Dragonoak: The Complete History of Kastelir (3 page)

“I didn't
cost
the village anything! I didn't
take
anything from it—only the things I'd given it in the first place,” I said, voice loud, at first, but fading into an inevitable murmur.

“Yes, well,” Michael said, bluntly putting an end to the conversation. He got to his feet, chair legs scraping across the tiled floor of our cramped kitchen. “I have to get back to the village. Thane's planning something special for tonight and needs my help.”

He was gone before it occurred to him to wash his dishes.

Michael didn't mean to be cruel. He'd often tell our father that he ought to have been born to a scholar, not a farmer, and my father assured me he knew that Michael didn't mean anything by it; he simply had ambitions above his station. He could get a little ahead of himself. In his mind, he was probably already Sir Ightham's personal bard.

He knew what I was years before the villagers found out and had comforted me with secrets of his own, trusting me to hold power over him, too.

It didn't compare, not really, but I liked knowing not all of the scholarly expeditions I'd funded were as noble as the village was led to believe. As it turned out, Michael was a skilled forger and had made a little money on the side, as well as a name for himself.

A strange thing happened in the days that followed. Michael didn't have much to say about Sir Ightham at all; he didn't refine his initial account of her to include the fact that he'd caught sight of her before anyone else, or that she'd made eye contact with him. He didn't boast of speaking to her during the feasts, or even of serving her.

I'd expected to hear of nothing but Sir Ightham for years to come, but I was actually having to initiate conversations about her. When I did, all he'd say was, “Well, of course I've seen her today—she's still in the village, isn't she? Ask father, wouldn't you? He's seen her too, you realise.”

Michael spent more time than usual writing letters, commissioned by the elders to boast to the villages and towns that had turned their backs on us.

Why would we ever need a thing from them when the royal family themselves had requested that we extend our hospitality to one of their Knights? For that was the truth behind her unannounced arrival, according to the rumours my father returned with. She was heading south across the sea, all the way to the scorching sands of Canth, and needed somewhere to rest and prepare herself for the long journey.

I didn't know they had problems with dragons in Canth. Pirates, yes, but not dragons. I didn't think
anywhere
but Felheim had problems with dragons; even our neighbours to the west had never suffered the sort of attacks we were plagued by.

All were convinced that the King and Queen would never forget our hospitality, and would see us repaid in kind. I knew little of our rulers – they were a respected pair who worked tirelessly to keep us safe from dragons, but that was the long and short of it – or our Princes, for that matter.

I wasn't concerned with them, or the future of our village. I couldn't focus on anything but the fact that Sir Ightham would be gone soon, leaving the villagers with no more distractions. There'd be retaliation for the way I'd dared to wander down to the village, I knew there would be. I left the sheep later and later each night, walking back to the farmhouse with rocks in my stomach.

I was convinced the elders were waiting for me. It was dark; they could've snuck up from the village without me seeing them move along the dirt path, and what if they were holding my father hostage? What if they wouldn't see him safely released until I'd left, or, or—

I gave a start as I reached for the front door. There
was
someone there.

I gripped the handle and froze. It was faint, but there it was; the sound of heavy footsteps against the ground, wood creaking. They weren't inside the house, whoever they were, and for a brief moment I considered bolting up the stairs and hiding under my blankets.

Not wanting to back myself into a corner,
something
compelled me to step around the side of the house. It was probably just a pig that had worked its way free of the pen, that was it. I'd be laughing about this over breakfast, it was just a pig, just a pig—

Clouds drifted across the full moon, and in the darkness I didn't know
what
I was seeing. I froze in front of a jagged creature, all teeth and sharp angles, lying in wait, and where was my crook now?

Out of reach, by some miracle.

The clouds parted and I realised that I was looking at Sir Ightham herself, armour carved to mirror the beasts she was charged with slaying. What she was doing behind my house at one, perhaps two in the morning wasn't as easily answered. Sir Ightham knew she'd given me a fright, but didn't apologise; she didn't say anything.

