Handbook for Dragon Slayers (26 page)

Parz rode up to us, a dazed expression on his face. “Sir Kunibert asked me to rejoin him as his squire,” he said.

Judith and I glanced at each other. “What did you say?” Judith asked.

“I said, ‘Not as long as some dragons are really princesses in disguise.'”

“Is he going to reconsider being a dragon slayer?”

“Noooo,” Parz said. “But he promised that he would leave Curschin alone.”

“But what are you going to do if you don't stay with Sir Kunibert?” I asked. “We would really miss you if you weren't across the river.”

“What if I were on
your
side of the river?”

Judith said, “You asked him? He said yes?”

I frowned. “Are you two keeping secrets from me again? Don't make me cross.”

Parz grinned. “I'm going to be Sir Hermannus's squire.” When I groaned, he said, “And you are absolutely not allowed to call him Horrible anymore!”

I put my hand over my mouth. “Wait. I don't call him that out loud, do I?”

“At least once,” Parz said.

“Lots more than that,” Judith said.

W
E CAMPED THAT NIGHT ON THE WAY BACK TO
Alder Brook, being too many to stay together at a guesthouse.

I had a hard time sleeping. Wyrm's Tongue flowed through my mind as though I'd never transformed back to human, and I lay very still, frightened that I might not be able to hold on to human form.

Then I heard my name, whispered so close and so intimately that I would have thought there was someone standing right beside me and breathing hot words into my ear.

I sat up, staring wildly around in the dim light of campfires that shone through the tent walls. Judith was on her side, wrapped in all the blankets and yet sprawling. Frau Dagmar had returned to Thorn Edge, and there were no other women in the tent with us.

“Tilda,” said the voice in my ear again, a dark, purring whisper.

I leaped out of bed. I grabbed for Joyeuse's silver dagger—all the horses' tack and armor had been recovered from Thorn Edge after I broke the siege.

“Come to the forest,” the voice thrummed.

“Who is it?” I whispered fiercely to the air. “What is this magic?”

Judith woke. “What's going on? Who are you talking to, Tilda?”

“Come now, or the Wild Hunt will come to you,” the voice continued.

And then a second voice, a voice I recognized too well, rasped, “You owe a debt to me, Mathilda of Alder Brook.”

The Hunter.

A spear of ice seemed to sink into my stomach, and fear clenched my bowels.

Judith said, “What—?” but I put my finger to my lips and tilted my head to the tent flap. I didn't want to speak, in case the voice could hear me, or hear the things I could hear.

Judith pulled the copper sword from the bed—she'd been sleeping with it—and she girded herself with the sword belt. We donned cloaks over our shifts, slid on our shoes, and went out into the snowy night. I was grateful for her silent trust.

We did not
try
to sneak away from camp and into the forest; it was just that no one was watching us.

The moon was a bruise-yellow thumbnail paring just above the horizon. It seemed the stars cast a brighter light. At least the snow reflected what light there was, and we were able to walk in the darkness without stumbling. Much.

We stole deeper into the forest. A quiet hoofstep tipped me off, and when we came around the corner to find Joyeuse and Durendal, Judith and I both heaved a sigh of relief.

But our sighs came too soon. The silent night was split by a thunderclap and a light as bright as two suns. Judith and I both shouted and clutched our ears, clenching our eyes shut, until the thunder died away and witch light overtook the world.

The baying of the hounds and the call of the horn followed quickly after.

Judith and I stood silent beside the horses, blades ready, waiting. I wished I had grabbed the silver sword and not the dagger. I wished that, like Judith, I had thought to sleep with a sword.

The Wild Hunt arrived.

The great bright-dark stallion and his helmeted, red-mawed rider led the way. I was not by any means relieved by the familiarity of this moment that I recognized from my nightmares.

I craned my head, looking for the golden horse with the iron bridle. The one I had failed to free.

The golden stallion had a rider. In golden armor identical to my silver armor.

Egin.

“Tilda,” he said with a smile. “I appreciate you answering my summons.”

