Chapter 2: Tag Along

Iden breathed in the fresh air, the sun beating down on him. The wind was chilly, but above the mist that lingered down the valley, the clouds were sparse enough that he could see the azure sky. The rolling hills were a patchwork of green grasses, purple thistles, and colorful flowers that protruded between the craggy rocks. The mountains were already catching the sun in the distance, lit up in shades of orange and yellow, the atmospheric haze giving the more distant peaks a tinge of blue. He didn’t need any more directions from the shepherd, he could see the mountain that the old man had described, looming over the landscape as it jutted into the air like a jagged tooth.

The going was a little difficult for a horse, the terrain was getting rockier and steeper, and he had lost sight of the beaten path hours ago. When he reached the foot of the mountain, it might be better to set the beast free. If it suffered a broken ankle up on the peak, then it would be of no use to him, might as well spare it the pain. He could buy a new one if he succeeded in his task.

He had been following a stream that flowed down from the mountain, and he decided to stop for a while, giving his horse a moment to take a drink. As he rummaged in his pack for a bite to eat, he noticed that someone was heading up the stream behind him. It was a woman wearing a colorful shawl, and in her hands was clasped some kind of golden vessel.

He watched her curiously as she drew closer, and when she looked up, she seemed surprised to see him there. She faltered for a moment, perhaps considering whether a lone woman should be interacting with a strange man out in the wilderness, then decided to approach him.

“Good morning,” Iden said, standing up to greet her.

“Morning,” she replied, a little hesitantly. She clutched at the object that she was carrying, it looked like a large vase cast from gold, a rare and expensive item for someone of such obviously limited means to be carrying around in the open. Her shawl was patched in places, and the hem of her long skirt was tattered, stained with the mud that caked the valley below.

“Might I ask where you’re headed?” Iden said.

She eyed his long pike and his suit of armor, looking him up and down.

“To the same place as you, I’d wager,” she replied. Her features were still obscured beneath her shawl, and Iden couldn’t get a good look at her. “Are you here in search of the dragon, Sir Knight?”

“Oh, I’m not actually a knight. But yes, I’m here to slay the dragon.” She didn’t seem as impressed as he had anticipated, bar wenches usually swooned over a man in armor. “What business do you have with the beast?” he added.

“Legends say that if one brings an offering to a dragon, it will grant them mercy. It is only a matter of time before it descends upon the village, and it is my hope that this heirloom might spare my family’s farm from the flames.”

“You’ll have no need to part with your heirlooms,” Iden continued, “I mean to claim the bounty that was placed on the dragon’s head.”

“Are you a dragon slayer by profession?”

“Not exactly,” he admitted, “but I’ve seen my fair share of battles.”

“And by what means do you intend to bring it down?” the woman asked, “with that long stick?”

“This is a pike,” Iden corrected, “it measures twelve feet. The tip is a blade forged from tempered steel, hard and sharp enough to pierce the hide of any beast, dragon or otherwise. From behind the safety of my shield, I shall spear its heart.”

“Well ... good luck in your venture,” the woman replied skeptically. She set off again, walking past Iden and his horse, but he called after her.

“I’d advise you to turn back, milady. The mountains are no place for a lone woman, and your offering will be in vain. I will see that.”

She paused for a moment, then reached up to pull back her shawl. Her long, auburn hair fell about her shoulders, and as she turned to face him, he saw that she had handsome features. Her eyes were a shade of striking green, while her lily-white skin was free of any dirt or blemishes, her lips full and rosy. She was quite the beauty, a rose amongst thorns in this miserable village, with its population of surly barmaids and grizzled shepherds. He wouldn’t have said no to a roll in the hay with this farmer’s daughter.

“Then perhaps you would escort a lady up to the peak, Hedge Knight?”

“I would prefer ‘Knight Errant’,” he grumbled, “and I don’t think that’s a good idea. Are you certain that you can make the climb?”

