The Dragon and the Gnarly King

  "Why shouldn't he?" said Angie. "I don't think he knew what was in the letter. He was one of the Prince's own men—not a real, official Royal Herald—he told me that. He did say he'd been expecting you'd be going back with him to Windsor—the Prince is evidently staying away from Court. But it's not unusual for somebody who's as far out in the country as we are, not to be at home when a messenger gets there. Anyway, Geronde and Danielle were with me in the Great Hall when I opened the letter and read it."

  She giggled, an unusual sound from Angie.

  "They were impressed," she said.

  "Why?"

  "Because I had the nerve to open a Royal letter addressed to you, but more because they could see me reading it right through without trouble."

  "You didn't tell them what it said?" Jim asked.

  "Of course not," she answered, "but they backed me up when I told the messenger you'd left."

  "That was good of them," said Jim.

  "But you know they couldn't do anything else," answered Angie.

  It was true, he thought. At the present moment Geronde and Danielle might not be feeling exactly happy with him and Angie, but—even aside from friendship—it would be instinct in almost anyone, at this time in history, to back up anything said by a known person to a stranger—unless asked to swear on it, which would put their souls in peril.

  "But," Jim said, a new thought striking him, "I'm surprised the messenger didn't ask you which way I'd gone, and start out to try to catch up with me."

  "I said I wasn't awake when you left, and only learned about your leaving from the servants."

  "Well, you did marvelously," said Jim, looking at her gratefully. "But what I wanted to tell you is, Brian is feeling much better. I managed to give him some blood last night, and he says he's determined to leave as soon as possible."

  "Rrrnlf will be taking you?"

  "Yes," said Jim. "You remember—he isn't allowed into the Drowned Land; but he can take us most of the way faster than any other way I can think of."

  "You're going right away, then?" said Angie.

  Jim nodded.

  "We'd better say good-bye up here now, then," said Angie. "The courtyard is going to be full of people—as public as you can get."

  "You're right," said Jim.

  The courtyard was indeed full when the two of them got down there a little while later. Every servant who had the slightest excuse to be there, or to be passing through, was present.

  The two other couples were there. Danielle was standing very close to Dafydd and talking to him urgently in too low a voice to be overheard. Dafydd was looking as calm and unconcerned as ever, with his quiver of arrows and his bow already slung from his shoulders.

  Geronde and Brian were also standing close, but saying nothing—merely concentrating silently and completely on each other, bound by the conventions of their rank which inhibited public display of great emotion on the part of either simply because Brian was going off on a risky journey from which he might not return.

  The four horses were also there—Gorp, Blanchard, and Dafydd's mount saddled and bridled, swords scabbarded on the saddles and the tall spears in their sockets on the other side of the animal. Stablemen were holding the warhorses by their bridles, but at a good distance apart.

  Nobody was bothering to hold the sumpter-horse, which had evidently been standing around loaded for some time, with a thick cloth of felted, uncombed wool doing the duty of a tarp as an outer cover over its burden. The sumpter-horse looked disgusted but resigned.

  Rrrnlf was still sleeping.

  "Hatpin?" Angie asked Jim, producing the instrument and looking at Rrrnlf's big toe, which was protruding from the sandal on his right foot in easily available position.

  Jim winced.

  "No," he said. "On second thought, I can spare a little magic and wake him that way."

  He pointed at Rrrnlf.

  "Wake!"

  "Wha? Whoop?" roared Rrrnlf, sitting up suddenly. He said something very loudly in what was probably Anglo-Saxon.

  "No, no, Rrrnlf," said Jim, "this is the fourteenth century!"

  "Oh, that's right," said Rrrnlf. "There you are, wee Mage." He looked around. "And there is wee everyone else, including the wee beasts you all ride on."

  "Yes, I'll be wanting you to take them along with us, too," said Jim. "But first I'll have to make some magic to put a sort of invisible wall around us so that you can hold us as tightly as you need to without crushing us. I think the three of us and the horses are too much for one hand, and you probably won't want to have both hands full when you're traveling—"

  Jim broke off. Blanchard, who had frozen with startlement when Rrrnlf suddenly came to life to loom over him, now decided to express his feelings. Whinnying, rearing, showing the whites of his eyes and threatening to foam at the mouth, he fought the reins with which his stable-hand was trying to hold him, and several others of the stable crew, including the Stable-Master, came running to help.

