The Knight Who Never Won

Sir Barnaby Finch was a knight in the small kingdom of Alderwick.

He was tall and thin, with a long nose and kind brown eyes.

He had an old grey horse called Biscuit, a rusty sword, and a shield with a dent in the middle.

But there was one thing he did not have.

He did not have a single win.

Every spring, the people of Alderwick held a big tournament in the green field below the castle.

Knights came from all over the land to fight, and hundreds of people came to watch.

There were colorful flags, loud music, and a man who sold hot apple cakes.

It was the best day of the year.

Sir Barnaby had joined the tournament for twenty years.

For twenty years, he had lost every fight.

This year, he was standing beside Biscuit in the field, checking his shield.

The sun was shining, and the crowd was already noisy.

Then he heard a small voice.

"Good luck, Sir Barnaby!"

It was Elsie, the baker's daughter.

She was ten years old, and she always had a little flour on her nose.

She was holding a warm loaf of bread in both hands.

Elsie came to every tournament, and she always cheered for Barnaby the loudest.

"Thank you, Elsie," said Barnaby with a kind smile.

"But I must tell you the truth.

I have lost ninety-nine fights.

I do not think today will be a good day for my first win."

"Ninety-nine?" said Elsie.

"That is a lot of fights!

It means you have never given up."

Barnaby had never thought about it like that.

He laughed softly.

"Maybe you are right."

His first fight that day was against Sir Gregor the Great, the strongest knight in the kingdom.

Sir Gregor was as wide as a door and as loud as a drum.

His armor shone like a mirror, and his horse was twice as big as Biscuit.

"Are you ready to lose again, Finch?" Sir Gregor shouted across the field.

"I am always ready to lose," said Barnaby politely.

"It is the winning that I find difficult."

The trumpet sounded.

The two knights began to ride toward each other.

Barnaby held his shield high and tried to look brave.

But Biscuit did not like loud noises, and she did not like fighting.

Halfway across the field, she saw a yellow flower and stopped to eat it.

Barnaby did not stop.

He flew over Biscuit's head, turned twice in the air, and landed in a puddle of mud with a very loud splash.

The crowd laughed, but it was not an unkind laugh.

The people of Alderwick liked Sir Barnaby.

He always said sorry to the mud, to his horse, and to anyone he met in the field.

Sir Gregor rode up and looked down at him.

"That is one hundred, Finch," he said, and he almost smiled.

"Thank you, Sir Gregor," said Barnaby from the mud.

"I was counting too."

Barnaby was still sitting in the mud, taking a flower out of his helmet, when the trumpet sounded again.

This time, it was not for the next fight.

King Oswin, a round old man with a long white beard, was standing on his chair.

His face was very serious.

"My friends, I have bad news," the king said.

Everyone stopped talking.

"Look at the sky above Mount Gray."

The people turned and looked.

Far away, a thin line of black smoke was rising over the mountain.

"A dragon has come to our land," said the king.

"It arrived at the start of spring.

Every few days, it sends fire down onto our farms.

Three barns have burned.

The wheat field of Farmer Hale is black.

If nothing changes, we will have no bread this winter."

A frightened sound went through the crowd.

"I need a knight to go to the mountain and stop the dragon," said King Oswin.

"Who will go?"

Nobody moved.

Sir Gregor suddenly became very interested in his boots.

The other knights remembered important things.

One said his horse was sick.

Another said his mother was visiting.

A third said his armor needed cleaning, and he began to walk away very quickly.

The king sighed.

"Nobody?

Then I must choose."

He looked slowly around the field.

His eyes stopped at the mud puddle.

"Sir Barnaby Finch."

Barnaby stood up.

Mud was running down his armor in long brown lines.

"Me, Your Majesty?"

"You have lost one hundred fights, and you are still here, and you are still smiling," said the king.

"A knight like that does not run away.

Also, you are the only knight who is not busy."

A few people laughed, but Barnaby did not mind.

He was thinking about the black wheat field.

He was thinking about Farmer Hale, who had once given him a basket of sweet pears for no reason at all.

"I will go," he said.

"But I must be honest, Your Majesty.

I am not very likely to win."

"Then do not win," said the king.

"Just make the fires stop."

That evening, Barnaby cleaned his armor and packed his saddlebag.

Elsie came to his small house, carrying a bag that was almost as big as she was.

"This is from me and my grandmother," she said.

"There is bread, a pot of honey, and some dried mint and thyme from her garden.

She says a cup of tea can fix almost anything."

