Chapter 5. On the Road

Magda and Bookworm had been on the road for nearly four weeks. In this time they traveled not much over two hundred miles from Seven Hills as the crow flies. But it was a great distance in the age of slowly creaking wheels and of dirt roads winding around lakes, fording rain-swollen streams, laboriously climbing hills, narrowing to paths through dark forests. 

Winter was settling over the land. There were few people on the road. Luckily, they had met no knights looking for adventure. The girl and the dragon were cautious, traveling only in the morning and evening twilight, when most people kept out of the frozen woods. When they came close to villages or towns, occasionally they met peasants going into the forest for firewood, or a hunting party. There were a couple of close calls when dogs accompanying the hunters sensed something strange about the lumpy load on the cart and set to baying at it. But the hunters were tired and cold at the end of the day and called off their packs, eager to keep riding towards the warm hearth and the tankards of hot cider.

During the day, Magda and Bookworm would camp out and rest in some sheltered spot in the forest, away from the road. They also used the daylight hours to collect firewood for the night. During the long hours of darkness, they had to make sure that at least one of them was awake and tending the fire. This was necessary both to keep warm and to keep safe in the forest, where they could hear the howling of a hunting wolf pack almost every night. Under normal circumstances, a dragon can keep himself and his companions warm in any weather and would not have to think about such trivial dangers as wolves. But the dragon who no longer can breathe fire has to be humble and patient. He must make sure he has enough firewood and a good flint handy. It wrung Magda's heart to see Bookworm sitting hunched over their campfire, feeding sticks into the flame.

Traveling through the frozen, unfamiliar land was not a comfortable experience for a girl accustomed to a privileged life in a prosperous town. But there were rewards as well for the young and curious traveler. It was fascinating to visit towns and villages where people spoke dialects different from her own, churches had different towers and gargoyles from the ones she had ever seen before, and even the breads in the windows of bakeries were shaped differently from the ones she grew up eating. Even more importantly, although Bookworm had not regained his fire, he was at least not getting worse. He had appetite for books, as well as for her stories about the towns and villages they were passing since he, of course, could not see much from under the leather tarp that covered the cart. It seemed to Magda that his body was no longer tepid, but gradually building up heat.

Eventually, Magda had to find a market town and buy some supplies for Bookworm, herself and the horses. This was the scariest part of the whole journey thus far, for she had to travel by herself from their hidden camp in the forest to the town and back with the two horses, while Bookworm was left alone by the campfire. Magda was very nervous the first time she set off on a supply run, and Bookworm was equally reluctant to let her go by herself. But she managed the foray without an incident, and found the dragon safe and sound upon her return. On the second occasion, Magda set off with a bit less fear, and a few hours later she was on her way back to the campsite in a good mood. She had managed to buy several good books inexpensively. Her own appetite was teased by the delicious smell of fresh baked bread and roast chicken wafting from one of Bobtail's saddlebags. The horses were tired and the sun was low in the sky, but Magda talked cheerfully to the mares, telling them that the trip had been for their sake too: there were oats in the saddle bags.

As they entered the somber silence of the forest, she fell silent and was suddenly afraid. She remembered hearing the town crier announce that the mayor was offering a large reward for the capture of a gang of bandits who haunted the forests around the town. In the forest, the sun still shone pink and gold through delicate ribbons of early snow on birch branches, but under fir trees shadows were already thickening into blue dusk. Magda urged the horses to go faster. There were still a couple of miles to the campsite, and she was anxious to be by the fire before it got completely dark.

Suddenly, Acorn stopped, her sensitive ears pricking forward. Bobtail stopped as well. For a tense moment Magda sat listening. Then, with all her senses at once, she could feel the presence of a group of people just beyond the next turn of the road. In the next moment she saw them — a bunch of disheveled men on horseback appeared from behind the trees. They were armed: clubs, pikes, bows. Seeing her, the front rider shouted a hoarse command, and the whole posse rushed towards her, shouting and brandishing their weapons. Magda screamed in terror. Dropping Bobtail's reins, she wheeled Acorn around and galloped back the way she came. She gripped the hilt of the dagger that she wore on her belt, yet she knew that she could not outfight a dozen armed men.

Arrows whistled past Magda's head. One of them hit Acorn's shoulder, but the mare kept her pace. Acorn was a fine horse and at first ran much faster than the heavy-set mounts of the pursuers. But she was tired and wounded. She began to stumble and lose her lead. Magda urged her on, weeping with a helpless fear. The heavy gallop of the pursuers was getting closer, closer. She could hear their laughter and the labored breathing of their horses, smell the reek of the unwashed men. Finally, one of them pulled even with her and tried to grab Acorn's reins. Acorn evaded him once, twice. Then, another man reached out with a long shepherd's crook and caught Magda around the waist. She was thrown out of the saddle and fell into the snow by the side of the road, hitting her head hard against the root of a tree. She saw above her the leering gap-toothed grin, tried to draw her dagger and leap up to her feet, but orange flames filled her vision followed by a flood of darkness.

