One Good Knight (13 page)

Where, patient as death itself, the dragon still perched.

Waiting. But not for long. Only until it was sure they were alone.

The dragon fanned its wings wide against the dark gray sky, then pushed off from the cliff, spiraling down in a lazy fashion, its eyes fixed on her. It didn't seem in any great hurry to get down to claim its meal—
Well, of course not! It knows this is one meal that can't fight back or run away!

When she jolted out of her paralysis, her hands began writhing in the shackles over her head, trying to get to the lock-picks in her hair, and only at that moment did she realize that although she had practiced picking the locks on the shackles in this position, she had never even considered that she might not be able to reach the picks themselves. When she'd had her hands bound above her head, they'd been resting practically on the top of her head, not stretched far above it. She strained her fingers toward the ends fastened in her hairdo, but
no matter what she tried, she couldn't even feel her hair, much less the picks fastening it all up. She fought her panic, and felt herself losing, as the dragon drew nearer.

She stood on tiptoe, trying to bring the top of her head nearer her fingers. She scrabbled about with her feet for some support to raise her higher—and all the while, the dragon kept circling nearer—and lower—

And then it landed. It regarded her thoughtfully, its head to one side, and took a slow, deliberate step toward her.

And she couldn't help herself. She screamed in sheer, weak-kneed, hysterical terror.

The dragon snorted and backed up a pace. She screamed again, hopelessly, certain that it was going to flame her, and she began to thrash, all thought of trying to get to the lock-picks gone, and nothing in her but the fear and the mindless need to
run,
get away, somehow hide from the horrible, horrible death that was approaching her.

And at that moment, as if this was a tale in a book—

Something clad in black armor leapt down out of the rocks above the dragon, landing on its back. A knight! An incredibly agile knight, because he managed to keep his balance as he stood on the dragon's shoulders, pulled a sword from a sheath at his back and swung for its neck. With a little more luck on the knight's part, and less on the dragon's, the contest would have been over then and there. But the dragon,
really
startled now, reared and bucked like a
horse and managed to toss the knight off before he could connect with that sword.

The knight landed in a controlled tumble, rolled, and came back up on his feet. Somehow without losing the blade. He faced the dragon, standing between the monster and Andie, sword in both hands. The dragon eyed him, snorting in alarm, but before it could make up its mind what it was going to do next, the knight charged.

Now, much though Andie wanted to watch the fighting, two things prevented her from doing so. The first was that within moments, as the knight continued to rush the dragon aggressively, the fight moved up the valley and out of sight, at least as far as Andie was concerned. And the second was that if she was going to watch the fight, she wanted to do so someplace other than chained to the sacrificial stake!

After a moment of contorting her body in every direction she could, she realized that there was just enough slack in the chains that she could get herself turned around to face the stake. If she could do that—

She gathered herself, took a deep breath, thrust herself sideways as hard as she could—and bit back a scream.

She felt like she'd wrenched her shoulders out of their sockets, and the thin dress hadn't protected her skin from the rough wood of the stake—it was on fire where she'd scraped it. And she was still only halfway around, one shoulder jammed into the
stake, and forced up on the tips of her toes as the chain holding the manacles twisted—

Don'tstopdon'tstopdon'tSTOP!
With a scream, she wrenched herself all the way around, now sure she'd dislocated one or both shoulders, and landed with her cheek against the stake.

She rested for just a moment, panting, but the sounds of combat coming from up the valley reminded her that there was no telling when the dragon would win the battle and come back for her.

If. No, when. No, if. Never mind. Concentrate!

Still on tiptoes, she braced herself, gritted her teeth against the pain and wrapped her hands around the chains. Using the manacles, she pulled herself up off the ground as tears ran down her face. She wrapped both legs around the stake and hitched her way up it. Once her legs were holding most of her weight, it was easier.

