The Dragon, the Earl, and

by Gordon R. Dickson

  No one else there was oppressed with such a sense of duty, however, unless it was Jim himself. He was sitting, eating what was, in effect, the breakfast he had missed several hours earlier, when he had gone out into the frosty air before dawn. His mission then (with no chance of refusing it) had been—with Brian, Ned Dunster, the two squires and a few trusty men-at-arms—to take Mnrogar, his armor and his boar-horse to a spot in the woods where they would be safely hidden from view; but close enough so that they could be brought out when the proper moment for the Black Knight's arrival had been reached, which would possibly be several hours from now.

  Jim had taken the extra precaution of magically making both horse and troll, by means of a primitive magical technique he had invented some time ago, invisible to any eyes but those of their own little party. Not that there was much likelihood of spectators trying to sneak in for a look at the tournament from that side of the field. The way through the woods was too likely to have men-at-arms of the Earl's, on guard for any of a variety of possible troubles; and it would go hard with any tenant or other common person if he or she was caught trying to sneak close in other than the area allowed to such.

  But that was beside the point at the moment. Right now, Jim and Brian were eating in relative privacy in one of the small tents clustered behind each of the two larger tents and mostly hidden from people in the stands by its bulk. The small tents were for various things, such as to store extra spears, armor, or even horses; but, also, one of them was always allotted for the use of a knight who would be next to ride against an opponent from this end of the list.

  So far the first spear-running of the day had not taken place; but Sir Brian was due to ride in the second contest, and was listed for several more later in the day. The first joust was to be between Sir Oswald Aston and Sir Michael Land, two other guests.

  Brian was at the moment refilling his wine cup, his usual early-morning cheerful self. Jim looked at him with hatred, his own eyes still puffy and his body feeling as if it was made of lead, whenever he had to get up and move it any place.

  "Aren't you going to water that wine a little?" he said to Brian. "Particularly with your turn in the list coming up right away?"

  "By Saint Ives, no!" answered Brian happily. "At times like this, the wine might as well be water itself, except for the taste—which I much prefer to that of something from a well."

  Jim had to admit that Brian had a small point there. He and Angie invariably boiled any well water that they had to drink, if they had the chance to do so. But boiled or not, the water from most wells around in castles like this was a far cry from the clear and limpid stream from a spring in a mountainside.

  "When were Angie and Geronde going to be in the stands?" he asked. "Do you know, Brian?"

  "Oh, they'd be there by now, I'll venture," said Brian. "I can send one of the men-at-arms to find out, if you wish. But neither of them would care to miss any of this lance-play."

  Geronde would undoubtedly not want to, thought Jim. But he knew very well that while Angie would be present, she would not be enjoying it. She was only too aware of the human damage involved in these encounters. However, that was not something to mention out loud even to Brian.

  "She hates to leave young Robert," Jim said.

  "With both her maidservants, the wet nurse and a man-at-arms without as well as another within the rooms," said Brian, "what trouble could there be? I would not say this to you but that you are an old and trusted friend who will understand I say it out of friendliness and concern only; but do you not think that perhaps Angela is worrying too much about this youngster? After all, the King may take him off your hands within a month or so; and for that matter he may go to Agatha Falon as next of kin."

  "That's exactly what Angie's worried about," said Jim. He lowered his voice, for the tent was not exactly soundproof—although no one but their own people should be outside. Still it was not the sort of thing to be mentioned out loud, ordinarily. "Angela's positive Agatha Falon would as soon not see Robert grow up at all, so that she could inherit the Falon lands."

  "So you've told me before," said Brian. "It would be a foul deed to do anything to the lad, of course, but—well, well, it will be as God wills—"

  He broke off abruptly, putting down his glass and getting up with a look of alarm on his face.

  "What with this early rising, I forgot entirely!" he said to Jim. "I am not shriven. Was not one of these tents supposed to hold a priest?"

  "So somebody told me," said Jim. "Here, let me. I'll step out and have one of the men-at-arms get him right away."

  "No, no," said Brian, turning toward the tent-flap opening. "There may be other knights waiting their turn with him, and I will have to take my place in line or possibly discuss the necessity of my being before them with some of those already waiting; and I have my hands filled merely to ride against those I'm to contest here today. Wait here for me, James."

  He went out.

  Secretly, Jim was just as glad to be alone for a few moments. He had been half asleep all through the period of dressing, going out, and moving Mnrogar and the horse. In fact, he had only begun to wake up by the time they had got the two to their new position, and Mnrogar curled up in a very small tent, which gave the troll the illusion of being safely denned.

  The boar-horse had simply been tethered loosely to a tree and turned back into a plain boar while it was waiting; so it was free to root and snuffle down under the snow and see if there was anything interesting underneath…

  Jim tried to think of what he ought to be doing next. He was sure that there was something that he should be busy about right now; but he could not seem to think of it. It was as if the general coldness about him had slowed down his mental machinery, to a point where it barely turned over, like the engine of an old car on an equally cold morning back in Michigan, five hundred years and more in the future.

