The Wizard

Chapter 38. Dragon Soldiers

Had the queen summoned me that night as well, I would not have been surprised; I knew she was Morcaine’s ally, and that one might sift a thousand foolish women without finding even one fool enough to trust Morcaine. The queen would want my account of what had transpired that night, as well as hers.

I was surprised just the same, for the queen came to me, crouching beside me as I slept, while Lamwell stood guard. She touched my shoulder. I sat up and saw him—a small figure with a great crest of white plumes and a drawn sword.

“Here, Sir Able.” It was as though a dove had spoken.

I turned. Her robe was dark, but her golden hair glowed in the moonlight and her pale face shone. “You’ve plighted your troth to my sister-in-law,” she said. “That is well. She has remained too long—what are you doing that for?”

I had picked up the old helm and was putting it on. “I may need to protect you from the king’s men, if not from the Osterlings.” The moonlit woman shrank, her fair face younger still. “We’re both kids, Your Majesty, and us kids have to stick together, or the wolves will tear us apart.”

“You must hate me. She said you did.”

“How could I hate you, when the king loves you?”

“Prettily spoken. May I pet your dog?”

“I could not match you in wit, Your Majesty. Nor would it be fitting for me to try.”

She laughed softly, a delightful sound after Morcaine’s laughter, and Lothur’s. “I didn’t think you’d understand that. There’s more to you than meets the eye, Sir Able.”

“Less, Your Majesty.”

“Won’t you take it off? So I can see your face?”

“Sir Lamwell’s my friend, Your Majesty, and I’ve seldom known a truer knight. But if you were to order him to kill me, he would—or would try.”

“But I won’t!”

“You can’t know that, Your Majesty, and I surely can’t.”

“My husband knows more of sorcery than his sister, Sir Able.” Gaynor’s coo, soft already, had grown softer still. I told her I was aware of it.

“Few are. People don’t like the idea of a sorcerous ruler. She shows it, shows off and draws their displeasure. He keeps his hidden. If you really know all this, you ought to know I don’t have any such power. None at all. Do you?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“You don’t know what it’s been like for me.” Her hand found mine and squeezed it. “Husbands are—are bad enough without that. His rages are terrible, and he could spy on me anytime he wanted. I was a queen. I am. A queen in a glass castle. I ran a terrible risk for you when I let you confer with Queen Idnn and Lord Escan. Do you understand that? Do you know how great a chance I took? The gaolers knew, and all those people, but I had to let them see there was nothing between us. Not then.” She squeezed my hand again. Hers was small, and so white it shone in the moonlight.

“You didn’t take it long, Your Majesty.”

“No. No, I didn’t. I couldn’t. You went out on your own, and you were caught. They’d tell him when he came back. They were bound to and I couldn’t stop them. Sometimes he spies and sometimes he doesn’t, but—”

I said, “Suppose he sees us now?”

“He won’t. I spoke to him before I came to see you. He—he won’t. He’s seen the future, Sir Able. And he dies.”

“We all do.”

“Before the new moon. He kills the Caan and the Caan kills him. Can that happen?”

I nodded.

“I’ll be a widow. Your queen and the first of a new dynasty. I’ll need a minister, a strong man who can keep order. I’ll rule wisely and well, but only if they let me rule. And you... Can you be gentle, as well as strong? I’ve never had anyone gentle, never had anyone but him.”

You know what I was tempted to say, Ben. I did not say it, merely saying that her husband was not dead yet, and I needed time to consider. If I had refused, she would have told Lamwell to kill me and I would have had to kill him. I liked him, and we could not spare a single knight.

Ten days, Lothur had said. Knowing they could not be hastened, I did not try to hurry our march south. We had to collect all the food we could along the way, and I had to plan the actions that would violate the oath I would break.

We met them on a cliff-side road overlooking the sea, stranger warriors than I had ever seen, dark, hard-faced men with little eyes. Their armor made them look like bugs, and their shaggy ponies like peasants. They challenged us; and I found that although I understood their speech, no one else did. There were three hundred, perhaps, with a baggage train so long that it wound away down the coast.

