The Dragon in Lyonesse

  "A very low-class magician only."

  "Ah, but still, you might know what has happened to my lovely voice. Sirens took lessons from me at one time. Nightingales dropped by regularly to brush up on the pitch of their notes. By any chance—"

  "I'm afraid not."

  "No," said the Diejjenbacbia cantans, its single furled leaf drooping even farther. "Forgive me, Mage—"

  "I'm not entitled to be addressed as Mage," said Jim.

  "Oh. Forgive me, as I say, but I had to ask. Still, perhaps Kineteté—"

  "Can do nothing for you," said Kineteté, suddenly appearing in the room. The tall, thin Mage's expression was stern, even severe; but then, Jim reflected, she always looked that way. "Only a Great Deed can give you back the voice you once had. Be patient, and perhaps in time there will be one."

  "But the Land of Lyonesse is in parlous state!" squeaked the Diefjenbacbia cantans. "I must help it and those of noble mind who will defend it. They must have the encouragement of my singing, else Lyonesse may be lost—"

  "I doubt your loss of voice is quite that important," the Mage said. She gestured with one arm, the wide sleeve of her long, comfortable-looking dark-green gown flaring momentarily. The motion caused the tips of brown, slipperlike shoes to appear from beneath the hem of the garment. "In any case, attempts are being made by me and those like me to prevent the loss of Lyonesse," she went on. "In fact, that's what brings the Dragon Knight of Malencontri here to speak with me—and that is what he and I must be about now. It's time for you to go."

  "Are you a dragon, sir?" asked the Dieffenbacbia cantans curiously, turning to Jim.

  "Begone!" said Kineteté—and it was.

  "Weren't you"—Jim hesitated—"sort of hard on him—her—it… whatever the word would be?"

  "Things have to be dealt with in their order of importance," said Kineteté; "but because he sang to Merlin and some others does not put him first in my attention when his personal trouble is only a part of the large problem you've come to speak to me about."

  "That plant is a 'he' then?"

  "As it happens," said Kineteté. "The female Diefjenbacbia cantansae are far less arrogant. To answer your first question, however—as you suspected, Carolinus must not be troubled at this time. Under such conditions it was quite proper for you to call on me."

  "I hadn't asked any question yet."

  "It wasn't necessary. You, Brian, and Dafydd are going to Lyonesse to stop the Dark Powers from conquering and owning it. You've simply come to me instead of Carolinus for aid in direction and the necessary increase in your own magick abilities for that task."

  "Wait a minute," said Jim, as she paused. It was next to impossible to interrupt Kineteté when she was speaking. Each of her sentences was a statement that nailed any interlocutor to a wall of silence until she was done speaking. "You're jumping way ahead of what we've planned. In the first place, Brian can't go—"

  "Nonsense!" said Kineteté, interrupting Jim without the least difficulty. "You should know better than that. In fact, you do. You landed in our world to find you could speak to and understand everybody you encountered; and ever since you've carried around the notion that therefore they felt and thought the same way you and Angie were used to. Well, we don't; and you'd better start keeping that in mind. Now, try to imagine you're Brian. If you were him, would you stay home while Dafydd and you go?"

  "Not of his own free will, of course," said Jim. "But with this business of putting up Smythe Castle as surety, he hasn't any choice."

  "Choice!" Kineteté did not sneer. She did not need to. The tone of her voice took care of everything. "Put yourself in Brian's place, as I say. You are Sir Brian Neville-Smythe. You are a great lance at spear-runnings and tournaments. You are known as one of the heroes who conquered the Dark Powers at the Loathly Tower. But here comes another chance to cross swords, metaphorically speaking, with the same Powers. The other two heroes are there, but not you. What will other knights—what will all England say?"

  Jim almost blushed. He felt as if he was in third grade, having just been led into an unfair verbal trap by his teacher.

  "That he was dodging this new battle," he answered. Now that the words were out, he was absolutely certain of what people of this time, particularly Brian's competitors, would say about his friend. "That he'd lost his nerve."

