In the days when ships first flew above Amber, Prince Valentine and Prince Xenophal discovered the trilathons and began to explore Near Binah. They rode upon wyverns brought from Chaos by Lord Kiron of Hendrake, who accompanied them. When they returned to Amber, Valentine was loathe to abandon his steed to Shadow, and left it in the charge of the Amber Guard.
He returned seven days later, in which time he had traveled from one end of the universe to the other, been kidnapped and rescued, and exchanged gunfire with Caine's minions in the Valley of Ganesh. He demanded the return of his wyvern, and it was provided for him.
Arthur was the name of the stablehand who brought it out. Even though he was missing his arm, he seemed strangely attached to the creature.
The officer who had been responsible for the wyvern all that time was Corporal Bergerac.
The Corporal and the Wyvern
Corporal Bergerac was just noticing a disturbing smudge on his boot (a result, no doubt, of this interminable duty near the stables) when a lookout came running up.
“Prince of Amber approaching!”
“Which one?” said the corporal.
The lookout hesitated a moment. “Valentine, I think, sir.”
The corporal searched his memory for a picture of Prince Valentine. He wasn't one of the ones he was used to seeing. Come to think of it, he wasn't sure he'd ever seen him before. Nevertheless, a prince was a prince, and so he dutifully stepped outside. These particular stables were within the castle walls, but the courtyard adjoining them was open to the sky.
He glanced around for a few moments in vain.
“Where is he?” said the corporal.
“Up, sir,” said the lookout.
And the corporal glanced up just in time to see the wyvern descend with an eerie screech. It sounded as if it had two mouths each sounding off at once, and the reverberations still rattled him even after Prince Valentine made his (rather messy) landing. The beast's shimmering green eyes stopped two feet from the corporal's face.
Valentine dismounted, brushed something off his sleeve, and lit a cigarette. “Who's in charge?” he asked coolly. The lookout glanced at the corporal.
“I am, sir,” said Bergerac.
“Splendid. I want you to see to this creature. It has served me well and I may need it again.”
The corporal took a step back to get the whole of the thing under his gaze. It was a winged lizard – dragon-like, actually, except of course smaller and with only two legs. It strutted back and forth rather like bird, but its tongue, constantly flitting in and out and occasionally side to side, was long and forked like a snake's. Its hide was not scaled, but was definitely hard and crusty – as if it was covered in tiny barnacles.
What bothered the corporal most was that it definitely looked hungry.
“Of course, sir,” he finally said. “But I am not certain that the castle possesses the appropriate facilities to—“
“These are the stables, aren't they?” said Valentine.
“Yes, yes, but—“
“Well, give him a stable. Treat him like a big old horse or something. I'm sure he'll be fine. He only eats meat, though, as far as I've been able to tell.”
“Yes, sir.”
Prince Valentine then took a couple steps back and looked off to one side, deep in thought. The corporal took a deep breath before stepping forward and clearing his throat.
“Sir?” he said.
Valentine blinked, frowned, and turned toward the corporal. “What?” he snapped.
“When might we expect you back, sir?”
“I don't know! Now leave me alone!”
“My apologies, sir.”
But Valentine was already lost in thought again. And, a moment later, he was gone – vanished into thin air.
“Well now that's a trick I've never seen,” said the lookout. “He didn't use one of them cards or anything.”
“Never mind that,” said the corporal. “We have to get this thing under control.”
Indeed, he didn't have much time. The wyvern had been curious enough about its new surroundings since it landed to poke around a bit, but now it was making a rattling sort of cooing sound and glancing skyward again.
“Keep it occupied,” he said to the lookout, “While I get some rope or some sort of harness.”
He ran into the stables and grabbed the arm of the first stablehand he saw – a boy, 13 years old or thereabouts, who had been feeding sugar to one of the horses while staring intently at the strange beast outside.
“You! Two coils of rope!”
The stablehand ran off and returned a moment later. The lookout, in the meantime, was walking slowly in a circle and starting at the wyvern, which was meeting his gaze and slowly rotating in place to keep it. The corporal noted with approval that it moved with a calm sort of grace.
“Sir?” said the lookout.
“Yes?”
“I think it means to eat me, sir.”
“Well, keep it busy. The boy's on the way with rope.”
“Yes, sir. Sir?”
“What?”
“I thought I might draw my sword, sir. Just in case.”
“No, don't do that. No telling where this thing came from. It might be trained for battle. It might react badly.”
The lookout sighed. “Very well, sir.”
But the corporal was actually thinking along those lines as well. He had noted that the beast's gnarled hide had gaps in places, especially near the joints. He had even picked out the spot near the neck that he'd lunge for if it came to that. What he didn't know, and what plagued him at the moment, was how Prince Valentine would react if it came to that. He didn't even know if Valentine was the sort who'd return for it at all.
The stablehand came running with rope coiled around each shoulder. The corporal grabbed one and walked 'round to one side of the wyvern, gesturing for the boy to stand opposite. The lookout stood between them, his hand on his pommel, while the wyvern now swayed its long neck side to side to keep them all in view. The boy's hands moved quickly, knotting a loop together.
The corporal made a loop of his rope, too, trying to watch how the stablehand had done it and pretending like he knew it already himself. When they were both ready, the corporal hissed “Now!”, and they tossed the loops around the wyvern's neck.
Both caught, and the thing snarled angrily and leapt into the air. The corporal's loop came undone almost immediately, and the beast continued to rise. The lookout and the corporal grabbed each of the stablehand's legs, barely keeping him on the ground. Then they tied the other end of the rope to the post at the mouth of the stable, and the stablehand came back with two more ropes. After half an hour of throwing, tying, and dragging, the beast was finally pinned, more or less, to the ground. It heaved with low, hissing breaths, and eyed them all warily, but (fortunately) didn't scream.
“Sir,” puffed the lookout. “I don't mean to abandon you, but I've been away from my post for—“
“Yes, yes, go,” said the corporal. Then he glanced at the stablehand. “Your name?”
“Arthur, sir.”
“Arthur, this beast will be our responsibility. I am going to speak to the Captain of the Guard. He will have an idea or two about what to do.”
“Very good, sir. Shall I feed it oats?”
“No. Meat. Speak to the cooks.”
“I'll have to free her somewhat if she's going to eat.”
“Very well.”
Corporal Bergerac crossed the courtyard and entered the corridor leading to the Great Hall. He could feel the wyvern's eyes watching his every step as he left.
“Corporal Bergerac reporting, sir!”
The Captain of the Guard looked up from his desk, littered with assorted official documents & scrolls. “Continue,” he said.
The corporal explained the problem with the wyvern, and waited for the captain's solution.
The captain stared at the paper in front of him for a moment, then nodded to himself. “Very well. Thank you for keeping me informed, corporal. I am confident in your ability to manage the situation under your own discretion.”
The corporal's face went white. “My own discretion, sir? Might you have any suggestions?”
“Not at the moment, I'm afraid. In case you hadn't noticed, we've had vessels flying in the air above Amber recently. In the air . Master Gerard is beside himself.”
