The Dragon's Prophecy Page 23

  "Please have your sword at the ready," the squire asked quietly as he drew his own weapon. He could hear her sudden intake of breath at those words, she quickly drew her gladia. The Centurion short sword was a poor weapon to use from horseback since it didn’t have much reach, but it was the only thing that she had, it would have to do.

  It was a nerve-racking passage through the woods. Portia’s fear was beginning to affect him as he wracked his brain trying to figure out what could be causing it and he found himself looking for some unnamed evil hiding behind the trees. The deeper they went into the forest the closer she crowded to him, which was no easy feat since the horses kept trying to space themselves out. It probably only took twenty minutes to ride through that little arm of the forest, but it felt like hours to Brendan, and Portia looked thoroughly drained by it. Something was slowly breaking one of the most intrepid people he knew, and he had to find a way to stop it.

  Chapter 33

  Good counsel is more precious than gems, seek it out, collect it, listen to it, use it. Whatever you do, don’t ignore it, many an opportunity has been wasted and many a problem has been made worse because good counsel was ignored.

  The Centurion Handbook of Combat – Heart and Mind: Chapter 1

  As they came out of the woods, they were confronted by a hooded figure on horseback who seemed to materialize out of nowhere. Without hesitation, Brendan charged forward with his sword raised. Fear stabbed through Portia’s heart like a spear of ice. It’s the hooded figure from my dreams! The nightmare is coming true! Her mind went completely blank and she felt consciousness slipping away when suddenly her mother's voice barked in her mind. 'Cover his flank! Cover his flank!' She felt electrified. Combat was something that she understood. Without another thought she spurred Winter Storm forward and charged with her own sword raised high. Something dark and evil is about to die!

  "Stop!" Commanded a voice that she instantly recognized. Both young people pulled back on their reins immediately.

  "Father Cardic?" Asked Brendan in surprise.

  "Aye," came the reply as the old priest pulled his hood down to reveal his smiling face.

  Portia’s chest exploded in a whirlwind of emotion, joy that he was a friend and not the dark harbinger of death from her dreams, anger that he would scare her so badly, and shame that she had nearly fainted with fright. At least she hadn’t soiled herself. She silently thanked her mother for the endless drills in the saddle that had kept her upright on the horse.

  As her emotions began to unwind, she found herself crying, she felt completely overwhelmed. Brendan rode over to her and awkwardly put his arm around her shoulders. She threw her arms around him and nearly stabbed him in the back with the forgotten gladia that was still clenched in her fist. Fortunately, his hauberk deflected the blade and prevented a serious injury. She didn't seem to notice the blade and he chose to say nothing as she clung to him and cried. Eventually, the squire managed to get his own sword sheathed without stabbing Portia and put both arms around her. This seemed to comfort her and she was finally able to rein in her emotions.

  “I’m sorry, I’ve been having nightmares every night for weeks and I’m exhausted,” she managed to explain.

  “What kind of nightmares?” Brendan asked in concern.

  “That Marcia disappears when the Hungarians are attacking. I have to find her by myself or the entire Eastern Marches will be destroyed if I don’t. There is always a dragon and a man in a dark cloak whose face I can’t see. The nightmares always end in death and destruction.” Portia sagged against Brendan, completely spent. They held on to each other for several long moments until the forgotten third member of their party gently cleared his throat to get their attention.

  "I suggest that we make our camp over there," said the priest pointing to almost exactly the same spot that Brendan had suggested.

  "OUR camp?" asked Portia, rousing herself and sitting up in her saddle.

  "Yes, OUR camp," replied the priest testily, "you didn't think I was going to let you two go off on your own to rescue Marcia, did you?"

  Portia wasn't sure how to respond to this but Brendan spoke up. "Does Lady Evelyn know?"

  "Of course not," snapped Father Cardic, "She and Sir Gerard are VERY busy right now and neither one needs to be worrying about this, they have thousands of people to save."

  Father Cardic led the way to the stream bank and Brendan helped Portia down from her horse. Since the priest and the squire were both accomplished travelers, they began to set up camp while Portia watered the horses. She tried to help the two men but quickly realized that she was just in the way so she lay down on her bedroll and watched them work. She was bone tired and had no energy left at all and both men seemed to understand this without her having to say a word.

  She was so thankful for both of them and she thanked God that Brendan had not let her leave by herself. She had been so focused on trying to rescue Marcia and prevent the destruction of everything that she had not thought to grab food, a cloak, or anything else necessary for traveling beyond the clothes she had on, her weapons, and her mother's bedroll. In fact, she probably would have forgotten even that if it had not been in the same trunk as her mother's armor and bow. Fortunately, Brendan had presumed that she would forget these things and he brought extra food, an extra cloak, and even an extra bedroll.

  Father Cardic collected rations from Brendan and insisted on cooking them some hot stew, "Never pass up the chance to eat a hot meal," he said, "When your on the road you never know when you’ll get your next one." Brendan nodded knowingly but Portia struggled to wrap her mind around that idea. She could not remember ever going an entire day without at least one of her meals being a hot one. She looked at the young squire, he rarely talked about his past but she knew there had been many days when he had not eaten a meal at all, let alone a hot one.

