Mistress of Dragons (11 page)

Draconas
looked south, back down the way they had come. The country through which they
were riding was open grasslands, extending beyond both sides of a road that
rose and dipped among small hills. The road ran straight, and it was
well-maintained, for it led from Ramsgate-upon-the-Aston to the town of
Bramfell located in the northern part of the kingdom, famous—so Edward said—for
its wool.

A
glint of light in the distance attracted his attention. Draconas’s eyesight was
as keen as his hearing. A dragon in flight can spot a mouse in the fields
hundreds of feet below. His vision was not quite that good—his human eyes
limited him— but it was better than that of the average human. Atop a hill some
distance behind them were five riders. The glint he saw came from the sun
shining on the lens of a spyglass one of them was holding.

In
the next eye blink, the riders were gone. He did not hear the hoofbeats.

“What
is it?” Edward asked, noting Draconas’s preoccupation. “The dragon?”

“I
thought so, but I was mistaken,” said Draconas. He replaced the saddle, bent
down to cinch it, all the while listening for the hoofbeats.

Nothing.

“I
don’t want to be caught out here in the open by that foul beast,” said Edward,
looking grim.

“No,”
said Draconas, glancing around. “Not out here in the open.”

He
remounted and they started off. Draconas listened intently and very soon he
heard a muffled echo, distant hoofbeats, coming along behind. He and the king
traveled a good five miles and all the while the hoofbeats remained behind
them, not drawing nearer, keeping their distance.

Draconas
developed a theory. A small roadside shrine, nestled in a stand of trees,
provided him a chance to test it. The king halted to make an offering, for, he
said, he needed all the help he could get. Draconas led the horses to a nearby
stream for water and listened and watched back down the road to the south. He
heard the hoofbeats for several moments before they came to a halt. He thought he
caught the glint of light, but he couldn’t be sure due to the dust they’d
raised and the haze of a warm afternoon.

Edward
proposed they remain here for lunch and to rest the horses. Draconas agreed.

They
both drank from the stream, laved water over their faces and necks, then Edward
brought forth a luncheon “fit for a king,” as he said laughingly. He laid out
bread and two whole roasted capons, wrapped in cheesecloth, and placed a skin
of ale into the stream to cool. Edward handed over one of the capons, tore the
leg off the other, and began eating.

“By
my faith, this is good,” he said, gnawing on a chicken leg with as much gusto
as a small boy. The king gazed contently out over the green meadowland. “No one
wants me. No one needs me. No one is hounding me to fix this, answer that, sign
this, don’t sign that, listen to the same grievance for the hundredth time ...”

He
paused, gave a great sigh of contentment that came from somewhere deep inside
him. “No one can find me.”

Draconas
gave the king a moment to enjoy this peaceful interlude before he shattered it.

“Do
you have any enemies?” he asked.

“A
king always has enemies,” said Edward cheerfully.

“I
mean, enemies who would want to do you serious harm.”

Edward
looked intently at Draconas, then said, more somberly, “If you mean enemies who
want to see me come under the thumb of Weinmauer, then the answer is yes. If
you mean enemies who want to see me dead, then the answer is ... well. . .”

He
pondered, thoughtful. “I suppose no man wants to think there is another out
there bent on taking his life, but I guess there could be, though none come to
mind at the moment.”

“Would
your father-in-law want to see you dead?” Draconas pursued.

“He
wouldn’t be prostrate with grief if I died of natural causes. Weinmauer is not a
dummy. He knows he would be the first suspect if I were to die by foul means.
He would earn the undying hatred of his daughter, for one thing, and he would
find himself with a war on his hands. He doesn’t need that. Why should he? He
is certain of gaining what he wants by peaceful means.”

Edward
tossed the chicken leg into the brush. “Unless your plan works and I can bring
back this Mistress of Dragons, my father-in-law will march in to ‘protect us’
and the people will line his route, cheering. Why do you ask?”

“Because
we are being followed,” said Draconas.

Edward
stared, astonished. “The devil we are! Followed? Are you sure?”

“I’m
sure.”

