The Dragon of Throxenby, Part 10
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The outlaws didn't remove the blindfold and cut through the cord around Guy's wrists until they had left the cover of the forest and were approaching Locksley. He smelled the smoke first, and heard the low roar of the great fire, and as soon as he could see again, Guy looked over to the remains of his manor house. The roof and the first storey had collapsed, but everything was still burning. Normally, if there were a fire in the village, everybody would form a human chain, hauling full buckets of water from the pond in an attempt to put it out, but there was no such chain here. There weren't even any villagers. Guy wondered if they were hiding in their cottages, or if they had all fled somewhere else when the dragon had come.
"So, where is it?" Allan asked, looking around the village and then at Little John. The bigger man shrugged.
"It could have flown to Nottingham," Much suggested, glancing warily around as well. "We'd better look there."
"We'll need pitch," Guy said, striding towards the workshop in the village where he knew they kept at least one barrel of the stuff. "We have to get it onto the wings, they burn incredibly fast."
"Wait a minute," Allan said, following him. "How exactly are you planning to get the pitch onto the dragon wings? I mean, the thing can fly! It'd be like trying to catch a hawk!"
"We'll throw it, Allan," Guy said. "We'll just throw it."
"Well, yeah, but it'd have to be pretty close for you to hit—" Allan's sentence was interrupted by Much calling out suddenly, "There! Look!"
Guy turned for a quick glimpse of the dragon gliding above the road that led to Nottingham, then dashed into the workshop. Had it seen him? Had it smelled him? What if it flamed the building while he was inside? Allan burst in behind him, then held the door open a crack and peered out. "Giz! That thing is huge!"
Guy gritted his teeth at being called "Giz," but there was no time to remonstrate with Allan. He'd found the barrel of pitch, and now he dipped a bucket in, filling it about three quarters of the way, then thrust it at the outlaw. "Here!"
"Me?" Allan squawked in alarm. "You want me to throw it?"
"Take it!" Guy thundered, and Allan obeyed. Guy filled another bucket, then joined Allan at the door. "Where did it go?"
"Dunno," Allan said. "I was making sure Much was all right!"
Rolling his eyes, Guy pushed past him and carefully exited the workshop, carefully scanning the sky for any sign of the dragon. Movement behind one of the nearby cottages caught his eye, and he could see Much and Little John crouching against the wall, bows drawn and arrows aimed heavenwards. Because he could not see the dragon anywhere, Guy decided to take a risk, and ran the short distance from the workshop to the cottage, flattening himself against the wall next to Little John. The outlaw gave him a scathing look, no doubt annoyed at having the dragon's main target standing so close, then returned his gaze to the sky.
"There!" cried Allan. He'd stayed in the workshop, but now he pointed over the roof of the cottage where they huddled. Both Much and Little John stepped away from the wall to take aim, and Guy moved a little to one side, waiting for the underside of the dragon to become visible above him. It flew over, and at the same time as the outlaws shot, Guy flung the contents of the bucket into the air. But the dragon was too high and the pitch fell uselessly to the ground. A moment later, the arrows fell as well, not having been able to pierce the dragon's scales.
"Unbelievable!" Much spluttered. "Did you see that! They just bounced off!"
"That's why we need the pitch!" Guy exclaimed.
"Well, yes, but you didn't tell us that!" the outlaw protested. Guy didn't see the need to answer. He'd given his word not to kill the outlaws, but if they happened to get in the way of the dragon, well, that was too bad.
"'S'comin' again!" Allan shouted. They all looked up, then scrambled to get out of the way as the dragon shot straight for them and opened its mouth threateningly. Guy dashed around the other side of the cottage, but heard the rush of flames and felt the heat as the dragon breathed fire onto the roof. As wet as the thatch was from the earlier rain, it still started to burn, and Guy sprinted for the dubious safety of another cottage. The outlaws, he saw, had raced in the other direction, towards the workshop and the supply of pitch.
He looked down. His bucket still had some pitch left in the bottom and up one side. Glancing around for signs of the dragon, Guy darted back to the burning roof and thrust the bucket to the flames. Just as it caught fire, however, he heard Allan shout a warning, and whirled to see the dragon coming from the direction of the other cottage. Guy threw the bucket at its head, then dove away from the oncoming flames that spewed from its mouth. He landed awkwardly on his side; the bow and quiver he wore on his back had kept him from rolling further. Hastily, he got to his hands and knees, then launched himself into a sprint for the workshop.
Much was standing just outside the workshop door with his bucket, staring alternately up at the sky and down at the puddle of pitch that had come from his attempt to hit the dragon. Guy pushed past him into the interior. "Either we need to get higher or we need to get the dragon lower!"
"How?" Little John demanded, looking dubious, and Allan said slowly, "Up on one of the roofs, I guess."
Guy hadn't known the answer until Allan had said it, but he recognized a good plan when he heard one. "Yes, the roofs!"
Above them, there was the flap of mighty wings and the roar of fire, and Little John, looking up, cried out, "Not this roof!"
Guy took the chance to grab another bucket and dip it in the pitch barrel, then made his escape before the burning thatch fell into the building and set everything else on fire, too. The other outlaws had scattered, hugging the walls of three different cottages.
"If you keep this up, you'll burn down the entire village!" Much shouted at him, and as Guy found his own shelter, he shouted back, "I don't care about the village!"
"We know!" Little John stated, his voice dripping with disgust. Guy ignored him and glanced around, looking for – and swiftly finding – a suitable roof. "Allan! The church! Get up on top of the church!"
Allan took a glance at the church from around the corner of the cottage where he was hiding, then looked back at Guy, his eyes big in his unusually solemn face. "Guy … I'm not very good with heights."
"Much! John! Get up on the roof of the church!" Guy ordered, then quickly glanced up at the sky. He'd have to lead the dragon close alongside so that they could throw the pitch onto it, but first, they had to have time to scramble up and get their buckets up as well. Where was the dragon now? He couldn't see it from where he was standing.