She opened a bag she'd placed atop a hay bale by the stable doors, and pushed a handful of documents into it.

“Sir... ?” I asked, taking a cautious step closer. “Is everything alright?”

“Why wouldn't it be?” she replied dryly, slinging a bag over her shoulder.

Her accent was different from mine. Clearer, somehow, as though words held more importance when she spoke them. She had something folded open across the hay bale and leant forward to study it, full moon not as accommodating as it could've been. I dared to steal a glance, and saw it was a map. A familiar map at that, showing all of Felheim with the mountains above and Kastelir to the west.

“Because it's one in the morning and you're sneaking around behind my house,” I said after a moment, hands clasped behind my back.

“Knights don't sneak,” she said, and I winced, thinking this might be what they called speaking out of turn. She folded the map with her gloved hands and dropped it into one of her bags. Sir Ightham turned and I braced myself, but her helm threw shadows across her face. I couldn't see anything in her expression, but did a considerable job of imagining disdain marring her face. She regarded me for a moment and said, quite dismissively, “You're the necromancer, I take it.”

It wasn't a question. She
knew
. Like the rest of the village, she knew enough to decide it was all that mattered, and I abruptly became overwhelmingly aware that Knights were in the habit of carrying swords. My eyes tore across her unnatural form. The spikes the elbows of her armour were carved to would do as good a job as any blade.

But Sir Ightham made no movement other than to ask, “What was your name?”

It almost skidded off my tongue before I had the chance to speak it.

“Rowan, Sir,” I said.

My mind was screaming that she
knew
, she knew what I was. She'd said the word
necromancer
as if it was nothing. As if she'd been saying
You're the farmer, I take it.
I was more helpless than I'd been upon stumbling across an unknowable beast and decided it'd be better for me to disappear into the house and never speak of this.

“What are you doing out at this time?” she asked.

She wasn't interested in my answer; she was keeping me distracted while she gathered the remainder of her belongings.

“I just finished tending to the sheep,” I said, and though I should've known better, added, “Listen—if you're sneaking away, I won't tell anyone. I don't blame you! It must be kind of overwhelming, right? All the attention, I mean.”

Sir Ightham stared at me for a moment. At least I thought she was staring at me; I couldn't make her eyes out, but a slither of moonlight struck the ones carved along the sides of her helm and those were certainly narrowed at me.

“Indeed,” she finally allowed, stepping into the stables.

I followed her. I hadn't been in there for days. My father never said as much, but I knew the elders had made him swear that I wouldn't go anywhere near the stables while a Knight's horse was being kept there.

At the time, I didn't know why I went with her. The conversation was hardly flowing, but perhaps I thought her departure sealed my fate; perhaps I thought the villagers would blame me for her unexplained absence. Either way, I followed her, passing my peacefully sleeping horse, until she stood in front of her own.

It was harder to see within the stables. The darkness there seemed to have taken on form, filling the air between us. As though there was something physical that would protect me, if need be, I said, “You're not going to Canth, are you?”

That
got her attention. She'd been unlatching her horse's pen and doing a fine job of ignoring me up until that point. Stopping what she was doing, she turned to me, and I knew what I had said was as stupid as it was brave.

“Why do you say that?” Sir Ightham asked, not as dismissive as she'd been moments before.

“Because there aren't dragons in Canth, are there?” I said, and we both knew that wasn't the reason. “The map you were looking at, it was just of Felheim and Kastelir. Canth wasn't on it at all, so I thought...”

Sir Ightham brought her hands together. Her arms disturbed the darkness as her armour clattered against itself, not like metal; not like anything I'd heard before.

“Why do you suppose I might've said I was going to Canth in the first place?” she asked.

“I don't know,” I said honestly. “Maybe you just wanted an excuse to leave, or maybe—maybe your
real
work's a secret. I don't... look, I'm really not going to tell anyone about this, Sir.”

“My real work,” she repeated, mulling the words over. Satisfied with my reply, she pulled the latch across the pen and swung the door open with a creak. “And what would that be?”