Edward
frowned. “I told those young hotheads that I must do this alone—”

“I
don’t believe it is any of your knights. They would have raced after us and
caught us up by now.”

“Some
fellow traveler then—”

Draconas
shook his head. “You yourself said even the bandits had fled for fear of the
dragon. Whoever is following us is hanging back, keeping track of our
movements, stopping when we stop, riding when we ride.”

Edward
peered down the road. “I’ve heard nothing, seen nothing.”

“I
have,” said Draconas.

“But
why?” Edward demanded. “Why would they follow us? Robbers would just attack.
They wouldn’t risk discovery trailing after us.” He frowned, recalling Draconas’s
questions. “You don’t think they’re ordinary footpads, do you?”

Draconas
regarded the king intently. Edward was either an exceptionally good dissembler
or he honestly did not know why someone might want to send assassins after him.

“No,
Your Majesty, I don’t.” Draconas washed off the grease from the capon in the
stream. “What is the lay of the land like ahead of us?”

“Open,
like this, for several more miles, then we enter a thick woods along the
riverbank. After that, we cross the river and more open meadowland. This is
sheep country—”

“The
woods, that’s what they’re waiting for,” said Draconas.

Edward
finished off his capon. He removed the ale skin from the water, uncorked it,
swallowed deeply, and handed it to Draconas.

“You
think they’ll attack us once we’re in the woods.”

“They
haven’t attacked us yet. They’re waiting for something. Cover for their deed is
the most obvious explanation.”

“Why
would they need cover? There’s no one around for miles and miles. No one except
the dragon,” Edward added with a wry smile.

Draconas
had to admit that the king had a point. Why not attack them here and now? Why
wait? They were two alone, only one of them carrying a sword, and there were
five of them, all undoubtedly heavily armed.

“And
you’re certain they mean to kill us?” Edward asked.

“I’m
not certain of anything,” Draconas admitted.

Edward
shrugged. “I find it very puzzling.”

He
took another pull at the ale skin, squinted up at the heavens. “It’s noon or
thereabouts. I believe I will take a nap. I didn’t get much sleep last night.
Ermintrude wasn’t thrilled at the idea of my making this journey. I’m afraid if
I keep going, I’ll fall asleep in the saddle.”

Draconas
nodded. “I’ll keep watch.”

Edward
removed his sword, laid it beside him, and flung himself down on the ground
beneath a tree. He pulled his hat over his eyes to block out the sun, relaxed,
and gave a deep, contented sigh. “Wake me if we’re attacked,” he said,
grinning.

Draconas
regarded the king with a frown. Assassins hot on his trail and he takes a nap,
leaving me—a perfect stranger— to keep watch. Is he a dolt? I’m beginning to
wonder if I picked the right man for the job.

Leaving
the slumbering king, Draconas walked out to the road. He saw nothing. He heard
nothing, yet he felt their pursuers out there.

Draconas
returned and sat down beside the stream. Judging by his relaxed posture and
even breathing, the king slept soundly. The horses flicked at flies with their
tails and nibbled on the long grass. Draconas amused himself by using a chicken
bone to catch crayfish. He found his mind going back to the matter of their
pursuers again and again, which meant that he wasn’t as sure of his assumptions
as he tried to convince himself. He ended up throwing the bones and the
crayfish into the stream in frustration and, in an irritable mood, he woke up
the king, shaking him roughly.

“Time
to ride,” he said.

Edward
removed his hat, blinked up at Draconas, then squinted at the sun. “Already?”
He yawned, sat up, stretched. “I didn’t wake up dead,” he added lightly. “Therefore
I take it nothing happened while I was asleep.”

“I
wouldn’t say that,” said Draconas, swinging himself up in the saddle. “I think
I learned something.”

“I
know I did,” said Edward, mounting his horse.

Draconas
shifted restlessly in the saddle, ready to get started. “What was that?”

“How
to catch crayfish,” said Edward and, with a wink and a grin, he galloped off.

He
was testing me, Draconas realized. Six hundred years among humans, and they can
still surprise me.

