Handbook for Dragon Slayers (20 page)

I forced my eyes open, surprised for a moment to realize I was on the back of a horse in the middle of a river. I couldn't believe I'd asked Joyeuse to do this. I couldn't believe how cold I was, and that I still managed to breathe.

The motion of Joyeuse's swimming faltered. I inhaled sharply and braced myself, afraid that something had happened to her—there was a jolt—then she gained her footing and lifted us out of the river.

Cold water sheeted from us as she picked her way from shallows to shore. She ran up the steep slopes of the right bank of the Rhine, into dense forest and far from the eyes of our enemy.

I lost track of everything then, I confess. I slumped forward onto Joyeuse's neck, curled around the
Handbook
, huddling close to the horse for warmth, trying to make myself as compact as possible. I didn't think that Sir Egin would be able to get to a ferryboat fast enough to pose an immediate threat to us, and I didn't think he'd bother to pursue Father Ripertus and Durendal. But I also wasn't really thinking at all.
Away
, was my impulse.
Away. Fast
.

I don't know how long I shivered in a ball on Joyeuse's back, but I'm sure the mare's heat was the only thing that kept me alive.

I
T WAS HARD TO KEEP MY EYES OPEN
. F
ORESTS PASSED
, and vineyards; then Joyeuse climbed a rocky slope.

It was dark.

She stopped.

I fell to the ground like a sack of turnips.

Sleep.

I
CAME AWAKE SLOWLY
, with my back pressed against breathing warmth. I didn't want to open my eyes just yet. Even though the bed beneath me was hard, and my nose was cold, I felt safe.

I was lying on my side, my arms crossed in front of me to hold in heat. A dream had followed me out of sleep: I had been walking down to the river at Alder Brook. But when I had turned to look for Judith to make sure she followed me, my father had been there. And instead of getting into a boat, I had stopped with my father and sat down with him in the sun on the dock.

“You got too cold,” he said. “Let me help you.”

And even though he was dead and I was angry with him forever, I allowed him to put his arms around me and hold me close.

I held still, held my eyes shut, trying to recapture the dream.

But the dream slipped away, crowded out by memories of running away from Sir Egin's castle, our flight through the forest, and the swim across the river.

Sleep. I had been so tired, so cold. I was warmer now, but still tired.

I heard something then—a scraping noise, of something long and heavy being dragged across loose rock.

I opened my eyes.

I was in a cavern; a waning moon, shrouded in snow-bearing clouds, was high in the sky, from what I could see beyond the cave's broad mouth. I sat up, noting that I was surrounded by silver legs. Joyeuse.

She was sleeping on her side, snoring away like she didn't have a care in the world. Much the way I never saw her eat unless I brought her a special treat, I'd never before caught her sleeping. When we'd worried about the horses' health, Parz had given us a lesson in horse sleep. Horses doze standing up for a few hours a day, snatching time here and there, but they like to have a good, restful, lying-down sleep, just like humans, yet for much shorter times.

Well, normal horses do. Our horses never ate, rarely slept . . . and thankfully, never pooped.

And they also rescued maidens from evil knights. And swam across unbridgeable rivers in winter.

No wonder Joyeuse was tired.

I wondered what had happened to Father Ripertus and Durendal. Had they evaded Sir Egin? Were they on their way to Alder Brook? It was a three-day journey from here, at least, and who knew what Ripertus would find once he got there. What if Ivo put him in the stocks? In the dungeon?

I worked for long moments to stand. My legs didn't want to lift me, and of course, only one of my feet was fully cooperative. I staggered forward, lurching into the cave wall ahead of me, but at least it was something to cling to. I had no crutch here. I wasn't sure where I'd lost it.

There came the noise of a brief scramble, and then Joyeuse was nuzzling my hair and nickering softly.

“Ow! Horse, don't eat my hair!” I said fondly, and reached back to pet her soft cheek. I turned. “I missed you, too.”

She sniffed me over from head to foot, then seemed to be satisfied by what she found. She shook herself enthusiastically, joyfully, and practically pranced out of the cave.

