Tales of a Dragon: Collection: Tales of a Dragon

By Geoffrey Angapa

Brings together all previously-published works in the Tales of a Dragon series:

 

(I) The Quest of the Golden Apple
A young peasant lad has set off in search of the Golden Apple, the securing of which will win him the hand of the princess; but, as most things in life must be difficult, the Apple is guarded by a fearsome dragon in the distant land of Wealdhall. Will he win the Apple and, in doing so, the princess's hand, or will he perish miserably beneath the claws of the dragon? To what distant places will his journey take him? Whom will he meet with along the way? And will he ever get home?

 

(II) The Enchanted Shield
When Geoffrey is exiled from his village on a spurious claim, he turns to his old friend the Dragon; but the quest before them will be utterly unlike anything the two have ever encountered before. A journey stretching over vast and formidable distances, The Enchanted Shield follows their quest to find an obscure, mythical artefact and its elusive maker, while a shadowy figure looming in the background may threaten the very land itself and all they hold dear. Will they ever find it, and will Geoffrey ever return home, from the dear precincts of which he has been so wrongfully exiled?

 

(III) Attack on Shadowkeep
On a trip to the town of Scrywood, Geoffrey's foster-daughter is spirited away, the place she is taken to as obscure as the identity of her captors. Aided by the pirates of the Blushing Mermaid as well as the thieves' guild of Corunna, Geoffrey and his companions cross the Tainted Sea in a desperate quest to save the child. Is she still alive? And who is the mysterious figure behind her capture?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Geoffrey Angapa
• Release date: May 26, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201461966

Book preview

TALES OF A DRAGON: COLLECTION

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Tales of a Dragon: Collection; All 3 Novels

BY GEOFFREY ANGAPA

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© Geoffrey Angapa, 2021. All rights reserved.

First Edition, published first in Mar. 2021

Cover designed with GIMP, using illustration from East of the Sun and West of the Moon (1914) by Kay Nielsen, Wikimedia; and the fonts Cormorant Garamond by Christian Thalmann and EB Garamond by Georg Duffner. Individual covers: Fairy Tale Vintage Old (c. 1910) by Warwick Goble, Pixabay; Winter Scene in Moonlight (1869) by Henry Farrer, Met Museum; and Mount St Michael, Cornwall (1830) by Clarkson Stanfield, reproduced with the kind permission of the National Gallery of Victoria, Melbourne.

Brings together the previously published works: The Quest of the Golden Apple (v1.1), The Enchanted Shield (v1.5), and Attack on Shadowkeep (v1.1).

Version 1.0

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Contents

The Quest of the Golden Apple

The Enchanted Shield

Attack on Shadowkeep

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The Quest of the Golden Apple

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Contents

The Golden Apple

Conversation with a Dragon

The Mountain

The Princess and the King

The Princess and the King: Continued

A Friend in Need is a Friend Indeed

At the Polar Bear’s

The Two Children

Of the Quest

The Narrative Pauses for a Moment

The Narrative Continues

A Long Stay

An Encounter with—Well, We Shall See Whom

Travels

The Princess of Stockton

The Enchanted Ground

Caerfell

Return to Wealdhall

Back Home

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I

The Golden Apple

GEOFFREY was walking down a wide, brown path, musing on how much there was to smile about, as he looked round. There certainly was.

Nature, robed in green, was everywhere to be met with, as she flitted round her woodland ballroom, and with untiring step, discharged her offices. The sun could not be disturbed by grumbling rainclouds this morning, being deep in conversation with the rolling land; he was getting to know his old acquaintance a bit better after the long winter. Flowers sprang up everywhere in bright and soothing colours. Birds soared through the air on swift wings, and through it dispersed their merry notes. While old trees, wetting their knotted roots in glittering streams, were enjoying cool draughts of water. A shepherd, who had in his hand an oaten flute, was following, or rather chasing, his flock down a green hillside: though you might perhaps have thought his strides of a somewhat easy nature, for his flock was getting further and further from him each moment. Geoffrey was a fortunate lad to be able to see and watch all these things; and so he thought himself.

On the right, and from the top of a slight bank, trees threw their arms over the road; on the left the land sloped smoothly down, and fell away into meadows that extended into the distance, as far as the eye could see. It was shaded where Geoffrey walked, by reason of the arch of the trees; and occasionally some squirrel, rabbit, or other small creature chanced to dart across the path, drawing his eyes after it. It was morning; and from behind the hills further off, white lines of smoke rose up; these were from the chimneys of little country cottages, as mothers busied themselves about their kitchens, cooking the morning porridge, bringing in pails of milk from outside, throwing open windows, drawing back curtains. Geoffrey thought of his own home when he saw one of these trailing lines of smoke, and the thought made him a bit sad. But, switching his walking staff from one hand to the other, he went on, and, though he did not at first realise it, a smile had already begun to spread over his face.

The way stretches in never-ending line;

And I must, if I can, strike up my steps

To win the end: I will do my best

To travel with hope and win this Quest.

And if all be lost, yet hope is still mine;

Though ways be long and dark’ning shadows fall;

Though the wind blows keen and the cold does bite,

I must not falter: Heaven hides its light.

And when that pure light shall uncurtain’d be,

Little lambs will leap and young children bind

Pretty nosegays they from the valleys bring

And I, having achieved my Quest, shall sing.

