Damsel Knight (18 page)

Alice scrambles out of the sling obediently enough, then Bonnie is free to trot up to the knight's horse. The sword feels awkward strapped across her front. She cringes inwardly. She'd been so distracted by taking her turn helping Alice keep up that she can't remember when she last asked Sir Julius if he needed his water-skin refilling.

He leans half out of his saddle, holding out a hand toward her.

She flinches back expecting a blow, but the hand stays motionless in the air in front of her. "Sir?"

"Come on," Sir Julius says, not unkindly. The horse stays as still beneath him as if it were cut out of stone. "Mount up behind me. We're riding ahead to the city. I have word the King wishes to see us."

The King. All the saliva vanishes from her mouth at once, making it difficult to put all her questions into words. Why did she need to come as well? Was it just because he might need a squire, or did the King ask for her to come? Would he recognise her?

Blinking hard, she swallows down the questions, and taking his hand swings herself up into the saddle. Unhooking the belt sling, she tosses it over her shoulder to Alice. The princess's gaze rests heavy on her back as they ride away.

Chapter 19

They’re waved through the city gates after a glance. Sir Julius must be well known. It’s easy to guess why. A dark skinned knight is oddity enough. A clean shaven, long haired, dark skinned knight is more so.

Bonnie clings to the red cloak as they trot up the dull gold road that leads to the palace on the top of the hill. She can see it now, overlooking the city like a solemn father keeping a watchful eye on his children. Every wall is a pristine white only possible through magic. It gleams as brightly as Sir Julius’s spotless mare. Red flags flap lazily from the rooftops, the gold circle visible even from this distance.

People look up as they pass, the richly dressed standing on the golden road itself, and the few ragged huddled in the smaller offshoots, tense as if ready to be chased off. She scans the faces, but sees no women.

They pass through the main square near the bottom of the hill, the statue of King Robin chipped and worn in a way the living one will never be. Then past the giant meeting hall, big enough to fit every man in the city and outskirts, no matter their birth. As a girl she’d never been allowed in there, but she’d entered the palace once or twice to sit with the kitchen women while her father attended urgent business.

The gates to the palace grounds are as large as they were back then, the varying sizes of interlocking circles gleaming gold under the bright sun. These had real gold, her father had told her. Thickly plated onto a stronger metal, with magic to make sure nature did not cause the gold to flake away. The golden road – more radiant within the tall palace walls – is still nothing more than an illusion. Magic can only do so much, her father had explained. Using it to protect something precious you planned to walk on every day was fools work.

When they finally reach the marble steps at the bottom of the main entrance, she drops to the ground. Sir Julius steps off after her, handing the reins to a smart looking boy in page’s garb. A neat cotton shirt instead of a tunic, and bright red shorts.

“Your King awaits you in the throne room,” the boy says quickly, tripping over the words.

Sir Julius nods, already sweeping past him, up the white marble steps. Bonnie glances between him and the horse, wondering again if he really meant to take her with him. Deciding that he did, she jogs after him.

She’s never been in the main building. It’s more magnificent than she’d imagined. The entry way is big enough to fit in every house in her village. Soft marble archways are boarded with fine gold patterns. As much as she’d like to, there’s no time to stand and gawk. Sir Julius continues briskly through the open double doors on the far side of the room. She follows.

“My King!” Sir Julius calls out, walking down the thick red carpet that leads between the row upon row of empty benches, toward the throne. The shout echoes off the smooth marble walls.

Each stone bench is curved, arranged to form a giant circle. On the far side of the stone circle sits the throne, no higher than any of the benches. For a throne it’s disappointingly plain, made of a stone circle each for the seat and back. I’m different from you, the throne says, but no better.

On the throne sits the King, as handsome as when she’d been a child clinging to her father’s hand while listening to a speech. Important business was addressed in the meeting hall to the men and boys only, but once a year in the height of summer everyone gathered in the town square.

Those wed since the last summer would wait at the front of the crowd in their wedding outfits, and after a speech the King took the time to inspect each wife, then congratulate the husband on her beauty. Then the new babes were carried forward for similar inspection and praise. And finally before feasts and dancing, those who had carried out some great service to the kingdom were awarded a small blessing.

Back then he always wore a slight smile. Not Ness’s cocky smirk, but a tiny upward quirk of the mouth, like a proud father looking at his children. He’s not smiling now. He’s also not alone.

Sir Angus stands half out of view behind the stone throne. All his clothes except for the long red cloak are scorched and torn. The side of his face is dotted with dried blood, but she doesn’t see a wound. Magic, she guesses.

