Gordon Dickson - Dragon Knight 04 - The Dragon At War

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CHAPTER ONE

The copper tea kettle skittered at its magic-given top speed through the woodland track. It had already

polished its bottom shiny on the alternate turf and bare earth it skidded across. Its owner, the AAA+

magician S. Carolinus, had once, many years ago, commanded it always to be three-quarters full of

water for tea; and to have that water on the boil. In spite of its mission, it was faithfully three-quarters full

and on the boil, now.

“On the boil,” in Carolinus’s terms, meant that the kettle water was just below the boiling point; so that

Carolinus could have his cup of tea when he wanted it, night or day.

So now the kettle continued to skitter and almost boil. Only as it bounced over the uneven ground, it

occasionally splashed some of that water high against its hotter, dry, higher-up sides; and that water

burst in steam out of its spout.

When this happened it gave a sharp, brief whistle. It could not help whistling, any more than it could help

being on the boil, or going to Carolinus’s rescue-which was what it was doing now. It was only a kettle.

But if, as some folk suspected, the articles of Carolinus’s cottage had personalities of their own, this

kettle’s heart was in its present task.

So, it skittered through the wood-at the best speed with which Carolinus had endowed it-giving voice

occasionally to its sharp whistle; and the creatures of the woodland it passed reacted accordingly.

A bear feeding on all four legs stood up suddenly with a “Whuf!” of surprise as it went by. Aargh, the

English wolf, who feared nothing but had an ordinary wolf’s prudence where unknown things were

concerned, leaped abruptly to cover behind a tree as it went by, in order to observe it from relative

safety. A boar, farther down the path, who was in the habit of charging anything in sight, on general

principles, blinked his eyes at it, his curly tusks gleaming in the sunlight, got ready to charge-then thought

better of it, in this case.

He backed away, off the path, and let the little kettle pass.

So it proceeded. Deer fled from it; small burrowing creatures dived into their burrows at the sight of it.

In short, it spread consternation in every direction as it passed. But, this was only the beginning, the

preamble to what happened when at last it broke out of the trees into the cleared area surrounding the

Castle de Bois de Malencontri, the castle of that gentleman, the famous Dragon Knight: Baron Sir James

Eckert de Bois de Malencontri et Riveroak (currently not in residence).

The kettle skittered across the cleared area, mounted the bridge over the moat, and shot through the

open great gates in the curtain wall of the castle. There was a guard on duty at the gate. But he did not

see the kettle until it began to clatter across the logs which made up the bridge. When he did, he nearly

dropped his spear. He was under orders never to leave his post for any reason-as fourteenth-century

guards on the front gates of castles always were. But in this particular case he held on frantically to his

spear and ran full speed ahead of the kettle into the courtyard, shouting at the top of his voice.

“Gone mad! I always said he would!” muttered the castle blacksmith, glancing up briefly from the open

shelter above his forge in the courtyard, carefully built away from anything else it might set fire to. The

blacksmith had lowered his eyes again by the time the kettle went by, and he dismissed the sharp

whistles he heard as merely a ringing in his ears.

Meanwhile the guard had fled through the open door of the castle into the Great Hall, still shouting.

“A witch-kettle! A witch-kettle. Help!” His voice rang against the walls of the Great Hall and back into

the castle itself, bringing other servants flooding out. “It’s following me! Help! Help!”

His voice reached even to the kitchen of the castle where the Lady Angela de Bois de Malencontri et

Riveroak was telling the cook-for the several hundredth time-that after returning from the outhouse she

must wash her hands before cutting up meat.

The Lady Angela was a winsome sight, in a blue and silver gown, had either she or the cook cared

about that at the moment; but neither of them did. Picking up her skirts with a resigned fury-resigned,

because it seemed there was always something around the castle for her, as Chatelaine, to be furious

about-Lady Angela headed in the direction of the shouting voice.

When she got to the Great Hall, she discovered the men-at-arms there, with other servants, were all

plastered back against its walls; while the little kettle had somehow managed to mount the high table, set

itself in the very center, and begun whistling steadily, as if it was tea-time-not only for Carolinus but for

anyone else who was around.

“M’lady! M’lady!” babbled the gate guard, as she passed him where he was clinging to one of the pillars

of the halls about four feet off the floor. “It is a witch-kettle! Ware! Go no closer! It is a witch-kettle-“

“Nonsense!” said the Lady Angela, who was from an alternate world in the twentieth century where they

no longer believed in witch-kettles.

