The Bringer of War

Butterflies roiling in his stomach, Hector followed Bruno as he tracked their quarry. Though the squire could see no sign upon the grassy dirt, the knight seemed to have no difficulty in discerning their path. Watching Bruno nod to himself for the twelfth time, Hector at last was able to contain his curiosity any longer.

“What signs do you see, Sir Cromwell?” he said. “I see naught but grass and dirt.”

Bruno grinned at him, motioned with his hand that Hector should join him in a low crouch. The boy did so, trying without success to stifle a tired sigh.

“Look here,” said Bruno “at this patch of grass. What do you see?”

“A ladybug,” said Hector. Bruno smacked his arm hard.

“No, you dolt,” he said “what do you see about the grass?”

Hector squinted his eyes in concentration, peering hard at the earth.

“It looks...” he said “it looks as if it may have been trampled under foot.”

“Excellent!” said Bruno, slapping him even harder on the arm. “The art of tracking is one that must be learned, squire. In time, you will be able to spot such things without even trying. A bit of sweat on a green leaf, rough bark on a tree where a beast has scraped past it in haste...it is a language that you will learn to speak fluently.”

“Of course, Master Bruno,” said Hector nervously, hoping that the knight would not realize he had simply guessed.

The pair continued to track the dragon, even as the red sun sat low in the sky. The patches of wood they had been passing on their journey had begun to give way to a full fledged forest, the trees towering over them. Once they reached a patch of thick underbrush, and even Hector’s untrained eye could see that something roughly the size of a horse had crashed through recently.

“We are getting close, boy,” said Bruno, his voice low. “Mind your tongue. Dragons can hear your blood as it runs through your very veins.”

“What are-” began Hector in a whisper.

“Do not whisper,” said Bruno, his tone tightly controlled but his ebon face twisted in anger. “A whisper carries much further than a low voice...as I have told you before.”

Hector opened his mouth to reply, then closed it and nodded.

They hitched their mounts to continue on foot. Hector had to find a stout tree root to secure his onager, but Bruno’s well trained steed respected a light hitch on a spindly green limb. Soon the men were carefully picking their way across a forest floor strewn with dead leaves and the rotting hulks of fallen trees. The knight seemed particularly grim, eyes constantly scanning every square foot of terrain. Their progress was slow, making Hector wish to run full speed and be done with the matter. After nearly an hour of tromping through the dense thickets and climbing steep hills the sun had sunk below the horizon, and the wood became more foreboding in the darkness.

They heard the babbling of a small brook through the trees ahead. Moving more slowly and cautiously than ever, Bruno crept up to lean against a stout oak. Hector joined him a moment later, following his umbra gaze to a small cave not a dozen feet from the bank. The entrance was about half man height, the darkness within yawning like an open mouth. The boy feared that Bruno would draw his blade and go charging in immediately, but the man only nodded thoughtfully and began to lead them back to their mounts.

“What are we to do?” said Hector when he dared to speak.

“We’ll camp for several hours,” said Bruno confidently. “One should be well rested when tangling with dragons.”

“Seek you to attack it on the morrow?” said Hector.

“Morrow?” said Bruno with a soft laugh “we’ll be up well before that preparing!”

“Preparing what?” said Hector, not happy with the prospect of an early morning.

“Our trap, of course,” said Bruno with a big smile.

** *

The fine carpeting was a rich azure hue, the silk curtains dyed a complimentary verdant green. Magnificent tapestries and portraits covered the walls, a merry fire roared in the hearth. A four post bed with a translucent canopy sat flush on the rear wall, while a sandalwood table occupied the center of the room. A delicately sculpted silver tea service sat on the table, but the woman seated at it had no eyes for it or any of the other luxuries about the room. She did not even stare out the tall arched window, which afforded a view of the bright gibbous moon as it hung fat in the sky.

Lady Katherine of Mannix stared intently at the cards spread out before her. Not the conventional numbered cards that soldiers often plied their games of chance with, but a throwback to more heathen times, when her ancestors had used such cards to auger the future.

She stared at the pattern spread before her and smiled. A hairy bear on one card indicated that Sir Bruno would soon face a fearsome test, but the cornucopia she had drawn next meant he would likely be met with success. Hearing a clap at her door, she began to hastily put the cards away.

“Katherine?” came a man’s voice as the door swung open. A man of some sixty years strolled into the room, wearing a brocaded doublet and silk hose a similar color to the carpet. He had a high forehead crossed with numerous worry lines, his sparse hair having crept towards his back. A bit on the portly side, his jowls shook as his jaw dropped open in disbelief at her endeavor.

“Father,” she said, smiling sweetly.

“What have I told you about these heathen practices?” said her father as she tried to conceal the cards on the table.

“I’m sorry, father,” she said, casting her soft brown eyes at the table.

“I would throw those fell things into the fire straightaway,” he said harshly, though there was affection in his eyes “if they were not your departed mother’s. I could never say no to her either.”

Kate smiled at him, standing up from her seat so she could wrap her arms around his waist in a hug. He patted her shoulders as he returned the embrace, tension melting from his face.

“What can I do for you?” she said after they disengaged. The old man took a deep breath.

“King Drakken,” he said “is holding a ball in honor of the Founding.”

“As he often does,” said Kate, chuckling. “That is hardly news, father. We received his invi-”

“The news,” said her father, gently cutting her off “is that his majesty made a personal request that you be there, my dear.”