“Sir Angus,” Sir Julius says, his face unreadable. “I’m glad you’re well. We saw the flames and thought the worst. How many of your men survived?”

“A handful at most.” The words grate like he wants to say something else, but is holding himself back. From the murderous look in his eyes, it isn’t something pleasant. “The dragon is giant. Bigger than any I’ve heard of. It burned hundreds before we made it to the river. Our weapons were useless. They bounced off its scales like they were toys.”

“Aiming for the scales only works if the dragon is very young, and in the middle of a growth spurt,” Bonnie says quickly. They’re knights. She can’t believe they don’t know this. “It’s best to aim for the eyes or mouth. Sometimes the throat or belly works, but not always. Using noxious gases or firing water at them can make them give up and leave.”

Silence. All three men turn to look at her. The weight of their eyes makes her want to shrink away into nothing.

“And how did you come by this information child?” The King’s brow furrows softly, as if she’s a puzzle he’s trying to figure out. His bright green eyes share the gentle calmness of his daughter’s, but she finds little comfort in that. He’s a man. Not just a man, but a King. The most powerful man in all the circle. And if he finds out what she used to be, he’ll kill her.

“I’ve been filling his head with stories,” Sir Julius says with such casualness that for a moment even Bonnie believes it’s the truth. But it’s not. He’s lying. These past few days they’ve barely had time to exchange any words, let alone stories.

Why would he lie?

King Robin’s eyes watch her closely. “I’m afraid Sir Angus has made some disturbing accusations against your new squire.”

“And he doesn’t have the courtesy to accuse the boy himself I see.” Sir Julius’s hand moves to hover near his sword-belt, then drops by his side. His movements are as casual as if they were discussing a meal, or a joust, but his lips curl back from his teeth in a half snarl. “He hides behind your cloaks.”

Bonnie glances back over her shoulder, picturing the long way back to Neven and Alice. Her heart pounds so hard it feels like it’s trying to burst out and escape. If she’s really lucky she’ll make it out of the palace, but there’s no way she’ll make it off the grounds. The gates are guarded, and the stone walls are too tall to climb.

Trapped.

The King turns that calm gaze to Sir Julius. “As he was right to do. We’ll get to the truth. If the boy is innocent then no harm will come to him.”

And what if I’m not
, Bonnie thinks.
What if they find out I set Gelert free? What if they find out I’m not a boy?

Only she is a boy, isn’t she? She doesn’t beg and grovel like some weak creature. She wears boy clothes. She handles a sword well enough even with only one arm. Boys aren’t supposed to be scared of anything, so she won’t be either. “What am I being accused of?”

They turn to her again. She thinks the King and Sir Julius hold a faint amusement in their expressions, but Sir Angus looks at her like a hound looks at a fox.

“Witchery,” the King says. Only on his solemn tongue the word sounds like treason, murder, and evil all wrapped together. “He says you cast a spell on the dragon and bewitched it to attack the town of Porthdon, and the soldiers within it. Furthermore he suggests you were behind the breach of the circle, and allowed the dragon through to burn villages and towns from the north edge to those that have fallen along King’s road.”

“A child could do all that?” Sir Julius shakes his head. “It’s a new low when you have to blame your failures on a boy, Angus.”

“You can’t believe a dragon breached the circle by itself?” Sir Angus roars, his muscles bulging in a way that suggests if there wasn’t a King in the room this fight would be long past words. “Dragons are powerful, but they’re brainless. To fight with such skill, to go from village to village with such accuracy, there needs to be a brain. You saw how the boy sent the dragon away. It listened to him.”

“And was it the same dragon?” Bonnie asks. “The one that attacked you that night?”

Sir Angus stares at her a long moment without blinking. Rage boils in his dark eyes. “No. That was a golden one, bigger than the red. You controlled two.”

Sir Julius scoffs. “And now he’s controlling two dragons? He’s a child.”

“There were others.” Sir Angus faces the King, the fire in his eyes only fading a little. “A woman, a girl, and a boy. I’ve burned enough witches to know most are women.”

And how many of them were branded witch because they talked back, or refused a man, or dared to look someone in the eye? How many of them were killed because they did something no man would think twice about doing? Somehow she holds her tongue.

“Gather them up,” King Robin says. “Put them in some cells and feed them. See they are comfortable. I’ll lead the trial myself in the morning.”

“My King,” Sir Angus says. “Tonight the dragons will ravage again. Time is short.”