For a moment, Geoffrey dropped his gaze down to his side, and placed a hand upon the hilt of an old sword, which was set in a scabbard of dark green. This was no wooden carving, but a real sword; for Geoffrey was on a great quest, or rather the Quest, the successful fulfilling of which would win him the hand of the Princess. Her father, the King, had recently announced that he was eager to see his daughter, whose name was Constance, married; she was now old enough; she was a true princess (for, being the daughter of a king, she possessed in full measure that elusive modesty, grace, and dignity which only true princesses are known to have); and she was, of course, the fairest maiden in all the land. But whom was she to choose as husband? Well, the Princess herself knew no brave, handsome prince whom she admired; and though she smiled gently at each, and, it is true, could not forbear blushing before some, she did not quite feel that any one of the suitors who came up to the castle was truly the one that she should, or would, marry. The King, as may be imagined, was much perplexed; but being of a sharp turn of mind, he eventually hit upon an ingenious (though perhaps somewhat fanciful) device: a quest; and the industrious, illustrious one that fulfilled it, should have the hand of his daughter. The Quest, itself, seemed simple enough: in the distant land of Wealdhall there stood a tree, which an apple of pure gold grew upon; this Apple, stated the Quest, must be brought before the King; but because most things in the world must be so, the Quest had a difficult part; and a difficult one it was, the Tree being guarded, day and night, by a terrible dragon—and I am afraid it is true that, upon hearing this, most candidates declined taking up the Quest. Be he prince or be he peasant boy, said the King in the town square one day upon returning from the chase, if he bring us the Golden Apple, he shall, on our royal honour, marry our peerless daughter, and, if he please us, have half the kingdom into the bargain.

And so Geoffrey, who fell rather nearer to peasant boy than prince, had set out this morning to find the Tree, win the Apple, and win the hand of the Princess, whom he loved already (or so he thought); for, as was mentioned earlier, she was really the sweetest, fairest, and gentlest maiden in all the land; she was, after all, a Princess. Some time had elapsed since the Quest had first been announced; and though many had tried their luck, no one had as yet succeeded. But Geoffrey hoped to succeed; he was not at all daunted by the failure of others, the difficulties ahead, nor yet the prospect of the Dragon, the terrible Guardian of the Tree. Their failure was theirs, he thought, not his; of course he would succeed. Well, in time, we shall see if he did.

He travelled, always on foot, for many days, finding no trace of the Tree, or of this elusive Wealdhall, but he came at length to a large valley, through which flowed a clear stream, gleaming in the midday sun as though it were silver poured out from a star. He walked down into the valley and sat down beneath a large oak, which threw its arms over the green grass. He took out some bread and cheese from his pack, and began a hearty meal, with his back against the trunk. A few minutes passing uneventfully at first, something, as can be expected during intervals of quiet, happened. This is what it was.

Geoffrey was munching on a bit of cheese when, all of a sudden, he spotted, out of the corner of his eye, a large brown bear rambling towards him; it looked awfully fierce and hungry. Geoffrey somehow managed to keep his presence of mind during this predicament, though he was horribly afraid that the Bear meant to eat him. The Bear came closer and closer and sat down near him, sniffing hungrily at the bread and the cheese, which were strewn on a cloth on the ground. This relieved Geoffrey somewhat, and after a moment he offered the Bear some; which was accepted with not a little and rather singular grace. It spoke after a good mouthful. Dear boy, said the Bear, in a low and resonant voice, I must applaud your kindness; and all praise to your bread and cheese! Food’s hard enough to find these days, to be sure; and there I was quite hungry myself. Methinks I should have still been hungry if it was not for your kindness. Aye, how long it is since I’ve tasted a good bit of bread and cheese! How fresh the bread is! O! would there were some butter withal! Here the Bear grew silent, and resumed eating with some relish, a measure of wistfulness in its large dark eyes. Wholly agreeing, Geoffrey fell to his share as well.

When their meal was over, the Bear rose and thanked its host once again. Young lad, it began, brushing a few stray crumbs off its thick brown fur, what a capital meal that was! Thank you for sharing it! However, I must take leave of you, and take to the road; for I feel a sudden drowsiness (here stifling a yawn) coming over me. My cave, if my calculations are not amiss, is, from this spot, about four miles off; but please to wait a moment, my dear boy; I should like to reward the civility you’ve shown me: I wonder, is there anything you need, or may I be of service to you in some way? My dear Bear, answered Geoffrey, I have more than enough food; and am quite glad to have shared some of it with you. I dare say your company was pleasant enough; and I hold no debt against you. "You know, for a human, you are quite polite: I try to avoid humans—they can be such loud, vain, disagreeable creatures at times. Your society was not unpleasant; and I suppose all aren’t the same, as you’ve proved. Much to think on, no? Well, I am in no mood for thinking at present, having thought a great deal this morning—I suppose I started talking to myself. Cousin Anne says I do that sometimes, and yet I could say the same for her: she—oh, dear me! again! do forgive me! do! Now, where was I? Yes: repaying a kind deed; is there nothing you need? Though somewhat distracted by the protracted digression, Geoffrey considered the Bear’s offer for a moment, recalling the difficulty he was having in finding the Tree, and at length said, I should be grateful if you showed me how to get to Wealdhall, if there is, indeed, such a place. I am beginning to wonder if there is. Don’t you know the way, good Bear?"

The Bear looked up, came to Geoffrey, patted him on the back, which almost knocked Geoffrey over, and laughed a great big laugh. Wealdhall! exclaimed the Bear. How long it’s been since I strode through its fields! How long since I drank from its clear streams! Young lad, it certainly exists; and I will direct you there. Alas! would I had time to accompany you myself; for I should like to visit old cousin Anne: she makes the best honey cakes you have ever tasted, this side Hadrian’s Wall. Anne, finest old bear that ever lived. Now, listen carefully. If you follow this river—the Bear pointed to the stream that Geoffrey had earlier seen from the top of the valley—you will eventually come to a point where it curves away to your right. There you will see a brown path leading on through the shoulders of the hills. Simply take that path—and if you start now I dare say you will reach it by nightfall—and it will lead you to a thick forest. Do you have that? Yes; I think I do. Then press forward into that forest, and at length you will find a narrow stream; follow this stream and it will lead you out of the forest. Now large mountains will rise up beyond you. But there is a little path winding through a gap in those mountains like some thin ribbon. Take that path, and you will find yourself in a land fair and always green, Wealdhall. A capital place! It is as simple, and as difficult, as that, my friend.

