Dragon's Keep (14 page)

dragon
dead we'll soon recover Evaine's treasure. And with
the Pendragon scepter in hand there'll be proof beyond all doubt that you're
descended from the Pendragons." She clasped her gloved hands and brought
them to her chin, her eyes brimming with joyful tears.
"Oh,
Rosie.
I'm so happy!"

I looked out the window, my stomach wild and
churning.

Back in my solar Mother locked the door.

"It's Sunday eve," she said,
pulling out her knife.

"Not now."

But Mother removed her gloves, took my left
hand and peeled my golden glove away to the horny blue-green flesh.

"Don't cut the nail too close," I
whispered.

"I'll take good care." Always she
promised this. The knife's
edge flashed in
the firelight as she cut and scraped. A familiar
sickening smell arose, the scrapings falling to the floor like a scat
tering of beetles.
Veritas Dei!
If only I'd not seen the severed claw.
I wanted so
much to believe I wasn't dragon's kin.

"Mother," I said, "that egg
you drank to quicken your womb when you went to see Demetra ..." I bit my
lip remembering the giant shell I'd stumbled on when rescuing Alissandra.

"Done!"
said
Mother, slipping on my golden glove. She shoved her knife back into its sheath,
tossed the leavings in the hearth, and padded to my wardrobe.

"In De-Demetra's cave," I stuttered.

"Don't talk of the hag now, Rosie. Our
happiness is here." She petted the sleeve of my blue velvet gown.
"You must shine
like a jewel tonight.
Lord Godrick will see your best side and he'll
tell Empress Matilda what
a perfect match you'll make. Ah, my

heart
is dancing. They say Prince Henry is quite
manly," said Mother, discarding the blue velvet. "Red haired and
strong bodied." Mother chose the green gown. 'How can we go to
Matildas
court? I'm not yet healed."

Mother paused, looking first at my face and
then my gloved hand. She sat beside me again and stroked my tangled hair.
"Your father took you riding too far today, Rosie," she said.
"I'll order beef broth to restore you."

"I don't need restoring!"

She touched my cheek. "Hush. You are
cold."

"It doesn't matter what gown I wear or
how beautiful I appear. We both know I cannot marry!"

Mother's eyes brimmed
with tears. "Don't spoil this happy day.
I promise you the fates have turned." Putting her arm about my
shoulder, she leaned in close. "What say you
to this, Rosie? You
and I will go to a holy man in Wales before we meet Matilda."

"Why should he be any different than the
rest?"

"He healed a girl run over by an ox
cart."

I was unimpressed.
Mother went on. "She suffered a severed
arm. In prayer this holy man rested the bloody appendage against her
shoulder, and the arm grew back just as before. The girl got right up and drew
water from the well!"

I shook my head.

"By all the saints it's true. Sister
Anne heard it from a monk who saw it with his own eyes."

"Well, this
is
news." I
huffed.

Then slow and soft she began to tell her
fairy story about sweet Princess Rosalind, pretty as a windblown flower,
traveling

across
the sea for healing. Hands
freed from her gloves, in France
she met
her dear Prince Henry, and he loved her with the full of his heart. I'd heard
the tale of my future life a hundred times, but this night it warmed me like a
balm.

How happy the story was, how much we would
love each other, how great was our power when the usurper Stephen was
overthrown and Henry and I were crowned the rightful king and queen of England. Mother's tale ended in the old song.

Lady, come ye over.

Over the sea.

And bring your
heart with you.

And marry me.

I will be lonely
and never be free.

Until you come
over.

Over the sea.

Meek to her love, I took on her fairy-dream
and followed Mother to the feast.

_{Demon Fire}

At
sunset
we arrived
and were escorted to the beach. It was my intent to ignore
the captain's trophy as best I could, but as the fates would twist it, Mother
wedged me between Lord Godrick and his son at the high table facing the shore.

