The Dragon and the Gnarly King by Gordon R. Dickson
It seemed to Jim that this was coming out very patly, as if it had been told many times. But he said nothing as Sir Dinedan continued.
"Whereupon the Ancestor shamed him, by saying that if he would fight but one knight, the Ancestor would fight the other twenty-nine. Whereupon, Sir Tristram agreed, they went and battled the thirty, and indeed Sir Tristram, gaining courage, killed ten of the knights himself, after all. But it was my Ancestor that killed twenty, thus saving Sir Lancelot. I tell you this that you may not be misled by the tales others tell, who have it the wrong way around."
"Er-hem!" said Brian, clearing his throat with an embarrassed air; and making Jim quite certain that Brian was one who had heard the story the other way around. In fact, thought Jim, if he remembered anything about Malory's Morte D'arthur, it had been the other way around, and it was the present Sir Dinedan who was giving a distorted version. For one thing, if Jim remembered correctly, it was Sir Dinedan who was Lancelot's cousin, not Sir Tristram.
However, that seemed to be somewhat beside the point. Sir Dinedan was already agreeing to break a lance with Brian, if a spear-running with a mere descendant of the original Sir Dinedan would please him; and Brian was eagerly taking him up on it. Jim thought about whether he ought to object to the project, on the grounds of Brian's recent wound; but he could think of no way to do so that was not certain to seriously offend his friend.
"I fear me the only spear I have with me is at my saddle," said Brian, "and it is sharpened, of course, as is usual for a knight in a strange land."
"Why, what else could we ride with but sharpened spears?" said Sir Dinedan, his shadow-darkened eyebrows rising in surprise. "Is it that you have broken spears with people, when the points were not sharp?"
"Oh, in sport, in play, you understand," said Brian airily, but to Jim's ear with another touch of embarrassment. "No, no, sharp they should be by all means. Do you have a choice as to the end of the clearing from which you would begin to ride—"
This commenced a small discussion as to the particulars of the meeting; but these were soon settled. Jim was drafted into the job of giving the signal. He sat Gorp halfway between them, raised his arm, and then dropped it again. The two knights hurtled together as Jim hastily backed Gorp away from their meeting-point.
The crash of their meeting sounded enormously loud in the silence of the black-and-silver wood; and the results were almost as spectacular. Sir Dinedan's spear glanced off Brian's shield, cunningly tilted at the last moment to produce exactly that effect, while Brian's spear hit Sir Dinedan's shield dead center and bore down not only the knight, but the horse he was riding.
The horse pulled himself from under the legs of the fallen knight and got to his feet, then shook himself vigorously. Brian had reined up, ridden back, and was staring at Sir Dinedan; who, however, remained motionless upon the ground.
"God have mercy!" cried Brian, leaping down. "Have I killed the good knight?" He knelt beside Sir Dinedan and lifted his visor. Sir Dinedan's eyes were tight shut.
"Sir Dinedan—?" said Brian.
"I am not quite dead," said Sir Dinedan, faintly. "Perhaps I may even live. A cup of wine from the flask at my saddle-bow."
Brian leaped to his feet and caught the reins of Sir Dinedan's horse, soothing it with his voice as it started to react defensively; and plucked the flask from where it hung at the pommel of the saddle. He brought it back, pulled its stopper out, and gently lifted Sir Dinedan's head. He tilted the flask to the knight's lips, and the other took several swallows before Brian took the flask away
"More," said Sir Dinedan, opening one eye. Brian gave him more. "Aah, that revives me."
He opened the other eye.
"It may be I shall live after all. Nonetheless, Sir Brian, may I give you honor and joy of your victory over even such a feeble knight as myself."
"Why do you speak of yourself as feeble?" said Brian. "You are a lusty knight."
"Ah, but if it were only so—a trifle more wine, if you please—I give you thanks." Sir Dinedan opened his other eye. "But, it is not so. There has been a terrible weakness in our family handed down through the generations; so that, without warning, at times we become feeble all over, and it happened that just before we met, one such weakness struck me."
"Why did you not tell me this before?" said Brian, tenderly helping the other knight to his feet.
"What?" said Sir Dinedan, frowning down at Brian—he was a good three inches taller, and much wider of shoulder. "When it is my duty as head of my family to ride about the woods daily, looking for encounters such as we have just had? I, who carry the blood of the original Sir Dinedan in my veins, who was ready to fight thirty knights single-handed, if Sir Tristram had not changed his mind and gone along to aid him?"
"Of course!" said Brian, contritely. "A gentleman need not mention such. Forgive me, I pray you."
"I freely do so," said Sir Dinedan, remounting his horse; then reaching down to take the flask from Brian's hands and tilt it once more to his lips, before rehanging it on his saddle. "Besides, it is only a weakness that comes and goes, beneath notice. I never complain of it."
"As a knight should not," said Brian, admiringly.
Brian also remounted, and they all rode on, with Sir Dinedan and Brian in the lead, Sir Dinedan talking about his castle, which was full of relatives.
