One Good Knight (29 page)

That the first place they should take was the lookout point, which Adam had thought to leave for last. But according to the strategist in whose book Peri had found this gem, taking the lookout point meant they would have a secure staging area and a place to fall back to that they could hold if the entire plan went sour.

This had seemed like a very good idea to Andie, and Adam and Gina had both agreed.

At the moment she and Peri were literally curled up together. He was coiled like a giant cat in the center of the library, and she was tucked in among his legs while they both read the book she was holding. Her back rested on his shoulder, and his neck was arched so that his head was down beside hers.

“I really enjoy reading Aldo Natharn's work,” she was saying wistfully. “He has a great turn of phrase.”

“He's very witty,” Peri agreed, sounding just as wistful. “I only wish there was more substance there.”

“Exactly. We must have read ten pages already, and while we've had quite a few chuckles, we haven't actually learned anything.” She sighed and closed the book as Peri nodded, and touched her shoulder affectionately with his muzzle.

“We'll have to put him aside as an entertaining gossip and chase some other hare,” Peri agreed. “But—”

Andie laughed and patted his nose. “I'll put him on the pile for later.”

She got up and moved over to a small pile of books isolated from the rest. These were volumes they had both found particularly entertaining. Not at all relevant, but so entertaining that they knew they were going to want to go back to them when all this had concluded.

She picked up another book from the stack, settled into the embrace of his coiled body, opened it at the beginning, and they both began to read.

This had to be the most curious situation in all of her life. Not that she had a great deal to compare it
to, of course, living, as she had, quite a sheltered existence. But if anyone had ever had a friend quite like Periapt, she had yet to read about it.

The most peculiar thing was the feeling, the conviction, that here was someone she had been looking for as a friend and companion her entire life.

When they were talking and she wasn't actually looking at him—in the dark, say, when they would go up to the top of the tower to rest their eyes and look at the stars—she never, ever even
thought
about the fact that he was a dragon. In fact, if she was reading a book with him and he would say something aloud, she would get a kind of shock to her system when she looked up and saw, not a person, but a huge, dusky-emerald dragon head.

The shock was getting worse, too, not better, every time she looked up and didn't see the studious young man she expected to see.

After the first two or three pages, it became obvious that there was going to be nothing in this volume that was at all useful to the would-be fighters. Just as she thought that, Peri's voice in her ear said virtually the same thing.

“Another edition of ‘Lives of the Rich and Famous and I'm Their Sycophant,'” Peri said in disgust. “At least the last one was amusing! This fellow is just a boot-licker.”

She sighed. “Sad but true.” She handed the book to Peri, who took it carefully between two blunted talons and placed it atop the “reject” pile. “My eyes
hurt,” she said plaintively, as he surveyed the stacks of books they hadn't read yet.

“Then by all means, we will save your eyes for a bit,” Peri said, with a chuckle that rumbled inside his chest. He put his head down along his folded forelegs and looked up at her with an amused expression.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked.

“That I've never known anyone it was easier to be—friends with,” she said, hesitating a moment over the “friend” part. Because it felt as if their relationship was unfolding into something a great deal warmer than mere friendship.

“It's odd, isn't it?” he responded. “Except for my brother, I've never been as comfortable around any dragon as I am around you. I don't quite know how to fathom it.”

“Then let's not,” she said instantly, not wanting to spoil anything. “All right?”

He laughed. “One can certainly analyze things until they are no longer enjoyable. I bow to your wisdom. I am just happy to enjoy your company.”

She felt warm and tingly in a pleasant sort of way as he looked down at her with those glowing dark-emerald eyes. Feeling greatly daring, she reached out and scratched the soft skin under his chin.

He sighed. “Oh, glory. That feels lovely. Don't stop doing that for the next thirty years or so. Take more time if you need it.”

She laughed, but kept scratching.

“I wish there was something I could do for you that felt as good,” he said, in a voice rich with content.

