2-3
Gilead’s injuries, in the end, did not slow down the party in the slightest. They couldn't go faster than Zahra, and even with his bruises Gilead could still outpace her on the march. Another thing which his injury did not prevent him from doing was assisting in setting up camp for the night; he could only use one arm well, and the chest injury meant he couldn’t carry heavy weights, but he was more than capable of putting up tent-posts, nursing the nascent campfire, and kicking detritus out of the chosen spot.
Sara expressed some disbelief at the idea that a nobleman would know how to do things like that.
“A lady of court or some decadent castle-dwelling Roman might nist matters of trail-craft, but we are knights, warriors of God in the name of King Arthur! Imagine taking one’s servant on errantry, one would sooner leap to the top of a mountain than win any worship from that!”
“So the stories are true, eh? Knights-errant wandering around looking for adventure?”
“Yes,” said Gilead. “That is how a knight wins his worship, by seeking out trouble and defeating it with his arm. Once he is elderly, and he has already won his worship, then he earns the right to settle. But I never made it that far.”
“Uh-huh. And how did you eat, exactly?”
“Hospitality. It is part of the chivalric code; when a knight-errant approaches the manor of a settled lord, the settled lord provisions him, in the name of God and the King.”
“Don Quixote never figured that one out…” Sara muttered to herself before dumping a load of firewood adjacent to Gilead’s flickering kindling. “Any requests from the injured man on the topic of dinner?”
“Oh come on!” Zahra whined in Arabic. The girl had placed herself against a nearby tree-stump, the better to rest her tired muscles while still being able to see what was going on.
“I’m sorry Zahra, but Gilead here was saved by the grace of God alone from getting one of his kidneys exploded. He takes precedence, at least for one evening.”
Gilead shook his head. “Please. I surrender my right to choose dinner to the girl. I would not be so cruel.”
With the ball back in her court, Zahra’s eyes narrowed keenly. “I want you to pick…but you have to tell me a story where you killed something!”
“Zahra!”
Gilead leapt to his feet, a sudden glimmer in his eye that was only briefly dimmed by the wince of pain. “Very well then! Fry up the bacon and spread the grease on some bread, while I tell a story!”
Gilead drew his sword, causing Sara to flinch back. “What are you doing with that thing?”
“It’s necessary for gesticulating.” Gilead turned to Zahra, bowing deeply. “Milady, I tell thee now that I am no bard, nary even a troubadour. But I pray of thee that thou wilt be kind unto me and forgive my flaws in tale-ing as I tell you of… the dragon of Biatorog.”
…
Anon, Gilead rode for many a day, for the heat of the hunt was upon him, and he stopped only briefly to water his steed, and rode and rode until the horse was almost dead and he halfway there, for Sir Mazlogaunt had alit a great fire of despite within him. But at last it befell that the horse could ride no longer or else give up the ghost, and as Gilead was a gentle soul who loved all animals, he could ride no longer too. Instead he let rest himself at the edge of a great pond.
But it befell that as Gilead let rest himself, a holy man emerged from the brush. A hermit was he, clad in shirt of hairs, and his eyes were very keen.
“Ho there!” said Gilead. “Speak you any Latin?”
“Aye,” replied the Hermit. “I do speak Latin.”
“Tell me, then, have you seen a knight pass by here hight Sir Mazlogaunt, and wearing a red harness?”
“Nay,” said the hermit, “No such Mazlogaunt has passed through the land of the Magyars in any direction.”
And Gilead felt great shock, for he had not realized that he had ridden all the way into the realm of the Magyars in his pursuit of Sir Mazlogaunt. And a great dole he felt that he had not been able to catch Sir Mazlogaunt, for he nist of the golden horseshoes, nor of the enchantress whom had given those shoes to—
…
“I’m sorry, who is this Mazlogaunt?” Sara asked, raising her hand like a schoolchild.
Gilead stopped in his tracks. “That is… a much longer story than this one. Full of betrayal and grief and passing great wroth. But the young lady wanted a story with violence, and the dragon of Biatorog is much better for that.”
“Also, what’s a Magyar?”
“They are a tribe, like my people, the Britons, or your people, the…” Gilead stopped himself from saying ‘Saracens’ this time, eyes flicking in Sara’s direction.
“Arabs,” she filled in. “Furati Arabs if you want to get overly specific.”
“They dwell in Magyar country,” Gilead continued, “between the Romans, the Greeks, and the Cumans, but like any people you can find a few of them here or there.”
Zahra looked like she had more questions, but she held them in. With that, Gilead cleared his throat and resumed.
…
The hermit, seeing Sir Gilead’s despair, said unto him, “If you can hunt this Sir Mazlogaunt no more, then might I regale you with my tale of woe?”
“Certes,” said Gilead. “For a woe shared is a woe lessened.”
“Then I shall tell you firstly this: my name is Sir Brezand, and I am a knight in service to King Stephen of the Magyars.”