"Actually, it is a relief to get out during the day." he was saying. Jim was barely listening. Curiously, at the moment, for no reason he could think of, he was missing his ability to make magic. It was a feeling like that of something not being there, or perhaps more like the feeling which might cling to a person who knew very well he or she had forgotten, and left behind, something that might be needed at any moment. A sort of emotional void.
Trying to take his mind off it, he became aware of a rustling somewhere among the trees not too far away. It was off to the right and far enough ahead of them so the woods hid whatever was causing it.
A moment later, however, there suddenly burst out from the same direction a sound like a hundred tied-up dogs yelping to get loose; and a few seconds after that, they entered a clearing just in time to see leaving it a creature like an oversized and elongated leopard, with a head like a boa constrictor and flames pouring from its nostrils, plus a long tufted tail like a lion's.
"The Questing Beast!" exclaimed Brian.
"Ah, yes," said Sir Dinedan, waving to it. He called after it. "I hope I see you well, QB!"
The Questing Beast turned its head to look at him, raised a paw briefly in a hasty wave, and disappeared into the trees, continuing to make what Jim now correctly identified as the sound of thirty couple of hounds questing. He hastily lifted Gorp's reins and rode up level with the other two knights.
"What is it questing for?" Brian was asking Dinedan.
"King Pellinore," replied the other. "The Original, you know—just as QB's the Original Questing Beast."
"But I thought that it was King Pellinore who was on a quest after the Beast?" Brian said.
"Well, they're both looking for each other, if you know what I mean," said Sir Dinedan. "Like the Ancestor. They keep moving around, but they don't run into each other often, except by accident. Great friends, really, you know."
"I didn't know that," said Brian.
"Oh, yes," said Sir Dinedan. "They used to hunt together when QB had a den right near Pellinore's castle, before a landslide covered the den and he moved elsewhere. Never very good at hunting, either of them, even then. But they both missed their little get-togethers, and so you see the result."
"Ah," said Brian thoughtfully.
"Sir Dinedan," said Jim, "where exactly are we in Lyonesse now?"
"Well, if things haven't changed around on us, as they do sometimes," said Sir Dinedan, "we are still in the Wood of Rencounters, and we should be approaching your next adventure very shortly."
"Next adventure?" echoed Brian, staring.
"Oh, yes," answered Sir Dinedan. "They're all over the place, you
"What—" Brian broke off. "Where do you think we'll find this next one, then?"
He stared about them, loosening his sword in its sheath.
"It should be anywhere just past this next patch of trees," said Sir Dinedan. "At least, that's the sort of place you find them lurking."
They passed through the trees, and came out in another open glade. All of them halted their horses.
To their left the silver sun had departed from the zenith and moved toward the horizon; it seemed to be growing larger as it did so, and was flooding the area before them with brilliant white light. This light illuminated not only the glade, but the upright face of a sheer rock cliff, rearing some fifty or sixty feet before them, with further rock looming higher beyond it, and higher rock even behind that.
It was a little hard to tell with this strange illumination, but the rock looked like granite; and it was unbroken except for the circular entrance of a cave or tunnel where the cliff met the forest floor, straight before them. An entrance which looked wide enough for all four horses to enter abreast.
The light also picked out what looked like some runes carved in the cliff face above the highest point of the hole. In the white light, the runes were black wounds in the rock. As they looked, however, the runes shifted and changed shape, until, to the eyes of Jim at least—and neither Brian nor Dafydd could read—they took on the appearance of words.
"What says it?" asked Brian, staring at them.
Jim read it off for him.
WHO ENTERS, DEPARTS
WHO DEPARTS, RETURNS
"Farewell," said Sir Dinedan, reining his horse around and starting back into the woods. Jim was the only one that paid any attention to his departure.
"Now, perhaps," said Brian, with satisfaction, "we close upon our quarry."
But their horses had only covered half the distance to the hole before they were interrupted by a woman's voice crying out.
"Help!" it cried. "Oh, help! Help me!"
All together, they reined in their horses and looked to their left; as a woman, in a white dress with a veil hiding her face, ran into sight from between the trees there. She stopped at the sight of them, staggered for a moment, and then stood still, her veil swelling in and out as she panted behind it, obviously trying to catch her breath.
They turned their horses and rode toward her. She was relatively slim and about average height. Black hair showed beneath her headdress, but that was all. The rest of her face and body were hidden by the veil and gown.
"What troubles you, my Lady?" asked Brian courteously. "Are you pursued?"
He cast a glance at the trees behind her; but just then she got her first words out.
"No!" she gasped. "Of your favor, fair Sirs, aid me—in this parlous moment! They are about—to kill my brother—and my father!"
"Where do the villains have them, my Lady?" said Brian, standing up in his stirrups and trying to see between the trees behind her.
"A short distance only—" she answered. Her gown heaved with her struggling breath. There was something familiar about her voice, Jim thought, but he could not put his finger on it. It was not the voice of a girl or a very young woman. "These devils—surrounded us. They have only clubs, but they are many. My father and brother are unarmed, except for their daggers. I pray you, help them. Help them, for God's sake!"
