The Dragon of Throxenby
Part 1
Genre: Adventure, romance
Rating: T
Warnings: Mild violence
Timeline: After Series Two; AU for Series Three
Synopsis: Guy leaves Nottingham in search of a healing spring to mend his broken heart, but finds instead a girl about to be eaten by a dragon – and that's only the beginning.
Disclaimer: Characters and settings belong to the series of Robin Hood on BBC1 and to Tiger Aspect Productions. I am only borrowing them to entertain, with no intent to profit.
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Rating: T
Warnings: Mild violence
Timeline: After Series Two; AU for Series Three
Synopsis: Guy leaves Nottingham in search of a healing spring to mend his broken heart, but finds instead a girl about to be eaten by a dragon – and that's only the beginning.
Disclaimer: Characters and settings belong to the series of Robin Hood on BBC1 and to Tiger Aspect Productions. I am only borrowing them to entertain, with no intent to profit.
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Guy of Gisborne woke to a waterfall that hadn't been there when he'd fallen asleep. Shocked into wakefulness, he jerked upright, blinking not only to get the water out of his eyes, but also because of the daylight, which hadn't been there either when he'd nodded off. He was sitting at the table in the great hall of the castle, and Vasey, the Sheriff of Nottingham, was holding a pitcher over his head, letting the last few drops fall down onto him.
"Gisborne, you're a disgrace," Vasey told him. "Get up!"
Wincing at the intensity of the man's voice, Guy stood up. His head throbbed all the way down to his teeth and even the ends of his hair, his mouth was dry and felt like he'd been eating badger fur, and his stomach was threatening to rebel. He wanted to start drinking all over again.
"Next time I find you passed out in my chair, I won't wake you with water," Vasey went on. "I'll just have the guards drag you out into the forest for Hood to find."
Hood! Merely hearing the word was enough; Guy's stomach roiled and he threw up, right onto the Sheriff's feet.
"Won't that be fun – ugh!" Disgusted, Vasey jumped back. Somewhere in the hall, someone laughed, and Vasey whirled. Guy was dimly aware of the sound of the pitcher hitting the floor, and fleeing footsteps, and then of the Sheriff coming around behind him. He'd barely finished vomiting when Vasey's foot connected with his backside and sent him sprawling facedown into his own mess.
"Get out of my sight, and don't come back until you're sober!" Vasey shrieked.
Guy got up slowly and walked out, revolted by the stench of his own vomit all over the front of his leather jacket. He had trouble undoing the clasps, as they were now wet and slippery, but by the time he'd exited the hall, he'd managed to get them open. After he'd slipped out of the jacket, he grabbed the nearest serving girl and pushed the clothing into her hands. "Get this cleaned up, now!"
"Yes, my lord." She spoke quickly, frightened, and ran off. Guy continued on outside until he reached the well, then drew up a bucket, took a drink, and washed his fingers in the water. It was unusually cold for this month, and being outside with wet hair and without his jacket made him shiver. October, he thought. It was October, almost a year to the day that they'd set off for the Holy Land – he, the Sheriff, and Marian. Only two of them had returned.
Guy glanced up at the castle. The great stone building was full of memories. He swore he could feel her presence, both inviting and disapproving, whenever he passed by her chamber, or the place where they had kissed. The tree in the courtyard, the balcony … everything reminded him of her. It wasn't any different at Locksley Manor, either. She'd come to visit him there once, and now he couldn't even enter the house without remembering. He'd had such hopes of her last year. Hopes that she would forget the outlaw Robin Hood, and turn to him, Guy, instead. Hopes that she would finally accept his offer of marriage – accept him. But then it had all gone wrong, and in the Holy Land, he'd realized that his hopes had been in vain. She hadn't been softening to him at all, she'd merely been playing for time while she accepted – Hood! Even thinking the name enraged him, and brought with it renewed anguish at how he'd reacted to Marian's simple statements. "I'm going to marry Robin Hood. I love Robin Hood."
Guy emptied the bucket, flinging the rest of the water violently away and nearly hitting a passing guard. The man gave him a look of annoyance, which changed quickly to wariness when he saw who was responsible for his near-shower, and hurried away. Guy scowled. Normally, he would have gone right back inside, to the kitchens, and demanded more wine, but suddenly, the thought sickened him. He wanted to get away, he realized, ride somewhere where Marian had never been, where he could breathe without being surrounded and smothered by memories of her.
First things first, he thought, and headed to the nearest privy. It was the three-seater next to the kitchens, and he could hear two maids giggling inside as he approached. Not willing to share the space with anybody, and especially not lepers, as the Sheriff referred to women and which Guy was starting to agree with, Guy went around to one side and waited.
"My old dad always swore by the healing spring in Throxenby," one of the maids was saying. "My dad said he met a man once who'd cut his finger off, but he ran right over to the spring, put his hand in, and grew a new finger, right then and there!"