  "You two make an excellent team," the priest commented as he worked on getting the campfire lit.

  "What do you mean?" Portia asked, still wiping the odd tear from her eyes.

  "Brendan instinctively took the initiative and attacked," he explained, "You charged forward on his left side and protected his exposed flank. With his sword in his right hand and his reins in his left there was no way he could have protected himself properly if I had attacked him from the left." This was true, in battle a knight carried his shield on his left arm and directed his horse with his knees, but they had not been expecting a battle so their shields were still slung on their backs. Besides, there was no way that Brendan had the skill to control Nightwind with his knees even if he had wanted to try.

  "Well, the only reason I charged forward on his left flank is because I’m left handed. That leaves me free to swing my sword without hitting him," she said dismissively.

  "That’s exactly my point," Father Cardic said, "You naturally cover each other's weaknesses. You naturally protect his left side where he is unprotected while he naturally protects your right side where you are unprotected."

  Portia smiled at this, "Perhaps, in this one particular situation we cover each other's weaknesses..." she started to argue until the old priest interrupted her.

  "No, I have watched you both over these last few months; you cover each other in many areas. I simply used the example of your coordinated attack because it was straightforward and obvious. But what is true in this obvious example is still true even in other areas of life where it’s less obvious, the two of you make an excellent team."

  Portia found herself blushing and stared down at her boots rather than take the chance of meeting Brendan's eyes.

  “How did you know we were looking for Marcia?" Portia finally managed to ask, trying to change the topic of conversation. Brendan started to roll his eyes but a piercing glare from the priest stopped him in mid eye roll.

  "A fair question,” the priest graciously acknowledged. “Greta is in a tizzy but refuses to talk to anyone. That alone made me suspect that something was going on with either you or Marcia, mo
st probably Marcia. You appear out of nowhere in the stable, probably using the hidden stairs behind the armoire. You no doubt noticed that Marcia's horse was missing along with her saddle bags, somethin’ she wouldn’t take if she was just going for a ride, and then you asked the groom to prepare two horses. It was pretty clear that Marcia was missing and that you had gone to look for her. Apparently, I got prepared more quickly than you did and left first. When I realized that I must be in front of you instead of behind you I stopped and waited for you to catch up."

  The old priest paused for a long time before finally choosing to say what was on his mind.

  “I think the two of you’ can learn a lot from each other. You’ve both suffered great loss. After he lost his older sister, Brendan blamed God for letting it happen and for not giving him the strength to stop it from happening. Portia blamed herself after the loss of her little brother, that she wasn’t strong enough and fast enough to save him.” Father Cardic looked at the handmaiden, “Maybe Brendan could help you understand why you’re not to blame for your brother’s death and you could help him to understand why God’s not to blame for some evil men kidnapping his sister.”

  “You sister was kidnapped?”

  Brendan nodded, “Vikings raided our village, destroyed most of it, killed my father, and carried off my sister. My father’s death hurts a lot but my sister basically raised me after our mother died. She was my sister, my mom, and my best friend all rolled into one, the thought of her, out there…” His voice trailed off. After a moment he spoke again, changing the topic. “I’m sorry to hear about your brother, what happened?”

  “I promise that I will tell you everything tonight, but I want to focus on somebody other than myself for a while,” she felt the pain in her heart begin to ease. It felt good to focus on someone else’s needs instead of her own fears and she thanked God for the opportunity.

  “Okay, but you promise to tell me tonight, I am not letting you off the hook, got it? Her name was Electra. Her birth was a very hard one and my mother named her Electra saying, ‘That girl will be the death of me yet!’.” Brendan smiled at some joke she didn’t get, probably some Greek history or mythology thing. Portia smiled back, pretending to get it.

  “I’m going to sleep now while you talk. Don’t keep her up too late, Brendan, she needs her rest. You take the first watch and I’ll take the second, Portia can have the third.” With that, the old man rolled over and went to sleep. Portia laughed for the first time in a long time.

  “He can fall asleep on a rock slab in the middle of a hailstorm, I envy him that ability,” she explained, “Please continue, I want to hear more about Electra.”

  Chapter 34

  “There is no such thing as a stupid question, there are, however, aggravating questions, embarrassing questions, and convicting questions. They can be very effective weapons when used correctly.”

  The Centurion Handbook of Practical Advice – Chapter 7: Proverb 1

  The Black seethed. The brat would NOT shut up! The simplest thing would have been to eat her immediately and be done with her but the dragon had decided to collect more information from her about Warrick castle and its inhabitants to help her prepare her plan for its downfall. She had originally thought that she could question Marcia and trick her into revealing the desired information and, if that failed, she could enter the girl’s dreams when she slept and terrify her into revealing what the dragon wanted to know. When the Black had wrung every last bit of information out of her, then she would be lunch. And if Portia did find her way to the cave? Marcia would be a useful piece of bait to draw her into the trap. She had thought there would be no need to hurry the brat’s death, but now she was rethinking that idea.