"Rope!" Much suddenly called out, and dashed over to where one lay conveniently curled near the doorway of a nearby cottage. Guy watched until a shadow loomed up from behind that cottage – a shadow with wings and a long neck, and a burst of fire that was aimed, not at Much or the other outlaws, but straight at him! Cursing his lack of attention, Guy dived away, narrowly escaping the flames that instantly engulfed the wall where he'd been standing.
He ran, dodging from one building to the next, until he was on the outskirts of the village and could see the dragon in the sky, turning on one wingtip to fly back the same way it had come. Quenilda's words echoed in his mind, and he wondered if the beast could smell him from there. It certainly seemed to be heading directly for him again, and to make things worse, most of the pitch had slopped out of his bucket while he'd made his escape. Quickly, Guy turned towards the church, but couldn't see any outlaws scaling the walls. He'd have to keep dodging until they were in position. Checking hastily on the dragon again, he saw Much running towards the beast, his bow drawn, with a length of rope dangling from the arrow. As Guy watched, Much shot, and the arrow arched gracefully over the dragon's head towards its back, taking the strangely black rope with it.
Much had poured pitch on the rope – and he'd set the opposite end of it on fire! Guy held his breath, watching as the rope fell diagonally across the dragon's back. He could tell that the beast was irritated by the long dangly thing; the dragon dipped precariously in flight as it fumbled at the rope with its forepaws. The flames were moving rapidly along, but unfortunately for the outlaws, the dragon caught an unburned portion of rope with its claw and pulled it off before the fire could reach its scales.
As the dragon swooped away again, Guy ran over to Much.
"Good plan," he said. "Pity it didn't work."
"Should try something bigger next time," Much panted. "A shirt dipped in pitch, perhaps."
"Or you could just get up on the church roof and throw the pitch at the dragon when it goes by," Guy said.
"Or that," Much said, and then they both stopped, struck by how easily they had fallen into working together and forgetting that they were enemies.
Allan broke the awkward silence. "Come on, I'll give you a leg up, and Guy'll lead the dragon right to you, won't you, Guy?"
"Coming back!" Little John roared, and they all turned to see the dragon bearing down on them yet again.
Guy hid behind the nearest cottage, then came around to one side for a better view of the sky while trying to keep hidden under the eaves. The dragon came in low, and Guy extended one arm, ready to seize the chance and fling his pitch at it. At the last moment, however the dragon turned its head to look directly at him, and Guy just had time to see its mouth open. He ran several steps in the opposite direction in which the dragon was flying, barely missing the column of flames that hit the thatch exactly where he'd been standing, and threw the entire bucket at the dragon's tail. To his surprise, it hit, but fell off again without splattering even so much as a drop of the pitch on the dragon's hide.
As the dragon flew off, Guy stayed where he was, and glanced around to see what the others were doing. He was both surprised and pleased to see that Little John had found a ladder somewhere, and was leaning it against the side of the church. Considering his position and where the dragon was in the sky, Guy ran to another cottage that was closer to the church, then waited. Little John had got up onto the roof by then and was sitting astride it by the bell tower; Guy presumed he was holding a bucket of pitch, but he couldn't see it from where he was. Near the ladder, on the ground, Much and Allan appeared to be working on Much's plan of wanting to shoot pitch-soaked clothes at the dragon.
Keeping a careful eye on the dragon, Guy waited. It descended towards him, and when he judged it was close enough, he sprinted towards the church, trying to lead the beast into the trap without getting himself flamed. Hearing Little John give a mighty shout, Guy shot past Much and Allan and saw them raise their bows as the dragon followed. Instead of taking shelter behind the church, though, Guy turned abruptly at a right angle away from the structure, changing direction so fast that he almost fell. Regaining his balance, he continued running, and the dragon's flames hit the ground where his boot had just been.
Hiding close to one of the cottages with a burning roof, Guy glanced back. Much and Allan were just disappearing behind the other side of the church. The ladder had fallen over, and there was no sign of Little John on the roof. Realizing that he must have fallen off, Guy felt his heart sink at the sudden lack of support until he reminded himself that the man was an outlaw, and he should hope that he'd broken his neck. Guy turned away and looked for the dragon instead, wondering if Little John had managed to get some pitch onto it before he'd fallen. It came at him, as usual, but before he had to run, he managed to see that there were indeed some darker patches on its back and one wing.
Encouraged, Guy pulled the bow from his back, and plucked one of the arrows from the quiver. He wasn't as used to archery as he was to swordfighting, but neither was he as bad as Hood had made out. The biggest problem would be having time to aim as the dragon came at him – maybe he should get the two remaining outlaws to do the shooting. In its quest to kill Guy, the dragon had ignored them up until now, and might not even notice their attack until it was too late. With a plan forming in his mind, Guy made a dash for the other side of the church.
He was astonished not to find anybody there, and glanced around, but before he'd had time to properly wonder what had happened, he'd already spotted them. Little John had survived the fall, but could no longer walk; Much and Allan were carrying him between them as they jogged to the dubious shelter of a few trees a little way from the village. Although Guy could see the sense in getting the injured man away from where the dragon was most likely to roast him by accident, he still felt anger pulse through him at even this temporary abandonment. He'd just have to take care of the dragon by himself, then!
Dipping all of his arrowheads into one of the puddles of pitch by the church, Guy ran to the nearest source of fire and set one arrow alight, then took aim at the dragon. The shot missed, bouncing harmlessly off the dragon's neck, and Guy had to run for safety, but he stopped as soon as he could, and tried again. And again. By the time he was down to his last arrow, he was gritting his teeth in silent frustration and almost – almost – wishing that Hood were there to pull off one of his miracles.
The distant whinny of a horse caught Guy's attention, and he glanced in the direction of the sound. As though he'd heard Guy's thoughts, Hood had come, riding on their horse, with Quenilda behind him, sitting on Guy's saddlebags. She had a strip of cloth over her eyes, but even as Guy watched, Hood turned to speak to her, and she reached up to pull off the blindfold. After giving the village a quick glance, she pointed in the direction of the trees, and the horse moved in that direction.