The second maid made a sound of astonishment. "What do you think would happen if –" there was a silence – "went to this spring in Throxenby and put his hand in?"
"He's that evil, he'd turn the water black," the first maid said, and they both giggled. The second maid went on, "I was thinking, what if he fell in completely? With all that drink in him, he'd turn the water into wine!"
They both screamed with laughter for a short moment, and then the sound was abruptly cut off, as though they'd both slapped their hands over their mouths at the same time.
Guy shifted from one foot to the next and wondered how much longer they were going to be. Were they even using the privy, or had they merely gone in to escape work for a few moments while they gossipped? He was just considering banging on the wooden structure and threatening to cut their own fingers off if they didn't hurry up when the door slammed open and the girls exited, still grinning. But as Guy stepped forwards and they caught sight of his impatient glare, sheer terror wiped the smiles from their faces. They glanced at each other, one of them caught the other's hand, and then they both ran as though the devil himself were after them.
Healing spring, Guy thought once he was inside. Growing a new finger? If only he could grow a new Marian. Or a new heart, one that didn't ache so fiercely. He imagined himself standing at the edge of the spring, running the blade of his sword through his own chest, then falling backwards into the water and emerging a new man … or not at all. He couldn't decide which choice sounded more appealing, as hell certainly couldn't be any worse than his life now. And since the Sheriff had practically ordered him out of the castle, since there were very few places Guy could retreat to without running into him eventually, there was nothing to stop him from going to the spring.
He stepped out of the privy, and saw the maid to whom he'd given his leather jacket to be cleaned. She thrust it at him and scarcely waited to make sure he'd grabbed it before letting go and scurrying away. Pulling it on and frowning at its dampness, Guy made his way to the stables, and called for his horse. He'd ride to Locksley first for drier clothing and supplies, and then see how far he could get before sundown.
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It was late afternoon some days later when Guy approached the coast. It had been cloudy all day, and now the fog was coming up as well so that the closer he got to the coast, the less he could see. There was a clicking sound from beneath him, as his horse's shoe struck a rock, and Guy glanced first down, and then all around. When had the path disappeared? He had no idea where he was. Cautiously, he turned his horse around and tried to determine exactly which way he'd come, in hopes that he'd left the path only a few steps behind, but although he searched in ever-widening circles, he couldn't find it again.
He noticed the brush, lying in a tiny pool of something dark, but paid it no mind until, several steps beyond, he came upon a bucket, lying on its side, with a remnant of dried pitch inside, and more spilled on the ground around. Squinting into the fog, Guy spotted a dark, rounded shape farther away, and rode in that direction. It was a coracle, lying bottom up, and when he got close enough, Guy could see that it was only half covered with pitch. The outer layer ended abruptly in mid-stroke, with a few spatters on the untreated side, as though something had frightened the boatmaker's owner so badly that he'd dropped everything and run away.
It was quiet. Guy had expected at least the sound of gulls, now that he was so close to the sea, but they were as silent as everything else. Then, all the more loud for being the only sound audible, something flapped overhead, something high enough to be hidden by the mists and the clouds. Its wings sounded much bigger than a hawk, bigger even than the vultures Guy had seen in the Holy Land. A moment later, something huge and dark swooshed over Guy from behind, leaving behind a stench like sulfur and dead rats rotting away. His horse whinnied in terror and reared instantly, dumping Guy on the ground behind it, then bolted away with another panicked whinny. Gathering himself up, Guy scanned the sky for a better look, but whatever it was, it had disappeared, and he could only see the grey of the fog.
A woman screamed.
It sounded so much like Marian that Guy's heart froze. He had just started to convince himself that he was imagining things when she screamed again, and this time he heard a distinct call for help. It still sounded like Marian, so much that his legs jerked to life and ran of their own accord in the direction from which the screams were coming.
"Somebody, please help!" came the anguished cry, and through the fog, Guy could see a woman in a white dress, tied by her hands to two wooden posts. As he crashed forward, he remembered that Marian had had a white dress, and Marian's hair had been about that length. But when he got close enough to see the woman properly, he realized it wasn't the same dress, or the same colour of hair. This young woman wasn't Marian.
Hearing his footsteps, the young woman twisted around, and their eyes locked.
"Draw your sword!" she cried, and Guy did so. He thought she must mean for him to cut the ropes that held her, but as he came forwards to do so, she looked above him to the sky and screeched, "No! Kill the dragon!"
Dragon! Half-turning, both hands on his sword hilt, Guy followed her gaze. The creature came in low, gliding close enough for him to get a good look as he slashed at it. It was larger than a horse, with a vast wingspan, and had dark green scales like armour that repelled his sword and even knocked it out of his hands without allowing so much as a scratch. Staggering to keep his balance, and getting a noseful of the same stench as before, Guy wondered who could defeat such a beast, and how. It must have wheeled around on a wingtip, because it came back almost instantly from the opposite direction, and as soon as it spotted Guy, it opened its mouth and breathed fire. Instinctively, Guy jumped and rolled out of the way, and the girl cried out again.
