The Dragon's Prophecy

by David Noel

  She had to have the armor and it didn't fit. She savagely crushed the useless complaints that were filling her mind and the dark fears that were beginning to well up in her heart. She needed an idea and she needed one quickly. Suddenly, one came to her though her natural modesty recoiled from it. It took her a moment, but she pushed it aside and forced herself to strip until she was completely bare. Naked, she was just able to slip into the cold armor, though it chilled her in private places she didn't want to think about and pressed her bust almost completely flat. She was finally protected, and she could still move pretty well. The next problem was that now her regular clothes wouldn't fit over the armor. She started walking to Greta's room before she saw Brendan, tying something to the back of his shield, waiting in the central family room. She pulled up short and stepped back behind the door to the bedroom before he noticed her.

  Portia thought for a moment, there was no way to get to Greta's room without walking past Brendan and that was a problem. The armor hid most of what needed to be hidden but it hugged her form closer than was proper and you could see through the chain links if you looked close enough. Portia had never been terribly modest before, but now, after that major struggle putting on the armor, she did NOT want to be seen by anyone like this, especially a boy. A question occurred to her; why was she headed to Greta's room? Greta was bigger with the stockier body shape that most of the peasants had so Portia had assumed that Greta would have clothes that would fit over the armor. But Greta wouldn't have any clothes fit for fighting in. Shieldmaidens wore gambesons under their armor. On top of the armor they either wore a white tunic called a tabard or a white knee length dress called a chiton that shieldmaidens had redesigned for wearing on over armor. Greta would have had neither of these. Brendan, on the other hand, might have something that she could wear.

  "Brendan," she called from the bedroom. "Do you have some clothes that I could borrow? I don't have anything that will fit over this armor.” The young man hesitated, then finally answered.

  "Yes, but I’m wearing my traveling clothes, and this is Friday."

  “Which means?”

  “We wash our clothes on Saturday, the extra clothes that I have still smell of my sweat from the last two days’ workouts.”

  "That's fine,” she sighed resignedly, “your extra clothes will do." She glanced around the door and saw him still messing with his shield. He was rolling something blue up tight and tying it to one of the arm straps. “What are you doing?” she asked irritably.

  “It’s just something your father gave me; he said it might come in handy.”

  “What?” She asked, puzzled at what it might be.

  He didn’t answer. Instead he pulled his work clothes out of the pack and reached around the door to hand them to her without looking. “Do you need the underwear as well?

  That was a frightening thought! “No! No, I’ll make do without,” she replied hastily.

  “Well, hurry up and get dressed, we’re wasting daylight if she’s left the castle.”

  Portia didn’t say a word; deep down in her heart she was sure that Marcia was outside the walls. She started to put on the clothes and was surprised by his smell. She was used to smelly grooms and stinky squires whose body odor reeked, but for some reason Brendan’s body odor didn’t stink to her, it didn’t smell like roses, but it didn’t smell bad either. She had once asked her mother how she knew that her father was the man for her and she had jokingly replied that their body odors were compatible, when Portia had asked what she meant by that she simply said, “we don’t stink to each other.” Portia had dismissed it at the time as her mother trying to make a joke but now she wondered if there was some truth to it. She refocused and continued to get dressed.

  Brendan’s tunic fit fine over the top of the armor, but Portia began swearing under her breath when she tried to pull on the pants. Brendan was an inch taller than she was and at least 10 pounds heavier and yet her hips were an inch too wide for his pants. Why were girls’ hips bigger than boys’ hips? She would ask God when she got to heaven. All that mattered now was making the pants fit, she was not about to let a pair of tight pants prevent her sister’s rescue. With a huge effort and a lot of wiggling she finally succeeded in pulling them up, though she still couldn't fasten them at the top.

  She decided that would have to do, her hips were wedged into the pants tight enough that she wasn’t worried about them coming down and the tunic was long enough to cover up the fact that the pants were open at the top. As a final precaution, she tied a cloth belt around the top of the pants just to make sure that they didn’t start slipping down at an inopportune moment.

