The Dragon on The Border

by Gordon R. Dickson

  "Then we cannot do it!" said Ardac.

  "Can't do it? Why not?" demanded Jim.

  "Because the Little Men must only be led by one of their own blood," said the Little Man. "Perhaps I and some other leaders of schiltrons will be invited to your councils, but we will not be a part of them. We could only be a part of them if one of us were one of the chief leaders."

  "But this is an impossible demand," said Jim. "There is no way—"

  He stopped. He had been about to say there was no way the Borderers would accept a Little Man as a major leader amongst them.

  "It must be so," said Ardac. "The Little Men have always fought as a unit. If we are to fight side by side with the Borderers, we and they must be a unit. That means one of us must be amongst the leaders; and considered as one of them, by the Borderers."

  "You mean," Jim said, finally understanding, "whoever commands the Little Men must be trusted by the Borderers as much as they trust each other?"

  "That is so," said Ardac.

  "As I say," said Jim, "it's impossible. We have Little Men and we have humans. There are no others."

  Herrac, Liseth and all the others had drawn close about him as he was speaking. Desperately, he wished that Herrac or one of the others would speak up, and help him resolve this difficulty. But at the same time he knew that they could not. The only possibility was to insist on the necessity for the two sides joining in the battle. He opened his mouth to do this, but another voice beat him to it.

  "Perhaps," said a soft voice behind him, "the Little Men would accept me as their leader among the Borderer leaders of the battle?"

  It was the voice of Dafydd. Jim stood silent. He had completely forgotten that the Little Men had saluted Dafydd when they were there. Even at that, he had trouble believing now that the salute meant they would accept him as one of their own.

  Ardac had stood silent a moment. Then without a word he turned and walked away once more to the white-bearded men.

  "Now what?" said Jim, frustrated, speaking the words as much to himself as to anyone else. Ardac's reaction had convinced him there was almost no hope that the Little Men would accept Dafydd. But even if they did, how would the bowman be received by the knights among the Borderers? They would hardly agree easily to the admitting of a commoner to their councils of war.

  Ardac was coming back.

  "Magician," he said, stopping in front of Jim, "we accept Dafydd ap Hywel as our leader among and with the Ordinary Men. But only on the condition that he bear his proper title. Prince of the Sea-washed Mountains!"

  "Prince!" said Jim and Herrac, together. They and Liseth turned to look at Dafydd, who had gotten to his feet, taken his bow off his shoulder and was leaning on it, frowning.

  "My forefathers put aside that title long since," said Dafydd slowly. "I know not if I have the right in their name to take it up again."

  "It is either that, or you fight alone, Sir Magician," said Ardac.

  A long silence held them.

  Finally, Dafydd sighed and took his weight off the bow. He stood tall, straightening his shoulders.

  "For the purposes of this battle, and for the time of this battle only," he said, "I take and accept the title which is mine by inheritance, Prince of the Sea-washed Mountains. After that, I ask that all not only cease to use that title toward me, but forget as well as they can that I have ever borne it. This is my demand!"

  "I agree," said Jim, without hesitation. He looked at Herrac. Herrac was still staring, half frowning at the bowman. He got to his feet and Jim followed.

  "This is no play-title," he said, "then?"

  "Indeed it is not!" said Dafydd, rising himself.

  He had lifted his gaze and he looked Herrac directly in the face. Herrac was still somewhat taller than Dafydd, but for a moment they seemed of equal height.

  "When we leave this place I am Prince of the Sea-washed Mountains, and I remain Prince of the Sea-washed Mountains only until the battle is over. This must be agreed upon and accepted by all. The Little Men agree?"

  He looked at Ardac.

  "We do," said Ardac.

  "And I agree," said Jim. He looked again at Herrac. "What of yourself and the other Borderers?"

  "I cannot promise the other Borderers until I have spoken to them, and heard agreement from them," said Herrac. "But I will agree for myself and for the sake of what we fight here."

  He turned to Dafydd.

  "—And for what I've seen of you and heard of you myself, noble Sir."