Fire! Armour! The two concepts sparked a memory in his mind, of a suit of armour he'd once worn, made of special metal. It had repelled both swords and arrows, and he'd thought he was invincible inside it, until Robin Hood had smeared him with pitch and set him on fire. Then the armour had become a deadly trap, and only a nearby tub of washwater had saved him from being broiled alive inside it. Could he defeat the dragon in the same way that Robin Hood had defeated him? It was worth a try – his sword certainly wasn't doing him any good. Guy ran back to the bucket of pitch, knelt down, and pulled his dagger and his firestone from inside his belt. He'd just hit one spark when the dragon swooped down at him a second time, and he had to dive to one side to escape its flaming breath. Rolling back, he saw that the dragon's fire had done his work for him and ignited the pitch. Blessing his leather gloves, Guy picked up the now flaming bucket and raced back to where he'd dropped his sword. When the dragon came at him again, he danced out of the way and flung the burning contents of the bucket up at the beast.
A gob of flaming pitch hit one wing, and the fire spread so rapidly that the entire wing was consumed in two heartbeats. Howling in pain, unable to keep aloft with only one wing, the burning beast crashed badly several yards away, and Guy clearly heard bones snap. Keeping hold of the bucket, but snatching up his sword with his other hand, Guy ran to see how much damage he'd managed to inflict. Its left wing was now nothing more than a series of twitching bones and cartilage, both of its back legs had been broken upon impact, and the scales on its left flank were burning, though slower and more steadily than its flimsier wing.
He came upon it from the rear and saw that it had pushed itself up onto its forelegs, but as he approached, it went down again. Perhaps hearing or even smelling him, the dragon whipped its head around on its long neck to catch sight of him, then opened its mouth and flamed at him across the remains of its left wing. Just barely far enough away to avoid the fiery blast, Guy waited until the flames had died away, then raced forward and threw the entire bucket at its right wing. He hadn't reckoned with its tail, however, and it lashed him across the back, flattening him to the ground and knocking the breath out of him. As it flailed aimlessly in agony and rage, Guy forced himself back to his feet, noting that the fire on its left flank had almost completely burned away the scales there. He staggered three steps, then lifted his sword and plunged it into the dragon's side, using his body weight to drive it as deeply as he could. Screaming, the dragon arched its neck and caught his arm between its powerful jaws, its teeth sinking into his own flesh and dragging him down. He kept hold of his sword, however, pulling it out even as he fell onto one knee, and stabbed the dragon again. Its jaws relaxed as it died, and its long neck flopped gracelessly to the ground.
After resting on his knees for a long moment, Guy heaved himself upright and wrenched his sword out of the carcass. The stains on the blade were greenish-black, like some kind of witch's evil brew, and stank even worse. He wiped it on a clump of nearby grass, then made his way back to where the girl was standing.
"You're alive?" she asked as Guy approached. "You killed it?"
"Are you hurt?" Instead of sawing through the ropes, Guy simply whacked at them, and the girl's arms fell free.
"Just worried that you wouldn't come in time," the girl said. She was quite plain, but she had a nice smile.
When Guy lowered his sword to sheathe it, the blade crumbled, and he stared at it in consternation. The dragon's blood had corroded the steel! Suddenly frightened that he might have got some of the caustic liquid on himself, he tossed the hilt away and quickly checked his arms, legs, and body. His gloves were burnt, and he ripped them off, afraid that the skin underneath had been eaten away, but to his great relief, it was still there and his hands were unmarked.
The girl fingered his sleeve. "You're bleeding."
Guy pulled the dagger from his belt and ripped viciously through the leather, tearing it open. It was all his own blood, reassuringly red as it flowed from various puncture wounds down to his wrist. Although it was already starting to throb, he was relieved that it wasn't burning.
Holding out the skirt of her white dress, the girl said, "Cut this off, and I'll bandage you up."
He used his dagger to slice off the lower part of her dress, just below her knees, and she tore the material into strips, then bound his arm. "There, that should hold until we get back to the castle."
"Thank you," Guy said, and then, because he could tell, if not by her clothes, then certainly by her quietly imperious manner, that she was not a simple peasant girl, he added awkwardly, "My lady."
"Thank you, Sir Knight, for saving me, and all of us, from that dragon!" she replied. "Can you walk? We must go back to the town and tell everybody that it's dead!"
The way back to town led them past the still-burning hulk of the dragon, and Guy asked, "Where did it come from?"
