Thomas and the Dragon Queen Page 4

  Around him other squires waited, white-knuckled, gripping the reins of other warhorses. And Thomas could hear nervous whispers of “Steady! Steady!” He wondered if these words of encouragement were for the horses or for the squires themselves.

  Suddenly there was movement at the edge of the group. A runner had come from the battle, bearing a shield. Then a tall, thin boy quietly donned a mail shirt, picked up the shield carried from the battlefield, and handed the reins of his knight’s warhorse to another. Thomas knew what was happening; if a knight should fall, his squire would enter the battle in his stead. Thomas watched the boy leave, wondering if he would see him again.

  Thomas thought of Da’s stories of knights and quests. How childish they seemed compared to the tortured screams he heard coming from the nearby battle. Here a real fight was raging and real people were getting hurt. He wasn’t so sure he was ready to be a champion.

  Thomas’s hand strayed to Starfast, belted tightly at his side. He looked at Eclipse. The horse trusted him. But if called to do his duty, he’d do the same as the boy who had just left. He’d hand Eclipse’s reins over to a stranger. Then he’d march into the fray, Starfast in hand. That thought made his insides quiver.

  Fortunately, Sir Gerald was skilled in the fighting arts whether on horseback or on foot. After this and other battles, Thomas tended to Sir Gerald’s cuts and bruises and made sure to secure replacements for any lost or broken maces or lances. And once, on a foggy morning when a small company of the king’s men was surprised by a group of northern invaders, Thomas darted—without thinking—through the battlefield to retrieve a dropped battle-ax for Sir Gerald.

  At the time, he was roundly chastised and told to get back! However, later, the knight and Thomas’s fellow squires praised his bravery.

  It was quite a bit later—when he’d had time to think about what he’d done—that Thomas’s legs began to wobble uncontrollably.

  After many months Sir Gerald and Thomas returned home. The knight, with other knights, rode ahead. Thomas, with other squires, followed the knights on foot. Word had come from the castle of a special gathering. A new group of squires was to be knighted in response to the call for more men. This announcement caused a great deal of gossip among the boys. It was well known that if a squire showed great courage, the king could knight him, even if he hadn’t attained eighteen years or wasn’t old enough to join a guild. In an emergency, a knight could even elevate his own squire to knighthood.

  Thomas was sure the tall, thin boy who’d gone so bravely into battle after his knight had fallen would be among the new knights. The boy had been wounded but had lived to tell of the battle.

  And what about himself? Hadn’t he also proven his courage? Several of the other squires seemed to think so. He’d scooted around charging horses and ducked under swinging swords to retrieve Sir Gerald’s battle-ax. At the time Thomas hadn’t thought it was so brave. He’d simply reacted, much as he’d done when play-fighting and darting out of the way of the quintain’s swinging arms during his training. Now he wondered … might he possibly be on the lists of the king? After all, Sir Gerald had been called back as well.

  At the hushed gathering, Thomas was squashed between Sir Gerald, several other knights, and many squires. They were all so much taller than Thomas that he could only see the king or Princess Eleanor at the front of the chamber when a gap happened to open up in the crowd.

  All of the older squires expected to take the oath of fealty this day, and some of the younger ones hoped for it. Thomas carefully nurtured his own small hope that Sir Gerald had told the king of his courageous deed on the battlefield. Perhaps …

  He tried to calm his racing heart by peeking at the princess whenever he got the chance. Her smile was kindly, as he had remembered it.

  It did not surprise him that she hovered over the elderly king, assisting him with his duties. Today, Thomas thought she looked like the queen she would one day be. The circlet of jewels she wore above her braided hair shone like stars. Like stars in a dark sky, Thomas thought as he awaited the command of his liege. He wanted so much to serve his king—and the princess.

  Today Thomas stood hopefully awaiting his part in the ritual. He was prepared. Last night he had taken the precaution of praying and meditating upon the duties of a knight. This morning he had bathed and fasted.

  He gripped the hilt of Starfast in its scabbard at his waist. Oh, to be knighted by his king with his own sword!

