Arthur tossed Excalibur from hand to hand. The fact that I could barely hold my own sword up with two hands, let alone toss it from hand to hand like a hot potato, wasn't lost on me.
I was doomed.
The ground shook some more. Pebbles at my feet bounced an inch or two off the ground. The rider on the left lowered his lance. Straight at my heart. I lifted my sword. Barely.
From my peripheral vision, I saw Arthur look over at me. I think he saw me struggling with the sword. He raised his voice loudly above the din of hooves. "Try using your right hand," he shouted.
I shouted back, "I'm having trouble with both hands, let alone using one hand. Besides, I'm left-handed."
"Trust me," he said, mouthing the words.
"But I don't understand," I said.
And somehow, amazingly, his words came to me clearly, easily, as if I were seated directly across from him at a quiet outdoor cafe. "Some things you don't have to understand, James. Some things can be taken on faith." He winked. "Besides, in this case, it's called muscle memory."
"Muscle what?"
"Just try it, James," he said. "Trust me."
Then the sounds of the galloping horses came rushing back at me, and I felt as if I had just emerged from a soundproof studio. Arthur, I was sure, had somehow been inside my head, and that was a troubling thought at best.
But trust him I did. I switched hands, and something amazing happened. The sword felt remarkably comfortable in my right hand. It even felt somehow lighter, too. I gripped it confidently, amazed.
"Heads up, James!" said Arthur loudly.
I snapped my head around in time to see the rider on the left lean forward in his saddle and thrust his lance straight for my heart.
* * *
Dressed in shining armor, complete with a fluffy red plume, the rider and lance came at me quickly.
I did the only thing I could think of: I turned my shoulders sideways just as the deadly tip of the lance passed me by.
The rider looked down at me as he charged on by. Although his eyes were hidden behind his visor, I sensed his perplexity at having missed such an easy target. Heck, I shared in his perplexity. I should have easily been on the wrong end of a shish kabob.
Beside me, metal clashed against metal. I turned in time to see Arthur spinning from the force of the blow. His own adversary charged on by, and now both knights pulled up together and turned to face us.
"Good job, old boy," said Arthur. He sounded slightly winded.
"How do you know I did a good job?" I asked.
"You're still talking to me, aren't you?" he said. I could hear the humor in his voice.
Something roared in the near distance. I was fairly certain I knew what that something was.
"You ready, James?" asked Arthur.
"Ready for what?"
As if on cue, both horses leaped forward again, spurred on by their riders who dug their heels deep into the creatures' flanks. The knights separated, one angling for Arthur, the other for me. And, as luck would have it, the one with the lance picked me again.
Oh, goody.
This time he seemed to come at me even faster, his lance even steadier. Actual steam billowed from the horse's flared nostrils. I wanted to run all the way home to Seattle.
"Easy, James," said Arthur next to me, as if reading my thoughts.
I took in some air and gripped my sword, and when the lance came at me this time, I did something that astonished even me.
First, I side-stepped it again, then I swung my sword around hard, and drove the lance straight down into the ground, wedging the point deep between the cobblestones.
To my utter amazement, the rider launched into the air like an Olympic pole vaulter. Except there was no blue mat waiting for him below. He landed hard on his back, his armor clanking against the cobbled street.
"Unbelievable," I muttered. Next to me, sticking out of the rocks, the lance quivered like an arrow in a bull's-eye.
"Unbelievable," I said again.
In that moment, out of my peripheral vision, I heard a great clash of metal and saw the second rider fly out of his own saddle, landing hard next to my rider. Both horses trotted off, riderless.
There was no time to rejoice our minor victory. Flying straight down the center of the street again, its wingspan impossibly wide, its cold, black eyes seemingly staring at me, was the dragon.
Arthur spun around. "Run, James!"
Chapter Twenty-three
And run we did, angling across the cobblestones, toward some shops, just as a twisting geyser of fire erupted from the creature's mouth, burning a furious trail down the center of the street, directly for us.
I didn't think we could outrun the fire. And just as I felt the searing heat, Arthur yanked me into a recessed doorway, and the fire blasted harmlessly past.
The dragon turned to starboard and was gone, and we continued running along the now empty street. Dragons have a way of clearing towns and streets.
Wait. Not entirely empty.
There, standing a block or two up the inclined street, was a man watching us. He wore a black trench coat (or was it a robe of some sort?) that swirled about him as if it were alive. The man was tall and thin, and there was something distinctly menacing about him. A darkness seemed to surround him and, although he was standing in broad daylight, he appeared permanently cast in shadows. He also looked familiar.
As I stared at him, I promptly tripped over the uneven stones and would have fallen face-first into a filthy gutter if Arthur hadn't reached out and caught me. Cobra fast.
He said, "Easy, old boy."
"Who is that guy?"
Arthur pursed his lips. "Later, my friend."
"But - "
"Later," he said, and then pointed to a narrow alley. "Here."
He turned into it, and I followed right behind, but not without a final glance up the inclined street.
The man with the dark cloak was gone.
* * *
Marion was waiting for us inside the alley. And to my utter shock and delight, she launched herself into me, throwing her arms around me, hugging me tight. "You were amazing, James!"
I think I blushed. Actually, I know I blushed. "Amazingly lucky," I said.
Arthur gave me a hearty pat on the back. "You did good, old boy. I knew you had it in you."
Marion released me, doing so far too soon, and I found myself babbling nearly incoherently. "Say, I don't suppose either of you saw the dragon?" But I didn't give them time to answer. No. I was on an adrenaline high and I was damned scared and nothing was going to shut me up. "No, of course not. Obviously, I'm going insane. Or maybe I'm still dreaming. Or hallucinating. Maybe I took some bad cough syrup back at the hotel. You know, you should always check the expiration date on those things - "