  She finished getting dressed by setting her mother's old helm on top of her head. At least that fit. Portia reached for her mother's hunting bow, but it wasn't there. She dug all the way to the bottom of the trunk and found her mother's war bow. It had a draw weight of 120 pounds which was more than any other woman in the region could draw but in truth, even her mother hadn’t used it in years. Portia knew that by the men's standards 120 pounds was a fairly powerful bow, but many used war bows with draw weights up to 180 pounds. Portia had rarely trained with her mother's hunting bow; she didn't even know if she could draw the war bow. Not knowing what else to do she grabbed the war bow and three quivers full of arrows that were with it, one quiver of Centurion altum tipped bodkin point arrows for piercing armor and two quivers of durum tipped broadhead arrows for cutting flesh. She grabbed her mother's old bedroll, stuck her feet in her boots and ran for the door.

  "Come on, we've got to hurry," she snapped, as if he were the reason that she was taking so long to get ready. He shook his head and ran down the stairs after her.

  They ran to the stable and surprised the groom who was standing ready with their horses. He gave Portia a long, sideways look, dressed as she was in Brendan’s clothes, but said nothing. Portia, for her part, volunteered nothing.

  Brendan spotted something next to the gate of Lilly Belle’s stall and walked over and picked it up. it was a thin leather satchel. Inside of it was a leather-bound notebook, some quills and ink, and a long tube with lenses on each end.

  “I wonder what this is?” He asked, holding it up to look at it.

  Portia sucked in her breath, “I think that’s the magnification tube she was working on with Dr. Sheraton. She must have dropped it when she was trying to hurry out of the castle.”

  “What does it do?”

  “Look through it, she says that it makes things look closer. They were trying to find a way to make the glass clearer, she said that it made things look closer, but it also made them murky and hard to see.”

  Brendan looked through it, “Incredible! I think they fixed the clarity problem. I can actually look down to the eastern end of the castle and tell who is standing in the tower at the far end.”

  He took a moment to flip through the notebook, “Your sister’s Greek is excellent, I’m impressed. It also looks like she’s written something in another language that I don’t recognize.”

  Portia peered over his shoulder, “I think it’s Chinese. I’ve seen Aurora write her name in Chinese and it looks a little bit like that. Now come on, let’s go!”

  “Wait! This was important enough that she wanted to take it with her, it may give us a clue to where she’s headed.”

  Brendan could see Portia fuming, but she held her tongue and let him continue looking.

  “I think she was headed for some caves north of Wicklin, she’s drawn a map locating some of them. She seems to be looking for…” Brendan was suddenly confused, “The Greek words are for bat droppings, why would she want that? Maybe it’s a mistranslation.”

  “Probably not, she’s always been curious about weird stuff and you said her Greek was excellent. She’s always used it to write secret notes because hardly anyone in the castle can read it besides her, Dr. Sheraton and the old priest who was here before Father Cardic. I think he was the one who taught her.”

  Brendan
flipped through a few more pages, “Your sister is brilliant. I’m a pretty smart guy but she’s on a whole other level. She has notes in four different languages, detailed drawings, lists of observations and evidence, geometric proofs of her mathematics, and logical arguments for her all of her conclusions. She quotes Aristotle and Archimedes. I’ve never seen anything like this, and she’s only 12.”

  “Yes, my sister is a complete genius who is stupid enough to go wandering across the countryside all by herself while Hungarians are invading.”

  “Just like you were planning to do,” Brendan said, thoughtfully. There was a very dark plan behind all of this, just as Sir Gerard suspected.

  He slung the satchel over his shoulder, “I’ve seen enough, we’re heading to Wicklin and we’re bringing this. She’s clearly stressed and distracted, or she would have noticed that she dropped it, it may give us more clues to finding her.”