“I had noticed, sir. I . . . I will endeavor to resolve the matter sufficiently.”
“Good. Oh, and another thing – we are sending out sorties into the Valley around the clock to monitor for the airships. You are to accompany the midnight sortie. Meet at the south gate.”
“Yes, sir. May I ask: who is commanding it?”
The captain glanced at a chart on the wall. “Master Gerard himself. He is taking this matter very seriously.”
The corporal saluted. “Very good, sir. Thank you for this opportunity.”
As he left, the corporal smiled. Duty with Master Gerard meant a chance to find out a thing or two about this Valentine, if he was discreet.
There was a crowd of soldiers and servants at the mouth of the stables. The corporal shoved past them and ran inside, where a row of frantic horses were neighing and banging against the walls around them. Arthur, blood-spattered, was standing in the back of the stables, holding a bastard sword that was altogether too big for him. Behind him, two or three stalls had been cleared out, and the walls between them removed, to make room. The wyvern was curled up back there, its wings furled, its head just out of view. It seemed to be eating something, however.
“What happened?” the corporal demanded.
“Sir. They were going to kill her, sir. I told them that that wasn't allowed.”
The corporal glanced back at the crowd, then at Arthur, then at the blood on his tunic.
“And you fought them?”
“Oh, no, sir. The blood isn't mine. Or theirs.”
“Then whose is it?”
Arthur swallowed. “Hodge's, sir. The lookout.”
“Eh?”
“He came back after he went off duty, sir. He wanted to see how she was doing.”
“Wait a moment. She?”
“Yes, sir. She's female.”
“How do you know?”
“I don't know for certain, sir. I just . . . have a feeling.”
“Well, never mind your feelings for now. Where is Hodge?”
Arthur sighed and glanced back at the wyvern. “I'm afraid Hodge is dead, sir. He drew his sword in front of her. I told him he shouldn't.”
“Damn it!” said the corporal. “The fool. In that case, where . . .” He glanced again at the wyvern, who was pulling at some reluctant meaty shred of its lunch. “Wait. No. It's not . . .”
“Yes, sir, she is,” said Arthur. “She had dragged him off to her nest before I could pull him away.”
The corporal slumped to a seat on the ground and put his head in his hands. He sat there long enough to collect his thoughts, then he got back up and addressed the crowd outside.
“It should be clear to all of you that the beast is not to be trifled with. Hodge drew a sword in its presence. No one else make that mistake.”
Some idiot piped up. “But the boy has a sword drawn even now.”
“Leave that to the boy,” the corporal snapped. “Now everyone be on your way. This situation is under control.”
The crowd slowly dispersed, and the corporal walked back to Arthur, who had put the sword down and was watching the wyvern from a safe distance.
“You can't really tell it's Hodge any more,” he said.
“Never mind that for now,” said the corporal. “First order of business: just how is it that Hodge gets eaten for drawing a sword, but you could stand there with one drawn?”
Arthur shrugged. “I think she likes me,” he replied.
“That's good for now,” said the corporal. “Try to keep it – her – under control. I have watch duty tonight in the Valley. With Master Gerard. I'll try to find out from him whether Prince Valentine will give a thought to this thing ever again.”
Arthur frowned. “And if he doesn't? I suppose we'll have to K-I-L-L her?”
“Why the deuce are you spelling it out?”
“Just to be safe, sir.”
“Yes, we probably will.”
“I see. Wait – did you say you'd be asking Master Gerard, sir? About Valentine.”
“Yes. Why?”
“Well . . . probably nothing. But I remember hearing that he didn't want to hear his name.”
“Eh?”
“This was a while ago, sir. Before my time. But I've heard it said that Gerard once had a standing order that Valentine's name not be spoken in his presence.”
“Why on earth would he do that?”
“No one knows. But they say it had something to do with Lady Messalina.” Arthur's eyes narrowed suggestively.
And the corporal shook his head and rolled his eyes. “I'll be damned if I can keep track of it all. This was some time ago, you say? That can't still be a standing order.”
“I don't imagine it is, sir. Still, I'd be gentle how you bring it up.”
“Indeed. But I'm curious – how is it that you know this and I don't?”
“My aunt works in the kitchens, sir.”
The corporal laughed. “Yes, and I know how gossip breeds in the kitchens. Very well.”
A strange humming sound came from the wyvern's corner. Arthur and the corporal looked in that direction, where the beast was sleeping contentedly.
“Let's hope that lasts,” said the corporal. “I'm going to go eat before my sortie tonight. Keep a close eye on her, Arthur.”
“Of course, sir.”
As the moon rose over castle, city, and valley, the eyes of more than a few citizens crane upward. And at an hour past midnight, atop a small rise in Garnath, a dozen of the Amber Guard stood back to back in a circle, staring up and out, some with telescopes. Gerard stood at one end of the circle, dwarfing the rest. Next to him, watching his assigned portion of the sky, Corporal Bergerac waited for the proper moment to speak.
It did not come for some time. Some overeager sentry on Gerard's opposite side was constantly seeing things in the sky. He would periodically cry out, causing everyone to strain their eyes and look in the direction he was pointing. But there was never anything there. It occurred to the corporal that it was pointless to try to spot anything at night . And yet he couldn't blame Gerard, or anyone else, for wanting to find out what the hell was going on. Ships in the sky – it was terribly unsettling, after all.
A couple hours later, Gerard gave a weary sigh. “Pack it up and head back,” he ordered. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out his deck of tarots. The corporal knew he'd soon lose his chance.
“Master Gerard, sir,” he said. “A question before you leave.”
“What is it, corporal?”
“I have a question concerning Prince Valentine.”
The corporal heard someone behind him choke on something they had just started to eat. A few others were nonchalantly getting themselves as far away from Gerard as they could.
“Is this some sort of joke?” said Gerard.
The corporal did his best to feign ignorance. “Joke, sir? I don't understand.”
“Perhaps you don't know. There was – is, I suppose – a standing order not to talk to me about him. I never officially rescinded it, but I suppose I could.”
“I see, sir. I'm sorry, I had –“
“There are some stupid rumors about why I gave the order in the first place,” Gerard interrupted. “If you hear them, you may ignore them. There was a time when I considered him a threat to Amber. How can I say it? The degree to which he exploited his homeland did not match the degree to which he served it. Something like that.”
“And . . . this is no longer true?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. I don't see him often. But he served well in the Ganesh War.”
Corporal Bergerac frowned. “I don't remember him anywhere on the lines . . .”
Gerard laughed. “You wouldn't. That sort of service isn't up his alley. But he helped to get the prisoners out of Ganesh. And he almost managed to put a bullet in Fiona's head.”
The corporal opened his mouth and closed it a couple times, at a loss of how to respond to that.
“Yes, that's a good thing, corporal. Trust me.”
“If you say so, sir.”
“Now then: what was your question concerning Valentine?”
“He has left a wyvern in my care. He indicated that he would be back for it, and that I should see to it. But the beast has eaten one of the Guard already, and I just know there's more trouble ahead if we keep it.”