  "You see? You can understand, but you've got to stop and look twice. Do so from now on."

  "But how can he be absent now that he's promised to be available on this surety bond, or whatever it is, without notice?"

  "You know the answer to that, too; and if you'd thought you'd have realized Brian would have asked you himself right out to use magick to warn you and send him back the moment he's required at Smythe. Return him in a twinkling. He hasn't asked you that yet because it might be an imposition on you. And, of course, that's another reason you're here now, pretending only to ask for advice from me—you want me to give you not only advice and more magick, but a way to use your magick in Lyonesse, against the laws of that and all other nonhuman Kingdoms."

  Jim had now shrunk to kindergarten size in his own estimation.

  "All right," he said, "I did want advice from you on some way of possibly carrying what magic I've got into Lyonesse—but that's if I go, myself. Angie will probably be against my going. For that matter, with their banns about to be published and their wedding as soon after that as possible, Geronde may not want Brian to go."

  "Do you think she'll say anything to stop him?" said Kineteté. "Angie may say something to you if you talk about going; but she comes from a world where you have choices in such matters. Here, Geronde has her life and Brian has his, each with separate duties. Brian's chief duty is fighting and winning. Geronde's is to hold what is theirs. In each case, their duties come first. It would do her no good to tell him she doesn't want him to go. He would go anyway because there's no alternative. He'd be unhappy, but only because she's unhappy. I think you'll find Geronde will say nothing and spare him that."

  Jim gave up.

  "All right," he said. "Assuming we all go to the Drowned Land with Dafydd and end up in Lyonesse. How can I—or Dafydd and I, and even if Brian was with us—hope to do anything about what the Dark Powers are at in Lyonesse?"

  "I haven't the slightest idea," said Kineteté. "Neither would any other good magickian belonging to this world. Dark Powers, forsooth!" For a moment she looked even more cadaverous than usual, her face seeming at odds with the homey comfort of her room and her gown.

  "Chaos threatens," she went on, "in a new and more dangerous way; and History calls on you, Brian, and Dafydd to set right the balance. So says Carolinus, who sees more deeply into this endless struggle between those two forces than any of the rest of us. None of the rest of the Magickal Collegiate can imagine any hope of turning back this move toward Chaos. But Carolinus thinks you can do it, somehow, with your mad, otherworld ways."

  "What if we won't go?"

  "Then we all suffer," said Kineteté coldly. "Every time one of the two Forces wins, the balance between them is broken. The winner becomes stronger and more likely to finally destroy the other completely. That affects all of us. But 'all' includes you and everyone you know. If Chaos rules, there'll be no more rules. You and Angie will most certainly be torn apart. So will Geronde and Brian, Dafydd, Danielle, and their children. Now, do you want me to give or help you now with what you'll want—and I'll give you anything I can in good magickal conscience—or would you rather call on me as you need me?"

  Jim thought quickly. He was still determined not to go: but that argument could be settled later. Meanwhile, a door left continually open was much better than one open at just this moment. "I'll call on you."

  "I see. Along with everyone else. Carolinus never stops befriending everyone and everything he meets; and they all want a piece of him. Well, there's no changing him this late in the day. Farewell, then. All right—you! The dryad third oak from Carolinus's cottage. You're next—"
r />   But Jim was already back at Malencontri. Everything looked the same—but different, somehow. It was still morning, but the Great Hall was lit differently. It was as if the sunlight was coming in from the high windows at a less bright and flatter angle than it had been when he left. Brian, Dafydd, and Angie were just as he had left them at the High Table. But so, inexplicably, was Geronde, who had been off in Malvern, nearly a day's ride away, when Jim had gone to call on Kineteté.

  "Geronde!" said Jim. "How did you get here so quickly?"

  He remembered just in time to give her the ritual kiss of greeting before sitting down. It was only when he released her that she had a chance to answer.

  "I've been here since last night, James!"

  "Oh?" he said. "Last night?"

  "A pigeon came with a message from Angie and I got here by horse, riding fast, just before darkness fell," she answered, looking at him oddly.