  "You need not use a title unless it is absolutely necessary," said Dafydd. "Bear in mind, Sir Herrac, that though the title remains and the rank remains, we are as men, one to one, as we have been and as we will be again in the future. So we are now."

  He extended his hand—a gesture no bowman would normally make to a knight. Herrac reached and took it. They held for a moment, and let go.

  "It is settled, then," said Ardac. "When shall we meet to discuss the plan of battle?"

  "Give me a week and a half. A week and a half to two weeks," said Jim. "There are things that must be done first. However, it would help if we were in touch meanwhile."

  "There will be one of us within a short distance of your Castle de Mer at all times during the coming two weeks," said Ardac. "If you send the falcon Greywings, it will come to us. Like your daughter, Sir Herrac, we speak to the birds, as well as to other beasts."

  "And they speak truth," interposed Snorrl's uncompromising voice. "That is why we, the free people of the wild, have been friends with them these many centuries."

  They looked at Snorrl as if by silent consent; and saw him on his feet, stretching and yawning hugely, as if he had just woken up from his nap.

  "Therefore, now it is time for me to lead you back to those closed walls you call a castle," said the wolf.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  "Prince of the Sea-washed Mountains," said Herrac, more or less to himself, but aloud so that his companions heard. "Prince of the Sea-washed Mountains…"

  "Are you having a problem with the title?" asked Jim.

  "It fits the tongue a bit awkwardly," Herrac said, looking both at Dafydd and then at him. "But most, it is a title that sounds like something out of an old story. I am wondering if the other Borderers will take it seriously—particularly when they see Dafydd, who is most obviously a bowman, even if we dressed him up in court clothes borrowed from our visitor MacDougall."

  "We'll leave him as he is," said Jim. "You can say to your Borderers he's a Prince in disguise, and you will tell his title to them under a seal of secrecy, since it should not be known that he is in this part of the country."

  "Yes," said Herrac, "I had assumed I should do as much. But still… that title. Your Borderer is not used to fanciful titles, or ones that come strangely to the tongue."

  "Perhaps, now," said Dafydd, "I can solve your problem for you. Prince of the Sea-washed Mountains is how my original title would be said if you speak it in the language we talk nowadays. Originally the name was—

  He uttered a string of liquid syllables that made no sense at all to Jim, and which was obviously nothing that the rest of them could say.

  "Do you suppose that you would rather the saying of that?" asked Dafydd, smiling.

  All of the rest of them, even Liseth, tried. But obviously what their tongues produced was not what Dafydd had said.

  "Sir James came the closest of all of you," said Dafydd. "Perhaps you might use what he says in addressing me."

  "What was it you said?" Herrac demanded, turning in his saddle to face Jim. "Would you say it again, Sir James?"

  "Merlion" said Jim. He was aware himself that a couple of syllables were missing, and that there was none of the musicality in his version of the word he had just spoken that Dafydd had sounded in his. But it was something he could say—and possibly the others, if they needed to.

  "Merlion" echoed Herrac. "Well, it is better than Prince of the Sea-washed Mountains; or will be, in talking to my fellow B
orderers."

  He brightened up suddenly.

  "In fact, with your permission, noble Sir," he said, looking at Dafydd, "we can improve upon it for the purpose of a Borderer's ear. Would you object if we use for you the name 'Merrrlon'?"

  He had extended the "r" in the word, to give it a Scottishlike roll or burr.

  "It will sound, then," he went on, "more like to the normal sounds they are used to."

  "I care not what you call me," said Dafydd, smiling. "Between us all I am still Dafydd ap Hywel, master of the bow. Let me be Prince Merlon, then—though I cannot say the 'r' as you do, Sir Herrac—to all other people. It makes no difference. It is a title that is here for a moment and will be gone again shortly."

  "Good!" said Herrac; and they all rode happily on to the castle.

  Back there, Jim was relieved to find that open trouble had not broken out between Brian and MacDougall. But Brian, having had a taste of being up on his feet, was determined to stay there. Though, mindful of Jim's emphasis on the fact that he curtail his wine drinking, he had now had what he considered his quota for the day and was working his way through some small beer.