The dragon appeared again on the horizon, coming in directly over the trees where the outlaws huddled, and Hood's horse reared up in panic, dumping both riders on the ground. Lingering just long enough to see Quenilda start to get up, Guy held his last arrow to the flame and set it to the bowstring, then ran out into the dragon's path and shot. The dragon's upsweeping wing hit the arrow in mid-flight, and fire exploded at the point of contact, shooting across the wing until it was burning from joint to edge. Laughing out loud at his success, Guy ducked and ran at an angle perpendicular to the dragon's flight. He'd done it. He'd set the dragon on fire, he, Guy of Gisborne, not Robin Hood!
Howling in pain, the dragon crashed into one of the few untouched cottages. The force of its momentum smashed the structure to the ground, and then the wreckage shook and fell away as the dragon tried to free itself. Guy dodged around the various other cottages until he came upon the bucket he'd flung earlier at the dragon, the one with a little pitch still left inside, and snatched it up, then made his way back to where the dragon was. The beast struggled awkwardly away from the last of the debris, but it was now limping, using three legs instead of four. Setting the pitch alight, Guy lobbed the bucket at the dragon's other wing, and saw the flames dance across the dark green skin, consuming it as the dragon screeched. Its long neck whipped back and forth, and it caught sight of Guy – or perhaps caught his scent. Despite its lack of wings and one leg, it lumbered angrily in his direction.
Guy ran, making three left turns around the fiery remains of a nearest cottage, and ended up behind the dragon. Its tail was lashing furiously from side to side as it moved, and he watched, trying to find a way to get close enough to run his sword into the beast without being killed. He'd been lucky with the other dragon, he realized, with it breaking two legs in its fall and not being able to chase after him. This younger beast was proving much more of a challenge. As Guy watched, a flaming arrow came down out of the sky and set one of the black splotches on the dragon's back on fire before skidding off again. Guy didn't even have to look to know that Hood was the one who'd shot that arrow. Arching its neck backwards at an angle impossible for humans in order to see the cause of its newest torment, the dragon caught a whiff of Guy, and turned itself awkwardly around to take up the hunt again.
As he ran, Guy caught sight of the ladder still leaning up against the church. If the dragon could attack him from above, he thought, he could do the same. Altering his course slightly, he glanced back to see where the dragon was, then grabbed the ladder and doubled back. There was one single cottage in Locksley left untouched, and fortunately for Guy, it was right between him and the dragon. He made sure the dragon could see him as he ran back, and lured it closer and closer to the cottage. At the last moment, he ran around the corner, leaned the ladder against the structure, shot up the rungs, drew his sword, then slid down the thatch on the opposite side.
He landed on the dragon's back and wobbled once to regain his balance, then thrust his sword into one of the charred spots where the fire had burned away the dragon's scales. It roared in pain, rearing up like a horse, and he lost his footing, but kept his grip on the sword. When the dragon came down again, he was sprawled more or less astride it, but sliding precariously to one side as it collapsed onto the ground. A flaming arrow landed to the left of his arm, and he glanced up in alarm, wondering just which one of them Hood was trying to kill.
"Sorry!" Much shouted by way of apology, then dropped his bow and drew his sword to battle the dragon's head. Freeing his own blade, Guy saw another black spot just where the dragon's neck grew out of its back, and plunged the sword in, twisting it as much as he could. The fire that had been aimed at Much died at the halfway point, and the dragon's head and neck flopped bonelessly to the ground. It did not move again.
Removing his sword, Guy slid off the carcass and staggered away from it, only to hear Much say, "You're on fire."
Glancing down to where Much was indicating, Guy saw that one of his trouser legs was burning. He beat at it ineffectually with one hand, then dropped his sword and fell to his knees in the mud, rolling onto his side to suffocate the flames. When he got up again, Quenilda was running towards him, a huge grin on her face.
"I knew you could kill it, Sir Guy!" she exclaimed when she got closer. "I just knew it!"
Guy resisted the temptation to wrap his arms around her and twirl her around in a victorious hug. Instead, he asked, "How could you not know, if you saw it in your dream?"
Quenilda's smile disappeared, which surprised Guy, and she shook her head. "I didn't see it."
It was Much who exclaimed, "You mean you lied? You don't have the second sight?"
"I do have the second sight," Quenilda said, "and I truly did have a dream about this dragon, how it hatched, how it ate the other dragon, and how it was searching for Sir Guy. But I didn't see the part where it was killed. I just had faith that Sir Guy could do it."
"Well, he did have a little help," Much protested. "Quite a lot of help, actually."
Quenilda's faith touched something inside Guy. An unaccustomed feeling of warmth radiated from his heart throughout his chest, even up into his head, and he couldn't help grinning.
"Of course you helped," Quenilda was saying to Much, "and I thank you for it."
Guy leaned down to pick up his sword again, but only the hilt came up. Giving the blade a slight kick, Guy watched as it crumbled, and heard Much's gasp of surprise.
"The dragon's blood burns through the steel like fire," Quenilda explained. "Did you get any of it on you, Sir Guy? Much?"
Much shook his head, and feeling the pain of his burn for the first time, Guy replied, "Not its blood, no."
He glanced around, saw that the well was untouched, and strode over to draw up a bucket full. The water reminded him that he was thirsty, and he drank deeply with a sigh of satisfaction before pouring the rest over his lower leg.
"Sir Guy, you're hurt! Let me see!" Quenilda folded back the charred remnants of his trousers and revealed the already blistering flesh. "Pour some more water on it. I think I have an ointment here for burns."
As Guy lowered the bucket into the well again, Quenilda poked through the bag she wore close to her waist, and finally found a small container. "Yes, here it is. Now let me clean it first. Oh, how I wish I had some water from the healing spring!"