Gerard glanced down at the deck of cards in his hand. He seemed to be getting impatient.
“And so my question, sir,” the corporal hurried along, “Is whether Valentine is the sort who will come back, if you take my meaning.”
Gerard furrowed his brow. “Are you asking me whether you can disregard his order?”
“No, sir! Well. I mean . . . sir, we are military men. My impression is that Prince Valentine is not. Amber is not in best of times, I take it, else we would not be spending our nights staring up at the sky like this. I wish to know whether my assignment is in the service of Amber, or merely in the service of one of its prince's eccentricities.”
Gerard nodded at this. “A sensible question. But: what will you do when I order you to mix the tulip bulbs in the south garden into a porridge and feed it to your men? Will you stop to question whether it is for the service or Amber, or one of my eccentricities?”
“No, no, I—“
“And why not in my case but in his?”
“As I said, sir, you and I are soldiers, but—“
Gerard lay a single finger on the corporal's chest. He barely got one of his feet back to brace himself in time.
“ You do not know any of us ,” said Gerard. “Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“No matter what you know or think you know about his reasons, you will follow Valentine's orders as if you knew they were for the good of Amber. And it is for the good of Amber that you do this.”
“I understand, sir.”
Gerard wheeled on his heel and stepped a few steps away before drawing a card and disappearing in a rainbow glow.
The other men gave him wide berth on the hike back. Most of them, no doubt, expected Gerard to appear again and throttle this presumptuous corporal. Bergerac hadn't intended the conversation to go that way, and now that it was over it raised more questions that it answered. What, for example, should he do if Fiona were to ask him to make tulip porridge?
At any rate, one thing was clear, which was that there was no way out of caring for the wyvern.
First thing the next morning, Corporal Bergerac went to the stables. Arthur was already there, waiting for him.
“Is all well?” said the corporal.
“No one else has been eaten, if that's what you mean,” said Arthur with a grin.
“I should hope not.”
“And yes, all is well. She seems to be eating an awful lot, and I don't think she likes being cooped up. But she hasn't misbehaved.”
The corporal noticed a book in Arthur's hand. “What on earth is that?”
“From the library! I thought one of the bestiaries might be helpful.”
“What sort of stablehand uses the library? Now that I think of it – what kind of stablehand can get into the library?”
“Please don't ask me that, sir. If you did, I'd have to answer, and then we'd get off on all the wrong foot.”
The corporal resolved to ask the boy again, after the wyvern situation was resolved. “Is the book helpful?”
“No, not directly. There are some details of wyverns and similar beasts from the Circle and near Shadow. But ours doesn't correspond to those. I have a theory that it comes from somewhere else.”
The corporal guffawed. “Where else is there?”
“The Courts of Chaos,” said Arthur proudly.
“What nonsense,” said the corporal. “Why on earth would Valentine be riding a mount from the Courts?” No sooner had the question escaped his lips than all sorts of unsavory possible answers occurred to him.
“It's just a theory,” said Arthur. “Anyway, I've been reading to her from the bestiary and she seems to enjoy it. No idea if she understands a word. Oh, and, food-wise, she likes chickens. Loves it especially when they scurry around and try to avoid her teeth.”
“Lovely.”
“So I thought of a great idea for her name.”
“Arthur, I sincerely hope that we will not be minding this beast long enough for any name you give it to accrue any significance whatsoever.”
“I know. So I thought I'd make it a fun name.”
“I daren't ask.”
“Hendrake.” Arthur beamed.
“Hendrake? Isn't that one of the Houses of Chaos?”
“Yes! Which is where she's from. By my theory. Plus, there's 'hen,' and as I said she likes chickens. And then there's 'drake,' which, according to the bestiary, is the zoological class she belongs to. Hendrake. It functions on all sorts of levels.”
The corporal sighed. “Call her what you will. If all is well then I will see to my other duties, and check again tomorrow.”
Arthur threw off a salute that was a hair or two shy of being impudent, and jogged back into the stables. Corporal Bergerac had half a mind to call the precocious lad back out, but stopped himself. The beast was behaving, and he didn't want to jinx that.
Two blissful days passed without trouble from the wyvern. They were only blissful in that sense, however, since they were otherwise full of piles of sometimes-conflicting orders regarding patrols, watch duties, and the general defense of Amber against mysterious airborne invaders. Corporal Bergerac was at that unenviable position in the chain of command – high enough to bear the responsibility for shitty assignments, but low enough that there was no one beneath him to pass them off to. He spent an entire day with a squad on the slopes of Kolvir, even on the western side bending toward Arden, looking in vein for signs of a landed airship. On the orders of Princess Flora, no less! More than once he heard some of the men wishing that the General was still around. With him, when Amber was threatened, you knew things were getting done , that the orders, no matter how strange, were part of something, a larger plan. No longer.
On the fourth day, Corporal Bergerac swung by the stables, only to find several dozen off-duty soldiers and servingfolk lining the perimeter of the courtyard outside the stables. They were cheering loudly, all looking inward, and, if the corporal was not mistaken, waving money about.
He elbowed past them to see what was going on.
The wyvern was there, with a long rope tied around one of its ankles, but otherwise unbound. Scattered around it were the bodies of several dead chickens, and perhaps ten more still alive, squawking and running wildly around. The wyvern pranced around, nearly on the tips of its toes, watching them run to and fro. Occasionally she would heft into the air with a couple strong beats of its wings, and then pounce down onto or among the terrified poultry. Sometimes it would scoop one up into its mouth and down it in a couple of bites, but on the whole it seemed to be toying with them more than devouring them.
Then the corporal noticed that the chickens had scarves tied around their necks, in four different colors. Then he noticed Arthur, on one side, keeping track of chicken deaths on a chalkboard. One side of the chalkboard had a complex set of numbers in rows and columns. The last column was labelled “PAYOFF.”
The wyvern popped a yellow-scarved chicken into its mouth, and scattered onlookers cheered wildly, while another one cursed loudly, tore a piece of paper in his hands in two, and stormed out.
The corporal walked around the courtyard to stand behind the boy, who was busy writing something along the bottom of the chalkboard.
“Arthur,” he said.
Arthur dropped the chalk in surprise and stood up. “Ah! So good of you to stop by, sir.”
“I hope I do not need to actually voice my next order . . .”
Arthur nodded grimly, then turned out to the crowd. “Sorry, folks! Game's over!”
Then he whistled through his teeth, high-pitched, and the wyvern stopped chasing a chicken to turn and look at him. “Hendrake!” he said. “Ac thael. Terita!”
The wyvern snaked her tongue out, once, but then folded her wings neatly to her sides and strode obediently back to her nest in the rear of the stables.
After the wyvern was gone, the crowd began to crowd in around Arthur, many of them holding tickets out. Corporal Bergerac drew his sword, held it aloft long enough for it to catch a glint of sunlight, and then brought it down on the chalkboard, splitting it neatly in two. Then he turned to the crowd.
“Get out of here,” he said. And they did.