"Your grandmother is a wise woman," said Barnaby.

He put the bag next to his blue teapot.

The teapot had a chipped spout, and he took it everywhere.

He believed that a cold knight is an unhappy knight, and an unhappy knight is not good at anything.

At dawn the next morning, Barnaby climbed onto Biscuit and rode out through the town gate.

Elsie stood on the wall and waved a white cloth until he was too small to see.

"Come back soon, Sir Barnaby!" she called.

"Losing is the one thing I am good at," Barnaby said quietly to his horse.

"Perhaps that will help us."

For two days, Barnaby and Biscuit followed the road toward Mount Gray.

The sun was warm, and the hills were covered in bright yellow flowers.

Biscuit kept stopping to eat them.

Barnaby kept saying, "Please, Biscuit, we are in a hurry," but he never pulled her away.

He did not like pulling.

On the afternoon of the second day, they came to a river with an old stone bridge.

They were crossing it when a deep voice shouted from under the bridge.

"STOP!

Nobody crosses my bridge!"

Biscuit stopped.

A huge grey troll climbed up from the water.

He had a nose like a potato, hands like shovels, and moss growing on his shoulders.

He was holding a heavy wooden club.

Barnaby got down from his horse.

His hands were shaking a little, but his voice was polite.

"Good afternoon, sir.

My name is Sir Barnaby Finch.

I am sorry to bother you.

I am on my way to Mount Gray."

"I am Grobble," said the troll.

"Nobody crosses unless they win my riddle game.

There are three riddles.

Answer them all, and you can go."

"I understand," said Barnaby.

"I should tell you that I am not good at winning.

But I will try."

"First riddle," said Grobble, with a big smile.

"What has a mouth but never eats, and a bed but never sleeps?"

Barnaby thought hard.

He looked at the bridge, the sky, and Biscuit with her mouth full of yellow flowers.

"A horse?" he said at last.

"WRONG!

A river!" shouted Grobble happily.

"Second riddle.

What gets wetter the more it dries?"

"A very thirsty cat?" said Barnaby.

"WRONG!

A towel!" Grobble laughed so hard that the bridge shook.

"Third riddle.

The more you take, the more you leave behind.

What is it?"

Barnaby thought for a long time.

Then he smiled.

"I really do not know," he said.

"I think I have lost the game, Grobble.

You are very good at riddles."

Grobble stopped laughing.

He looked at Barnaby with his small black eyes.

"Footsteps," he said slowly.

"The answer is footsteps.

But you are not angry?"

"Why would I be angry?" said Barnaby.

"It was a fine game.

I have lost many things in my life, but this was the most fun."

The troll's big face looked confused.

He put down his club.

"Nobody has ever said that," he said.

"Everyone who loses shouts at me.

Most of them run away.

Nobody ever stays to talk."

Barnaby looked at the troll, and he saw something sad behind the big potato nose.

"Do you live here alone?"

"Yes," said Grobble quietly.

"I have lived here for two hundred years.

I only want someone to play riddles with.

But when I ask, they are too afraid."

"Then perhaps we can play again while we have some tea," said Barnaby.

"I have a teapot, some honey, and a very good loaf of bread."

They sat together on the river bank.

Barnaby made a small fire and boiled the water.

Soon the air smelled of fresh mint.

Grobble held the tiny cup with two big fingers, like a bird holding a feather.

"It is very good," he said.

"It is warm in a way I had forgotten."

They played riddles until the sun began to go down.

Barnaby lost every one, and Grobble laughed every time.

"Where are you going, little knight?" Grobble asked at last.

"To Mount Gray, to find the dragon."

The troll's face became worried.

"I have heard the dragon too.

Every morning there is a noise like thunder, and it shakes the whole valley.

But the sky is clear, so I do not think it is thunder at all."

He thought for a moment.

"It sounds like a very big sneeze."

"A sneeze?" said Barnaby slowly.

"That is interesting."

He remembered the yellow flowers on the hills.

"Go carefully," said Grobble.

"And you may cross my bridge, Sir Barnaby.

A friend does not have to win the riddle game."

Barnaby smiled and shook the troll's huge hand with both of his own.

By the next morning, they reached the farmland below Mount Gray.

Barnaby had never seen fields like these.

The ground was black, the barns were broken, and grey smoke hung in the air.

Everything smelled like an old fire.

Farmer Hale was standing in the middle of his burned wheat field with his hat in his hands.

He was a big man with a gentle face, and he looked very tired.

"Sir Barnaby!" he said in surprise.