"This tastes better," Guy said, pulling the bucket up and taking another drink, then extending it to her. Quenilda dipped the rag that had been her blindfold into the bucket and used it to carefully cleanse the entire area. Finally, she put her fingers into the pot that held the salve and massaged a generous amount into the burn. "I'm sorry if this hurts. It will help."
When she'd finished, she straightened up, and Guy saw her wince a little. "My lady, are you hurt?"
"I fell from the horse and bruised my dignity," she replied with a little smile, patting her own behind. "Are you hurt anywhere else, Sir Guy?"
"No," he said. "It didn't bite me this time."
"Much?" Quenilda asked, turning to the outlaw who had followed them to the well. "Is anybody else hurt?"
"Only John, he fell off the roof of the church and broke his ankle," Much replied.
"I'll go splint it," Quenilda decided, but Guy caught her arm. "No. Leave him."
Quenilda glanced up at him in confusion, and Guy said, "The deal was that you take care of Hood, and only Hood. Now, I'll take you to Nottingham."
"But –" Quenilda protested, and when she tried to pull away, Guy gripped her arm harder. She stopped struggling and looked from his hand directly into his eyes. "Sir Guy, you are hurting me. Please let go."
Surprised at the calm trust he could see in her eyes, Guy released her, then glanced over at the outlaws. "He doesn't need your help anyway, see?"
Somehow, the outlaws had caught the horse again despite its panicked escape, and now both Hood and Little John were riding it. Allan walked at their side, and he grinned as they approached. "Giz! You really killed it!"
"Congratulations, Gisborne," Hood said, sounding slightly sour. Much coughed significantly, and Hood went on, "Of course you couldn't have done it without the help of my men, but still, it's dead now."
Guy smirked a little and nodded acknowledgement.
"Here, give us that bucket, I'm parched," Allan said, reaching out a hand to Quenilda.
Quenilda tossed away what was already in the bucket, and when Allan looked surprised, she said, "It was dirty." Then she went to the well herself and drew up fresh water, which she extended to him with a smile.
Allan swallowed several times, then stopped suddenly with a splutter that made them all turn to look at him. Handing the bucket up to Little John, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and exclaimed, "Oi, Robin, speaking of drinking, I think I know how that rumour came about, the one about the fifty pounds for Gisborne!"
"How?" Hood asked.
"You remember when we were in one of the alehouses in Nottingham, waiting for infor—having a drink a couple weeks ago, just after Guy disappeared? And how it got later and later and you drank more and more, and then you saw the innkeeper's daughter and thought, just for a moment, that it was Marian?"
"I don't remember," Hood said, although Guy guessed from the expression on his face that he really did, and wished he didn't.
"Well, the innkeeper got mad, and you got mad too, and you shouted that you'd give five pounds to the man who brought you Gisborne alive, so that you could kill him for what he did to Marian," Allan finished. "And you know what happens when people talk – they exaggerate things!"
Taking the bucket from Little John, Much said, "Five pounds could easily have become fifteen pounds, and then fifty."
Hood shrugged uncomfortably. "Yeah, it's possible, but it doesn't mean I really meant it, especially if I was drunk."
"Would you have given those men a reward, if they'd brought Sir Guy to you, even if you hadn't meant it?" Quenilda asked curiously.
"I dunno," Hood said, but when he caught Guy's smirk, he quickly added, "I might have!"
Guy waited for Quenilda to ask if Hood really would have killed him, but she didn't, and he found that he didn't want to ask, either. He was sure he didn't need to. But instead of pursuing the topic, Quenilda glanced up at the sky and said, "It will be full dark soon. How far is it from here to Nottingham?"
Guy blinked, realizing that the sun had set in the meantime and they were now close to speaking solely by the light of the burning cottages. "A couple of miles. My lady, we should go, before they lock the gates for the night."
"I'll make us a torch, Robin," Allan said. "We don't want the horse to fall and break John's other leg."
"Could you make one for us, too?" Quenilda asked, and Allan grinned, both at her and at Little John's sour look, then ran off.
Seeing that they were finally about to part company with the outlaws, Guy heaved a mental sigh of relief, then held out one hand. "My saddlebags, Hood."
"Hang on, let's see what's in there," Hood said, and Much replied, "There's plenty of money, Robin. Gisborne seems to have made a new fortune in Throxenby."
"Did he?" Hood asked. Guy put his hand to where the hilt of his sword would have been if he'd still had one, then stopped, remembering how the dragon's blood had eaten it away. In the meantime, Little John had opened the flap of one of the saddlebags and was now hefting one of Guy's money bags, showing Hood the coins that Guy had collected from the thankful citizens of Throxenby.
"You know, I think there's just enough here to pay for the rebuilding of Locksley!" Hood said with the kind of grin that made Guy want to smash his fist into the man's mouth. "But you can have the horse back, Gisborne – to-morrow!"
"Hood!" Guy roared angrily, and pulled his dagger, but it was too late, Hood had already turned the horse and was gallopping away. Seething, Guy turned back and saw Allan approaching with a makeshift torch in each hand. He stomped towards the surprised man, causing Allan to rear back and prepare to defend himself with the fire, then saw Much reaching for his sword. Outnumbered and frustrated, Guy thrust his dagger back into his belt, then snatched one of the torches from Allan's grip. As the men relaxed, Guy stomped back over to where Quenilda stood and grabbed her by the hand.
"Come on," he growled. "Nottingham is this way."
As they made their way to the road, Quenilda asked, "Will you go after him to-morrow, Sir Guy? After the twenty four hours are over?"
"Yes," he snarled.
"And take your revenge on him?"
"Yes," he snarled again.
"The dragon wanted revenge," Quenilda mused, as though to herself. "It destroyed an entire village, only to be killed at the end."
"It was just a stupid beast," Guy growled.
"Did it want revenge because it was stupid, or did it become stupid because it wanted revenge?" Quenilda asked.
They walked on in silence, and Guy thought about her question the rest of the way.