  But it was Brian who saved the situation, catching the reins and starting to soothe the warhorse. He put one forearm across Blanchard's eyes to temporarily shut out sight of Rrrnlf; and with that horrifying vision blotted out, plus Brian's voice—the only one he ever really listened to, anyway—murmuring soothing and flattering words in his ears, the great horse calmed down.

  Gorp jerked his head about a little as if he would like to throw the same kind of tantrum. But he was somewhat inexperienced in doing so; and when no one paid attention, he stopped. The sumpter-horse looked at them both with what was now utter and simple disgust.

  "All right now," said Jim, when peace had been restored and Blanchard, with Brian's forearm removed, was able to look right at Rrrnlf without going into a frenzy. "If you'll lead all the horses over here to me, facing me, but a little bit apart—that's right."

  It was indeed right, although none of the stable-hands wanted to get too close to warhorses in such proximity. But Brian did it with a no-nonsense attitude. Things were quiet now, and the steeds were content to have them that way.

  "All right," said Jim. "Now I'm going to enclose each one of the horses in a ward, and then all of them in one other big ward, so that they'll be protected, but safe from each other at the same time—Brian, you'd better step back from Blanchard for a minute—will he stand if you let go of the reins?"

  "Stand!" ordered Brian, dropping the reins to the ground. He backed away with the healthy respect always accorded a Magickian at his work.

  "Fine," said Jim. "Now, you stable-men let go of Gorp and the other horses, and stand back too. Right. Now—"

  "One moment, James," said Brian. "Are you going to leave that little Hobgoblin of yours and that whatever-he-is here with the horses? Or what else are we to do with them?"

  "They aren't even here," said Jim.

  "Of course they are!" said Brian. "They're under the cover on the sumpter-horse, with everything else. I thought you wanted them there, for reasons of your own."

  "Certainly not!" said Jim, staring at the sumpter-horse. "Under the cover? Hob!"

  Something stirred under the cover, near one of its edges. "Come on out here, Hob! Bring what's-his-name with you."

  The small man and Hob crawled out from under the cover at the back. But instead of getting down on the ground, they stood up on top of the sumpter-horse, which stood as indifferently steady as a half-buried rock.

  "Hob," said Jim, striving for calmness, "how do you happen to be here, and what is this other Natural doing with you?"

  Hob stood on one leg.

  "He," said Hob, looking up at the small man to his right, "said he was going to crawl in under the cover all by himself." There was a clear note of jealousy in Hob's voice. "So I brought us here on the smoke—it makes us light for the horse, he likes that. Besides, if he came and I didn't, how would you be able to talk to him?"

  "I didn't plan to talk to him," said Jim, trying to sort through Hob's explanation, "because he's not supposed to be there in the first p
lace. He came without asking. You—what's his name again, Hob?"

  "He says to call him Hill," said Hob.

  "Hill?" said Jim, still striving to sound calm and reasonable. "Hill, this is nothing against you; but you and Hob have to stay here. I don't want you with us."

  The small man continued to stare at Jim with no change of expression at all, but Jim suddenly found himself feeling vaguely uncomfortable. That steady gaze had something of deep reproach in it.

  "Oh!" said Hob suddenly. "He's crying!"

  Hob reached and put both hands on one of Hill's arms, but Hill paid no attention to him, only staring at Jim.

  Jim stared back. The face he looked into, with its blank, childish stare, the mouth still half-open, had not changed at all. There were no tears in the blue eyes.

  "Crying?" said Jim. "He's not crying. Why should he cry, Hob?"

  "He's crying inside; and he says it's because you're his Luck!" said Hob. He touched the other's arm, but was still ignored. "It's all right, Hill. I'll be here with you; and how would you like to go for a ride on the smoke?"

  Hill did not answer.