 As Magda swam through dizziness and pain back towards consciousness, she felt all around her a pleasant, even heat. Beneath her fingers were the warm rough stones of the hearth in her father’s house. Slowly, she opened her eyes. Instead of the oak ceiling beams, she saw starry sky. "Magda?" called the familiar gravelly voice. She was not back at home. She was still in the forest, propped against dragon's flank. The rough warm surface was his scales. "Magda?" Bookworm's eyes were round with anxiety. "What… What happened?" Magda asked weakly. Then, remembering, she exclaimed: "Bandits! But where are they? What happened?"
The dragon's pupils narrowed into angry slits: "They are gone now, those that are still alive. Too bad!  I wish I had more time so I could settle the score with all of them!" As she glanced past his crested back, Magda saw a few dark, still shapes sprawled in the snow. She shuddered and dropped her gaze. Bookworm’s eyes rounded again with concern as he returned his attention to the girl: "How do you feel?"
"Ooh, my head hurts. But how? How did you get here so quickly?"
"I flew."
"You flew? You can fly again?!"

Slowly, the travelers made their way back to their forest camp. Once Bookworm had taken care of Magda, Acorn and Bobtail, and Magda was settled comfortably beneath his wing with a warm mug of willow bark tea to ease her headache, the dragon explained what had happened. The campsite that they had chosen that morning was not far from the road. Bookworm, waiting for Magda's return, heard the group of men, as they were riding through the forest. The dragon had been uneasy about Magda riding unprotected on her supply runs. So, he crept quietly close to the road to check out the strangers. He did not like what he saw and decided to follow them. Of course, a dragon on foot cannot keep up with men on horseback. So, by the time he heard them whoop and yell to each other, "There is a wench on a horse. Grab her!" he was far behind them.

Bookworm was sure that it was Magda whom they saw, and that she was now in terrible danger. He roared, but the wind was blowing the wrong way, and they did not hear him. He was moving as fast as he could, but falling further behind. Then he saw blood on the snow. A picture of Magda wounded and bleeding exploded in his mind. "Next thing I knew, I was up in the air, flying and breathing out flames so hot, they made my own nostrils smart," Bookworm said. He recounted with relish his attack on the band, just as the cutthroats were about to grab Magda. He incinerated the leader and killed a couple more men with the blows of his spiked tail. The rest fled into the forest. Bookworm had to give up on chasing them because he saw Magda lying helplessly by the road.

Luckily, neither Magda's nor Acorn's injuries proved to be serious. After a few days of recuperation they both were roadworthy again.

Now that Bookworm regained his fire, Magda was tempted to suggest turning back home. She had been rattled by the run-in with the bandits. Also, the cold, windy weather and the  long dark nights in the forest were not inviting. But after bringing up the subject obliquely, she discovered that the dragon was still obsessed with the idea of finding the Springs of Inspiration. So, she let it be.

Besides, traveling with a fire-breathing dragon proved far more comfortable and efficient than their first few weeks on the road. They decided to dispense with the slow and cumbersome cart. Bobtail now carried their supplies. Magda rode on Acorn, dismounting every once in a while to walk to keep warm. Bookworm walked with Magda when she was on foot, and flew overhead when she was riding. They no longer needed to worry about collecting firewood or tending a camp fire. When it was time to rest, Magda slept cozily and safely under the dragon's wing, using  the bags of horse feed as a mattress. Bookworm also easily supplied heat for cooking and warmed the water for washing and laundry. Even in tree-splitting frost and in howling snowstorms Bookworm's heat was sufficient to keep the whole party comfortable. Bobtail and Acorn were warm enough simply huddled together next to the dragon, with the leather tarp draped over them to keep out the wind. The travelers rested during the day and were on the move from evening twilight till dawn, at least on those nights when the weather was calm.

After the incident with the bandits, Bookworm became obsessed with Magda’s safety and for a few days would not hear about letting the girl go anywhere alone. Eventually, he had to agree that their choices were: to starve; to go on supply runs together and thus risk provoking panic and, likely, armed attacks; or else find some way for Magda to go to market by herself. After some thinking, they came up with a strategy. Whenever Magda had to go into a town, Bookworm accompanied her and the horses, but flew high enough overhead, so to someone looking from the ground he could pass for a large bird of prey. While she was in town, he circled overhead, waiting for her to reappear. Once Magda entered the busy, noisy maze of streets, Bookworm could no longer track her. But they devised a signal that she could use to call him to her in case of an emergency. Bookworm made a number of small, bright firework flares and carefully taught Magda how to set them off. She carried these flares and a flint in wax sealed packets in her satchel wherever she went.