  Not that he was uncomfortably cold. He was layered in clothing, to say nothing of the light armor he was wearing and the sword at his belt; wrapped to a point where the cold really was not getting at him. In fact, now that he had sat a while, out of the open air, and gotten some food inside him, he realized he actually felt comfortably warm, sitting here.

  He dozed off.

  —And woke to find Brian shaking him by the shoulder.

  "—Up!" Brian was saying. "I must armor me now, James; and here is John Chester to help me make ready. You had best be getting to your seat in the stands, with Geronde and Angela!"

  "What? Oh—yes," muttered Jim. He got creakily to his feet and stumbled out of the tent into sunlight that was so bright it set him to blinking. He headed around the end of the barrier toward the stands.

  His route took him close to the trees at that end, necessarily, therefore; and a voice spoke to him from out of sight in the forest.

  "James!"

  It was Aargh.

  Jim stopped, rubbed his chin, as if he had just remembered something, then turned and walked into the woods. About twenty feet in, he found Aargh waiting for him.

  "I've been downwind from the stands, as close as I could get without leaving the trees," said Aargh. "Your troll among the guests is there with the rest of them today. I could scent him clearly."

  Jim looked at the direction of the stands and back at Aargh.

  "You're sure, I suppose," he said, "you weren't smelling Mnrogar, himself? He's just back a little in the trees from the small tent I just came out of."

  "Can you tell your right hand from your left?" said Aargh.

  "Of course," said Jim, "that isn't—"

  "How?" demanded Aargh.

  "Well, of course—" It was such a simple question that an easy answer did not come immediately to mind. "Well, for one thing, they're different."

  "So's the troll in the stands, from Mnrogar," said Aargh. "No two trolls smell alike; any more than any of you two-legged people smell alike. What do you expect?"

  "I guess I asked a foolish question," said Jim.


  "You did," said Aargh.

  "Were you able to tell where in the stands the other troll is?"

  "Not at this distance," said Aargh. "At a guess—only a guess—somewhere in the middle."

  "Umm," said Jim. The information was more alarming than useful. But Aargh was as usual being helpful, without being asked to be and in spite of his frequent claim that he had no obligation to anyone but himself.

  "I'll leave it to you to find him," said Aargh. "Meanwhile, you might want to know that the army of trolls has moved in on Mnrogar's territory. They now ring this place no further from where we stand than I could trot in the time it will take you to walk the rest of the way to the stands yourself."

  "That close?" The news was a shock to Jim. He had somehow assumed that things could not get any worse at this point and should get better. "Do you think they might try to show up at the tourney here?"

  "They are trolls. Who can tell?" said Aargh. Then the harshness of his voice softened slightly. "I don't think they will, James. They're always hungry; and from the way they look at things, there's a lot of meat there in those stands right now. But also, there's a lot of you people with swords and spears and horses. If I know trolls, they'll think twice."

  "But it does mean that they're going to force Mnrogar to come out and fight for what he owns, doesn't it?"

  "Yes," said Aargh.

  "There're two twin brother trolls that are more or less leading them, did you know that?" Jim said.

  "I knew it," said Aargh.

  "You never mentioned it to me," said Jim.

  "Why should I?" said Aargh.

  "The two brothers were born tied together, and their troll-mother separated them," said Jim. "They believe they have the right to both fight against Mnrogar at the same time—why are you laughing?"

  Aargh shut his jaws with a snap.

  "It will be something to watch!" said Aargh. "I think both Mnrogar and they are going to be surprised."

  "Could Mnrogar win against two of them?" asked Jim.

  "Perhaps. Who knows?" asked Aargh. "We'll have to wait and see."

  "You know, Aargh," said Jim, goaded finally to the edge of his temper, "I appreciate your telling me about the troll in the stands and these other trolls moving in; but you aren't being exactly helpful in other ways."

  "You people go around giving each other advice," said Aargh. "Wolves don't."

  There was a moment of silence between them.

  "I'll say this much, then," said Aargh. "You'd better tell Carolinus about this—soon."

  "I wish I could," said Jim. "He's been keeping himself hidden from me. How can I find him?"

  "Your problem," said Aargh, and half turned away. "I'll be around."

  He vanished among the trees and their sharp shadows cast on the snow.

  Jim turned around, himself, and plodded back in the opposite direction, out of the forest and onward to the stands. Sir Michael and Sir Oswald were already in armor and on horseback, at their respective ends of the lists. Sir Oswald was still selecting his jousting spear.

  In the stands, as Jim came up to them, he could see the unused seating space was still open next to the Earl. Jim looked beyond that nobleman into the farther part of the stands, went down several levels of the bleachers and found Angie, sitting next to Geronde, but with some considerable space between them and also some open space on the other side of Geronde. He walked down in front of where they sat, and then climbed the bleachers, strewing apologies right and left for pushing through the other guests already seated on the lower levels.

  He got to his goal at last, and dropped onto the available opening on the bleacher bench that they had kept for him. It was only when he was seated that he realized Angie had moved over next to Geronde, so that the two were together and Geronde was holding still another space, undoubtedly for Brian, if he should join them.

  On the other side of Jim, for his neighbor he had a lean, long-nosed, guest in his sixties, who was evidently one of a party of five.

