Chapter 23: Dark Magic
"Sir Bennet," Darcy said finally. "We look now to you, sir. Let's keep no more disguises between us. You're the she-dragon's protector, are you not?"
"I am, sir." Sir Bennet gazed at both men, with an air of defiance. "Her protector, and lately her only friend. The monks kept her fed for years, leaving tethered animals at this spot, as you have guessed. But now they quarrel among themselves, and Querig senses their treachery. Yet she knows I stay loyal."
Lydia was too far into her madness to comprehend what had been said. Wickham looked as if he ate something very bitter; Darcy, clearly anticipating the response was expressionless.
Elizabeth felt sick to her stomach.
"Then Sir Bennet," Darcy said, "will you care to tell us if we stand near the she-dragon now?"
"She's near. You've done well to arrive here, even if you had good fortune stumbling on Lydia for a guide."
Lydia, who was back on her feet, began to sing once more, albeit in a low chant-like manner.
"Father," Elizabeth said, voice steadier than the whirl of emotions inside her, "tell your daughter if you will. How is it a knight like you, turns out to be Querig's protector?"
"Perhaps this Saxon warrior here's keen to explain it, child. He seems to think that he knows all."
"On the contrary, I'm as eager as Elizabeth to hear your account of it. Yet all in good time. First, we must settle one question. Will I cut loose Lydia to see where she runs? Or will you, Sir Bennet, lead the way to Querig's lair? Though I may now guess the way without a guide. We must go to those rocks atop this next slope, must we not?"
Sir Bennet stared emptily, then sighed. "Leave Lydia," he said heavily. "You are quite right, sir," he added. "Those rocks circle a pit, and no small one. A pit as deep as a quarry, and you'll find Querig asleep there. If you really mean to fight her, Master Darcy, you'll have to climb down into it. Now I ask you, sir, do you really mean to do such a wild thing?" Sir Bennet straightened to his full height, pulled the sword from the ground and carefully returned it to its scabbard.
"I've come this long way to do so."
"You want this goat full of poison?" Wickham asked casually.
"While I may take advantage of Querig's slumber, poison's a weapon I don't care to employ. Besides, I lack the patience now to wait another half day or more to discover if the she-dragon will sicken from her supper."
"Who is this man?" Sir Bennet asked.
Neither Saxon deigned to answer him, so Elizabeth attempted an explanation she thought appropriate. "He is George Wickham. He and Darcy were childhood friends."
Sir Bennet turned to fully look at Elizabeth. "Wait down here, my child, and hide from the wind beside the cairn. You'll not wait long."
"You mistake me, father," Elizabeth said, "I've stretched my strength to come this far. I wish to see this to the end, and shall be walking this last slope with the three of you."
Sir Bennet once again sighed and shook his head helplessly. "Then let's all go together. Elizabeth, a dragon's lair is no place for you, though I dare say no harm will befall you, and I'll be easier myself for your presence. Keep your voices low lest Querig stir from her sleep."
As they ascended the next path, the wind grew less harsh, even though they felt more than ever to be touching the sky.
They walked mostly in silence, but at one point Sir Bennet halted on the path which caused everyone else to pause. As she came up behind, Elizabeth could hear Sir Bennet saying with a small chuckle, "I'll confess, Master Darcy, my hope's that even now Querig's breath will rob you of the memory of why you walk beside me. I await eagerly your asking where it is I lead you! Yet I see from both your eye and step you forget little."
Darcy smiled grimly. "I believe, sir, it's this very gift to withstand strange spells won me this errand from my King. For in the fens, we've never known a creature quite like this Querig, yet have known others with wonderful powers, and it was noticed how little I was swayed, even as my comrades swooned and wandered in dreams. Wickham, wo walks with us can boast the same quality, and I believe that it is something given to us from childhood that protects us."
Sir Bennet nodded. "Now, it's not so far now. Let's be moving on while she still sleeps."
They continued in silence. The ground had become less demanding, levelling to something like a plateau. The rocks they had discussed from below now loomed before them, and Elizabeth could see, as they came ever nearer, how they were arranged in a rough semi-circle around the top of a mound to the side of their path. She could see too how a row of smaller stones rose in a kind of stairway up the side of the mound, leading right up to the rim of what could only be a pit of significant depth. The grass all around where they had now arrived seemed to have been blackened or burnt, lending the surroundings – already without tree or shrub - an atmosphere of decay.
Sir Bennet, bringing the party to a halt near where the crude stairway began, turned to face Darcy with some deliberation. "Will you not consider a last time, sir, leaving this dangerous plan? Why not return now to your country, with Lord Brennus safely buried?"
Darcy glanced back the way they had come, then looked again at Sir Bennet. "You know it, sir. I cannot turn back. Show me this dragon."
The old knight nodded thoughtfully, as though Darcy had just made some casual but fascinating observation.
"Very well," he said. "Then keep your voices low, for what purpose should we wake her?"