“You already are,” she said. “You're very comfortable to sit on.”

He laughed again, this time with a note of self-mockery. “I shall be sure to add that to my list of virtues. ‘Makes a comfortable chair.' I am sure the Great Dragon at the gates of Paradise will find that ample reason to let me in straightaway. And the rest of my clan will surely inscribe it on my memorial wall.”

She blinked. “Dragons believe in Paradise?” she said, surprised.

“Of course they do, silly goose,” Peri replied, with another affectionate brush of his nose on her shoulder. “And so do Centaurs and Nymphs, Unicorns and Dryads, Sylphs and Merfolk—really every intelligent creature.” He glanced over at the corner, where the fox was curled up on a flat cushion. “Even foxes, I suppose.”

“My Paradise has chickens in it,” the fox said meditatively. “Chickens as far as the eye can see. Chickens that are too fat to fly. And a pretty little vixen to share them with,” he added.

“There,” Peri said, with a chuckle. “Every creature that knows it is mortal has some hope for something good on the other side of death. And every vision of Paradise is different. And, I suppose, they can all be true.”

That idea just made her head spin, so she changed the subject. She recalled how he had said that except
for some siblings and mated pairs, dragons rarely spent any time together. “If you can't share the same territory, how can you be friends with other dragons?” she asked doubtfully.

“Oh, we can, just not in the same way that humans are,” he replied. “And to tell the truth, Adam and I are rather different in that regard. We like the company of other dragons, when we can get it, and that of other thinking creatures, too.”

“Does that include me?” asked the fox.

Peri regarded the little beast steadily. “Let's just say I haven't made up my mind and leave it go at that,” he said.

“Oh, you will,” the fox said cheerfully. “I grow on you. Before long you'll be counting yourself as one of my legion of admirers.”

Peri made a quiet gagging sound, and Andie giggled.

“To get back to the original subject, most dragons prefer to be friends at a distance. Occasionally meet where the edges of our territories join—that sort of thing. Chat, exchange news, perhaps play a round of the riddle game, then go our separate ways. Most dragons are rather hermit-like, but Adamant and I are different—we really
like
being around other creatures. That's why we stayed together after we were deemed to be adults. It just seemed too lonely otherwise.” He sounded wistful, and Andie kept scratching, softly under his chin. “At any rate, there is an exception to this, and that is the Conclave that is held every five years. All dragons on this continent
come together at Windhover Mountain in the Kingdom of Lavereine. The Godmother there is a particular friend of dragons, and she makes sure that everyone gets properly fed so that we don't make enemies while hunting the place dry.”

“What do you do there?” she asked, fascinated.

“Socialize, exchange news, play games, hold contests, show off children, tell tall tales, deal with any important issues that have cropped up regarding Dragonkind, find mates…” He chuckled. “Not necessarily in that order. All dragons on every continent have Conclaves every five years, always in the same safe place. Or at least, the Dragons of Light do. I don't know about the Dragons of Darkness.”

“Oh, they probably do,” said the fox. “Where else are they going to be able to complain about all of you?”

Peri gave the fox a penetrating glance. “You are altogether too sharp,” he said.

“I told you that you would become one of my legion of admirers,” said the fox complacently.

“Don't count on it,” Peri growled under his breath.

“Do you make laws there?” she asked the dragon curiously.

“Well—no, actually,” he said, with that peculiar duck of his shoulders she now knew meant he was embarrassed. “Dragons don't much care for laws, even among the Dragons of Light. But then again, we live so far apart from one another, it's hard to imagine how we could enforce laws on each other.”

“You don't need laws!” the fox said cheerfully
from his corner. “What on earth do you need laws for? They just get in the way.”

“Anarchist,” Peri mumbled. “Anyway, we're expected to take a mate and raise exactly two offspring in our lifetimes. You can have more than two, but you're expected to have a pair. Your pairing generally lasts as long as the children are sub-adult, then breaks apart. But just because it's a pairing—well, you see, there are pairings…and pairings. Our mother and father, for instance, rarely saw one another except when he was doing his share of the hunting.” He sighed. “I envy humans that closeness they all seem to have.”