  "But—" began Jim, but checked himself. "Of course! I forgot to ask Kineteté to send me back here to the moment just after I'd left! I'll bet she had me in suspended animation until she spoke to half a dozen others who were waiting, like that dryad."

  Geronde, Brian, and Dafydd looked at him with the polite, agreeable expressions adopted by people who are too mannerly to admit that they have no idea what "suspended animation" might mean—just in case it should have been something embarrassing or uncomfortable.

  "Jim," said Angie, gently, "do you want to tell us what you're talking about? It was Kineteté you went to see?"

  "Yes, she's seeing everyone who wants to see Carolinus—he's not up to visitors yet, evidently," said Jim.

  They all waited for him to go on.

  "Well, you see," he said, "I thought I'd get either Carolinus's or her opinion about this situation with the Dark Powers trying to take over Lyonesse. The magical community would be likely to know more about it than we would."

  "And did you?" asked Angie.

  "Yes—and no," said Jim. "They were way ahead of me; or at least Kineteté and Carolinus were, or are…"

  His voice trailed off as his mind began replaying the conversation he had just held with Kineteté. He woke to the waiting faces around him.

  "Apparently Carolinus thinks, and Kineteté believes"—he blurted out—"Dafydd—you, Brian, and I may be the only people who can stop the Dark Powers taking over Lyonesse; and things can become very bad then for your Drowned Land, to say nothing of the whole world if we don't."

  They, all of them—even the usually self-contained Dafydd—began to speak at once.

  "Hold it," said Jim. "That is, let me say something first."

  They stopped speaking and waited.

  "Look," he went on, "that's all Kineteté told me. She won't let anyone see Carolinus; and neither of them have any idea how I—how we might do it. That's all she said, all I know. Let's not try to hash it over just yet. Let's think about it and the situation each of us is in, maybe talk about it with whoever's closest to us; then meet here for supper and all of us discuss it."

  "What about dinner?" said Brian.

  Jim cursed himself. Even after these several years he kept getting the two meal terms mixed up. Here, of course, dinner was the noonday meal. Supper came at twilight, winter or summer; and everybody both went to bed and rose with the sun—more or less.

  "I'll have the Serving Room set up this table as a table dormant," he told Brian. "There'll be food on it for whoever wants it, all the time."

  "James," said Brian, "you are the best of hosts. I always think the better if my stomach is not empty."

  He stood up. They all stood up. Angie linked her arm in Jim's.

  "Come on," she said, "let's you and I take that walk you mentioned earlier—the one we never got around to. This is probably our best chance at the best of our autumn weather this year."

  Chapter Four

  Their feet made soft shushing sounds in the dry leaves as they walked under the great elms; and more leaves fell, twirling about them, as they went.

  "You know…" Angie said. She had his arm linked in hers and held tightly to her. "… when we first decided to stay here, in those early days, I just wanted you to survive in this fourteenth-century world. Every time you went, I was afraid I might never see you again. I felt guilty about wanting to stay here myself—"

  "You shouldn't have," said Jim. "I wanted to stay—badly. It was like a kid stepping into Toyland—the real Toyland—the people and everything about it."

  "But if I'd said I didn't want to stay, you'd have at least stopped to think it over first. Anyway… the point is, after a while, I saw how well you were able to take care of yourself here; in spite of not being raised to weapons from the cradle the way Brian's been. I began to stop being afraid so much. But as that fear went, another one came. You haven't started to like it too much here, have you? These adventures, I mean; you haven't come to like the fighting and the killing?"

  Jim stopped abruptly. They turned to face each other.

  "No!" he said. "How could I, coming from where and when we were? And how could I change now, after all those years? I suppose I could; but I don't want to. No, what I have come to do is accept it… like the rain and the winter cold—and the people. The good ones, I mean."

  Angie squeezed his arm.

  "I love you so much," she said. "I didn't think you'd changed. I wouldn't want you to."

  "And I love you!" he said. "We're lucky, that's all. Every so often two people win the lottery together. We did."

  "Yes," said Angie. They walked on, side by side.