They
were deep in sheep country now and they should have seen the green hills dotted
with the white flocks. The shepherds were keeping their sheep closer to home,
now, for fear of the dragon, and the hillsides were bare, empty.

Another
hour’s riding, and the long grass and heather gave way to oaks and maples,
linden trees and stands of white poplar, their leaves golden in the rich light
of the sweltering sun.

“I
can hear them now,” Edward reported.

“Yes,”
said Draconas, who had been listening to the pounding of hooves for the past
hour, as regular as a heartbeat. “They’re coming closer. And they don’t care if
we know they’re back there.”

Edward
glanced up at the overhanging branches of the trees. “Gunderson says that if
you know you’re going to fight, you should be the one to choose the ground. He
was talking about armies, but I assume the same applies here.”

“You
have ridden this road often, so I leave that to you,” said Draconas, having now
a much better opinion of the man he’d chosen. “Since they are five and we are
two, we need to keep them in front of us. Otherwise they will try to circle
around and attack us from all directions.”

“Yes,
that’s what I was thinking.” Edward frowned thoughtfully. “Up ahead, there’s a
place where a large oak was struck by lightning. Half of it fell across the
highway, completely blocking the road. The people of Bramfell spent days
clearing it. They hauled the trunk of the tree to the side of the road. If we
were to put our backs to that tree trunk, anyone trying to come up behind would
have to climb over it to reach us.”

“A
good plan.” Draconas nodded.

“Why
are you so certain they’re out to kill me?” Edward asked.

“If
they wanted to stop for a chat,” Draconas answered dryly, “I think they would
have done so by now.”

Behind
them, the horses’ hooves broke into a gallop.

“How
far is that tree?” Draconas cried.

“Up
ahead,” said Edward, and kicked his horse in the flanks.

The
hooves pounded closer. There was no doubt that they meant trouble.

Reaching
the lightning-blasted tree, Edward remained mounted, his sword in his right
hand, a dagger in his left. He wore his traveling clothes—a belted, embroidered
tunic, tall leather boots, short pantaloons, and woolen chaussures. He had not
thought to wear armor.

Draconas
jumped from his horse. A staff was no weapon for a horseman and he was
accustomed to fighting on foot. Neither he nor the king were in any real
danger, for Draconas had his dragon magic and while he could not kill these
humans, he could confuse them with illusions or frighten them with fire. He
preferred not to use his magic unless as a last resort, however. Edward knew
Draconas had magical powers, but no human on earth possessed such powers as did
Draconas and he was loathe to reveal himself.

He
was confident that the two of them could handle these cutthroats without the
need for magic. Gunderson had trained his protege well. Edward sat his horse
with confidence, handled his weapons and himself with skill.

Five
horsemen appeared in the distance. Seeing their quarry waiting for them, they
spurred their horses forward. The road did not narrow, as it passed through the
forest on its way to Bramfell, for large wool carts traveled this route. The
five could have ridden abreast, but they did not do so. One rode ahead. Four
followed at a short distance, as if they’d been ordered to keep back.

This
struck Draconas as an odd strategy for a band of hired thugs. He concentrated
his attention on the lead rider and he was startled and confounded by what he
saw. So was Edward, apparently, for he lowered his sword.

“By
Our Lady,” he said in astonishment, “it’s a holy father.”

The
lead rider was tall and lank, with the thin, wasted body of one who spends much
of his time fasting. He wore long black robes, belted around his waist with a
rope. His over-large eyes shone with a wild light in his gaunt face.

He
was not used to riding, apparently, for he jounced up and down on the galloping
horse, seeming likely to tumble out of the saddle at any moment. Clinging to
his horse with his knees and the grace of God, the monk raised one hand to
heaven and pointed with his other hand at Draconas.

“God
smite the demon!” the monk cried.

A
blow as from a gigantic mailed fist struck Draconas, flung him back against the
tree trunk with such force that it knocked the breath from his body and very
nearly dashed the wits from his head.

He
lay on the ground on his back, stunned as much by the impossibility of the blow
as by the blow itself. The monk had used dragon magic, magic no human was supposed
to know. The sounds of shouting and cursing and the clash of steel impelled him
to his feet.