“Where exactly are you going?” I asked.
“Well, I’m not sure where yet, but I’m going to hunt down a dragon and kill it,” Parz said. “Regain my honor, and prove to Sir Kunibert that I’m a worthy squire.”
Judith and I were silent, trying to read each other’s faces in the dark and failing miserably.
“You’d be a great help to me,” Parz continued.
“I’m not exactly dragon slayer material,” I said stiffly.
“You’re better than dragon slayer material, Tilda,” he said. “I need you.”
“You do?”
“Let’s be honest. I’m not a real dragon slayer yet. I had years of training ahead of me, and Sir Kunibert was very closemouthed with his information. You remember how we met. . . .”
I sighed and nodded. “You were looking for books on dragons. Alder Brook didn’t have any.”
“You had more than Sir Kunibert! You had those biographies of saints who slew dragons—and what’s more, you read them for me, and told me everything useful in them. Like Patrick tricking the ancient dragon into crawling inside a tree trunk and kicking it into the sea. There have to be more books about dragons, in a cloister somewhere—we can go, and read their books about dragons. I need you—I need the knowledge you can find, to make up for my unfinished training.”
An idea struck me. “Too bad I don’t have the blank book Sir Kunibert gave me,” I said. “I could’ve used it to record everything we find.”
Judith fumbled with a saddlebag. “You mean this blank book?” She rode closer and pushed it into my hands.
“Oh, yes!” I hugged the little book to me, stroking its soft leather cover with my thumbs. “Parz, I could write a handbook for you!”
“A handbook for dragon slayers,” Parz said, clearly struck by the idea. “We can also go around the countryside looking for the best information on dragon slaying—consult with other dragon slayers, certainly, but also visit places where famous dragons were slain—and you can record it all.”
This was it! This was my dream of writing something all my own—something important. It didn’t exactly rival the works of the heathen philosophers, but it could be my answer to Aristotle and Xenophon. A handbook for dragon slayers, written by me, Mathilda of Alder Brook.
“And Judith will help me slay the dragon,” Parz said.
“Judith will—what?”
Judith was silent. Parz was silent.
“I don’t think—” I began.
“Most Illustrious, I have a confession,” Judith interrupted.
She rarely called me Most Illustrious, even though it was my proper title. She must be feeling very guilty about something.
Parz interrupted. “It was all my fault, Tilda.”
“No,” Judith said. “It’s mine.” She took a deep breath. “I’ve been sneaking away from Alder Brook to practice with Parz.”
“You’ve been . . . To practice what with Parz?”
“Riding a warhorse, throwing spears, the quintain, the sword, the lance. . . .”
“You have? Why?”
Judith made an exasperated sound.
“Because I needed a friend,” Parz said quietly. “I’ve been the least of Sir Kunibert’s squires for a long while. My head . . . was only the most recent problem, and it was the drop that caused the cup to run over, but this had been a long time coming. I needed someone to practice with for extra time, where the others couldn’t see me. And . . . Judith agreed to.”
“I see.” I was almost too shocked to speak. I wished that I could see Judith’s face, but the starlight was too dim. “Ah!” I said, suddenly putting together the puzzle of Judith’s behaviors of the last months. “This is why you got up earlier than everyone else all summer—you weren’t in the privies with a bowel complaint at all!”
“Tilda,” Judith protested with a moan.
“Oh, no. You don’t get to make up a story like that and expect me to not share it with Parz. Oh! And you haven’t gotten suddenly clumsier—all your mystery bruises are from these practices?”
“Yes,” Judith said.
“And that is why you are overly familiar with Lord Parzifal.” I snapped my fingers, pleased with how I’d put all the disparate pieces together. “And why you know how to ride a horse.”
“I’ll accept my punishment without complaint,” Judith said, and my satisfaction faded. Judith had kept secrets from me, done things she shouldn’t have done—but she had not in the end abandoned her duty to Alder Brook. And right now, I was keeping a secret from her, one far bigger. I couldn’t tell her—couldn’t bring myself to tell her—that I wanted no part of Alder Brook anymore.
