Christopher Kastensmidt

         A vase shattered near Sir Gillard's feet. The shards, bouncing from the chamber's stone floor, welted his hand and rang the greave he strapped upon his shin.

         "Your Highness," he shouted, looking up, "what in the five underworlds was that?"

         Princess Adelaide stood before him, arms crossed, wearing her powder blue, crinkled morning gown. Her waist-length auburn hair, uncombed and unbraided, frizzed out around her.

         "You weren't paying attention to a word I was saying," she shouted back.

         Sir Gillard breathed deeply, his light mail marking the contours of his bulky shoulders and upper chest as they expanded. In a much lower voice, he said, "I'm trying to prepare for battle, Your Highness. I ride shortly."

         "But we haven't had a proper conversation in weeks. I just want to speak to you and hear more than a mumbled reply as you think upon your next task."

         "Things have been busy around the castle, you know that." He reached down and resumed fitting his greaves. "We had the delegation from Went last week, then I had to help the steward with the new stores. You know your father expects much of me."

         "And what should I expect of you? A kiss on the cheek as you ride off to battle and another as you collapse exhausted into bed at night?"

         "Please, Your Highness, be reasonable. Smashing vases is not becoming of a lady."

         "And what is proper conduct for a lord? How should he treat his wife?"

         Sir Gillard remained silent.

         "When you first courted me," continued the Princess, "you spoke such beautiful words. You told me you would do anything for me. Now you can't even spare time to speak with me."

         "I fulfill my responsibilities as your consort. I am always at your side at important social events, and," his face turned a light shade of red, "I do my duty to try and keep our lineage alive for another generation."

         "Is that all it's about, responsibilities? What about romance? Love?"

         "I do love you, Your Highness. I love you as much as the first time I saw you."

         "Then why don't you show it? How about flowers, songs, poems? Or better yet, just talk to me."

         "Please woman, I'm a warrior, not some pouty minstrel."

         The Princess began to cry.

         Sir Gillard stood, fully armored except for his helm and gauntlets, which he held under one arm.

         "Princess," he said, "there is a dragon on the loose in the countryside. As the King's Champion, I must slay it."

         He strode towards the door. As he passed by the Princess, he paused. She lowered her head. He reached out an arm, almost touching her, but after a moment's hesitation pulled it back and walked out, his armored feet clanging on the floor. 

         Sir Gillard reined his horse and scanned the countryside. After a few moments, he spurred the horse on again. He repeated the process in silence for several hours.

         Finally, at one of his stops, he grumbled, "The woman expects me to go out picking roses when there's a dragon on the loose. Doesn't she know I need to concentrate so I don't get myself killed?"

         "Did you say something about roses?"

         Gillard jerked his lance toward the sound, positioning it just inches away from a man's face. "Where in the five underworlds did you come from?"

         The man showed no reaction to the abrupt movement. "I live here," he replied.

         The man, middle-aged, wore patched-up clothes made from undyed wool. His straight hair lay long upon his shoulders and back, and his beard grew almost to his navel. His leathery skin looked as if it had been slowly roasted over decades.

         Gillard lowered the lance. He removed his helm and looked around. "You live here? I see no cottage."

         "Here," replied the man, holding his arm out, "the countryside."

         "Very well. What is your business? Why did you sneak up on me?"

         "It was not my intention to sneak up. I heard you mention roses, and I was going to tell you I know of a place where you can find some wonderful specimens, not far from here."

         "I'm not looking for roses," snorted Sir Gillard, "I'm looking for a dragon."

         "Oh, well I know where you can find one of those as well. Although the roses are quite nice, you really should consider giving them a look."

         "Are you mocking me, man?"

         "No, not at all. The roses really are beautiful."

         "I mean about the dragon."

         "Oh yes, it's a beautiful dragon as well. Not far from here. Would you like to see it?"

         "My intention is to slay it. I am Sir Gillard, Consort of Princess Adelaide, third daughter of Great King Himber. I am also Assistant Royal Steward, Dragonslayer, and Knight Superior Defender of the Realm."

         "Well that's quite a name. I suppose I should address you as M'Lord."

         "It would be fitting for one of your social standing."

         "And if I may introduce myself to M'Lord, I am known as Rendell, and my only title is that of Hermit, given to me not by the king but by the local country folk."

         "Very well, Rendell. I have no desire to see your roses, but would you be so kind as to show me this dragon?"

         "If M'Lord insists."

         Rendell led Sir Gillard for an hour, eventually arriving at the edge of a cliff which stretched out like a horseshoe around a massive valley. On the other side of the valley a giant hole opened in the cliff. Chunks of rock with well-defined edges, showing no signs of erosion, scattered among mounds of dirt before the cave.

