Handbook for Dragon Slayers (10 page)

“I don't know that my foot could handle it, anyway,” I said regretfully.

A light wind ruffled my hair. The strange silence disappeared beneath a crack of new thunder, and clouds roiled above us.

The horses started to mill about, staring up at the sky and the fading witch light.

“What's going on?” Judith called from the doorway of the barn.

“I don't know!”

A low and piercing note filled the air, making the hair on my arms stand up and a weird shudder run down my back. The note came again, and then again. The horses kept staring into the sky. The golden horse galloped down the hill toward us. “Is that a hunting horn?” I shrieked over the noise.

Lightning flickered above us, illuminating the clouds. And among the clouds were the shapes of horses and hounds.

“The Wild Hunt!” Judith screamed, hanging on to the doorframe of the barn with her good arm. “Tilda, get in here!”

I started for the barn, still carrying the iron bridle, but there was no time. The Wild Hunt touched down in the vineyard.

I
STRUGGLED TO REACH THE BARN EVEN AS THE LEAD
hounds of the Wild Hunt flowed around me and past. Their heads came to my shoulder. They were utterly silent, not baying like hounds usually do, and they kept their distance. I wasn't even brushed by a wagging tail as they raced by. They ignored me utterly.

Unfortunately, the same could not be said for the huntsmen.

The lead horse was darkest gray and yet brightly shining, and so enormous that it dwarfed the metal horses. And it was ridden by a helmeted horseman who seemed to have no face or eyes beneath his helm, just a burning, red maw.

No—not horseman. Horsewoman. There was a distinctly female shape to the Hunt leader's body.

The Hunter reined in her shining horse and stared down at me.

“Ride with us,” said a voice like a whisper, but so loud I wanted to huddle down and clamp my hands over my ears.

“No,” I said. “I don't ride. I can't. I was never taught.”

And then I realized I had refused the Wild Hunt.

You are never supposed to refuse the Wild Hunt. At best, you agree to go with them, and maybe after they are done with you, you retain your sanity, and possibly they reward you—or just as likely, you go mad and get no reward.

But at least if you accommodate them, you have a chance. Refuse them, and—

“Then you will be punished,” said the Hunter.

I stood as straight as I could, shoulders back, still holding the iron bridle loosely in one hand. “It's not my fault,” I shouted. “You shouldn't punish me because I don't know how to ride!” I just wanted to register my objection. I didn't think that would stop her. Which is good, because it didn't.

The Hunter raised her sword, and I closed my eyes. I really hadn't expected to die like this, and so young. . . .

The blow never fell. Instead, a whoosh of air ruffled my hair, and thunderous hoofbeats shook the ground.

The silver mare had put herself between me and the Hunter's sword. The mare reared up and struck the blade with her hooves, raising sparks that seemed to fly a league.

The red pit where the Hunter's face should have been flamed like coals under a breeze. “You dare!” Her voice at full shout sounded less like a single voice and more like the screams of a thousand crows.

It was the stupidest thing I'd ever thought to do—I could so easily have been struck by the mare who was trying to defend me, as well as by the Hunter—but I put my hand to the silver mare's neck and tried to place myself between her and the Hunter.

“Leave her alone!” I bellowed, shaking the iron bridle in the face of the Hunter's horse.

Well, I tried to bellow. My voice was more like that of a mouse than an ox.

The great, shining gray horse of the Hunter shied from the iron bridle much to my shock.

The Hunter regained control of her stallion and looked down at me. Her voice was pure menace. “You have failed, Mathilda of Alder Brook.” I cringed to hear my full name spoken in that crow-screaming voice. “You have freed two of the three, but the Aurum still belongs to me.”

“What? What are you talking about? The horses? I wasn't even—I didn't even
try
to do anything! How can I fail at something I didn't even
try
?”

“Ignorance does not make the wrong choice into the right one. And fate is sealed by choices,” she said.

In the distance, a rooster crowed. All the dogs and horses of the Hunt pricked their ears.

“Dawn is your savior.” The Hunter's yawning red maw seemed to blaze. “We will meet again, Mathilda. And then you
will
repay the debt you owe me.”