"That will we do, and straitly!" said Brian. "Otherwise, may I never draw sword again! Give me your hand."
She extended it, and he drew her up one-handed, without leaning sideways in his saddle or with any other indication of effort, onto Blanchard's back behind his saddle.
He had made the lift with no seeming effort at all, Jim noticed; and the woman appeared to take it as the most natural thing in the world. Jim was always forgetting how strong Brian was, in spite of being slim and several inches shorter than Jim. In fact, he tended to forget how strong everyone was in this time—he had seen a serf at Malencontri, the top of whose head came barely to Jim's shoulder, easily pick up and walk off with a bundle of firewood logs Jim could barely lift.
He remembered how after coming here, he had foolishly thought that his larger body and a lifetime of activity in a number of sports must have made him equal to or stronger than most of the people he would meet in the fourteenth century. That illusion had been swiftly corrected.
But he had no time for thoughts on that topic now. Brian had already touched his spurs to Blanchard's flanks, and, with the distressed maiden—as Jim found himself inescapably labeling her, in spite of himself—galloped off into the woods.
The rest followed as fast as they could, except for the sumpter-horse, which, no longer tethered to Dafydd's saddle, slowed, unnoticed, behind them, and then halted behind a bush that effectively hid it from view.
It could not have been more than thirty yards before the rest broke into another, smaller clearing, completely surrounded by trees. Brian reined Blanchard to a halt in the center of the space, and the maiden slid down from the horse's back.
Facing her, sure enough, were one older man and one younger, both wearing cotes-hardie over shirt and hose, with soft, dagged hoods lying about their shoulders and girdles worn just above their hips in decorative imitation of a knight's sword belt. The girdle of the older man had been tooled and inlaid—possibly with gold, although Jim could not tell that in this light—some of which had fallen out. The younger's girdle was merely painted. These were indoor clothes, and both men looked embarrassed and uncomfortable in them, outdoors here, rather than frightened.
They were indeed wearing daggers, but neither man had drawn his—a most unusual failure to act under attack. Jim stared at the woman. There was still something familiar about her—at that moment she pulled the knife at her own belt, as the men reached for theirs; and at the sight of her weapon, Jim's memory clicked—just as their assailants came out of the woods on all sides.
These most clearly were armed with nothing but clubs. Heavy clubs, however. But then, these weapons perfectly suited them, since they were giants, nine and ten feet tall, wearing kilts that looked like untanned skins.
Jim spurred Gorp to the woman, reached down, and snatched the veil from her face. The well-remembered features of Agatha Falon, Robert's aunt, looked up at him—ugly now with a wild triumph. In the same instant, she dissolved into nothingness, and the two men with her.
But the giants remained, silent but advancing—at least twenty of them—and clearly they meant business. Their great figures were coming from every direction. Brian's lance was already out of its socket and down into position. Jim imitated him, turning Gorp about to face in the opposite direction. He checked himself when he saw that Dafydd had already taken up a position so that the three of them could watch the complete circle of trees. Jim heard Dafydd's bow snap, and saw a giant fall silently; then another dropped his club to clutch with both hands at a broad-headed arrow driven through his right kneecap.
The giants, who had been advancing more or less at a walk, suddenly came on in a rush.
Without warning, there burst on all their ears the sound of thirty couple of hounds questing. The giants turned, snatching up the two now brought down by Dafydd's arrows and carrying these off with them. They vanished in all directions into the trees, and a second later the Questing Beast entered the clearing. Its long tongue was lolling out of its mouth, and it was smiling as much as a beast with a serpent's head could, as it trotted up to their small group.
It looked at Jim and began to bark with the sound of a single hound. It continued the barking, and it became obvious to Jim that it was trying to tell him something.
"Hob," Jim said, looking around for the little Natural,"—where's the sumpter-horse?"
Before anyone could answer, that beast came out from behind the bush, rather nonchalantly. Hob looked at them from between the horse's ears. "Yes, m'Lord?"
"Hob," Jim said, "do you know what he's saying?"
"Oh, yes, m'Lord," answered Hob. Hi
With another friendly bark, QB disappeared among the trees and they heard his full voice, a thirty couple of hounds questing, disappearing in the distance.
Chapter Twenty-Three
"Ah" said Brian, with satisfaction, "now we can get on into that hole!"
That hole, once they actually rode into it, turned out to be more than Jim, at least, had expected. For one thing, the tunnel beyond it continued wide enough for the three of them to ride abreast—the sumpter-horse trailing grumpily behind on a lead—although Dafydd, out of a sensitivity to rank and courtesy, lagged half a horse-length behind the two knights.
For another, the tunnel had a flat floor that seemed to slant downward as far as they could see; though the walls and ceiling showed the continuous curve of what must have originally been a circular cut through the rock.
The rock appeared to be a dark granite—and Jim noticed that colors were once more visible down here—but light came from it—not from its surface, but as if its source were buried inside the stone itself. This light allowed them to see as much as thirty or forty feet, as they left the brighter circle that was the entrance behind them