Tales of the Dragon's Bard, Volume 1: Eventide (31 page)

“So you mean ‘no,’” the centaur grumbled.

“Not exactly,” Edvard replied. “There is most definitely and positively something of a chance that he will attend.”

“Then Friday night it is, dwarf,” Aren said. “The night of the wedding.”

“The wedding is this Friday?” Edvard exclaimed. “What an excellent opportunity. I shall delight the assembly with my rendition of ‘My Love Lies Softly There’ and perhaps a ballad or two . . .”

“No, you’ll be with us, since this was largely your doing,” Aren said, gripping the Bard’s shoulder in his enormous hand.

“And what are
we
doing that night?” the Bard asked.

“Flying a dragon,” the centaur replied.

“We are?” Edvard gulped.

“Yes,” said the dwarf. “We’ve our own fine plan.”

Had they asked, even Edvard could have told them that of all the fine plans ever devised,
none
have ever gone according to plan.

• Chapter 21 •

The Siege of Eventide

With the everlasting Lady of the Sky smiling down upon you . . . and the blessing of gods you honor in your thoughts and deeds . . . and before the good citizens of Eventide . . . I wed you, Sobrina Morgan, and you, Lucius Tanner, one to another as wife and husband and unite you as one before the gods and our community.”

The couple turned toward each other. Lucius drew Sobrina into his arms and kissed her passionately.

The Pantheon Church was overflowing with guests, all cheering wildly.

Sobrina and Lucius turned to face their friends. Sobrina was resplendent in her wedding gown, its yellow color still as vibrant as on the day her mother had worn it. The lightly fit bodice of the dress came to a point in front, accentuating her narrow waist. The skirt was of heavy satin that flowed in princess lines over her hips and flared wide to the floor. Her light hair fell in waves down her back, crowned with a circlet of delicate dried flowers that Aren Bennis had brought over the night before and, in a quiet and somber voice, begged Sobrina to wear. It was a remarkable gift that Sobrina was inclined to refuse, but Caprice interceded, seeing how the centaur was so heartbroken and sincere in his offering. The wreath crowned her head in glorious display.

Lucius had cleaned up remarkably well and stood before the altar in his long coat and a high button shirt. His boots were polished to a shine brighter than still waters under a clear sky.

But all the splendor of their dress and careful grooming was nothing compared to the radiance of their smiles and the joy they felt in their union. Sobrina, standing before the roaring approval and applause of her neighbors, was transformed. The Frost Queen had somehow melted in the chill of the changing late autumn wind. Now her eyes shone with a startling warmth and there emerged a smile that warmed the soul just to look upon it.

Lucius and Sobrina both raised their hands, showing the assembled townsfolk the two halves of their marriage coin. The crowd cheered again all the louder. Sobrina laughed out loud, then stepped away from her newly minted husband toward the dwarf standing nearby.

Beulandreus Dudgeon stood in the front near the altar. He was dressed in his best leather coat, and he stood still holding the red velvet cushion on which he had presented the “broken” marriage coin to Father Pantheon. The smith had carefully cut the coin himself and had felt terribly honored when Lucius and Sobrina had come to him and asked him to be part of their wedding ceremony.

Sobrina stood before the dwarf, still gripping her half of the coin, and joyfully bent over, kissing Beulandreus on the forehead.

The dwarf never moved, but a tear escaped from one eye and fell onto the velvet pillow.

Meryl Morgan and his younger daughters stood to the side, beaming with joy. Caprice and Melodi both held small nosegays that were threatening to come apart under their excited applause. Abel stood as near to Melodi as custom and decorum allowed, one of the Dragon’s Bard’s more interesting volumes in his hand as he searched for a proper moment to present it to the youngest of the Morgans with his appreciation for her interest in such tales.

The centaurs from north of town, standing just beyond the columns outside the church, bellowed their husky approval with a loud, hooting sound. Aren Bennis was there among them, leading them in their peculiar cheer.

Yet not everyone in the congregation was happy.