She gestured to one of the other hunters, who put a horn to his lips and blew.

The call of the horn rose and swelled, seeming to reverberate in my very bones, making my teeth ache. I knew if it continued, it was going to shatter my skull—but it didn't keep going.

The great hounds slid away like quicksilver. The horses and their riders jogged up the mountainside, flattening the few surviving rows of vines. The golden horse with the iron bridle ran with them as they charged straight up—but instead of cresting the peak, they rode on up, into the clouds and the storm, which retreated across the sky.

The silver horse and the copper one remained, gleaming in the fading witch light, and watched the Wild Hunt depart.

Dawn broke over the hills, driving apart the last clouds that had accompanied the Hunt.

The silver horse faced me with a sigh, and then snuffled my hair. The copper horse retreated slightly and watched us warily.

“What just happened?” Judith asked somberly, coming out of the barn. “Did you—Tilda! You refused the Wild Hunt and lived to tell about it!”

“Yes, but—uh—but—” It was hard to talk with a horse's nose buried in my hair, her breath all warm and whuffling, her long whiskers tickling my ears. “But now I owe a debt?” I couldn't keep the panic out of my voice.

“You stole their horses!”

“I did not steal them!” I tried to duck away from the horse's insistent nuzzles. “I set them . . . free.”

“How much do two magical Wild Hunt horses cost, exactly?” Judith asked. “I don't suppose you can pay that off in gold marks.”

“No, I suppose not.” As if Alder Brook had enough reserve in its treasury to even consider that. As if I had any claim on Alder Brook's treasury anymore. “I'm afraid it's going to be one of those awful prices, like my first-born child, or my immortal soul. . . .”

Judith moved to put an arm around me for comfort, then winced, clutching her shoulder.

“Judith, I'm so sorry!” I said. “We need to get you to a bonesetter right away!”

Judith grunted agreement.

I went back to the barn to pack up our meager possessions—all food at this point—and then we started down the road toward Upper Folkstown.

Judith couldn't assist me any more than I could assist her, between her shoulder and my crutch. My foot was tender and unpleasant to walk on, but I was in many respects in better shape than Judith. For one thing, I was used to my pain, and she was far from accustomed to hers. She could walk all right, but every step was jarring.

The metal horses came too. The silver mare kept pace beside me. And she didn't shake me off or back away when I occasionally reached out to her for balance.

W
E REACHED THE TOWN
gates and knocked for admission at the night portal. It was dawn, but towns did not open their gates until the sun was well up.

“Who goes there?” asked the watchman.

“This is P—Lady Agilwarda . . . of Oak Hill,” Judith said, pointing at me. “I am her servant.”

Judith was a terrible liar.

The night watchman looked at me. “Milady. You're fair young to be out on your own.”

“I have my servant,” I said serenely.

“What are
those
?” he asked, craning his neck toward the mares.

“Uh . . . horses?”

“Strange horses,” the watchman said. “That one looks”—he paused, then clearly decided
silver
was a ridiculous thought—“white. What were you doing out on First Night?”

“First Night?”

“Three nights in a row, round Saint Martin's Eve, our town gets shook by thunder and storm, and when we wake up, a third of our grape harvest is gone, until by the last night, our whole harvest is gone.”

Judith and I looked at each other. “Yes, well,” I said. “It might be
these
horses from the Wild Hunt trampling your vineyards.”

The watchman gaped.

“Lady Agilwarda stopped them,” Judith said. “Lady Agilwarda . . . seems to have tamed them.”

“Liar!” I whispered, and elbowed her in the side. Then immediately regretted it when she winced.

“Horses?” the watchman asked. “From the Wild Hunt? The mayor is going to want to hear about this.”

“We need a bonesetter first,” I said.

“Come inside, come inside. I'll take you to the mayor's house, then get you a bonesetter,” he said, and cracked open not the night portal, which was barely wide enough for a large man to clamber through, but the gate of the town itself.