“I'm sorry,” said Arthur, before the corporal could start into him. “But Hendrake was bored.”
“It was illegal,” said the corporal. “Not to mention an extraordinarily bad idea.”
“You're right,” said Arthur. “I can show myself to the dungeons, if you like.”
“I will be happy to show you there, myself,” said the corporal. “But not until we're rid of the beast. You have her following your orders, now. How?”
“She's bred to be obedient. I imagine she has all sorts of uses down in Chaos.”
“But the language . . .”
“Oh, that. Strangest thing. I found a Katani book on wyverns that included commands issued by wyvern-riders.”
“Katan doesn't have any wyvern-riders. Or wyverns, as far as I know.”
“True, but they did . This was a very old book. On a lark, I tried some of the words to see if Hendrake would get them. And she did. Not all of them, and some with different pronunciations. But on the whole it's a success.”
“So she's not from Chaos. She's from Katan.”
“No, I still think she's from Chaos. I have a theory—“
The corporal held up his hand. “Keep it to yourself, this time. I have pressing matters.”
“Sorry to keep you, sir.”
The corporal started off.
“Sir?”
“What?”
“Were you serious about the dungeons?”
The corporal paused. “If Prince Valentine is anything less than wholly satisfied with matters when he returns, then you can be sure of the foulest cell I can fit you in. But should we succeed – completely, mind – I will be lenient this time.”
“Thank you, sir.” Arthur's salute this time was letter-perfect, and the corporal couldn't help but be a little impressed.
The next day there was more trouble. The wyvern refused to eat, but sat curled in her corner. Her eyes roamed aimlessly along the opposite wall, ignoring the dozen chickens, goat, and even cow that had been brought for her. Her forked tongue hung limply out the left side of her mouth.
“We can't have the damn beast starving to death,” said the corporal. “Can we force her to eat?”
“How exactly do you think we could do that?” said Arthur.
“Not we . You . She likes you, remember. She follows your commands. Ask her nicely.”
Arthur frowned and stared at Hendrake. She was paying no attention to the chickens pecking around for food just inches from her forehead.
“I think she's just bored,” he said. “She loved it when she got to chase her food.”
“You're not opening the games again,” said the corporal.
“No, no, I know. But we could at least take her back out to the courtyard and let her chase chickens for a bit. See if that works.”
The corporal shrugged in assent. They herded the chickens out into the courtyard, and sent to the kitchens for half a dozen more. They closed the doors leading to the corridors. Then they went back into the stable, and caught Hendrake peering curiously outside. When she realized she had been seen, she quickly curled back up again, sullen. Arthur walked up to her and fastened the rope tightly around her right ankle.
“Nice try, drakey-wakey,” he said. “But you know you want to chase 'em.”
Sure enough, the wyvern stood up, shook out her wings a couple times, and strutted out of the stables. The chickens heard her coming and scattered, their frantic clucks rising in crescendo. Arthur tightened the other end of the rope, fastening it to the post.
A few minutes later, the wyvern had devoured five chickens and was prancing around amid the rest of them. The lack of an audience, this time, didn't seem to bother her a bit.
“I told you,” said Arthur, smiling. “Now if we could only get that cow to run frantically around, we'd have a real show.”
The corporal nodded. “We may just make our way out of this yet,” he said. “Good thinking. I'm going to go report to the captain.”
He even nodded pleasantly to the wyvern when she happened to catch his eye on the way out. He opened one of the doors leading out of the courtyard, stepped through, and closed it behind him. It wasn't until that moment that he realized there had been a . . . something in Hendrake's eye. Ridiculous to think, of course, since it was just a beast. But if he had had to put a name of that look, it would have been crafty .
Snik! The sound he heard was muffled, coming from the other side of the door. Then a whoosh and a thwerk . By the time that was over, he had wheeled to open it again. Arthur's “Shit!”, as a result, was much more audible.
He ran back into the courtyard in time to see the wyvern circling higher and higher into the sky. About half the rope's length still trailed from its ankle. He glanced at the other half, lying limp on the ground. The place where it had been sliced was surprisingly clean-cut.
“Ac thaeli! Ac thaeli!” Arthur yelled, but the wyvern paid no mind. Once it was higher than the highest castle walls, it picked up a lazy westbound air current and sailed out of sight.
“What happened?” the corporal demanded.
“Its claws,” Arthur replied. “The rear-facing one had some sort of retractable blade or something. I hadn't noticed it before.”
“The damn creature played us for fools!”
Arthur, at this point, couldn't help but smile. “Yes. Yes, I suppose it did.”
“Well, get some horses. And rope. I'll get some men. We have to catch up before she gets too far. Meet at the west gate.”
It was soon after they parted ways that the corporal remembered that most of his men were on patrol duty in the valley or in town. The rest were still working on Flora's fool's errand. And the chances of borrowing anyone from another squad, given the current situation, was negligible. It was going to have to be just him and the boy.
That meant it would take longer, so the corporal got his best sword, his sturdier-if-less-impressive-looking boots, and a couple days' worth of rations. Arthur was waiting for him at the west gate with two very impressive-looking horses.
“Those aren't standard-issue steeds,” said the corporal.
“No, they have Shadow experience,” said Arthur. “Less liable to be spooked by things.”
The corporal held his tongue and filed it away as one more thing to look into once Valentine reclaimed his beast. The horses were, indeed, impressive – setting out west, they navigated the steep terrain with ease, navigating instinctively, without need for direction.
They were up, higher than the castle, even, when they spied the first sign of Hendrake's passage. A clearing to their left, much further down and a quarter-mile away, contained the sprawled and bloody bodies of a handful of mountain goats.
“Look!” exclaimed Arthur. The corporal followed his gaze just in time to see the wyvern , flying low, disappear behind a foothill to the south and west.
“Well, at least she's leaving the mountains,” he said. “Let's hurry.”
By nightfall they were in the foothills, too. But they had spied no other evidence of the wyvern's passage before nightfall. They stopped to make a fire on a patch of flat rock near a thick stream running down from the mountains. They huddled close to the fire in the bitter cold, eating the rations straight out of the tins. They passed a bottle of something strong back and forth between them.
“If we don't get a sign of her early tomorrow, we're done for,” said the corporal morosely. “After that we have no hope of keeping up with her.”
“For all we know, she could make it into Shadow,” said Arthur.
“How?” said the corporal. “Unless she switches back, she's not heading for any of the established paths.”
“Who knows how creatures from Chaos work?” Arthur replied.
“Oh, that again. I still think it's from Katan. Just slipped through the cracks.”
“The bestiaries don't say anything about Katani wyverns having retractable blades in their feet,” said Arthur.
“Maybe she was modified then. A war steed.”
They sat in silence for a while and passed the bottle.
“If we fail,” said Arthur, “What do you suppose will happen to us? I mean really . If Valentine just tosses us into the dungeons, I can't imagine we'll have to stay long. Or at least you won't. You're needed too badly for the defense of Amber these days.”
“I can hope,” said the corporal. “The real question is whether Valentine's anger will result in a more . . . personal punishment.”