Geoffrey went over it in his mind a few times, queried the Bear on certain points, and laid it down to memory as well as he could. He then thanked his furry acquaintance; and, waving, boy and bear went each his way. Geoffrey followed the stream as the Bear had told him to, and, as it had said, by nightfall reached the point where the river curved away on his right. The brown path took him to the forest; and no sooner had he entered, than he came upon the narrow stream. Beside this stream he walked, and eventually it led him out of the forest; then he took the little path through the gap in the mountains. By this time the sun was already beginning to rise above the world, reaching its destination through its fiery journey from the West, beneath the briny seas; and presently he came into the green valley of Wealdhall.

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II

Conversation with a Dragon

ALL of it seemed exceedingly fair to his eyes. Beauty keen and yet unclear; like a painting from the master’s hand. From where Geoffrey stood, the land sloped smoothly down, and then receded away into the distance, spreading out a wonderful sight before his eyes. There were wide fields and forests; little glades through which flowed rivers sparkling as glass in the strange morning light; mountain peaks stood against a blue sky further away; a few clouds sailed over the vaulted deep; and animals stole abroad on quaint new adventures. Geoffrey walked on, and heard the perfect notes of the birds, though they had not taken the time to practise it, and the bubbling sound of running water; felt the overall tranquillity that dwelt upon the place. Then another song came to his ears: it was so much like the rest and yet so different. Into that song were mingled, weaving a strange harmony, many fair voices. Following the sound, Geoffrey found himself striding towards a little glade; and as he looked through the thick cover of the trees that shadowed it, he saw happy dancing figures. He continued to look on, held by the swirl of colours; indeed, what is told here is little more than a faint, clumsy echo. Beside the running water, which seemed to add a music to their dance, the figures danced, seven in all. They were tall, a bit taller than most humans are, fair of complexion, and golden haired, a deep shade of gold. Four were maidens, though fairer (uncanny almost) than mortal girl ever was, all Princesses perhaps, who, by some misfortune, had strayed into our world out of some forgotten memory; the other three were like noble princes of old. These were elves, Geoffrey guessed. For some time he watched their dance, held by it all; and, behold, they stopped and came up to him.

One of the maidens spoke first. There were flowers in her hair; her plain green dress swept about her ankles; her feet were bare. She looked at Geoffrey, smiling. He felt suddenly aware of himself in that awful moment, simple and poor, and lowered his gaze to the floor.

Who are you? said she at length; her voice somewhat difficult to describe. Who? But indeed; you watch our song in silence, most afraid to reveal yourself, hiding behind the tree trunks. ’Tis not hide-and-seek. Humans were ever a queer folk; yet methinks I see the worthiness of your heart.

Abashed, Geoffrey did not know what to say in the least; and even if he had tried, it is doubtful whether he would have managed to communicate what he meant, in that moment. But, after a moment, the maiden called him, and he drew slowly forward. It was time to eat; and they laid the floor with a large white cloth, embroidered at the edges with shapes like leaves and branches; and about it they sat. Many choice though simple foods were set out on the cloth by two of the Elves; and another Elf poured out clear water into cups. Geoffrey thought that the foods were uncommonly delicious, and how cool and refreshing the water tasted! After that some of them sang, and as he listened, more and more wonder touched him, inside. Still, through all there ran a strain of melancholy. Though he had not realised it, night had been coming down already. The moon swung up from beneath the ocean in its career across the skies. The moon continued on its voyage, pulling the circling stars with it. But, at last, Geoffrey told his hosts that he must leave at once. The folk of Elfland bade him farewell, wishing him well on his travels. Then, steadying the pack on his shoulders, Geoffrey addressed himself to his journey and he felt glad.

Dawn was making its way over the land, bringing a mysterious morning light over everything. Birds were performing their morning office, heralding in the day, though the nightingale had already sung out its song some time earlier. The fog was beginning to rise up from the ground, unveiling the land for another day on earth. A stream gushed down into the valley, turning away near the trunk of a large tree, which stood at the bottom; or rather the Tree, the Tree of the Golden Apple. In front of the Tree towered a huge figure: in fact, it was far larger and taller than the Tree. Geoffrey could not see it clearly in the dim light, but as he approached, made out that it was a huge dragon, lying down before the Tree with its head on its forelegs, which were on the ground. Perhaps it was still asleep. As Geoffrey came nearer, it stirred from its slumber (if indeed it slept), picking up its large head and lifting itself slightly off the ground. Geoffrey came closer; the Dragon stood up to its full height. How dreadfully frightening it looks! thought Geoffrey, but he dared not say it aloud, and tried his best to show no fear on his face: one must be brave when fighting dragons; it would not do to show the loathly worm its challenger was afraid.

Suddenly the Dragon spoke. It had a deep voice, and the ground rumbled ever so slightly as it spoke; though one could have discerned a certain note in that voice, almost retiring and gentle. This is what it said:

What, what’s this? Another adventurer or knight come to challenge me? Why must it always be so? I shall tell you now, good fellow, I haven’t the slightest desire to do battle with you. Maybe you desire the Apple, or maybe you desire to prove your valour against me in a terrible combat, winning eternal renown for the deed. (Dragon-slayers are, after all, famous.) Still, if you raise steel against me, I will strike you down to the ground. Why must you knights always think—but then I suppose it’s always that way in the tales: the Knight must slay the Dragon to rescue the Princess (gaining the worm’s hoard into the bargain); actually I must admit, it is quite affecting. And, happy literature! how I do love the part when the Dragon rears up for its final strike, but the brave, valorous knight, seeing his one opportunity in this dire and mortal conflict, pierces his adversary from beneath! How much I love reading! I have a fair amount of books too—the Dragon pointed a claw at a stack beside the Tree’s trunk—but can’t I just give you the Apple, and you go your way?