  He was seated at the high table with MacDougall when they arrived. He and MacDougall had evidently seen a certain amount of reason in avoiding open conflict; they were talking to each other with a fair amount of agreeableness. Jim drew Herrac, with Dafydd, off to one side; where they could speak privately for a second without being overheard.

  "I think I would like to meet with the Borderers as soon as possible," said Jim. "Whether they should also meet Dafydd at this time, I leave up to you to decide, Sir Herrac."

  "Our meeting with them is easily managed," said Herrac. "In fact, I have appointed one for this evening, here in the castle. But it will not be any open gathering. They are to come quietly and we will meet apart from the Great Hall and they will leave after we have talked. And—"

  He glanced at Dafydd. "—my apologies to you, Prince Merlon; but I think now is not the time for you to meet with these Borderers. No, let me resay that. I cannot see the good of it, but if Sir James does, then I will agree. Sir James, himself, as a knight of repute and honor as well as a magician, will be accepted by them without question. But I think it is best we tell them about you first, before we introduce you, or any of the Little Men who are going to join us for the final making of plans."

  "Any plan will be welcomed by me," said Dafydd. "I will be here, about the castle, if needed. If I may go by what Sir James has said, it will be a week or two before we attempt to trap the Hollow Men, in any case. Is that not so?"

  "Yes," said Jim, "it's so. I suggest we tell them about you tonight, only if it seems a good time to, and then call you in if the news suits them. After my meeting with the other Borderers tonight I'm going to have to leave again—this time for several days. Because now's close to the time I impersonate MacDougall and meet with the leaders of the Hollow Men. Tomorrow I'll have to leave with a horse carrying the gold; and, come to think of it, perhaps it would not be a bad idea if you went with me, Dafydd, rather than my borrowing some men-at-arms from Sir Herrac to act as guards. The fewer of us to meet them, the less suspicious the Hollow Men we meet are going to be."

  "Indeed, that too is welcome to me," said Dafydd.

  That ended their talk, and they rejoined those at the high table. The socializing went on through the afternoon and through dinner. Once the actual eating was over, Brian began to show signs of tiredness; and with only a little protest, allowed both Jim and Liseth to help him back up to his room. They went up the stairs with him, and Jim had a chance to speak to him, away from the Great Hall.

  "Will you be able to get along with the MacDougall while I'm gone?" Jim asked.

  "If he behaves himself," said Brian, "I'll push no quarrel. Only if he attempts to push, will I answer the man in any way necessary."

  "Now don't be foolish, Brian," said Jim. "Your wound won't let you get into armor and have it out with this man as you would, in the ordinary way. Besides, he's a prisoner, and shouldn't be getting into fights anyway."

  "It's up to him, then," said Brian. Jim noticed that he had not promised anything. "Between you and me, I think he'll not seek for trouble. He has had time to take my measure; and I do not believe he would stand against me for more than a few minutes, either with lance on horseback, or on foot with any other weapon. I think he is aware of that fact, also."

  "No doubt that's true, Brian," Jim said, as they turned down the corridor toward his bedroom. Brian wobbled a little on the turn and grinned weakly.

  "That small beer," he said, "it goes right to a man's head."

  "It's not the small beer," said Jim, "it's the wine you took today: and the fact you're still not a well man. Remember MacDougall knows that; and may think to take advantage of it. For my sake—for all our sakes, Brian—do your part to stay out of any open battle with him."

  "So," said Brian on a long sigh as they entered his bedroom and headed toward his bed. He let himself gingerly down into it, then relaxed with another deep sigh. "I will do my best, James. You know I always do my best."

  He closed his eyes and was asleep before they could leave the room. They went back downstairs to the high table, although Jim had privately decided that he would be disappearing himself shortly if he was going to get a good night's sleep before leaving early in the morning to find the Hollow Men. He had already asked Dafydd to wake him; and the bowman was an infallible alarm clock, as long as time was expressed in the common terms of the medieval period—"daybreak"… "nightfall"… "moonrise"… etc. and the churchly hours of worship.