  Rather than yielding information, Marcia was an endless source of questions. The Black could smell the fear in her, but she seemed to view this as a unique opportunity to collect information on dragon culture and life cycles. It was obvious that she was deliberately using her curiosity to distract herself from her fear, she was a surprisingly intelligent girl, but she was also completely dedicated to her passion for collecting information. She was not afraid to ask any question and had asked some very aggravating ones, how do dragons choose their mates? How do they actually mate to produce offspring? Are their babies born live or hatched from eggs? How long do they live? Is it true that they all breath fire or does each color have different abilities? If dragons get into arguments, how do they resolve them? Who rules the dragons? On and on and on. The Black had answered the first couple of questions hoping to lead Marcia into answering her own questions in turn. It had failed, the girl had answered every question with a question. The Black had decided to wait until the exhausted girl fell asleep BUT SHE WOULDN’T GO TO SLEEP! The brat had been up for almost 36 straight hours, the sun was already rising, and yet she jabbered on. She wanted to be a natural philosopher, whatever that was, and apparently asking a lot of questions was part of her craft. The Black had to grudgingly admire her dedication to her craft even as she found it incredibly annoying, most humans would be begging for mercy or resigned to their fate but this one was going to continue carrying out her personal investigation into dragons until the bitter end.

  The girl had to eventually fall asleep and when she did the dragon would get the information she wanted but she would be using her dream time to pry into Marcia’s mind instead of checking on Portia. She didn’t like that idea, but it was necessary. She was not going to keep the brat alive another day if she didn’t have to.

  Chapter 35

  Two are not twice as strong as one. Two, who will stand shoulder to shoulder, committed to each other and their cause, are a hundred times as strong as one.”

  The Centurion Handbook of Combat – Heart and Mind: Chapter 1

  Brendan looked down at Portia, wrapped up in his cloak, sleeping in her mom’s old bedroll. He and Father Cardic had split the watches during the night so that she could sleep all the way through. The two men had even packed the entire camp to give her a few more minutes of rest but the time had come to get her up and get on the road. Brendan shook her gently and then watched her stretch before she suddenly sat bolt upright.

  "What happened?" She asked, afraid of the answer.

  "You slept child," responded the priest gently. Portia’s face flushed in shame.

  "So, you both stood your watches and I failed," she said angrily, as much to herself as to them.

  "You needed the rest a lot more than we did," said Brendan.

  “I’m going to be a shieldmaiden someday and I need to pull my weight. Just because I need sleep is not an excuse to shirk my duty.”

  “I have no doubt that you’ll return the favor someday, and it’s more important for you to be at your best today than to be exhausted because you ‘did your duty’ and ‘pulled your weight’.”

  That answer seemed to mollify Portia somewhat. “At least I didn’t have a nightmare last night. For the first time in weeks I slept the whole night through.”

  Brendan listened to her sing a song of praise while she packed up her horse and got ready to travel. He could tell that she felt fully rejuvenated by a good night’s sleep and he was willing to bet that she was happy that she didn’t have to face this trial alone even if she didn’t want to admit it.

  What was it about her? He couldn’t explain it even to himself. He knew that in the eyes of most people she was boyish and plain, blunt and awkward, but he had always found her to be very attractive, he loved her athletic ability and strength, and the way she moved with agility and precision. What was surprising to him was how her personality was growing on him too. Why was that? He didn’t know but he found himself being impressed by the depth of the young woman behind the awkward social graces. She was real, and dedicated, she wasn’t his equal intellectually, but he admired her moral compass and the wisdom and strength that it gave her. He was learning something new every day from her and her relationship to God.

  Brendan continued to watch the handmaide
n, catching her little glances in his direction. She needed him now a lot more than she wanted to admit but why did she need him? Obviously, he was an extra sword but, he suspected that she needed his emotional stability to lean on and she probably needed his insight. Something was definitely going on. Dark magic? The whispers of Satan? He thought the power of dark magic was grossly exaggerated, if it existed at all. He had seen too many fake magicians performing fake magic tricks in his life to believe it could actually change reality. But he had seen the dark power of illusion with the Wyvern and Vouivre, the power of lies to deceive people into seeing something other than the truth. He had been able to see partly through the veil of the Wyvern’s deceptions, maybe that would be important here too.

  As they continued to ride, Brendan tried to lag behind slightly so that he could follow behind the other two and cover the rear but Portia wouldn’t allow it.

  "Please ride next to me.”

  "Why?"

  Portia eased her horse right next to his and put her hand on his arm.

  “After we talked last night about Electra, I saw a darkness come over you and I realized that we are both under attack and I don’t know how or why,” she said simply.

  “I’ve noticed it too,” he answered. He disliked attaching too much meaning to vague feelings that didn’t have any evidence or logic to give them validity or meaning, but he couldn’t deny that something very strange was going on.