Wistan and I advanced under a flag of truce. Their prince wore gold armor; his was hardest hand I ever clasped, and he the only man I have known who smiled all the time. When we met, I thought he simply wanted to assure us we would be well treated if we yielded. Later I learned that his men called him He-who-smiles. Wistan and I settled for Smiler.

He was accompanied by three ministers, middle-aged men of his own race. One carried a horned staff, one a whip, and one a sword with a blade of dragon shape. He would choose one or another of these ministers and whisper to him. The minister would confer with the other two and speak to me. It became tedious; I will abbreviate it as much as I can.

“You are to surrender to us.” This was the minister with the sword. “Give me your weapons.”

Wistan tugged my sleeve. “Why does he talk like that?”

I said, “Because he thinks we might, I guess.”

“Might what? What did he say?”

“We won’t surrender,” I told the minister. “If you’ll share your food with us, we’ll be your friends and lead you to a great victory. If you won’t, we’ll take it.”

The prince continued to smile, gesturing to the minister with the whip. “The Son of the Dragon fears you misapprehend this matter. He is sworn to conquer or die. With him we are all sworn to conquer or die. We conquer or die!”

“Then you’ll die,” I said.

Still smiling, the prince spoke with his third minister, the one with the forked staff. “You are a barbarian,” this minister told me. His tone was fatherly. “You do not know us, nor the customs of civilized men. Do you wish to?”

I said I certainly did.

“That said, you are no longer a barbarian. We are the children of the Dragon, Sirable. For most, by adoption. For the Son of the Dragon, by blood. The Blood of the Dragon is his father.” He fell silent, standing with head bowed. At length he said, “His Sons are Sons of the Dragon. Dragon Blood fills him each time he engenders sons in his wives.” I told him I understood.

“Each would rule. Is he not Son of the Dragon?”

Wistan was tugging my sleeve again. I told him to stop.

“A son may bow to his brother, and be cut. He remains. If no, they fight with magic. Our prince chose to fight.”

Thinking of Arnthor and his sister, I said, “We have a lot of magic. If he contends with us, he will lose again.”

The minister tittered. “No, no! He won. The winner leaves Home Throne to his brother. Do you not understand?”

I confessed I did not.

“It is his glory to extend the Realm of the Dragon. He is permitted five hundred warriors. It is honor to go. The Talking Table is consulted. Always the Talking Table says, ‘Go north! Go west!’ or ‘Go south!’ This is traditional. To east there is much water.”

The minister with the forked staff retired, and the minister with the whip came forward. “Yours is the Land of the East. Obey the Son of the Dragon and prosper. Disobey...” He tapped his own hand with his coiled whip.

“You are in our country,” I told him, though we were well south of Celidon. “You must obey our king. He is King Arnthor, a good and wise ruler. I speak for him now.”

The minister who bore the sword came forward once more. “Will we fight here, on this narrow road?”

“Yes,” I said. “Will you fight me now?” I knew I would have my point in him before he could poise his big blade.

He shook his head. “Our champions will fight. In such a place it must be so.” His voice fell. “My son, you do not know our law. Let me make it plain. When one fights one, three victories are sufficient. Is this clear to you?”

I admitted it was not.

“The first two fight. We win. That is a victory.” I nodded.

“The first of our champions fights your next. That also is a victory, it is two.” I nodded as before.

“The first of our champions fights your third. That is another, it is three. You must accept the beneficent rule of the Son of the Dragon.”

I said, “We will not.”

“If you do not, every man will be put to the sword.”

When we left, I explained to Wistan, who looked very serious. “I’ll fight, Sir Able, but I’m not a champion.” I laughed, and slapped his back.

I was our first, though I had great difficulty securing the position. Arnthor wanted to negotiate further, and sent Beel with me to interpret. We learned more about the Dragon soldiers and their prince; but quickly discovered there was no hope of making them allies, as our instructions required. Neither would they share their food with us (although they boasted of its quantity) or even sell to us.

By Marder’s influence and my own, Woddet was our second champion. Kei was the third. We did not think we would need more than three. As for me, I was determined that neither Woddet nor Kei would have work that afternoon. They looked imposing, and that was enough. Wistan and I made nothing like so good a show, although I learned afterward that the Son of the Dragon had been impressed by the gold rings in my mail, and by my speaking the tongue of his nation.

