Dragon Business, The (25 page)

“I wish I could give you pointers, but there’s no easy way to kill a dragon. Each one is different.” Then Dalbry swallowed hard and made a confession that moved even Cullin. “For years I’ve had a low impression of knights and nobles. When I had my own fief with my own homey castle, I thought honor was enough . . . until a group of knights cheated me out of everything. You, sir, seem to have more honor and nobility than all those others combined.”

Tremayne bowed. “I thank you for that, Sir Dalbry. And now I must do my duty as a knight.” As he left the camp, he called back, “Fear not. I have a plan. I will slay the dragon in my own way.”

A
FFONYL’S PLAN WITH
the explosive kegs was about ready, but Sir Tremayne seemed intent on stalking off to face the dragon by himself. She didn’t think she could convince him to wait on the sidelines and let them blow up the monster from a distance.

With her skulking skills well practiced from sneaking in and out of the knights’ camp, Affonyl was confident she could follow Tremayne without him noticing her. The proud holder of the short straw strode off to meet his destiny.

She crept along, easily following Tremayne’s white cape and his improbably shiny armor as he worked his way through the trees, never looking back. But he set off into thicker trees, heading away from the lair, which puzzled Affonyl.

The forest grew dark, tangled with shadows and deadfall. Thick underbrush made travel difficult, but Tremayne moved quickly nevertheless. Affonyl tried to keep up with him, hindered by having to move stealthily.

She lost track of the knight. She hurried to where she had last seen him, but Sir Tremayne was gone. What was he doing? She wondered if he intended to slip away and let everyone else assume the dragon had eaten him, while he made his escape, slipped out of the queendom, and kept a low profile. She realized it was a good scheme—who would ever know? She found the idea troubling, though. If Hernon, Morgan, Artimo, and Jems had found the courage to face the monster, she never expected Sir Tremayne to become a coward.

She still didn’t see him. Flustered, Affonyl decided to head back to Cullin and Dalbry at the camp, so they could discuss what to do next. She turned around—and nearly ran into Sir Tremayne. “Oh!”

“Ah!” the shining knight replied, with an uncharacteristic sinister edge to his voice. With a supple gauntleted hand, he seized Affonyl by the cropped blond hair, twisting his fingers and yanking her head back. “Just what I needed.”

She struggled, beating at his hand, but only bruised her knuckles on his armor. Adept in fighting, Tremayne caught her arms and wrenched one up behind her back. She bent over with a gasp of pain.

“That’s enough struggling from you.” He forced her to turn around. “I’ve had a long, hard week, and I don’t need any further inconvenience.”

She thrashed, but he lashed her wrists behind her back, then tied a rope around her neck so that he could lead her like a dog on a leash. He yanked, forcing her to follow.

“You’re an important part of my dragon-slaying plans.” He paused before adding, “Princess Affonyl.”

That startled her, and she stumbled. “You know who I am?”

He snorted. “I recognized you from the moment my knights came upon you in the road. Oh, you had cut your hair, covered yourself with dirt, and dressed in rags. I grant you it’s a good disguise, but an honorable knight can sense nobility. A princess is a princess . . . though I was surprised to find you alive. I heard the explosion in King Norrimun’s castle and the old woman’s story. I saw the torn-open wall, the claw marks, and the dragon scales with my own eyes.” He nudged her hard, forcing her to keep walking. “I don’t know how you managed it. Were you secretly in league with the dragon that killed Duke Kerrl? Did the two of you come up with some twisted plot?”

“There was no dragon, just a trick that I staged myself.”

He pursed his lips. “I could probably have seen that for myself, but I was indisposed with a bit of indigestion.”

“More than a bit, from what I heard,” Affonyl said. Tremayne made her move along. When she didn’t trudge fast enough, he yanked on the rope and jerked her head around. “What do you intend to do with me?”

“Thanks to you, I’ll be able to slay the dragon. My four comrades failed because they were missing a key element in the scenario.”

“And what is that?”

“Everyone knows the best way to lure a dragon is to give it a virgin sacrifice.”

A chill shivered down her spine, and she stumbled on a root, but Tremayne yanked her back to her feet and pushed her toward the ominous lair.

“How do you know I’m a virgin?” she demanded in a haughty voice.