"Did the king send you?

All by yourself?"

"I am afraid so," said Barnaby.

"I am very sorry about your wheat, Farmer Hale."

"The wheat is gone," said Hale.

"But I worry more about my family.

My wife and children are sleeping at my sister's house now.

This is not a safe place any more."

"Can you tell me exactly what happens?" Barnaby asked.

"I would like to understand the dragon before I meet it."

The farmer thought carefully.

"It is always the same.

First there is a huge noise, like thunder.

Then a ball of fire comes down from the mountain.

Sometimes it falls here, and sometimes there.

It never chases us.

It never chases the animals.

It just falls."

"Does the dragon ever come down to the farms?"

"Never.

I have not even seen it.

I have only seen the smoke."

Barnaby was quiet.

He remembered what Grobble had said about a very big sneeze.

He looked at the hills around the farm.

They were covered in yellow flowers, thicker than he had ever seen.

A soft yellow dust was blowing from the flowers and floating up the mountain.

"Farmer Hale, when did these yellow flowers first come?"

"This spring," said the farmer.

"My grandmother called them sunbloom.

They only grow once in thirty years, after a long wet winter.

They are very pretty.

But the dust makes my nose itch, too."

Barnaby looked at the yellow dust on his sleeve.

He rubbed his nose, and then he sneezed.

It was a very small sneeze, but it gave him a very big idea.

"Thank you, Farmer Hale," he said.

"You have helped me more than you know."

Hale gave him a bag of pears.

"For the road," he said.

"And whatever happens, Sir Barnaby, thank you for going when nobody else would."

Barnaby did not know what to say, so he said sorry for no reason at all, and the farmer laughed.

The path up Mount Gray was steep and covered with loose stones.

Barnaby walked beside Biscuit and held her reins, because the path was too difficult for riding.

The higher they climbed, the colder the air became.

The yellow flowers were thicker here than anywhere else, and the golden dust floated around them like snow.

Biscuit sneezed twice.

Barnaby sneezed three times.

"I am sorry, Biscuit," he said, wiping his nose.

"I think the flowers do not like us."

When evening came, they found a flat place next to a large rock.

Barnaby made a small fire and boiled water for tea.

He gave Biscuit one of Farmer Hale's pears and ate a piece of Elsie's bread.

The sky grew dark, and the stars came out one by one, until there were thousands.

Barnaby sat with his cup of tea and looked up at them.

He was thinking about the dragon, and about the hundred fights he had lost.

"I am not afraid of being hurt," he told Biscuit quietly.

"I have been hurt many times.

I am afraid of letting those people down.

They need bread this winter."

Biscuit looked at him with her big, patient eyes.

"But I know one thing," Barnaby went on.

"I know how to get up after a fall.

I have done it a hundred times.

Maybe that is a kind of strength too."

He fell asleep under his blanket, and he dreamed about hot apple cakes.

Just before sunrise, the whole mountain shook.

Barnaby woke up and sat straight up.

"HAAAA-CHOOOO!"

The sound rolled down the valley like thunder.

A bright ball of orange fire shot into the grey sky, turned in the air, and fell far away to the east.

It burst on the hills in a shower of sparks.

Biscuit made a frightened noise and tried to hide behind the big rock.

Barnaby hid there too, with his arms over his head.

For a long time, he did not move.

Then it was quiet.

And in the quiet, he heard another sound.

It was a long, wet sniff, and then a very sad voice that seemed to come from high above him.

"Oh dear," said the voice.

"Oh dear, dear, dear.

Not again.

I am so sorry."

Barnaby lifted his head slowly.

Above them, halfway up the mountain, there was a dark opening in the rock.

A soft orange light was glowing inside it.

"That does not sound like a monster," he whispered.

"That sounds like someone with a cold."

He stood up and brushed the dust off his armor.

Then he looked at his sword.

It was old and rusty, and it did not look very friendly.

He decided to leave it tied to the saddle.

He took only his shield, his teapot, and the bag of mint, thyme, and honey.

"Wait for me here," he said to Biscuit.

"I will come back, I hope."

And he began the long walk up toward the cave.

The cave was very large.

The roof was so high that Barnaby could not see the top, and the floor was covered with soft grey ash.

In the middle of the cave, on a bed of ferns, lay the biggest creature he had ever seen.

It was a dragon.

Her scales were green like moss, and they shone softly in the light.

Her wings were folded against her sides like two enormous umbrellas.

Her claws were as long as swords.

She was bigger than any barn in Alderwick.