"Where does any dragon come from?" The girl shrugged. "It came just before harvest time. My grandfather, who has the second sight, said that if the Earl would offer it a maiden from time to time, it would be satisfied and not destroy us. He also said that a knight in black leather would be able to defeat it. But it has been one maiden a week since then, and although many knights have come and dressed up in black leather before trying to kill it, it slaughtered them all. Their bodies are down on the beach – none of them tried to burn it to death, though."
She smiled up at him in praise and admiration, but Guy remembered where he'd got the idea, and scowled.
"You are in pain," the girl said, "and I talk too much. Lean on me if you need to, and I will be quiet."
The town was only an hour's walk away, but by the time they arrived, Guy felt as fatigued as though he'd been walking for a week. His arm throbbed with every heartbeat and his head had started to ache, too. To his surprise, however, the gates were locked and the entire town was as quiet – no, subdued – as though it were the middle of the night instead of close to suppertime. The girl strode forward and hammered on the gate with her fist, and a tiny window in the door opened to show the face of an old, grizzled guard.
"Who are you and what do you want?" he demanded.
"The dragon is dead!" the girl cried. "Please let us in, I must tell the Earl!"
The guard's mouth dropped open as he stared at her, and then he pulled back and slammed the window shut. They could hear him calling commands, and then the huge wooden door creaked open to reveal not only the old guard, but several others as well. As Guy and the young lady entered, he felt their stares and heard them murmuring among themselves.
"Is it true, my lady?" one of the younger ones called out. "The dragon's dead?"
"The dragon is dead," the girl announced in a loud, clear voice. "This is the knight who killed it. Please let us through to the Earl."
"I'll go tell him you're coming, my lady!" the young guard called out, and dashed away. The girl followed him more slowly, and Guy made an effort to walk at her side and not fall behind. The farther they went, the more people came out of their houses to stare at them, and Guy could hear them whispering in awed tones as they passed by. He wanted nothing more than to throw himself on his bed, or even a convenient pile of straw, and simply close his eyes, but the public scrutiny made him stand taller and stride instead of slumping and plodding.
The castle in Throxenby was little more than an ancient stone keep with a slightly more modern great hall added to one side. The Earl was standing on the steps, surrounded by his entire household, and more people had gathered around at ground level. The girl approached to a respectful distance, then curtsied. Guy bowed stiffly, and even before he'd straightened up, the people began cheering and clapping, only stopping when the Earl raised one hand slightly.
"Is it true?" he asked. "The dragon is dead?"
"Yes, my lord," Guy replied, and the girl beside him said, "It lies dead about a hundred and fifty yards from the place of sacrifice, my lord, and I saw its dead body with my own eyes."
"You cannot conceive how happy I am to hear that, or how happy I am to see our Quenilda again, alive and unhurt," the Earl said, coming down a step. "I am sorrowed that you have not escaped unscathed, and I will offer you our hospitality to tend your wounds. But tell me, Sir Knight. How were you able to defeat the dragon when so many others before you have failed?"
"He burned it, my lord," Quenilda gushed, and the Earl raised his eyebrows. "Burned it?"
"My lord, I found a bucket with some pitch nearby," Guy reported. "I set it on fire, threw it at the dragon, and burned its wing off. It fell to the ground and I stabbed it with my sword."
Everybody clapped and cheered again, much louder this time. In between the cheers, Guy could also hear a minstrel plucking a lute in a happy tune. It made his head ache even more, and he winced. The Earl let the noise go on for much too long before signalling again for silence.
"I made a vow before God to reward the man who slayed the dragon," the Earl said. "I will keep that vow. Sir Knight, I have two daughters. You may choose which one you will take in in marriage."
Guy scowled down at Quenilda. She hadn't mentioned any rewards, and especially not marriage. The word soured his stomach; he felt physically ill just thinking of it.
"You have already met my younger daughter, Quenilda."
Ignoring his scowl, Quenilda grinned up at him, obviously delighting in his surprise. Then the Earl waved forward a taller young woman, very beautiful in contrast to her sister. "And this is my older daughter, Isolda."
Smiling coyly at Guy, Isolda curtsied, and the Earl continued, "I am Alfward, the Earl of Throxenby. May we know your name, Sir Knight?"
Guy swallowed. Was it just his imagination, or had everything gone blurry for a moment? "I am Sir Guy of Gisborne."
There was a collective gasp of horror from all the women, except from the one who actually screamed. Isolda's coy, hopeful expression turned to one of horror, and she threw herself onto her knees at the Earl's feet, wrapping her arms around his legs. "My lord, not him, please don't make me marry him, I beg you!"
"Sir Guy," the Earl said, and his voice had changed, too, from warm and welcoming to something much colder. "Your reputation precedes you."