All the tables, absconded from the castle for
the occasion,
were set in a half circle on
the beach facing the dead beast. It was
the wish of king and queen to
hold a royal banquet within sight of the creature that had lorded over Wilde Island all these years. And the people loved them well for it.

Across the sea the sun dozed, unfurling
crimson veils from sky to water. A pink wave washed up to touch the dragon carcass,
and the damp wind blew the dragon's death-stink to my table. I felt distemper
in my liver, but neither the knights and their good ladies nor the villagers
seemed to mind the fumes. All
were making
merry with the blackmanger, stuffed quail, suckling
pigs, and wine. Cook
had outdone herself, as if for a saint's day feast. Every villager had his
joy's portion while the minstrels strolled about the tables strumming lutes and
blowing pipes.

I watched Lady Parsons
deftly attacking the quail on her tray.
She cut the meat, her pale gloves moving swiftly as
clouds in a high
wind.
Though hunger hollowed me after my long day of riding, I
picked at my quail, nibbled on a
wing, and ordered wine. The cup
bearer
filled my goblet. I downed it swift and held it out to him again. Sir Magnus
nudged Mother, who looked hard on me. I ig
nored
her, the wine flowing like a warming fire through my flesh.

The bonfires grew stronger with the coming of
the dark. Trouble slipped away from me with the goodsomeness of wine. Thus, I
had begun to reel upon the bench when Lord Godrick stood to give his speech.

"Good
fellows," he
began,
the claw at his side fairly
touching
my cheek. "I am a modest
lord of some acquaintance with Empress Matilda."

The crowd cheered.

"A man of ships and
swords, and if it be known, a man who fought in the great Crusades."

More cheering.
I tried to lean away from Lord Godrick's middle and
ended nearly cheek to cheek with his son, Kye. Father smiled. I belched and
blushed.

"... but never was a battle sweeter than
when my son slit this monster here!"

Another shout from the
people.

"No sooner had the dragon swooped down
than I had my sword drawn. I scored blood, gashing her thigh, but she grabbed
me in her cruel talons. Then Kye was to the demons heart and here!" He
drew his sword, thrust it in the candlelight, and

knocked
over his goblet.
"And here!"
He thrust again. "He slashed her
with his sword! You see the creature there?" He pointed to the
dragon. "She'd measure longer than my vessel if
you counted in her tail. I say she had me in her death-grip. My ribs were
fairly crushed. I couldn't breathe for the pain. The dragon's teeth were dagger
sharp, and when she opened her foul jaws I smelled her putrid breath."

The miller stood and gave a cheer. I nearly
swooned as Lord Godrick's dragon's claw dangled near my cheek, the black talon
glinting in the fire.

"More wine!" I called, but the
cupbearer was lost in reverie.

"That's when my good son, Kye, shouted,
'Meet your death!'
He slit the dragon's
throat." Lord Godrick slashed the air with his
sword. "And
with a mighty gash he vanquished her!"

"Hooray!" shouted the villagers.

"My only regret," said Lord
Godrick, "is that Kye's dear mother, whom I married while on crusade in Palestine, wasn't here to see her son become a true dragonslayer!"

"Kye!
Kye!" shouted the villagers. They clapped and
called his name until he stood beside me.

"Show us the
sword!" shouted the miller. Kye drew his weapon
and waved it above his head. Father came to his feet
and raised his goblet. "Let it be known," he shouted above the crowd,
"that this day in April will be Kye Godrick's feast day here on Wilde Island, from now until the end of time!"

"Hear, hear!" shouted all. Horns
and goblets were lifted to the heroes. I held mine up, though it was empty.

Kye sat again. His
troubled eyes wandered along the
dragons
spine, where seagulls were now landing. "I bested
it," he said under his breath, "and now there are no more."

I turned and looked at him. His dark face
swam before me. His head was tipped, and I saw a kindness there about his eyes.
I understood the words he spoke under his breath. It was good to have the
fearsome dragon dead at last, but there was a sorrow in it, for there were no
more dragons now, maybe no more in
all the
world. The
dragon's creature-time was over and they'd not be seen again.

