The Shadow Companion - Laura Anne Gilman [49]
“Go stand against the far wall,” Gerard told them, getting to his feet.
“Ger, we can—”
“No.” Gerard stopped whatever Newt was going to offer. “This is mine to do. You two—whatever happens, you still have to find what we’re here for. You can’t afford to fail.”
He got to his feet, slowly and deliberately brushing himself off. He made sure that his sword belt was still secured, and that his weapons had taken no damage during his undignified entrance to the cavern.
Watching him, Ailis realized that he was imagining that he was Sir Lancelot. Not now, when he was known to be such a great and gallant fighter, the king’s best-loved knight, but back before, when he first came to Camelot and was mocked for being honest, for being awkward and homely. A great knight Lancelot might be, but he would never be handsome. But Sir Lancelot knew that, and cared not, so long as in battle he could be glorious. Gerard was handsome, or would be, but like Lancelot he cared more for his actions than his appearance.
Ailis was terrified for her oldest friend. But she was proud of him, too. So when he looked her way, briefly, she gave him a brave smile and a nod. You’ll do what needs to be done, she thought. And so will we. Don’t worry about us.
Then she took Newt’s hand, tugging at him until he moved away with her, giving the two, knight and dragon, room to face each other.
“If Gerard…”
“He won’t. And if he does…we take his sword back to Arthur, and tell him his man fought bravely, and well.” Her words stuck in her throat. “But first we have to find what we came for.”
They came upon a niche in the wall that was large enough for both of them to fit in, and made themselves as comfortable as possible. They might have gone on, leaving Gerard to his fate and made use of the time. But while they were willing to go on afterward, they would not leave him now.
“Sir Dragon,” Gerard said, standing in the open space before the dragon, looking up to the proud head, the long, sinuous neck, the great, scaled body. “I have returned, as promised, to give you what challenge this human form might offer—and to win.”
Dragon laughter came out in smoke rings.
“Come then, human. Give me a challenge.”
Back when he worked in the kennels, Newt used to wade into the middle of dogfights, breaking up even the most vicious-situation with a clout to the head or a swing of a stick. He didn’t think that there was anything that could unnerve him. But watching Gerard draw his sword—an ordinary, dark-edged length of metal, nothing flashy or enchanted—against the muscled, dangerous bulk of the dragon made him shiver.
“I can’t watch,” he said, but yet was unable to turn his head away.
The dragon lunged, his long neck darting like a serpent, the great head coming in far too close to Gerard’s body. But the boy knew it for a feint, ignoring the snapping teeth in favor of the foreleg which also came in, claws outstretched. His sword hit against one claw, slid along the length of it, and sliced into the scaled pad underneath, causing thick purple blood to well up from the cut.
First blooding went to Gerard. The dragon didn’t seem at all bothered by it.
Then the battle began in earnest, and Newt could barely follow the action. Ailis’s occasional comments made him realize that she knew far more of battle techniques than he did. He could tell you how to train a horse to perform moves with a knight on horseback, and how to treat the wounds incurred in battle, but he had never bothered to watch the moves being performed. Ailis, with her time spent in Camelot proper, had seen more tournaments.
She had, in fact, lived through a real battle, the one in which she was orphaned. That thought made Newt’s arm around her shoulder tighten, to offer comfort, but she didn’t seem to even notice.
“Oh, good move, that was—no! Oh.” A sigh of relief, as Gerard spun and escaped the claw, parrying with the flat of his blade. The