Guy sighed. It was bad enough that he himself was responsible for the death of the woman he'd loved, but did everybody in the country know what he'd done? That minstrel had no doubt been singing songs of Robin Hood, his men in the forest, and – Marian. Could he never be free of reminders, no matter where he went or what he did? His fatigure was getting worse; he had to speak carefully to avoid slurring his words as he said, "My lord, I did not come here seeking rewards."
"Then why did you come?" the Earl asked.
Guy didn't want to explain that he'd simply been defending himself, that he thought he'd heard Marian, or that he'd lost his way in the fog. Everything was becoming blurry again, and his legs were trembling with the effort of keeping him upright.
"The healing spring, my lord," Quenilda said. "He is in pain."
The last thing that Guy saw was her face, looking up at him in concern. Then his knees buckled and he collapsed into darkness.
Part 2
"Gisborne, you're a disgrace," Vasey told him. "Get up!"
Wincing at the intensity of the man's voice, Guy stood up. His head throbbed all the way down to his teeth and even the ends of his hair, his mouth was dry and felt like he'd been eating badger fur, and his stomach was threatening to rebel. He wanted to start drinking all over again.
"Next time I find you passed out in my chair, I won't wake you with water," Vasey went on. "I'll just have the guards drag you out into the forest for Hood to find."
Hood! Merely hearing the word was enough; Guy's stomach roiled and he threw up, right onto the Sheriff's feet.
"Won't that be fun – ugh!" Disgusted, Vasey jumped back. Somewhere in the hall, someone laughed, and Vasey whirled. Guy was dimly aware of the sound of the pitcher hitting the floor, and fleeing footsteps, and then of the Sheriff coming around behind him. He'd barely finished vomiting when Vasey's foot connected with his backside and sent him sprawling facedown into his own mess.
"Get out of my sight, and don't come back until you're sober!" Vasey shrieked.
Guy got up slowly and walked out, revolted by the stench of his own vomit all over the front of his leather jacket. He had trouble undoing the clasps, as they were now wet and slippery, but by the time he'd exited the hall, he'd managed to get them open. After he'd slipped out of the jacket, he grabbed the nearest serving girl and pushed the clothing into her hands. "Get this cleaned up, now!"
"Yes, my lord." She spoke quickly, frightened, and ran off. Guy continued on outside until he reached the well, then drew up a bucket, took a drink, and washed his fingers in the water. It was unusually cold for this month, and being outside with wet hair and without his jacket made him shiver. October, he thought. It was October, almost a year to the day that they'd set off for the Holy Land – he, the Sheriff, and Marian. Only two of them had returned.
Guy glanced up at the castle. The great stone building was full of memories. He swore he could feel her presence, both inviting and disapproving, whenever he passed by her chamber, or the place where they had kissed. The tree in the courtyard, the balcony … everything reminded him of her. It wasn't any different at Locksley Manor, either. She'd come to visit him there once, and now he couldn't even enter the house without remembering. He'd had such hopes of her last year. Hopes that she would forget the outlaw Robin Hood, and turn to him, Guy, instead. Hopes that she would finally accept his offer of marriage – accept him. But then it had all gone wrong, and in the Holy Land, he'd realized that his hopes had been in vain. She hadn't been softening to him at all, she'd merely been playing for time while she accepted – Hood! Even thinking the name enraged him, and brought with it renewed anguish at how he'd reacted to Marian's simple statements. "I'm going to marry Robin Hood. I love Robin Hood."
Guy emptied the bucket, flinging the rest of the water violently away and nearly hitting a passing guard. The man gave him a look of annoyance, which changed quickly to wariness when he saw who was responsible for his near-shower, and hurried away. Guy scowled. Normally, he would have gone right back inside, to the kitchens, and demanded more wine, but suddenly, the thought sickened him. He wanted to get away, he realized, ride somewhere where Marian had never been, where he could breathe without being surrounded and smothered by memories of her.
First things first, he thought, and headed to the nearest privy. It was the three-seater next to the kitchens, and he could hear two maids giggling inside as he approached. Not willing to share the space with anybody, and especially not lepers, as the Sheriff referred to women and which Guy was starting to agree with, Guy went around to one side and waited.
"My old dad always swore by the healing spring in Throxenby," one of the maids was saying. "My dad said he met a man once who'd cut his finger off, but he ran right over to the spring, put his hand in, and grew a new finger, right then and there!"
The second maid made a sound of astonishment. "What do you think would happen if –" there was a silence – "went to this spring in Throxenby and put his hand in?"
"He's that evil, he'd turn the water black," the first maid said, and they both giggled. The second maid went on, "I was thinking, what if he fell in completely? With all that drink in him, he'd turn the water into wine!"
They both screamed with laughter for a short moment, and then the sound was abruptly cut off, as though they'd both slapped their hands over their mouths at the same time.