She strode decisively past the guard toward the high table.

CHAPTER TWO

Meanwhile, less than a mile and a half from this scene, there was the Dragon Knight, himself. He was the

good knight Sir James Eckert, Baron-and in the King’s name- Lord of the High Justice and the Low, for

the lands of le Bois de Malencontri et Riveroak-though where Riveroak was, only James and the Lady

Angela knew.

Actually, it was the name of the small town holding the twentieth-century college in which they had both

been teaching assistants, before they had ended up back here, dimensions away, in an alternate

fourteenth-century world-with dragons, ogres, sand-mirks and other suchlike interesting characters.

To everyone else here, Riveroak was a place unknown; probably far, far away over the western sea.

At the moment. Sir James, being in direct fief from the King, and with a tendency to avoid administering

any justice, High or Low, to the people of his lands, was presently engaged in picking flowers.

He was on his way back from an over-long stay up at the border between England and Scotland, in the

north. He had stopped for the flowers, hoping that a bouquet, presented to his wife, might allay part of

her understandable annoyance at his somewhat overdue reappearance.

He had been led to these flowers by his neighbor and closest friend, the also good knight Sir Brian

Neville-Smythe. Sir Brian was unfortunately only a knight banneret, with a ruined castle which he was

hard put to keep livable; but he had a name in the land; not only as a Companion of the Dragon Knight,

but in his own right as a master of the lance, at the many tournaments held about the English land in this

time.

Sir Brian, full of happiness, was by this time a good four miles off; on his way to his lady-love, the

beauteous Lady Geronde Isabel de Chaney, current Chatelaine of Castle de Chancy; since her father,

the Lord of same, had been gone now some years in Crusade to the Holy Land.

She and Sir Brian could not marry until her father returned and gave permission. But they could most

certainly get together-and did at every opportunity. Sir Brian (and Dafydd ap Hywel, the Master

archer-another close friend and Companion) had been with Sir James up at the Scottish border, visiting

the castle of Sir Giles de Mer, a fourth true Companion and good knight. Like James, Dafydd was also

only now returning to his home, a half-day’s ride away, with the outlaw band of his father-in-law, Giles o’

the Wold.

Since Sir Brian knew all this countryside like the back of his hand, and Sir James was only a latecomer

of barely three years, it had taken Sir Brian to direct him to this place where summer flowers might be

gathered nearest to Jim’s castle.

Sir Brian’s knowledge had been excellent. On the water-rich ground of a marshy-edged lake there was

indeed a proliferation of plants in flower, with rather loose petals of a sort of orangey-yellow color.

They were not exactly in the same class with roses, of which James-or Jim, as he still thought of

himself-had vaguely been thinking. But they were undeniably flowers; and a large bouquet of them could

certainly not make matters worse concerning Angie’s reaction to his delayed homecoming.

He had his arms half-filled with lengths of twig with blossoms on them-for the flowers grew on a sort of

bush, rather than individually-when he was interrupted by a bubbling sound from the lake before him.

Lifting his eyes from the flowers, he suddenly froze in position.

The water in the center of the pond was disturbed. It was mounding upward into large water bubbles

that finally burst and let a round shape poke through. The round shape grew and grew and grew...

Jim stared. Because it seemed that the round shape would never stop growing. Finally, it emerged to the

point of revealing itself as ten feet across; and looked like nothing so much as short, wet, blond hair

plastered to an enormous round skull.

It continued to come up; rising until it revealed a huge forehead, a pair of rather innocent-looking blue

eyes under thick blond eyebrows, a massive nose and an even more massive mouth and jaw-a face that

would have been heavy-boned even if it had been the face of a man of normal size. But what it was, in

fact, was the face of an incredible giant. If the head was any indication, the whole person to whom it

belonged must be nearly a hundred feet in height; and Jim would have guessed, from his acquaintance

with such small lakes as this, that the water in it was nowhere deeper than eight feet.

Jim had no time to speculate on this, however, because just then the head began to forge toward him

with its chin just above water; creating a considerable bow wave with a muscular neck thoroughly in

proportion with the head. The bow wave ran ahead, leaped the margin of the lake, and splashed Jim to

the knees. Meanwhile, more and more of the body belonging to the face had risen above the water to

reveal a giant not as tall, but even more remarkable than Jim had expected.