  Jim felt the beginning of a strange uneasiness. Back in his own century he would have ignored all this talk about "Luck" and Hill having to be with him. But here in this world he had developed a sensitivity to the unknown and the strange; and in spite of his common sense, there was a feeling inside him that somehow he would be doing wrong if he made the small Natural stay at Malencontri.

  "Oh, all right!" he said, angrily. "The two of you can come. But don't either one of you get in our way!"

  "Huzzay!" cried Hob. Hill was already burrowing back under the cover on the horse's back. Hob followed him.

  "All right, here we go, then," said Jim.

  He pointed his right index finger first at Gorp, then at the sumpter-horse which was between the two stallions, then at Blanchard, and finally at Dafydd's horse—the one he had ridden to Malencontri. Then he swung his finger back and forth, pointing from one to the other.

  "There," he said. "That takes care of that." Gorp started to move restlessly, bumped his nose against something invisible between him and the sumpter-horse, and stopped, looking surprised. Blanchard was still being obedient to Brian and standing with his reins on the ground.

  "Now," said Jim, "if you'll both come over here, Brian and Dafydd, and stand in front of your horses. I'll join you." The two men came over promptly enough, but somewhat stiffly, like a couple of patients just told the dentists were ready for them, now.

  As soon as they were in place, Jim stepped forward, turned around, and stood with the other two. He half closed his eyes to visualize; and a moment later that part of his mind that had become sensitized to his magic when it worked gave him the sensation that the wards were around him and around the other two, as well as the horses.

  "I think we're ready, then—" he broke off. "No, wait a minute. Rrrnlf, will you bend down and lay your hand open on the ground, so I can see how we're going to fit into it, the horses and all?"

  Rrrnlf did so. It was perfectly clear that they would make a handful that Rrrnlf could get his massive fingers under, but it would be a clumsy handful.

  "I think I'll make all of us half-size. Brian, Dafydd—will you remind me to make us full-size again, once we've gotten where we're going?"

  "Assuredly," said Dafydd, before Brian could say anything.

  It took only a moment's visualization. Jim himself felt no change and was sure from the silence of Brian, Dafydd, and the horses that none of them had, either. But Rrrnlf's hand, still open and waiting for them on the ground, now looked ample to hold them.

  "Yes, we can be carried easily." He looked out into the crowd. "I'll be back as soon as I can," he said.

  "Farewell, my Lady," said Brian to Geronde with surprising feeling in his voice, considering the publicness of the scene.

  "I will be back, my Golden Bird," said Dafydd at the same moment, softly, but with sufficient voice to carry to Danielle, who was—after all—not that far away from him.

  "Now, Rrrnlf," said Jim. "Carry us to the border of the Drowned Land."

  "Very well, wee Mage," said Rrrnlf. "Do the wee riding-beasts come all the way there, too?"

  "You'll find we're all one piece when you pick us up," said Jim.

  "And harkye, Sea Devil," Brian rapped out before Jim had barely got the words out of his mouth. "—Carefully! Particularly with Blan—with the horses!"

  "Certainly, wee Knight," said Rrrnlf agreeably, and the huge hand closed around them so that they were looking out between Rrrnlf's massive fingers at the Great Hall behind the Sea Devil's back.

  They were lifted with a jerk—the horses all neighed in alarm and protest. There was a swinging movement, followed immediately by a clearly heard thud that jarred them as they stood, and they were looking back at the outside of the curtain wall. Rrrnlf was carrying them in his right fist, hanging at his side, with the knuckles facing back so that they could see between his fingers what they were leaving, but not where they were going. All three men peered out.

  A steady, swinging motion began. Malencontri was one size smaller with each swing; and abruptly there were trees between them and it.

  The glimpses of the Castle shrank more with every swing, as they moved with what must be surprising, enormous strides—even for someone as tall as Rrrnlf. At last, Malencontri was lost to sight, gone, with Angie, Geronde, and Danielle and everyone else there. The glimpses of the familiar part of the forest dwindled, dwindled, until there was nothing but the tree-trunks and the leaves.