But Barnaby noticed other things too.

The dragon's eyes were red and watery.

Her nose was red and shiny.

Around her lay a huge pile of wet, crumpled leaves and a few old sacks.

She was holding one of the sacks against her nose with a claw.

Barnaby took a deep breath.

He walked forward until he was standing at the edge of the ash.

He did not know what to say, so he said what he always said.

"Good morning.

I am very sorry to bother you.

My name is Sir Barnaby Finch."

The dragon's head came up so quickly that the ferns flew into the air.

Her eyes opened wide.

She opened her mouth, and Barnaby saw a deep orange glow in her throat.

"A knight?" she said in a thick, stuffy voice.

"Please, stand back.

I think I am going to... ah... ah...

AH..."

Barnaby did not think.

He raised his shield high in front of his face.

"HAAAA-CHOOOO!"

A great wave of fire hit the shield.

It pushed Barnaby off his feet.

He flew across the cave, turned over twice, hit the pile of ash, and slid on his back into a puddle by the cave wall.

His shield was black, bent, and still glowing a little.

His helmet rolled away across the floor.

For a moment, nothing moved.

Then the dragon cried out, "Oh no!

Oh no, oh no, oh no!

Are you hurt?

I am so sorry!"

Barnaby lay in the puddle and looked up at the roof of the cave.

He felt his arms and legs.

Everything was still there, and nothing was broken.

He had been in much worse falls at the tournament.

"I am all right," he said.

"Thank you for asking."

He sat up and looked at his bent shield.

"I think you have won."

"Won?" The dragon blinked her red eyes.

"I did not know we were fighting."

"I came to fight you," Barnaby said honestly.

"The king sent me.

But you knocked me down with one sneeze, so I think the fight is finished.

It is my hundred and first loss.

I have a lot of practice, so I always know when I am beaten."

The dragon stared at him.

Then something strange happened.

A deep, rolling sound came out of her chest, and Barnaby realized with surprise that she was laughing.

"One hundred and first," she said, wiping her eye with a claw.

"What a thing to say!

Every human who sees my smoke runs away as fast as possible.

You are the first one who has ever said hello to me."

"I hope I will not be the last," said Barnaby.

He stood up, picked up his helmet, and made a little bow.

"May I ask your name?"

"I am Mossgrim," said the dragon.

"Please come and sit with me.

I have not talked to anyone for months, and I am very tired of sniffing."

Barnaby sat down on a flat rock near Mossgrim's big green foot.

The dragon told him her story, and while she talked, she sniffed and wiped her nose on the old sack.

"I am four hundred years old," she said.

"I have lived on this mountain all my life.

Every winter I sleep in this cave, and every spring I wake up feeling fresh and strong.

I have never had any trouble before.

But this spring, those yellow flowers came.

The dust goes up my nose, and my head feels full of cotton, and I sneeze.

And when a dragon sneezes, there is always fire."

"I understand," said Barnaby slowly.

"Farmer Hale told me that the fire only comes after a great noise."

"I try to sneeze up into the sky," Mossgrim said sadly.

"I really do.

But the wind catches the fire and carries it down the valley.

I have burned three barns and a beautiful field of wheat.

I have seen the farmers running away.

I have wanted to go down and tell them how sorry I am.

But I know what would happen.

They would see a dragon, and they would be afraid.

And then I would sneeze again."

A big tear rolled down her green face and fell onto the ash with a hiss.

Barnaby was quiet for a moment.

Then he smiled.

"Mossgrim, I think I can help a little.

May I make you some tea?"

"Tea?" said the dragon.

"For a dragon?"

"I have a small teapot, but I think we will need something bigger," said Barnaby.

He looked around the cave.

In a dark corner, he found an old iron pot, big enough to wash a horse in.

Perhaps another knight had left it there many years ago.

He carried it to the stream outside, filled it with cold water, and dragged it back.

"Could you make the water hot, please?" he asked.

"But not with a sneeze.

Only with a gentle fire."

Mossgrim looked surprised, but she lowered her head and breathed out, very slowly.

A soft golden flame came from her mouth and warmed the pot.

It was steady, like a good oven.

Soon the water was bubbling.

Barnaby opened Elsie's bag.

He poured in all the mint, all the thyme, and the whole pot of honey.

He stirred it with a long stick.

A wonderful smell filled the cave, green and sweet and clean.

"Now, drink," he said.

"Slowly.

Elsie's grandmother says that tea can fix almost anything."

The dragon put her big face over the pot and drank.

For a while, she did not say anything.