Guy shifted from one foot to the next and wondered how much longer they were going to be. Were they even using the privy, or had they merely gone in to escape work for a few moments while they gossipped? He was just considering banging on the wooden structure and threatening to cut their own fingers off if they didn't hurry up when the door slammed open and the girls exited, still grinning. But as Guy stepped forwards and they caught sight of his impatient glare, sheer terror wiped the smiles from their faces. They glanced at each other, one of them caught the other's hand, and then they both ran as though the devil himself were after them.
Healing spring, Guy thought once he was inside. Growing a new finger? If only he could grow a new Marian. Or a new heart, one that didn't ache so fiercely. He imagined himself standing at the edge of the spring, running the blade of his sword through his own chest, then falling backwards into the water and emerging a new man … or not at all. He couldn't decide which choice sounded more appealing, as hell certainly couldn't be any worse than his life now. And since the Sheriff had practically ordered him out of the castle, since there were very few places Guy could retreat to without running into him eventually, there was nothing to stop him from going to the spring.
He stepped out of the privy, and saw the maid to whom he'd given his leather jacket to be cleaned. She thrust it at him and scarcely waited to make sure he'd grabbed it before letting go and scurrying away. Pulling it on and frowning at its dampness, Guy made his way to the stables, and called for his horse. He'd ride to Locksley first for drier clothing and supplies, and then see how far he could get before sundown.
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It was late afternoon some days later when Guy approached the coast. It had been cloudy all day, and now the fog was coming up as well so that the closer he got to the coast, the less he could see. There was a clicking sound from beneath him, as his horse's shoe struck a rock, and Guy glanced first down, and then all around. When had the path disappeared? He had no idea where he was. Cautiously, he turned his horse around and tried to determine exactly which way he'd come, in hopes that he'd left the path only a few steps behind, but although he searched in ever-widening circles, he couldn't find it again.
He noticed the brush, lying in a tiny pool of something dark, but paid it no mind until, several steps beyond, he came upon a bucket, lying on its side, with a remnant of dried pitch inside, and more spilled on the ground around. Squinting into the fog, Guy spotted a dark, rounded shape farther away, and rode in that direction. It was a coracle, lying bottom up, and when he got close enough, Guy could see that it was only half covered with pitch. The outer layer ended abruptly in mid-stroke, with a few spatters on the untreated side, as though something had frightened the boatmaker's owner so badly that he'd dropped everything and run away.
It was quiet. Guy had expected at least the sound of gulls, now that he was so close to the sea, but they were as silent as everything else. Then, all the more loud for being the only sound audible, something flapped overhead, something high enough to be hidden by the mists and the clouds. Its wings sounded much bigger than a hawk, bigger even than the vultures Guy had seen in the Holy Land. A moment later, something huge and dark swooshed over Guy from behind, leaving behind a stench like sulfur and dead rats rotting away. His horse whinnied in terror and reared instantly, dumping Guy on the ground behind it, then bolted away with another panicked whinny. Gathering himself up, Guy scanned the sky for a better look, but whatever it was, it had disappeared, and he could only see the grey of the fog.
A woman screamed.
It sounded so much like Marian that Guy's heart froze. He had just started to convince himself that he was imagining things when she screamed again, and this time he heard a distinct call for help. It still sounded like Marian, so much that his legs jerked to life and ran of their own accord in the direction from which the screams were coming.
"Somebody, please help!" came the anguished cry, and through the fog, Guy could see a woman in a white dress, tied by her hands to two wooden posts. As he crashed forward, he remembered that Marian had had a white dress, and Marian's hair had been about that length. But when he got close enough to see the woman properly, he realized it wasn't the same dress, or the same colour of hair. This young woman wasn't Marian.
Hearing his footsteps, the young woman twisted around, and their eyes locked.
"Draw your sword!" she cried, and Guy did so. He thought she must mean for him to cut the ropes that held her, but as he came forwards to do so, she looked above him to the sky and screeched, "No! Kill the dragon!"
Dragon! Half-turning, both hands on his sword hilt, Guy followed her gaze. The creature came in low, gliding close enough for him to get a good look as he slashed at it. It was larger than a horse, with a vast wingspan, and had dark green scales like armour that repelled his sword and even knocked it out of his hands without allowing so much as a scratch. Staggering to keep his balance, and getting a noseful of the same stench as before, Guy wondered who could defeat such a beast, and how. It must have wheeled around on a wingtip, because it came back almost instantly from the opposite direction, and as soon as it spotted Guy, it opened its mouth and breathed fire. Instinctively, Guy jumped and rolled out of the way, and the girl cried out again.
