Dog And Dragon Part 6

And then, of course, something scented the bait. The knight's horse gave first warning, before the distracted dog. But even without that whicker of fear, they would have known, soon enough.

The giant broke trees and shook the earth with his tread. The forest life fled before him-birds, deer, a unicorn, foxes, a c.o.c.katrice, squirrels and an ogre.

The giant wasn't interested in them. It was hunting, in Fionn's opinion, a dog and a dragon.

In Sir Bertran's opinion, it was hunting him, and thus the company he was in.

There was nothing wrong with the young knight's courage, or the agility of his horse. He did manage to place his lance tip in the bellowing giant's eye, and the horse danced aside from the giant's club-a ripped-up tree-as the lance tip snapped. Unfortunately it had five other eyes-as it had three tusky heads.

Fionn had yelled at Dileas "Run!" before taking to the wing himself. Dragon fire singed the giant-as he kicked over their fire and sent the partly cooked hind flying.

Dragon fire carbonized the club, but the giant itself merely bellowed in anger and lunged at him. It didn't burn. It was a siliceous giant...A rock giant, as opposed to the frost and fire ones Fionn knew for their bad temper. Normally the rock giants were slow to anger, and slow of reactions. This one was neither. In fact, thought Fionn, as his wings bit air and pushed him higher, this one was a rock giant in its resistance to dragon fire, but looked fire-giantish, with its three heads and brutish nature. And it smelled...odd. Like something had died and it had stood in it. That was always possible.

The fool dog, however, was not running. He was standing and barking. And the fool knight wasn't running either. He'd drawn his sword-which was not going to be a lot of use against the giant. Fionn swooped down and slapped the left outer head with his tail. It might be a rock creature but a blow from a dragon tail was enough to make it stagger. And bellow again, and plunge towards him.

The dog and the knight, instead of running, followed.

So Fionn had to taunt the giant again, because it narrowly missed seizing the teasing dog. Spiraling up again, Fionn looked for answers. He could lead it off and lose it-if the knight and dog would back off. The dog might...possibly. The knight wasn't going to. Which meant that he had to deal somewhat more permanently with the giant. One could poison them-the silicate organic chemistry was quite susceptible to a.r.s.enates, and to some of the powerful acids. Heat would not work. One could bog them down, sink them in a lake, but they'd just keep walking, or toss them over a cliff. Or he could smash the giant apart with a hammer bigger and heavier than itself. Or bespell them. Looking at the energy flows, Fionn thought he saw another answer. This was Broceliande, and this young knight was, after all, the son of the guardian of the fountain of Escalados. Escalados, the red fountain that drew the storms...and the stone giant dragged his feet as he blundered through the trees.

Fionn swooped down. "We must lead him to Escalados. To the fountain."

"I must defend that! And my mother, the Lady Laudine, is within the manor there. There are no tall walls..."

"He's a stone giant. It is the only way to kill him. He wants us, not the manor or anything else." The giant proved that by ignoring a small herd of deer that bolted from in front of it, and by plunging after the three of them.

The knight nodded. "It is the better part of half a league!"

Broceliande's ancient ferny, mossy forests, full of vast trees and twisted branches were no place to play catch-as-catch-can with an angry, hunting giant. The giant was capable of going straight, rather than around. Still, the trees slowed him, as they might a man pushing through thick brush.

The giant had by now decided that the knight, sheepdog, and the dragon were all part of its target. And it had three tusky-mouthed heads to feed. It must want one each, Fionn decided. The knight was at most risk, as Fionn had the open sky and Dileas could dart through gaps that were too narrow for a horseman. Perhaps it was the color, but the giant was fixated on the dog...who in turn was determined to prove that he was as capable of herding giants as he should be of herding sheep, darting behind it-even between the tree-trunk legs, to snap at the giant's heels. Of course his teeth could not make any impression on the giant flesh, but the giant itself seemed far more interested in trying to reach the dog. On several occasions when the knight was trapped, the dog drew off the giant before Fionn could flame its eyes or bat its heads.

