Chapter 17: Beauty and the Beast
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Jacques rushed through the royal forest.
His lungs were heaving for breath as he moved, his hands clutching a dead pair of rabbits like all his hopes and dreams were wrapped up in them.
Tree branches and underbrush tore at his clothing, catching and ripping away pieces of it in his mad dash to escape the two men behind him. But as the clopping of horse hooves pounded in his ears and his legs began to burn with the exertion of running so fast for so long, he knew he wasn’t going to make it. They were closing in on him, and nothing would be able to protect him from them. Doom was closing in on him.
He cast his eyes around, looking for a big log or rock to hide behind. But there was nothing nearby that he could use. He was terrible at climbing trees, and his pursuers would probably see him even if he did.
As he twisted his neck to look over his shoulders while he ran, the severity of his plight weighed heavily on him, and he returned his eyes forward, only to stumble to a stop as the two forest guards were suddenly circling around to the front of him on their snorting horses.
The brief hope for escape flew into his head--maybe he could still get away if he turned around and ran in the opposite direction--only to flutter back out immediately. He was too tired. He would never make it.
He threw himself to his knees, still holding the ears of those two conies with clenched white fingers as he desperately prayed he would be able to keep them. “Please,” he pleaded, “don’t imprison me. I need these rabbits--”
“You were committing a crime,” one of the horsemen said flatly. His brown eyes were hard, and it was obvious he felt no pity for the man in front of him. “You were poaching in the royal forest.”
“I was just trying to get food for my family,” Jacques told him in a hoarse voice. “My two-year-old son and my wife--they’re hungry. I can’t just let them starve--”
“There is no excuse for your crime--” the same horseman started to say, only to cut off abruptly at the sound of approaching hoof beats. Someone was coming.
The accused criminal lifted his eyes in hope as a great black horse charged toward them. Seated on the majestic creature was a knight in glistening black armor. He bore no crest of allegiance, just a sharp sword and a silver shield.
The destrier trotted up beside the king’s men, its nostrils flaring, and the knight swung his sword and shield. A few slashes later of the knight’s sword, and the two forest guards were disarmed.
The two guards--surprised, to say the least--stared down briefly at the ground and the swords lying there, close, but just out of reach. One of them then muttered, “I’m not paid enough for this,” and he kicked his horse and guided him away through the trees. Jacques stared after him, scarcely able to believe his luck.
The other guard glanced at the knight, who was staring at him with sword ready, obviously waiting for him to make his move. And then the second guard was galloping away after his partner, cursing under his breath.
The black knight dismounted after sheathing his sword, and Jacques, his heart pumping wildly, watched him in trepidation.
The knight bent down and picked up the two swords from the ground, holding one in each hand. Jacques knew for certain that the knight was going to plunge them deep into Jacques’s own heart and then take the two hard-earned rabbits away from him, but that wasn’t what happened. Instead, the knight walked over to a nearby tree and thrust first one sword and then the other deep into the bark. He turned to Jacques, who had the distinct impression that the man beneath the armor was smiling.
“Thank you,” Jacques told him, rising slowly and unsteadily to his feet. He had never *wanted* to be a poacher--but he *had* wanted to feed his family. He hadn’t been left with a choice. This knight somehow seemed to understand that.
The black knight nodded, not speaking, and walked over to his horse, which looked at him calmly. After mounting, he lifted his hand in farewell and then rode away without looking back.
“Thank you,” Jacques called after him, feeling he couldn’t say that enough. He hugged the conies against himself. His family would be able to eat something that night. And for that, he was immensely grateful.
****
Stories of the mysterious doings of a man the common people dubbed “The Black Knight” spread like wildfire.
Some said he was a ghost; others said he was an angel. Alexander believed he was a demon.
The Regent of Metropolita had tried to spread stories speaking against the Black Knight’s doings. He encouraged Nobles to call him the Lawless One, as the knight--who probably wasn’t even a *real* knight--was acting with a total disregard to the law. But the “Lawless One” didn’t catch on the way that the “Black Knight” had, and it was just one more thorn in Alexander’s side.
The Regent worried this vigilante was threatening his grip on power. It didn’t help to soothe his worries that this “Black Knight” plunged the swords of those he bested into the ground or nearby trees as a sort of trademark, like this was a game in which he had to leave a stamp of victory. Other times, he left a scribbled note detailing the crimes of someone he left tied up.
The Black Knight’s actions were skewed toward helping the poor at the expense of the rich, and that utterly infuriated Alexander. While the common people saw the Black Knight as a godsend, Alexander and the other Nobles saw him as a menace. His elusive nature and refusal to speak to anybody created an air of mystery surrounding him which intrigued even those who hated his actions.
When Tempos walked into Alexander’s study, anger must have been written all over the Regent’s face, as the knight commented, “Well, brother, this Black Knight’s a regular Robin Hood, isn’t he?”
It was the wrong thing to say. “He’s a criminal!” growled Alexander, hitting his fist against his desk emphatically as he stood up.
Tempos smirked, reading his brother like an open book. “Still don’t know where he is, huh? Well, he can’t be *that* hard to find. Don’t goody two-shoes like him leave trails of bread crumbs or something?”
“He has managed to elude the grip of my men,” Alexander said darkly. “Not even the assassin I hired has had any luck. But I will get him yet! You can be sure of that!”