We entered the town, and true to his word, the watchman led us up to the mayor's house. It took no effort to roust the mayor, for he, like everyone left in town, had been sitting vigil through the night. Before I quite knew it, the watchman was ringing a bell and several score of the town's citizens gathered around, holding torches and lanterns. They stared at us while we tried to explain what had happened. They stared even harder at the horses. How could they not? The mares were bigger than any warhorse I'd seen by at least several hands. And they shone like the moon and a copper dinner plate.

There were rumblings among the people as the mayor thanked us—calling me Lady Agilwarda—extensively for saving most of the harvest, and handed us a disappointingly deflated bag that ostensibly held a cash reward.

Someone in the crowd began a chant. At first I didn't understand they were cheering for me, but they were smiling, clapping their hands and stomping their feet as they chanted the words:
Wein Fürstin. Wein Fürstin
.

Wine Princess
.

A
FTER THE CROWD TOASTED US WITH BLACKBERRY
cordial for a bit (since there was no wine to be had in the town), we were invited to the local guesthouse to sleep until the Martinmas feast began at midday.

The horses trailed along during all of this. They were calm in the crowds, as long as no one tried to touch them, and no one
did
try to touch them—twice.

They followed us to the guesthouse, as well, and we stood in the innyard for a long moment, staring at the horses while they stared at us.

“We're, um, going inside,” Judith said.

“Looks like the bonesetter is here,” I said, sighting the watchman coming toward us, accompanied by an awkward young man. “You go ahead. I'll . . . see . . . to the . . . horses.”

“I can help with that,” a familiar voice said.

“Parz!” I whirled about, heart soaring. I threw my arms around his neck and received a swift, tight hug in return. He was alive! I stepped back, embarrassed by my display, but he kindly made no remark. “What happened to you?”

“What happened to
you
?” he asked, eyes wide at Judith.

So we told him, while the bonesetter determined that Judith hadn't actually broken anything, she had just managed to yank her shoulder out of its joint. The resetting of the joint looked worse than the actual knocking out, but she said it felt better almost immediately.

We
told
Parz everything that had happened to us, but
explaining
it was a different matter entirely.

Parz's story was simpler but had more tragedy.

“Balmung bucked me off and ran away,” Parz said, his jaw clenching and unclenching. “I followed his trail as best I could but . . .” He shook his head. “He wasn't wounded, so he's got a good chance. Horses like to go home when they're scared. . . . Wouldn't be surprised if he shows up at Boar House in a day or two.”

He didn't quite look like he believed it, and he stared sadly at the ground.

“I'm sorry,” I said, putting my hand on his arm in a gesture of condolence. Almost absently, he clutched my fingers and held on.

“What about Felix?” Judith asked from where the bonesetter was fashioning her a sling. “He looked—”

“I don't know. The dragon managed to pull some of our baggage off him in the first two strikes, and I didn't find many bloodstains when I went back. . . . But Felix was long gone when I returned, wherever he went.”

“So . . . none of our possessions were there?” Judith asked, looking pointedly at the saddlebag he had slung over one shoulder.

“A few.”

A surge of hope rose in me at that moment, but I tried to quell it. I didn't want to be disappointed if all Parz had managed to salvage was a dress or a pair of stockings. “Everything was scattered to the four winds. But I did find—” Parz plunged his hand into the saddlebag and pulled out something I'd not dared to hope for: the blank
Handbook
. He offered it to me.

I grabbed the book and held it to my chest in a strange little hug. “Thank you, Parz,” I said. “I don't suppose you found my writing box?”

Parz's half smile fell. “No, I'm sorry.”

I tried not to lose all cheer at that. The book really wasn't much use without a pen, but there were all sorts of birds out there willing to donate a quill or two. Just . . . There was no replacing the metal stylus for scribing wax tablets, which conformed perfectly to my hand. Nor the ink I'd mixed myself to the exact consistency I loved. Nor the little wooden box of pins to mark the spacing on a blank page, which Father Ripertus had carved for me. Nor the perfectly sharpened penknife with the mother-of-pearl handle that my father had given me before he left Alder Brook. And the box itself? It wasn't anything fancy, but it was stained from the ink of all my years of writing and copying, a sign of all my hard work.