by Sam Austin
Only, she's not sure she can do anything. A knight's word only goes so far, and she has her own to look out for.
"I'll remember," she says anyway.
"Bless you child." There's a sheen to his blind eyes she might've ignored if Ness's tears weren't so clear in her memory. "Oh bless you."
"Boone?"
If the voice makes her turn, it makes the old man spin around, mouth agape. None of Alice's earlier defiance is left in her voice, but the mere act of talking while men are is disrespectful.
"You're welcome to stay on the cart if you need the rest," Bonnie says quickly.
The words do the trick as she thought they might. His focus returns to her, and his nose wrinkles in distaste. "I'm not dead yet. I'll walk."
He yells for the cart to stop, and it does. There's no driver, but the large grey horse that pulls it follows along with the road sedately enough, and stops and starts when asked. Whether it's magic or just good training Bonnie doesn't know.
The medic shuffles off the end of the cart with frustrating slowness, but none of them move to help. It's one thing to be given a hand up after falling, it's another to imply he needs help with such a basic task, or to insist he stays on the cart like a wounded or a woman. By the time he limps away the more able bodied recruits have caught up with them.
Bonnie waits until the cart leaves them behind before she sits on the back next to Alice, feet dangling over the edge. If she times it right she'll appear nothing more than a boy amusing himself by jumping off the cart while it's moving. If not people will start to wonder why a boy would want to ride with the women.
Alice wraps her arms tighter around her legs. Her eyes are wide and worried in her dirty face. "I thought I saw. Look. Just look over there."
She points past the crowd of men and boys, far down the road to where the last traces of sun glow where ground meets sky.
No. That isn't right. It's not wide enough to be the sun, and it's in the wrong direction. The remains of the sun is disappearing to their right, behind the latest in a long line of villages nestled by the road. So what if it's not the sun, what is it?
Understanding hits her like a punch to the stomach. "Porthdon. It's burning."
"You don't think it was..."
She doesn't have to finish the sentence. Bonnie shakes her head firmly. "No. Not Gelert."
"All those people Boone," Alice says softly. Her hands fist in the fabric of her dress. "There were so many people."
"I bet there still are," Bonnie says, trying to force down the rising panic. "I bet they're fighting right now, and winning."
"It's OK." Alice's eyes reflect that distant glow, brighter now. "I'm not scared. You don't have to lie."
That's funny, because girl or boy, Bonnie is scared. Fear grips her insides, its clutch as cold as the lost ones. First her village burned, now Porthdon, and if she's right about how long they've been recruiting soldiers that's the end of a long list. A list she thinks is about to get a lot longer.
***
Each day starts with Sir Julius's voice booming at them all to wake up and start moving. Half asleep Bonnie readies his horse, then runs to Alice and Mrs Moore to fetch a bowl of porridge each for her and the knight. By the time she's reached him, she's already bolted down hers, and she jogs beside his horse until he hands her the finished bowl.
Bowls delivered to the now moving cart, she spends the rest of the day filling water-skins from a mysterious never ending barrel stored on the woman's cart. Night brings fire, every day a little brighter, a little closer. By the time they stop it's full dark. No one bothers with tents. They collapse where they stop, and some don't even get up to grab whatever there is for evening ration.
Sir Julius talks little about the fires with her. He talks little with her at all. His time is spent in tense discussion with some of the soldiers on horseback, and riding back to the crowds of people to shout at them to hurry up. When they start to lag too much for his liking he tells them nicely that the five slowest can ride with the women and children in the carts. No one lags after that.
"Almost there," Bonnie says, more for her own benefit than Alice's. The girl's weight makes her back ache, but she thinks her legs are finally getting used to it. Not her feet though. Her thin shoes have worn their way through to skin. If the road weren't so smooth and the soles of her feet so tough she'd be leaving a trail of bloody prints behind her like some of the men.