Fire! Armour! The two concepts sparked a memory in his mind, of a suit of armour he'd once worn, made of special metal. It had repelled both swords and arrows, and he'd thought he was invincible inside it, until Robin Hood had smeared him with pitch and set him on fire. Then the armour had become a deadly trap, and only a nearby tub of washwater had saved him from being broiled alive inside it. Could he defeat the dragon in the same way that Robin Hood had defeated him? It was worth a try – his sword certainly wasn't doing him any good. Guy ran back to the bucket of pitch, knelt down, and pulled his dagger and his firestone from inside his belt. He'd just hit one spark when the dragon swooped down at him a second time, and he had to dive to one side to escape its flaming breath. Rolling back, he saw that the dragon's fire had done his work for him and ignited the pitch. Blessing his leather gloves, Guy picked up the now flaming bucket and raced back to where he'd dropped his sword. When the dragon came at him again, he danced out of the way and flung the burning contents of the bucket up at the beast.
A gob of flaming pitch hit one wing, and the fire spread so rapidly that the entire wing was consumed in two heartbeats. Howling in pain, unable to keep aloft with only one wing, the burning beast crashed badly several yards away, and Guy clearly heard bones snap. Keeping hold of the bucket, but snatching up his sword with his other hand, Guy ran to see how much damage he'd managed to inflict. Its left wing was now nothing more than a series of twitching bones and cartilage, both of its back legs had been broken upon impact, and the scales on its left flank were burning, though slower and more steadily than its flimsier wing.
He came upon it from the rear and saw that it had pushed itself up onto its forelegs, but as he approached, it went down again. Perhaps hearing or even smelling him, the dragon whipped its head around on its long neck to catch sight of him, then opened its mouth and flamed at him across the remains of its left wing. Just barely far enough away to avoid the fiery blast, Guy waited until the flames had died away, then raced forward and threw the entire bucket at its right wing. He hadn't reckoned with its tail, however, and it lashed him across the back, flattening him to the ground and knocking the breath out of him. As it flailed aimlessly in agony and rage, Guy forced himself back to his feet, noting that the fire on its left flank had almost completely burned away the scales there. He staggered three steps, then lifted his sword and plunged it into the dragon's side, using his body weight to drive it as deeply as he could. Screaming, the dragon arched its neck and caught his arm between its powerful jaws, its teeth sinking into his own flesh and dragging him down. He kept hold of his sword, however, pulling it out even as he fell onto one knee, and stabbed the dragon again. Its jaws relaxed as it died, and its long neck flopped gracelessly to the ground.
After resting on his knees for a long moment, Guy heaved himself upright and wrenched his sword out of the carcass. The stains on the blade were greenish-black, like some kind of witch's evil brew, and stank even worse. He wiped it on a clump of nearby grass, then made his way back to where the girl was standing.
"You're alive?" she asked as Guy approached. "You killed it?"
"Are you hurt?" Instead of sawing through the ropes, Guy simply whacked at them, and the girl's arms fell free.
"Just worried that you wouldn't come in time," the girl said. She was quite plain, but she had a nice smile.
When Guy lowered his sword to sheathe it, the blade crumbled, and he stared at it in consternation. The dragon's blood had corroded the steel! Suddenly frightened that he might have got some of the caustic liquid on himself, he tossed the hilt away and quickly checked his arms, legs, and body. His gloves were burnt, and he ripped them off, afraid that the skin underneath had been eaten away, but to his great relief, it was still there and his hands were unmarked.
The girl fingered his sleeve. "You're bleeding."
Guy pulled the dagger from his belt and ripped viciously through the leather, tearing it open. It was all his own blood, reassuringly red as it flowed from various puncture wounds down to his wrist. Although it was already starting to throb, he was relieved that it wasn't burning.
Holding out the skirt of her white dress, the girl said, "Cut this off, and I'll bandage you up."
He used his dagger to slice off the lower part of her dress, just below her knees, and she tore the material into strips, then bound his arm. "There, that should hold until we get back to the castle."
"Thank you," Guy said, and then, because he could tell, if not by her clothes, then certainly by her quietly imperious manner, that she was not a simple peasant girl, he added awkwardly, "My lady."
"Thank you, Sir Knight, for saving me, and all of us, from that dragon!" she replied. "Can you walk? We must go back to the town and tell everybody that it's dead!"
The way back to town led them past the still-burning hulk of the dragon, and Guy asked, "Where did it come from?"
"Where does any dragon come from?" The girl shrugged. "It came just before harvest time. My grandfather, who has the second sight, said that if the Earl would offer it a maiden from time to time, it would be satisfied and not destroy us. He also said that a knight in black leather would be able to defeat it. But it has been one maiden a week since then, and although many knights have come and dressed up in black leather before trying to kill it, it slaughtered them all. Their bodies are down on the beach – none of them tried to burn it to death, though."
She smiled up at him in praise and admiration, but Guy remembered where he'd got the idea, and scowled.
"You are in pain," the girl said, "and I talk too much. Lean on me if you need to, and I will be quiet."