  "Here are your horses, Miss Portia, Winter Storm and Nightwind," the groom announced, leading the two horses up to the waiting pair. Portia vaulted smoothly into the saddle while Brendan mounted slowly and deliberately.

  “We need to hurry; she’s got at least a two-hour head start.” She wheeled her horse around and headed toward the main gate.

  "You are headed in the wrong direction," Brendan called out as he caught up to her. "The messenger came in the main gate and everyone went to see him come in. She could not have gone out that way without being seen, she must have gone out the postern gate toward the village."

  The look on her face made it clear that she wanted to argue but she held her tongue. He knew what she was thinking, going out the main gate was a slightly longer route, but the road was easy to travel while the path down the cliff from the postern gate was very narrow and dangerous, especially on horseback. He watched her purse her lips without saying a word and turn her horse in the other direction.

  Brendan’s turn around was not as smooth as Nightwind tried to head back into the stable instead of turning toward the postern gate.

  “Ride like you’re the one in charge, not him,” she encouraged.

  “We had an agreement; he would let me pretend to be in charge and I wouldn’t ride him any more often than necessary. He’s breaking his side of the deal.” Brendan finally managed to get the horse headed in the right direction and he caught up with Portia. They reached the postern gate and were hailed by the two guards who were preparing to close it.

  "Did you see Miss Marcia ride out this gate?" Portia asked cutting off their questions. Both took a long look at her odd clothes trying to determine if it really was Miss Portia. Finally, one of them decided that she really was who she seemed to be.

  "No, Miss Portia," he responded.

  “And you have been here the entire time?” She continued.

  “Yes ma’am, doing our duty and protecting the castle,” answered the other man-at-arms firmly.

  "Oh well," said Brendan with a smile, "Did you see the crazy horns sticking out of that messenger's helmet when he rode in? He looked like a Viking."

  "He wore no such helm," the guard replied sarcastically, "you must have been drinking like a Viking."

  "That’s true enough," the other guard replied, snickering, "he wore no such helm."

  "And you know this because you left your post at the postern gate to see what was causing all the excitement in the castle and then hung around the main gate long enough to watch the messenger come in. You didn't see Miss Marcia ride out because you weren't really at your post."

  All the sneering humor in both men's faces disappeared as they saw the danger of their admission. Both stood, staring sullenly at the two young people. Finally, Brendan guided his horse past the two guards.

  "We need to hurry, Miss Portia," he said, "She has at least a two-hour head start, and we have only the vaguest idea where she’s going."

  "I forgive you for not doing your job," Portia said to the guards as she rode past them. "Do an excellent job guarding this gate and I shall have nothing to tell my parents about when I return."

  "Yes ma'am," both men said in unison.

  "Are you sure that was wise?" Asked Brendan after their horses had trotted far enough down the road for them to be out of earshot of the guards.

  "I don't know if it’s wise, but I know that it’s the right thing to do. It’s my hope that they’ll be more attentive guards now," she replied.

  Chapter 31

  A small tear in a girth strap can cause the saddle to fall, a fallen saddle can cause the messenger to fall, a fallen messenger can cause the entire kingdom to fall. Do not neglect small details simply because they are small.

  The Centurion Handbook of Practical Advice – Chapter 3: Proverb 7

  The Black knew that she should dream about Portia and check on her progress but dreaming about Portia was such a painful affair. The prophet intruded every time and the scars of his visits burned a little deeper into her mind with each of his visits. The plan was moving forward quickly, and she couldn’t afford distractions or mistakes.

  She shooed her children out of the cavern. She was going to move them deep into the woods of Eastern Carinthia, far from their cave. She knew that they could easily handle any bear or solitary hunter that they might encounter, and she would be back in a few days to check on them. Besides, it was time for them to start learning how to fend for themselves, no good would come from pampering them further.