The Nykr King of Arms went with us to see fair play, the minister with the sword serving a like function on the other side. He objected to Wistan; we explained that he was there only to bear my lance with my pennant, to carry my helm and shield, to help me from the field if I were wounded or to guard my corpse. It was agreed that he would retire one hundred paces before I engaged.

Each of us retreated ten paces. The Nykr King of Arms raised the staff with which he would strike the roadway, and the minister with the sword lowered the sword he would raise. I could not see our pursuivant up on the cliff, but no doubt he raised his trumpet. At that moment Gylf howled. I had been obliged to chain him, for he had sworn that he would not stand by and see me killed; but he knew the battle was about to be joined, or so it seemed. His was the howl of no common dog, and I saw its effect on my opponent.

No sooner had I put on the old helm than I saw more. I saw that for all his fanciful armor and flat face my opponent was a bold knight who would add real force to our charge when we faced the Osterlings—force that would be forever lost if I killed him. I took my lance from Wistan.

My opponent, Ironmouth, cut through it at once; I have seldom seen so good a blade. I knocked that blade from his hand with the butt of my lance, tripped him, and almost pinned him. In a moment more he had nearly pinned me, for he was a fine wrestler. As we struggled, I caught sight of Lothur’s inferno upon the cliff.

We parted, rushed at each other, and Ironmouth by an unexpected slight threw me down not a hand’s breadth from a sheer drop. I regained my feet, but not quickly enough.

I snatched air, caught thick, coarse, white stuff—I knew not what—and clung to it for dear life.

A great thought, kind and warm and wonderful, filled my mind, crowding out the fear; and the thought was this: Can you not run on this as Gylf and I do?

And I could have. It would have been a violation of the oath; but I intended to violate it.

I did not do it then, but climbed on Cloud’s back, a back no longer gray; it was spangled with ice crystals as well, for she had been far above the clouds a moment before.

We are born dark, she explained. We reach our true color with age. I am nearly grown now.

Like a cloud, she rose into the sky, carrying me with her. The Caan had elephants; they were nothing before her. We talked. I told her of all that had befallen me since we parted, and she told me of strange adventures in the east, of her return to Skai, of what she had told the Lady there (for the Lady had stabled her), and what the Lady had taught her. Below, the sea-blue flag of Celidon snapped in the breeze, flaunting its nykr to the dragon that was Celidon’s new foe, a dragon of red and black on a wheaten field. Woddet came forth to fight, and fell, and Hela bore him away.

“Lothur has promised us the victory,” I told Cloud, “so we must prevail.”

Given a mount and a stout lance, I would have matched Kei against a hundred; with the sword he was no match for Ironmouth. He fell, and I watched him die. After which, the Dragon Soldiers raised a great cheer, bellowing and beating their shields, and I saw the minister who bore the sword and the Nykr King of Arms come together, and the latter bow his head. Neither could have understood the other, but they had little need to as Cloud and I galloped down the sky.

With one hand I held her mane. With the other, I caught Smiler, and pulled him onto her back. “We’re going to Skai,” I told him, “where time runs fast. We’ll find Lothur, or if not Lothur, Angrboda, and confront her together.”

It did not prove necessary, for Lothur found us.

As I have said, we had crossed the Greenflood on our march south. When we turned back north we knew we must encounter it again. We had burned the bridge we built, a bridge that could not have stood another week in any event. More significantly, we had swept the sea-lands of food, buying or pillaging all its fishing villages had.

The minister who bore the sword (Stonebowl was his name) told us his men had found more inland; they had captured five towns, all well-stocked, and had taken the coast road only after gaining food enough to carry them to next spring. Beel agreed, pointing out that Osterland’s raiders frequently harried the coast, sailing as far north as Irringsmouth or farther. This stretch would see them often.

Knowing that the Greenflood would be nearer its source, and unwilling to deplete our allies’ stores more than we had to, we turned east as soon as we came upon a passable road, and engaged local people to guide us. Some were reliable, others less so. Too often we found ourselves marching south or southeast when we would have preferred to turn north.

Before long we gained a reinforcement of one knight and six men-at-arms; and though it was so small it cheered me, for it was the Knight of the Leopards. Sandhill had held off the Osterlings, who had failed to carry it by storm and been forced to lift a siege by thirst. Shepherds whose flocks we had bought had reported that the king was in the south, two days’ ride below the river; and the Knight of the Leopards had gotten his father’s permission to join us with a few men.