“A knight? But where is your harness?”
“I forsook it,” said Sir Brezand, “For I swore an oath three years hence that I would live as a hermit for so long as the dragon that dwelleth on mount Biatorog remaineth alive; but alas, I have fought it twice, and each time it has turned my sword aside, and done great wounds unto me. And so, though a coward I am not, I am forced to live this way.”
And Sir Gilead gasped, for to see a knight so reduced was a matter of great woe to any other knight. Said Sir Gilead, “I shall make no such oaths, for the search of Sir Mazlogaunt is mine highest calling in this time; but I shall speak plain my intent. Were I to slay the beast which dwelleth on mount Biatorog with mine own hand, would you be free from your oath?”
“Aye,” said Sir Brezand. “I would be. And I heretofore swear upon my knightly honor that, should you slay the beast, I shall forevermore owe you a debt of most profound gratitude.”
Anon, with that done, the two knights embraced and—
…
“Could we go to the part where you fight the dragon?” Zahra whined.
“It’s called setting up stakes, Zahra,” Sara said. “Aren’t you moved by the plight of the poor Sir Brezand or whatever his name was?”
“No, no, the young lady made request for the tale, and I shall tell it as she so pleases. Besides, this is merely a small part of a much larger telling; should I have wished to inform you of all the context, I would have had to begin with my first hearing of Sir Mazlogaunt, and then I would be stood here for five hours. How goes supper?”
“It goes,” Sara replied. “Halfway done, maybe.”
Gilead nodded, then, clearing his throat, resumed.
“The beast’s lair lay at the top of mount Biatorog, a rocky and craggy thing…”
…
…so split as to take on the appearance of a split tongue, twin forks thrust skyward in defiance of God. And Sir Gilead felt great fear, for he had fallen by then, but did not quail, only setting forth upon his steed that carried him ever forward into the mountain’s clutches.
And at last it befell that Gilead lay eyes upon the heart of the matter, that is to say the very lair of the dragon. It was a noisome place, stinking of acid rot like milk that had gone sour, or weed rendered rancid at the bottom of a lake. Anon there Gilead dismounted, and left his horse behind with a calming word, for he dared not let so gallant a creature be made dead by the dragon’s fearsome might and prowess. With shield before him and sword at his side, Gilead all crept onward, for a dragon fights as the other serpents do: it strikes from afar.
It was a terrible beast which Gilead saw then, its wings fat about its shoulders and wet like sealskin, the bulk of its body like that of a great bull clad all in adder’s scales, and the claws of an eagle scraping the stones. Most hideous of all, though, was the face, a salamander’s face, and eyes that burned bright with the devil’s hatred for all that lived and felt weal for life even in the putrid dark of the dragon’s cavern.
Anon, Gilead’s caution proved wise, for no sooner had he seen the beast than its rebuke was upon him, and the rebuke was hot fire that spilled against his shield. And the heat was tremendous, as hot as a great bonfire foined into Gilead’s face. The agony was terrible, and so brilliant was the burning that he was all but blind, but Gilead let charge he against the beast, reckless in his rushing lest it strike again with wisdom enough to go around his shield.
Sir Gilead and the dragon fought as wood lions, hot-blooded and hot of foot as they threw life against life and tooth against sword. Maugre the common steel of Gilead’s blade, it found the gaps, and bled the dragon even through its harness of beastly scales; but so too did the dragon’s claws rip at Gilead, and he bled grievous sore onto the floor of the cave. For all that he had lost, though, Gilead still held to his ferocity, and so too did the beast, and it was as like they were to slay one another and die together in the same bed of earth and rock.
…
“So the reckless disregard for your own physical integrity isn’t a new thing,” Sara interjected. “That’s very good to know. Stop doing that.”
Gilead’s energetic posture went slack, and he frowned at Sara with a mixture of disappointment and confusion. “I am a knight,” he said. “What matters mine physical integrity? If I die, then so be it; I shall have died in service of chivalry, and perhaps even having slain whatever fiend I set myself against.”
Sara’s expression of concern grew much deeper.
“Don’t die!” said Zahra. “That would be stupid.”
Sara sighed. “Martyring yourself may be an effective tactic where you come from, but I remind you that there are no more Knights of the Round Table, not any longer. If you die, there will be nobody to replace you. I’d much prefer to have someone like you around to guard me than not.”
There were no more knights. Gilead was the only one. He’d been confronted by that fact already when he’d passed into the gates of Carlisle for the first time: most of the soldiers on patrol were those strange un-armored men with rifles, and even the few cavaliers were entirely different from the knights of his day, faces un-covered and with pistols at their belts. If Gilead gave his life in the service of defeating evil, then knighthood would once more be extinct. As it had been before his recent resurrection.
He felt very cold, all of a sudden, caught between the natural loyalty he felt towards anyone, especially a woman, who had asked for his help as had Sara, and his need to display his bravery on the battlefield as he always had.