“Tilda? Are you all right?” Judith asked.
“I’m fine. There’s no punishment, Judith,” I said. “I couldn’t punish you for helping Parz, even if it would be right and proper.”
“Thank you, Tilda,” Judith said. She was relieved, of course, but I could hear her eagerness. She wanted to do this, she wanted to slay dragons with Parz.
It was base deceit, on my part, to use her secret wishes to aid my own. If I agreed to this plan, the promise of dragon slaying would keep her distracted from our return to Alder Brook for quite some time.
I nodded. “So it’s settled, then? We’re going to become dragon slayers.”
chapter 6
WE MOVED ON THROUGH THE NIGHT, ANXIOUS TO leave Snail Castle far behind. The autumn winds had stilled, which was a relief; the last thing we needed was the threat of the Wild Hunt and their windstorm sweeping down on us.
To keep ourselves awake, we talked about dragons and the handbook for dragon slayers. Or rather, the Handbook for Dragon Slayers—that was clearly the book’s title. My fingers twitched, yearning for quills and ink. I wanted to take notes. I bent my fingers to hold an imaginary pen and traced the opening words on my leg. I would begin with a curse—a book curse, to protect the Handbook.
We shared everything we knew about dragons, whether we thought the others might know it or not. I told the stories of Saint Magnus Dragonslayer that I had looked up for Parz. The town of River Bend—but two days’ ride up the Rhine from here—had been haunted by dragons until Saint Magnus and his friend Theodor came to drive them out. Saint Magnus had commanded the chief of the dragons to hold still, and smashed in its skull with his holy staff.
“It’s too bad none of us are more holy,” I said. “That seems to be the most effective way to kill dragons.”
“I don’t have a staff, anyway,” Parz said. “We may have to go a different route.”
“Saint Magnus also killed a dragon at Horsehead Gorge in the south,” I said. “When the dragon tried to eat him, he threw resin and pitch into its mouth, which ignited on the dragon’s internal fires and burned it from the inside out.”
“Now that’s a practical tactic!” Parz said. “We should definitely get some resin and pitch.”
“Saint Magnus also tamed a tribe of bears and taught them to kill demons,” I said.
Parz’s voice turned wistful. “Imagine what we could do with a tribe of bears.”
“Bears eat a lot, and they’re rather testy,” Judith said. “Let’s leave bear training to the saints.”
WE CAME INTO THE town of King’s Winter with first light and the tolling of the Matins bells.
Parz reined in and waited for Judith. “Here’s the plan. Make it known that we are crossing the Rhine today and heading toward Aix. When we leave town, we’ll double back and make sure no one knows where we’re really going. That way, if Ivo or anyone tries to follow us, he’ll only find a false trail.”
“Clever,” Judith said.
Parz led the way through town to a small guesthouse. I was grateful to be off the horse for a while. It had ceased to be terrifying, but I felt rather like a sack of salt. Or maybe turnips.
Judith carried our chest with the few belongings she had packed for Boar House, and she and I went up to the room that Parz secured for us. Hot water was brought, and we commence
d washing, dressing, and combing.
I looked over my possessions. For clothing, counting what I’d been wearing when I was kidnapped by Ivo, I now owned only two dresses and a fur cloak. I had a little jewelry: a brooch to fasten my mantle, a silver fillet for my head, and a silver girdle for my hips. My purse held only the three pfennigs I had thought to bribe servants with at Snail Castle, for I’d never replenished it after I gave alms at church last. I also had my writing box and the blank book Sir Kunibert had given me.
I’d given up a lot in giving up Alder Brook, but they were only material possessions. I smiled a little, running my finger over soaked-in ink splotches on my writing box. I imagined sitting close to Parz in an empty library, reading together from a book about dragons. I imagined our hands resting side by side as we read from the same book, until our littlest fingers brushed against each other and then linked together.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Judith said. I looked up, startled, and blushed.
“You do?”
“We’ll take back Alder Brook, Princess. Don’t you worry. Ivo won’t win.”
