One Good Knight (21 page)

No answer.

“I was wondering—I mean, we could easily have been picked off last night—”

“Because I was stupid,” Gina growled. “I let it get right on top of us. And, yes, it could have grabbed us at any point.”

“But what if it didn't want to?” she asked. “And I suppose it must have used magic to sneak up on us, but all it did was talk.”

“Use magic? A dragon
is
magic, in the same way a Unicorn is,” Gina replied, each word sounding as if it had been bitten off. “But it was my—”

She paused, as if only now taking in the rest of Andie's words. “What do you mean, it didn't want to?”

Before Andie got a chance to answer, they had rounded the bend, and—

There was the dragon.

Tucked into the side of the mountain was an ancient fortification, now ruins, at least in part, but probably livable with work. There was a wall about it, and a gatehouse, which
was
thoroughly ruined, all of the same gray-brown stone. The dragon was sitting there, atop the gatehouse, looking down at them.

Part of Andie just stared, feeling like a mouse
looking up at a ferret. But another part of her was taking all of it in—

First, the dragon. He wasn't a dull charcoal gray, as she had assumed. His scales were actually rather translucent, and reflected in part the colors of things that were near him. Where a half-squashed bush protruded from under his flank, for instance, there was a faint tinge of reflected olive-green to the scales. He had twin frills, one at the hinge of each jaw, that looked something like ears and fanned forward and back as he stared at them. His eyes were a brilliant ruby color, and his head was crowned by twin twisting horns.

But it was his posture that was more than a little startling. Because—because it didn't look to her as if he was poised for an attack. His head was held alertly up on his long neck, his fore-claws folded neatly one over the other, and he reclined, rather than crouched.

Then again, that was probably because he wasn't alone.

He had a bodyguard.

Between him and Gina, who had reflexively drawn her sword at the sight of him, stood a phalanx of young women, all of them armed in a motley assortment of weapons and armor, most of it looking at least as old as the building behind them, though in slightly better repair. Most of them held their weapons as if they had no idea what to do with them—which was probably the case. At least one of them had a bowl-helm on sideways.

But they all looked angry, and from what Andie
could see, perfectly ready to defend the “monster” with their lives.

The one closest, who appeared to be in charge, also looked as if she had at least some idea of how a weapon should be held and armor donned. She brandished her spear with determination; she was kitted out in gear that mostly matched and mostly was strapped on correctly, she had a full helmet that even retained part of its old horsehair crest, and had kilted her skirts up above her knees, the better to move.

“Go back where you came from and leave Adamant alone!” she shouted.

Something about that voice… The accent was cultured, the voice one she had heard before. But where?

And a moment later, it hit her. She would have recognized it sooner if she hadn't expected that the owner of the voice was dead months ago—one of the few maidens of wealthy or noble houses to be sent to feed the dragon. Andie didn't know her well, but she had seen the young woman enough to recognize her voice.

The voice of one who was supposed to have been dragon-food. Then again, wasn't she herself supposed to be dead?

“Kyria?” she gasped.

“Princess Andromeda?” Kyria gasped back. “What are
you
doing here?”

“I ought to be asking you the same question,” Andie replied, as the other girls looked startled and caught off guard. The points of weapons began to droop, and some of them pulled off helms and hel
mets. Andie thought she could recognize, at least vaguely, some of the faces.

She did a rough head count, and came up with about the right number. These were the virgins that the dragon supposedly had carried off and devoured. All very much alive, looking healthy and well, and clearly ready to defend the monster that had supposedly devoured them.

Now it was Gina's turn to look stunned. The point of her sword dropped, and she stared at Kyria, dumbfounded.

“Ah,” the dragon said, sounding pleased. “So you do know each other! I had hoped so, it does make things easier.”