“I could ask the same of you,” she replied, planting her free hand on her hip as she cocked an eyebrow at him. “Have you ever scaled a peak before? The going will be hard in that heavy armor of yours.”

She was a feisty woman, it didn’t seem like arguing with her would be a good use of his time.

“If I humor you, and you decide to turn back halfway, then I won’t be able to abandon my quest in order to carry you back down.”

“I won’t be turning back,” she replied defiantly, and he shrugged his armored shoulders.

“Very well, have it your way. Truth be told, the company will be welcome. It’s a day’s ride at least, and perhaps a second to reach the peak. Might I ask your name?”

“Isabelle,” she replied, turning about and setting off again. “Let us not dawdle, Sir.”

Iden hurried to sling his pack across his back, mounting his horse and following behind her. She got ahead of him, and he managed to catch up, walking his steed along beside her and matching pace.

“So your plan was to present the dragon with that vase?” he asked, gesturing to it with his reins in hand. Isabelle glanced up at him and nodded her head.

“It’s the most valuable thing that my family owns, it was passed down from my Great Grandmother. It’s a ceremonial urn, forged from gold.”

“What makes you think that a beast such as this can be reasoned with? What would you have done if you had found it to be as feral as a bear or a wolf?”

“Are dragons not known to be intelligent beasts?” she asked.

“Not to my knowledge,” Iden replied, peering down at her through his open visor. “This one seems to spend its days eating sheep, doesn’t sound like it has much reason to me. I expect it’s merely a wild animal, albeit one of impressive size and strength. If you ask me, the tales of their cunning have been exaggerated over the ages, when was the last time that a living soul even saw a dragon?”

“I wouldn’t know,” his companion replied, “but my Grandfather oft spoke of them. He told of a time when there were dozens of dragons in these parts, they dwelt in the mountains, and they descended to hunt the forests for game.”

“Were there dragons in his day?”

“No, he was telling stories that his own family had passed down to him. He said that they were magical beasts and that they could commune with mankind.”

“Magic?” Iden scoffed, “I’ve never seen any magic.”

“You don’t believe in magic?” Isabelle asked, hopping over a protruding rock that was covered in lichen.

“I’ve been in more battles than you’ve had hot meals, and never once have I seen anything that I could describe as magic. If people could ... shoot lightning from their eyes, and raise the dead, wouldn’t they have done so to safeguard their keeps? To defeat their adversaries? If they can get their hands on modern siege equipment and repeating crossbows, then why not a wizard? Are there no conjurers who take payment for their services? No, I have no cause to believe in magic.”

“You only believe what your eyes see, then?”

“That’s right,” Iden replied confidently.

“Then what of the Gods?”

“Well, of course there are Gods,” he chuckled. “Can there be a sword without a smith, or a child with no mother? Something must have made the world, and that something must be far greater than mortal men, unless you know of someone who can chisel a mountain range from a block of stone.”

“But how can you be sure if you’ve never seen a God?” Isabelle continued.

“It’s just logic,” Iden replied, growing a little tired of this line of questioning. “Why does a farmhand concern herself with such matters? Don’t you have chickens to feed, and pigs to muck out?”

“Says the hedge knight in a suit of hand-me-down armor,” she laughed. “I’ll have you know that I have ample time for reflection. I believe that magic is like a well, and that if too much water is drawn from it, it will eventually run dry. Perhaps there is naught but a trickle left.”

“If you say so,” he said dismissively.

“And what of you, Sir Knight? What about facing off against a dragon appeals to you?”

“The reward, of course. The crown has offered fifteen hundred gold pieces for its head, not to mention the hoard of treasure that the beast might have accrued. The shepherd who first laid eyes on the thing told me that gold coins rained from its scales wherever it trod.”

“Why would a dull beast collect coins?” Isabelle asked.

“Magpies collect buttons and pennies, perhaps the dragon is of like mind.”