"I know," Alice whispers in her ear. There's excitement in her voice. "I recognise it. I do."
Bonnie recognises it too. It'll be hard not to. The road - up until now wide and flat, but an unremarkable grey - takes on a gold sheen. The change is small at first, a shining stone here and there, but as they walk they multiply. Some of the children who have never been near the city before climb down from their carts to see. One boy of around ten, dressed in an over-sized soldiers uniform, crouches with a look of concentration, trying to pry one loose.
She'd tried the same once when out with her father. He'd explained why it wouldn't work. The road was forged with magic and would take greater strength than a child to break it. And if someone were to chip a piece off, they would find themselves with nothing more than an ordinary piece of grey stone. The road only looks like gold. Looking like something is not the same as being something.
"Tell them about the berries Boone," Alice shifts in the sling Neven had pieced together out of some broken belts. "Oh please Boone. They don't know."
Bonnie rolls her eyes, but she picks up her pace to catch up with the bedraggled army of makeshift carts overflowing with women and children. Not all the villages they'd passed chose to stay put once they'd been told what was causing the fires. Apart from the druid school on far east of the circle, the city holds the highest concentration of druids. And before King Robin sent men out to recruit and face the dragon, it had held the highest concentration of knights and soldiers.
If you're looking for a safe place to hole up, then you could choose worse than the city.
Bonnie carries Alice from cart to cart, acting as the girl's voice to tell the crowds of women, young children, and the odd crippled man that from this point on all the fruit hanging from the bushes along the road are edible. Not only edible, Alice corrects her softly, but delicious and will only get more delicious and plentiful with every step closer to the city gates.
The younger boys and girls cheer and scamper off to taste for themselves. The women only duck their heads, showing their gratitude through their silence.
"Boy!" Sir Julius's voice cuts through the clamour of excitement like dragon steel through soft flesh.
Alice scrambles out of the sling obediently enough, then Bonnie is free to trot up to the knight's horse. The sword feels awkward strapped across her front. She cringes inwardly. She'd been so distracted by taking her turn helping Alice keep up that she can't remember when she last asked Sir Julius if he needed his water-skin refilling.
He leans half out of his saddle, holding out a hand toward her.
She flinches back expecting a blow, but the hand stays motionless in the air in front of her. "Sir?"
"Come on," Sir Julius says, not unkindly. The horse stays as still beneath him as if it were cut out of stone. "Mount up behind me. We're riding ahead to the city. I have word the King wishes to see us."
The King. All the saliva vanishes from her mouth at once, making it difficult to put all her questions into words. Why did she need to come as well? Was it just because he might need a squire, or did the King ask for her to come? Would he recognise her?
Blinking hard, she swallows down the questions, and taking his hand swings herself up into the saddle. Unhooking the belt sling, she tosses it over her shoulder to Alice. The princess's gaze rests heavy on her back as they ride away.
Chapter 19
They’re waved through the city gates after a glance. Sir Julius must be well known. It’s easy to guess why. A dark skinned knight is oddity enough. A clean shaven, long haired, dark skinned kn
ight is more so.
Bonnie clings to the red cloak as they trot up the dull gold road that leads to the palace on the top of the hill. She can see it now, overlooking the city like a solemn father keeping a watchful eye on his children. Every wall is a pristine white only possible through magic. It gleams as brightly as Sir Julius’s spotless mare. Red flags flap lazily from the rooftops, the gold circle visible even from this distance.
People look up as they pass, the richly dressed standing on the golden road itself, and the few ragged huddled in the smaller offshoots, tense as if ready to be chased off. She scans the faces, but sees no women.
They pass through the main square near the bottom of the hill, the statue of King Robin chipped and worn in a way the living one will never be. Then past the giant meeting hall, big enough to fit every man in the city and outskirts, no matter their birth. As a girl she’d never been allowed in there, but she’d entered the palace once or twice to sit with the kitchen women while her father attended urgent business.