“And what would you suggest I do?” King Robin asks, as if genuinely interested in his knight’s opinion.

Part of Bonnie had assumed all the speeches about everyone being a part of one big circle, working together to keep each other safe, had been mostly pretty talk. Something said to keep people working away their lives with a smile on their face. Now she sees she was wrong. He listens at least to some. Whether he acts on advice given to him is something she’s yet to see.

“Burn the lot of them,” Sir Angus says. “Once the witch controlling the dragons are dead, they’ll be easier to kill.”

“No dragon is easy to kill.” Sir Julius moves subtly, until his body blocks some of the giant Angus from view. No. That’s not it. He’s blocking her from his view. “If you’d ever killed a dragon you’d know that. And we’ve always known the risk dragons pose to the circle. That’s why our King appointed the dragon knight.”

Her father. She swallows down a noise of surprise. They’re talking about her father.

“It is possible the dragon broke the circle alone.” King Robin nods softly, expression contemplative. “We’ve never found the man’s equal. His way of knowing when a dragon was about to stray too close to the barrier seemed almost witchcraft itself. Those barbarians worshipped him, and they’d sooner kill our men than speak to them. Our defence has suffered.”

“But if not?” Sir Angus presses. “If the boy and his people are behind it?”

“Bring them here,” the King says. There’s something harder to his voice, making it clear this is a command, and not a suggestion. “I’ll have my head druid look them over. We’ll soon get to the bottom of this.”

Magic leaves a trace, Sir Angus had said when they met. Would they see traces from the fire and locating spells Neven made? They’d burn him like they did that boy Timon. Only Neven’s mother would not be able to keep him around in some strange half dead form. He’d be gone forever.

She opens her mouth to protest. Maybe she can tell them about Alice. They were the ones who put the spells on Gelert, so they should know why he’s acting this way.

“I don’t think you want to do that my King,” Sir Julius says, his stance full of confidence Bonnie doesn’t feel. He smiles, though the edges are sharp and bitter. “It hardly seems a fitting way to greet the boy who saved your daughter.”

Chapter 20

“It’s hard to say under all this dirt,” King Robin says, frowning as he peers into Alice’s face. “The eyes are the same certainly. Mattis if you please.”

The head druid is more a walking skeleton than a man. His clothes, while neat and clean are the scratchy brown fabric the poorer folk wear. They hang off him, like shapeless sacks. His arms are thin as a child’s despite his height, and his features jut from a hollow eyed skull, covered in sagging wrinkles of skin. He doesn’t wear the hooded cloak all druids she’s seen wear, and what little hair he has left sprouts in white tufts from his spotted head.

Bending in an act painful to watch, he places his long thin fingers on Alice’s head. He chants in a voice too quiet to hear, then steps back.

The magic is less impressive than she’d thought it would be. If it’d been part of one of the magic shows the fakes put on, the audience would be grumbling its disappointment and getting up to leave. The dirt smeared on her face and clothes fades so slowly that she only sees progress when she looks away then back, or blinks a long moment. Her hair moves with the same speed, gradually finding its former glossy black and curling itself into tight ringlets. The two dresses clean and repair themselves, Bonnie’s old dress looking better than she’s ever seen it. Even the rags wrapped around her feet are returned to a cleanness she’s not sure they’ve ever experienced.

A small boy darts forward to help the frail druid lower himself onto one of the stone benches.

“That’s better,” King Robin says. His smile turns warm. “Yes this is my daughter. As beautiful as ever like a delicate flower. What happened to put you in such a state little flower? I had the finest soldiers stationed nearby, ready to sail and bring you home the moment the dragon was killed.” The words are addressed to Alice, but the moment he finishes speaking he raises his head to fix questioning green eyes onto Bonnie.

Neven shifts beside her, and Mrs Moore stands still as a statue the other side. She wishes she knew what they’re thinking, and what they’d want her to say.

If she was Neven she would be able to think up a thousand excuses on the spot, but she’s Bonnie, good at sword and war games but not much else. So she tells the truth. “It wasn’t killed.”

Sir Angus sucks in a breath, big hands clutching the stone bench he’s sitting on as if wishing it was her neck his giant hands were wrapped around. “You see. Witchcraft. How else would he get the girl out of the tower without slaying the dragon?”

Sir Julius, sitting across from him beside the druid, narrows his eyes. “You’re like that annoying child who demands to know the ending the moment anyone starts a story. Let the boy speak.”