They continued on in silence for a while longer, the snorting of the horse and the whistling of the wind the only sounds that echoed through the valley. Isabelle walked along beside his steed, weaving between the rocks, and sidestepping the pointy thistles. She was a stout girl, a lifetime of farm work must have made her tough, and it had imbued her with stamina to spare. Iden was not one to violate strange women on the roads, he was no brigand, but perhaps he could woo the girl with tales of heroism and battle. She would make a fine sleeping bag warmer up on the frigid slopes of the mountain.

“So where did you come from?” she asked as she navigated around a large boulder.

“I journeyed to your village from the South, I am accustomed to warmer climes.”

“So you’re a Southerner then? I guessed as much from your accent and your dark hair,” she said, seeming pleased with herself. “You traveled all the way to my little village for naught but a dragon?”

“For more wealth than I could ever spend,” he chuckled, “the dragon is incidental.”

“Have you been in a lot of wars, then?”

“Yes, more than I care to count. That’s the profession of a mercenary, to offer one’s services to the highest bidder. Kings and Lords appear to command vast armies, but their conscripts usually have little to no practical experience. They are farmers and woodsmen equipped with armor and weapons of as poor a quality as their Lord can get away with. Knights are usually prissy and spoiled. They don’t know the realities of war, the grime, and the filth. They have never trudged through a field of mud and spilled entrails in search of a fellow man to butcher.”

“You paint a lovely picture,” she scoffed, seemingly undeterred by the grisly imagery.

“Mercenaries are invaluable during a battle, they’re more often than not the only attendants who have any experience, and they command an appropriate price.”

“So how do you choose who to fight for?” Isabelle asked. “If there are two opposing Kings bidding for mercenaries, do you side with the one who offers the highest pay?”

“Not ... always,” Iden replied, a touch of hesitation in his gruff voice. “I do have ‘some’ principles, after all. I wouldn’t offer my services to an invading army that meant to rape and pillage their way through a kingdom, or to thieves and brigands.”

“And how picky are you, exactly?” Isabelle pressed. She had a mischievous glint in her green eyes, as though she enjoyed putting him on the spot.

“Picky enough to sleep soundly at night.”

“But you’ve killed plenty of young men who, by your own admission, have little to no experience.”

“I suppose so,” he admitted with a shrug of his shoulders that made his armor clank. “But that’s just the way of things. I’m good at fighting, always have been. Would you have me lay down my sword and take up a life of poverty as a farmer or a laborer?”

“The life of a farmer isn’t so bad,” she said as she skipped idly through a patch of colorful flowers, the tattered hem of her long skirt dragging behind her.

“Besides,” Iden added, “you’ll be glad of the likes of me once I slay this dragon and free your village from its tyranny.”

“If you say so.”

“And what of you?” he asked, shifting in his saddle to get more comfortable. There was so much weight slung across his back with the shield and the laden pack. “Have you any stories to tell? Why would such a slight girl be tasked with delivering an offering to the dragon? Have you no brothers or cousins to make the climb in your stead? Is your father an invalid?”

She paused for a moment, considering her reply perhaps.

“The men of my family are more ... martially-minded. They are happy to see the beast slain, but I have little confidence in the abilities of mortal men to overcome magical beasts with naught but their steel.”

“And so you expect me to fail?”

“I do not wish it, but ... probably.”

“Then I shall have to prove you wrong,” Iden said. “We should stop to rest soon,” he added, changing the subject. “My stomach is starting to rumble, and the horse needs to drink.”

They stopped beside the stream to rest for a while. The sun was higher in the sky now, it was approaching midday. The mountain was looming ever closer, the terrain growing harsher the closer they ventured. Here, the stream cascaded over the rocks in a small waterfall, the bed lined with smooth stones. Most of the grass had vanished, replaced with hardier plants that could tolerate the thin air, and soil that provided poor nourishment.