She didn't have to go far—just enough so that she had the slack to get at the lock-picks in her hair. And once she had them, she could actually hitch herself up a little farther, until she could
see
the locks she was picking. It wasn't as if she hadn't climbed trees and poles like this in the not-so-distant past!

She lost one of the picks, but that was why she had several hidden in her hair. She tried very hard to ignore the sounds of battle as she worked; she concentrated only on the lock, and the “feel” of the pick on the inside. Right hand first—that was her domi
nant hand, and if she could get it free, she could get the left off in half the time.

Finally, with a reluctant
pop,
the lock yielded and the manacle fell open.

At that moment, the knight and dragon came ramping down the hillside toward her. The knight had lost his sword. She watched in awe as the knight dodged a blow from the dragon's fore-claw, rolled away, and came up with a boar spear in his hands. She blinked, wondering, for a moment, where
that
had come from.

Then she realized what it was—one of the weapons her own friends had seeded around the valley. And how had the knight known it was there?
He must have been here for hours. He must have watched them hiding every bit of it.

So, not only skillful, but
smart.

As the dragon made several little wing-assisted backward leaps and the two of them tumbled out of sight again, she returned to freeing herself.

Finally the second manacle opened. With a yell of her own, she slid down the stake, hauled her skirts up out of the way with both hands, and sprinted for the shelter of a pile of enormous boulders.

Just as knight and dragon came tumbling back…and the knight was definitely losing.

From the way he was tumbling, he had been swatted over the rocks, and he didn't look nearly as agile now; the parts of his armor that were plate—the helmet, shoulder-protection, and knee-, elbow-and
ankle-guards—were dented and battered. And as he landed on the path, the dragon leapt over the rocks between them, did a half turn and swatted him into the air with its tail. He landed farther down the valley—and didn't move.

Her heart in her throat, Andie waited for the dragon to flame, to leap on the knight and tear him apart, or to spot her.

Instead, the dragon gave a snort, shook itself all over and leapt into the air. With heavy wing-beats, it labored into the sky, got over the rim of the valley and vanished.

Andie ran for the knight, her own pain forgotten.

He was just starting to move as she reached him, and as she knelt down beside him and put out a hand to take off his helmet—

—he swatted it away.

“Ow!” she said indignantly, overbalancing and falling to one side. “You hit me!”

“Leave me alone,” growled a high tenor voice from inside the helmet. “I didn't ask for your help.”

If this was a Champion—he certainly was a rude piece of work! “I just wanted—” she began.

“I know what you wanted,” the knight said rudely. “The Tradition is going to make you fall in love with me, because I rescued you. And the last thing I need is some lovesick girl trailing after me. So go away, leave me alone. You've been rescued. Now go home.”

“Why? So they can tie me to the stake again?” she
retorted, rubbing her sore shoulders. “I lost the lottery. If I go back, I'll still have lost the lottery.” In that moment, the vague ideas she'd had before knowing she was going to live through this came together. “I'm coming with you. You rescued me, so you're responsible for me.”

“No, you're not!” The objection had a bit of a yelp to it.

“Yes, I am,” she replied. “You can't stop me.”

“I won't feed you,” he growled.

Whatever happened to all the
chivalrous
Champions?
she wondered. “In case you hadn't noticed, I'm wearing a Princess's dower in gold,” she countered. “I'll buy my own food.”

“I have a horse. And I won't hold him back so you can keep up.” This time he sounded smug, and it made her want to slap him.

She snorted. “In these mountains? A horse will have a hard time keeping up with
me.
You'd be better off buying a donkey, which is what I am going to do.”
Then we'll see who can't keep up.
“And I can pay you, you know. Reward you. It's not as if you'd be taking me on for nothing.”

“My job is only half done. I have to track down that dragon, and I have to kill it. I don't want your pay, I don't want your gratitude, I don't want you to fall in love with me and I don't want
you.
Now
go away.
”

She sniffed, and had started to climb stiffly to her feet when she realized that it wasn't only her shoulders that had been scraped raw. She sat back down
again and hiked up her dress. So he didn't want her? Fine. That meant he wouldn't be bothered by—

“What are you doing?” This time, it was a yelp.