Jarod Klum stood trapped uncomfortably close to Vestia Walters inside the church. She was standing next to her father and mother on the other side of half a dozen dwarf-dwarves and the Widow Merryweather, who looked rather discomfited among the diminutive tannery workers. Ariela Soliandrus hovered nearby, trying to keep a discreet distance between herself and the dwarf-dwarves while still remaining close enough to the ear of the widow. Vestia kept smiling at Jarod and waving her gloved fingers in his direction. Standing behind her was Percival Taylor, whose carefully affected steely gaze and menacing frown were also fixed on him.

Jarod pulled at his tight collar and thought how ridiculous a spectacle he must look in his uniform.

The fervor of the town regarding its defense against the rumored impending dragon attack had quickly carried down to include the ladies of the town. The ladies of Cobblestone Street reacted quickly and decisively: several committees were formed and bandages were rolled out of old bedding as quickly as possible in order to tend the inevitable horrible casualties of the coming conflict. The saying even got about that they might be cooked and eaten in their beds—the first change in horrible fates among the Cobblestone ladies in years.

Among those carried away in the fervor was Winifred Taylor, who, upon hearing of Jarod’s appointment as Captain of the Muster of the Dragonwatch, decided that her best contribution to the effort would be a proper uniform for its commander. She felt that such a position would require a gloriously dignified ensemble so as to command the respect and attention of his subordinates in the Muster. She enlisted an equally enthusiastic Merinda Oakman to construct an equally impressive and matching hat.

The result was an outrageous red tunic embroidered in yellow with matching hose. Over this was fitted a black jacket closed in the front with yellow toggles and cords. Then, knowing the long, uncomfortable hours the Captain would have to spend out of doors, all of this was topped by a thick woolen grey watch coat and a red-lined cape that almost covered up the epaulet boards on both shoulders—each ornately decorated with small dragon tapestries. The entire affair was extraordinarily hot even at night and caused Jarod to break into a sweat whenever he wore it. The hat, unfortunately, was the worst part, for it sported a metallic band around the plush red velvet of the beret with small ornamental dragon wings fixed to both sides. Merinda had, no doubt, gotten them forged at Beulandreus’s shop, and Jarod could only imagine the hours of amusement that had given—and probably was
still
giving—the dwarf. All this was topped off by an old sword Aren had given him that was too long and too heavy for him to wear without having to constantly pull up his belt.

Jarod was suddenly aware that the crowd was moving. Each person had a handful of grain, and they were positioning themselves outside the southern end of the church. With the crowds thinning before the altar, Jarod moved quickly forward.

“Caprice?” he called to her. “Please, wait.”

Caprice stopped, turned, and spoke to him in a brusque voice. “What is it, Jarod . . . what do you want?”

You,
he thought at once.

“I need to talk to you . . .”

“I’ve no time now,” she said. “I’ve got to go.”

“Later, then,” he said, reaching for her arm.

She pulled away from him. “It is a busy day, Jarod. I’ve a great deal to do . . .”

“Tonight, then,” he asked quickly. “I’m on the Dragonwatch . . . I’ll be in Charter Square manning the ballista there. Please, Caprice, it’s important.”

“If I can,” she replied as she walked toward the front of the church. The wind was picking up, blowing through the columns. “No promises, Jarod.”

“Please . . . if you can . . .”

Everyone afterward remembered the terrible wind that shook the trees, windows, and rooftops of the town that night, and all agreed that it must have been from the beating of the wings of the dragon Khrag as he flew over the town. That the wind had started earlier in the evening with the gathering of the clouds made some people comment that the dragon must have had magical powers over the weather as well.

The exact sequence of events was long debated after the fact, but of its terrible consequences, no one was in doubt.

Jarod leaned against the ballista near the center of Charter Square, his arms folded across his chest. There was a damp chill in the air that somehow was made only worse by the wind whipping at his watch coat. Percival Taylor and Constable Lamplighter—no longer Pro Tempore after his official appointment as town constable—were both manning the ballista across the bridge in Trader’s Square. Damper Muffe, at his father’s insistence, had joined Jarod along with Jep Walters at the Charter Square ballista. It was the second hour of their watch, and the valiant Muster were talked out and well settled into their places, huddled against the cold.

