“One did,” Papa told him. “He pointed at us, screaming that we desecrated the very ground, and commanded his mob of worshipers to fall upon us.”
“I had a few spells to say about that,” Mama said primly.
“And I a few heads to knock.” The bauchan grinned. “I had them fighting each other in minutes, and struck down those whom their companions did not.”
“When all his men lay unconscious,” Papa said, “the druid came up to us, shaking with rage, and told us that their ceremonies were becoming so widespread that we couldn’t possibly stop them all, or even most of them. ‘Perhaps not,’ your mother said, ‘but we can stop all those we find.’ ” He fairly glowed with pride in his wife.
“The next sacrifice we found, I did better,” Mama said. “When Whatyouwill set the men to fighting one another, I marched up to the druid and matched him spell for spell. It did not take long; I overwhelmed him easily.” She smiled with contempt. “I bound him in his own chains, and when the peasants recovered from their fighting with one another, I commanded them to lock up the druids in a hut with strong walls. They did, and Papa surrounded the makeshift jail with a magical fence that their weak magic could not breach. Then we paced out of the town and called out to thank the bauchan.”
“We received no answer, though,” Papa added.
“I should think not!” Buckeye snapped. “I had fled far enough not to hear, I assure you.”
“Wait a minute.” Matt frowned. “I thanked you for helping out once—after that fracas at the monastery, remember? And other times, too.”
“Aye.” Buckeye gave him a toothy grin. “But I am bound to you by a name-spell. Thank me all you wish.”
Again Matt frowned, as that hope crumbled. “The druids didn’t stay in jail long, did they?”
“Of course not,” Papa sighed. “A week later, when we stopped at an inn for the night, the gossip at the tables was all about us. We heard a glorified account of our own victory, but it ended with the druids escaping from the jail.”
Matt frowned again. “But I thought you said Papa put up a magical fence that they couldn’t break through.”
“They couldn’t, no,” Papa said grimly.
“I went right out and scolded the bauchan roundly,” Mama said, “even though I could not see him. I knew he was lurking near in the night—but he only laughed at me!” Her face darkened even at the memory.
“I found it all a delightful joke,” Buckeye retorted. “Those false druids are still looking over their shoulders wondering whether I will help them or hurt them next.”
Matt knew how they felt.
But Buckeye lost his grin. “Then your mother was most ungracious.”
“I wished to remind him which way to choose, if he must decide between helping us and hurting us,” Mama said. “You know the verses in which Prospero threatens Caliban with pinches from unseen fingers?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Well, so does Whatyouwill—now.”
The bauchan looked highly offended. “I do not come and go at your bidding, Dame Mantrell.”
“Not yet,” Mama agreed.
Matt felt it was time for another change of topic. “So John’s rule isn’t exactly a roaring success for the common people.”
“Oh, for the strong ones who have so far survived the sacrifices and the looting, it is excellent,” Papa said. “Of course, those are the ones who have not yet realized that there will always be someone stronger than they, and that when all the sheep are dead, the wolves will turn upon one another.”
“For most of the common people, though, John’s reeves are as bad as the false druids,” Mama told him. “They draft young men into the armies, give their soldiers leave to loot and rape where they will, and take every bit of food the peasants can raise, leaving them only crumbs for the winter. Those who try to hide some produce away are flogged within inches of their lives.”
“There isn’t an ounce of gold or silver in the kingdom that John’s reeves have not gathered for him,” Papa said, his face somber. “Even the churches have been forced to give up most of their communion vessels.”
“Bad, very bad,” Matt said with a shudder. “Of course, he won’t let people leave the kingdom.”
“No, but he has not yet thought to bar them from traveling from one part of the land to another,” Mama said “The stream of refugees has become a flood, virtually emptying the southern part of the land already.”
“You mean the part that was underwater in our universe?” Matt felt a frisson of dread.
“That, and a bit more,” Mama said. “There is a Dover in this universe as well as in ours, but here it is an inland town, and the chalk still lies under the soil, not exposed to the sea spray.”
“And most of that land is empty?”
“There are still some thousands of people who trust in the false druids,” Papa said grimly. “They do not yet realize how close they have come to being next week’s sacrifice.”
They had barely started to march the next morning when a peasant pointed into the sky and shouted in alarm. Everyone looked up as the flying form circled low enough to be recognizable as a dragon.
With one massive shout of fear, the army exploded in all directions, every man running for cover—except, of course, for Brion, Rosamund, Brock, and Sir Orizhan.
Brion swung his shield up and took his lance from its socket, swinging it down to the level. “What monster has the cowardly sorcerer sent against us!”
“No monster, and not from Niobhyte.” Matt reached out to ward off the lance. “Please put up your weapon, Your Majesty. That’s an old friend of mine.”
Vast wings boomed as Stegoman struck the earth and ran to a stop. He looked about him, calling out, “Your companions are gracious, Matthew, to withdraw and leave me so much room to land!”
“Yes, they must have known you were my friend.” Matt hoped he didn’t sound too sarcastic. “Good to see you, Stegoman. What have you found in the north?”
“Scrawny cattle,” Stegoman said with distaste, “tough and stringy. Their deer are fat and toothsome, though.”
“Just don’t let them sell you any haggis.” Matt asked uneasily, “But how about political developments?”
“The false druids have barely begun to make headway,” the dragon answered. “They can convert only a few Scots.”
“Why?” Matt asked. “Can’t find the highlanders in the middle of all those mountains?”
“Nay, they have not yet come anywhere near to the mountains. But those kilted men keep asking them probing questions that they cannot answer. Therefore the only druids going into Scotland are recognized as foreigners, and the Scots are gathering to march against them.”
“There is one source of power that need not cause me anxiety,” Brion said with relief.
“Yes, John won’t have a horde of howling kilties to throw against you,” Matt said, finding the thought reassuring, too. “Your Majesty, this noble dragon is Stegoman, my friend since the first day I came to Merovence.”
“And till the last.” The dragon bowed his head, neck forming a graceful curve. “I am honored to meet Your Majesty.”
“I never knew a dragon could speak with such courtesy!” Rosamund said, staring in wonder.
“My dear, may I present you.” Brion caught her hand, then turned back to Stegoman. “Noble Stegoman, may I present my betrothed, the Princess Rosamund.”
A cheer went up from the whole hidden army. Rosamund blushed, lowering her gaze, and Stegoman bowed his head to her, too. “I am fortunate indeed to meet so beauteous a lady!”
Now Matt knew it was courtesy—Stegoman’s standard of beauty ran more to iridescent scales and lidless eyes, and what he meant by “sweet breath” was a color of flame only dragon eyes could perceive.