The gates to the palace grounds are as large as they were back then, the varying sizes of interlocking circles gleaming gold under the bright sun. These had real gold, her father had told her. Thickly plated onto a stronger metal, with magic to make sure nature did not cause the gold to flake away. The golden road – more radiant within the tall palace walls – is still nothing more than an illusion. Magic can only do so much, her father had explained. Using it to protect something precious you planned to walk on every day was fools work.
When they finally reach the marble steps at the bottom of the main entrance, she drops to the ground. Sir Julius steps off after her, handing the reins to a smart looking boy in page’s garb. A neat cotton shirt instead of a tunic, and bright red shorts.
“Your King awaits you in the throne room,” the boy says quickly, tripping over the words.
Sir Julius nods, already sweeping past him, up the white marble steps. Bonnie glances between him and the horse, wondering again if he really meant to take her with him. Deciding that he did, she jogs after him.
She’s never been in the main building. It’s more magnificent than she’d imagined. The entry way is big enough to fit in every house in her village. Soft marble archways are boarded with fine gold patterns. As much as she’d like to, there’s no time to stand and gawk. Sir Julius continues briskly through the open double doors on the far side of the room. She follows.
“My King!” Sir Julius calls out, walking down the thick red carpet that leads between the row upon row of empty benches, toward the throne. The shout echoes off the smooth marble walls.
Each stone bench is curved, arranged to form a giant circle. On the far side of the stone circle sits the throne, no higher than any of the benches. For a throne it’s disappointingly plain, made of a stone circle each for the seat and back. I’m different from you, the throne says, but no better.
On the throne sits the King, as handsome as when she’d been a child clinging to her father’s hand while listening to a speech. Important business was addressed in the meeting hall to the men and boys only, but once a year in the height of summer everyone gathered in the town square.
Those wed since the last summer would wait at the front of the crowd in their wedding outfits, and after a speech the King took the time to inspect each wife, then congratulate the husband on her beauty. Then the new babes were carried forward for similar inspection and praise. And finally before feasts and dancing, those who had carried out some great service to the kingdom were awarded a small blessing.
Back then he always wore a slight smile. Not Ness’s cocky smirk, but a tiny upward quirk of the mouth, like a proud father looking at his children. He’s not smiling now. He’s also not alone.
Sir Angus stands half out of view behind the stone throne. All his clothes except for the long red cloak are scorched and torn. The side of his face is dotted with dried blood, but she doesn’t see a wound. Magic, she guesses.
“Sir Angus,” Sir Julius says, his face unreadable. “I’m glad you’re well. We saw the flames and thought the worst. How many of your men survived?”
“A handful at most.” The words grate like he wants to say something else, but is holding himself back. From the murderous look in his eyes, it isn’t something pleasant. “The dragon is giant. Bigger than any I’ve heard of. It burned hundreds before we made it to the river. Our weapons were useless. They bounced off its scales like they were toys.”
“Aiming for the scales only works if the dragon is very young, and in the middle of a growth spurt,” Bonnie says quickly. They’re knights. She can’t believe they don’t know this. “It’s best to aim for the eyes or mouth. Sometimes the throat or belly works, but not always. Using noxious gases or firing water at them can make them give up and leave.”
Silence. All three men turn to look at her. The weight of their eyes makes her want to shrink away into nothing.
“And how did you come by this information child?” The King’s brow furrows softly, as if she’s a puzzle he’s trying to figure out. His bright green eyes share the gentle calmness of his daughter’s, but she finds little comfort in that. He’s a man. Not just a man, but a King. The most powerful man in all the circle. And if he finds out what she used to be, he’ll kill her.
“I’ve been filling his head with stories,” Sir Julius says with such casualness that for a moment even Bonnie believes it’s the truth. But it’s not. He’s lying. These past few days they’ve barely had time to exchange any words, let alone stories.
Why would he lie?