They might have continued standing there in the hot sun, dust-covered and bewildered, except that something else interrupted their tableau of shock. The sound of a minor scuffle behind Gina and Andie—the sound of talons on rock, cursing in a deep and echoing voice, and then a shriek. They turned to see a smaller, darker dragon behind them. This one was greenish in color; its horns and frill were not as ornate as the other's. Its eyes were red also—and did not look at all fierce or intimidating despite the color.

It was holding a fox by the scruff of the little beast's neck. “You seem to have brought a spy, ladies,” the new dragon replied. “One wonders why—”

Gina sheathed her sword, pulled off her helm and looked the beast straight in the eyes. “It's not ours,” she said slowly. “And I think we all need to talk.”

“That,” said the larger dragon, “is
exactly
what I have been trying to tell you!”

 

“I can't begin to tell you how long I've been trying to find someone who would listen to me,” the big dragon said plaintively.

They had moved their discussion to a less-ruinous part of the fortification, a courtyard nicely shaded by the cliff behind it. The two dragons, with their captive, took up most of the center; the maidens distributed themselves around the periphery, claiming whatever seats they could find. As Andie and Gina took their places, Andie was looking around the courtyard and finding it inexpressibly sad. Why had this place been abandoned? It had been built well, before it had fallen into ruin. Horrible, really. Truly horrible. Had this once been a fortress guarding the road from the Wyrding Folk? That would at least account for its having been abandoned. The Wyrdings had no use for such things, but would not allow anyone else to occupy the place and threaten the road.

This was a courtyard not unlike some at the Palace, a colonnade surrounding an open space. But half the columns were broken, as was the roof they supported. No one had yet moved the rubble away. The maidens perched on mounts of broken stone or sections of columns.

The dragons were polite to a fault, making certain everyone had a seat, that the seats were comfortable,
or at least as comfortable as stone got, that everyone could see, could hear.

It was surreal. These were two giant carnivores of a species known for eating humans, acting like a pair of maiden aunts with unexpected visitors.

When everyone had finally settled in place, the larger of the two dragons took control of the situation by starting with introductions. “Greetings, Champion, Princess,” he said. The voice was deep and remarkably human-like for someone who didn't have lips. “I am Adamant, this is my brother Periapt, and I believe you know most of the ladies here.”

Well, yes and no. Yes, because she had branded their names and faces in her memory at the time of their sacrifices. No, they knew her only as a distant shadow standing behind her mother at audiences. And she really didn't know
them
—not even Kyria.

The fox had been confined in a wooden crate; the smaller dragon, Periapt, had brought it, as well. And as soon as everyone settled, the courtyard filled with the buzz of low-voiced conversation. The dragons sat on their haunches, looking gravely at the gathering. Finally when the initial chatter died down, the smaller dragon made a sound like clearing his throat and got instant silence.

“We need to begin at the beginning,” Periapt said. “And that is with my brother. And, we think, a lost scale.”

Adamant nodded. Had they learned such gestures from humans, or was a nod just universal in nature?
And despite the red glints visible, their eyes were—very human.

“We don't often lose scales,” he said gravely. “And most of the time when it happens, the thing just vanishes and if anyone finds it, they generally don't know what it is. A lost scale loses its color pretty quickly, so I suppose that people who find one generally think it's some kind of odd stone. But as youngsters we are warned that if Magicians get their hands on a lost scale they can work some real mischief with it. And I suppose that's what must have happened. All I knew is that one day I suddenly found myself flying here to Acadia, completely against my will. I tried fighting the compulsion, but I couldn't. As soon as I would go to sleep, I'd start flying here. Finally I had to give in, and Periapt came with me.”

“Couldn't let you go alone,” the small dragon murmured, and the siblings exchanged an affectionate glance.

It astonished Andie how quickly she was learning their body language. She
knew
the glance was affectionate, and not annoyed or merely questioning.

“Once I got here, the compulsion changed, and I started ravaging the countryside. That, I managed to fight a little. I kept it from making me hurt humans or do very much real damage.”