  "No," said Jim, after a little silence, "what I liked from the start—what made me want to stay so much I'd risk doing without dentists and modern medicines and all that—is the unbelievable will to live of these people. They try to make a good life out of it, under conditions where the chance of being killed is something you have to face without warning at any time—and often nothing you can do about it. It's just the way things are."

  "I know what you mean," said Angie, watching her feet kick a thicker-than-usual pile of leaves out of their way.

  "Now that I've recognized it," said Jim, "I realize that the same thing was there—plenty of it—in our native world and time; but born and brought up where we were, we could be blind to it in other places. If we'd gone back—but we didn't; and I'm still glad we didn't. A chance like this… well, it doesn't come to people. Anyway, we're here now with no way back, even if the situation here includes magic and things like the Dark Powers."

  "Yes," said Angie. She reached out to catch a falling leaf that was twirling down at an angle toward her from one of the forest giants. She studied it for a few seconds, then passed it to Jim with a sudden smile.

  "From me to you," she said, "good magic. Keep it safe, use it well."

  Jim took it carefully, suddenly deeply moved.

  "Angie!" he said. The leaf was completely yellow, but just beginning to turn dry and fragile. He held it cautiously in his hand.

  "Thank you," he told her. From the moment she had smiled and handed it to him, he had been watching her closely. "You're worried about me now, and this thing with Dafydd."

  Her smile went.

  "Yes," she said. "I'm sorry—I just am."

  "It won't be anything serious or dangerous, Angie. It can't be. I'll be completely protected by Kineteté's magic; and anyway, Dafydd just wants me because he thinks I'll understand the magic in the situation. I'm sort of like a lucky rabbit's foot to him. You heard him say he'd have spoken to Carolinus instead, if he could. Did you ever know Carolinus to run any risks?"

  "Carolinus grew up in this world. He knows what the risks are—I'm sorry, Jim. Lets not talk about it. I know now you can take care of yourself. I've known that for a long time; and you were magnificent in the Hall yesterday, when the Dark Powers came."

  Magnificent was the last word Jim would have chosen to describe himself. "I was mad, Angie, that's all. Mad clear through! If They'd just been something I could get my hands on—"


  "Look at your hands now."

  He looked. They had curled into fists, and his forearms had raised to waist level parallel to the ground.

  "If you could see yourself now," said Angie. She put her own hand on one of his tense forearms. "Jim, don't look like that."

  He made his arms, his body, and his jaw muscles go through the motions of relaxing. By some miracle the leaf in his gasp had not been crushed. He reached down, pulled apart the opening of his purse—the small bag holding his coins and keys—and put the leaf reverently into it, then pulled the drawstrings tight again.

  "There," he said. "I'll keep it with me; and your leaf'll keep me sensible. It was just They came into our home, our castle—and I'd never thought it could be violated like that! I'd felt we were safe there."

  "So did I," Angie said. "I never will again."

  "I'll fix it so you are!" said Jim. "Angie, it's me They were after. Once I'm off with Dafydd, They won't be back here. And I can handle them."

  "You're so sure?"

  "Yes! I know I'm beginning to get a grip, in my own way, about the magic—or Magick, whatever you want to call it—here. It's simple, basic. If certain things are possible, then there're other things that can't be. The Dark Powers are powerful in the sense of owning a lot of magical energy—but They're limited in what They can do with it. We humans aren't limited."

  "Are you sure you aren't talking yourself into something?"

  "No. All Their powers—like the Naturals, there has to be a limit on Them. They can't move a single piece of straw by Themselves. The best They can do is work on some solid living thing to move it for them. Human magicians like me can use power to move things—admittedly the same thing applies to us. We're limited, too. Our magic won't cure sickness, though wounds, particularly battle wounds, we can heal. But on the other hand, we can use medicines, if we can find ones that'll work, to cure sickness. And any one of us can also pick up and move whole stacks of straw with everyday muscle… We work in both areas."

  "Why do all the Dark Powers and Demons and such seem more powerful than we do, then?"