This was not at all what Geoffrey had expected, not in the least. He, from the tales too, knew dragons to be creatures of evil; creatures to be overcome; to be defeated by the brave. He thought carefully before giving an answer.

No, good dragon; that won’t do. I can’t just take the Apple. I must earn it; for, by this deed, I shall win the hand of the Princess.

Are you sure? asked the Dragon, sighing.

Certain.

Very well then. Suit yourself. Let me think a moment.

The Dragon then rose and walked about a bit, deep in thought. Each time it set down a foot, the branches of the Tree, as well as the ground, shook terribly. Seeing this was going to take some time, Geoffrey sat himself down on the ground, took out some bread and cheese, and began to eat. He first offered the Dragon some, but it declined, saying: If I sit down to eat with you, I expect I shall forget all that I have been thinking of; and then I shall have to start all over again. So the Dragon went on walking about and about the Tree. Midday came; it began to grow hot. At last the Dragon stopped pacing, and shouted, I have it!

What is it? asked Geoffrey, somewhat startled. Have you decided to battle me, Master Dragon?

No; not that. I will set you another quest; succeed, and you shall have the Apple as your reward. But, I must say, this quest will be rather more difficult than battling even a stout dragon (and I am as stout as any). In fact, now that I think about it, I can’t send you off, and, at the same time, remain at ease with myself; I will accompany you, lest my honour should at any future point be held in question.

First tell me of the quest, offered Geoffrey.

I was going to, sir. There’s a terrible castle at the World’s Edge, in which a horrid giant lives. It keeps a wondrous golden horse in its dark stables, a horse that can outrun the wind. The Giant prizes this Horse above all else, and guards it day and night. Many have gone to secure it, but have either languished in the Giant’s dungeons or been eaten by the Giant for dinner. It is an awfully perilous Quest; and if you are to see it through, I shall have to accompany you.

Very well then, Dragon; let us be off, if you are coming.

Leap upon my back, and we shall speed through the air swifter than the winds.

The Dragon lowered itself to the ground so that Geoffrey could climb on, and, making sure that he held on tight, started into a run, and, flapping its wings, leaped into the air. The air carried them higher and higher until all rolled down below and grew smaller and smaller. They rose above the clouds, up into the blue sky. The sun shone upon them, and occasionally they flew through a high cloud; which was like walking through a complete fog. Now they flew all night and all the next day and still there was no sight of land, only the sky and the Dragon speeding through the clouds, the Dragon having lowered to that level after some time. Geoffrey began to worry that his food might run out. He relayed his concerns to the Dragon, who replied, Well, then, tighten your belt about your waist; for we have some way to go yet. Geoffrey was also careful with his water, not drinking too much at any one time. Two more days they flew, and at last the Dragon slowed down in mid-air so suddenly that Geoffrey almost fell off. We are there, or here rather: the Edge of the World. Hold on tight; for I shall descend and alight upon that cliff you see over there. The Dragon pointed with a claw. He who was to retrieve the Giant’s Horse nodded. As the Dragon neared the cliff, it started to flap its wings downwards, and changed its direction in the air so that its legs faced the ground. Slowly it flapped its way down and alighted upon a precipice in the side of a grey mountain.

That was quite a long flight, said the Dragon. Your adversary’s lair is now near enough; and, to be fair, I can render you no more assistance. Retrieve the Horse, and we will call this matter settled. Off you go, lad. Off you go.

Dragon, you are going to wait here until I return?

Yes; I am rather weary after that flight, and this precipice looks warm enough; I think I will enjoy a long nap. Be careful; and good-bye!

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III

The Mountain

THERE was no more to be said about the matter; and the Dragon, curling up in a corner, gave itself over to sleep, its eyelids coming to close by degrees, and its breathing slowing to a deep, steady rumble that seemed to shake the very mountain each moment. Geoffrey gathered his courage and departed; and, taking a narrow trail that led round the mountain and to its feet, reached the bottom by nightfall. Being quite hungry, he ate the last of his bread and cheese. That was the end of it; food would have to be found soon.

From where he stood, in the midst of some more or less level plain, a peak could be seen in the distance, set against the dark sky; upon this stood something like a castle. To reach the peak would take perhaps a day or, at most, two; but Geoffrey had no thoughts of reaching the peak just yet; for he found himself battered and exhausted. Finding some soft ground beneath a tree, he laid himself down, and at length fell asleep without much effort. In the morning he would set out.

When at last morning came, as Aurora drew away the curtains of night, Geoffrey found himself amidst the sunlight breaking through the branches; and the birds were piping a cheerful song. The spirits of most would have risen at this pleasant sight and sound—and Geoffrey’s indeed did. He got up and walked on cheerfully, finding to his good fortune that here and there were many trees with delicious fruits on them. He went on for many hours, till he came, late in the day, into a deep forest. Maybe this was not the very best of forests for him to go into; but go he did; and all grew dark around him; branches seemed to point menacingly in his direction; the sky was not to be seen; the trees, high and large, quite covered everything. Whenever he turned around, he noticed it always looked the same: always the same no matter which way you turned. A still and a quiet seemed to sit, or brood rather, over everything; though at times Geoffrey thought he heard the sound of a running stream nearby; at other times strange noises. The stream proved real; for some time later he came upon it. From the stream he dared not drink; it appeared muddied, dirty; besides, there was something uncanny about this wood. Quicker, quicker, and quicker he ran, through the trees, always beside the stream. He had to get out of these woods. He must get out. He did not stop to eat when hunger overtook him, though he had a good deal of fruit in his bag, picked that morning. How very distant that morning seemed! Where was he now? Foreboding shapes of darkness lurked around him. Were they following him? Were they pressing in on him, drawing closer? His head began to hurt from the lack of water combined to these thoughts; but he went on, slowing not long after to a clumsy walk, from sheer weariness. And suddenly this evil wood fell away around him; and he emerged into the open, at the foot of the Mountain that was his destination, beneath the night sky. A waning moon threw silver light over his surroundings; seeing the wheeling stars above, his heart quite leaped for joy. But there, up on that Mountain, wreathed in clouds and mist, stood the lair of the Giant.