Then they broke from the woods into what was obviously the home farm of the knight. They'd cleared a bit of land since Fionn was last here. You could see the thatch of the walled manor house, low down along the shallow swale that ran from the standing stone against the ridge. There was a good reason for the house being low down and far from the standing stone, Fionn knew.

The magic fountain was at the base of the standing stone, some half a mile across the fields. The knight's tenants were in the fields-or at least running from the fields. Someone had the ability and courage to flight an arrow so Fionn took to the ground, making it very obvious-with shouts and cooperation-that the dog and dragon were working with their overlord, dealing with-or at least taunting-the three-headed giant. It would seem to Fionn that the giant had no understanding of human speech, which was odd, as most other giants did. It was either that, or it was very stupid, because they kept it away from the mill and away from the barns and away from the cattle, leading it on-on towards the bleeding fountain. The bleeding fountain was once nothing more than iron in the rock the water oozed through-but superst.i.tion and magic often built on each other, and Fionn wouldn't be surprised if it really was some kind of blood now, with all the belief in it being that.

It was a numinous spot, with the squat misshapen monolith and its altar stone above the old stone-carved basin into which the ruddy water seeped. It was surrounded by blackened and dead oaks. That, Fionn knew, had nothing to do with mysterious powers, but everything to do with the energies channeled here.

"It's your fountain, Sir Bertran," he yelled. "You'd better scatter the water."

The knight leapt from the saddle of his steaming, tired horse as Dileas and Fionn teased and taunted the giant. It was, Fionn knew, a dangerous game. They were still faster than the giant, but they were both tiring.

The siliceous creature was not. He would pursue them relentlessly. Fionn was willing to bet he now had the scent of their essences, and would follow, no matter how fast or far they fled. Eventually it would catch them.

This smelled, and not just faintly of dead things.

Sir Bertran scooped a handful of the red water and poured it out on the altar rock, respectfully. He ignored the giant as he did this.

And then he mounted again and charged back towards the fray.

Above, already, the thunderheads built, as with a magical speed the sky darkened. The air seemed to thicken.

"We need that idiot in the iron suit off the horse and further away from the giant," said Fionn, sotto voce, to Dileas. "Because any minute now..."

Then lightning, blue-white and so close there no pause between it and the terrible rattling boom of thunder, carved a ragged, jagged line to the tallest point.

The giant.

Sheeting rain began to fall.

But that was of no concern to Fionn because he was under a shivering dog, and he had to pick up a knight who had fallen from his horse, as more lightning hissed down, hitting the giant again and again.

Nothing, not even siliceous proteins, could survive the lightning bolts. Dragons had found out the hard way that lightning could be survived in the air...but not when they landed.

Now Fionn just had to deal with minor problems-an unconscious knight and a dog that really, really didn't like thunderstorms. And he had torrential rain to cope with, of course.

That was still a better deal than the three-headed giant had got. Fionn was fairly sure it was now dead, the neural circuits fried. It was probably a large lump of gla.s.sy rock now, for people in later years to laugh at the superst.i.tions of their ancestors.

The rain began to ease off, and Sir Bertran sat up. "What happened?" he asked muzzily.

"I think I'd tell your adherents that you struck it a thunderous blow. Some of the braver ones are approaching now, and I'd appreciate it if you told them that there is no need to pinp.r.i.c.k this particular dragon with arrows and that the quivering sheepdog is no threat. It's all right, Dileas, the storm is over."

Sir Bertran stood up. "My mother," he said resignedly, looking at the palanquin approaching. "Sir Fionn, you and your dog strove bravely with me today. I give you thanks. I am in your debt, as I am aware the giant could have caught me on several occasions had the two of you not drawn him off." He patted Dileas. "Seldom has the world seen a braver, cleverer dog, Sir Fionn."

"As long as there are no thunderstorms," said Fionn. "Anyway. One of your grazing paddocks now has a new rock formation, I think. Let's go and inspect it before they come and fuss about you. You took a quite a toss there. Got something of a shock, too, I shouldn't wonder." Fionn didn't point out that he thought the knight had got off quite lightly, all things considered.