Part 11
The outlaws didn't remove the blindfold and cut through the cord around Guy's wrists until they had left the cover of the forest and were approaching Locksley. He smelled the smoke first, and heard the low roar of the great fire, and as soon as he could see again, Guy looked over to the remains of his manor house. The roof and the first storey had collapsed, but everything was still burning. Normally, if there were a fire in the village, everybody would form a human chain, hauling full buckets of water from the pond in an attempt to put it out, but there was no such chain here. There weren't even any villagers. Guy wondered if they were hiding in their cottages, or if they had all fled somewhere else when the dragon had come.
"So, where is it?" Allan asked, looking around the village and then at Little John. The bigger man shrugged.
"It could have flown to Nottingham," Much suggested, glancing warily around as well. "We'd better look there."
"We'll need pitch," Guy said, striding towards the workshop in the village where he knew they kept at least one barrel of the stuff. "We have to get it onto the wings, they burn incredibly fast."
"Wait a minute," Allan said, following him. "How exactly are you planning to get the pitch onto the dragon wings? I mean, the thing can fly! It'd be like trying to catch a hawk!"
"We'll throw it, Allan," Guy said. "We'll just throw it."
"Well, yeah, but it'd have to be pretty close for you to hit—" Allan's sentence was interrupted by Much calling out suddenly, "There! Look!"
Guy turned for a quick glimpse of the dragon gliding above the road that led to Nottingham, then dashed into the workshop. Had it seen him? Had it smelled him? What if it flamed the building while he was inside? Allan burst in behind him, then held the door open a crack and peered out. "Giz! That thing is huge!"
Guy gritted his teeth at being called "Giz," but there was no time to remonstrate with Allan. He'd found the barrel of pitch, and now he dipped a bucket in, filling it about three quarters of the way, then thrust it at the outlaw. "Here!"
"Me?" Allan squawked in alarm. "You want me to throw it?"
"Take it!" Guy thundered, and Allan obeyed. Guy filled another bucket, then joined Allan at the door. "Where did it go?"
"Dunno," Allan said. "I was making sure Much was all right!"
Rolling his eyes, Guy pushed past him and carefully exited the workshop, carefully scanning the sky for any sign of the dragon. Movement behind one of the nearby cottages caught his eye, and he could see Much and Little John crouching against the wall, bows drawn and arrows aimed heavenwards. Because he could not see the dragon anywhere, Guy decided to take a risk, and ran the short distance from the workshop to the cottage, flattening himself against the wall next to Little John. The outlaw gave him a scathing look, no doubt annoyed at having the dragon's main target standing so close, then returned his gaze to the sky.
"There!" cried Allan. He'd stayed in the workshop, but now he pointed over the roof of the cottage where they huddled. Both Much and Little John stepped away from the wall to take aim, and Guy moved a little to one side, waiting for the underside of the dragon to become visible above him. It flew over, and at the same time as the outlaws shot, Guy flung the contents of the bucket into the air. But the dragon was too high and the pitch fell uselessly to the ground. A moment later, the arrows fell as well, not having been able to pierce the dragon's scales.
"Unbelievable!" Much spluttered. "Did you see that! They just bounced off!"
"That's why we need the pitch!" Guy exclaimed.
"Well, yes, but you didn't tell us that!" the outlaw protested. Guy didn't see the need to answer. He'd given his word not to kill the outlaws, but if they happened to get in the way of the dragon, well, that was too bad.
"'S'comin' again!" Allan shouted. They all looked up, then scrambled to get out of the way as the dragon shot straight for them and opened its mouth threateningly. Guy dashed around the other side of the cottage, but heard the rush of flames and felt the heat as the dragon breathed fire onto the roof. As wet as the thatch was from the earlier rain, it still started to burn, and Guy sprinted for the dubious safety of another cottage. The outlaws, he saw, had raced in the other direction, towards the workshop and the supply of pitch.
He looked down. His bucket still had some pitch left in the bottom and up one side. Glancing around for signs of the dragon, Guy darted back to the burning roof and thrust the bucket to the flames. Just as it caught fire, however, he heard Allan shout a warning, and whirled to see the dragon coming from the direction of the other cottage. Guy threw the bucket at its head, then dove away from the oncoming flames that spewed from its mouth. He landed awkwardly on his side; the bow and quiver he wore on his back had kept him from rolling further. Hastily, he got to his hands and knees, then launched himself into a sprint for the workshop.
Much was standing just outside the workshop door with his bucket, staring alternately up at the sky and down at the puddle of pitch that had come from his attempt to hit the dragon. Guy pushed past him into the interior. "Either we need to get higher or we need to get the dragon lower!"
"How?" Little John demanded, looking dubious, and Allan said slowly, "Up on one of the roofs, I guess."
Guy hadn't known the answer until Allan had said it, but he recognized a good plan when he heard one. "Yes, the roofs!"
Above them, there was the flap of mighty wings and the roar of fire, and Little John, looking up, cried out, "Not this roof!"
Guy took the chance to grab another bucket and dip it in the pitch barrel, then made his escape before the burning thatch fell into the building and set everything else on fire, too. The other outlaws had scattered, hugging the walls of three different cottages.
"If you keep this up, you'll burn down the entire village!" Much shouted at him, and as Guy found his own shelter, he shouted back, "I don't care about the village!"
"We know!" Little John stated, his voice dripping with disgust. Guy ignored him and glanced around, looking for – and swiftly finding – a suitable roof. "Allan! The church! Get up on top of the church!"
Allan took a glance at the church from around the corner of the cottage where he was hiding, then looked back at Guy, his eyes big in his unusually solemn face. "Guy … I'm not very good with heights."
"Much! John! Get up on the roof of the church!" Guy ordered, then quickly glanced up at the sky. He'd have to lead the dragon close alongside so that they could throw the pitch onto it, but first, they had to have time to scramble up and get their buckets up as well. Where was the dragon now? He couldn't see it from where he was standing.