Arthur nodded soberly. “What do you suppose he could do? Is he a sorcerer?”
“Probably. Best not to think about it.”
They slept fitfully, and were awakened just before dawn by a piercing, multivoiced screech that echoes in the hills around them. In a second they were on their feet, peering west in the early light.
“It was her,” said Arthur. “I know it was.”
They waited a minute or so, as the sky gradually brightened, and were rewarded with another screech, no closer, but its source was clear. It came from farther southwest, where the foothills gave out altogether to trees. Mile up on mile upon mile of trees.
“Terrific,” said the corporal. “She's in Arden.”
The corporal, like the rest of the Amber Guard, had been to Arden before. In his case, it was the only time. Week Three of basic training. Forest maneuvers. Standing in some clearing thick with moss and mosquitos, listening to a captain of the Rangers lecture on the importance of this border above all others. When the corporal had gone through all that, Julian himself had been present, standing at a distance in his magnificent armor, watching. After a grueling fortnight, he had selected three of the Amber Guard trainees to take under his own wing as Rangers. Bergerac had not been one of them.
They reached the entrance to Arden by midmorning, and where they approached, it really was like an entrance. At other points, Arden's border was gradual, with scattered trees and copses gradually building up to the towering arbor giants of the interior. But here, far from Garnath or the castle, up toward the mountains, it was as if a wall of seedlings had been planted millenia ago. There was even a gap between two gigantic oaks, leading into the forest in what, the corporal hoped, was an actual path and not a misleading fragment of one that would leave them hopelessly lost.
“Well, there's one good thing,” said Arthur as they entered. “The forest has been safe for a long time now. Hendrake isn't going to run into a mantichora or anything. Right?”
“Mantichoras aren't what she has to be worried about,” said the corporal.
Arthur made no response to that. They pressed on into the forest for a couple of hours, relieved to discover that they really were on a path, and a fairly well-established one at that. The sounds of woodland creatures were everywhere, though they saw few other than the birds and squirrels.
Eventually they found more wyvern-sign. The path they were on passed through a marshier part of the wood, and grew soft and muddy. There, in the ground before them, were two unmistakable footprints.
“Well, she's walking now,” said the corporal. “No surprise, considering all the trees. She couldn't be flying around here unless she was above them.”
“Which raises a good question,” said Arthur. “Why isn't she above them? For that matter, why did she head into Arden in the first place? It seems like the mountains would have served her better.”
They looked around for other sign, and found a place further back they had missed, where the undergrowth was trampled down and a sapling had been cracked in two. Leaving the path, they followed the trail of destruction deeper into the forest. Things were too tight to proceed on horseback, so they had to dismount and lead the horses behind them. After ten minutes they came suddenly upon a clearing. They entered it cautiously, for around them were spatterings of blood. In the middle of the clearing was a body. Or part of one.
Standing over it, they could see it had been a Ranger. The green-grey uniform, if it could be called a uniform, was unmistakable from what was left. The poor soul's bow lay broken a few yards away, and the remaining arrows in his quiver were scattered all about. Parts of the body were missing, and other parts looked distinctly . . . chewed over.
“This is bad,” said the corporal. “This is very bad.”
“The idiot probably drew a sword at her,” said Arthur.
“Well of course he did! It was his job to protect the forest!”
The twang and hiss that followed next came far too quickly for either of them to react. The arrow imbedded itself halfway into the ground, directly between the corporal's feet. He looked up into the trees but saw nothing.
“Stop!” he cried. “We're from the castle!”
“Drop your sword!” came a voice, still hidden up in the branches.
“Yes, yes! Just don't shoot!” The corporal unfastened his swordbelt and tossed it on the ground a few feet away. “Don't move a muscle,” he muttered to Arthur.
There was a rustling of leaves, and a Ranger dropped fifteen feet to the ground with ease. He notched another arrow from his place at the edge of the clearing, and took aim.
“Damn it, don't fire!” called the corporal. But then he heard more rustling from behind him, and turned to see three more rangers enter the clearing. One of them, sporting a bandage around his head, drew his sword, approached, and held its point an inch from the corporal's eyes.
“Who is this imposter walking in the guise of the Amber Guard?”
“I am of the Amber Guard! Corporal Bergerac, fifth division.”
“And what are you doing in the forest?”
“Business for his royal highness Prince Valentine.”
“Never heard of him.”
“Well, if you spent more than a moment outside of your damn treeforts, you might be able to stay abreast of the royal family that you serve.” The corporal knew these weren't the most prudent words, but he strongly disliked having a sword pointed at him. He was pretty sure he outranked them, anyway.
“Make no mistake, grunt. We are Rangers. We serve Julian, and we serve the forest. That is all.”
“I strongly suspect your oath of service speaks otherwise.”
“You know nothing of our oaths of service.”
“You mean to say you serve only Julian? What of the other princes? King Random? The General?”
“The General is dead. The king is weak. Times have changed.”
“You realize you are speaking treason.”
“Take it up with Julian. In any case, I believe you now when you say you are of Amber's Guard. No one else would be in such a huff over my words. It is because you are an Amber Guard that I will let you live, Corporal Bergerac. I am Forester Thule.”
“Forester? I'm not sure where that falls in the chain of command . . .”
“Our chain of command is not your concern, corporal. Now you will tell me who your companion is.”
“I'm Arthur,” said Arthur.
Thule looked at the stableboy. “You are too young to be a Guardsman.”
“Very true,” said Arthur. “I mind the stables.”
Thule glanced briefly at the two horses, munching on grass at the edge of the clearing. “I don't understand. What strange mission from some miscellaneous princeling draws you this far into Arden?”
Bergerac hesitated. He wasn't sure it was prudent to mention the wyvern just yet, as he didn't imagine the rangers would take too well to his desire to catch it and bring it back to the castle safely. Certainly they could be a great help in finding the thing, but he had no doubt what their actions would be once she was caught.
Before he could decide what to say, Arthur piped up. “We're probably after the same thing you are. A wyvern was spotted above Amber. We were following it. But now that it's entered your realm, you're probably better equipped than we to catch the thing.”
“Of that there's no doubt,” said Thule. “So this was a pet of this Valentine's, then? Or perhaps some misapprehended summoning. No matter. The vile thing has killed a ranger, and it will die.”
“I thought as much,” said Arthur.
“But why is a single guardsman and a stableboy on this errand?” said Thule a little suspiciously.
“That's a long story, but an interesting one,” said Arthur. “It starts when the corporal here was –“
Thule raised his hand for silence. “Never mind. Tell it to my man on the way out.” He gestured to the bowman at the edge of the clearing. “This is Franklin. He will escort you out of the forest. The rest of us need to keep moving if we're to finish the job.”
“Finish?” said the corporal.
“I managed to pierce its wing, so it's no longer flying, or at least not well. We'll catch it before it reaches Shadow.”
“How does it hope to reach Shadow?”
“By following the path, of course. Or didn't you know you were on one?” Thule laughed. “Typical.” He walked over to the corporal's swordbelt, picked it up, and handed it to him. “Time for you to go home,” he said. Then he and his two companions were jogging off into the wood.