Kate reacted as if she had been slapped.

“Me?” she said “why would his majesty... do you think he knows about my Tarot readings? Am I to be subject to an Inquisition-”

“No,” said her father with a laugh “no, it’s not anything like that. I think the King has seen the writing on the wall.”

“And what does it say?” said Kate, fearing the answer.

“That he is aging, and has yet to produce an heir,” said her father bluntly. When Kate frowned her moved to put a smooth hand against her soft cheek. “Katherine, these are good tidings! If you present yourself properly, you have a chance to be queen!”

Kate’s face fell, her shoulders hunched as if she wished to vanish into herself.

“What’s wrong?” he said with some concern. His face darkened a moment later as he reached his own conclusion. “It’s Sir Bruno, isn’t it? You care for him still.”

Kate nodded, looking up at her father with moisture at the corners of her eyes.

“I will do what I must for the family,” she said “but don’t count upon my loving the king should he prove foolish enough to take a woman such as I to be his bride.”

“Bah,” said her father, waving the notion away “young people think they know all there is about love, but at the end of the day it is the least important aspect of a noble marriage.”

“I know, father,” she said.

“Knights Templar make poor husbands,” he said. “You would be a war widow, always alone while Bruno was smiting dragons or heathens.”

“You are wise, father,” she said woodenly.

“The king is a kind and just man,” said her father, making her wince “you will grow to love him.”

“Of course,” said Kate softly. Her father kissed her gently on her forehead. He strode towards her bedchamber door, pausing with his hand on its smooth surface.

“See to it,” he said “that the cards vanish by Endsweek.”

He closed the door behind him, and only then did Kate allow the tears to fall.

** *

In the pre dawn darkness, Hector and Bruno lay flat on their bellies. They were perched above the low cave opening, intently peering down at the rabbit corpse lying on the smooth stones below. Something crawled across the squire’s bare forearm, and he stifled a yelp when he realized it was a spider. The furry creature continued on its trajectory oblivious to his plight, eight legs carrying it off his arm and onto a husk of an old maple.

Bruno did not notice the boy’s minor triumph, his focus never wavering from the red and white bundle of fur below. Their patience was rewarded when a deep, rumbling growl could be heard.

Hector watched as Bruno rose quickly but carefully to his feet. He was dressed in his metal breastplate, but had left the rest of his armor on the horse to travel more stealthily. Still, there were minor clinks that made the boy wince fearfully. Shaking off his stupor, the squire moved to help the knight with a bundle of stout vines. As they spread it out between them, its form became apparent. It was a crude net woven of verdant twine, rocks tied at brief intervals around the edge.

The pair walked sideways bearing their burden to the edge of the short cliff. Silently they waited, Hector’s heart hammering in his chest. He nearly jolted when the dark, scaled snout first thrust itself out of the cave mouth. The nostrils flared as the beast tested the air. A moment later the serpentine head came out the rest of the way, swinging side to side at the end of a long tapered neck.

Hector had been expecting a much larger beast. The dragon was smaller than some dogs he had seen, and though its clawed feet looked formidable, it was far from the titanic monster he had heard legends of.

“Now!” shouted Bruno, nearly shocking him off the cliff. The two of them jumped down the ten feet separating them from the stony ground, slamming the heavy net down atop the scaled beast. For a brief moment, their combined weight held the dragon down, and Hector breathed a sigh of relief.

Suddenly, the dragon roared, wildly bucking its body inside the net. Bruno held on adroitly enough, but Hector found himself dragged towards the animal’s flashing teeth and claws.

“Sir Bruno!” he cried out as the dragon’s yellow eyes narrowed at him. Moving with more deliberation than he thought possible from a simple minded beast, the dragon used its foreleg to get a grip on one of the vines composing the net. With a sudden jerk the vine was severed efficiently by the dragon’s talon.

Bruno dropped his end of the net and whisked his fine blade out of its scabbard. Hector screamed as the dragon managed to fling the net off the front half of its body, realizing he was now in reach of the hundreds of pointed ivory spikes contained in its maw. The head darted forward, jaws opening wide. A line of spittle dripped from its maw and spattered on the dirt, hissing and smoking in the cool air.

With a savage shout, Bruno brought his blade down in a two handed swing across the dragon’s thin neck. The jaws snapped shut on empty air as the head darted upwards and back. The first blow did not decapitate the beast, but gave it a mortal wound. The second blow cleaved the beast’s neck in twain. The headless body writhed violently on the ground, spraying blood into the air. Both men hastily backpedaled to avoid the crimson fluid, but a few drops managed to land on Hector’s trouser leg. He screamed as it burned through the fabric to sear his flesh.

Bruno charged at the squire, using his shoulder to knock the young man back into the cold brook. He dove into the shallow water himself, using his iron like grip to hold the boy’s leg under the rushing current. Gradually Hector’s cries of anguish lessened, and Bruno lifted his limb from the water to inspect the wound.

“Not bad,” he said “we got to it in time. The water has flushed the venom from the wound.”

“Not bad?” said Hector as he inspected his leg. A silver coin sized patch of raw red skin marked his leg just above the knee. “It hurts terribly!”

“Just think how bad it would be,” said Bruno, clapping him on the shoulder “if the brook were not so readily available! Stand, squire, you have acted bravely and well this day!”

“Day’s barely started,” said Hector with a frown. Bruno laughed and clapped his shoulder so hard the boy staggered.

“That’s the spirit!” said the knight.