"Rope!" Much suddenly called out, and dashed over to where one lay conveniently curled near the doorway of a nearby cottage. Guy watched until a shadow loomed up from behind that cottage – a shadow with wings and a long neck, and a burst of fire that was aimed, not at Much or the other outlaws, but straight at him! Cursing his lack of attention, Guy dived away, narrowly escaping the flames that instantly engulfed the wall where he'd been standing.
He ran, dodging from one building to the next, until he was on the outskirts of the village and could see the dragon in the sky, turning on one wingtip to fly back the same way it had come. Quenilda's words echoed in his mind, and he wondered if the beast could smell him from there. It certainly seemed to be heading directly for him again, and to make things worse, most of the pitch had slopped out of his bucket while he'd made his escape. Quickly, Guy turned towards the church, but couldn't see any outlaws scaling the walls. He'd have to keep dodging until they were in position. Checking hastily on the dragon again, he saw Much running towards the beast, his bow drawn, with a length of rope dangling from the arrow. As Guy watched, Much shot, and the arrow arched gracefully over the dragon's head towards its back, taking the strangely black rope with it.
Much had poured pitch on the rope – and he'd set the opposite end of it on fire! Guy held his breath, watching as the rope fell diagonally across the dragon's back. He could tell that the beast was irritated by the long dangly thing; the dragon dipped precariously in flight as it fumbled at the rope with its forepaws. The flames were moving rapidly along, but unfortunately for the outlaws, the dragon caught an unburned portion of rope with its claw and pulled it off before the fire could reach its scales.
As the dragon swooped away again, Guy ran over to Much.
"Good plan," he said. "Pity it didn't work."
"Should try something bigger next time," Much panted. "A shirt dipped in pitch, perhaps."
"Or you could just get up on the church roof and throw the pitch at the dragon when it goes by," Guy said.
"Or that," Much said, and then they both stopped, struck by how easily they had fallen into working together and forgetting that they were enemies.
Allan broke the awkward silence. "Come on, I'll give you a leg up, and Guy'll lead the dragon right to you, won't you, Guy?"
"Coming back!" Little John roared, and they all turned to see the dragon bearing down on them yet again.
Guy hid behind the nearest cottage, then came around to one side for a better view of the sky while trying to keep hidden under the eaves. The dragon came in low, and Guy extended one arm, ready to seize the chance and fling his pitch at it. At the last moment, however the dragon turned its head to look directly at him, and Guy just had time to see its mouth open. He ran several steps in the opposite direction in which the dragon was flying, barely missing the column of flames that hit the thatch exactly where he'd been standing, and threw the entire bucket at the dragon's tail. To his surprise, it hit, but fell off again without splattering even so much as a drop of the pitch on the dragon's hide.
As the dragon flew off, Guy stayed where he was, and glanced around to see what the others were doing. He was both surprised and pleased to see that Little John had found a ladder somewhere, and was leaning it against the side of the church. Considering his position and where the dragon was in the sky, Guy ran to another cottage that was closer to the church, then waited. Little John had got up onto the roof by then and was sitting astride it by the bell tower; Guy presumed he was holding a bucket of pitch, but he couldn't see it from where he was. Near the ladder, on the ground, Much and Allan appeared to be working on Much's plan of wanting to shoot pitch-soaked clothes at the dragon.
Keeping a careful eye on the dragon, Guy waited. It descended towards him, and when he judged it was close enough, he sprinted towards the church, trying to lead the beast into the trap without getting himself flamed. Hearing Little John give a mighty shout, Guy shot past Much and Allan and saw them raise their bows as the dragon followed. Instead of taking shelter behind the church, though, Guy turned abruptly at a right angle away from the structure, changing direction so fast that he almost fell. Regaining his balance, he continued running, and the dragon's flames hit the ground where his boot had just been.
Hiding close to one of the cottages with a burning roof, Guy glanced back. Much and Allan were just disappearing behind the other side of the church. The ladder had fallen over, and there was no sign of Little John on the roof. Realizing that he must have fallen off, Guy felt his heart sink at the sudden lack of support until he reminded himself that the man was an outlaw, and he should hope that he'd broken his neck. Guy turned away and looked for the dragon instead, wondering if Little John had managed to get some pitch onto it before he'd fallen. It came at him, as usual, but before he had to run, he managed to see that there were indeed some darker patches on its back and one wing.
Encouraged, Guy pulled the bow from his back, and plucked one of the arrows from the quiver. He wasn't as used to archery as he was to swordfighting, but neither was he as bad as Hood had made out. The biggest problem would be having time to aim as the dragon came at him – maybe he should get the two remaining outlaws to do the shooting. In its quest to kill Guy, the dragon had ignored them up until now, and might not even notice their attack until it was too late. With a plan forming in his mind, Guy made a dash for the other side of the church.
He was astonished not to find anybody there, and glanced around, but before he'd had time to properly wonder what had happened, he'd already spotted them. Little John had survived the fall, but could no longer walk; Much and Allan were carrying him between them as they jogged to the dubious shelter of a few trees a little way from the village. Although Guy could see the sense in getting the injured man away from where the dragon was most likely to roast him by accident, he still felt anger pulse through him at even this temporary abandonment. He'd just have to take care of the dragon by himself, then!
Dipping all of his arrowheads into one of the puddles of pitch by the church, Guy ran to the nearest source of fire and set one arrow alight, then took aim at the dragon. The shot missed, bouncing harmlessly off the dragon's neck, and Guy had to run for safety, but he stopped as soon as he could, and tried again. And again. By the time he was down to his last arrow, he was gritting his teeth in silent frustration and almost – almost – wishing that Hood were there to pull off one of his miracles.
The distant whinny of a horse caught Guy's attention, and he glanced in the direction of the sound. As though he'd heard Guy's thoughts, Hood had come, riding on their horse, with Quenilda behind him, sitting on Guy's saddlebags. She had a strip of cloth over her eyes, but even as Guy watched, Hood turned to speak to her, and she reached up to pull off the blindfold. After giving the village a quick glance, she pointed in the direction of the trees, and the horse moved in that direction.