Franklin looked at them haughtily. “Let's be off,” he said, and started back down the way they had originally come.
Bergerac and Arthur followed. They exchanged glances, but were too close to the Ranger to risk words. The corporal's glance said, essentially, “ What the hell sort of idea do you have, anyway, you impudent little stablehand ??” Arthur's glance in return was more along the lines of “ I have an idea .” Then Arthur gestured, subtly, a little overhand swipe directed at the bowman's head.
They walked on for half an hour or so. Franklin never turned to speak or even to check if they were still there. They led their horses behind them, which slowed their progress to a degree that he obviously found distasteful.
To the corporal's thinking, overcoming Franklin, only to turn around and head back in the forest after the wyvern, was sheer madness. Their progress would be pathetic compared to that of the Rangers, not to mention the trouble they'd be in if they did somehow manage to catch up. And yet . . . there were the potential consequences should they return empty-handed. And by the unicorn, these pompous forest-roamers annoyed him to no end! It would serve them right to get the wyvern back from their grasp!
But what was the chance of that? Not a lick of one, he had to admit. Their gig was up. Time to face the music . . .
Arthur had been glaring at the corporal for much of the walk, waiting for him to make a move. When it was clear that he wouldn't, he cracked his knuckles, shook his arms out, and ran straight at Franklin, who was walking ten paces ahead of them. Franklin heard him coming and turned, but wasn't expecting Arthur's head to come barreling into his stomach. The two of them fell back in a jumble of limbs into the path.
The corporal spat a curse and ran forward after them. He wasn't sure just what he'd do when he got there, but two moments later, when the Ranger had Arthur pinned and his dagger out, he realized there was little choice. He drew his sword to force the bowman to shift his attention to him.
“Wait! We can talk—“ he said, but Franklin pounced at him without stopping to listen. His knife flitted left for the briefest instant in an attempt at a feint before stabbing forward. The corporal sidestepped, caught the bowman's wrist, and brought his fist forward. The knobby steel end of his sword's pommel caught Franklin just above his right eye, and he collapsed in the path with a clump .
“Well, for all their talk, they fall easy,” said the corporal.
“Did you kill him?” said Arthur, getting up.
“No, he's unconscious. He'll have a smashing headache when he awakes.”
Arthur ran over to the horses and came back with some rope. They tied his arms behind him and left him lying against an old elm, several yards off the path.
“We've lost too much time,” said Arthur. “Better to hurry.” He started back down the path, but as he passed the corporal, Bergerac grabbed him by the collar, hefted him the air, and pinned him to a nearby tree.
“Look, sir—“
“Listen here, you shit-shoveling threadneck! Did it ever occur to you that whatever the Rangers will have in store for us now would be worse than anything that Amber's dungeons or even Valentine's twisted mind might conjure up for us? We have no chance of catching that poor stupid beast. It's as good as dead.”
“Erk—“
The corporal released his grasp and Arthur crumpled at the foot of the tree, massaging his throat. “We can do it,” he finally mumbled. “When Hendrake realized she's being hunted, she'll come back around looking for us.”
“How do you know?”
“I just—“
“Never mind. If that's true, what are you suggesting?”
“We just need to get somewhere where she can find us. Another clearing, preferably. And we have to hope the Rangers aren't too close behind her. And we have to hope they don't find that guy.” He gestured toward Franklin. “Then we just have to get out before they catch us.”
The corporal shook his head. “If we live through this, there's no question. You're going to the dungeons.”
“I can't really argue with that any more. But will you try? Please?”
Bergerac could think of a dozen reasons why he should go home now, while he could. He could even think of some pretty good reasons to lose his uniform and go AWOL somewhere else – he had relations in Alitraine. And yet he knew he was going to agree with Arthur and keep on trying to find the beast. Why was that? Fear of Valentine? No. A soft spot in his heart for Hendrake? Probably not – though Arthur clearly had that, and it was a little infectious. Sense of duty? Bergerac was embarrassed, when he thought of it, how little that weighed on his decision. Sense of adventure? Yes, maybe that was closest. It made no sense, since being an Amber Guard wasn't at all short of adventure these days. But there it was. Maybe a chance to stick it to the Rangers thrown in there as well.
But he certainly wasn't going to give Arthur the pleasure of vocalizing his assent. Acting a little gruffer than he was, he stalked off the path and into the forest, away from the clearing where they had met Thule. Arthur led both horses behind, moving more slowly in the thick undergrowth.
In a couple of hours the trees started to thin somewhat, and they came across something that could pass for a clearing. There was a stream running through it and a couple old pines leaning askance at its banks, their roots exposed by erosion. Around that, though, there was enough open space for Hendrake to get some maneuvering room.
Arthur clambered up into one of the leaning pines, and let out a sort of bird-call in an ululating staccato. He stayed up there and repeated it every five minutes or so.
After a time, the corporal called up to him. “The Rangers won't mistake that call for anything other than a human, you realize.”
“I know,” Arthur called down. “It's a calculated risk.”
The corporal frowned. He occupied himself by taking stock of the clearing from a tacitical perspective. The stream banks and the trees were key, in case they had to defend themselves against archers. He moved the horses down under the leaning pines and leaned his spare short sword against one of the pines. He paced the clearing back and forth a couple times, noting the deepest places in the stream and the spots where it could be easily hopped across.
Half an hour later, one of Arthur's calls was returned by Hendrake's unmistakable cry. Arthur scampered out of the tree and ran to the edge of the clearing, calling again. The corporal peered through the trees, looking more for any sign of Rangers than of the beast.
Hendrake came into view, and she wasn't in the air. She was running through the trees, occasionally rising for a dozen yards to pass a particular gnarled bit of undergrowth. When she did so she used her right wing but not her left. Soon, she burst through some thorny bushes and emerged into the clearing. She crouched and nuzzled her snout up to Arthur, but only for a moment – she then turned and, like the corporal, peered into the trees for any sign of pursuit.
For the moment, there was none. Arthur led Hendrake into the widest part of the clearing and then raced to his saddlebag. “We have to fix her wing,” he said. “The forest only gets thicker between here and the castle. She'll need to fly.” He approached her with a veterinary bag full of salves and ointments, some horse-bandages, and other assorted medical items he had thrown in just in case.
The corporal did not care for the next hour of his life at all. He would have much preferred a direct confrontation to the interminable waiting. Hendrake obediently stretched out her wounded wing for Arthur, who immediately set to work. The corporal wasn't clear whether he knew at all what he was doing, but he chalked it up to the bestiaries he'd been reading and whatever sort of preternatural intuition he had or claimed to have. Strange boy.
Arthur had treated the punctured wing and was bandaging another wound at the shoulder when the corporal heard the first wolflike howls. They had to be some ways off, he guessed, but their call could only mean they had picked up the scent. In a flood, the corporal suddenly remembered everything he had heard about Julian's hellhounds. He had been thinking of Rangers, of strategic positioning, of diplomacy – all of which fell to pieces before the prospect of a charging wall of ravenous canines.