The King looks between the two with a kind of noble patience tinged with exasperation and a trace of fondness. It’s an expression that up until now Bonnie had assumed belonged solely to mothers, and perhaps the rare involved father. His hand doesn’t leave Alice’s shoulder.

“We didn’t cast a spell,” Bonnie says, putting all the confidence she has into those words. They have to believe it. If not, it could cost them their lives. “But there was something wrong with the magic already there. I faced the dragon, and then in the middle of fighting it became docile. In fact it became quite useful. Since the only way out was through the Dark Forest, I decided to leave it alive long enough for it to help us bring the princess to safety.”

Neven nods beside her, though when he speaks it comes out as little more than a squeak. “The princess’s safety was our foremost concern.”

“And then afterwards?” Sir Angus says brusquely. His lips quirk into a nasty smile beneath his beard. “I suppose that as soon as you passed the Dark Forest you did your duty? After all I’m sure a ‘fine’ lad like you would not leave a dragon to roam free in our kingdom?”

Bonnie flushes despite herself. She had done just that, not once but multiple times. “I - I didn’t.”

Sir Julius sighs, letting his face rest in his hands.

“What’s that lad?” Sir Angus asks, cupping a hand behind an ear. His grin grows larger. “Speak up.”

Neven steps forward, his face as pale as the lost ones in their base form. “What Boone means to say is we didn’t get the chance. We were about to and then y - your men came charging in and scared the dragon away.”

“So you’re the one allowing the dragon to roam free in our kingdom,” Sir Julius says, sounding much too delighted. “Shame on you Angus.”

Sir Angus shuffles his feet, grumbling. “I was trying to save your life. In case you don’t remember that dragon had just picked you up and carried you away like a dog with a bone. Maybe I shouldn’t have bothered.”

“I don’t think he meant to hurt him,” Bonnie says. “He was still under the spell. He was just playing.”

“If I may, my King?” The withered druid asks in an old but musical voice, one used to chanting.

“Of course Mattis,” King Robin says. “Every voice matters in this circle. I would have thought after all these years you’d remember that.”

“My King, I oversaw the spells myself and I do not see how the dragon could become docile like the children say.” He shakes his bony head. “The spells over the dragon were focus on one person only: your daughter. They were designed to tie it to her location, and to ensure he saw the girl as nothing more interesting as a stone statue. The moment a male crossed the tower threshold all the spells would break, including those over the dragon.”

“I thought,” Neven starts, looks like he might give up, then opens his mouth again. “I thought the spells broke when her true love entered the tower?”

“Child,” the druid’s features are sharp lending him a cruel look, but his eyes show kindness. “There is no spell powerful enough to tell you who that one true love will be. The future is full of infinite possibilities, and infinite is not a number easily paid. Magic can tell you if you truly love someone, but that love takes time to grow. I thought it best to leave love out of it. Our princess is beautiful and agreeable enough. Any man crossing that threshold could come to love her in time.”

And what if she didn’t love him?

Bonnie bites her tongue, thinking instead of Neven’s feelings. He’d grown fond of his ‘true love.’ To find there’s no love in the arrangement might be a disappointment for him. Instead she’s surprised to see that if anything he looks relieved. It’s Alice who looks disappointed.

“My friend,” the King says, eyes still on Mattis. “Is there no way you can think of, that the child might be telling the truth? I’d hate to sentence them to burn after they’ve done so much for my daughter.”

The druid frowns, the strain looking worrisome on his emaciated form. “There is one way. If someone with magic altered the spells, or set new ones of their own. That could do it. Though they would have to be very powerful, and pay a huge price. To make one dragon ignore one person who they barely see is one thing, but to make it actively help a group of them. I’m not even sure how it would be done. The dragon’s instinct to kill is all consuming. They show little affection even for their own young. The only way to do what the child says is to change its fundamental nature.”

“But it could be done?” Sir Julius presses.

“In theory yes,” Mattis turns to peer at Sir Julius with his surprisingly sharp looking eyes. “In practice, I’m not sure how. If I were to cast a spell on you now to give you feelings of fondness for our Sir Angus, for a short while you would worship him, yes. Then he’d say something or do something, that grates on your nerves now, and it would still grate on your nerves. Your mind would dwell on memories where you had no fondness for him. At first you would pass off these memories as a mistaken judgement on your part, but soon enough you’d start to wonder whether your judgement back then was the better one. Thus nature reasserts itself.