  Now the restless crowd hushed as each tall squire around him was called forth one at a time. Each one knelt, presented his sword to the king, and was dubbed a knight. Thomas waited for his name to be called.

  He waited in the warmth of the sunlight soaking in through the stained-glass window. He waited, repeating the words of the oath to himself: … to the end of my days. He knew the words by heart; every boy in training at the castle did. Thomas must have repeated them thousands of times while playing, and in his dreams.

  He was still waiting as the king and princess rose. Bowing from the waist, Thomas caught a glimpse of them leaving. The arms master and a line of new knights followed them out. Then he saw, without anger or even surprise, that in addition to the brave squire Thomas had seen at his first battle, Edwin was among the newly knighted. Edwin, who had annoyed him so much during his training, shot him a nasty smile.

  It was in that instant that Thomas understood something very important: no matter how hardworking he was, or how bravely he’d rendered service in a battle, he might never be good enough.

  When the royal family had left the hall, Thomas straightened, and Sir Gerald squeezed his shoulder for a long moment. “You’re still young, Thomas. You’ve not got but fourteen years,” he said kindly.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. I’ve got … more training to do, that’s all.”

  Sir Gerald nodded and followed the crowd out.

  Finally—thankfully—Thomas was alone in the darkening room.

  Thomas remained at the castle for some weeks after the day of the ceremony. He attended to more studies Sir Gerald arranged for him, and he traveled with his knight whenever Sir Gerald left the castle. They rarely spoke of that afternoon in the great hall.

  One day Sir Gerald left to oversee some reinforcing of his own great hall in Wellsford, and Thomas was not needed to ride out with him. A few days later, Thomas decided to visit his family. He strapped on Starfast and took a shortcut through the castle keep. As he passed one of the rarely used older corridors, Thomas thought he heard someone muttering. He unsheathed his sword and looked around.

  In a gloom-fisted corner a figure slumped on a bench in an alcove. Cautiously Thomas approached. The person seemed to be speaking aloud, but Thomas did not see anyone else about. He came closer. It was the king! To whom was he speaking? Was he ill? Thomas put away his sword. He approached and bowed.

  The king had a scrap of parchment in one hand, and the other hand was over his eyes. He mumbled, “Where are the champions of old? Where are the Galahads, the Sir Kays, of history? Oh, we have too few, too few knights now! In this dark time, where are the pure of heart when I need them?”

  Thomas cleared his throat.

  “What! Who …” The king dropped his hand and spied Thomas.

  “Your Majesty, it is I, Thomas, squire to Sir Gerald.” Thomas approached and bowed again. Then, at the king’s feet, he knelt. “If you would have me, I will pledge my heart until the end of my days.”

  “Has it come to this?” the king whispered. He leaned forward. “Do only such small ones remain to serve?”

  “My lord, it is true that I am not big,” said Thomas, “but my heart is pure. I have, with all my love, served Sir Gerald. Now I would beg to serve my king and kingdom at this hour of need.”

  “Humph!” the king grunted, appraising Thomas. “You speak well, and gallantly. I’ve no doubt that your heart is pure. Even so, had I twenty knights as stout as Galahad, or Gerald, it would not be enough. So many of my men have gone to the border,
or are seeing to the defenses of their own halls, that I’ve none here at home when …” He waved the parchment in the air and then looked away. After a long moment, he shuddered and continued, “When a slumbering vileness has reawakened. I’ve just had word that the dragon Bridgoltha has abducted the Princess Eleanor.”

  Thomas gasped. He knew the tales of Bridgoltha, the queen of the dragons. No one had seen the great she-dragon in years, and most people thought she’d died long ago on Barren Isle, the ancestral home of the dragons.

  The dragon’s name was rarely spoken aloud. There were reports that whole fields of wheat shriveled when she passed overhead, and that chickens who saw her stopped laying eggs. Thomas recalled the painting in the chapel—the scene of villagers fleeing in the shadow of a ferocious dragon. He wasn’t sure if these old tales were true, but the thought that she still lived filled him with dread. He felt a sickening weakness seep into his bones.