Jarod again considered the Cursed Sundial, as he had done for many nights of the watch. It stood near the enormous weapon, a dark shape in the cold, oppressive night, and had become a symbol to him of the terrible times in which he found himself.

If only I had been born in a time when the wishes weren’t broken,
he thought to himself again.
If only there were no curse and I could have the wish of my heart. If only . . .

“Did you hear something?” Jep asked, suddenly awake.

“No, I don’t think . . .”

A loud banging sound came from across the river.

“That sounded like it was—”

“Yes, behind Bolly’s Mill!” Jarod said, walking around to the front of the ballista, peering into the darkness. The siege weapon in Charter Square was situated east of the Cursed Sundial and aimed across the river toward the west in the general direction of Trader’s Square, while its opposite across the river was aimed more in their direction toward the east. Jarod thought this arrangement would allow them to protect each other when the dragon attacked. “There’s that old barn back there, but I don’t think anyone’s used it since—”

“By the Lady of the Sky!”
Jep shouted in the first proximity of a religious utterance Jarod had ever heard from the man.
“Look!”

Rising up over the mill across the river was the enormous shape of a dragon. Its fixed wings rippled in the strong wind as it rose majestically skyward, its long tail curling and writhing.

“Khrag!” Damper shouted and bolted at once east down King’s Road toward his home off Hammer Court. No one later blamed him for abandoning his post in the face of the flying terror, and it was agreed afterward that his noble desire had been to warn the village. His shrill, panic-filled voice certainly woke up anyone who had been sleeping between Charter Square and the east side of town. “Mom! It’s Khrag! It’s the dragon! The DRAGON!!! Mama!”

“Captain!” Jep Walters shouted at Jarod, his eyes wide. “What do we
do?
”

Jarod stood frozen for a moment, the world slowing around him while he seemed unable to move.

Across the river in Trader’s Square, he could hear the shouts and cries of Percival and Xander as they tried desperately to prepare the weapon to fire. More than anything, the ballista resembled a gigantic crossbow capable of throwing oversized bolts with tremendous force through the air. This required that Xander and Percival crank back the launching cable, bending the bow and then inserting the bolt into the slot.

The dragon pitched to the left with a rushing sound in the wind, its tail smacking against the roof of the Guild Hall. It suddenly righted itself and soared straight up before stopping, seeming to hang in the sky.

Jep was working the arming crank of the ballista behind Jarod with a fury. “Jarod! We haven’t any time! We’ve got to kill the beast before it eats us all in our beds!”

“Wait a minute,” Jarod said. “There’s something wrong with that dragon.”

Jarod caught a glimpse of a black cable in the air above the river. It ran from the heavy bushes and trees of Boar’s Island just where the Wanderwine River split in two and up across the river directly to where the dragon was now pitching to the right and then soaring up into the sky again.

Jarod rolled his eyes. He was not sure which of his friends was behind this latest nonsense, but he had a pretty good idea. He stepped back to the ballista and began calmly to help crank back the cable and bow. “All right, Master Walters, let’s kill this terrible dragon.”

“I’ve set the bolt!” the cooper shouted back. “Shouldn’t we light it on fire?”

Jarod’s original plan had included flaming bolts, but now that seemed like not nearly as good an idea as it had before. A glance across the river confirmed his suspicions, as Percival and Xander had not only managed to light their bolt on fire but somehow the entire oil-soaked ballista had been most cooperative in catching fire as well. Percival and Xander could be seen silhouetted against the small bonfire opposite the river, dancing about the flames and unsure as to how to extinguish the blaze. If anything, the light from the fire was giving dramatic illumination to the gigantic dragon rushing back and forth above the mill.

“I think perhaps we won’t need to light the flaming bolt,” Jarod said to Jep Walters. “Let’s just shoot the dragon and be done with it.”

Jarod calmly stepped back and, with both hands, shifted the ballista’s base so that it would fire over the mill.

Caprice Morgan came around the corner of the Griffon’s Tale Inn and screamed. She ran at once across the square to Jarod’s side.

“Jarod!” she cried with panic and fear in her voice, “what are you going to do!”

The Captain of the Muster shrugged in disgust as he adjusted the aim of the ballista to center it better above the mill. “I guess I’ll just have to kill a dragon.”