Tremayne didn’t seem to care. “If I can’t tell, then the dragon won’t be able to either.” He gave her a condescending look of villainous apology. “Everybody already believes you were killed by a dragon. I’m just helping the facts catch up with the story. When minstrels write songs about brave Sir Tremayne, no one will know the difference.”

“
I’ll
know the difference!”

“Ah, but you’ll be dead, dear princess.”

“Then I’ll come back as a ghost and haunt you.”

He chortled. “I highly doubt that. I can believe in dragons, but only fools believe in ghosts.”

They finally reached the bone-strewn clearing in front of the cave mouth. One spindly, barren tree stood like a gibbet in full view of the lair. Tremayne yanked Affonyl to the tree and used the rope to lash her up against the trunk. She kicked at him, but he grabbed her feet and bound them against the base of the tree.

“I’ll scream,” she said, struggling without success at the bonds.

“Go right ahead. I’m almost finished. Remember, the louder you shout, the sooner you’ll bring out the dragon.”

Affonyl fell silent.

Tremayne smiled at her. “Take heart, Princess. While the dragon is busy eating your tender flesh, I’ll sneak up from behind and strike it dead.”

“Could you maybe do that
before
it eats me?”

“That wouldn’t fit with the plan.”

“I still think we ought to go help Sir Tremayne,” Cullin said to Dalbry. “Or at least cheer him on.”

The older knight remained firm. “He asked us not to. We must honor his request.” He had pulled up a handful of dried grass stalks and was plucking the leaves, as if he needed spare straws just in case.

Cullin paced the camp. “Well, I’m going to go see. If nothing else, I can bring back news about what happened to him.” Feeling short on time, he left the camp and hurried up the narrowing gorge, dodging trees as he made his way along the slope until he reached the dragon’s lair.

There he saw Affonyl tied to a tree, struggling against the ropes.

Every knight’s dream is to find a damsel in distress, and Cullin was already smitten with the former princess, but he was ill-prepared for a dragon slaying. He only had his practice sword, which was unadorned and nothing to brag about, but at least it was hard and halfway sharp. He also had a dagger, which he used for skinning game more often than for knife fights.

“Affonyl!” His voice cracked as he ran forward. “I’ll save you!”

Her eyes were wide with fear, and she shook her head. In a stage whisper, she said, “Quiet, Squirrel! The dragon will hear you.”

He dropped his voice, saying, “Sorry,” then repeated in a hush, “I’ll save you.” At such low volume, however, his words carried little dramatic impact.

He pulled out his knife and was about to cut the ropes when he heard an angry sound. Sir Tremayne charged toward him from his hiding place in the trees. “Leave her there, boy! You’ll ruin my plan.”

“Your plan?” Cullin said. “
This
is a plan?”

“He means to use me as a virgin sacrifice to lure the dragon,” Affonyl explained, then rolled her eyes at the absurdity of the suggestion.

“That’s not a good plan,” Cullin said. “Nor an honorable one.”

“It works.” Tremayne drew his sword. “I suppose I’ll have to tie you both to the tree now. Young squires make good dragon bait as well.”

Even though Cullin had not managed to cut the ropes binding Affonyl, he had to take care of Tremayne first, since the knight’s sword was more of a threat. He thrust the knife back into its sheath and drew his practice sword instead.

“Don’t be an idiot, boy,” Tremayne said. “I’m a knight in shining armor, and you’re just an apprentice. You can’t possibly defeat me.”

Cullin flailed with his blade, banging it against Tremayne’s sword. The knight easily parried his blow and swung at Cullin. The young man lifted his sword to block it, and steel crashed together with a loud clang.

Cullin hoped to confuse Tremayne, for whatever advantage it might gain him. “I’m not even a real apprentice, and Sir Dalbry’s not a real dragon slayer. In fact, there aren’t supposed to be any real dragons either.” He swung his sword in an attempt to hit something, anything at all.

Tremayne blocked the blow with his shield, and Cullin battered again and again with his ever duller blade, succeeding only in chipping some of the paint on the shield. Tremayne’s polished flexible metal armor gleamed in the sunlight.

“What do you mean? I’ve heard the songs about brave Sir Dalbry. His reputation is unassailable.”

“It’s a scam. We made it all up. The part that went wrong, though”—Cullin clenched his teeth and drove in with a harder blow, since Tremayne was not taking the attacks seriously—“is that this dragon doesn’t know it’s supposed to be a myth.”