Dropping to the grass, Geoffrey quickly drew out of his bag the fruits he had. There! he bit into a juicy plum, which brought to his parched throat a measure of moisture; to him, refreshment and energy. An apple followed, and then an orange. For the moment, he felt himself strengthened, and, rising from the floor, struck on to his destination. He would go on, for he felt as if the Giant were watching him from up there, looking upon him with eyes of malice, but laughing all the while. He went up to the Mountain’s foot, but it was too dark and he could find no way up. The cold, hissing wind swirled up and around him, bringing a slight shiver; Geoffrey dropped to the floor beside some broken rocks, trying to sit as still and as close as he could to keep warm. Clouds drew over the sky; the moon was no more to be seen; it became dark all around. Geoffrey’s tired eyelids dropped and he slept. No warmth came to him, and his dreams were cold.

The next morning a clamour from above stirred Geoffrey from a half-sleep populated with terrible dreams to a waking reality hardly less horrible. I must find a way up the Mountain, said he, though the sound came out weak and trembling. Yet I wish the Dragon were here; I muse it would but fly up without much ado. These thoughts somehow comforted him and lightened his despair, if only a little. He longed for a piece of bread, but some apples and an orange had to do. Getting to his feet, Geoffrey surveyed his immediate surroundings. Away to his left, he caught sight of a little path strewn with boulders, leading upwards. It seemed to curve round and round the Mountain. Hoping it would lead to the top, Geoffrey decided to take it, and, without further wait, started, gradually ascending as the path curled about; and a difficult going it was, the way being uneven, broken at places, and strewn with rocks. More often than not he slipped; and the higher he went the more frightfully aware he became of the drop to the bottom. But he kept his left hand to the wall and tried to keep as close to it as he could, and pressed on. Thirst, too, had become a terrible problem; but where was any water to be found? Now and then he sat down against the wall and took a break, often thinking about water. But he always rose to his feet and pressed on. After a while Geoffrey took another break, sitting down against a little hollow in the wall.

The strangest thing happened then: it rained. In fact, it had been sunny all that day. Yes, but it rained. Somewhat bent to the ground, Geoffrey first felt the drops on his head and then on his hands. Had he been elsewhere he might perhaps have grumbled about it, but here he did not. He smiled as he looked up; for it was the last thing he had expected to see. The fountains of the heavens were opened, and poured out their store upon the earth. Rising from the floor, and cupping his bruised hands, he collected some rain, pouring it down his throat when there was enough. What more refreshing drink could there be on this earth? Geoffrey felt a new strength filling all his body, and, after he had managed to fill his bottle, went on his way, rejoicing though he was quite soaked. Many hours later, he reached the end of the path, which did not, in fact, lead directly to the top, but stopped just near it. The top of the Mountain was flat; Geoffrey had only to reach over the edge and pull himself up. This he did; but he lost his hold, and started to slip, and would have tumbled down the Mountain; but perhaps the Fates smiled on him, for he caught hold of some sort of root, and managed to haul himself up and over the edge. The sight that presently fell on his eyes was almost too awful to behold. Sinking to the ground in despair, Geoffrey sat quite still, for a long time.

The fortress on the flat mountain top covered all his sight, rising before him in dark majesty. It stood some distance away from him, but he felt as though it were right before his eyes. Terrible and black. Spires of dark iron struck up into the sky; an up-drawn gate revealed an even greater darkness inside, as if no light could long endure there; an awful, creeping silence stretched over everything. The clouds gathered above; the low rumble of thunder broke the quiet; but no rain came. Geoffrey found himself crawling backwards, until he realised that if he continued to do so, he would fall off the Mountain, to the rocks below. Quite unsteadily he attempted to rise to his feet. He did; though pain battered his limbs and his head. The little light leaving his eyes, he fell, and all went dark.

When Geoffrey opened his eyes, the sight about him had little changed. The clouds streamed around in anger above. The fortress was still there: it was quite real, not a dream. Geoffrey was not certain how long he had lain upon the mountain top. Maybe hours, days, who could tell? Reflecting, he realised it was likely hours. The path round the Mountain came to his memory. Resting had indeed brought back a measure of strength; he could quite easily climb down and return to the Dragon, telling it to return him home. He considered doing just that, in that awful moment, returning. But a moment of strength came to him; and, rising to his feet, he said aloud on the mountain top that he was not defeated yet. Gripping the hilt of his sword and striding forward, he resolved to go on. Nearer and nearer he came to the open gate. He could not help but feel that it looked like the gaping maw of some evil creature; but brushing that thought aside, he pressed on. For a moment, something caught his eye; it was only a moment, but he had seen it. From inside, beyond the gate, it had thrown aside the shadows for a fleeting instant, as it flashed passed: the Golden Horse. Geoffrey was certain he had seen it; and he quickened his pace. Though he seemed now to remember something the Dragon had said, when they were in the air: "Lad, be careful now. The Giant is a subtle creature. This is no Jack and the Beanstalk giant. Likely it will try to capture you by deception, before violence. Such are its tricks; at least, that’s what the old tales say. Don’t be foolish and run headlong into such a situation."

