Handbook for Dragon Slayers (7 page)

“Clever,” Judith said.

Parz led the way through town to a small guesthouse. I was grateful to be off the horse for a while. It had ceased to be terrifying, but I felt rather like a sack of salt. Or maybe turnips.

Judith carried our chest with the few belongings she had packed for Boar House, and she and I went up to the room that Parz secured for us. Hot water was brought, and we commenced washing, dressing, and combing.

I looked over my possessions. For clothing, counting what I'd been wearing when I was kidnapped by Ivo, I now owned only two dresses and a fur cloak. I had a little jewelry: a brooch to fasten my mantle, a silver fillet for my head, and a silver girdle for my hips. My purse held only the three pfennigs I had thought to bribe servants with at Snail Castle, for I'd never replenished it after I gave alms at church last. I also had my writing box and the blank book Sir Kunibert had given me.

I'd given up a lot in giving up Alder Brook, but they were only material possessions. I smiled a little, running my finger over soaked-in ink splotches on my writing box. I imagined sitting close to Parz in an empty library, reading together from a book about dragons. I imagined our hands resting side by side as we read from the same book, until our littlest fingers brushed against each other and then linked together.

“I know what you're thinking,” Judith said. I looked up, startled, and blushed.

“You do?”

“We'll take back Alder Brook, Princess. Don't you worry. Ivo won't win.”

It wasn't what I was thinking, of course, but I'd rather have told her the embarrassing thing about Parz's fingers than that I had no intention of taking back Alder Brook. I let the conversation drop.

We spent less than an hour at the guesthouse, eating quickly after the washup. I didn't look forward to returning to my imitation of a sack of turnips, but at least the horse wasn't as frightening as before. I had no notion of how people could ride such long distances as they did, though; it was sincerely uncomfortable.

We returned to the road, performed Parz's doubling-back trick, and then stopped to consider where we should go next.

“Saint Disibod's Cloister,” I announced. “That's what we should make for. It has the oldest library of anywhere around, without going to a big city or too close to Alder Brook.”

Parz looked like he wanted to say something, then just nodded agreeably.

We rode with the great Rhine River to our right and vineyard-covered mountains on our left.

“Drachenfels,” Parz said with a sigh in my ear. He had, thankfully, cleaned his teeth and gotten a sprig of mint at some point, and was much less oniony.

“Pardon?”

“That mountain is Drachenfels—the dragon cliff—where the hero Siegfried slew Fafnir the dragon.”

I looked at the mountain covered in autumn-bright trees, at the vintners harvesting grapes at its foot. That was Drachenfels? I had no notion it was so close to Alder Brook.

“We should put Siegfried's story in the
Handbook
,” I said.

“I know that one by heart,” Parz said.

“You do?”

“Certainly. My greatfather used to tell it to me. There is a lot of it I don't remember very well, about how Fafnir stole a king's treasury and took it up there to Drachenfels to hide it.”

“The Rhinegold,” I said. I knew this story a little. Parz waved away the importance of gold and went on.

“Siegfried watched the dragon's habits carefully every day, and discovered the path it took down to the water to drink. Siegfried dug a ditch across the dragon's path, and hid in it. And when the dragon passed over him, he stabbed the dragon from below. The blood rained down upon him, and it made his skin invulnerable from that day forward. All but one tiny spot where a linden leaf had fallen, and that, of course, was the spot where one day, much later, someone did stab him, and kill him.”

I studied Drachenfels, noting half a dozen paths coming down through the vineyards to the Rhine. Any of them could have been where Siegfried dug his trench and slew Fafnir.

“Do you think all dragon blood makes you invulnerable?” I asked.

“Long ago, perhaps, but our dragons now are smaller than they were in the old days, and less powerful.”

We stopped to eat at midday, and talked more about killing dragons. I told them the story of Saint Marthe and the dragon Tarasque, whose breath and teeth were poisoned. Saint Marthe's main weapon against Tarasque in the dark forest of Nerluc was the sign of the cross. When she made the sign, the dragon grew docile and just let her bind him with her girdle, after which the people of Nerluc stabbed the dragon with spears.