“Now I know we’ll win,” I told him. “There’s a tide in war not even Overcyns can turn aside. It’s making—I feel it in my blood.”

He was looking up at Cloud. “If that grand beast obeys you, I do not matter. Nothing could stand against it.”

“Don’t you recognize her?” I said. “She’s Cloud, the mount I rode in Jotunland.”

“That’s no horse!”

“Why no. She never was a horse. I doubt I ever said she was, but if I did, I lied.”

Wistan could keep silent no longer. “We can ride her through the air. You can’t know how wonderful it is, Sir Leort. She carried the Son of the Dragon, because Sir Able had taken him prisoner, but she didn’t like it. He couldn’t ride her alone like we do.”

Leort wanted to know who the Son of the Dragon was, and I explained.

“He’s going to carve out a kingdom for himself here in the south? He’ll have a hard time of it.”

“Of course he will,” I said, “but he’ll have help from Celidon. His Majesty has sworn it. A strong friend down here would be the Valfather’s hand.” I said nothing about Arnthor’s prophecy, although I could not help thinking of it, and salved my conscience by telling myself I knew nothing beyond Gaynor’s report; it might be a false prophecy or an ambiguous one, for many prophecies are. It was even possible—almost probable—that there had been none.

A matter you will readily guess troubled me much more. Lothur had promised allies and food on my own promise to break my oath. Cloud was to be returned to me when I had fulfilled my part of the bargain. By his generosity, she had been sent ahead of time. We had received the reinforcements he had promised, and I could not complain of their quality. We had food for a season, and every prospect of gaining more in Celidon when we overcame the Black Caan. All that, and I still had not fulfilled my promise. Nor did I want to.

The Valfather is the kindest and wisest ruler, and the bravest. His son Thunor is the model for warriors, as is often said. A hundred times more is the Valfather the model for kings. In that time, when I thought about him often, it came to me with a shock that he was the model for fathers, too. I had told myself I never had a father. Far less than you, Ben. It was not true. He had been my father, and he had known it when I had not.

I would betray him, and my honor would be forfeit. Or if I did not, my honor would be forfeit still. Lothur is the model for thieves and murderers; he would kill us or help the Caan do it, and all I hoped to do with the power Skai had given me would never happen.

Wistan and I rode on Cloud’s broad back, well ahead of the advance guard. Our leisurely pace was compelled by our baggage train, and by our army, too, men worn out who regained their strength through easy marches and whole days of rest.

Arnthor was gaining strength as well, though his wound had been almost fatal. Once when I was with him, someone complained of the rigors of the campaign, calling it (with some justice) the worst ever fought.

“Ah,” said Beel, “you ought to have been with Sir Able and me in Jotunland, where our sharp-eyed bowmen were my daughter’s maids, and my cook rode among my men-at-arms with a slaughtering knife.”

Marder laughed. “Well said. Just don’t forget that I was there before it ended, and at the Forest Fight.”

So swiftly that it came and went like the shadow of a bat, Arnthor frowned as if he might kill him. I did not understand that look and was disturbed by it. Arnthor seldom showed his dragon side, but I had seen it plainly then. What more I might have seen had I been wearing the old helm I can only imagine; and I am glad I was not.

I sought out Woddet among the wounded that evening, telling him what had transpired and asking whether he had been at the second battle Marder mentioned.

“I was,” he said, “and we had a bad time of it. We had gone into the wood—run there, when it seemed certain the Osterlings would crush us all. There were so many trees you couldn’t swing a sword. I had never used a mace since—never mind. I used it again, and dropped it wrestling two fellows Heimir brained for me. We had no time to look for it, and I used a saxe after that. I’d not thought it more than a camp knife until that day, but I learned what it could do. I’d hold it low and rush them with my shield up. Some had mail shirts, but their legs were bare. I’d put it through the thigh and cut my way out, and go to the next.”

I asked whether we had gained the victory, and he said we had to retreat, but we had captured their camp and burned it. “The Black Caan thought to crush us, and win the war,” he said, “but he slept on the ground that night.”