The Horse’s flashing by did seem awfully convenient. Steadying himself with a deep draught of air, he took a step forward, but hardly had he taken another, when his fears were fulfilled. Something was emerging from the space that the gate enclosed. A sickening scent diffused through the air, preceding the foulness of its source, which at last came into view. It was a creature rather too horrible to look at. Geoffrey tried to avert his eyes, but the very real horror of it all froze him into place. Towering to about eight feet in the air, the worm, for it was some sort of worm, moved ahead of him. Occasionally its mouth chanced to open, revealing row upon row of jagged teeth. But what frightened Geoffrey most were its eyes. A pale, blank stare they had, though at times a queer flicker could be seen glancing over them. What a horrid, evil creature! thought Geoffrey. The worm was wreathed in an invisible, sickening cloud of odour; Geoffrey was near to being choked by the smell. All of a sudden, the worm, emitting a low shriek, advanced towards him. Something inside Geoffrey warned him that if he did not escape, he would not be living in a few moments. Turning about, he rushed away towards the edge of the mountain top. The worm was advancing. Behind him Geoffrey thought he heard the sound of chains and grating iron; now there were also the cries of some other creatures to be heard. He turned about as he ran, seeing that three of those were following him as well; one was quite near him; though the worm was some distance behind. But, turning round again, Geoffrey tripped, over some large rock in his way, flying forward onto the floor, and grazing both his elbows and his right knee. In an instant, an ironlike grip closed about his shoulder. None too gently it turned him around, bringing him to face his captor, which was, in fact, a goblin.

One of the hallmarks of goblin-kind is evil. Cruelty is another. Greed, too, for material gain, like gold. Goblins are, in a word, evil, treacherous, disagreeable creatures, whose avarice is not to be surpassed. So you can see that Geoffrey was not, at that moment, in the very best of circumstances; in fact, he was in a pickle. The goblin grunted some foul sounds to him, probably something in the goblin tongue, which is not at all a pleasant thing to say or render. The goblin’s two comrades just arrived then, but one of them kept back to keep the worm away. The goblin who had caught Geoffrey finally said something that was intelligible, though barely. Tog capture you! it said, waving its large fist in the air. Master give Tog reward. Tog get reward! Tog capture you! This Tog creature, it is evident, was in quite an ecstatic state. Its two companions did not look so pleased: perhaps each wanted the reward for itself. Tog, however, did not think so: their reward was to be nothing more than a growl, to keep them in check, which Tog, without further wait, conferred upon them, drawing a crude sword of dark iron from its belt, for further effect. The others growled in return, but nonetheless drew back. Tog was, after all, their leader.

Geoffrey was then hauled onto this creature’s back and ferried to the castle’s gate. He could hardly keep awake, for the smell that rose from Tog the goblin was quite horrible, almost toxic. He vaguely remembered being carried through the gate, and passing by some barred place in which something like gold shone; down stairs; through unlit corridors; and at last all went black. When he awoke, he found himself lying on a cold, stone floor. It was silent, except for the occasional sound of something like chains being dragged around in the distance, though there were no drips to be heard as he might have thought; but rats did intersperse the other noises with a cheerful symphony of squeaks, as they ventured out of their lodgings in the walls. A dim, sickly light diffused over everything, the source of which was a torch on a wall outside a gate; that gate was the gate of a dungeon. Geoffrey had reached the Giant’s castle, but was imprisoned within it.

.

IV

The Princess and the King

IT had been almost two months since the first announcement of the Quest; and each day the King had grown more agitated at its not being fulfilled; sitting out there; for the King hated things so to sit, always preferring matters of all kinds to be concluded, closed, and over; with everybody then sitting down, no more work to be done or thought about. He desired the matter of the Quest at an end, and Constance married; but, to the impediment of this, no one had come forth with the Apple. Why? he wondered. Were the lads of this land really so lacking in industry as to be unable of meeting one simple condition? Really, how hard could it be to find a fruit? Even taking into account that it was an enchanted one. The Queen having died some years ago, the King had no one to consult with on this delicate subject (he was not one given to heeding the sentiments of his court advisors). In this state of mind, and quite desirous of rest, he retired to his bedchamber. The door of that room having been closed, it was remarked by some of the domestics, whom the King had passed in a damp corridor leading to the room, that, besides the rather disordered state of his appearance, which was actually not such a remarkable thing with him, their liege seemed somewhat distressed; not at all in a jolly state of mood; which was the thing to be wondered at and remarked about. The King did not find it difficult to fall asleep that night, having dozed off as soon as his frame touched the bed and his head the pillow; while, about the same time, Geoffrey was being brought into the Giant’s fortress. Rising the next morning, the King found himself in the same ill humour as the night before; though after throwing open the windows and standing before the clean air for a few minutes, he felt an ease reposing quietly over his mind; going down to have breakfast, that ease waxed from its pleasant feeling of agreeableness to a light lifting of the spirits; for he had struck on yet another idea. Yes; it was the talk of the kitchens that day how the King, going down to eat breakfast, had suddenly struck his fist on the palm of his other hand, and had drawn to a stop; about to utter an exclamation had he not perceived the presence of others; upon which he proceeded to neaten his robes and readjust his circlet, and, with a slight nod of acknowledgement, continued his walk.

Entering the room and seating himself at the head of the breakfast table, which was spread out with all manner of delicacies for that part of the morning, the monarch piled a plate to the satisfaction of his palate and his sight; starting upon his victuals with such a relish as quite astonished the attendants who stood nearby. Feeling himself penetrated by their numerous gazes, although accustomed to it, he intimated by a gesture of his hand his desire to be left alone. The serving men departed, and, upon running into the worthy head of the kitchen, warned the cook to do likewise; he (the cook) had arrived to sneak a glance at the pasty he had baked that morning and to see how his liege took to it; for it was his fear that he had put in too few plums and too much gravy; which occurrence usually displeased the King. At that point another figure entered the room. This person conducted herself with a stately and dignified mien to the table, and, to ascertain the propriety of sitting down, paused to stand at the back of a large oak chair; her fair and delicate hands resting upon its top; her arms concealed almost to the wrist by the sleeves of her white garment. This stately maiden stood in some contrast to the other personage completing the picture of the room: the King, whose face was smeared with the evidence of an unseen plum pasty. The former, Constance, greeted her father, who rose to help her to her seat; but she declined with a gentle nod and gesture of the hand; and proceeded to seat herself.