The nature of the dragons' faces made it difficult to read their expressions but Andie thought she heard a great deal of tension in the big one's voice.
Adamant? Yes, that was the right name. Another word for “diamond.”

Periapt looked away. Andie guessed that meant that Periapt was not at all sure that Adamant had been able to mitigate the damage nearly as much as Adamant thought he had. Remembering the dragon's attack near the Palace…well, it was true that it was only property damage but…

And probably a dragon would not consider the loss of a flock of sheep or a herd of cattle to be “too much damage”—but if you asked the shepherd or farmer in question you would get a very different answer.

Instead of adding to that, Periapt looked back to them. “You know that all dragons collect treasure of one sort or another, correct?” he asked, looking straight at Andie.

“That's The Tradition, of course,” she replied. “I don't know how you could possibly escape that particular compulsion.”

“Well, our family does that, too, of course,” he said. “But our treasure is a bit different. We're librarians.”

He held up his fore-claws and she saw that they had been blunted; looking closer, she saw that what was covering the talons were sheaths of some sort with blunt tips. Well, if they were librarians…they'd have to keep from damaging the books, wouldn't they?

“Librarians,” she said aloud, then grinned as she got it. “Good gods. You are Bookwyrms, aren't you?”

Gina stared at her a moment, then groaned as she got the pun. The Tradition loved puns.

“Yes, we are,” Periapt said proudly. “Very much so. Adamant is straight out of our maternal line of fighting dragons, but I'm a pure Bookwyrm from the tip of my snout to the tip of my tail. My library is cataloged and cross-cataloged and I have read every book in it at least once. I also collect all manner of information and I have created books of my own. Without the talon-sheath, a claw makes a fine pen, and I also have Bookwyrm magic to help me write human-size tomes.”

“Don't get me wrong, I like books, I like to collect them and I like people to tell me things, but I don't read much myself,” Adamant said, arching his neck and looking a little uncomfortable. “Besides, the pure Bookwyrms need someone to defend them, right? There are always nasty Magicians trying to steal things out of the hoard.”

“The library,” Periapt corrected him.

“Um, yes, the library.” Dragons couldn't shrug, but Adamant certainly was giving the impression of that gesture. “Anyway, the point is that Peri knows how to look things up, where to look, and has a pretty good hoa—uh—
library
of his own. So he knew how to look up what was happening to me.”

“I fairly quickly realized that someone in Acadia had decided that there was going to be a landscape-ravaging dragon wreaking havoc here, that he had probably gotten hold of one of Adam's scales and that it was only a matter of time before someone in the populace decided to start offering up virgins.” Periapt nodded wisely. “We still don't know who, or
for what purpose all of this is happening, but at least we knew what to predict in the short term, and I will get to the long term in a moment. The point is, that when the first virgin—”

“That's me—” said a sturdy-looking girl off to the left, raising her hand.

“—showed up tied to a stake, we knew what was going to happen and we worked very hard to keep him from—from doing anything socially unacceptable,” Periapt finished.

“Like eat her.”

Andie had to smother a chuckle at that. Adamant was clearly not long on tact. Periapt had tried to be diplomatic, and Adam had blundered right into what could have been an uncomfortable moment.

But the girl in question just laughed and the awkwardness passed.

For a moment Andie sobered. Because the way that Adam had so bluntly blurted “Like eat her,” reminded her that these were
dragons
after all, and there were as many “bad” dragons as “good” dragons. And, yes, if the compulsion had been strong enough, they would have eaten the maidens. They would have felt dreadful afterward, but—

But they
were
dragons. This was what dragons sometimes did.

She had to chuckle a second time, because after so short a time with them, the two were now “Peri” and “Adam” in her mind, and they already showed distinct personalities.

“Well,” Adam continued, “we pretty quickly figured out that as long as I carried off the sacrifice, I didn't have to do anything else to her. The thing was, the magic wouldn't let me let her go, at least not at first. So we had to bring her back here.”