“Can she fly?” he asked Arthur tensely.
“Soon,” said Arthur, ripping off a length of bandage with his teeth.
The next hound-howl was closer, but still not too close. It also seemed to be a little off to the side – perhaps they were on the wrong trail? But the corporal's thoughts along this line were smothered by another sound – a relentless p-pound, p-pound, accompanied by the cracking of wood. Was it just him, or was the ground actually shaking?
Then he caught the silhouette through the trees. A man, riding upon the biggest horse Bergerac had ever seen or ever would see. The infamous Morganstern.
Julian was coming.
Bergerac leaped across the stream and grabbed his sword from its saddle-scabbard. “She had better fly now , Arthur!” he called.
“Done!” said Arthur, stepping back from Hendrake. “Now fly! Ac tamat! Quickly! Back to Amber! Ac tamat!”
The wyvern rose up on its two legs and craned her neck skyward. She unfurled her wings, but her left one, constricted somewhat by the bandages, couldn't open all the way. Reaching some point of pain, she made a harsh clucking noise and folded the wing back in.
“No! Go! Now!” called Arthur.
Hendrake looked at him, blinked, and then glanced at the corporal.
“We'll be fine, you idiot! Just go.”
But Hendrake didn't move, and then it was too late.
Morganstern came crashing into the clearing at the same point the wyvern had entered, rending the same thorn bush into a hundred tiny scattering shards with its momentum. Julian, resplendent in his shell of white armor, was holding a tremendous silvery spear over his shoulder, ready to strike. Without missing a beat, Morganstern continued to bear down on the wyvern, who crouched, eyes flaring.
Arthur ran from Hendrake's side and stood before Morganstern. The corporal was running back across the stream to push him out of the way, but he wasn't going to make it in time.
At the last moment, finally noticing Arthur, Julian pulled back on Morganstern's reigns. The great horse reared up, steam pouring from its nostrils, dwarfing Arthur and even the wyvern before crashing back down. The ground shook.
Arthur was holding a stopped up vial of blue liquid from the veterinary pack behind his back.
“What are you doing here?” demanded Julian. Arthur stared up at him unflinchingly.
The corporal ran up and bowed on one knee. “Your pardon, m'lord. I am Corporal Bergerac of the Amber Guard. This matter is my responsibility.”
“You are responsible for this beast being in my forest?” said Julian.
“Yes, sir.”
Julian tossed his spear aside and drew his sword. He looked ready to run the corporal down right there. “Do you know what it is ?”
“It is a wyvern, sir.”
“It stinks of Chaos, you dolt. It is a cretin of the Courts.” He narrowed his eyes. “What spell does it have you under?”
“Sir, please,” said the corporal. “I am responsible for this creature by the specific orders of Prince Valentine of Amber.”
“Valentine?” said Julian, then spat on the ground. “A bastard Pattern-brat. Not a proper prince.”
“You know him?”
“No. And that is just the point. You are sworn to follow his orders, perhaps, but I am not. When you report back to him you may explain who felled the creature.”
Morganstern and Hendrake, in the meantime, had not looked away from each other. Julian urged his mount forward, and as the distance between them closed, the corporal realized that the wyvern was somehow caught in the horse's thrall – frozen in place.
Arthur had not moved. “Out of my way, boy,” said Julian, without even looking at him. Morganstern showed no inclination to stop.
Arthur only stepped out of the way when Morganstern was about to trample him. Julian paid no attention to him, or to the corporal, or to the baying of his hellhounds, which even now were crashing through the trees, on the cusp of entering the clearing at last.
Arthur vaulted into the air, and with his left hand caught hold of the strap holding Morganstern's bit in its mouth. He swung his right hand up, holding the unstoppered vial he had been hiding, and poured its contents into Morganstern's left ear.
The horse led out a hideous cry of pain and reared up again. Arthur went tumbling backward, head over heels. Julian, caught unawares, was thrown off. He landed on his back was a thud , his armor making a seamless imprint into the dirt.
Morganstern reared so high and thrashed so much that it lost its own balance and collapsed to the ground, legs scissoring wildly.
Then the first of the hellhounds entered the clearing, teeth bared, tongue lolling out to one side as it ran. It was making for Arthur. The corporal ran to intercept it. He reached it even as it was in mid-pounce, and ran it through with his sword, following through with his own momentum to knock it aside. Arthur stood up, somewhat wobbly.
Both Julian and Morganstern were already getting to their feet. The corporal waited for Julian to charge, but saw that he was confused more than anything else. He realized that he had not noticed Arthur, or perhaps just hadn't put it together yet, and was still wondering why his horse had pitched him.
But that was only a matter of time. Fortunately the horse was still experiencing some sort of ugly pain, and, even though it was on its feet, still thrashed its head back and forth, trying to shake the feeling away.
Two more hellhounds burst into the clearing, this time making for the wyvern. Hendrake lowered her head and her tongue snicked out as if to greet them. As the first one pounced, her long neck shifted to the side and she caught its flank in her own teeth before it hit. With a twitch she tossed its bleeding body out of the way. The other, in the meantime, had landed on her back and was making a little headway against her gnarled hide. She leapt into the air with two beats of her wings and then did a mid-air flip, dropping the hound to the ground. Then she landed again, right on top of it, rending in two with her claws.
“You flew!” cried Arthur. “See!”
Julian, at this point, was striding toward Hendrake, sword drawn. More hounds were fast on their way, and worse, the sounds of other horses and people running afoot. From the other side of the clearing, in fact, a trio of rangers burst in. Two stopped to notch arrows while the third ran toward Julian.
He cried to Julian: “Master! They are traitors! Beware!”
Julian's face went white as ice. He adjusted his course, now heading straight for the corporal, who raised his sword and stood in a defensive posture even while he recognized the ultimate futility of the gesture.
But Arthur leapt in the way of Julian's overhand swing. The fool – his arms were extended as if to block it. And block it they did – the boy's left arm came off neatly at the shoulder even as the corporal stumbled back in surprise. Julian's follow-through embedded his sword, for a moment, into the ground.
Hendrake let out a piercing screech and half-ran, half-flew at Julian. The corporal barely ducked in time to get out of the way. Julian, who had been for a moment intent on pulling his sword back out, was caught in his chest by the force of her charge. He was knocked onto his back yet again, but managed to roll out from the wyvern's pin a moment after.
The corporal dropped his sword and scooped Arthur up into his arms. In his mind he was counting the minutes that Arthur would have before the bloodloss became fatal.
“Ac tamat!” he called to Hendrake. “We have to go. Now !”
Hendrake turned. Whether she was just following the order or whether she appreciated the situation – Julian retrieving his sword, three more hellhounds entering the clearing, two rangers starting to fire, another almost upon them – he couldn't be sure. But she hopped up to the corporal, who tossed Arthur onto her back, clambered on himself, at the spot where he had seen Valentine riding. He turned to hold onto Arthur even as Hendrake took to the sky.