It wasn’t what I was thinking, of course, but I’d rather have told her the embarrassing thing about Parz’s fingers than that I had no intention of taking back Alder Brook. I let the conversation drop.
We spent less than an hour at the guesthouse, eating quickly after the washup. I didn’t look forward to returning to my imitation of a sack of turnips, but at least the horse wasn’t as frightening as before. I had no notion of how people could ride such long distances as they did, though; it was sincerely uncomfortable.
We returned to the road, performed Parz’s doubling-back trick, and then stopped to consider where we should go next.
“Saint Disibod’s Cloister,” I announced. “That’s what we should make for. It has the oldest library of anywhere around, without going to a big city or too close to Alder Brook.”
Parz looked like he wanted to say something, then just nodded agreeably.
We rode with the great Rhine River to our right and vineyard-covered mountains on our left.
“Drachenfels,” Parz said with a sigh in my ear. He had, thankfully, cleaned his teeth and gotten a sprig of mint at some point, and was much less oniony.
“Pardon?”
“That mountain is Drachenfels—the dragon cliff—where the hero Siegfried slew Fafnir the dragon.”
I looked at the mountain covered in autumn-bright trees, at the vintners harvesting grapes at its foot. That was Drachenfels? I had no notion it was so close to Alder Brook.
“We should put Siegfried’s story in the Handbook,” I said.
“I know that one by heart,” Parz said.
“You do?”
“Certainly. My greatfather used to tell it to me. There is a lot of it I don’t remember very well, about how Fafnir stole a king’s treasury and took it up there to Drachenfels to hide it.”
“The Rhinegold,” I said. I knew this story a little. Parz waved away the importance of gold and went on.
“Siegfried watched the dragon’s habits carefully every day, and discovered the path it took down to the water to drink. Siegfried dug a ditch across the dragon’s path, and hid in it. And when the dragon passed over him, he stabbed the dragon from below. The blood rained down upon him, and it made his skin invulnerable from that day forward. All but one tiny spot where a linden leaf had fallen, and that, of course, was the spot where one day, much later, someone did stab him, and kill him.”
I studied Drachenfels, noting half a dozen paths coming down through the vineyards to the Rhine. Any of them could have been where Siegfried dug his trench and slew Fafnir.
“Do you think all dragon blood makes you invulnerable?” I asked.
“Long ago, perhaps, but our dragons now are smaller than they were in the old days, and less powerful.”
We stopped to eat at midday, and talked more about killing dragons. I told them the story of Saint Marthe and the dragon Tarasque, whose breath and teeth were poisoned. Saint Marthe’s main weapon against Tarasque in the dark forest of Nerluc was the sign of the cross. When she made the sign, the dragon grew docile and just let her bind him with her girdle, after which the people of Nerluc stabbed the dragon with spears.
“We’re still not holy enough for that to work,” Judith said. “But it makes sense: Dragons are evil, so holiness is the best way to defeat them.”
“And Saint Marthe was holier than most,” I said. “Her sister was Mary Magdalene. We need fewer saint stories and more regular dragon slayer stories. Did Sir Kunibert ever tell you about his battles?”
“He always said that practice was far more important than stories,” Parz said. “I should tell you, I found resin and pitch for sale in King’s Winter.”
“Seems a little early to buy resin and pitch,” I said. “I haven’t even set down a word in the Handbook yet.”
“Maybe a little early,” Parz agreed, and we fell silent for a time.
My head tipped over onto Parz’s chest, and—my thoughts confused—I wondered when I would start to feel free and relieved about abandoning Alder Brook to Ivo. I had done the right thing, hadn’t I? The people of Alder Brook, from Aged Arnolt to Roswitha, and every tenant farmer, unfree knight, blacksmith, and priest who lived on our lands or owed service to the family would be happier this way. Ivo had two strong legs. No one would look at him and think about curses. No one would wonder if he could attract a good spouse. No one would blame him for my father’s death or think he brought misfortune. He wouldn’t administer Alder Brook better than I could, but just by being their prince he would make everyone happier.
Including me.