Towering, this monster eventually stepped out on to the margin of the lake, to stand dripping, and staring

down at Jim. Jim’s estimate had indeed been wrong. Thirty feet was more like the actual height of this

stranger.

Giant as he was, he still seemed perfectly human in every other respect. He wore some sort of massive

piece of gray-colored hide, or skin with no fur on it. This hung from one shoulder, dropping to his knees

and wrapped around him in the fashion of Tarzan’s clothing in old movies. Or, thought Jim a little wildly,

the way cavemen were normally pictured as being dressed in animal skins.

But there were two differences between this and a caveman. No, three. The first was his enormous size.

The second was that he was apparently as at home on the land and breathing air as he presumably had

been under the lake and breathing water. But the third was the most amazing of all. The man, or

creature, or whatever he was, tapered downward.

In short, below that enormous head he had a relatively narrow, by giant standards, pair of shoulders, and

a chest only slightly smaller in proportion to the shoulders. But he continued to taper on downward from

there, until he ended up in feet that were probably no more than four times as large as Jim’s.

The same could not be said of his hands, which looked not merely large enough to be buckets for a

derrick, but to seem capable of picking up a derrick itself in each fist.

“Wait!” boomed the giant. Or at least that was what Jim thought he heard.

“Wait?” echoed Jim, startled into speech. “What for... ?”

Then he realized, out of his earlier years in the twentieth century when he had been an associate teacher

at Riveroak in the English department, that what he had just heard was not “wait.” He was being

addressed in Old English; and what he had actually heard was “Hwaet!”

The only reason he made this identification with his whirling mind was because that same word happened

to be the first one in the Old English poem of Beowulf, created some fourteen hundred years before Jim’s

own original time, on his own world.

He tried to remember what “Hwaet” meant-evidently it was some form of greeting or call to

attention-but he was too bewildered at the moment to fish up any of the Old English he had once

painfully learned. It was a shock to be addressed so, here on this world; where up until now every

human being, and those of the animals who also inexplicably talked, including the dragons, spoke the

same tongue.

“I’m-I’m sorry,” he stammered, “but I don’t speak-“

The giant interrupted him, talking now in the same language everyone else did.

“Of course!” he boomed. “Been two thousand years, if me memory serves-or was it three? A long time,

anyhow, since last I was here. The way folk speak was bound to change. No, it’s all right, wee man, I

can also speak the way you little folk do. Easy as that!”

•And he snapped the thumb and middle finger of his right hand together, with a noise like that of a

cannon going off.

Jim shook the ringing out of his ears, and broke out with the first thought that came into his still-stunned

mind. He looked from the inversely pyramidal giant to the lake, which now seemed, by comparison, very

small indeed.

“But-“ he said. “Where’d you come from? How did you get-“

“Lost me way!” boomed the giant, interrupting him again. “Many centuries it is since my last faring hither.

Mislaid me way among the underground waters of this isle.”

Jim’s only thought was that now the other was beginning to sound even more like Beowulf-but Beowulf

translated, with a sort of old-seamanlike flavor.

Standing only a dozen feet apart as they were, Jim had to crane his neck to look up at the giant’s face;

and he got a very foreshortened view of it, even at that. To see the other more fairly, he backed off

about twelve paces.

“Fear not!” boomed the giant. “Know that I am Rrrnlf, a Sea Devil. Call me ‘Ranulf,’ as you wee folk

did the last time I was here. As then, by the Sirens, I mean you and your kind no ill. It’s another I seek.

How do call yourself, lad?”

“I-er-“ Jim, on the verge of introducing himself simply as “Jim Eckert,” caught himself just in time, “am

Sir James Eckert, Baron of Malencontri-“

“Strange names you small folk do have!” rumbled the giant. “Only one ‘R’ and no ‘L’ anywhere.

However, no matter. Whereaway’s the sea?”

Jim pointed westward.

“Ah,” said the Sea Devil with satisfaction, “then I’m lost no longer.” His speech was becoming more

normal with every sentence. “From here I can go anywhere beneath the ground and not be lost again.

But why hold those-whatever they be?”

“Flowers for my wife,” Jim told him.

“She eats flowers?” boomed Rrrnlf, staring.

“Noooo...” said Jim, wondering how to explain himself. “She just likes to keep them-to look at them,

you know.”