The dragon appeared again on the horizon, coming in directly over the trees where the outlaws huddled, and Hood's horse reared up in panic, dumping both riders on the ground. Lingering just long enough to see Quenilda start to get up, Guy held his last arrow to the flame and set it to the bowstring, then ran out into the dragon's path and shot. The dragon's upsweeping wing hit the arrow in mid-flight, and fire exploded at the point of contact, shooting across the wing until it was burning from joint to edge. Laughing out loud at his success, Guy ducked and ran at an angle perpendicular to the dragon's flight. He'd done it. He'd set the dragon on fire, he, Guy of Gisborne, not Robin Hood!
Howling in pain, the dragon crashed into one of the few untouched cottages. The force of its momentum smashed the structure to the ground, and then the wreckage shook and fell away as the dragon tried to free itself. Guy dodged around the various other cottages until he came upon the bucket he'd flung earlier at the dragon, the one with a little pitch still left inside, and snatched it up, then made his way back to where the dragon was. The beast struggled awkwardly away from the last of the debris, but it was now limping, using three legs instead of four. Setting the pitch alight, Guy lobbed the bucket at the dragon's other wing, and saw the flames dance across the dark green skin, consuming it as the dragon screeched. Its long neck whipped back and forth, and it caught sight of Guy – or perhaps caught his scent. Despite its lack of wings and one leg, it lumbered angrily in his direction.
Guy ran, making three left turns around the fiery remains of a nearest cottage, and ended up behind the dragon. Its tail was lashing furiously from side to side as it moved, and he watched, trying to find a way to get close enough to run his sword into the beast without being killed. He'd been lucky with the other dragon, he realized, with it breaking two legs in its fall and not being able to chase after him. This younger beast was proving much more of a challenge. As Guy watched, a flaming arrow came down out of the sky and set one of the black splotches on the dragon's back on fire before skidding off again. Guy didn't even have to look to know that Hood was the one who'd shot that arrow. Arching its neck backwards at an angle impossible for humans in order to see the cause of its newest torment, the dragon caught a whiff of Guy, and turned itself awkwardly around to take up the hunt again.
As he ran, Guy caught sight of the ladder still leaning up against the church. If the dragon could attack him from above, he thought, he could do the same. Altering his course slightly, he glanced back to see where the dragon was, then grabbed the ladder and doubled back. There was one single cottage in Locksley left untouched, and fortunately for Guy, it was right between him and the dragon. He made sure the dragon could see him as he ran back, and lured it closer and closer to the cottage. At the last moment, he ran around the corner, leaned the ladder against the structure, shot up the rungs, drew his sword, then slid down the thatch on the opposite side.
He landed on the dragon's back and wobbled once to regain his balance, then thrust his sword into one of the charred spots where the fire had burned away the dragon's scales. It roared in pain, rearing up like a horse, and he lost his footing, but kept his grip on the sword. When the dragon came down again, he was sprawled more or less astride it, but sliding precariously to one side as it collapsed onto the ground. A flaming arrow landed to the left of his arm, and he glanced up in alarm, wondering just which one of them Hood was trying to kill.
"Sorry!" Much shouted by way of apology, then dropped his bow and drew his sword to battle the dragon's head. Freeing his own blade, Guy saw another black spot just where the dragon's neck grew out of its back, and plunged the sword in, twisting it as much as he could. The fire that had been aimed at Much died at the halfway point, and the dragon's head and neck flopped bonelessly to the ground. It did not move again.
Removing his sword, Guy slid off the carcass and staggered away from it, only to hear Much say, "You're on fire."
Glancing down to where Much was indicating, Guy saw that one of his trouser legs was burning. He beat at it ineffectually with one hand, then dropped his sword and fell to his knees in the mud, rolling onto his side to suffocate the flames. When he got up again, Quenilda was running towards him, a huge grin on her face.
"I knew you could kill it, Sir Guy!" she exclaimed when she got closer. "I just knew it!"
Guy resisted the temptation to wrap his arms around her and twirl her around in a victorious hug. Instead, he asked, "How could you not know, if you saw it in your dream?"
Quenilda's smile disappeared, which surprised Guy, and she shook her head. "I didn't see it."
It was Much who exclaimed, "You mean you lied? You don't have the second sight?"
"I do have the second sight," Quenilda said, "and I truly did have a dream about this dragon, how it hatched, how it ate the other dragon, and how it was searching for Sir Guy. But I didn't see the part where it was killed. I just had faith that Sir Guy could do it."
"Well, he did have a little help," Much protested. "Quite a lot of help, actually."
Quenilda's faith touched something inside Guy. An unaccustomed feeling of warmth radiated from his heart throughout his chest, even up into his head, and he couldn't help grinning.
"Of course you helped," Quenilda was saying to Much, "and I thank you for it."
Guy leaned down to pick up his sword again, but only the hilt came up. Giving the blade a slight kick, Guy watched as it crumbled, and heard Much's gasp of surprise.
"The dragon's blood burns through the steel like fire," Quenilda explained. "Did you get any of it on you, Sir Guy? Much?"
Much shook his head, and feeling the pain of his burn for the first time, Guy replied, "Not its blood, no."
He glanced around, saw that the well was untouched, and strode over to draw up a bucket full. The water reminded him that he was thirsty, and he drank deeply with a sigh of satisfaction before pouring the rest over his lower leg.
"Sir Guy, you're hurt! Let me see!" Quenilda folded back the charred remnants of his trousers and revealed the already blistering flesh. "Pour some more water on it. I think I have an ointment here for burns."
As Guy lowered the bucket into the well again, Quenilda poked through the bag she wore close to her waist, and finally found a small container. "Yes, here it is. Now let me clean it first. Oh, how I wish I had some water from the healing spring!"