  Finally there was only the forest and movement.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Something more than Rrrnlf's length of stride had to be at work. Because it was not more than a matter of a few minutes before his voice could be heard booming above them.

  "Ah, sea!"

  The long, repeated swings at the end of Rrrnlf's arm as he strode, that might have made them queasy if Jim had not silently suggested magically that it made them sleepy instead, ceased suddenly, and Brian exploded into speech with the suddenness of someone just woken up.

  "It cannot be possible!" he burst out. "We are a full day's ride from the sea—well, maybe something less than a full day's ride, but too large a space to be covered in this short length of time!"

  "Natural magic," explained Jim glibly, and as suddenly as Brian had spoken they were enclosed in a watery greenness. All three were experiencing an unnerving sensation which only Jim could recognize as like being in a swiftly dropping elevator—the feeling of having left his stomach up behind there somewhere.

  Jim stole a glance at his two friends. They were both expressionless. Too expressionless. Jim suspected that each thought the sensation was happening to him, alone, and was determined not to show a reaction. Jim opened his mouth to explain, then closed it again. That could not be done easily in fourteenth-century terms—and anyway, the sensation had ceased now and the reason for it did not matter.

  In moments, it seemed, they were looking through what seemed to be about a three-foot thickness of water, at a sandy plain, beyond which they could see a green land, cheerfully lit by some unseen sun, and rising to rocky heights and valleys farther in.

  "There were some wee people there, just a few moments ago," said Rrrnlf, "but they all turned and ran off, and they're lying down in the grass now, so you can't see them." His hand unfolded from around them and his voice took on a less happy tone. "Wee Mage, why is it all these wee people always run from me?"

  "Because they have guilty consciences," said Jim, before either Dafydd or Brian could answer.

  "Ah." Jim, looking up, saw Rrrnlf with a puzzled expression on his face. "So that is it. Why do so many of you wee people have 'guilty consciences'?"

  "We don't," said Jim, still talking fast before anyone else could say the wrong thing. "It just happens that you've most often seen my friends and me at times when people with guilty consciences have been chasing or lying in wait for us."


  "Ah, now I understand," said Rrrnlf.

  "Dafydd," went on Jim, still quickly, "is this the Drowned Land you were talking about?"

  "It is," said Dafydd. "Shall you take us through the last piece of water here to the land itself, then, James?"

  "Yes," said Jim. "Just stay as you are—"

  "Do I pass the wee beasts in to you, after you've gone?" interrupted Rrrnlf, a little anxiously. "What must I do if you leave them with me?"

  "We take them!" rapped out Brian, before Jim had a chance to speak. "And Rrrnlf—carefully!"

  "Yes, wee Knight!"

  "We'll all be careful, Brian," said Jim. "Thank you very much for bringing us here, Rrrnlf."

  "Indeed," said Dafydd, "I thank you also, Rrrnlf."

  "Thankee, Sea Devil," said Brian, a little stiffly and obviously unsure about the proper form of address when someone like himself was thanking a mere Natural, but one thirty feet tall, who had just whisked them over distances and down into the ocean deeps with no apparent trouble at all. He added: "A great task. Well done!"

  "Oh, I like doing things for you wee folk," said Rrrnlf. "Can I watch you move everyone in by magick, then, wee Mage?"

  "Of course," said Jim. He made the ward a single large enclosure. He had had time to work out the type of visualization he wanted, for a sort of magical tunnel through the water and into the air and land before them. He envisaged it now. It appeared, and he started walking forward into it, leading Gorp while removing the wards around the horses in sequence. His friends followed in turn, with their own horses. The sumpter-horse plodded along behind as if this was the normal way to act.

  They emerged on a sandy shore. It would have been happy if Blanchard had continued to follow docilely along. Unfortunately, the great horse seemed to come abruptly out of shock at finding himself no longer held in a tight invisible stall, surrounded by a massive hand; he reared and whinnied. Brian leaped to catch his reins near the bit, pulled his head down, and began talking to him, petting and calming him. Slowly, Blanchard yielded himself grudgingly to calmness—still snorting from time to time as if to express how hard this sort of thing was on his nerves.