“Why doesn’t she come here, then, to get them?” demanded Rrrnlf.

Jim was beginning to get a little annoyed with all this questioning. What blasted business of this

human-shaped mammoth was it anyway about Angie and the flowers?-On the other hand, no point in

making someone his size angry.

“Because she’d rather have them close at hand!” he said.

At the same moment, an idea exploded in his mind like a shower-of-stars rocket on the Fourth of July.

He had been completely forgetting the-admittedly limited-magical ability he had picked up in coming to

this feudal world. What was the use of being able to do magic, if a magician like himself couldn’t use

magic to take care of a little situation like this?

Quickly, he wrote a spell on the inside of his forehead.

MAKE ME AND MY CLOTHES ? SEA DEVIL SIZE

Immediately he found himself looking into the giant’s face on a level. As usual there had been no

particular sensation; but he was now thirty feet or so tall himself and gazing at the other from what

seemed to be only a couple of feet away.

Seen straight on this way by someone the same size, the Sea Devil appeared rather a pleasant-faced, if

still heavy-boned, blond character, with only the shape peculiarity about him, except the intense, deep

blue of his eyes. They were eyes which irresistibly reminded Jim of the greatest depths of sea water at

which he had ever gazed, with sunlight glancing off it.

Surprisingly, Rrrnlf did not seem at all startled by Jim’s sudden growth.

“Ah. A wee mage!” he said.

His voice still boomed. But now it did not seem to have the thunderous quality that Jim had thought he

had heard in it, while listening to Rrrnlf from his own normal height above the ground. The other went on.

“Well met. Mage!” said Rrrnlf. “Fear not. I know magic and those who do it.”

He beamed at Jim.

“-A great luck meeting you!” His voice was jubilant. “A mage is the very one to aid me. It happens I’m

in search of a foul robber, whose limbs I will tear from his body when I find him; leaving him to wriggle in

the sea mud like the worm he is! Only, use your magic and tell me where to find him.”

“I’m afraid,” said Jim, “my magic’s not that good yet. I’m just starting out as a magician. I’m sorry to

hear you’ve been robbed, though-“

“Most foully and unfairly robbed!” burst out Rrrnlf, suddenly looking very dangerous. “My Lady taken

from me!”

“Your Lady?” said Jim. He tried to imagine a female equivalent of Rnrnlf, but his mind boggled at the

idea. “You mean-your wife?”

“Wife? Never that!” boomed Rrrnlf. “What does a Sea Devil need with a wife? This was a Lady I took

from a sunken ship-from the prow of a sunken ship; and was the image of my own lost love. A most fair

Lady, with golden hair and a trident in one little hand. She had been fixed to a ship sunk some time past.

I broke her free and took her to safety. For the last fifteen hundred years I have gilded and adorned her

with gems. But now she is stolen—and I know by who. It was one of the sea serpents! Aye, a wicked

sea serpent, who envied me her; and stole her away when I wasn’t there, to keep in his own hoard!”

Jim’s head spun. It was bad enough to try to imagine a female Sea Devil. It was infinitely worse to juggle

all the information thrown at him in Rrrnlf’s last words. He knew of the existence of sea serpents. The

granduncle of the dragon in whose body he had found himself, when he had first landed in this time and

world, had told him once of a dragon ancestor who had once slain a sea serpent in single combat.

He tried to think of the name of both the ancestor and the sea serpent. He found he could not remember

any name for the serpent-perhaps he had not been told any-but the name of his dragon ancestor had

been Gleingul. According to his dragon granduncle, what Gleingul had done in winning a one-on-one

fight with the sea serpent had been something like the equivalent of the original St. George slaying the

original dragon.

Just why Gleingul and the serpent had been fighting had never been explained to him. But if sea serpents

were something like undersea dragons, in that they believed in accumulating hoards of gold and gems,

what Rrrnlf was saying made sense.

“I see,” he said, after a moment, “but I’m afraid I can’t help you. I haven’t seen any sea serpents around

here-“

“You have already helped me by giving me the direction of the sea!” said Rrrnlf. “I shall return to my

search now; and- fear not-I will find him. Granfer said that for some reason the sea serpents were all

headed toward this isle. The one I seek may have sought to hide underground on this island; though they

like not fresh water and avoid it by any means. We Sea Devils care not whether water be salt or

fresh-or even that we stand in open air as now I do. So, I bid you farewell. I’m in your debt, wee mage.