They walked across to the late three-headed giant, now a vast tor of blackened gla.s.s, with the evil tusky faces distorted and twisted into something even uglier. The giant gla.s.s statue was somewhat the worse for having suffered multiple lightning strikes, but that didn't stop the peasants and men-at-arms approaching cheering their lord, or Dileas lifting his leg on its foot. He was still rather new to this lifting of a leg instead of squatting puppy- or girl-dog fashion, and nearly fell over in the process. That could have been awkward, as the foot was still cracking with internal heat.

Maybe the loyal retainers might have been approaching a little less fast than they might...if their lord was not being supported by a dragon. And even from here Fionn could hear the hero's mother. He was a brave lad, this Bertran. Best to leave him to be brave alone, decided Fionn, but it appeared he was not going to be that lucky.

CHAPTER 8.

Alois, the Earl of Carfon, had been riding south by night, hiding by day for more than a week now. He was exhausted and hungry and he was in a better state than his horse. He knew he should be grateful for the horse. Grateful for the magical intervention that had plucked him from the cell, while waiting for the torture chamber, and dropped him next to the horse in a half-ruined stable, a good fifteen miles from Dun Tagoll, where months of planning had all gone so wrong.

And he was glad. Glad that he would see his son and wife again. Glad, in the last few miles, to see signs that he was returning to farmed lands and not anarchy and banditry. Only Dun Tagoll had wholly abandoned any effort to farm the lands. Only they could. All of the Duns tried to keep at least some agriculture and livestock farming going. It was usually limited to fields just outside the walls. Too few fields, feeding too many mouths. Only in the South had they managed to keep a reasonable amount of land under cultivation, and that by building a great many more forts and having as nearly as many men-at-arms as neyfs working the land. And as he'd said to Branwen when he'd rode out on this venture, the G.o.ds above and below alone knew how much longer they could survive. That was why he'd taken up the offer from the plotters. They'd be dead for their pains, he had no doubt.

So close. So very close to seeing Medraut dead.

And then...He mulled it all in his mind, as he had a thousand times since.

He rode slowly along the lane. It was muddy, but at least not overgrown too. And bandits were rarer here.

"Halt. Who rides after the curfew bell?" demanded a voice.

"Earl Alois. And I am truly glad to see my own land and my own men!"

Six hours later, after a sequence of fresh horses, and with a troop around him, he rode into the gates of Dun Carfon-he'd never thought to see it again-and then into the arms of his wife, and to gaze on the sleeping form of his son. "We'll have to wake him," said Branwen. "I'm afraid...like most of us, he believed you were dead, Alois. It's...its been hard for him."

She was a jewel. A mere local chieftain's daughter, not even of the House of Lyon. He'd married her against the politics and calls for alliance. Married her just because he was a headstrong young lord and he'd looked at her and known what he wanted. In earlier years it would never have been permitted. But if one good thing had come out of this chaos of endless war, it was her. "Yes. Hopefully he'll see a better Lyonesse before he grows up."

She blinked, holding him, as if to rea.s.sure herself he was real. "I thought Medraut still sat on the throne?"

"He does. But the Defender Aberinn forecast in his prophecy has come. I was there. I saw it. She made the sea-window reappear."

"Really?"

Earl Alois sighed. "Yes. I saw her appear from nowhere, I saw the sea-window reappear. And I heard her name herself as Anghared. I believe it is her. That was magic of no low order. She has come to set things to rights. She even looks like the old queen in the tapestry hanging in the banquet hall. But the bad part, Branwen, is that she will want my head. And if that is what it takes to put Lyonesse back together again, I will go to the headsman."

"No!" she said, clinging to him. Clinging as to someone whom she'd loved, thought dead, and now had to face the fear and uncertainty again. Which was true, of course. "Why would she do that? It's Medraut who has brought Lyonesse to ruin. Not you, Alois!"