“We're still not holy enough for that to work,” Judith said. “But it makes sense: Dragons are evil, so holiness is the best way to defeat them.”

“And Saint Marthe was holier than most,” I said. “Her sister was Mary Magdalene. We need fewer saint stories and more regular dragon slayer stories. Did Sir Kunibert ever tell you about his battles?”

“He always said that practice was far more important than stories,” Parz said. “I should tell you, I found resin and pitch for sale in King's Winter.”

“Seems a little early to buy resin and pitch,” I said. “I haven't even set down a word in the
Handbook
yet.”

“Maybe a little early,” Parz agreed, and we fell silent for a time.

My head tipped over onto Parz's chest, and—my thoughts confused—I wondered when I would start to feel free and relieved about abandoning Alder Brook to Ivo. I had done the right thing, hadn't I? The people of Alder Brook, from Aged Arnolt to Roswitha, and every tenant farmer, unfree knight, blacksmith, and priest who lived on our lands or owed service to the family would be happier this way. Ivo had two strong legs. No one would look at him and think about curses. No one would wonder if he could attract a good spouse. No one would blame him for my father's death or think he brought misfortune. He wouldn't administer Alder Brook better than I could, but just by being their prince he would make everyone happier.

Including me.

My thoughts circled away from those uncomfortable subjects and drifted to dragon blood and dragon gold, and how I would record Fafnir's story in the
Handbook
. I was still tracing words on my thigh when I fell quite deeply asleep.

I
WOKE WHEN THE
horse halted.

“Time to stop for the night,” Parz said, and bounced to the ground.

“Here?” I asked, looking around me for a sign of a guesthouse or any sort of house at all.

“Here,” Parz said firmly, and reached up to swing me down from the horse. I bit my lip against a moan of pain when my stiffened legs caught my weight.

Judith saw my expression and scrambled down from her horse to bring me my crutch.

“Tilda could use a bath and a soft bed,” Judith said, giving me her shoulder to lean on.

“No guesthouses,” Parz said. “Not overnight, anyway. Guesthouses mean people who can remember our descriptions and overhear our talk.”

Judith raised her voice a little. “You cannot ask a princess to sleep outside!”

I straightened my spine and lifted my chin. “Perhaps, but a princess can
offer
to sleep outside.”

Parz's face split into an appreciative grin. I grinned back, but quickly found my way to a rock, and used it to lower myself to the ground, unsteady on my feet.

We made camp near a small rivulet off the Willows River, using leaf litter as bed stuffing and our cloaks for covers. I couldn't help regretting the rest of my warm clothes abandoned at Alder Brook. Like my other two cloaks. Those would have made my outdoor bed somewhat nicer.

Parz took care of the horses while Judith built a fire. I considered our food stores. We had only a quarter wheel of cheese and some bread, until Judith gleaned hazelnuts from a hedge.

The sun set, and we ate. Parz produced a pot of small ale to wash the meal down, though it was unfiltered and as thick as breakfast gruel, so we had to chew it as much as drink it.

My body ached from the day's riding, and my foot ached because it always did, but my belly was full and I was free. I stretched and sighed. I wanted to massage my leg and foot, but I was embarrassed to do so in front of Parz.

Judith saw me flexing my foot and came over to take it in her lap. When I made to pull it back underneath my cloak, she swatted at me lightly. “You're in pain, Tilda.”

Parz didn't look up, being busy whittling something.

“What are you so intent on whittling, Parz—I mean, Lord Parzifal?” Judith asked.

“Spears,” Parz said. “In case we meet a dragon tomorrow.”

Judith quirked her eyebrows at me, and I shrugged. She dug her thumbs into the tight tendons of my foot. I sucked my breath in to keep from crying out. Parz glanced up. I tried not to blush. I probably wouldn't be able to sleep for cramping if Judith didn't help me.

“Calm night,” Parz commented a moment later. “A lucky thing for this time of year. We wouldn't want to meet the Wild Hunt.”

“Hush!” Judith said. “Don't speak of them.”

I laughed uneasily. “The Wild Hunt aren't like hearthgoblins or elves. They can't hear you talking about them from miles away. And even if they could, they don't come when you mention them.”