         "That cavern appears recently excavated," noted Sir Gillard. "I assume that's the dragon's cave?"

         "Oh yes."

         The sound of grinding gravel echoed from the cave and moments later, a dragon's head peeked out. Two sleek, black horns curved back from its forest-green head and two shorter, rougher ones rested upon its snout. Yellowed canine teeth speared down from the fold of its upper lip all the way past its lower jaw. It sniffed the air while scanning the sky.

         Sir Gillard put on his helm. "Very well then, that wasn't so difficult. Rendell, if you would be so kind as to tell me how to descend this canyon, I will be on my way."

         Rendell said nothing, but stared out towards the east.

         Following his gaze, Sir Gillard saw a black dot in the sky.

         "What is that?"

         "Just wait."

         The dot slowly grew to form the outline of a dragon.

         "Two dragons?" asked Sir Gillard.

         "Does that frighten you, Sir Knight?"

         "Not at all. Slaying two dragons at once shall multiply my glory. I'm just surprised to see two dragons together. I've never heard of such a thing."

         "Oh, it's rare indeed, and entirely worth watching." Rendell sat down.

         "What do you mean, worth watching?"

         As the second dragon approached, the first left the cave and took flight. They circled each other, and within moments their powerful wings began to beat with the same rhythm.

         "What in the five underworlds are they doing? Are they going to battle?"

         "Can't you tell? They're dancing."

         "I've never heard of such a thing."

         "It seems from what you keep saying, Sir Knight, that there are many things you have never heard of in this world. I've found that by keeping quiet and paying attention, one tends to discover more about the world around them. That is precisely why I became a hermit, and it is a course of action I recommend highly."

         Sir Gillard raised a gauntleted fist in Rendell's direction and took in a sharp breath. "How dare you speak that way to a lord!" he shouted. "Once I have slain these dragons, I will come back and thrash you until..." An abrupt change in movement by the dragons caught Gillard's attention. He jerked around towards them, raising his lance defensively.

         The dragons performed a crisscross pattern. They floated lightly, without exertion.

         After a few minutes, Sir Gillard removed his helmet.

         The dragons wove around each other, making loops and curves in a complicated design. At times they accelerated, at others, decelerated. Occasionally one would roll in the air, or puff out a ball of smoke.

         Sir Gillard dismounted.

         The dragons flew side by side, then split, made a half circle, and curved inward, lining up over one another a ways before starting another pattern.

         The knight placed his lance on the ground and sat down beside Rendell. After several minutes, he spoke. "I have watched dragons rend man and beast alike. I have seen them burn houses without mercy. I once saw one knock down a forty-foot stone wall. How can a beast so powerful, so deadly, be so elegant?"

         "Like an oyster, a rough, unsightly shell often hides a tender interior, perhaps even a pearl." Rendell turned to face the knight. "But the shell must be opened to see the beauty inside."

         They sat in silence the rest of the day, watching the dragons' dance.

         At sunset, the two dragons spiraled upward, so high their silhouettes became faint against the sky. When they appeared nothing more than two tiny lizards, they met in midair, chest to chest, grappling together. Locked in this fashion, they plummeted toward the ground.

         "What are they doing now?" gasped Sir Gillard.

         "I think you're old enough to know the answer to that." Rendell chuckled.

         The knight blushed.

         The dragons fell, ever faster. Moments before hitting the ground, they separated, swooping in two different directions. They came to rest in the valley and gently rubbed necks before entering the cave one by one.

         Sir Gillard stood. After gathering his equipment, he slowly mounted his horse.

         "Well, are you going after them?" asked the hermit. "It's probably the best chance you'll get; they must be tired."

         "No, I realized I must attend to a different matter.  I was hoping you could point out the location of the roses you mentioned before."

         The hermit pointed. "'Tis but a ten-minute ride to the southwest, just past a stand of alders. Might I ask what made M'Lord change his mind?"

         "I thought I'd pick a few on the ride back. I'm going home to see Adelaide." Sir Gillard turned his horse away from the cliff.

         "Don't you mean to say the Princess Adelaide, third daughter of Great King Himber?"

         "No, just Adelaide—my wife." He spoke the words softly, without a trace of pride.

         Rendell smiled as he watched the knight ride away.

 

 

First Appeared in Forgotten Worlds, October 2006

 

 

Copyright 2007, Christopher Kastensmidt

Chris's speculative fiction has appeared in Forgotten Worlds, Nowa Fantastyka, Deep Magic, and others. He also works as a video game producer.

 

    

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