refusal. He had to undertake this alone. He asked only for
their prayers and their blessing. The knights gave him this and a rousing
cheer.
Having
no fear now that the king would change his mind—or have it changed for
him—Draconas went to bed. Edward and his wife left the hall early that night,
as well. He was probably with Ermintrude right now, doing his best to reassure
her that he would return to her safe and sound.
“I
wonder,” said Draconas to himself, with some amusement, as he stretched out on
the straw-stuffed mattress, “if Edward will tell his wife about the beautiful
face in the topaz? I’ll wager he keeps that to himself.”
6
THE
KING MANAGED TO ESCAPE THE PALACE AND THE city with a minimum of fanfare, much
less than Draconas had expected.
Dawn
had yet to break when Edward mounted his horse for the journey. A priest was
present to bless and anoint the king. His family was there, Ermintrude with a
brave, supportive smile and anxious, troubled eyes; Prince Wilhelm bitterly
disappointed that he couldn’t go. The knights gathered, and so did many
townsfolk, for the rumor of the king’s departure had spread like dragon fire, as
one wag said. No one cheered, for this was a sacred pilgrimage. Many murmured
blessings as their king rode past. Draconas was not present. He had arranged to
meet the king on the road outside the walls. The less notice he brought to
himself, the better.
Gunderson
rode with His Majesty as far as the city walls, where he turned his king over
to Draconas with a baleful look, a final clasp of hands. Edward had with him
three horses—a pack horse, a horse that was to be a gift for the Mistress of
Dragons, and a horse for Draconas.
“Gunderson
told me that you arrived in the kingdom on foot,” said Edward, handing over the
reins to a less-than-enthusiastic Draconas. “Accept this with my gratitude for
all you have done.”
“I
haven’t done anything yet,” Draconas pointed out, eyeing the horse, who eyed
him back.
Draconas
did not like to ride. With his dragon-gifted strength and endurance (far beyond
that of normal humans), he had no need. He could run long stretches at a time,
covering as many miles in a day as a horse, without stopping to rest. That was
one reason.
There
was yet another.
Animals
and Draconas did not get along. Some beasts took fright and fled. Others
attacked him on sight. Most animals appeared perplexed. They didn’t know what
he was, but they knew what he wasn’t. He wasn’t human. Village dogs would
follow him for miles, sniffing at his heels and whining. There had once been a
cat, a small tortoiseshell, who sat in front of him for hours, her head cocked
to one side, her golden eyes staring and staring.
He
had to be especially careful with horses, who would flatten back their ears,
snort, stamp, and roll their eyes at his approach. Once he was near, however,
he could usually soothe them with his voice and firm touch, so that they would
permit him to mount, as he did with the king’s horse. The filly was restless
and edgy, however, constantly swiveling her head to regard him with deep
suspicion.
“I’ve
never seen Falderal act like this,” Edward said. “Perhaps there’s a burr under
her saddle.”
Draconas
could have told the king that it was not the burr under the saddle that was
bothering the horse, just the dragon atop it. Since he could not very well say
that, he dismounted and was starting to remove the saddle to check, when he
heard hoofbeats.
The
day was incredibly quiet. Animals had gone to ground for fear of the dragon;
the birds hid fearfully in the trees, their songs silenced. Even thieves and
brigands had fled the kingdom, or so Edward said. Draconas’s acute hearing
picked up rhythmic pounding behind them, pounding that continued on for a bit,
then suddenly ceased.
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
their prayers and their blessing. The knights gave him this and a rousing
cheer.
Having
no fear now that the king would change his mind—or have it changed for
him—Draconas went to bed. Edward and his wife left the hall early that night,
as well. He was probably with Ermintrude right now, doing his best to reassure
her that he would return to her safe and sound.
“I
wonder,” said Draconas to himself, with some amusement, as he stretched out on
the straw-stuffed mattress, “if Edward will tell his wife about the beautiful
face in the topaz? I’ll wager he keeps that to himself.”
6
THE
KING MANAGED TO ESCAPE THE PALACE AND THE city with a minimum of fanfare, much
less than Draconas had expected.
Dawn
had yet to break when Edward mounted his horse for the journey. A priest was
present to bless and anoint the king. His family was there, Ermintrude with a
brave, supportive smile and anxious, troubled eyes; Prince Wilhelm bitterly
disappointed that he couldn’t go. The knights gathered, and so did many
townsfolk, for the rumor of the king’s departure had spread like dragon fire, as
one wag said. No one cheered, for this was a sacred pilgrimage. Many murmured
blessings as their king rode past. Draconas was not present. He had arranged to
meet the king on the road outside the walls. The less notice he brought to
himself, the better.
Gunderson
rode with His Majesty as far as the city walls, where he turned his king over
to Draconas with a baleful look, a final clasp of hands. Edward had with him
three horses—a pack horse, a horse that was to be a gift for the Mistress of
Dragons, and a horse for Draconas.
“Gunderson
told me that you arrived in the kingdom on foot,” said Edward, handing over the
reins to a less-than-enthusiastic Draconas. “Accept this with my gratitude for
all you have done.”
“I
haven’t done anything yet,” Draconas pointed out, eyeing the horse, who eyed
him back.
Draconas
did not like to ride. With his dragon-gifted strength and endurance (far beyond
that of normal humans), he had no need. He could run long stretches at a time,
covering as many miles in a day as a horse, without stopping to rest. That was
one reason.
There
was yet another.
Animals
and Draconas did not get along. Some beasts took fright and fled. Others
attacked him on sight. Most animals appeared perplexed. They didn’t know what
he was, but they knew what he wasn’t. He wasn’t human. Village dogs would
follow him for miles, sniffing at his heels and whining. There had once been a
cat, a small tortoiseshell, who sat in front of him for hours, her head cocked
to one side, her golden eyes staring and staring.
He
had to be especially careful with horses, who would flatten back their ears,
snort, stamp, and roll their eyes at his approach. Once he was near, however,
he could usually soothe them with his voice and firm touch, so that they would
permit him to mount, as he did with the king’s horse. The filly was restless
and edgy, however, constantly swiveling her head to regard him with deep
suspicion.
“I’ve
never seen Falderal act like this,” Edward said. “Perhaps there’s a burr under
her saddle.”
Draconas
could have told the king that it was not the burr under the saddle that was
bothering the horse, just the dragon atop it. Since he could not very well say
that, he dismounted and was starting to remove the saddle to check, when he
heard hoofbeats.
The
day was incredibly quiet. Animals had gone to ground for fear of the dragon;
the birds hid fearfully in the trees, their songs silenced. Even thieves and
brigands had fled the kingdom, or so Edward said. Draconas’s acute hearing
picked up rhythmic pounding behind them, pounding that continued on for a bit,
then suddenly ceased.
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
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