The boy woke up and stared at his parents, and rubbed his unbelieving eyes eyes, as his father said: "Because I tried to kill her."

Meb wondered how long the state of tense waiting would continue in the halls of Dun Tagoll. Wars could go on for years. This one had, it appeared. But the answer this time was: not too long. The prince seemed to have developed a hit-and-run strategy, simply designed to hurt the foe, irritate them and make them plunge after the army, toward Dun Tagoll, rather than ravaging the countryside.

That might be good for the countryside, but right now it meant that the attackers were setting up siege engines on the headland. "Last time they threw everything from dead horses to rocks at the castle," said Neve. "It looks like they're making bigger ones this time."

"And...will it break the walls?" asked Meb.

"No, m'lady. The walls are magical. Even if they break, they just pull together. But a dead horse...oh, the mess. And the rocks can kill people."

The causeway was too narrow and steep for a charge, but their foes had sent brave men across in the darkness, under their shields, carrying a bra.s.s-headed ram. So Meb woke to the pounding of the ram and a sudden inhuman yowling and screaming. In the darkness of her room, it was terrifying. She'd never been in a castle under siege before. Had the attackers broken through? What should she do? Fight back, obviously. What was there in this room that she could fight back with. She needed a sword. Or better yet, an axe. You needed to have some skill with a sword, but an axe, one of those metallic-handled, narrow, wicked-bladed ones that the alvar gate guards used, surely didn't need much. She was afraid and imagining it in detail...and it was a great deal heavier in her hands than she'd thought. Summoning magic again...it seemed to work when she was absorbed enough and afraid enough...neither of which were easy to switch on at will, she thought as she wished for a light...and failed. She couldn't even find the p.r.i.c.ket, let alone light it. So she went and opened her door by feel, alvar axe in hand. There was a tallow-dipped brand of rush on a metal wall sconce at the end of the hall. She walked down that way. To find a bored guard walking down the pa.s.sage...

He was a lot less bored seeing a woman in her nightclothes with a silvery two-handed spatha-axe in her hands. "M'lady," he took a grip on his own sword handle. "What's amiss?"

"The noise. That screaming. What happened?" she asked.

He looked a little startled. "Oh, just the Angevins getting a snout full of hot pitch, m'lady. Never man the ram. Aye, first at the loot, but also first at the hot pitch."

"Oh...I thought they'd got in," said Meb, feeling faintly foolish.

"No, m'Lady Anghared. We're safe enough within the walls of Dun Tagoll. Siege engines and rams won't do naught. Starvation neither. It'll take more magic than the Shadow Hall can throw against us."

Meb went back to her bed, leaving the axe next to it. It was a long while before sleep came again. What was this Shadow Hall? And why did the Kingdom of Lyonesse seem to have such an ample supply of enemies and, apparently, not one ally? Finn had said magic use inevitably made work for him, distorting energies. What was happening here? Were there other dragons, planomancers like Finn, moving in their shifted shapes, fixing things? Her dreams were troubled. Full of screaming and silver-handled axes with narrow curved slicing blades.

She awoke to a troubled squeak. It was Neve, staring at the axe, looking as if she was about to drop the water she carried, and run. Meb yawned. "Thank all the G.o.ds you're all right, m'lady! What's that nasty thing doing in here?"

"I thought I might need it if you spilled all the water on the floor...I'm only joking for dragons' sakes. I thought we might have to defend ourselves. And I don't think I can use a sword. I've split wood with an axe, so I have an axe."

"Dun Tagoll is safe enough, Lady Anghared. It's those poor people outside who need defending. Where did you get it? I've never seen anything like it. It looks very sharp and dangerous."

Meb decided it was better not to answer that question, and began washing. She thought it looked just about sharp enough to slice stone, let alone armor. It wasn't a subject so easily avoided when Lady Vivien came in a little later.

"How did it get here?" she asked, warily, looking at the axe. "It has the look of a Finvarra spatha-axe...what are you doing with such a thing, Anghared. It's no weapon of the men of Lyonesse. Where did it come from?"