“Please tell me you have some reason for this summons other than petty revenge,” Judith said.

“Hardly petty,” Egin said, drawing the golden dagger at his waist.

I couldn't even figure out what my emotions were well enough to mask them. I asked the first question that dashed into my head. “Did you get it?” I asked. “Did you get immortality?”

The red-mawed rider drew closer and answered for him. “Yes. This one has been granted immortality.”

Egin's grin was triumphant and ugly as he swung one leg over the golden stallion's back.

“For as long as he rides,” the red-mawed rider said in her rough, whispering voice.

Egin's grin faded, even as his feet headed for the ground. It seemed he had one second of perfect realization of the terms of his immortality before his body fell into dust.

Judith screamed.

“Why?” I asked the Hunter.

“No gift which is forced to be given ever truly belongs to the receiver,” the Hunter said. Her great horse snorted and stomped. “I know you have read the same sworn book as Egin, Mathilda of Alder Brook. Do not try to summon the Hunt, or you will receive a similar gift.”

“Do
not
worry about that,” I said.

She turned her burning face to our horses. “Cuprum and Argentum,” she said. “They stayed with you.”

I bit my lip, waiting for my judgment. Or punishment. Or whatever was coming.

“Finish it, mortal child. Free all three, and the debt between us will be repaid.”

“It will? I thought the debt was owed for freeing Joyeuse and Durendal—I mean, Argentum and Cuprum.”

“I speak now of the debt I owe to you. Egin would not have climbed down from Aurum for anything less than your murder. I am pleased he is gone. The debt I owe you now is as great as the loss of the Elysian horses.”

I stared at her blankly, frozen, trying to understand her words. Judith understood more quickly than I, I confess; she walked over to the golden stallion, reached up, and pulled off the iron bridle.

“Yes,” the Hunter said. “Judith, daughter of Aleidis, is your servant. That will discharge the debt just as well.”

She gestured, and her huntsman sounded his bone-chilling horn. The Hunt departed, leaving the golden stallion behind.

In the sudden silence that fell, Judith whispered, “Did she call them Elysian horses? What's that mean?”

“The place in the Underworld where the heroes go to live—the Elysian Fields. I'm not surprised to find they have such wonderful horses there.” I stared at them.

The golden stallion lowered his nose to Judith's hair and whuffled. I couldn't help but grin, albeit sadly.

“Now that they're all free, maybe they'll go back to the Underworld,” I said wistfully.

“Ugh,” said Judith. “Stop being so depressing. Look, these horses are immortal, probably. What's a few years spent with some human beings before they go back to wherever they're from?
I
don't think they're going to leave us.”

As if to agree with her, Joyeuse whickered. The other horses followed suit.

“Will you stay?” I whispered to Joyeuse. She poked her head over my shoulder and chewed thoughtfully on the edge of my chemise.

I took that to be a yes.

I
N THE MORNING, WE
pretended we did not know where the third metal horse had come from, to avoid lectures about maybe not running off in the middle of the night to confront ancient and mystical forces.

Instead, we just expressed astonishment along with everyone else.

“What's his name going to be?” Parz asked me and Judith.

I glanced at Judith, and she nodded.

“We think you should choose,” I said.

Parz's eyes lit as bright as the moonstones that dotted the golden saddle. “I have the perfect name,” he said. “You're going to love it. Curtana.”

We must have looked puzzled, because Parz repeated himself. “
Curtana
,” he said significantly. “You know how Joyeuse and Durendal were forged from the same steel—well there was a third companion sword, Curtana, which belonged to Ogier the Dane—” He stopped when he realized we were staring at him blankly.

“What?” I said politely.

“Ogier fought Charlemagne for seven years, until the Saracens came, and then he fought by Charlemagne's side.” When this failed to excite us or jog our memories, he added, “Ogier killed a
giant
with Curtana.”

“All right then,” I said, and patted the golden horse's neck. “How do you feel about the name Curtana, my dear?”

The horse did not seem to object.