“Such an apt name I gave you,” I said, even as a full-body shudder overtook me. I glanced down to find gooseflesh all over my arms. I was still cold. But my cheeks felt hot, like they were flushed. Aftereffects of my time in the Rhine, I decided. Naturally, Joyeuse had no such problems.

“It's going to be a long, cold night,” I said, shaking out my still-damp skirts. I clutched myself and peered out of the cave. “We have to have a fire. You can make fire for me, right, Joyeuse?”

Joyeuse made a nervous noise then. She looked past me, deeper into the cave.

“What?” I asked, looking but not seeing anything.

I convinced Joyeuse to accompany me outside, and I used her for balance as I hunted around in cloud-blurred moonlight for leaves and bracken to make a bed, and for firewood. My hands shook with cold and fatigue, but I bit my lip, stubbornly refusing to stop and lie down.

Joyeuse didn't make any more noises. I kept foraging, also looking for food as I went. The best things I found were pine needles, some wintergreen berries and leaves, and a windfall of half-wormy hazelnuts. It was not a great meal.

Back in the cave, I made a rough hearth from scattered stones, then placed the firewood at the center. I mounded some leaves and bracken around the wood, then mounded more leaves and bracken away from the fire to burrow into. I couldn't hope for Joyeuse to rejoin me on the ground. Parz had explained that horses cannot remain lying down for long periods of time; they like a good snooze, but if they stay down too long, they die. But with no blankets, and my clothes still damp, I
had
to have another source of warmth or
I
might die.

“Joy,” I whispered, and she trotted over. “Joyeuse, my feet are like ice. Strike me some sparks, friend.”

She pawed at the rocks of the cave, once, twice, three times. A shower of sparks landed in my hearth, and I exhaled gratefully. I stoked up the fire as best I could, but I was exhausted. I don't know how long I closed my eyes, but when I woke again, a large fire was roaring in my makeshift hearth.

“Thanks,” I whispered. I scarfed down the wintergreen berries, huddled in my nearly dry cloak, clutching my knees and facing the fire. I let the heat bake my skin tight, I was so desperate for warmth, while I picked over the wormy hazelnuts. After that, I chewed wintergreen leaves and pine needles, while my stomach grumbled about the meal.

I was going to be thirsty when I woke, but that was tomorrow's problem. I was overwhelmed by fatigue, had to lie down.

I fell immediately to sleep.

I
WOKE NEXT TO
daylight obscured by flying snow. All was white beyond the cave entrance. A few flakes spun in on errant breezes, but for the most part, the cave mouth was positioned advantageously and did not sit in the path of the prevailing winds.

This wasn't just a snowfall. This was a whiteout. Winter had truly arrived. I tried to think what day it was. It was about a week until Christmas, wasn't it? Maybe?

I smacked dry lips together and turned to make a silly comment to Joyeuse about finding the perfect cave, even if we didn't have any water and must be out of firewood—

That's when I noticed three things: there was a stack of firewood beside my improvised hearth; the oilcloth-wrapped
Handbook
lay near the cave entrance; and Joyeuse was gone.

I tried to get to my feet, but the world faded in color and then went away altogether. I slid back to my knees.

Then the rushing, popping blaze caught my eye again. Where had the firewood come from? And who had built up the fire? Had I gone outside in my fevered state in the middle of a dark night to gather more wood? I didn't feel exactly in my right mind now, but I would have been even more fever mad to have done that.

That, perhaps, was when I started to truly worry about myself. I was ill—very ill. Thirsty, too.

So ill and thirsty that I was hallucinating. For deep in the shadows of the cave, I could make out the shape of a beast. When the fire cast its light far enough, I could even see the gleam of shining scales.

A dragon.

“
W
H-WHAT DO YOU WANT
?” I
CALLED IN A TREMBLING
voice to the shadowed dragon. Surely I was imagining it. Surely. It had to be a configuration of rocks and light, coupled with fever.

But then the bulk shifted, and a tail that had once been a shadow unwound, and a dragon slid forward, half into the light.

It opened its mouth, and I bit back a scream, yanking a burning stick from the fire to brandish before me. This dragon was not as big as the mother dragon at Wood Ash, nor as small as the first one we'd seen. This dragon was about the size of Joyeuse, wherever she had gone.