Her eyes closed.

The red went out of her nose, little by little.

She took a deep breath through her nose, the first deep breath in many weeks.

"Oh," said Mossgrim.

"Oh, my.

I can smell the mountain again.

I had forgotten that it smelled like this."

"Do you feel better?" asked Barnaby.

"Much, much better!" She smiled, and it was a wide and gentle smile.

"Sir Barnaby, you are very strange for a knight.

You did not bring a sword.

You brought a teapot."

"I did bring a sword," said Barnaby.

"But it is very rusty.

I left it with my horse."

Then Mossgrim's smile slowly faded.

"But the tea will not last, will it?

The flowers will stay until the middle of summer.

When the tea goes away, the sneezing will come back."

"Yes," said Barnaby.

"I think you are right."

He looked at the pot and at the yellow dust blowing past the door of the cave, and he began to think very hard.

For a long time, they sat and thought.

The wind moved the ferns.

Far below, a bird was singing.

"Mossgrim," said Barnaby at last, "is there any place where the yellow flowers do not grow?"

The dragon thought.

"When I was young, I spent the hot months in a cave behind the Silver Falls, in the north.

It is cold and wet there, and only ferns and moss grow.

I have not been there for a hundred years.

It is a long way from everyone, so I stopped going."

"The Silver Falls," said Barnaby.

"Does the water from those falls run into a river with a stone bridge?"

"Yes, I think it does."

Barnaby began to laugh.

"Then I know a troll who lives under that bridge, and he would be very happy to have a neighbor.

He is very fond of riddles.

I lost every one of his riddles, and he was delighted."

Mossgrim's eyes shone.

"A troll who likes riddles?

I know many riddles.

I am four hundred years old."

"Then it is decided," said Barnaby.

"You can spend the spring and summer at the Silver Falls, far from the flowers.

Every autumn, you can come back to Mount Gray.

And I will bring you tea whenever I can."

"But what about the farmers?" the dragon asked quietly.

"What about the barns?"

"We must tell them the truth," said Barnaby.

"If you say sorry yourself, and if they see that you are kind, I think they will understand.

Will you come down with me?

I will walk beside you the whole way."

Mossgrim was quiet for a long time.

Her claws moved nervously in the ash.

"I have not walked near a village for two hundred years," she said.

"But yes.

I will try.

I would like to say sorry."

They left the cave when the sun was high.

Barnaby carried his teapot and his bent shield, and Mossgrim followed him with slow, careful steps so that she did not knock down any trees.

When Biscuit saw the dragon, she lifted her head and looked at her for a long moment.

Then she went back to eating flowers.

She had already been through a lot that morning.

"Your horse is very brave," said Mossgrim.

"She is very hungry," said Barnaby.

"But yes.

Both."

They walked to the farm first.

Farmer Hale was standing in his black field when he saw a great green shape coming down the hill.

His hat fell out of his hands.

He did not move.

"Farmer Hale, this is Mossgrim," Barnaby called, waving.

"She has a cold.

She would like to say sorry."

The dragon lowered her huge head until it almost touched the ground.

"I am sorry," she said in a small voice.

"I am sorry about your barns and your field.

I did not mean to do it.

I will help you build everything again.

I can carry a whole tree with one claw."

Farmer Hale looked at the dragon for a long time.

Then he looked at Barnaby, and then he looked at the dragon again.

"Three whole trees would be even better," he said at last.

They reached Alderwick the next evening, just as the sun was going down behind the castle.

The people on the walls saw the dragon first.

The bells began to ring, the gates slammed shut, and the knights ran in every direction.

Only one knight stayed.

Sir Gregor the Great stood in front of the gate with his sword in the air.

His knees were shaking, but he did not move.

Barnaby rode forward slowly with his empty hands held up.

"Please, do not be afraid!" he called.

"Everything is all right!"

The little door in the gate opened, and Elsie ran out.

Her mother was shouting behind her, but she did not stop.

She ran straight to Barnaby, and she was laughing and crying at the same time.

"You came back!" she said.

Then she looked up at the huge green dragon.

"Is that her?"

"Her name is Mossgrim," said Barnaby.

"She has a cold."

Elsie looked at the dragon for a moment.

Then she smiled and waved.

"Hello, Mossgrim.

I hope you feel better soon."

"Thank you, little one," said the dragon, and her voice was very soft.

"Did you win, Sir Barnaby?" asked Elsie.

"No," he said.

"I lost."

"Of course you did," said Elsie happily.