  The Black turned her mind back to preparing her trap as she guided her children east. The problem was that Marcia would be arriving this evening and the dragon knew that she would be dealing with that brat all night, curse the short hours of a summer night! She could fly out and check on Portia tomorrow, but it would be daylight by then and the Black didn’t want to risk showing herself during the day just yet. She decided that it could wait, she could use her dreams to check on the handmaiden tomorrow afternoon and then fly out and eat her tomorrow night. That would be the best, with any luck that would be the last time she would have to dream about that little viper, the last time she would have to face the prophet in her dreams. The Black allowed herself a chuckle of pleasure, everything was going according to plan; Marcia was about to be delivered to her and Portia was on the way.

  Chapter 32

  “Do not make important decisions when you are hungry, exhausted, angry, or fearful. These feelings are friends of Satan and enemies of wisdom. Eat, sleep, and go to the Lord in prayer, then make your decision as the Lord leads.”

  The Centurion Handbook of Combat – Heart and Mind: Chapter 5

  The sun was low in the sky when they left the castle and both knew that it would be setting within the hour. It would have been smarter to wait until morning to set out on their journey, but Portia could not stand the thought of waiting another moment to try and find her sister. For his part, Brendan was sure that they would not have been allowed to go looking for Marcia at all if Lady Evelyn had found out what they were planning. It was good that they left when they did.

  "We won't make it to the village before nightfall," Brendan announced. "Do you want to push on in the darkness and hope that we can find a place to stay in the village in the middle of the night? Or would you prefer to stop and set up a campsite before the sun has set completely?” The young squire knew which one he would prefer but it was Portia's expedition to save her sister, not his. Brendan could tell she was torn; she didn’t like either option.

  "What do you think we should do?" She finally asked.

  "I can think of no good reason to travel at night. Getting lost or having an accident are much more likely to happen if you travel at night. I also find it exhausting, your mind has to focus harder and you strain your senses to pick up every tiny little detail in the darkness. Whatever time we might save is lost because we will be sleeping later in the morning."

  "Don't you think it would be safer to spend the night in the village?" Portia suggested with the tiniest quaver in her voice. Brendan looked at her curiously, she was absolutely fearles
s when it came to facing physical danger, but this was something different. Something much deeper was scaring her and that actually scared him a little. But it didn’t change the fact that trying to push on through the night was still a bad idea.

  "A fire will keep the animals at bay and my experience with robbers and brigands is that they like to carry out their work on more important roads than this one. They are looking for rich merchants or easy marks with a few gold coins in their purses. This road only carries poor peasants or well-armed soldiers between the castle and the village. None of the highway men that I have ever..." Brendan almost said 'traveled with' but managed to catch himself, "None of the highwaymen that I have ever heard of would risk fighting soldiers in order to steal filthy clothes off the backs of penniless peasants."

  This time it was Portia who regarded the young squire with curiosity for several moments.

  "Then we’ll make a camp," she finally said. "Where would you recommend?"

  "According to Marcia’s map, there’s a spot where the road comes close to a small stream about halfway in between two sections of forest. It’ll provide us with water and open countryside so that it’ll be easier to see if anyone or anything is trying to sneak up on us."

  "I thought you said that we had nothing to fear if we camped out in the countryside," Portia snapped.

  "I said, there is little to fear if we camp out, that is not the same as having nothing to fear. But then we wouldn’t be safe if we continued to travel in the dark, nor would we necessarily be safe even in the village. Making a camp by the stream is safer than the other options, but none of them is completely safe." Portia said nothing but edged her horse closer to Brendan's and kept riding.

  The two came to the top of a hill and looked down into the valley where the road lay. Ahead was a small arm of the forest that crossed the road. The road came out the other side and ran for a distance of about two miles until it disappeared into another branch of the forest on its way to the village. Brendan watched her shudder slightly at the sight and then glance at him, again, there was that fear that was so unlike her. Brendan tried to project an air of confidence to reassure her as he continued into the semi-darkness of the forest without hesitation.