Chapter Eleven

UIETLY THE LITTLE MAN AND HIS wife sat staring at Steven as his story came to an end. Steven thought at first they would not move, that they had become statues as he spoke. So intently did they look into each other’s eyes that they missed the tear that gathered in the corner of Steven’s eye.

“I can see the truth in this,” Upik said at long last. Rayna nodded.

“I will pack you a lunch before you go,” she said hastily and snatched Steven’s cold bowl and cup from the table as she went behind the fireplace wall. He could hear chopping and clattering as he and Upik continued to sit at the table.

“Now to get to where you want to be,” said Upik, “you will follow the footpath from our home around the north end of the lake. You will come to the road you were on when I found you, but at the other end of the lake. You can only go one way on it, so there isn’t too much chance you will get lost. It is about two day’s journey until you meet the low road again. That’s the road you should have taken from the manor house. Bear right when you reach the road and you will come into Lower Floria. Most of the people who lived in this valley before the flood moved down there. They know what it is like to be a stranger and will treat you kindly. I’ll tell you straight-way, though, they don’t know any stories other than the one Rayna told you, so there’s no sense trying to trade for something you already have. Beyond Lower Floria, you will start to head east, and the further east you go the more people you will meet. I thought we lived at the edge of the world out here, but you’ve shown us that the edge is much further away than we thought.”

Steven was a little surprised at the abruptness with which the woodcutter and his wife ushered him out the door. She gave him a small parcel of food for the journey and Upik pointed out the path. Then, as Steven turned to bid them farewell, he saw them disappear back inside their modest little home. He set his foot on the path. Three hundred forty-nine thousand one hundred thirteen. Three hundred forty-nine thousand one hundred fourteen. Steven’s pace picked up and he as he hit one hundred ten steps per minutes, the ground again flew beneath him. He was headed downhill.

True to what Upik had told him, Steven met the high road in only seven thousand one hundred thirty-three steps. He camped for the night after twenty-six thousand seven hundred fifty-two steps. He feasted on the sandwiches Rayna had fixed for him and early next morning he was hiking again. He ended his second day having traveled four hundred thousand nine hundred sixty-one steps from home, across a lake and across a river. As the sun began to set and Steven set up his camp, he could see, away in the distance, traces of smoke in the air. He would be at the town of Lower Floria tomorrow.

Steven awoke to the unpleasant experience of having been dusted with snow. Having lived all his life in lowlands by comparison to this region, he had seldom seen snow. He soon discovered that it made the old road very slippery. He had fallen on his back twice within a hundred steps of camp. It slowed his progress significantly. He had seemed to fly down from the upper reaches of the mountain, but this day he carefully placed one foot in front of the other until the sun had risen high enough in the sky to melt the snow gathered in the path.

It was a weary man that stumbled into Lower Floria as the sun was setting. It had been only sixteen thousand four hundred forty-five steps to the village from last night’s camp, and when he stumbled into the inn in this village he had come four hundred seventeen thousand four hundred six steps across a lake and across a river from home. He knew exactly where he was.

But he had never stayed in an inn before. In Lastford, he slept in the barn with Jasper. He had camped along the road from Lastford to the home of Upik and Rayna, and they had let him sleep on the floor in their home. He had camped from their house to Lower Floria. But in all Steven’s life he had not stayed in an inn. His village had no visitors, and so had no need of an inn.

Many people were gathered, eating and drinking and Steven inquired if he might have food and a place to lay his bedroll for the night. He was surprised when the innkeeper asked to see his coins. In fact, Steven had forgotten that he had coins from his labor at the manor. Steven proudly showed the four silver coins he had and the innkeeper promptly took two and motioned him to a seat in the corner. Steven sat and quietly ate the stew and bread he was served, warming up as the evening went on. It seemed strange to Steven that no one paid the least attention to him. But not only were these people used to seeing travelers, many of them were travelers themselves. They saw nothing more unusual in Steven than in themselves. And his hat, while garnering a couple of curious glances, was really no stranger than other headgear and modes of dress that he saw around him.

After the meal, Steven was shown a small room where he could spread his bedroll. The innkeeper bade him good night, closed the door and left him. It was a strange night in Steven’s mind.

But the days that followed proved just as strange. For now, Steven traveled eastward on the road and encountered other travelers on a regular basis. But it seemed that the more people he saw, the fewer saw him. Occasionally a traveler would greet him as they passed. Sometimes as he caught up with a slower traveler they would walk together some few steps, but Steven now was feeling a more urgent need to press forward, and soon even those he spoke to were soon forgotten.

After his first night in an inn, Steven realized that he would have to get more coins or stick to camping. He chose the latter. He couldn’t really imagine why people valued the coins, but he knew he had traded a day’s labor for the four coins and then traded two of them for a meal and a cold room to sleep in. If he had to work half a day for every night’s lodging, he would never get around the mountains to go back south toward the dragon.

He had traveled five hundred eight thousand one hundred fifty five steps on his journey when he saw the dragon.

The sun was behind Steven and he cast a long shadow on the road ahead. He was looking for a place to camp, but this particular stretch of road had a steep rise on his right and an almost sheer drop on the left. There was nothing but to traverse the passage and hope he could find a place to camp for the night after dark.