  "Give you good day, Sir Dragon,!' said this gentleman, in Jim's ear, as the roar died down.

  "And a good day to you, Sir. Er…" said Jim, turning to him.

  However, the older man seemed to take Jim's forgetting his name with good grace, and turned back to talk with others of his own party. Jim also turned back—to Angie.

  "I didn't expect to see you out here this early," he said.

  "I wasn't coming this early," said Angie, "but I thought it'd be better. I've arranged to get a message about halfway through the morning; so I can leave early and won't be back. It's not the warmest day of the winter. Are you cold, Jim?"

  "Some," admitted Jim. "Not bad."

  "Here, James," said Geronde. Her hand came across in front of Angie, passing him what looked like a cloth bundle. He took it, without thinking, and then noticed that from the top of the bundle protruded the neck of a stoneware bottle with a cork in it.

  "Thanks, Geronde," he said, handing it back. "But I want to keep my head clear; and I've had enough cold wine and cold water mixed together this morning."

  Geronde pushed the bundle back at him.

  "Try some," she said, "you'll like it."

  Under the manners of the period, it would have been impolite to go on refusing. He took the cork out and tilted the neck of the bottle to his lips, swallowing a small mouthful. To his astonished surprise, it was not merely warm but almost hot. It was hippocras, one of the few medieval wine mixtures Jim liked.

  It was, in fact, red wine, simply flavored with spices. But the wine and spices would have been brought to a boil and then simmered several minutes, essentially boiling off most of the alcohol content, so what was left was simply a pleasant hot drink. He drank some more, gratefully.

  "I said you'd like it, James," said Geronde, as Jim corked the stoneware bottle and handed it in its insulation back to her. Geronde checked that the cork was tight and then shook the bundle, evidently to feel how much liquid was left.

  "Beatrice"—she said, Beatrice being one of the two serving women she had brought from Malvern Castle—"will be coming in about half an hour with a fresh bottle, so—"

  Her words were cut off by a blast of the trumpet of the Earl's herald, now standing directly before that part of the stand where the Earl was seated, but addressing everybody in the stands at once.

  "With your gracious permission, my Lord, and his Grace, Edward, Prince of England who sits with you, the next joust will be between Sir Brian Neville-Smythe and Sir Amblys de Brug!"

  The Earl waved a hand in gracious assent; and the herald turned back to face the lists, putting his long horn to his lips. He blew a single blast, and two figures in armor rode out of the large round tents, one at each end of the lists.

  A roar of approval went up from the stands. Brian was a favorite. Good things were always to be expected of him; and Sir Amblys was a jouster not to be despised.

  Both armored figures accepted their spears from attendants and rode to the ends of their respective sides of the barricade, where they halted.

  The joust was about to begin.

  Chapter 35

  The trumpet pealed again. The two knights on their horses hurtled toward each other and came together with an explosive sound, both spears splintering.

  Brian sat as if welded into the saddle. Sir Amblys swayed backward slightly from the shock, but also held his saddle. Both knights turned and started to ride back to the beginning of the list they were in for fresh spears and a second running.

  But, halfway there, Sir Amblys suddenly wavered as he sat and began to slump forward over the horn of his saddle. Servitors ran out to catch him before he should fall. He was caught in time, and led back on his horse to the end of the list. He and the horse disappeared into the large round tent.

  Another cheer went up from the stands.

  "Geronde!" said Angie dangerously. "If you keep hitting me like that I'm going to punch back. And I know how to hit!"

  "Crave your pardon, Angela,
" said Geronde. "I was carried away. Often, it is a gentleman sitting beside me; and I can hit him as I like. Pray forgive me." Angle's eyes met Jim's for a second in a flash of understanding. Of course, Jim thought, it was the impoliteness of her hitting Angie that Geronde was apologizing for—her unladylike behavior. Not any discomfort Angie might have felt; discomfort was supposed to be ignored.

  "That's all right," said Angie. "I can understand you getting excited. Will Brian be coming out to sit with us for a while?"

  "I do not know," said Geronde. "Sometimes he does. In this case he may wish to ride outside the lists down to the other end to see how Sir Amblys fares. Brian is a knight of courtesy. Yes—look, there he goes now."

  Jim and Angie looked and saw Brian, still in his armor, but riding a palfrey rather than his war horse, taking a circuit away from the lists, by the woods and down to the other large tent, where he dismounted and went inside.

  He was not inside long, however, before he came out again and spoke to Sir Amblys's herald—or rather the herald that belonged to the tent at that end of the lists, which had become Sir Amblys's tent and herald for the duration of his joust.

  The herald put his horn to his lips and sounded two notes, the second higher-pitched than the first. The stands cheered again.

  "Hah!" said Geronde. "Sir Amblys is not badly hurt. But his horse and armor will be Brian's, of course. Brian should come to us now, unless he has other business to hold him there."

  But Brian did not come. The joust went on. Jim tried to think of ways to get in touch with Carolinus that would not alert everyone else in Magickdom; and, not having any luck, dozed off until Angie nudged him awake for Brian's second spear-running with another knight, whose name Jim did not catch.