[The deBurghs 07] - Reynold De Burgh: The Dark Knight by Deborah Simmons

fearful of night-time attacks. But this evening they would seek their beds, as if Reynold’s very presence would protect them. That sort of faith sat poorly upon him. In truth, he had never shouldered such responsibility by himself. He had been involved in rescues, battles and skirmishes of various sorts, but always with one or more of his brothers. Never alone.
    Reynold shifted uncomfortably under the weight oftheir expectations. Here in the darkness, distanced from those involved, he realised that he should have tried to convince Mistress Sexton and her companions to leave Grim’s End. But if there was some beast preying on the people here, it might simply move on to the next place.
    Reynold frowned as he mulled over his options, the safety of the villagers his upmost concern. Perhaps tomorrow he should insist that the others go, while he stayed to concentrate fully upon his task. Not only would he prefer that they be removed from any danger, but he had a feeling that Mistress Sexton would present a distraction even to the most hard-hearted of men.
    Shying away from that subject, Reynold looked to where Peregrine had made his pallet by the door. The youth had been sunk in silence for some time. Was he languishing over Mistress Sexton, or was he having second thoughts about urging Reynold to listen to her?
    ‘Are you regretting our stay already, squire?’
    ‘No, my lord,’ Peregrine said. ‘I’m just wondering how you’re going to fight it.’
    Fight it ? Did his squire know how attracted he was to the beautiful damsel? Then, with a start of surprise, Reynold realised that Peregrine was talking about the worm. Reynold loosed a low breath. ‘I don’t think there is one to fight.’
    ‘Still and all, we might be prepared.’
    Reynold could not argue with that, a good idea in any situation. ‘All right,’ he said, sensing that his squire wanted to discuss their course of action, should a dragon swoop down upon them. ‘What would you suggest?’
    ‘Well, the saints just cast them out, usually to the desert.’
    ‘I think we’ve agreed that I’m not a saint,’ Reynold said, drily. Nor did he understand how a mere mortal would communicate with the beast. He paused to think. ‘But didn’t St George shove a spear down its throat?’
    ‘Yes…’ Peregrine’s words trailed off as though he were reluctant to speak further.
    ‘What?’ Reynold asked. Although he didn’t do any tourneying, he could handle a lance and a sword.
    ‘That would require really good aim and an awful lot of strength. And who’s to say the thing wouldn’t burn the spear with its fiery breath?’
    Reynold squinted into the gloom. He had never really concerned himself with the techniques needed to kill a worm, but he supposed that any mistakes would be costly, if not fatal. In the hushed silence of the room, he found himself wishing for his brothers’ counsel. This was just the sort of question they would argue over for hours, whether they really believed a dragon posed a danger or not.
    Geoffrey would propose a variety of clever and unusual solutions, while Simon would advocate brute force, and Stephen would proclaim uninterest. Suddenly, Reynold missed them all. For the first time since leaving Campion, he wondered whether he ought to return home, but then what? Nothing would have changed.
    ‘Do you know any more of the stories?’ Peregrine asked, and Reynold searched his memory. His family thought Geoff was the romantic, always ready for a chivalrous story, but that was because Reynold kept hisopinions to himself. He had not cared to be mocked as the moonstruck one, pining for adventures he would never have, living out the lives of heroes bold and whole while knowing he was not.
    Once in a while, his shrewd father would give him a book or suggest a tale, but he had avoided his brothers’ taunts. And yet now that small victory seemed petty. Perhaps if he had let his interest be known, he would not be struggling so hard to remember