Sir Bennet led the way up the side of the mound and on reaching the rocks signalled for them to wait. He then peered over carefully, and after a moment, beckoned to them, saying in a low voice, "Come stand along here, friends, and you'll see her well enough."
Darcy helped Elizabeth onto a ledge beside him, then they leant over one of the rocks. The pit below was broader and shallower than Elizabeth had expected; more like a drained pond than something actually dug into the ground. The greater part of it was now in pale sunlight, and seemed to consist entirely of grey rock and gravel - the blackened grass finishing abruptly at the rim - so that the only living thing visible, aside from the dragon herself, was a solitary hawthorn bush sprouting incongruously through the stone near the centre of the pit's belly.
The dragon's posture - prone, head twisted to one side, limbs outspread – might easily have resulted from her corpse being hurled into the pit from a height. In fact, it took a moment to ascertain this creature was indeed asleep. Her skin, which should have appeared oiled and of a colour not unlike bronze, was instead a brownish colour, dull like a less magnificient animal. Her wings were sagging to either side of her. The head being turned against the grey pebbles, Elizabeth could see only the one eye, which was hooded in the manner of a turtle's, and which opened and closed lethargically according to some internal rhythm.
"Can this really be her, Darcy?" Elizabeth said quietly.
"Look there, Lizzy," Sir Bennet's voice said behind them. "So long as she's breath left, she does her duty."
"Is she perhaps already poisoned, do you think?" Wickham asked Darcy.
"She simply grows old, George, as we all must do. And dragons are generally not meant to be confined inside a remote wooden quarry. Her restrictions affect her. But she still breathes, and so Merlin's work lingers," Darcy answered quietly.
"Merlin?!" Wickham asked, gasping softly.
Darcy started walking down the mound, and Elizabeth and Wickham followed him. "Who else could it possibly be? Someone with enough magic and power, walking beside Arthur, able to bring a fearsome dragon under their command? Merlin, it must have been. It could have only been."
"It comes back to me now," Elizabeth said. "I remember Merlin's work here and dark it was too."
"Dark, Lizzy?" said Sir Bennet. "Why dark? It was the only way. Even before that battle was properly won, I rode out with four good comrades to tame this same creature, in those days both mighty and angry, so Merlin could place this great spell on her breath. A dark man he may have been, but in this he did God's will, not only Arthur's. Without this she-dragon's breath, would peace ever have come? Look how we live now! Old foes as cousins, village by village. Master Darcy, I ask again. Will you not leave this poor creature to live out her life? Her breath isn't what it was, yet holds the magic even now. Think, sir, once that breath should cease, what might be awoken across this land even after these years! Yes, we slaughtered plenty, I admit it, caring not who was strong and who weak. God may not have smiled at us, but we cleansed the land of war. Leave this place, sir, I beg you. We may pray to different gods, yet surely yours will bless this dragon as does mine."
Darcy looked at Sir Bennet in disgust. "What kind of god is it, sir, wishes wrongs to go forgotten and unpunished?"
"You ask it well, Master Darcy, and I know my god looks uneasily on our deeds of that day. Yet it's long past and the bones lie sheltered beneath a pleasant green carpet. The young know nothing of them. I beg you leave this place, and let Querig do her work a while longer. Another season or two, that's the most she'll last. Yet even that may be long enough for old wounds to heal for ever, and an eternal peace to hold among us. Look how she clings to life, sir! Be merciful and leave this place. Leave this country to rest in forgetfulness."
"How can old wounds heal while maggots linger so richly? Or a peace hold for ever built on slaughter, dishonour, and a magician's trickery? Sir Bennet, my answer's unchanged. I must go down into this pit. What if I asked you in turn, sir knight. Will you leave this place to me and return now to your fine old stallion awaits you below?"
"You know I cannot, Master Darcy."
"It's as I thought. Well then."
Wickham went past, and down the rough-hewn steps. When he was once more at the foot of the mound, he looked around him and said, "Darcy, this earth looks curious here. Can it be that Querig, in her more vigorous days, blasted it this way? Or does lightning strike here often to burn the ground before new grasses return?"
For a moment the two of them strolled about randomly like companions pondering at which spot to pitch their tent.
"It's puzzling me too. A good floor, nevertheless."
"Though perhaps a little short in width?" remarked Wickham. "See how that edge rolls over the cliffside? A man who fell here would rest on friendly earth, sure enough, yet his blood may run swiftly through these burnt grasses and over the side. I'll not fancy my insides dripping over the cliff like a gull's white droppings!"
They both laughed strangely, then Darcy said "A needless worry. See how the ground lifts slightly before the cliff there? As for the opposite edge, it's too far the other way and plenty of thirsty soil first."
"Elizabeth," Sir Bennet called gravely, "you were always the great one for diplomacy. Do you care to use your fine eloquence now to let us leave this place free of blood?"
"Father…"
"Our family is not what it once used to be my child, but we are all that we each have. If anyone can stay this Saxon's sword, it will be your words."