With a dragon it would be more difficult. You have felt fondness at some point in your life for someone or something. A dragon has not. It has no concept of kindness or friendship. Someone with more experience than me might know a way, but I’ve never come across one in all my years. It’s more likely that someone pushed down this dragon’s mind instead of altering it, then took control. But in that case the controller would have to be someone close to it.”

The men look at each other. Bonnie’s heart beats faster.

“Scan them for use of magic,” the King says finally. “Let’s be done with this.”

The head druid closes his hand around a small red crystal hanging from his neck, then he rises.

“I’ll go first,” Bonnie says, stepping forward. It will buy time. For what, she doesn’t know. She only knows that she can’t let them scan Neven. The sword feels heavy on her back.

Those long fingers are surprisingly gentle on her head. The druid’s sharp eyes peer over every inch of her, like a hawk searching the ground for prey. She tenses, wondering what he sees. Could he find out what she used to be?

Finally his eyes settle on her right arm. He staggers away, sweat beading on his bony brow. His hand unclasps from the crystal, and she sees its colour is now a pale pink. “Magic traces. He has magic traces on his right arm. Strange ones. Cold.”

“I didn’t.” Her heart thumps as Sir Angus darts forward. Instinctively she reaches for her sword, then stops herself. Fighting won’t help. They have to see. “I never used magic.”

Sir Angus grasps her wrists, clutching them together behind her back. Pain flares up her good arm, but from the other one she feels only pressure. He could break it and she wouldn’t know about it.

“Don’t touch his right arm!” The head druid says, his voice shrill.

Sir Angus swears, pushing her forward toward Sir Julius. Her knight catches her, then pushes her to her knees, twisting her good arm behind her back just enough to convince her to stay still. All the times he’s moving, he doesn’t get up from the stone bench.

Sir Angus falls down heavily onto a bench. He inspects the hand that held her right wrist. “He did something to me. I feel drained. What spell did he cast?”

“No spell,” Mattis sits, his joints creaking audibly. A small boy hovers anxiously at his side. “The magic sits in his right arm, in the white skin you see.”

“Then we have proof,” Sir Angus grits his teeth at her in a snarl, then raises his eyes above her to the other knight. “You’ve chosen a witch for a squire Julius. You should’ve burned them when I told you to. Maybe then my men would be alive.”

“He’s not a witch!” Neven shouts - really shouts, though he shudders like he might be sick. “And you can’t burn him! Boone is the strongest, bravest person in the whole circle. In the whole world I’ll bet. He got that wound defending the princess from the lost ones. Without him we’d all be dead.”

The King looks up sharply. “Lost ones? Where did you hear that term?”

Neven takes a step back, crossing his arms over his chest. His gaze flitters around the room. “A witch we met in the dark forest. Claudia. She tried to kill Alice. Boone saved her.”

Mattis frowns. “Lost ones?”

“An old term for spirits,” the King says. His green eyes darken. “I haven’t heard it used since my father’s time.”

“An old witch. And powerful.” Mattis grips his hands together on his lap. “That wound could only be caused by an intentional attack, and shades lack intent. Someone was controlling it.”

The King nods. “The same kind of someone who could control a dragon, or alter its nature if such a thing is possible. This is troubling. More so that I do not recognise the name. An invisible enemy is all the more difficult to fight.”

“This is all babble,” Sir Angus says, shaking his large head. “The children could be making this up. The boy has magical traces.”

“Only on his arm,” Mattis says. “If he used magic it would be spread evenly throughout his body. Such a large residue of magic in one small place suggests he is the victim of magic, not the perpetrator.”

Sir Angus’s expression darkens. “So test the others. You’ll find your perpetrator.”

The page boy that had taken Sir Julius’s horse runs through the doors, sprinting along the red carpet to the circle of benches, not seeming to notice the tension in the room. He stops beside Neven and Mrs Moore, badly out of breath.

The men look up sharply.

“Calm, Art.” The King leans forward in his throne, Alice moving out of the way, beside the seat. “Take a deep breath, then tell us what it is.”

The page boy - Art does as he’s bid. “An attack.”

Sir Julius releases Bonnie’s arm, and in one swift movement raises himself and her to their feet. “We were expecting this. My men should already be in place, and I saw there were archers on the walls. That should hold until me and my squire reach them. Unless of course you wish to lead another command against a dragon, Sir Angus? I trust you’ll be gracious and not blame a child for your defeat this time?”

“No Sir - I mean.” Art takes another deep breath, his olive skin flushed with exertion. “Not a dragon. Barbarians. Barbarians are attacking.”