King Robin’s eyes watch her closely. “I’m afraid Sir Angus has made some disturbing accusations against your new squire.”
“And he doesn’t have the courtesy to accuse the boy himself I see.” Sir Julius’s hand moves to hover near his sword-belt, then drops by his side. His movements are as casual as if they were discussing a meal, or a joust, but his lips curl back from his teeth in a half snarl. “He hides behind your cloaks.”
Bonnie glances back over her shoulder, picturing the long way back to Neven and Alice. Her heart pounds so hard it feels like it’s trying to burst out and escape. If she’s really lucky she’ll make it out of the palace, but there’s no way she’ll make it off the grounds. The gates are guarded, and the stone walls are too tall to climb.
Trapped.
The King turns that calm gaze to Sir Julius. “As he was right to do. We’ll get to the truth. If the boy is innocent then no harm will come to him.”
And what if I’m not, Bonnie thinks. What if they find out I set Gelert free? What if they find out I’m not a boy?
Only she is a boy, isn’t she? She doesn’t beg and grovel like some weak creature. She wears boy clothes. She handles a sword well enough even with only one arm. Boys aren’t supposed to be scared of anything, so she won’t be either. “What am I being accused of?”
They turn to her again. She thinks the King and Sir Julius hold a faint amusement in their expressions, but Sir Angus looks at her like a hound looks at a fox.
“Witchery,” the King says. Only on his solemn tongue the word sounds like treason, murder, and evil all wrapped together. “He says you cast a spell on the dragon and bewitched it to attack the town of Porthdon, and the soldiers within it. Furthermore he suggests you were behind the breach of the circle, and allowed the dragon through to burn villages and towns from the north edge to those that have fallen along King’s road.”
“A child could do all that?” Sir Julius shakes his head. “It’s a new low when you have to blame your failures on a boy, Angus.”
“You can’t believe a dragon breached the circle by itself?” Sir Angus roars, his muscles bulging in a way that suggests if there wasn’t a King in the room this fight would be long past words. “Dragons are powerful, but they’re brainless. To fight with such skill, to go from village to village with such accuracy, there needs to be a brain. You saw how the boy sent the dragon away. It listened to him.”
“And was it the same drag
on?” Bonnie asks. “The one that attacked you that night?”
Sir Angus stares at her a long moment without blinking. Rage boils in his dark eyes. “No. That was a golden one, bigger than the red. You controlled two.”
Sir Julius scoffs. “And now he’s controlling two dragons? He’s a child.”
“There were others.” Sir Angus faces the King, the fire in his eyes only fading a little. “A woman, a girl, and a boy. I’ve burned enough witches to know most are women.”
And how many of them were branded witch because they talked back, or refused a man, or dared to look someone in the eye? How many of them were killed because they did something no man would think twice about doing? Somehow she holds her tongue.
“Gather them up,” King Robin says. “Put them in some cells and feed them. See they are comfortable. I’ll lead the trial myself in the morning.”
“My King,” Sir Angus says. “Tonight the dragons will ravage again. Time is short.”
“And what would you suggest I do?” King Robin asks, as if genuinely interested in his knight’s opinion.
Part of Bonnie had assumed all the speeches about everyone being a part of one big circle, working together to keep each other safe, had been mostly pretty talk. Something said to keep people working away their lives with a smile on their face. Now she sees she was wrong. He listens at least to some. Whether he acts on advice given to him is something she’s yet to see.
“Burn the lot of them,” Sir Angus says. “Once the witch controlling the dragons are dead, they’ll be easier to kill.”
“No dragon is easy to kill.” Sir Julius moves subtly, until his body blocks some of the giant Angus from view. No. That’s not it. He’s blocking her from his view. “If you’d ever killed a dragon you’d know that. And we’ve always known the risk dragons pose to the circle. That’s why our King appointed the dragon knight.”
Her father. She swallows down a noise of surprise. They’re talking about her father.