Call on me if ever you need me.”

With that he turned about, stepped back into the lake and strode toward the middle of it, the water

swallowing him up vertically as it grew deeper. Jim suddenly thought of something.

“But how would I find you?” Jim called after him.

Rrrnlf looked back over his shoulder briefly.

“Call for me at the seashore!” he boomed back. “Even a wee man should know that much. Send your

message by the surf. I shall hear!”

“But... what if you’re on the other side of the world?” called Jim. Living in this fourteenth-century society

had taught him to seize on any friendships that came his way. He had no idea how Rrrnlf could ever be

useful to him; but it would do no harm to be able to call on him. But the other had already submerged.

“Wherever in the ocean-sea I am, your words will reach me!” said Rrrnlf, suddenly bobbing up again.

“The sea is full of voices and they go on forever. If you call for me I will hear you no matter where I am.

Farewell!”

He disappeared once more under the surface.

Jim stood staring at the lake until the disturbed water finally smoothed out, leaving no sign that the giant

had ever been there. Bemusedly, he turned himself back to his actual size; and went back to gathering a

full armful of the blossoms. Then he mounted his war horse, Gorp, who had been standing by,

comfortably munching on some of the soft and sweet grass of the lake margin, and rode off toward his

castle.

It took him only a short time to reach it. He frowned as he rode across the open space-kept open for

defense purposes- between it and the surrounding trees. There was something of a desolate look about

the castle that bothered him. He urged Gorp to a trot; and within a few moments clattered over the logs

of the drawbridge and into the courtyard.

The courtyard was apparently empty. His original feeling of uneasiness became a full-blown foreboding.

He dismounted hastily from Gorp and started toward the front door of the castle. Instantly he was

almost knocked off his feet by being-for all practical purposes-tackled around the knees. He looked

down and saw the agonized face of the castle blacksmith who was still embracing his knees in the

powerful grip of his sleeveless, burn-scarred arms.

“My Lord!” cried the blacksmith, who had finally become aware of what was going on since he had

seen the guard running for the castle and shouting about a witch-kettle. “Go not in! The castle is held in a

thrall by a witch-kettle! We are all doomed if you are caught in that thralldom, too! Stand out here in

safety and counter that evil with your magic. Otherwise we are all destroyed forevermore!”

“Don’t be sil-“ began Jim; then he remembered just in time that the word “silly” had a different meaning

in the middle ages. It meant “innocent” or “blessed”-which was not what he meant at the moment. He

decided that the best way out of this situation was the direct, or medieval, method.

“Unhand, dog!” he snapped, in his best baronial manner. “Do you think I fear thralldom by any

witch-device?”

“You... d-don’t?” stammered the blacksmith.

“Absolutely not!” said Jim. “Now, stay here and I’ll take care of the matter.”

The blacksmith’s arms fell away from around his knees and the expression on his face changed to one of

hope as Jim stalked off.

About halfway to the castle door, however, a first small doubt began to nibble at Jim. This was a world

where nothing could be taken for granted; and magic was very much a part of it. Perhaps there actually

were such things as witch-kettles? Perhaps they could indeed hold people in thrall... ?

He shrugged the thought off. He was angry with himself for even thinking it. After all, he reminded

himself, he was a magician, if only a C rated one.

He strode forward and in through the doorway into the Great Hall, continuing on toward the high table at

the Hall’s far end.

Within, the walls were crowded with the castle’s servitors. But they were all deathly silent; and all

pressed as far back against the sides of the hall as they could get. On the high table there was indeed a

kettle, that appeared to be steaming; and also-although he could hardly believe it-singing with that steam

in a breathy little voice that nonetheless carried its melody, at least, clearly through the hall.

Standing motionless, looking down at it with the tip of her right forefinger most uncharacteristically in her

mouth, was his wife, the Lady Angela.

No more than those pressed against the wall all around them, did she move or make a sound.

CHAPTER THREE

Jim broke into a run toward the high table. No one had seemed to notice his presence until now, but

now he felt as if all eyes were on him. He was almost to the kettle now, anyway.

The Lady Angela turned at the sound of his running feet. She took the tip of her finger from her mouth

and stared at him as if he was a ghost. He vaulted up to the level of the high table and enfolded her in his

arms.