  Yet Thomas lowered his head, took a deep breath, and said, “My liege, I am but one, and perhaps … not stout. Still, I am one who has lived awaiting a great quest to serve my king.”

  The king sighed. “What do quests matter? The queen has been dead many years, and my only child abducted! I foolishly sent her to the western shores thinking to have her rally our friends from that region. Now …” The king threw his hands up in the air and the parchment floated down.

  “I’ve no heir but Eleanor. And I’ve only a few seasoned knights and some young boys, who may not return; so many are dying on the northern borders. What does any of it matter anymore?” he muttered, leaning back and waving a hand. “Bridgoltha has taken my Eleanor. Without her …” The king shrugged. He closed his eyes and said, “I am an old, old man.” Then he seemed to sleep.

  Thomas knelt and waited. He waited while dust motes danced through a single shaft of afternoon light that pierced the long corridor from a nearby arrow loop. He waited while the distant sounds of the castle came and went in the galleries around them. He waited while evening crept up and deepened the dark of the quiet corner.

  Finally, the king shook himself and sat up. “Hmm? Are you still here?” Then, as though thinking aloud, he added, “Surely you are Gerald of Wellsford’s page, not his squire?”

  “I am his squire, my liege,” answered Thomas.

  “His squire? Are you the one who risked his life with Sir Gerald in battle?”

  “I am,” said Thomas, raising his eyes.

  “Sir Gerald says you are quick and excelled at avoiding the quintain’s arms,” said the king. “And I have had good reports of your studies, and your refusal to give in to defeat when others laughed at your stature.”

  “My mother has oft remarked upon my stubbornness, Sire.”

  At this, the king chuckled and then leaned forward as if to inspect Thomas. He placed his hand on Thomas’s head. It was some long minutes before the king removed his hand and murmured, “So young … Oh! To be this young again, and full of hope.”

  Then the king roused himself and said in a more stately tone, “Squire Thomas.”

  Thomas raised his head fully to look upon his king. He was stiff from having knelt this whole time.

  “Present your blade.”

  Thomas’s hands shook as he pulled forth Starfast and held it aloft.

  The king smiled—sad and quick—as he surveyed Thomas’s blade, barely longer than a dagger. Still, he grasped the delicate sword and asked Thomas, “By what name do you call your blade?”

  “Starfast, Your Majesty.”

  The king was pleased. “That is a fine name. One can always depend upon the stars, held fast to the sky.” He turned the blade over in his hands, examining it. “Ah! An eastern blade. Greek, perhaps. Short, but elegant and finely made—a resilient blade, young man. And an interesting hilt, I see. It seems quite old. May it serve our kingdom well in the days to come.”

  Holding Starfast above Thomas’s bowed head, the king intoned the opening lines of the oath of fealty.

  “This day, for king and country,

  do you, Thomas, pledge your heart

  to the right service of your liege,

  to the end of your days?”

  And Thomas replied,

  “I, Thomas, do pledge

  my heart in right service

  to my liege and my country,

  to the end of my days.”

  The king lowered Starfast, gently touching first his new knight’s right shoulder and then his left. “By the honorable blade Starfast, I, your king, command you to rise. Well met this day, Sir Thomas, Knight of the Realm.”

  Sir Thomas packed his few belongings. As the king had advised, he went to the stables to see if there was a pony that might serve as his mount.

  Jon hooted and clapped Thomas on the back when he presented himself as Sir Thomas, a Knight of the Realm! He demanded to hear the story of Thomas’s knighting several times and shook his head at the mention of Bridgoltha.

  “I can’t believe she lives,” he said. “My da always said Bridgoltha would get us if we misbehaved. It used to scare the little ones into behaving. Not me, of course. Now the dragon queen’s got our princess.”

  Jon waved his fist in the air. “I can hardly stomach it! Why, I’d go with you if I could, but Old Wattley’s down with a bilious gut, and I am”—he bowed—“now an official assistant under-groomsman. I’ve got Heartwind to care for while the old fellow’s taken to his bed. Don’t tell him that I’m still conspiring to sneak treats to the horse, though.”