“It does seem as if you dragons must spend a lot of time being lonely,” she ventured.

He chuckled ruefully. “Most like being solitary. I know Father did, and really, so did Mother. It's Adam and I that are the odd creatures out. It's not unheard of for dragons to prefer company over solitude, but it's not usual, either.”

“You know,” Andie said after a while, “you ought to get a Godmother or a Chapter-House to take you two on. You would never have to worry about whether you were depleting your territory again, and you would never have to do without company.”

Peri tilted his head to the side and regarded her thoughtfully. “That is a very good idea. And when we've dealt with this situation, I believe I will look into it.”

This situation.
She shook her head. “I wish one of
us was a Magician. Or we could find one. When it comes to the geas that's on Adam, none of us has any idea how to remove it.”

“But we don't know who in Acadia we can trust,” he pointed out.

“I wouldn't trust anyone when in comes to Magicians,” the fox said resentfully. “I mean! Look what happened to me!”

“You don't appear to be injured substantially,” Peri responded, looking over at the fox, whose glossy coat and round belly gave mute testimony that his sojourn among the sacrificial maidens was anything but unpleasant. In fact, he was being spoiled rotten.

“Yes, but I'm a wild thing! Born to run my prey to earth, to live by my wits, to be free! Now I'm an errand boy and a lapdog!” The fox flattened his ears and attempted to look pathetic.

“Oh, please,” Peri replied, shaking his head. “Your geas is broken, you have every opportunity to run away and be free. So go do it. Shoo.”

The fox sighed. “That's right. Bring logic into it.”

“Thank you,” said Peri. “I try.”

Now, through all of this, Andie had been doing her best not to break into hysterical laughter. Peri's sense of humor was so much like her own that she felt as if she had finally found the kindred spirit she had been looking for all of her life, without knowing it.

She caught Peri's eye and they exchanged a sly glance.

“If you really want to be free that badly,” she
said, trying to put a helpful tone into her voice, “I can tell the other girls that you don't want to be given tidbits anymore, and Gina that you would rather be independent and not clean up the offal when she dresses game.”

The fox's ears were flat to his head, his eyes big and sad. “No cheese,” he moaned as if to himself. “No rabbit heads…”

“I'll go tell them now,” she said, making as if to stand up.

“No!” the fox shouted, leaping to his feet. “No! Don't do that!”

“No?” she asked innocently. “But I thought—”

“I've changed my mind. I am just as free here as I am in the forest,” he said firmly. “Absolutely. Positively. No doubt in my mind.”

“All right, then,” she said, as Peri made little strangling sounds. “As long as you're sure. I wouldn't want you to be unhappy.”

“Never been happier,” the fox replied. “In fact, I think I'll go tell the other girls just how happy I am to be here, how much I enjoy the company and attentions and how I never want to leave.”

Peri sounded as if he was in danger of choking to death.

“Good idea,” she said. “Go do that. Everyone likes to know they're appreciated.”

The fox trotted off, muttering “cheese…” under his breath, and as soon as he was out the door, Peri let out a small explosion of fire and laughter.

“Hey!” she exclaimed, laughing herself, and batting at the sparks that fell on her tunic and hair, putting them out before they could cause a mischief. “I'm not fireproof!”

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, and got himself back under control. “How do you fit that much ego into such a small body? He is so sure he can pull the wool over all of our eyes….”

“Well, he's
awfully
intelligent for being ‘just' a fox,” she pointed out. “I'm not entirely certain he isn't something supplied by The Tradition. The path required that we be told certain information at this point. The fox would know it if only it were intelligent enough, so The Tradition supplied a fable-fox for us.”

Peri blinked. “Good grief. That makes altogether too much sense in context. Yes, I can see that. How did you manage to reason that one out?”