"This tastes better," Guy said, pulling the bucket up and taking another drink, then extending it to her. Quenilda dipped the rag that had been her blindfold into the bucket and used it to carefully cleanse the entire area. Finally, she put her fingers into the pot that held the salve and massaged a generous amount into the burn. "I'm sorry if this hurts. It will help."
When she'd finished, she straightened up, and Guy saw her wince a little. "My lady, are you hurt?"
"I fell from the horse and bruised my dignity," she replied with a little smile, patting her own behind. "Are you hurt anywhere else, Sir Guy?"
"No," he said. "It didn't bite me this time."
"Much?" Quenilda asked, turning to the outlaw who had followed them to the well. "Is anybody else hurt?"
"Only John, he fell off the roof of the church and broke his ankle," Much replied.
"I'll go splint it," Quenilda decided, but Guy caught her arm. "No. Leave him."
Quenilda glanced up at him in confusion, and Guy said, "The deal was that you take care of Hood, and only Hood. Now, I'll take you to Nottingham."
"But –" Quenilda protested, and when she tried to pull away, Guy gripped her arm harder. She stopped struggling and looked from his hand directly into his eyes. "Sir Guy, you are hurting me. Please let go."
Surprised at the calm trust he could see in her eyes, Guy released her, then glanced over at the outlaws. "He doesn't need your help anyway, see?"
Somehow, the outlaws had caught the horse again despite its panicked escape, and now both Hood and Little John were riding it. Allan walked at their side, and he grinned as they approached. "Giz! You really killed it!"
"Congratulations, Gisborne," Hood said, sounding slightly sour. Much coughed significantly, and Hood went on, "Of course you couldn't have done it without the help of my men, but still, it's dead now."
Guy smirked a little and nodded acknowledgement.
"Here, give us that bucket, I'm parched," Allan said, reaching out a hand to Quenilda.
Quenilda tossed away what was already in the bucket, and when Allan looked surprised, she said, "It was dirty." Then she went to the well herself and drew up fresh water, which she extended to him with a smile.
Allan swallowed several times, then stopped suddenly with a splutter that made them all turn to look at him. Handing the bucket up to Little John, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and exclaimed, "Oi, Robin, speaking of drinking, I think I know how that rumour came about, the one about the fifty pounds for Gisborne!"
"How?" Hood asked.
"You remember when we were in one of the alehouses in Nottingham, waiting for infor—having a drink a couple weeks ago, just after Guy disappeared? And how it got later and later and you drank more and more, and then you saw the innkeeper's daughter and thought, just for a moment, that it was Marian?"
"I don't remember," Hood said, although Guy guessed from the expression on his face that he really did, and wished he didn't.
"Well, the innkeeper got mad, and you got mad too, and you shouted that you'd give five pounds to the man who brought you Gisborne alive, so that you could kill him for what he did to Marian," Allan finished. "And you know what happens when people talk – they exaggerate things!"
Taking the bucket from Little John, Much said, "Five pounds could easily have become fifteen pounds, and then fifty."
Hood shrugged uncomfortably. "Yeah, it's possible, but it doesn't mean I really meant it, especially if I was drunk."
"Would you have given those men a reward, if they'd brought Sir Guy to you, even if you hadn't meant it?" Quenilda asked curiously.
"I dunno," Hood said, but when he caught Guy's smirk, he quickly added, "I might have!"
Guy waited for Quenilda to ask if Hood really would have killed him, but she didn't, and he found that he didn't want to ask, either. He was sure he didn't need to. But instead of pursuing the topic, Quenilda glanced up at the sky and said, "It will be full dark soon. How far is it from here to Nottingham?"
Guy blinked, realizing that the sun had set in the meantime and they were now close to speaking solely by the light of the burning cottages. "A couple of miles. My lady, we should go, before they lock the gates for the night."
"I'll make us a torch, Robin," Allan said. "We don't want the horse to fall and break John's other leg."
"Could you make one for us, too?" Quenilda asked, and Allan grinned, both at her and at Little John's sour look, then ran off.
Seeing that they were finally about to part company with the outlaws, Guy heaved a mental sigh of relief, then held out one hand. "My saddlebags, Hood."
"Hang on, let's see what's in there," Hood said, and Much replied, "There's plenty of money, Robin. Gisborne seems to have made a new fortune in Throxenby."
"Did he?" Hood asked. Guy put his hand to where the hilt of his sword would have been if he'd still had one, then stopped, remembering how the dragon's blood had eaten it away. In the meantime, Little John had opened the flap of one of the saddlebags and was now hefting one of Guy's money bags, showing Hood the coins that Guy had collected from the thankful citizens of Throxenby.
"You know, I think there's just enough here to pay for the rebuilding of Locksley!" Hood said with the kind of grin that made Guy want to smash his fist into the man's mouth. "But you can have the horse back, Gisborne – to-morrow!"
"Hood!" Guy roared angrily, and pulled his dagger, but it was too late, Hood had already turned the horse and was gallopping away. Seething, Guy turned back and saw Allan approaching with a makeshift torch in each hand. He stomped towards the surprised man, causing Allan to rear back and prepare to defend himself with the fire, then saw Much reaching for his sword. Outnumbered and frustrated, Guy thrust his dagger back into his belt, then snatched one of the torches from Allan's grip. As the men relaxed, Guy stomped back over to where Quenilda stood and grabbed her by the hand.
"Come on," he growled. "Nottingham is this way."
As they made their way to the road, Quenilda asked, "Will you go after him to-morrow, Sir Guy? After the twenty four hours are over?"
"Yes," he snarled.
"And take your revenge on him?"
"Yes," he snarled again.
"The dragon wanted revenge," Quenilda mused, as though to herself. "It destroyed an entire village, only to be killed at the end."
"It was just a stupid beast," Guy growled.
"Did it want revenge because it was stupid, or did it become stupid because it wanted revenge?" Quenilda asked.
They walked on in silence, and Guy thought about her question the rest of the way.
Part 11