upstairs and let him pluck her flower. And there you
are.”
Any knight could make a knight.
When he was squiring for Ser Arlan, Dunk had heard tales of other men who’d
bought their knighthood with a kindness or a threat or a bag of silver coins,
but never with a sister’s maiden-head. “That’s just a tale,” he heard himself
say. “That can’t be true.”
“I had it from Kirby Pimm, who
claims that he was there, a witness to the knighting.” Ser Uthor shrugged.
“Hero’s son, whore’s son, or both, when he faces me, the boy will fall.”
“The lots may give you some other
foe.”
Ser Uthor arched an eyebrow.
“Cosgrove is as fond of silver as the next man. I promise you, I shall draw the
Old Ox next, then the boy. Would you care to wager on it?”
“I have nothing left to wager.”
Dunk did not know what distressed him more: learning that the Snail was bribing
the master of the games to get the pairings he desired, or realizing the man
had desired him. He stood. “I have said what I came to say. My horse and sword
are yours, and all my armor.”
The Snail steepled his fingers.
“Perhaps there is another way. You are not entirely without your talents. You
fall most splendidly.” Ser Uthor’s lips glistened when he smiled. “I will lend
you back your steed and armor ... if you enter my service.”
“Service?” Dunk did not
understand. “What sort of service? You have a squire. Do you need to garrison
some castle?”
“I might, if I had a castle. If
truth be told, I prefer a good inn. Castles cost too much to maintain. No, the
service I would require of you is that you face me in a few more tourneys.
Twenty should suffice. You can do that, surely? You shall have a tenth part of
my winnings, and in future I promise to strike that broad chest of yours and
not your head.”
“You’d have me travel about with
you to be unhorsed?”
Ser Uthor chuckled pleasantly.
“You are such a strapping specimen, no one will ever believe that some
round-shouldered old man with a snail on his shield could put you down.” He
rubbed his chin. “You need a new device yourself, by the way. That hanged man
is grim enough, I grant you, but ... well, he’s hanging, isn’t he? Dead
and defeated. Something fiercer is required. A bear’s head, mayhaps. A skull.
Or three skulls, better still. A babe impaled upon a spear. And you should let
your hair grow long and cultivate a beard, the wilder and more unkempt the
better. There are more of these little tourneys than you know. With the odds
I’d get, we’d win enough to buy a dragon’s egg before—”
“--it got about that I was
hopeless? I lost my armor, not my honor. You’ll have Thunder and my arms, no
more.”
“Pride ill becomes a beggar, ser.
You could do much worse than ride with me. At the least I could teach you a
thing or two of jousting, about which you are pig ignorant at present.”
“You’d make a fool of me.”
“I did that earlier. And even
fools must eat.”
Dunk wanted to smash that smile
off his face. “I see why you have a snail on your shield. You are no true
knight.”
“Spoken like a true oaf. Are you
so blind you cannot see your danger?” Ser Uthor put his cup aside. “Do you know
why I struck you where I did, ser?” He got to his feet and touched Dunk lightly
in the center of his chest. “A coronal placed here would have put you on the
ground just as quickly. The head is a smaller target, the blow is more difficult
to land ... though more likely to be mortal. I was paid to strike you there.”
“Paid?” Dunk backed away from
him. “What do you mean?”
“Six dragons tendered in advance,
four more promised when you died. A paltry sum for a knight’s life. Be thankful
for that. Had more been offered, I might have put the point of my lance through
your eye slit.”
Dunk felt dizzy again. Why
would someone pay to have me killed? I’ve done no
are.”
Any knight could make a knight.
When he was squiring for Ser Arlan, Dunk had heard tales of other men who’d
bought their knighthood with a kindness or a threat or a bag of silver coins,
but never with a sister’s maiden-head. “That’s just a tale,” he heard himself
say. “That can’t be true.”
“I had it from Kirby Pimm, who
claims that he was there, a witness to the knighting.” Ser Uthor shrugged.
“Hero’s son, whore’s son, or both, when he faces me, the boy will fall.”
“The lots may give you some other
foe.”
Ser Uthor arched an eyebrow.
“Cosgrove is as fond of silver as the next man. I promise you, I shall draw the
Old Ox next, then the boy. Would you care to wager on it?”
“I have nothing left to wager.”
Dunk did not know what distressed him more: learning that the Snail was bribing
the master of the games to get the pairings he desired, or realizing the man
had desired him. He stood. “I have said what I came to say. My horse and sword
are yours, and all my armor.”
The Snail steepled his fingers.
“Perhaps there is another way. You are not entirely without your talents. You
fall most splendidly.” Ser Uthor’s lips glistened when he smiled. “I will lend
you back your steed and armor ... if you enter my service.”
“Service?” Dunk did not
understand. “What sort of service? You have a squire. Do you need to garrison
some castle?”
“I might, if I had a castle. If
truth be told, I prefer a good inn. Castles cost too much to maintain. No, the
service I would require of you is that you face me in a few more tourneys.
Twenty should suffice. You can do that, surely? You shall have a tenth part of
my winnings, and in future I promise to strike that broad chest of yours and
not your head.”
“You’d have me travel about with
you to be unhorsed?”
Ser Uthor chuckled pleasantly.
“You are such a strapping specimen, no one will ever believe that some
round-shouldered old man with a snail on his shield could put you down.” He
rubbed his chin. “You need a new device yourself, by the way. That hanged man
is grim enough, I grant you, but ... well, he’s hanging, isn’t he? Dead
and defeated. Something fiercer is required. A bear’s head, mayhaps. A skull.
Or three skulls, better still. A babe impaled upon a spear. And you should let
your hair grow long and cultivate a beard, the wilder and more unkempt the
better. There are more of these little tourneys than you know. With the odds
I’d get, we’d win enough to buy a dragon’s egg before—”
“--it got about that I was
hopeless? I lost my armor, not my honor. You’ll have Thunder and my arms, no
more.”
“Pride ill becomes a beggar, ser.
You could do much worse than ride with me. At the least I could teach you a
thing or two of jousting, about which you are pig ignorant at present.”
“You’d make a fool of me.”
“I did that earlier. And even
fools must eat.”
Dunk wanted to smash that smile
off his face. “I see why you have a snail on your shield. You are no true
knight.”
“Spoken like a true oaf. Are you
so blind you cannot see your danger?” Ser Uthor put his cup aside. “Do you know
why I struck you where I did, ser?” He got to his feet and touched Dunk lightly
in the center of his chest. “A coronal placed here would have put you on the
ground just as quickly. The head is a smaller target, the blow is more difficult
to land ... though more likely to be mortal. I was paid to strike you there.”
“Paid?” Dunk backed away from
him. “What do you mean?”
“Six dragons tendered in advance,
four more promised when you died. A paltry sum for a knight’s life. Be thankful
for that. Had more been offered, I might have put the point of my lance through
your eye slit.”
Dunk felt dizzy again. Why
would someone pay to have me killed? I’ve done no
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