Hunting of the Last Dragon Read Online Free Page B

them.
    â€œThat fine garment she wears,” Tybalt went on, “it’s silk, made from worms.”
    People roared with laughter and disbelief.
    â€œTrue!” he cried, smiling a little. “You’ve heard of the East, of the Silk Road, of old Cathay, and the Orient, land of silk and fabulous furs. Well, that’s where she’s from: China. She’s an Easterling. Our kings and queenswear purple finery brought along that famous Silk Road from her far land. And more than silk is brought: fine treasures, idols of silver and gold, and all manner of jewels. A long way she’s come, this barbarian maid, to entertain and educate you gentlefolks. Heathen she is, prays to golden idols and devils and all things wicked and forbidden. Her people are uncivilised, backward. They live in ignorance and heinous sin. You’ll never see the likes of her anywhere else in our land, so look well.”
    Several people made the sign of the cross, doubtless fearing that the very presence of the heathen maid might breathe evil over them. An echo of my grandfather’s ravings came to me: something about the Black Death coming from the East, filling the sky with fire and blowing to England on evil winds. Had she seen the fire, this tiny freak? Is that why her eyes were narrowed and slanted—to shut out the light and the heat from the fiery skies?
    â€œHow did you come by her?” called out a woman.
    â€œWell, that’d be telling a great secret,” said Tybalt. “But you may be sure, she’s rare and precious.”
    Other questions were asked, not all answered. During them the maid remained very still, her hands folded in her lap, her small, strange face uplifted. Around me, people began to leave. Tybalt departed,doubtless to his own tent for another breathtaking performance with his sword, leaving the other man to stand guard. I stayed, I know not why, looking at the freakish girl upon the stool. Slowly she bent and bound the linen strips about her feet again, then pulled on her tiny shoes. When she raised her head, I alone was left.
    As her gaze met mine, her lofty look disappeared, and to my surprise she smiled.
    â€œYou let Tybalt play his sword about you,” she said. Her soft voice was mildly accented. Her words, and the expression on her face, startled me.
    â€œHow do you know?” I asked. It felt odd, exchanging words with her.
    â€œYour hair,” she said.
    â€œAh.” I touched the top of my head, feeling the bristles. “Well . . .” Tongue-tied again, as always, with a maid—even a freakish one.
    â€œHe has done that but few times before,” she said.
    â€œDone what?” I asked.
    â€œShaved off hair. Most people tremble so, he dares not do it. You must have been right brave.”
    â€œNot brave,” I said, and felt my face grow hot. “Scared stiff, more like.”
    Again she smiled, then her guard roughly picked her up and carried her out an exit at the back of the tent. As they went outside I glimpsed a cage with adark grey canvas across the top.
    I was left alone in the silence. A strange feeling fell on me. I cannot say ’twas fate, or a foreknowing, but it was something akin to it. I knew that we should meet again.
    Do you need rest, Brother? You yawn—a yawn brought on by the evening’s warmth and the mead, I hope, and not because my tale is dull. I thought that I was getting into the swing of it quite well. Ah—I just noticed—your candles are near burned out. We’ll continue after dinner on the morrow, and I’ll tell you what I found when I went home.

four
    Hail, Brother. ’Tis straight into the tale today, for this is the hardest part of it for me, and the sooner done, the better.
    On the way back to Doran I practised with my new bow: shot at a hare and hit a hill. The wind was stronger than I judged, and sent my arrow amiss. The road seemed longer, too, and it was sunset when I left the