The town was only an hour's walk away, but by the time they arrived, Guy felt as fatigued as though he'd been walking for a week. His arm throbbed with every heartbeat and his head had started to ache, too. To his surprise, however, the gates were locked and the entire town was as quiet – no, subdued – as though it were the middle of the night instead of close to suppertime. The girl strode forward and hammered on the gate with her fist, and a tiny window in the door opened to show the face of an old, grizzled guard.
"Who are you and what do you want?" he demanded.
"The dragon is dead!" the girl cried. "Please let us in, I must tell the Earl!"
The guard's mouth dropped open as he stared at her, and then he pulled back and slammed the window shut. They could hear him calling commands, and then the huge wooden door creaked open to reveal not only the old guard, but several others as well. As Guy and the young lady entered, he felt their stares and heard them murmuring among themselves.
"Is it true, my lady?" one of the younger ones called out. "The dragon's dead?"
"The dragon is dead," the girl announced in a loud, clear voice. "This is the knight who killed it. Please let us through to the Earl."
"I'll go tell him you're coming, my lady!" the young guard called out, and dashed away. The girl followed him more slowly, and Guy made an effort to walk at her side and not fall behind. The farther they went, the more people came out of their houses to stare at them, and Guy could hear them whispering in awed tones as they passed by. He wanted nothing more than to throw himself on his bed, or even a convenient pile of straw, and simply close his eyes, but the public scrutiny made him stand taller and stride instead of slumping and plodding.
The castle in Throxenby was little more than an ancient stone keep with a slightly more modern great hall added to one side. The Earl was standing on the steps, surrounded by his entire household, and more people had gathered around at ground level. The girl approached to a respectful distance, then curtsied. Guy bowed stiffly, and even before he'd straightened up, the people began cheering and clapping, only stopping when the Earl raised one hand slightly.
"Is it true?" he asked. "The dragon is dead?"
"Yes, my lord," Guy replied, and the girl beside him said, "It lies dead about a hundred and fifty yards from the place of sacrifice, my lord, and I saw its dead body with my own eyes."
"You cannot conceive how happy I am to hear that, or how happy I am to see our Quenilda again, alive and unhurt," the Earl said, coming down a step. "I am sorrowed that you have not escaped unscathed, and I will offer you our hospitality to tend your wounds. But tell me, Sir Knight. How were you able to defeat the dragon when so many others before you have failed?"
"He burned it, my lord," Quenilda gushed, and the Earl raised his eyebrows. "Burned it?"
"My lord, I found a bucket with some pitch nearby," Guy reported. "I set it on fire, threw it at the dragon, and burned its wing off. It fell to the ground and I stabbed it with my sword."
Everybody clapped and cheered again, much louder this time. In between the cheers, Guy could also hear a minstrel plucking a lute in a happy tune. It made his head ache even more, and he winced. The Earl let the noise go on for much too long before signalling again for silence.
"I made a vow before God to reward the man who slayed the dragon," the Earl said. "I will keep that vow. Sir Knight, I have two daughters. You may choose which one you will take in in marriage."
Guy scowled down at Quenilda. She hadn't mentioned any rewards, and especially not marriage. The word soured his stomach; he felt physically ill just thinking of it.
"You have already met my younger daughter, Quenilda."
Ignoring his scowl, Quenilda grinned up at him, obviously delighting in his surprise. Then the Earl waved forward a taller young woman, very beautiful in contrast to her sister. "And this is my older daughter, Isolda."
Smiling coyly at Guy, Isolda curtsied, and the Earl continued, "I am Alfward, the Earl of Throxenby. May we know your name, Sir Knight?"
Guy swallowed. Was it just his imagination, or had everything gone blurry for a moment? "I am Sir Guy of Gisborne."
There was a collective gasp of horror from all the women, except from the one who actually screamed. Isolda's coy, hopeful expression turned to one of horror, and she threw herself onto her knees at the Earl's feet, wrapping her arms around his legs. "My lord, not him, please don't make me marry him, I beg you!"
"Sir Guy," the Earl said, and his voice had changed, too, from warm and welcoming to something much colder. "Your reputation precedes you."
Guy sighed. It was bad enough that he himself was responsible for the death of the woman he'd loved, but did everybody in the country know what he'd done? That minstrel had no doubt been singing songs of Robin Hood, his men in the forest, and – Marian. Could he never be free of reminders, no matter where he went or what he did? His fatigure was getting worse; he had to speak carefully to avoid slurring his words as he said, "My lord, I did not come here seeking rewards."
"Then why did you come?" the Earl asked.
Guy didn't want to explain that he'd simply been defending himself, that he thought he'd heard Marian, or that he'd lost his way in the fog. Everything was becoming blurry again, and his legs were trembling with the effort of keeping him upright.
"The healing spring, my lord," Quenilda said. "He is in pain."
The last thing that Guy saw was her face, looking up at him in concern. Then his knees buckled and he collapsed into darkness.
Part 2