Iden let his horse drink from the water as he set his weapons down, taking off his helmet and placing it on a nearby rock, shaking out his mane of black hair. Isabelle watched him curiously, it was the first time that she had seen him without it on, and she was getting a good look at his face. She had commented on his dark hair because it protruded beneath his helmet, but now she could see his collection of scars too. Iden thought that it made him look rugged, none of the women that he had lain with had ever complained about it. On the contrary, they seemed to find it attractive, proof of his strength and his martial prowess.

He rummaged through his pack, pulling out a handful of small paper parcels that were tied with string. It was mostly salted meats that he had purchased from the tavern owner before setting out, along with a couple of loaves of bread. There would be no more leathery, jerked meat on this journey. Once he claimed the dragon’s fortune, he could stop at a new inn every night and sample their best dishes to his heart’s content.

He unwrapped one of the parcels, bringing the salted mutton to his mouth, then paused as he looked over at Isabelle. Her green eyes were fixed on his meal, and she wet her lips hungrily. She had brought no supplies of her own, all she had was her vase. Iden ignored her, taking a bite and chewing loudly as the girl began to pout.

“Some chivalrous knight you turned out to be,” she complained, “would you not share a bite to eat with a hungry girl?”

“I never claimed to be a knight,” he replied over a mouthful of meat, “nor am I known to be chivalrous.”

“Now is as good a time to start as any!” Isabelle insisted, watching his parcel of mutton like a hungry dog waiting for table scraps. Iden gave in, rolling his eyes as he tore off a chunk of meat and tossed it to her. She snatched it out of the air, digging into it ravenously. Perhaps she really was a pauper.

“Don’t eat it all in one go,” he muttered, “I’m not here to feed you for free.”

“A man who is poor of means,” she mumbled as she ate, “can still be rich of soul.”

“Yeah, well until a bank teller will take my soul as a deposit, money will have to suffice.”

When he was done eating a rudimentary sandwich, he filled his canteen in the stream, finding the water clean and cool. Isabelle placed her vase on the grass, then knelt by the bank, drinking from her cupped hands. She dried them on her skirt, then stretched her arms above her head, letting the wind blow her long locks of red hair. Iden took another draw, trying not to stare at her too conspicuously.

“If you succeed in slaying the dragon,” she began, “what will you do with the riches? Surely a dragon’s hoard is more than any one man could hope to spend? Besides buying a suit of armor that actually fits you,” she added with a chuckle.

Iden ran his fingers through his hair in exasperation, what answer did she expect of him?

“I intend to retire, preferably to a large country manor, where I’ll live like a king until I’ve lost all of my teeth and my cock no longer works.”

She laughed at that, she seemed to have a good sense of humor for a sheltered farmhand.

“You won’t give any of it to charity, then? You don’t want to feed the hungry, or help the poor?”

“Why would I do that?” Iden asked, crossing his arms as he sat on his rock. “The poor are free to slay their own dragons if they wish. I’m risking my own life, is it not fair that I alone should reap the rewards?”

“You believe in the Gods, but is it not written that men of great wealth seldom reach Heaven?”

“Now you’re starting to sound like a Paladin,” Iden grumbled, taking another swig from his canteen. “Let the Gods judge me if they so choose, I’m not afraid of death, couldn’t be in my line of work.”

“Perhaps you have more in common with this dragon that you know,” she said, shooting him a grin. “You both seek to brood over mountains of gold that you can never spend.”

The girl walked over to the horse, giving its flank a pat as it drank, its tail whipping back and forth idly. She seemed to have taken a liking to the beast. Horses were not farmed for milk or meat, and so she might not have come across them very often.

“What’s her name?” she asked.

“Doesn’t have one,” Iden replied.

“You didn’t name her?” Isabelle said, looking back over her shoulder to pout at him. “Don’t worry,” she continued, turning her attention back to the horse. “If this brute won’t give you a name, I will. Let’s see...” She looked around for a moment, perhaps seeking inspiration in the patches of flowers and the scrubby bushes that protruded from between the rocks. “How about ... Heather!”