  However, before Jim and Liseth reached the hall, they were intercepted by Herrac at the foot of the stairs and Herrac led Jim off by himself to another room in the tower.

  For such a simple-looking fortification, the peel tower managed to have a regular rabbit warren of rooms of various sizes. Herrac took him to one which he had not even guessed existed. It was a good-sized room, enough to hold twenty or thirty people; although the number he saw around the long table set up there now, under the burning cressets—for this room had no outside walls, merely air holes in the ceiling to let the cresset smoke out, hopefully to the outside—were only eight individuals.

  Herrac led him up to the two empty spaces left at the head of the table, and introduced him to the others.

  "Gentlemen," he said, "this is the Baron Sir James Eckert de Bois de Malencontri."

  "I'm honored to meet all of you," said Jim.

  The men at the table either merely nodded or made noncommittal noises. The table itself was set with food and drink, and all of those there were clearly busy helping themselves to both.

  As Jim took his seat with Herrac beside him, he had a chance to look them over. All wore swords, indicating this was not just a neighborly visit. Beyond this one common note, they were a burly bunch; no two dressed the same. Some wore kilts, others trews—which were sort of like the kind of pants that used to be called plus-fours, ending at the knee—but like the kilts in that they all showed a particular tartan.

  A few were dressed simply as any English knight might have been, out of armor; in hose and some kind of upper jacket of various cut, over interior clothing. All wore hats, no two of them alike. This, too, was something Jim had learned about the fourteenth-century period. It was the period of hats. He had guessed that there must be some hundreds at least of different hat styles, for it seemed that every man he met wore a different kind.

  But Herrac had already begun to introduce the men around the table to him.

  "The gentleman immediately to your left, m'Lord," said Herrac, "is Sir John the Graeme, who can put over two hundred men into the saddle if he is agreeable to joining us. Just beyond him is Sir William of Berwick, who brings one hundred and twenty horsemen to our aid, if sobeit we fight together. Just beyond him…"

  Jim's head very quickly began to swim with the names of the other Border leaders he was meeting. Most of them seemed to have place names, b
ut there was a good-sized minority who were introduced by clan names, instead.

  Searching his memory, Jim remembered that just because someone like Sir John the Graeme had the name and wore the Graeme kilt, did not mean that he was in any way a speaker for that clan as a whole—except for whatever small part of it might be personally attached to him.

  In fact, many of the men who might ride behind Sir John Graeme might do it under a multitude of different names, for the Border was a stew of people from many different clans. Scotts, Elliots, Kerrs… but the introductions were over now, and all the rest of those at the table had stopped their eating and drinking and were sitting staring at him.

  "Ballads speak of you as a magician, Sir James," said John the Graeme, as the first to break the silence.

  So much for the Borderers accepting him without question, as Herrac had said.

  Also, Jim noticed that Sir John Graeme had not addressed him as m'Lord; and he guessed from this that the fact that he was taken to be of the English nobility did not necessarily recommend him to the men before him. The Border, he had always heard, thought of itself as a world apart; and certainly such Northumbrians as he had met so far had not forgotten that once their area was a kingdom of its own under the name of Northumbria.

  "That's right, Sir John," said Jim. "I am not the highest-ranked of magicians but I am a qualified one."

  "Perhaps," said Sir John—he came down hard on the word with a touch of local accent so that it came out "pairhaps"—"you wouldn't mind showing us some proof of the magic you can do?"

  "Sir John!" said Herrac. "My son Sir Giles has been with him and seen him work as a magician. Sir Giles is not with us at the moment, but he is in the castle and I can have him here within minutes. Do you wish to question my son's word?"

  "Och, Sir Giles's word! Certainly not," said Sir John. "It's just that in sic a situation, that is not so much the usual thing and to which we will be committing good men who may be hurt or slain, it's natural to wonder about a man who says he's a magician."