“I have splinters in my thighs!” she snapped back, not looking at him but at what she was doing, picking them out and wincing every time she did. At least they were sharp slivers, and weren't leaving anything behind. “They hurt, and I'm not going another step till I get them out. Ow!”

“You could have had dragon-teeth in your rump. Forget the splinters and go away!”

She ignored him. There were fewer of the things than she had thought, it had just felt like more. To make sure, she ran her hands along the skin of her thighs, ignoring his outraged gurgles, and only then stood up again. She looked around, spotted the formation of rocks where Merrha had said she was going to hide some clothing and provisions, and clambered over the formations until she got to the place. Meanwhile, the knight was moving at last, very slowly, and wincing and grumbling a great deal.

She wondered if he had broken any bones, then wondered how he had
avoided
breaking every bone in his body. He must have flown for yards when the dragon hit him with its tail.
Why didn't it kill him? Why didn't it kill us both?

Maybe it was a miracle. Though why she should deserve a miracle, and not one of the other girls, made no sense to her. In fact, it made her feel horribly guilty….

Merrha hadn't made any attempt to conceal anything—why should she? In the cache, as promised, were a cloak, an old canvas skirt to go over the flimsy dress and a pack. Inside the pack were a pair of her own old shoes (sturdy ones, good for hiking on rough ground), a knife, a belt-pouch for small things, a belt, a fire-striker, a water-skin, and some bread. And one of her favorite books. As she caressed the leather binding of the book, she had to fight to hold back the tears. Iris had put this together while she was learning to pick locks; Iris, at least, had believed she would live, or she never would have placed the book and the bread in there.

And she would probably never see her friend again.

The dress made a poor garment, but a reasonable chemise, once she got rid of the trailing over-sleeves. There would be no mistaking her for a peasant, but at least she wouldn't be so obviously a Princess once she got the skirt and cloak on. The sandals, studded with gold rivets and gems as they were, could be broken apart to sell or barter the bits; she shoved them, the rest of her jewelry and the discarded sleeves into the pack, slung the cloak over her shoulders and went looking for the knight.

She found him at a sketchy sort of camp, well off the trail and out of sight of where the dragon perched. He was just hauling himself into the saddle of a handsome black destrier, a muscular horse with a braided mane and tail, and big, feathery feet. To her mind, the beast looked like an elegant version of a
plow horse, but then the Acadian Guards didn't have a cavalry or mounted knights, so she didn't have much to compare the destrier to. The knight groaned and rattled as he got himself in place. The helmet turned so that the eye-slits pointed in her direction.

“You might tell me which way the dragon went,” he said.

She indicated, knowing he wouldn't be able to follow so vague a direction. “I might point out that you're going to need a guide.”

“You're a guide.” The words dripped contempt. “As if you could find your way out of Ethanos without help.”

She narrowed her eyes and gritted her teeth. “I have studied every map ever drawn of Acadia.” Which was the truth. “I have committed them all to memory.” Stretching the truth a bit. “And I'm the best guide you're going to get.” Marginally true, if what she suspected was the case. If it was…he was going to have a hard time finding
any
guide.

Without waiting to hear his answer, she stalked off in the general direction that the dragon had flown. But if her memory was correct, as they exited the valley she was heading in the specific direction of the same village that Merrha's family was from. They probably wouldn't get there until tomorrow morning, but she had bread, water and a cloak. She wouldn't starve or sleep too hard. And it might be possible to find other provisioning along the way.

The destrier stepped carefully along in her wake
as the knight followed her up the rocky path deeper into the mountains. This was not the sort of trail that a horse cared for at the best of times, and it had been drizzling this morning, making it slippery. She took a grim satisfaction in getting so far ahead of her reluctant companion that she often had to pause for the horse to catch up.