Affonyl struggled to break free of her bonds. She clearly wanted to cheer Cullin on, but the two were already making altogether too much noise, which was sure to rouse the dragon.

The knight clipped Cullin on the head with his shield, hard enough to stun him. As the young man reeled away, Tremayne laughed. “You lack skill and finesse. Dalbry is indeed no true knight if he’s the one who taught you how to fight.”

Not giving up, Cullin staggered toward Tremayne. “Sir Dalbry taught me how to fight with honor.” He wove as if nearly passing out, panting hard, and took a step closer. “And my friend Reeger taught me how to fight
dirty
.”

He swung his left foot upward with all the might he could muster. His hard boot slammed into the center of Sir Tremayne’s crotch plate.

While the gleaming armor made the shining knight an impressive figure out of a storybook, such dazzling armor plate was necessarily thin and supple. When Cullin’s boot struck the crotch plate, it buckled inward and clenched Tremayne’s testicles in a death grip.

The shining knight collapsed to his knees and let out a sick groan in a most unnoble manner.

Cullin whacked Tremayne on the back of his helmet with the flat of his practice sword. The blow rang like a church bell falling out of its steeple and striking the flagstones below. The knight fell forward, unconscious, into the dirt.

Cullin stared in amazement at what he had done. Feeling his heart pound, his blood rush through his circulatory system, a slow smile grew on his face. He felt alive, victorious!

Affonyl cried, “Don’t just stand there, Squirrel—can’t you hear it? You woke the dragon. It’s coming!”

He did hear snarls, explosive breaths, and scraping movement. Flickers of orange flame lit the inside of the grotto. Cullin raced back to Affonyl with his knife and sawed through the ropes binding her hands before working on the cords around her ankles. Affonyl squirmed and strained to break them.

“Hold still!” he said.

“Really? There’s a dragon coming.”

Cullin snapped the last rope. He grabbed Affonyl by the hand and dragged her to the trees just as the dragon emerged. Its head quested from side to side, nostrils leaking smoke. When its eyes caught the shining form of Sir Tremayne sprawled on the ground, the dragon seized him in its jaws, tearing the pristine fabric of his white-and-indigo cape.

As Cullin and Affonyl watched in horror, mixed with some small amount of satisfaction, the dragon pulled Tremayne into the cave to finish its meal.

T
HOUGH SCUFFED AND
worse for the wear—not to mention rattled by Sir Tremayne’s unexpected dishonorable turnaround—Cullin was exhilarated. As he and Affonyl hurried from the dragon’s lair, even the disconcerting sound of crunching bones and bending armor did not dampen his mood.

After all the stories he had told and the scams he had pulled, now he could honestly say he had fought a knight in shining armor and rescued a princess!

Affonyl was also overjoyed. Escaping a horrible death was enough in itself to make her happy.

Bursting with news, they rushed back to Sir Dalbry. As they approached the camp, they heard the indecipherable bray of their mule and discovered that Reeger had rejoined them. He sat on a broken stump, chewing on the grass blades that Dalbry had peeled in preparation for a straw-drawing that was no longer necessary. Reeger picked his teeth with one of the stalks and tossed the crumpled weed away. “Rust, Dalbry—we have to get out of here, no two ways around it.”

“I won’t abandon the quest, Reeger. It’s a matter of honor.”

Reeger snorted. “Have you seen the mortality rate of knights who set out on this quest? You’re being as stubborn as my mule.” The mule brayed, but whether to agree or disagree, no one could tell.

The older knight said, “If you don’t understand, then I can’t explain it.”

Cullin was panting with excitement and exhaustion as he ran up. “We survived the dragon! We got away.”

Dalbry’s brow furrowed. “You weren’t supposed to go close to the lair.”

The former princess still rubbed her rope-burned wrists. “We survived betrayal, too. Sir Tremayne tried to sacrifice me to the dragon.”

Dalbry rose to his feet. Of all the stories he had told and heard, this one seemed incomprehensible. “It’s not possible. Sir Tremayne—a coward?”

“Among other things,” Cullin said. “Right now, he’s primarily dragon food. I defeated him in a sword battle.”

Reeger snorted in disbelief, but Affonyl came to his defense. “He did! Squirrel protected me. Saved my life.”

Dalbry frowned at his apprentice dragon slayer. “And how did you defeat a well-trained knight in shining armor?”