Etela came—Lynnet was talking strangely. Etela felt I could help, so I went with her. Wistan, who had told her where she might find me, came with us.

Bold Berthold was seated at Lynnet’s feet, with Gerda not far away. Toug stood behind her, watching. As we came up, Lynnet said, “Your father was a fine, strong man. Not tall, though he seemed tall. There must have been a hundred times when I saw him standing with another man and noticed, the way you notice suddenly what you ought to have seen long before, that he was no taller than the other. But if you listened to them, you understood that he was much bigger. It was something you couldn’t see, but it was there. The other man looked up to him, and when he did, he was looking high. All the men looked up to him, and all the women envied me. Do you remember Daddy’s name, Berthold? I won’t blame you if you’ve forgotten after all these years. Not one bit.”

“Black Berthold,” Berthold said.

“That’s right, his name was Berthold, and he was a fine, strong man. The strongest in our village. Once I saw him wrestle a bull. The bull threw him twice, but he jumped up each time before it could gore him. He threw it and held it down. It struggled like a puppy, but he wouldn’t let it get its legs under it again. It frightened me so much I made him promise never to do it again, and he never did. I never knew him to break a promise to anybody.”

Etela said, “I’ve brought Sir Able, Mama.”

Lynnet looked up at me and smiled. “Good evening, Sir Able. I had a son of that name once. You aren’t my son, I know, but I’d like to think of you as a son. May I?”

I had not noticed Vil until then, because he was farther from the fire than any of the others; but he stepped forward when she said that. Blindness had let him forget to control his expression, and it was a look of mingled hope and fear such as I have seldom seen. I sensed what he wanted me to say, I believe, and said it gladly. “I’d be proud to be called your son, Lady Lynnet, and proud to call you mother.”

“My name’s Mag.” She smiled. “But you may call me Mother, or anything you like, Able. You’ve always been my boy, because I love the boy you were before I met you.”

I sat at her feet beside Bold Berthold. “Something’s troubling me, Mother. Perhaps you can explain it. Do you recall the Room of Lost Love?”

She shook her head. “I’ve never heard of such a place.”

“What about the Isle of Glas?”

“Ah,” she said.

“You recall it.” I looked up at her. “Do you remember how I came there? How we met, and what you told me?”

Her smile saddened. “My son Able came to me in that beautiful, terrible place, Sir Able, not you. I was chained there, and though I would willingly—oh, very, willingly—have come away with him, I could not.”

Although I often have strange dreams, I have tried not to pester you overmuch with them, Ben. Here I am going to make an exception, not because the dream in question seems specially significant, but merely because I remember it so vividly. Go to the next section if you are impatient.

I was in the Forest Fight with Woddet and the others. Either I had no sword, or I could not use it. Perhaps I had a dagger or Sword Breaker. I cannot be sure. There were green bushes and spindly trees all around me. I struggled to push through, afraid that the king would leave me behind. Frantically, I threw myself forward, striking the saplings that obstructed every step, and making leaves fly. As I went farther, I realized that I was not on the ground, nor was I obstructed by brush. I was in the treetops, fifty feet up. If the twigs and small limbs that held me back had not been so thick—if they had not been almost impenetrable—I would have fallen. No sooner had I understood this than I reached the edge, standing high in a great tree and looking out across the open countryside.

A pavilion of black silk had been pitched in a meadow. I knew that Eterne was in there. I also knew Eterne was my true sword; I bore no sword until I had her, and should have borne none until I got her back. I had taken another sword, and could never be shriven of that guilt.

Beyond the black pavilion was a highway. Cars, trucks, SUVs, and minivans—all sorts of vehicles—were traveling on it, going so fast that it seemed certain they would crash. There was a school bus, a red hook-and-ladder, a black-and-white police car, and a white ambulance. Those stand out even now. The ambulance rocked from side to side as it tore along with its light bar blazing and its siren screaming. I climbed down and went to the highway. The drivers would not stop for me, and I shouted at their cars, thinking how far the ambulance was getting ahead of me. Able—the real Able—was in that ambulance. I knew that, and I wanted to help him.

I woke up. “Baki?” Someone was stroking me.

“Guess again.”

I thought it a better dream than my dream of the treetop and the crowded highway, my dream of the Forest Fight.