"Oh, um. The alvar guards use them back in my homeland. I was afraid in the night and wanted something to defend myself with."

"But you couldn't have had it with you. You...you had barely the clothes you were wearing, when you came here, Anghared," said Vivien, troubled. "I was there. I helped to put you to bed."

"Sometimes, when I am really scared or just dreaming...imagining things deeply, they come to me. Fragments of things..."

"Fragments...aha! Summonsing magic. Here, in Dun Tagoll? You can't," said Vivien.

"I didn't mean to. I just heard the screaming. I was scared."

"No...I mean it is not possible. The Mage Aberinn, by his craft, protects the castle. But while we're guarded, it affects us too. Only those of the greatest of power can manage the smallest working. That...that is a vast object for a summonser. It would take preparation and skill..."

"I don't know what I am doing or how I do it," said Meb, knowing this to be slightly less than the truth. The dragon-shaped dvergar device around her neck, the thing that carried some of the magic of all the species of Tasmarin, the device that would help her be what she wanted to be...tricky little dvergar! That would affect things. But...well, she summonsed far larger things, wanting to, needing or just...wishing to. A black dragon, once. And she'd needed him. She still did. She just hadn't known it, then. "I do summons big things sometimes. I summonsed a dragon once."

"G.o.ds above and below. Well, I hope you don't do that again!"

"I can't," said Meb flatly. "Never ever again, although I want nothing more. It would kill him."

But that seemed to have washed right over Vivien. "You are the Defender, Anghared. Oh thank all the G.o.ds. I must tell..."

"No. Please, no," Meb grabbed the fluttering, excited hands. "Please. I want to help. But...well, Prince Medraut. Aberinn. Do you think they'd like it much?"

"The prince has honored you and respected you so far. And the mage called you to his tower. I should have known when we heard about the sea-window. I thought it must be stone memory. The embroidery...that was a small thing, and I was amazed. But, but summonsing magics. And so powerful. I'm Lyon, on my mother's side, and I can call things from across the room. Small things. A brooch like this one." She pointed to the thumbnail-sized one at her breast.

Meb sighed. "Vivien. I don't trust Prince Medraut, or the mage. I don't know how to make magic happen every time. And, and it goes wrong. My master said...he'd teach me. But now, I just feel it would be a very wrong thing to do. I am going to help. I promise. I swear. I swear by the black dragon."

"That...binds you?" asked Vivien.

"It binds me more than anything else ever could," said Meb. "And I think I'd better hide that axe before anyone else asks awkward questions."

"I could wrap it up in something, and take it to the armory," said Neve coloring slightly. "There's, there's a man-at-arms who might do me a favor. If I asked."

It made Meb smile a little, determined to find out just who this armsman was, and let him know that someone would make his life very unpleasant if he was anything less than good to little Neve. She could do that. Finn had taught her quite enough for that. "I think I want it a little closer. Lady Cardun might decide to do my hair. Stop laughing, both of you. It would make a wonderful mirror. We can slide it under the bed."

"They're very full of your embroidery in the bower by the way. Even Lady Cardun was saying she didn't know how you worked so fast and set such precise and tiny st.i.tches. Of course she said it showed a lack of discipline not to stick to the pattern, and you were a flighty, moody young girl; that the regent's guidance would be needed for many years, even if you were the Defender, which she didn't for a moment believe."

"I need to ask some questions about this regency," said Meb, who didn't see why it was up to her, but would not have left shifty Prince Medraut to look after a tub of jellied eels, let alone a kingdom. "Who is the prince the regent for?"

They both looked at her as if she'd suddenly started dribbling and gone simple on them. "The true king of Lyonesse, of course," said Vivien.

"Oh. And who is he?" asked Meb.

"He is the king anointed with holy water from the ancient font of kings. He alone can bind to the land and draw its strength to himself to destroy our enemies," explained Vivien.

"But who is he?" Meb pursued. "Does he have to be found or something?"