  Thomas hugged his friend. “Congratulations, new … um, assistant under-groomsman….”

  “Aye.” Jon scratched his head. “I think that’s what he called the position.”

  “Whatever you are, you’re still a conspirator,” Thomas added.

  “And you”—Jon punched Thomas on the arm—“you are off to be a champion for our princess!” Then, suddenly, Jon backed away and bowed. “Sir Thomas,” he said with a flourish.

  Thomas blushed. He cleared his throat and said, “There are no ponies, are there, Jon?”

  Jon rose. “I’m afraid not. The only horse in the stables is Heartwind. Sir Gerald took Eclipse and the two new ponies when he left.”

  Thomas nodded. No one other than the king rode Heartwind. Moreover, he knew he wouldn’t have been able to mount him anyway. The best he’d been able to do in his training was to get astride one of the smaller ponies.

  Well, it was a knight’s lot to be tested. I suppose I must walk to Barren Isle, he told himself.

  Then he spied Bartholomew. The cart donkey would be a good fit; he wouldn’t need a helping hand to get atop the short, sturdy animal. “Could I have Bartholomew?”

  “If you wish it!” spluttered Jon, trying to keep from laughing. “But you know we’ve only the cart yoke for the donkey. There’s no other equipage his size.”

  “A rope lead will do, and a blanket to protect his back,” said Thomas. “There’s no armor to fit me, so his back will not need extra padding.”

  That evening, Thomas and Bartholomew traveled as far as Thomas’s home, where the two supped late. Some of Thomas’s brothers and sisters were still awake and excited to see the new knight—their brother!—as well as Bartholomew. They hugged the uncomplaining donkey, tugged at his coarse short mane, and innocently poked him as they took turns climbing up and stroking him. Thomas also, for the first time, let them touch Starfast’s hilt. They had seen the sword on previous visits, but this time Thomas let them touch the intricate carvings. That satisfied their curiosity for a while. Later, they crowded around asking one question after another.

  “How come you don’t have a real horse?” asked Albert, smirking.

  Before Thomas could answer, Isabel piped up, “I’ve got my real horse, Thomas, out of real wood. We could share him.”

  “You and your toy horse! It’s so old and beat-up, you can hardly tell it’s a horse anymore,” Thomas teased her with a smile. However, he was pleased that at three years, Isabel had finally learned to share.
“And I thank you for the offer,” he added.

  “What good is a toy wooden horse?” snapped Albert.

  Thomas felt a tug on his sleeve. It was Peter.

  “Where’s your chain mail?” he asked. “Knights got chain mail or armor.”

  “He’s no knight! Look at him,” said Albert. “Who’d make him a knight?”

  “Me!” shouted Isabel. “And Thomas said I should share. My horse is good for lots of things, so there,” she added, sticking her tongue out at Albert.

  “Don’t stick your tongue out,” said Thomas, tapping Isabel lightly on the top of her head. “It’s rude.”

  “Hush!” said Ma, suddenly sweeping into the cottage and shooing several of the children off Thomas’s lap and toward the sleeping loft. “If Thomas says he was knighted today, then he was knighted. That’s the top and the bottom of it! Now off to bed with you, and quit pestering your brother. Sir Thomas has a long day ahead of him tomorrow.”

  That night, Thomas told his parents of his quest to Barren Isle to rescue Princess Eleanor from the dragon queen, Bridgoltha. His mother’s face turned ashen. “Can’t your quest be a bit closer to home?” she squeaked, grabbing at his hands and holding them tight.

  “Ma, I must go. The king is old, and it will not be long before we need the princess to be queen. The king is afraid everything he’s worked for will fall to ruin if there is no heir. Who would protect the borders? War could come to us here at home. I’m the only one who can go; all of the other knights are away.”

  Thomas’s father cleared his throat. “Barren Isle—it’s a dangerous first quest,” he said. “But you’re a knight! The king has entrusted you with this. I’ve no doubt you’ll succeed.”

  Thomas slipped his hands from his mother’s grasp and rubbed them nervously on his knees. He turned to his father. “Yes, I’m a knight. But I … I have doubts, Da.”