Arrows whizzed by, and one even impacted somewhere on Hendrake's flank, but she kept flying. She adjusted her course quickly to put trees between herself and the archers, and then turned east. Once clear of the forest, the corporal set her down long enough to bind up Arthur's stump. The boy's face was pale with loss of blood. He had seen soldiers on the field die sooner and with less grievous wounds, but Arthur wasn't dead yet.
“Corporal,” he said weakly.
“Shut up and sleep.”
“Is she all right?”
“She's fine. Shut up and sleep.”
“We made it.”
“So far, yes. We're not done yet.”
Hendrake landed in the courtyard outside the stables. Thankfully, there were only a couple of servingfolk there, whom the corporal quickly commanded away. The wyvern, perhaps a little abashed at the consequences of her behavior, trotted obediently to her nest at the back of the stables. The corporal had to leave her alone for a moment, long enough to get Arthur to the infirmary.
He thanked the Unicorn that Boq was there – one of the castle's better doctors, and one who had served with the corporal's division in the Patternfall War.
Boq looked sadly at the boy in the corporal's arms. “You've come to the wrong place with a corpse, corporal.”
“He's not dead.”
Boq looked more closely. “By gum, you're right. Set him here.”
The corporal waited in the corner while the doctor examined Arthur. Finally he looked up. “This boy has been through a great deal.”
“Yes, he has.”
“But you bound his arm well. He will live.”
The corporal smiled in spite of himself. “Send him to me when he is recovered, Boq.”
“Of course.”
“And Boq? A favor.”
“Yes?”
“Keep his presence here as quiet as possible. Consider him an unofficial patient.”
“Consider it done, my friend.”
The first hurdle was keeping Hendrake until Valentine returned. The second hurdle was Julian's retaliation. The chances of the second overtaking the first were surprisingly high.
But it didn't work out that way. For two days, Corporal Bergerac contrived to stay near the stables, and did his best to fill in Arthur's duties as well as his own – at least, when it came to minding the wyvern. Hendrake, for her part, neither sulked nor showed inclination to escape. The corporal suspected that they were waiting for the same thing.
He could hardly believe his eyes when Arthur walked into the stables late on that second day. His left sleeve flopped uselessly around, but Arthur himself seemed in high spirits. And Hendrake was delighted to see him again. Arthur told her all about his stay in the infirmary – not that there was much to tell – and Hendrake sat, attentive, as if she understood every word.
Then Arthur turned to the corporal. “The dungeons for me, now?” he said.
Before the corporal could answer, one of the other stablehands came running in. “Sir!” he exclaimed. “Prince Valentine has returned!”
The corporal jogged out to see if it was true. Of course it was – Valentine stood there in the courtyard, and judging from the expressions on the faces of the others present, his arrival had been as sudden as his departure one week before. His clothing was still impeccably cut, but he had the scuffle and sweat of battle about him, and he was holding one of the special gunpowder weapons.
“The wyvern? Is it still here?” he said.
“Yes, m'lord,” said the corporal.
“I need it. Very quickly.”
Arthur was already leading Hendrake out of the stables. Valentine smiled upon seeing her, and the wyvern stretched its wings in response, as if aware of the trials that were to come. He hopped on her back and looked down at Arthur.
“What happened to your arm, boy?”
Arthur scratched Hendrake's head and whispered something in her ear. Only then did he look up at Valentine. “Take good care of her, please,” he replied.
The corporal braced himself for the snap of royal pride coming down on Arthur's impudent head, but either the prince was too laid back or too preoccupied to mind. He led Hendrake a couple steps away, and promptly forgot about the corporal and the stablehand. The wyvern crouched and then launched upward on her powerful legs, spiralling up and up. They seemed to disappear into the sky.
The corporal watched until he could see no more, then he turned to tell Arthur that he wasn't going to send him to the dungeons. But the boy had scurried off.
There was still the matter of Julian. As Bergerac saw it, Arden's master and guardian had two choices: he could come to Amber himself to chop off his head, or he could call holy hell on him through the chain of command.
The corporal rated the first possibility unlikely, if Julian was half as busy as Master Gerard. And the second was actually manageable. Even if word were to reach him through a quartet of fellow Guardsmen come to arrest him, he could get wind of that before it came. So he set up his departure routes, contacted his relatives in Alitraine, and laid everything ready for his escape.
But Julian never came, and as far as the corporal could tell, never sent word either. Too proud to admit to being dismounted? Too busy to concern himself, as long as the wyvern was gone? The corporal supposed he would never know.
A month later he saw Boq again, when he brought one of his men into the infirmary. The doctor pulled him aside.
“I've been meaning to ask you about Arthur, ever since you brought him in. You asked me to keep it a secret and I have, but for me, I'd just like to know.”
“Know what?”
“Whose son is he?”
The corporal laughed. “I have no idea. We never spoke of our families. Why on earth do you ask?”
“Oh, come now, Bergerac. We are friends and I've done you a favor. No need to play coy. Whose son ?”
“Why would it matter?”
“Is he the General's? There would be something poetically fitting about that. Unlikely, I suppose, though.”
“The General? What do you – wait – you mean –“
“Oh, come now, Bergie! The boy lost his arm , then you flew him for miles before getting him to proper care! Men don't survive that, let alone thirteen-year-olds. At least, not normal ones.”
“Are you suggesting he's of royal blood?”
“Well of course that's what I'm suggesting, and shame on you for still playing coy!”
“Boq—please believe me. I didn't know. He's a stablehand .”
Boq considered for a moment. “You're not holding back, are you? You really didn't know?”
“I had no idea.”
“Well maybe he doesn't, either.”
But by then the corporal was running, running down Amber's echoing halls toward the stables. He burst in and ran to the back, where two stablehands were turning Hendrake's nest back to a proper home for horses.
“Where is he? Where is Arthur?”
“Arthur, sir?” said one of them.
“Yes. The one missing an arm.”
“Oh, him,” said the other. “He left about a month ago. Disappeared after that dragon-thing left. No one's seen him.” He pointed a thumb at his companion. “He's the replacement.”
The corporal stood there, his arms hanging numbly at his sides. “If he comes back, send him to me. Corporal Bergerac.”
“Yes, sir.”
The corporal left the stables, left the castle, and went for a walk up in the mountain paths. The sun was starting to set behind Arden. A dragon – a real one – wheeled in lazy circles out over the ocean. As the moon rose, Tir-na-Nog'th briefly considered coming into being, but seeing a sliver still missing in the silver orb, decided against it.
“Good luck,” he murmured, to the wyvern or Arthur or both, and wandered aimlessly down the mountain paths.
Prince Valentine rode the wyvern back into Near Binah, accompanied by many others. They rode for days and, in time, came to the Pyramid. Valentine left his steed there to explore it, and from there went to many new places unseen by methods unknown. He never went back to retrieve her.
Three months later, an Amber Guard on routine skywatch in the mountains spotted a lone wyvern flying toward Garnath. Its rider appeared to be only a boy.
Corporal Bergerac received the report, but did not send it on to his superiors.