“I am sorry,” he said quietly. “I shall attempt to preserve myself more than I have been.”
Twice, Sir Gilead had died, and twice had he been brought back; perhaps his death would not accomplish anything. But then, neither had his life come to anything either, not really.
“What happened next?” asked Zahra.
“Hm?”
“You and the dragon were both bleeding and stuff,” Zahra continued, “What happened after that?”
“Oh, yes.” Gilead breathed out all his fears and uncertainty, and tightly gripped his sword. “Right then. As I was saying…”
…
Anon the dragon reared rampant, and there was all a great heat and an awesome light that filled the cavern of its lair, and Gilead wit forthwith that it was readying to let unleashed a great slew of fire. And though his hand was numb about the shield’s grip, and his sword was slick from mingled blood, Gilead nevertheless set himself. But the flame came from so up high that it could not be shielded against, lest it drip and spill off the shield and onto the man.
And so Gilead prayed to the Lord for might, and though the Lord would not listen, he prayed, and felt a great clearness. Anon he discarded his sword and his shield, and fought as did Samson, rushing headlong like a savage boar, and with great might did he seize hold of the dragon’s back leg even as it reared rampant to burn him. And the strength of Gilead’s sinews was more than he thought he had, for as any good knight he knew how to wrestle as well as he did to fence; and with a great heaving he yanked the dragon’s very leg from beneath it, and it fell backwards.
Thus it befell that the flames, which had been set to burn Gilead’s flesh from his bones, instead overflowed the bounds of the dragon’s jaws, and burned it sore terrible about the jaws and the serpentine neck. Gilead had nary the strength to fight on, for in turning the dragon end over end with strength of arms alone he had very nearly put his own limbs out of joint, and they were limp and weak as a babe’s.
But then Gilead heard the voice of a maiden, and the maiden’s voice said unto him, “Thou brave knight who has half-slain this dragon, do one more thing and I shall slay it the second half; cut open the beast’s belly but even a corn’s-length, and all shall be made well.”
And Gilead did as was asked, drawing from his belt a dagger, and rased it along the belly of the dragon until he found a scale that could be made to flip, and there thrust the dagger into the dragon’s belly with all his remaining might. And thereupon did he faint, for his strength was spent, and he had bled sore upon the cavern floor. But as wakefulness fled, so too did Gilead see a wonder, for a great glowing light did spill forth from the wound he had made, and the flesh of the dragon peel backwards as a lemon-peel gone to rot.
When Gilead awoke, he had marvel at his state, for his wounds had all been healed by leechcraft great, and he felt rejuvenated and whole. And before him was a maiden clad in a very strange cladding: for it was not a dress of cloth which she wore, but rather a dress of dragon’s scales.
“I salute you maiden,” said Gilead, “for it is surely you who have healed me. But pray tell me where has gone the dragon? Is it dead?”
“Aye, it is dead,” said the maiden, and Sir Gilead marveled, for it was the same maiden which had spoken to him when last he was conscious. “And a great vengeance I have had upon it, for so long had it held me trap’d within its stomach, that all my dress had been digested away. But now all is weal, for I have turned the dragon’s skin into a dress passing fair!”
…
“Her name was Zanard, and she was an enchantress of no little skill, which was how she knew the potion to allow one to survive being swallowed whole by a dragon,” Gilead concluded. “She and I talked about diverse matters after that, and she was a great help in the matter of Sir Mazlogaunt. But I see that dinner is prepared, and I wish to make noise no more.”
“What about Sir Brezand?” asked Zahra.
“Oh, he was there too. Gave his life to defeat Mazlogaunt, it was a very sad day. I am sorry that I had no more… concise story to tell you, but I find that few of the stories of my life are.”
“Is that where you got that scar on your arm,” Sara asked, carefully separating out the portions of bacon and rolls.
Gilead looked down at himself, having too many scars to count them all himself, and indeed found that there was a faded burn on his wrist. “I believe so, yes. Ought to quell any questions about whether I tell that tale in sooth!”
Zahra’s eyes were as big as dinner plates. “You really did all that… you can lift a dragon!”
“Not easily!” Gilead said. “But yes. And it’s far from the greatest feat I’ve performed, either.”
“Could you tell the story of how you got that scar on your face?”
Gilead grinned nervously. “That is not a story for children.”
“But the one where you slice open a dragon’s belly with a knife is fine for all ages?”
Gilead had no need to defend his position, as he had filled his mouth with greasy bread. They ate in silence for a brief while. Then there came a noise from somewhere out in the dark, a scuffing sound, mingled with the snapping of twigs. Gilead went for his sword, but Sara stopped him with a gesture. She had a gun, and no injured ribs.
“We don’t want to hurt you, whoever you are” she said, drawing the pistol, “But we also don’t want any misunderstandings. Announce yourself if your intentions are peaceful.”
“Thank God,” came the voice. It was a withered, rugged voice, the voice of an old and infirm man. “Finally, someone can come and help us!”