“You're going to slay a dragon?” I offered up, not certain how a Knight's work could revolve around anything else and doubting myself in the same instant.

“Quite,” Sir Ightham said, voice accompanied by the sound of hooves.

With her horse's reins in a fist, she led him out of the pen and towards the night that was glowing with moonlight, after adjusting to the depths of the stables. She didn't ask me to step aside, and I almost tripped over my feet in an effort to get out of their way. Sir Ightham climbed onto her horse's back and gripped the reins, meaning to disappear forever. There'd be an outrage tomorrow morning, and it'd be my fault.

“Wait, Sir!” I said before she could head off. “Let me come with you.”

I blurted it out and felt myself redden as the words lingered in the air between us. Sir Ightham stared at me. She glanced at her horse, consulting with him through a series of meaningful looks, and then he stared at me. I cringed, trying again.

“You'll need a squire, won't you?” I asked. In truth, I wasn't entirely sure what a squire
was
, but they always featured side by side with Knights in all of Michael's better stories.

Again, they stared at me. In that moment, the fact that I was standing before a Knight
really
sunk in, and it took all my strength not to stare down at the ground.

“Have you ever held a sword in your life?”

There was nothing like amusement in her words. Her voice was entirely flat, even, and she spoke in a way that suggested she already had her answer. Which didn't mean she wasn't waiting for me to reply.

“No, but...” I bit the inside of my cheek, sure that my honesty would give her all the reason she needed to charge off. “But I know how to fight! I might not be able to use a sword, but I grew up wrestling wolves—someone has to take care of the sheep, and that's always been my job.”

I twisted my fingers in the hem of my shirt, ready to hoist it up at the first sign of scepticism. If she wanted war-wounds, I had plenty of those; twisted, gnarled scars covered the entirety of my torso, made infinitely worse by my early attempts at honing my necromancy. They'd turned the colour of bruised, rotting fruit, but in that moment, I would've let all the world see them if it meant proving myself.

Sir Ightham was a fighter, versed in the art of slaying towering beasts. She'd see past the grotesque and understand the scars for what they were. Proof that I'd thrown myself into the fray and come out victorious.

She said nothing.

My grip loosened. My words didn't mean a thing to her. She'd spent her life slaying
dragons
; what did mere wolves matter to her? She'd never take a necromancer along with her. Not wanting to risk inciting Thule's anger, Thane must've told her what I'd done. How I'd lied to the village. How I'd claimed to be a healer for seven long years.

Sir Ightham tugged on her horse's reins as I knew she would.

“Wait, Sir!” I called out, rushing after her. “If you won't take me with you, that's alright. I won't tell anyone about this. But could you leave a note, at least? Explain that you had to leave, and that it was of your own choice. Because if you don't, they'll think I... they'll blame me.”

Only then did Sir Ightham seem annoyed, irritated by the fear that spilt into my voice. She heaved a great sigh and her horse came to a halt before they'd had the chance to get anywhere.

“Feed your horse bitterwillow,” she said through grit teeth. “We've tens of miles to cover before sunrise and I have no more time to waste.”

CHAPTER II

There was plenty of bitterwillow stored around the farm.

We started growing it once it became evident that nobody was going to replace the apothecary. My father didn't quite have the knack for it, but the village deemed it
good enough.
I took a handful of the crisp red leaves drying along the wall, shoved them into my pocket, and bolted into the stables, waking my horse.

Charley wasn't best pleased to see me. In the time it took me to coax him to his feet, Sir Ightham could've made her escape. I held out a few of the leaves, trying to tempt him into action.

He sniffed my hand and swished his tail against the sides of the pen.

“Come on, boy,” I pleaded with him, “I'll get you carrots at the first market we reach. Carrots, apples—anything.”

Charley wasn't the fastest horse in the world – he wasn't even the fastest horse in the village – but he'd been with me since I was sixteen and always came through, eventually. He ate the bitterwillow and clopped out into the night, grunting impatiently as I saddled him up.