The minstrels played their lutes. Kurt the
jester strode out and did a little dance. He sang a knotty-pated tune and shook
his bone rattle till all were laughing.

Sheb Kottle, brave with ale, and stumbling in
his boots, wended his way down the beach. Spreading out his arms wide, he
turned widdershins before the dragon. The village children joined him, arms
outstretched and spinning. "She's dead, she's dead," they chanted
till they fell on their faces laughing.

Full of little more than wine and ready for
bed, I stood and swayed, but Mother waved her gloved hand and bid me sit.

Now the children were up again, crowding near
the dragon, playing their clapping game.
"Bright fire.
Dragon's fire.
Broken sword.
One black talon ends the war!"

"Merlin's prophecy," said Kye
beside me, but I'd known the rhyme only as a children's game.

The children tossed sand on the carcass and
completed the chant. "Turn them into mincemeat! Bake them in the flame! Cut
them up! Spit them out! Start the war again!"

Kye looked vexed.
"Why add those words?" he said. "They're
not a part of the prophecy."

"Hush, son," warned his father.
"Let them have their fun."

i
Sheb pushed the waifs aside,
climbed upon a broad stone

near
the dragon's mouth, and launched into a speech.
"Sal Con-

roy
!" he shouted. "Went down the dragon's
throat when I was

just
a lad.
And my dear mother with
her."

He wept and Keith the miller came to take him
from the stone.

"No! Let me speak!" Sheb cried,
pushing Keith away. "And in the next year, Cal the goatboy," he
called, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

I crossed my legs, uncrossed them,
crossed
them again, my belly churning.

"And Sir
Harmond," cried Sheb, "who rode out with his dragonslayers.
Then Meg Dillon was
et
, and
after that..."

I listened long as one by one Sheb listed
those who had died in the dragon's mouth. I'd seen those names on the
Dragonstone. Sheb was nigh on sixty years old, and he had fair memory for a
drunkard.

As Sheb went on with his blood-list, Brock
the tanner ran up to the dragon and kicked her in the teeth. "This is for
Coppersmith, et on Midsummer's Eve!" he cried. "And this"—he
kicked again—"is for Lord Broderick and his slayers!"

The villagers howled, but I bit my lip. Never
had I seen such foul doings with a carcass.

Kye leaped up, shouting, "Get away from
the beast!" I stood beside him, swaying, but Brock went on.

"Ah, see whose teeth are spoilt
now?" cried Brock, leaning over the great head. "You're nothing but a
fat old turd, are ye," he screamed, tugging on the skin ruffles that
sprouted like two
fans behind the dragon's
ears. "A crawly thing with curling claws!"
he shouted.
"And you stink like a privy!" Then Brock dropped his breeches and
wagged his bottom at the beast.

"Maynard the baker," called Sheb.
Just then the bare-bottomed Brock turned and pissed upon the carcass.

"Enough!" Kye rushed from the
table, dove at Brock, and knocked him on his back. Quick he pulled up the
simpkin's breeches, saying loudly, "Think, man, there are ladies
here!"

Brock reared up, howling like a cur, and
boxed Kye's ear. Now they rolled in the sand, the villagers laying money on the
winner.

"Stop this, Father!" I called.

Lord Godrick laughed. "Never
you mind
. My boy will beat the lackwit flat!"

Kate the miller's wife skirted Kye and
Brock's battle. Toddling down the beach, she danced about, poured beer over
the dragon's snout, and spat in her open eye. I cringed. Then Kate ran round
and round the dragon, tossing seaweed over her head.
"Ah," she teased, "she needs a scarf!" Kate cleared
a table with the
help of other villagers, and pulled the cloth from it.
The children twirled about singing, "Dragon's dead! Dragon's dead!"
as Kate flung the tablecloth over the beast's head.

This was beyond my heart. Kye was too
entwined with Brock to intervene. I quit the feast and ran for the dragon.

"Rosalind!" called Mother as I
lunged for the cloth.