"Father…you knew that we were all aiming to see the end of Querig. Yet, you said nothing. You stayed silent this whole time! What could I now possibly say?"
"My child, dearest Lizzy, do you know what this will lead to? The sudden return of hundreds of memories, memories people were doing fine without. Memories of thievery, infidelity, family discord and, of course, death and massacres long forgot. This slaying of Querig, Lizzy, have you contemplated what will happen when memories return to people at large? Blood. Blood flowing everywhere, with everyone gripped by a fever for revenge. Is this what you want? Another return to war? I know that you have recollections enough to understand that war is never desirable."
Elizabeth looked to Darcy, who was looking at her directly. He stayed silent.
She did recall war. It was awful, and Elizabeth could not fathom anyone choosing to return to battle willingly. She knew the truth of her father's words; that with returned memories, it was impossible that Saxons would not seek revenge for the breached treaty and the massacre that led to Arthur's victory. Elizabeth recalled the fog that she had been living in, walking around with no memories, and how much she cherished what she now remembered. She would have easily let the love of her life walk past her if she had not had any memories…but would everyone else feel the way she did? Was she even entitled to make this decision for anyone else?
"Let me address you, Master Darcy," Sir Bennet stated. "I may be old, but I am not blind. I can see that you and my daughter hold some affection for each other."
"And what of it, Sir? I think we are all past the point of your objections."
Sir Bennet chuckled. "This is not about my objections, though I have plenty. No, my question is…if you love my daughter, why would you go through with this?"
"Elizabeth and my aim are one and the same."
"So…you will kill her father in front of her. Curse her to live with the sin of patricide. How will your relationship – how will any relationship – survive that? Do you really suppose that two years from now, when Saxons are brutally avenging the death of their brethren, Elizabeth is going to forgive you for killing her father? This step sir, your relationship will not survive. Walk away now, and you may yet live in peace and love."
Wickham was the first to react, sputtering uncomplimentary obscenities. "Darcy, don't you dare give in to this!" Turning to Sir Bennet, Wickham snarled, "If he won't kill you, I shall. And don't think for a moment that I will have any qualms about stabbing you while your back is turned. I will stuff that poisoned goat down your throat if that is what it takes to rid this world of you."
Sir Bennet looked at Wickham with contempt. "I will deal with a vagabond such as you when the time comes. Come, warrior, speak. Is your king's errand worth the undying hate of the woman you love? You, whose memories are intact, must know how this story will end if you kill me."
"I prefer not to think of defeat. Yet only a mighty fool will believe you anything other than a formidable foe, no matter your years. Why do you try to dissuade me by presuming a loss?"
Elizabeth knew that Darcy was just buying time. If there was anything that would stay Darcy, it would indeed be the potential loss of herself.
"This is not fair, father. He is on a mission for his king."
"I want you to be happy, Elizabeth. And you will not find happiness with a man who slays your father. If this warrior loves you, he will set aside his king and mission to do what is best for you both. And that is to for the three of you to walk away from here. No good can come of this for any of you."
"You will do me the favour of leaving me out of your soothsaying," Wickham grumbled.
"Lizzy, you have only a handful of memories. You have known this man for only a few days, and rely on memories which may be true or false. I am your father, and have protected you from near and far. Do not forsake your family for the promises of a stranger. Master Darcy, I ask you again. Will you make my daughter suffer for all the future, never to forgive you, or will you walk away?"
"It was you," Darcy said, a strange expression falling across his eyes. "On the river, in the boat, it was you, wasn't it Sir Bennet? Disguised as an old woman or pixies or I know not what dark magic left over from Merlin. You asked me then, to leave Elizabeth to you. You warned me of the same warnings that you give me now. That we have no hope, and that Elizabeth will hate me and walk away? I should have known then that you were behind it, having failed to be rid of me at the monastery."
Elizabeth gasped in shock. Though Darcy had never given her the details of what had happened on the river, she had surmised that it was very bad, given how worried and shaken Darcy was afterwards.
"Well, here we are warrior. What be your answer?"
Darcy sighed. He looked at Elizabeth with eyes full of intense passion. "Love shrouded with falseness is no love at all. I do not believe for a moment that choosing to forget and not to face the wound of memory is the road to happiness. All the time we were apart, I heard your name whispered in the wind. Trying to find my way back into your heart was akin to trying hold a wave; impossible in all but a dream. Even know, I wonder if this is true and you are actually mine. I wish I did not feel so strongly about you, to be able to walk forth without giving thought to this chatter. But…my happiness is nothing without yours. I have faith that we can move past anything, to treat each other with forgiveness and love. I am not afraid to fight your father, or to face Querig. But I cannot dream your dream for you. What I do today, is a choice that you must live with forever. Your father is right. If you ask me to walk away from here, I shall do so without hesitation, and love you all the same. The choice, Elizabeth, must be yours."