His younger brother gave him a patronizing smile. “Well, since the royal coffers don’t seem to be standing up too well to this vigilante, I have something that might make you a little more pleasant to be around. One of my dumb lackeys--*pardon me*, how my tongue does slip--one of my *fellow knights* found a dragon’s lair.”
“What?” Alexander hissed. The lairs of dragons were notorious for two things--mounds of riches and scads of fire. Everyone knew that.
“But the dragon had gone out for food,” continued Tempos, “so most of the treasure is now in our much more appreciative hands. It’s not like a dragon can count gold coins anyway.”
Alexander rubbed his chin, unsure whether he should be uneasy or appeased. The decision to be the former was made for him a few moments later when a messenger rushed into his study.
“What is it?” snapped Alexander.
“I have news, Y-Your Majesty,” the messenger stuttered. “An angry dragon has started wreaking havoc on the kingdom. Buildings are going up in flames. We--we aren’t quite sure what to do.”
Alexander whipped his head around to glare at his brother.
“Oops,” said Tempos with a shrug.
****
Clarkent was working in the stable when James came in, squawking up a storm.
“Be quiet!” he hissed at the bird, who immediately perched on the edge of a stall and began trying to talk to him in a much quieter fashion, as if the stableboy would be able to understand anything he said.
But though Clarkent could not understand the Peregrine Falcon, he knew it had to be bad, so he nervously went up to Dwayne, who was feeling a horse’s swollen leg with a frown on his face.
“I, uh, need to go do something,” Clarkent said quietly. “But I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Dwayne gave him a long and perceptive look. It made Clarkent shift nervously, as he wasn’t sure what the man was about to say, but then Dwayne grunted and conceded, “All right. Take as long as you need.” He turned his attention back to the horse’s leg, only to comment softly, “I think you need to take Esroh Repus out for a bit of exercise anyway.”
Clarkent stayed in place, hesitant. Did Dwayne realize why he needed to go? Or did the Stable Master just think he needed to get somewhere in a hurry? Surely Dwayne hadn’t simply said that in hopes that he would “exercise” Esroh Repus.
But he had no more time to wait, not if the bird’s frantic wing flapping was any indication. So he jumped on the horse--bareback, no less--and rode off.
He went immediately to the cave, James flying with him. Once there, he got into his armor and leapt on Phantom, saying to Esroh Repus, “Sorry, buddy. I’d ride you, but you would give me away!”
And then he was galloping off, the Peregrine Falcon guiding him where he needed to go, flying above him but remaining in easy sight.
They went to the outskirts of town, where Clarkent found a plethora of archers sending nearly useless arrows flying through the air. But it wasn’t the arrows that concerned him. It was the giant creature they were bouncing off of.
A massive green beast stood planted on the ground, its giant wings beating vicious gusts toward the men attacking it. Flames spewed forth from the creature’s gullet, which seemed to have been made as one giant killing machine. It had razor-sharp claws and teeth, and its spine was covered in spikes all the way to the tip of its lashing tail. It was an honest to goodness dragon. And it was steaming mad.
Terror shot through Clarkent’s limbs at the sight of it, throttling his heart mercilessly and causing his blood to gush through his veins as if a dam had just been broken. He wasn’t ready to defeat a dragon.
It was all good and well to beat back bandits and town guards . . . but a dragon? He had studied under Peri for the weak spots in a knight’s armor--but not in a dragon’s hide! For him to try to slay a dragon at this point was like asking him to empty out the ocean with a bucket! It was ridiculous! It couldn’t be done.
But as his eyes gazed around and saw the fire let out by the dragon begin to spread, he realized he didn’t have a choice. He was scared, but he had to help. If his career as the Black Knight was meant to end in flames, then so be it.
He kicked Phantom, trying to urge him closer, but the horse was being understandably reticent about approaching the giant flying thing with massive teeth and a mouthful of fiery doom. “Please, Phantom,” he muttered, and the horse finally took a few steps forward. James flew above them, making some pathetic call like he knew their endeavor was doomed.
Clarkent tried not to think about the fact that one blast of fire from the dragon would probably cook him alive in his suit of armor; he thought only about stabbing his sword either into the dragon’s belly or mouth. Where another possible weak spot would be, he didn’t know, but those two spots were his best guesses.
But before he could finally force Phantom to charge at the creature, he saw another form on a horse go riding quickly at it. His expression of grim determination beneath his helmet became one of confusion as he stared at the Palomino and its rider. They both looked so familiar . . . .
And as he continued to stare, he realized that the horse was High Flyer . . .
. . . and the rider was Princess Loisette.
The dragon turned its head toward her.
Clarkent’s heart stopped in his chest.
****
Chapter 17 Glossary
Dragon Lairs: Dragons (particularly in European stories) are often portrayed as having a lair filled with treasure which is jealously guarded by them, as can be seen in *Beowulf* and *The Hobbit*. The song “Puff the Magic Dragon” seems to draw from this in a lesser fashion, with Puff being interested in “strings and sealing wax and other fancy stuff.” Trout Fishing in America’s song “Lullaby” has a verse which pulls from this as well: “Dragons in the sky / Flying with their golden treasure. / And if you catch their eye, / A wish is granted more than you can measure.”