“Angie!” he said.

For a moment she did nothing; then she enclosed him in her own arms and kissed him fiercely.

“Jim!” she said. “Oh, Jim!”

They hung together for a few moments; and then Jim felt himself pushed away from her, with her hands

on his chest. A dark frown was gathering over her eyes.

“And just where have you been all this time-“ she began.

Hastily, he shoved the flowers, which he had been unconsciously carrying all this time in his left hand,

into her arms.

“For you!” he said.

“Jim, I don’t care-“ She broke off again and looked down at the flowers. After a second she took a long

deep sniff at them. “Oh, Jim-“ She broke off with an entirely different note in her voice. She lowered her

head and sniffed deeply again at the flowers, then she put her arms around him once again, hugging him

to her.

“Damn you!” she whispered in his ear; then kissed him again, both angrily and lovingly. Then they both

let go and stood back from each other.

“But are you all right?” demanded Jim. “Your finger was in your mouth-“

“Oh, I burned it on this kettle,” said Angie vexedly. “I couldn’t believe that it was boiling with no heat

under it, so I touched. Stupid thing to do! But Jim-how does it happen you turn up at just this moment?

Did you use magic, or something?”

“Not to get here at just this moment,” said Jim. “Why is getting here at just this moment so important?”

“Because the kettle just got here, too, and it wants to talk to you!”

“The kettle?” Jim stared from her to the utensil, steaming and singing away on the table. “A kettle wants

to talk to me?”

“Yes! Don’t you hear it?” demanded Angie. “Listen!”

Jim listened.

The kettle was still singing away in its breathy little voice; and up close, as Jim was now, he found its

singing made recognizable words. The song was a brief refrain, but repeated over and over again.

This is an emergency.

Fetch Jim Eckert here to me.

He is needed desperately!

Fetch Jim Eckert here to me!

Jim blinked as the kettle went back to its first line and began to sing the quatrain all over again. He

listened to it halfway through again before he came out of his daze.

“I’m here!” he told the kettle. “This is Jim Eckert. I’m here. What do you want to tell me?”

The kettle immediately switched its song.

It sang:

Carolinus needs you, Jim,

You must swiftly rescue him!

He is sick, in living hell-

From nurses who would make him well!

Two “wisewomen,” from Hill Farm

Not really wise, but strong of arm.

Dose and poultice him to death.

Haste, before his final breath!

Rescue Carolinus!

Rescue Caro-

“All right! All right, I’ve got the message!” snapped Jim; since it seemed the kettle was prepared to go

on singing “Rescue Carolinus!” indefinitely.

The kettle fell silent. A small puff of white steam did manage to escape from its spout after he had

spoken-but it was absolutely noiseless. The kettle’s copper sides seemed to gleam at him in apology, but

also in mute reproach. Inexplicably, Jim felt guilty for his outburst at it.

“Sorry,” he said aloud, without thinking.

“You idiot!” Angie hugged him once more, affectionately. “It’s only a kettle. It doesn’t understand an

apology.”

“I suppose you’re right.” There was a cold feeling in the pit of Jim’s stomach. “But evidently Carolinus is

sick and being mistreated by these people who think they’re helping him get well-as I can well believe

could happen in this particular here and now. I’ll have to go to him right away.”

“We’ll both go to him right away!” said Angie. “And didn’t the kettle sing something about these women

being strong of arm? I think we better take a few men-at-arms along with us. Theoluf!”

Jim’s squire detached himself from the wall and came forward.

“Yes, m’Lady? M’Lord?” he asked. He was a most unusual-looking squire, having been one of Jim’s

men-at-arms until he had been promoted to this new rank. Above the half-coat of armor he wore on his

upper body, his dark face under its slightly graying shock of hair-though he was probably no more than

in his early thirties-and the scar on his face made him look as if he had been around for years.

“Pick out eight of the men-at-arms; and you and they come along with us,” commanded Angie. “Also

see to the horses and all other preparations for the trip. We’ll leave immediately.”

She looked past him.

“Solange!” she called.

The castle cook, a tall woman well into her forties and about fifty pounds overweight-although a lot of

that looked as if it might be muscle-also came toyard from the wall. She was a bit on the stout side to be

curtsying; but she gave a sort of a bob.

Gordon Dickson - Dragon Knight 04 - The Dragon At War

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