Flying in circles for hours was tiring and hungry work. Bookworm quickly became proficient at catching thermal currents and soaring, barely moving his outstretched wings to adjust their tilt. He also developed a habit of reading in flight, keeping one eye on the page and one eye on his surroundings. Anyone who has ever walked down a street, returning from the library or a bookstore with an open book in hand will know what I mean. 

In this manner, they continued on their way, moving southeast.  The sea had been left far behind.  It was strange not to feel its familiar salty tang. Without it, the air felt flat, and the reeks of crowded towns were overpowering. They were now outside the region where people spoke any recognizable dialect of Magda's native language. Her shopping trips became more challenging. She was able to converse in Latin with the types of people from whom she bought books: scribes, physicians, nuns. But the trick was in navigating her way to them in the first place, as well as in negotiating with the goldsmiths and money changers to whom Magda was selling bit by bit the gold, and with the peasants and shop keepers from whom she bought provisions for herself and the horses. Also, she had to keep straight in her mind the values of many different kinds of coins, be careful not to run afoul of unfamiliar laws, and generally adapt quickly as they moved from one small kingdom or duchy to another.

But as the difficulties of travel increased, so did the pleasures. Now Magda's curiosity was glutted with a daily feast of new impressions. She saw all kinds of wonders:  multi-span  bridges, huge cathedrals, looming castles. People did things differently in these new lands from what she was used to in Seven Hills. She saw houses with roofs made of slate instead of tiles. On the rivers were slow moving flat-bottomed boats that were pushed by poles, instead of the oared dinghies and sailing ships. In the market squares, there were city wells which were not operated by a winch and a bucket on a chain, but instead spouted water out of many whimsical bronze faces. One time Magda saw a huge procession. Knights in bright armor rode under rippling banners. Ladies wrapped in velvet fur-lined mantles sat sideways on high-stepping horses. They were accompanying an ornate gilded palanquin. Magda was sure that there was a king or a queen inside! There were smaller things to see and experience as well – people wore strange clothes; in the markets, the stalls were piled with new kinds of fish and wild game; she tasted new kinds of pies and cheeses and listened to minstrels singing unfamiliar tunes and strumming lutes that were different in shape from the ones she was used to.

One of the strangest foreign innovations that Magda got to see was a large time indicator mounted on a bell tower of a cathedral. It looked like a sundial, but instead of a gnomon it had a pair of ornate pointers, one longer than the other. The pointers slowly rotated, their tips counting out minutes and hours. At first, Magda assumed that there was a person sitting inside the tower, moving these pointers around by means of a crank. But she was assured by several locals (who were exceedingly proud of this innovation) that it was actually a machine called the mechanical clock. Bookworm, hearing about this was so curious, that Magda was obliged to stay one night in an inn. The dragon flew into the town under the cover of darkness, found a way to get into the clock tower through the belfry, and examined the whole contraption. He confirmed that indeed, the clock was a purely mechanical device. He described it as having gears similar to those of a water mill. He sketched the whole thing for Magda on a scrap of parchment.

Despite Bookworm's protectiveness, Magda had an occasional scary experience. Although wolf packs sensed the presence of the low flying dragon and never came near her, she did run into a hungry bear one night. Something had awakened the beast and driven it out of its den in the middle of winter, and he was prowling through the forest, searching desperately for food. But there is not much to tell about the incident. There was a sudden alarmed neighing of the horses as a large shaggy shape reared from behind a fallen tree and sprang out onto the moonlit road. In the next instant, flames shot from above and, with a rush of wings, a broad arc of scales glinted in the starlight, delivering a heavy, bone crunching blow. The horses, snorting with fear, stepped around the now-motionless heap of fur on the road. For the rest of that night Bookworm walked right next to Magda to keep her company.

There were also a handful of encounters with brutish men who were out on the winter roads and, seeing a young girl apparently traveling alone, thought that she would make an easy prey for their greed or their lust. Only one of them survived the encounter with the ever-vigilant Bookworm, and only thanks to Magda. She had a visceral dislike of bloodshed, and so she talked the dragon out of finishing off the already burnt and stunned lout.

But neither these upsets, nor the usual vagaries of travels — sprained ankle, food poisoning, pickpockets who cleaned out Magda's belt purse in a crowded market — could spoil the general mood of excitement and wonder that was shared by the girl and the dragon and even, it seemed, by the two horses.

They were lucky with the weather, too. After a few intense snowstorms, there was a long streak of crisp, sunny days and starry, windless nights that made it easy, even pleasant, to trot along the snowy roads.

CONTINUED IN THE NEXT CHAPTER