W
HEN WE FINALLY RODE INTO
A
LDER
B
ROOK ON
Christmas Day, it seemed both smaller and grander than I remembered. When people cheered our arrival, I felt both smaller and grander than I remembered, too.

Parz rode Curtana closer to Joyeuse during our arrival. “Look
happy
,” he said in a low voice.

“What?”

“You're doing that thing you do, when you feel too much and your face just freezes into place. We who know you well enough understand that, but it's hard for people who don't.”

“I don't know how to
look
happy,” I said, frustrated. “They'll see through it if I force myself to smile. I'm so ashamed, Parz, that they cheer me for returning after I tried to run away.”

Judith was giving us a concerned look, but Parz waved her off. “Tilda, I understand that you have not always felt as welcome and loved here as you would want, but I wonder if you have ignored some of the love that is truly here. It would be easier for people to love you if they could see that you loved them, too.”

I looked at him with surprise.

He blushed, ducking his head and fingering his old scar. “What? I may not be a prince, but my family has ruled Hare Hedge since Charlemagne. I understand
some
things.”

Ivo had disappeared by the time we returned; he'd seen the handwriting on the wall. But Sir Hermannus sent the marshal after him and had him dragged back for justice.

It was hard for me to agree to punish Ivo; I was too aware of my own guilt for such punishment to sit well. Plus, compared to Sir Egin, Ivo was just a usurper with no sense, not an evil murderer. Really, Ivo seemed fairly benign. But Horrible was being Horrible again, and insisted that sitting judgment on Ivo was a task for my mother, not me.

“Who is the ruler here?” I asked.

He blinked at me blandly. “Until you come of age, it's your mother, but—Princess. I understand your feelings. But learn from this. Egin's crimes are like the sun, and Ivo's are the moon. Do not think, because the sun is so bright, that the moon does not also cast light enough to make shadows.”

I sighed. It was hard to hate Horrible when he wasn't wrong.

J
UDITH AND
I
WERE
preparing for bed when I burst out, “How can you stand it?”

Judith froze in the midst of rubbing oil into her hands and looked around. “Stand what?”

“Being here, with me, now, knowing what you know about me, when they're all cheering my return. . . .”

Judith went back to rubbing her hands. “Oh, Tilda,” she said, as though tired of the whole conversation.

“Fine, fine; you want to keep the secret that I ran away? I can't deny that it's easier for me.”

“Easier for all of us,” Judith said.

“In the short run or the long run, though?”

She took a deep breath, throwing back the covers to our bed. “It's like the story of the prodigal son from the Gospels.”

I flinched, stung that Judith would compare me to the younger son of the story, who wastes his inheritance on wild living.

“You're saying I don't deserve this forgiveness—this mercy?”

“Oh, that's not what I mean!” Judith said. “For one thing, mercy isn't earned. Otherwise it wouldn't be mercy. I don't think you're the prodigal son, Tilda. But—maybe Alder Brook is like the father in the story. It's just . . . glad you're back. There's no need to make things harder for you.”

I bit my lip, thinking how much I owed Judith.

“Thank you,” I said, watching as she removed warming bricks from our bed with long-handled tongs.

“For what?”

“For rescuing me.”

Her mouth quirked. She looked up, her blue-green eyes bright and laughing. “Which time?”

W
HEN MY MOTHER RETURNED
home several days later, our reunion was tender at first. I was terribly relieved to have her back, healthy and whole.

On her second day back, she brought Judith in to join my daily lessons on the fine points of running a castle. “That girl is going to marry a lord someday,” my mother told me. “Or run an abbey. Service is not for her, either way.”

Judith hated it. “It's boring, being a lady without a manor,” she said. “It makes me want to run off and become a dragon slayer again.” It made the skin over my spine itch, thinking about dragon slayers. My unease must have shown on my face, because Judith apologized. “Sorry. I mean, dragon
protector
, of course.”

In the days since my return to Alder Brook but before my mother came back, I had fallen into the habit of getting up early and working on my book before appearing in the great hall. And I had instructed Sir Hermannus and Judith to allow no one to disturb me during that brief time.