I have been thinking, my dear, said the King, recushioning himself in his seat; I’ve been thinking a great deal, musing upon certain things in my mind. The Quest, dear Constance. You have no doubt perceived how I have taken to falling into disagreeable humours these past few weeks? Yes, don’t look so; I’ve seen how the servants whisper! Don’t think I haven’t; just the other day I overheard one of them remark, ‘O! the old man is at it again; never mind him; he becomes so quarrelsome and voluble at this part of the day: an he hasn’t advanced well into his dotage, I am a villain.’ The cheek and sauce of these people! It’s the Quest, dear, that Quest; oh, but bother them and that silly Quest too. Constance, don’t look so astonished; I am an old man, and hate people whispering right in front of me as if I were blind or perchance deaf. But forget them; I have decided the Quest shall be dispensed with. My daughter shall be given in marriage to a personage whom I know the honour, love, and goodness of; for who knows who might turn up with that unhappy Apple? What would we know of him? How much? Except that by some means, and perhaps not the stipulated one either, he procured it. Nay! Dear, the Earl of Gloucester loves you; you know that. He is a man of the highest order; for years he’s awaited you, with patience, being of a gentle heart. He has always shown a partiality towards you, Constance, though has not asked your hand; if I were to offer it to him, I dare say he would accept. He would, my dear; won’t you accept too? Won’t you, dear Constance—oh! when your expression falls so, you remind me of your mother. How I miss her! Yes; even a king can cry; and I wipe this tear off my cheek a king and yet a man. Eleanor! O Eleanor! I know you glance upon us from beneath the trees of Paradise; do I well, Eleanor, by setting our daughter’s hand in Gloucester’s? Do I well? The King dropped his eyes, and was silent for some time. Constance broke the silence before he did.

Father, I know well how much you wish the best for me. You formed the Quest, expecting the most true hearted son of the land to fulfil it; but no one has; no; I should think this a sign, given us by Providence, that the Quest was nothing—no more than a dream. Father, do not look so vexed; never having done so, I mean not to oppose you now. I have often seen the Earl, and have held for him a great regard. Wisdom and dignity repose upon his brow; his eye, which is of a sad cast, abounds with gentleness and truth. Blameless, his life; and though already passed the bloom of youth, yet he has no wife. Indeed, I have often perceived the partiality he regards me with; and, if I am worthy of it, I should gladly return it. I have not entertained feelings of love towards him before; but the union of our quiet minds shall find a bond stronger than the fading sun of infatuation. Yes, dearest father; if the Earl of Gloucester shall seek me for his bride, I shall not refuse.

Constance, Constance! what a sweet sound your words are upon an old man’s ear! against which too many discordant notes of disappointment have jarred. Are you well? Are you sure? Why, yes you are. I see that you are; this is no jest. You never were one to jest, Constance; and neither was I. My dear daughter, my Constance, if it is your wish, and it is mine, I shall send a commission to Gloucester, to occasion his presence here as soon as can be spared.

Yes, father; I do.

Well, an old man’s wishes may perhaps be fulfilled this day; to see his child married and glad. Willchester! Where are you, Willchester? Willchester! Oh, there you are; where have you been loitering now? Come, speak.

My liege, I—I heard you scream—I mean I heard you call for me, and so returned as fast as I could; I was on an errand to the kitchens—

Kitchens! No wonder our pantries and cupboards need to be restocked so often: and we thought our pasty had too few plums this morning. Others are feasting at our expense while we are set on rations!

My liege?

Well, never mind that, Willchester. Speed to the Earl of Gloucester’s castle and inform him that he is to appear before us, here, within the next few hours; it is urgent, important, not to be deferred; go quickly, and return with the Earl.

Yes, my liege; I will.

At this point Willchester left the room, with many bows and flourishes, repeating, Yes, my liege. The King was now in a jolly mood indeed; and intimated by a whisper into an attendant’s ear, his wish to be amused by the foolery of his jester. The Princess would have shaken her head at her father in disapprobation of this; but she hardly took notice of the loudness and eccentricity of his behaviour, being occupied with certain warm, and not disagreeable feelings she felt within herself, for the first time.

.

V

The Princess and the King: Continued

SHORTLY after receiving the King’s commission from Willchester, the Earl of Gloucester sped to the castle on his swiftest steed; and when he had arrived, listened to all that was said, under the glance of the King, in gravity, in silence, and without once interrupting. When silence at length fell over the hall, he breathed in deeply, and, looking to Constance, who stood at her father’s side, next to the throne, answered that, if such was her will, he should be glad to take the Princess for his wife. The gravity of her decision now being fully upon her, Constance doubted for a moment, but only a moment; answering that such was her will indeed; of which the utterance seemed to release a burden off Gloucester. He breathed easier and, looking to Constance, smiled a great big smile. The King, rising from his seat, grabbed his daughter close to his bosom, and, descending with her from the dais, and drawing up to where Gloucester stood, grabbed the Earl with the other arm, and drew both of them close to his person in a tight embrace. The Earl and the Princess were soon married. They found a gentle peace in this bond, and were very happy. The King, in his turn, was known to be one of the happiest men in the land, or for that matter the world. The Earl and the Princess at times disagreed, as people will; but found they could always choose upon a middle course, by the application of reason, through accommodating each other’s views, and compromise.

So upon the whole, they were as happy as two people can be (or rather ten, adding to their number their children). They were indeed a model of affection based on something deeper than what most deign to call love. Perhaps theirs was one of the truest instances of it; but at any rate there have been many: simple people leading quiet lives that contained no greater marvels than the birth of a child, the buying of a larger (and afterwards a smaller) house, and such things extracted out of the lives of real, ordinary people. If only a greater number of the tales had condescended to tell of such nameless men and women, more might have realised that life is a much simpler thing than we had supposed, having its share of troubles, but also much happiness, which trickles down upon us by the goodwill of Providence.

