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
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
Similar Books