Then he caught a glint of light coming toward him. It sparkled like jewels in the evening sun. It was moving fast toward him with wings outstretched, skimming the ground. Fire sparked from the ground beneath it. Steven hastily strung his bow and nocked an arrow. This time a miss might easily cost him his life, he thought. As the dragon drew nearer, the thunder of its approach shook the ground. It had jeweled armor and two heads. It waved taloned arms and its armor jangled above the thunder of its passing.

Steven was having a difficult time drawing the bow, shuffling backward to try to find purchase where he could steadily draw the bow. In his haste, he tripped over his discarded backpack and the arrow loosed up into the air. And then the dragon was upon him.

No, dragons, for there were at least six of the four-legged, two-headed beasts. As he fumbled for another arrow, the lead reached out with a taloned claw and swatted the bow from his hand. Steven prepared to die.

“Who fires on the king’s knights?” called the lead as he swept a gauntleted hand up to his face and pulled his visor back, revealing the face of a man, not a dragon. Then Steven realized he was riding a horse, but a horse unlike anything Steven had ever seen. It wore armor like its rider and skirts that billowed about its knees and clanged together as the pleats moved with its pace. The knight astride the charger wore armor that shone in the sun. He carried a shield across one arm and a sword was drawn in the other. His cape billowed out behind him as he rode.

“I am Steven George the dragonslayer, sir,” Steven said weakly. “I thought you were the dragon bearing down on me.”

“A dragonslayer?” exclaimed one of the other knights. “How many dragons have you slain, man?”

“None yet, sir,” Steven said, “but I am on my way to find and slay the dragon that threatens my village, five hundred eight thousand one hundred fifty-five steps that way, across a lake and across a river.”

“Well, dragonslayer,” spoke the lead knight, “now you are Steven George prisoner of the king’s army. Pick up your things and march ahead of us to the town that lies a league behind you. Before this night is over, we will know why you seek a dragon that threatens your village when you are so far from that village.” Steven picked up his bow and shouldered his pack and turned obediently back in the direction he had just come. Five hundred eight thousand one hundred fifty-six. Five hundred eight thousand one hundred fifty-seven. Steven had retraced two thousand three hundred forty-nine steps when they came to the inn in the village Steven had passed through only a while before. Now, however, the sun had sunk beneath the edge of the mountain westward and darkness enveloped the little lodge. Servants emerged from the inn to take the knights’ horses and the knights were welcomed into the inn with an elaborate show of respect. They were seated nearest the fire and served steaming bowls of lamb in thick gravy over turnips. Steven was seated between two of the knights and given a bowl of the savory stew as well.

“Now, dragonslayer,” said the leader of the knights. “It is a noble thing to protect your village from a dragon, but tell us why you are five hundred eight thousand steps away from the place that is threatened?”

“Five hundred ten thousand five hundred four,” Steven corrected him automatically.

“Very well. Five hundred and so on…” said the knight. The knight waited patiently as Steven explained how he had been unable to cross the river near his village, had gone north along the river until he was able to cross, had become lost in the rain storm and was told to keep right, how he had come to the lake and been ferried across and how he had found his way back to the main road and was trying to get back around the mountains to the river again. The knights nodded, grinned, occasionally laughed.

“Yes, that would work,” said one of the knights. “Once he passes through Byziatica he could take the south road toward Tasmyrica. The desert caravan route branches of Southeast and would lead him back to the great river eventually.”

Steven never knew there were so many roads in the world.

“Very well,” said the knight leader. “As knights of the king it is our duty to protect the citizens of the kingdom from all evil, including beasts of prey. Therefore, I believe we should put Steven George the dragonslayer on the right road to his destiny.” The other knights agreed. “But,” continued the knight, “there is a price to be paid.” He looked sternly at Steven. Steven solemnly reached into his pouch and produced his two remaining silver coins and offered them to the knight. The knights all laughed uproariously. When they had gasped for breath and ordered another round of tankards for their company, the lead knight continued.

“We are knights of the king,” he said. “We take coin from no common man no matter how noble his mission. That is not the debt we will collect. You have drawn your bow on the king’s liegemen. We accept that it was a misunderstanding, but it was one that must not happen again. Therefore you will serve us for three days. We will head north from here, out of your way, but into an area in which villages are sparse. We need to eat. Therefore, you will accompany us as our huntsman. Find food, make camp, provide for us on this journey. In three days we will arrive at Zannopolis. From there, you will continue back southeastward three days and you will arrive in Byziatica. The difference will cost you three days more than it would cost to go directly from here to Byziatica. That is the price for not knowing a knight from a dragon. Are you agreed?”

“All roads lead to my dragon,” Steven recalled the wisewoman saying. “This road is as good as any other.”

“Perhaps while we are camped at night,” said one of the knights, “you will tell us the story of your fantasmic hat.”

Steven hesitated.

“Is that story part of the price I must pay for my crime?” Steven asked warily.

“Not at all,” said the lead knight. “It is a companionly request from your fellow travelers.” Then the knight lit up in comprehension. “Ah! You are one of those rustics who deal in stories as currency! No, we would not steal a story from you, dragonslayer. But perhaps we could trade a story for a story, no?” Steven grinned. This was what he understood.

“It is agreed,” he said enthusiastically.

Chapter 10
Chapter 12