Soon the king came down from his tower with his guards, and the whole crowd followed him.

Barnaby told the story from the beginning.

He told them about the yellow flowers, the dust, and the sneezing.

Mossgrim said sorry in front of everyone, and she promised to rebuild every barn.

But the tea was wearing off.

Mossgrim's nose began to twitch, and her eyes grew wide.

"Oh no," she whispered.

"Not now.

I think I am going to... ah... ah..."

The crowd fell to the ground.

Sir Gregor covered the king with his big shield.

"Look up, Mossgrim!" shouted Barnaby.

"Up into the sky!"

"HAAAA-CHOOOO!"

The fire shot straight up into the evening sky.

High above the castle, it burst into a great golden flower of sparks, and then it fell slowly, like a hundred small stars.

Nothing burned.

Everything was quiet.

Then a small boy at the back of the crowd began to clap.

Then another person clapped, and another.

Soon the whole crowd was cheering.

"I am so sorry," said Mossgrim in a shaking voice.

"Was that all right?"

"It was the finest thing I have ever seen in Alderwick," said King Oswin, standing up slowly.

He turned to Barnaby.

"Sir Barnaby, did you defeat the dragon?"

"No, Your Majesty," said Barnaby.

"I lost.

She knocked me down with one sneeze."

The king laughed so hard that his crown fell off.

"One hundred and one losses," he said, "and still you have brought us the best result we have ever had."

Over the next week, Mossgrim carried huge logs down from the forest and rebuilt all three barns.

Farmer Hale sat on a fence and gave her advice, and she listened carefully to every word.

The farmer planted new wheat in the black field, and by the end of the week, the first green leaves were coming up.

Then it was time for Mossgrim to go north.

Half the town came to the gate to say goodbye.

Elsie gave her a loaf of warm bread the size of a pillow, and the dragon ate it in one bite and said it was the best thing she had ever eaten.

"Come back in the autumn," said Elsie.

"My oven is very big, and my mother says it never gets hot enough.

I think you can help."

All summer, Barnaby rode north every week with his blue teapot.

He crossed the stone bridge, where Grobble was always waiting, and they walked together to the Silver Falls.

The cave behind the falls was cold and green and quiet, and there was not one yellow flower in sight.

Mossgrim and Grobble became the best of friends.

The dragon knew four hundred years of riddles, and the troll lost every one of them.

He had never been so happy.

In the autumn, Mossgrim flew home to Mount Gray.

She spent her days helping the people of Alderwick.

With her gentle fire, Elsie's family baked bread that tasted of warm mountain air, and people came from three villages to buy it.

On cold winter nights, the dragon lit the street lamps of the town, one by one, and the children watched from their windows.

King Oswin wanted to give Barnaby a new shield made of silver.

Barnaby thanked him very politely, but he kept the old one.

It still had a dent in the middle, and now it was also black and bent.

He hung it on the wall of his small house, next to the blue teapot.

When spring came again, the people of Alderwick held their tournament in the green field below the castle.

Mossgrim watched from the hill, and Grobble sat beside her, because he had been invited for the first time.

Elsie sat on the fence with a loaf of bread, and she cheered for Barnaby the loudest.

His first fight was against Sir Gregor the Great.

The trumpet sounded, the two knights rode forward, and Biscuit saw a yellow flower and stopped to eat it.

Barnaby flew through the air and landed in the mud with a very loud splash.

This time, Sir Gregor jumped down from his horse and held out a big hand.

He pulled Barnaby out of the mud, and the whole crowd stood up and cheered louder than they had ever cheered for any winner.

"That is one hundred and two, Finch," said Sir Gregor, smiling.

"Thank you, Sir Gregor," said Barnaby.

"I think it was my best loss yet."

That night, Barnaby sat in his small kitchen with a cup of mint tea.

The fire was low and warm.

Biscuit was sleeping in the stable with a full stomach, and the old shield was shining softly on the wall.

Outside, the stars were coming out, one by one, over the quiet roofs of Alderwick.

Far away on Mount Gray, a green dragon was sleeping in her cave, breathing slowly and gently.

By the river, an old troll was snoring under his bridge, with a smile on his big face.

In the bakery, the last of the bread was cooling in the warm dark.

Barnaby finished his tea and walked up the stairs to his bed.

He had lost a hundred and two fights in his life.

But he had gained a dragon, a troll, a kingdom of friends, and a little girl who believed in him.

He closed his eyes and fell asleep with a smile.

Sir Barnaby Finch, the knight who never won, had never needed to win anything at all.