My thoughts circled away from those uncomfortable subjects and drifted to dragon blood and dragon gold, and how I would record Fafnir’s story in the Handbook. I was still tracing words on my thigh when I fell quite deeply asleep.
I WOKE WHEN THE horse halted.
“Time to stop for the night,” Parz said, and bounced to the ground.
“Here?” I asked, looking around me for a sign of a guesthouse or any sort of house at all.
“Here,” Parz said firmly, and reached up to swing me down from the horse. I bit my lip against a moan of pain when my stiffened legs caught my weight.
Judith saw my expression and scrambled down from her horse to bring me my crutch.
“Tilda could use a bath and a soft bed,” Judith said, giving me her shoulder to lean on.
“No guesthouses,” Parz said. “Not overnight, anyway. Guesthouses mean people who can remember our descriptions and overhear our talk.”
Judith raised her voice a little. “You cannot ask a princess to sleep outside!”
I straightened my spine and lifted my chin. “Perhaps, but a princess can offer to sleep outside.”
Parz’s face split into an appreciative grin. I grinned back, but quickly found my way to a rock, and used it to lower myself to the ground, unsteady on my feet.
We made camp near a small rivulet off the Willows River, using leaf litter as bed stuffing and our cloaks for covers. I couldn’t help regretting the rest of my warm clothes abandoned at Alder Brook. Like my other two cloaks. Those would have made my outdoor bed somewhat nicer.
Parz took care of the horses while Judith built a fire. I considered our food stores. We had only a quarter wheel of cheese and some bread, until Judith gleaned hazelnuts from a hedge.
The sun set, and we ate. Parz produced a pot of small ale to wash the meal down, though it was unfiltered and as thick as breakfast gruel, so we had to chew it as much as drink it.
My body ached from the day’s riding, and my foot ached because it always did, but my belly was full and I was free. I stretched and sighed. I wanted to massage my leg and foot, but I was embarrassed to do so in front of Parz.
Judith saw me flexing my foot and came over to take it in her lap. When I made to pull it back underneath my cloak, she swatted at me lightly. “You’re in pain, Tilda.”
Parz d
idn’t look up, being busy whittling something.
“What are you so intent on whittling, Parz—I mean, Lord Parzifal?” Judith asked.
“Spears,” Parz said. “In case we meet a dragon tomorrow.”
Judith quirked her eyebrows at me, and I shrugged. She dug her thumbs into the tight tendons of my foot. I sucked my breath in to keep from crying out. Parz glanced up. I tried not to blush. I probably wouldn’t be able to sleep for cramping if Judith didn’t help me.
“Calm night,” Parz commented a moment later. “A lucky thing for this time of year. We wouldn’t want to meet the Wild Hunt.”
“Hush!” Judith said. “Don’t speak of them.”
I laughed uneasily. “The Wild Hunt aren’t like hearthgoblins or elves. They can’t hear you talking about them from miles away. And even if they could, they don’t come when you mention them.”
“I still don’t want to talk about . . . them,” Judith said.
We fell silent, but I doubted any of us stopped thinking of the group of immortal huntsmen who rode with their horses and hounds across the earth on restless nights, collecting souls of the dead and punishing wrongdoers. We’d all heard stories of them when the wind rose in the autumn. Take care to speak the truth, or the Wild Hunt might find you, Frau Oda, my mother’s handmaiden, used to say to Judith and me.
When Judith was done with my foot, I got up and pulled out my writing box and the Handbook. Balancing the book on my lap, I opened to the first page, and wrote out the book curse I had been planning.
“What are you writing, Tilda?” Parz asked.
“The book curse. Every book needs one.” I read it out loud. “Whosoever steals this book shall BURN in the FIERY CONFLAGRATION of a DRAGON’S BREATH and will also LOSE THEIR NOSE to PUTREFACTION.”
“Ew, putrefacting noses? That’s disgusting!” Judith said.
“You can’t scare people with a curse if it isn’t terrifying,” I said.
Parz frowned. “Is it really going to stop anyone?”
Handbook for Dragon Slayers Page 5