“Kicked him in the crotch plate so hard I left a crater. After that, the rest was easy.” Taking turns, Cullin and Affonyl told the entire story.

Dalbry looked grim and saddened. “Sir Tremayne is such a disappointment.”

Reeger piped up, “Now will you listen to reason? Our only alternative is to pack up and leave. This isn’t what we signed up for.” He glanced at the mounts still tied to their trees, running calculations in his head. “We’ve got all these horses now, practically a herd. If we sell them, we’ll have enough coins to last a long time.”

Cullin perked up. “We could buy passage on a ship leaving out of Rivermouth—sail to the New Lands, make a fresh start.”

Affonyl added her vote. “We can slip out of the queendom without being seen. No one will know what happened. Couldn’t be simpler.”

His face darkening, Dalbry shook his head. “And let the dragon keep preying on the people of this fair land?
I gave my word!
”

Cullin had seen the dragon—much too close—and had no desire to face it, but if he and his companions fled, the queendom would be without so much as an amateur protector. “I guess pretend dragon slayers are better than no dragon slayers at all.”

Reeger, however, thought along more practical lines. “Rust, Dalbry! This isn’t our game, and it isn’t our problem. Forget the treasure—we can always earn more, but we can’t spend it if we’re being digested in a dragon’s stomach. Forget the princess. You’re not the marrying type anyway.”

Dalbry looked disappointed in him. “You are free to leave, but I won’t flee from our responsibilities. That would be dishonest.”

Cullin blinked in surprise. “When has dishonesty ever bothered you, Dalbry?” Brave knights might have a restrictive sense of honor, but con men and scam artists had no such code.

Cullin had learned a lot by watching the chivalrous consortium of knights. Although his opinions about the men varied, he couldn’t deny that they were bound by an invisible network of honor and expectations. It was something the young man had never been brought up with.

“It’s
always
bothered me, but I got over it.” Dalbry opened his magic sack and withdrew the last dried apricots out of habit, not because he was hungry. “Now, it’s different.”

The knight slid the pits from the apricots into his other sack, but kept one out, holding it between his thumb and forefinger. “Do you know why I keep these? Because they symbolize hope. Each apricot pit contains a seed. It doesn’t look like much—it’s hard, and most likely won’t germinate . . . but there’s a chance.

“After all I’ve been through, my own sense of honor is a hard, dark pit, but I won’t throw it away. Someday I’ll find fertile ground where I can plant it and tend it, and hope I’ll have a strong tree again.”

Cullin nodded gravely, because Dalbry’s words seemed to carry great import. Then he shook his head. “Is that a metaphor? What’s it supposed to mean?”

“If I have to explain, then the metaphor wasn’t as effective as I thought.” Sir Dalbry seemed to be talking himself into greater and greater determination. “Even though Sir Tremayne had no honor in the end, I need to get my own back. It’s my turn to promulgate the myth of knighthood. Tremayne made me remember who I really should be.”

Affonyl sniffed. “Tremayne kidnapped me and tied me to a post as dragon bait!”

The old knight was implacable. “All the more reason. I swore, and now I am honor bound. My promise surrounds me, just as my armor does. I must go alone to face the dragon as the last of our band of knights, and hope I fare better than those others.”

“That’s a stupid idea,” Affonyl said. “Reeger and I have a better plan. We’ve made explosives. If we survey the lair and plant the casks in the proper places, we can blow—”

Dalbry shook his head, refusing to listen. “That is not how it’s done.” He adjusted his armor and took his sword. “If I fail, make sure Nightingale Bob adds a poignant final verse to my song.”

Though frustrated, Reeger knew he couldn’t change his long-time friend’s mind. Cullin looked at Affonyl, who seemed distraught and helpless. The young squire rose to his feet as Sir Dalbry fastened his dragonskin cape on his shoulders. “I shall go and face that horrible dragon—and only one of us will survive.” He turned to go.

Cullin raised his apprentice sword, just as he had done when facing Sir Tremayne. He wished he could be more gentle, but knew he dared not. He struck Sir Dalbry on the back of the head with the flat of his blade. The older knight grunted in surprise and collapsed, unconscious.

“Sometimes common sense trumps honor,” he said.

Reeger got to his feet and wiped his hands on his trousers. “Bloodrust and battlerot, now we can do this the sensible way—with big explosions. By the time Dalbry wakes up, we’ll have this dragon business all wrapped up.”