“I still don't want to talk about . . . them,” Judith said.

We fell silent, but I doubted any of us stopped thinking of the group of immortal huntsmen who rode with their horses and hounds across the earth on restless nights, collecting souls of the dead and punishing wrongdoers. We'd all heard stories of them when the wind rose in the autumn.
Take care to speak the truth, or the Wild Hunt might find you
, Frau Oda, my mother's handmaiden, used to say to Judith and me.

When Judith was done with my foot, I got up and pulled out my writing box and the
Handbook
. Balancing the book on my lap, I opened to the first page, and wrote out the book curse I had been planning.

“What are you writing, Tilda?” Parz asked.

“The book curse. Every book needs one.” I read it out loud. “Whosoever steals this book shall BURN in the FIERY CONFLAGRATION of a DRAGON'S BREATH and will also LOSE THEIR NOSE to PUTREFACTION.”

“Ew, putrefacting noses? That's disgusting!” Judith said.

“You can't scare people with a curse if it isn't terrifying,” I said.

Parz frowned. “Is it really going to stop anyone?”

“Would you steal a cursed book?”

“Of course not. But I'm going to be a knight. I wouldn't steal.” He took up another sapling and started whittling a point on the end.

“What's with all the weapons?” Judith asked. “And tell the truth this time, Parz—I mean, Lord Parzifal!” She added the honorific after a sidelong glance at me.

“Just east of here . . . about a mile . . . there's a dragon's hold.”

“A dragon?” Judith shrieked.

“A small dragon!” Parz said, making a calming gesture I'd seen him use on his horse.

“A
small
dragon?” Judith shouted.

“It will be fine!” Parz said. “I learned about it back in King's Winter. It's a young beast we can take with just swords and these makeshift spears. It'll be good practice.”

I had thought Judith's shrieking and shouting were because she was angry, but now she clapped her hands. I stared at her. She wasn't angry. She was
thrilled
.

“Wait,” I said. “We haven't done
any
of the research you were talking about. We haven't spoken with any other dragon slayers. The handbook is almost completely blank! And Parz, you've pretty much said yourself you're less than half trained in this. And Judith has barely any training at all! You'll get her killed! She doesn't want to fight your ‘small' dragon.”

Judith's eyes had been shining like she was about to receive a gift, but now her whole expression fell, smile into frown. “Princess Mathilda,” she said formally. “That is untrue. I want to fight this dragon.”

“We haven't done any of the research!” I repeated.

“Not so!” Parz said. “You read about Saint Magnus and the pitch and resin and you told us about it. That's research right there.”

I folded my arms, annoyed. Parz had launched this grand plan to make the
Handbook
, but I was beginning to think that, really, he didn't want me along at all—he just wanted Judith, so he had someone to fight dragons with. The
Handbook
was just a . . . a sop, to keep me from taking Judith away from him.

I was about to say this, but Judith clutched my hand. “Please understand, Tilda. We'll be back at Alder Brook before you know it . . . and I'll be a handmaiden again. But until then—I want to be a dragon slayer. This is my one chance to try something of my own.”

It would be lying to say I didn't understand her. So I gave in. “You stay far back,” I said. “And don't get hurt.”

“I won't,” she said.

Parz looked satisfied and began his spear carving again. Just then, the wind picked up in the trees. I glanced at the branches uneasily, shivering, thinking about Frau Oda's old warning.

“Oooo,” Parz said, laughing. Judith joined, though I remained silent.

“We should get some sleep,” I said. “There's a dragon to fight tomorrow.”

I
WOKE TO FIND
P
ARZ STRUGGLING INTO SOME MESH
armor: a mail shirt that hung to his knees and a mail coif for his head. The rest of his body was clad in padded leather pieces, though I worried for his unprotected legs and hands.

But I worried much harder for Judith. All she had to wear was some old quilted cloth armor Parz had worn in training, and it didn't fit very well.

Judith grinned at me. “Oh, Tilda, don't worry. I've little training, but I know better than to jump into the mouth of the dragon! I'll hang back and wait to make my move.”