Without any noticeable trials, the Earl and Princess’s story went on; and at this point we shall take leave of them.

.

VI

A Friend in Need is a Friend Indeed

GEOFFREY awoke after a troubled sleep; his plight was no dream, but fact; neither was the dungeon in which he was held an apparition of the imagination: he was in it, upon the cold stone floor, his back against the wall. It seemed to be morning: a dim light was finding its way through the single barred window high up on one of the walls. The awful smell of the place jarred against his senses; and Geoffrey realised that, not having bathed for many days, he also smelled. Rats of alarming dimensions scurried over the dungeon’s floors, disappearing into dark places towards the extremities of the room. Gathering himself with some difficulty, Geoffrey sat up against the wall, and tried to reconcile the terrible horrors of his circumstances to those faculties of reason and emotion, which wished rather to disbelieve what the eye said, reinforced by the memory of the capture. He half wished this but a dream, though a horrid one at that; but no dream it was: the squeaks of the rats did not fade, nor did the image of the dark room vanish before him. He continued to sit against the cold wall; the silence of the place broken only by a squeak and, at times, uncouth mechanical sounds from somewhere in the castle. Geoffrey drew in his knees, rested his chin upon them, and clasped them tight. Time seemed to act the part of his enemy; it trailed on and on. He tried to think of home, but quite failed. After a space of time he was disturbed by a sound as of metal grating near the door. A bolt was drawn back, and, the rusted hinges letting off a frightful sound, the door swung open, a light from a torch rushed into the room, and a large figure darted forwards. Not a little frightened by this sudden appearance, Geoffrey drew himself yet closer; his hand dropped to his side, but his sword had been taken from him: there was no defence to be made. The creature, however, advancing towards a wall near the door, set the torch it held in a socket, and dropped the bag on its back to the floor, by the action of two large arms. Having achieved this feat of dexterity, it proceeded to draw out from the bag a brown stone jug and a bundle of cloth. These it picked up and walked towards where Geoffrey sat. About a yard away from him it paused; and lowering the jug and bundle to the floor, intimated by a gesture towards its stomach and then its mouth that these were victuals offered him, and that he should partake of them. Geoffrey nodded his assent, more to repel the creature from the room than in acceptance of its food; the creature (for some misshapen humanoid creature or goblin it was) also did so, and recovering its bag and the torch, left the room, drawing the bolt to after having closed the door.

With an alacrity that repelled the rats in procession towards the bundle, Geoffrey leaped forward and took possession of it. Having made sure that all the rats were fled to their dwellings in the walls, by sudden motions calculated to excite fear and alarm in their furry chests, he sat down and opened the cloth, finding inside a heap of something like potatoes: at least it seemed like potatoes, though the cook had not taken the utmost pains at hygiene in his culinary operations, rendering the mass a little disagreeable to the sight. But after sniffing some of it and ascertaining that it was in fact potatoes, he fell to it, though hesitantly and not with relish. After eating, he opened the jug and poured out some of its contents into the palm of his other hand; it was water, though a bit dirty. Not having the luxury of choice, he drank all of it, and it did refresh him somewhat.

Geoffrey supposed he fell asleep after this. He was troubled once more by one of those strange half-awake dreams, where the reality is cast into hues of a stronger shade, not completely sensible, not at all explainable. Where no rest is to be found, and adds to the trouble of the soul as well as the fatigue of the body. Geoffrey finally awoke. There was a sound somewhere. What was that noise? Somebody was talking and he was overhearing: no; they were talking to him. Rousing himself by degrees, he perceived his surroundings again, and the reality of it came back fully upon him. The sound again. It darted through all the mass of confusion, and struck a chord of disbelief, or was it reason?

Lad! Lad! Wake up please! I will strike open this prison, and carry you out!

His mind managing to piece together this information with some coherence, and his ear divining the direction of its source, Geoffrey turned towards the little barred window of the dungeon, which was upon his right. A large eye covered that aperture; hardly any light found its way through. It was the eye of his friend the Dragon. The eye receded at this, and the light rushed inwards, as through a sluice when suddenly opened. Then there was a terrible noise and a terrible disturbance in the very foundations of the place; something had struck against the walls with a sudden, titanic violence. The rats ran about, seeking for—they knew not what. Dust fell from the ceiling. The force struck again, and once more: the wall about the window was thrown inwards, with the window itself; and Geoffrey sat watching it all in wonder, much too afraid and astonished to move or do anything. The Dragon, held in the air by the slow, but steady action of its wings, extended its head through the break in the wall, and smiled, if indeed dragons were capable of smiling, and began:

Captured! If I had known what trouble this Quest would have caused you, I should never have mentioned any such thing, I should never, I shouldn’t have. Castles, the World’s Edge—what have I brought upon you, my boy? I am to blame; and now I doubt I shall ever find it in my heart to forgive myself.

I—

No; let’s rather be thankful for what we do have: you are alive, though not well. Come, lad, grab hold of me.

"I would I had the strength to move, my friend; but wait; here, I can get to my feet; I can move; let me be quick before those things, the goblins, return."

Geoffrey began to walk towards the Dragon, who had turned to its side, and extended its left forearm inside; but the bolt of the door was already being drawn back. Hearing this, Geoffrey started into a slight run, and, as the dungeon’s door was thrown open, grabbed hold of the extended forearm as tightly as he could, and climbed on to the Dragon’s back; upon which the Dragon, ascertaining the integrity of its passenger’s hold, turned round, and, dropping downwards and extending its wings, glided away from the castle. The goblins, two in number, stared with amazement at the break in the wall; and it then occurred to them, how they were to explain this to their master, who, to their misfortune, was not in the most agreeable of moods that morning. Their former prisoner, however, was a great distance away from them and their troubles; and that distance was increasing each moment.

.

VII

At the Polar Bear’s

FOR a few hours, the Dragon had been rushing through the air, with Geoffrey on its back. They