoved. Lydia would need more than a sincere plea to sway her judges.

  Dragon began to question his own judgment, to doubt his wisdom. With each passing moment Lydia's chances grew slimmer.

  "The evidence against you is damning." Arthur gestured toward her belongings, now spread on the ground at her feet. "What do you have to say about these strange things? Can you offer any explanation?"

  Lydia looked at Dragon, and he nodded. "I am not a witch, King Arthur. I am a time traveler. I come from the twentieth century, and the things you see here are considered quite ordinary."

  The crowd erupted. Cries of "Witch!" resounded. Guards had to hold back a small group of people who were intent on dealing out a swift punishment for Lydia. Rotten eggs were lobbed her way, an overripe tomato, smelly cabbages. Some found their mark. Lydia didn't flinch from the blows, didn't move.

  "No!" Dragon thundered. He leaped from the dais and stood beside Lydia, his body shielding her from the barrage. "She is innocent of wrongdoing. She's innocent."

  Lydia clutched the front of his tunic. "Dragon, what are you doing? What are you saying?"

  "What I should have done in the beginning."

  The chaos around them continued. Even when Arthur rose from his throne the crowd would not be quieted. To their minds, time travelers were worse than witches, more powerful, more sinister.

  "Traitor!" someone yelled, and a large stone hit Dragon in the shoulder. He shielded Lydia with his body, drew his cloak around her to protect her.

  "Burn him, burn them both."

  "Lydia." Dragon bent close to her ear so she could hear above the uproar. "Save yourself. Do it now."

  "No. You said the truth would set me free. You said Arthur is a wise and fair king."

  "I was wrong about truth, and even King Arthur can't help us now. Lydia, I beg you. Leave now before it's too late."

  "It's already too late, Dragon."

  The crowd was out of control. Arthur shouted orders, the knights drew their swords, horses thundered into the arena as more troops arrived to restore order. In the midst of the confusion Dragon thought of escape. It might work; he might make it out of the arena, out of the city safely. If he were alone he could do it, but he had Lydia to think about. And if the escape failed, then she would d
ie.

  They were probably going to die anyhow, but as long as he was alive they still had a chance, a very small chance.

  "This way." Arthur was beside him, flanked by guards. "Follow me."

  Arthur led them back to the castle, dismissed the guards, and settled wearily onto his throne.

  "You knew of this all along," he said to Dragon.

  "I knew."

  "Why didn't you tell me?"

  "Truth and honor and loyalty seemed simple when I had only myself to consider. But after Lydia came, things were no longer simple."

  "Once again you've proved yourself to be the knight with a brain. Perhaps the only one." Sighing, Arthur pulled off his crown. "You know that charges will have to be brought against you."

  "No," Lydia said. "He's done nothing wrong."

  "My dear lady, harboring a woman he knew to be a time traveler, a woman with knowledge that could bring down my kingdom, is an act of treason."

  "But he didn't know. He thought I was a witch too."

  "Shhh. Lydia." Dragon held her close. "Don't."

  "But it's not fair," she said.

  "Life is seldom fair." Forgetting to hold himself up tall and puff out his chest the way Merlin had taught him, Arthur paced the room, his robe dragging the floor. "If only you had come to me first, Dragon. If only you had told me about this time travel before Sir Charles got in on the act. He's as stubborn as a jackass."

  There was a puff of smoke and Merlin materialized, Archimedes on his shoulder.

  "The fat's in the fire now," he said.

  "The fat's in the fire. The fat's in the fire."

  "Can't you get that damned bird to shut up," Arthur shouted. "It has always driven me crazy." Merlin capped his cone-shaped hat over Archimedes. "How long does a bird like that live, anyhow? He should have gone off to bird paradise years ago."

  King or no king, when Arthur felt control slipping away from him he got petulant.

  "Magician's birds live as long as they do," Merlin said. "Magic potions."

  Arthur wheeled on Lydia. "If you're a time traveler, go home. Save me all this heartache, not to mention headache."

  "I can't," she said.

  "She won't," Dragon said.