“It’s as good a name as any, I suppose,” Iden grumbled. “Do you name all of your livestock?”

“Heather is a noble steed, not mere livestock,” Isabelle shot back. “Isn’t that right, girl?”

“We should reach the foot of the mountain by nightfall,” Iden said, glancing up at the ominous peak. “Let’s keep moving.”

The sun had passed behind the mountain as it began to set, casting a long, dark shadow across the valley. Iden felt as though the temperature had dropped to that of a winter’s night, the cool wind now biting and harsh. Isabelle shivered beside him, rubbing her hands together beneath her tattered shawl as she lugged her heavy vase along. As unwieldy as his armor was, at least his gambeson was thick enough to insulate him against the cold to an extent.

He watched as the girl lost her footing, stumbling amidst the rocks that littered the ground. She grazed her knee, wincing as she struggled back to her feet.

“Say,” she said, looking up at him from below. “Might I have a turn on the horse?”

“First you eat my food without recompense, and now you expect to ride my horse? I can’t fit you behind me, there’s little room to spare with my shield and my pack.”

“Just for a little while, so that I might rest,” she pleaded. “My feet are blistered, and hunger has made me weary.”

She looked so miserable down there, and he wondered again why she was so ill-prepared for this trek. What had she expected to happen? Could she really be so naive as to think that she could scale a mountain with no food, wearing a pair of farmer’s boots? He gazed at her for a few moments from beneath his open visor, then he sighed in exasperation, his armor clattering as he made to dismount the horse. Her sad eyes brightened as Iden dropped heavily to the ground, and he thrust the reins into her hands with a gauntleted fist.

“Very well, but only because the exercise might warm me. And take some food from my pack. Naught but a morsel of bread, you hear? I won’t have you complaining about your stomach until we make camp.”

She scooted around behind him, and he felt her rummaging through his pack as she searched for the loaf of bread. He heard the rustling of the paper, and then she tore off a piece, chewing into it ravenously. With her meal in hand, she slipped one of her feet into a stirrup, struggling to mount the horse. Iden sighed, helping her up into the saddle. He realized that she probably didn’t know how to ride, and so he took the reins from her, leading the horse along as he started on his way. The last thing he needed was both his horse and the girl vanishing into the night if the animal got spooked by something.

“Thank you,” she said sweetly, bobbing back and forth as she sat atop the horse and dug into her bread.

“Uh-huh,” Iden grumbled from beneath his helmet. He was starting to wish that he had set off a day later, and that the dragon had made a meal of her. Not that she would ever have reached the peak without his help.

It was a little harder to see in the shadow of the mountain, but he was used to long marches, and he was none the worse for wear by the time they were ready to make camp. The sun had dipped below the horizon now, and the stars were twinkling in the cloudless sky, like bright beacons against the endless expanse of inky blackness.

“We should make camp here,” he announced, the horse stamping its feet as they came to a stop. He raised a hand and helped Isabelle to dismount, then began to shrug off his shield and his pack. “See if you can find enough dry wood to start a fire, there must be some dead bushes and shrubs around here to provide enough kindling.”

The girl headed off to search while he unpacked his tent. He unrolled a bundle of fabric and drove a pair of sharpened poles into the ground. It was rocky here, and the earth was tough, he had to beat them with his gauntlet to drive them deep enough that they would stand upright. He draped the canvass over the top of the primitive framework, creating a wedge-shaped shelter with a flap on one end, perhaps three or four feet tall. It wasn’t luxurious by any means, but it was enough to shield a prone occupant from the elements. The wind was already tearing at it, and he retrieved some metal stakes from his bag, driving them into the ground to secure the four corners. When he was sure that the structure was reasonably secure, he began to move his gear inside.