The dragon slid from the darkness, extending a silver goblet in its claws. I raised my torch, half in protection, half to see it better. It placed the goblet on the cave floor and backed away.

I dropped the brand in the fire, straightened my spine, and took up the cup. It was filled to the brim with cool water.

The water tasted of rock and secrets.

I drank it all.

From the dragon's mouth came a hissing, popping noise, followed by a high-pitched groan and a low growl. I threw up my arms, thinking the dragon was about to attack with flame, but then—

“
Fraizola
,” the dragon said.

“Are you—are you
talking
to me?” I asked, lowering my arms. “You—you spoke! You
spoke
?”

“
Fraizola
,” the dragon said again.

A barber once visited Alder Brook with a pet raven he'd taught a few human words, but it was really nothing like
this
. Of course, birds sang in their own language, right? So was this just dragon language? In the stories, the few dragons who spoke all knew human speech. But maybe that was because they were always talking to saints, who had power beyond regular folks.

“Are you asking me to leave?” I asked, levering myself to my knees, ignoring the way movement made my vision and hearing fade out, then got to my feet. I felt myself falling—cast a blind hand out toward the cave wall for support—missed it—and toppled backward. Thankfully, I landed on my cloak, and not in the fire.

I lay there panting, waiting for my vision to fill back in with color and shape, and for the empty ringing to leave my ears.

When I could see again, the dragon's face was looming above my own. We stared at each other. The dragon's eyes were as deep and dark as a forest pool lined with last autumn's leaves. Around its neck, the dragon wore a tiny gold key on a golden chain, and nestled in the midst of its—her?—head spikes was a golden circlet.

“I'm sorry,” I said weakly. “I'm trying to leave.”

The dragon reached forward with a green paw as big as my face and put a claw on the horsetail necklace I yet wore. I swallowed against a hard lump of fear in my throat.

“You like my necklace?” I whispered. “I, uh . . . I like your circlet.”

I had not seen so many dragons yet in my time as to find them unastonishing, but I did not know, from any of my research for the
Handbook
, that dragons wore gold. They hoarded treasure, maybe even slept on it . . . but did they
wear
it?

The dragon moved her touch from my necklace to my forehead. I held my breath, waiting for pain, for death, for claws to pierce my skull. But it was just a quick touch—light, diagnostic, like when my mother used to touch my forehead to see if I had a fever.

“
Fraizola
,” I breathed in the dragon's language. I had no notion what it meant, but I used it like a prayer.

“
Fraizola ix feth abiza
.” She stared at me a long moment, then backed away to busy herself with my fire, using one long, dexterous claw to stir the fire's embers.

The dragon's every movement was slow and deliberate, as though she was trying not to frighten me. She added wood to the fire and waited patiently for the log to catch. I lay still and studied her. This dragon was every shade of green, from spring leaf to winter pine. Each scale caught the light like a tiny sculpted emerald.

When the log was too long in igniting—it was dark and swollen with water; even I could see that—the dragon arched her neck and hissed a quick spout of flame over the log. With a series of snaps and pops, the wood caught fire.

“Well, thank you,” I said, incapable of any other response.

The dragon ducked her head shyly.

And then, because I was truly ill and more than a little convinced that the dragon was nothing more than a fever dream, I closed my eyes. Within moments, I was asleep once more.

I
DID NOT WAKE
again until Joyeuse screamed.

My first waking sight was Joyeuse's belly as she leaped over me. She landed safely, far beyond my feet.

I sat bolt upright. Joyeuse had squared off against the dragon at the far end of the cave. The dragon was still, unspeaking, as Joyeuse issued another battle cry.

“Joyeuse, no!” I cried, struggling to my feet. I wasn't immediately overwhelmed by dizziness, but I slipped anyway. I caught myself on the cave wall, scraping my arm.

Joyeuse took a step back to me but stayed in a defensive pose. The dragon didn't move. I could barely make out her colors in the darkness; only the reflected gleam of her eyes and her gold let me know where she stood.