this news, and then he burst out afresh, “I believes in fairy godmothers, too! I believes, and I never meant no harm!”
“I’m not a fairy godmother, either.”
Shanzie timidly raised his head, staring with pale eyes out of a pale face surrounded by a thicket of pale hair. He gaped at Princess for a silent interval, gave a little despairing cry, lowered his head, and moaned, “Then I believes in flying ladies with great black swords, whatever they be, and I never done anything, I swear it, and I never meant to, and I’ll never do it again if you let me go this time, and besides, they made me do it, I never wanted to, not ever, nohow, I swear!”
“What exactly have you done?” Princess asked.
“Whatever you came to punish me for,” Shanzie said in a muted, hopeless voice. He covered his head with his hands and awaited his fate. “Only I didn’t do it.”
“What do you think?” Princess whispered.
“Harmless,” said the blade, adding, “Probably useless, too.”
“Now, listen to me, Shanzie,” Princess said in a firm but not unfriendly voice. “I’m going to ask you some questions. If you tell me the truth, I won’t hurt you.” Shanzie’s only response was to moan and tremble, and Princess, with a touch of impatience, said, “Get up on your feet and stop making those ridiculous noises. Pay attention.”
Shanzie climbed to his feet and stood before her, head bowed, cringing and wringing his hands. He was a pitiable sight. His clothing was an assortment of tatters, knotted and pinned in place with thorns. His face, hands, and rags were caked with dirt. He gave off an aroma rather like that of an old damp heap of straw in which several generations of small animals have lived untidy lives. Princess wrinkled up her nose and took a step back.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded.
“Just living here, your excellent ladyship, ma’am,” he replied with a clumsy attempt at a bow.
“Do you know whose castle it is?”
THE MACE CAME
up and around. At the top of the mace’s arc, the black blade seemed to spring to life, darting up as if of its own volition to shear the spiked head free. It spun through the air, narrowly missing two of the encircling men, and bounded across the floor, leaving a trail of splinters. The attacker staggered off balance, freezing into immobility when the point of the blade pricked the skin of his throat.
“Answer my question, fellow,” said Princess, unruffled. “Who are you, and what is the meaning of this attack?”
Before the man could speak, the sword cried, “How dare you attack a lady? How dare you insult a princess, and call her names?”
“I seek the great sword Panstygia,” said the man hoarsely.
“You do, do you? Well, you’re about to find it—hiltdeep in your sweetbreads, you vicious brute! You coward! Know, ruffian, that I am Panstygia, Mother of Darkness, and my only business with the likes of you is—”
“No, wait!” shouted three voices simultaneously, followed at once by a babble of “Louise, it’s Alice! It’s William, dear sister! Great-great-aunt Louise, have mercy!
Don’t you recognize us? Stay your blow, sister! Hold! A miracle!” until Princess called imperiously for silence.
When all was still, she said to the man in black, “For now, I want
you
to do the talking. Is that gold band on your arm Alice, the crown?”
“It is, my lady,” he said, relieved at her intercession.
“And that great heavy shield—is it William?”
“It is indeed. But he’s not heavy, he’s her brother,” said the man in black, with a slight nod of his head and a downward shift of his eyes to indicate the black blade still touching his Adam’s apple.
“And who, then, are you?”
“My lady, the blade.
. .
if you would.
Princess withdrew Louise. Bowing deeply, the man in black said, “I am Rokkmund, fourth of that name, known to the world as the Knight of the Empty Scabbard. I am the great-great-grandson of Elsa, younger sister of Hedvig, second cousin to Louise, Alice, and William, who once ruled in the Kingdom of the Singing Forest, and I am now the sole and rightful heir to that Kingdom.”
“He’s telling the truth, Louise,” said a deep resounding voice from behind the man’s shoulder.
“William? Is that really you?” asked the sword.
“It is, dear sister.”
“And I’m Alice!” cried a joyous voice from Rokkmund’s right arm. “I’m too small to fit his head, but I make a lovely armband.”
“And you, Louise, true to your courageous nature, have become the great black blade of the west,” said Rokkmund. Smiling, he held out his hand. “Come, my great-great-aunt, and join us. Together, we will rebuild the Kingdom of the Singing Forest and overcome our enemies. We will be invincible!”
“I’ve had quite enough of being invincible, thank you,” said Louise.
“It is your duty, great-great-aunt. Enemies must be smashed.”
“What enemies? All our enemies are dead by now.”
Setting his grim features even more grimly, Rokkmund said, “There are always enemies. Our kingdom has been overrun and divided among neighbors who took advantage of our family’s misfortunes. We must wring it from their thieving grasp!”
“I don’t want to wring anything from anyone’s grasp, Rokkmund. I only want to be myself again. I’m thoroughly sick of being a sword.”
“It’s no use, Louise,” said William. “Being a shield is no fun, believe me, but there’s no way out. Vorvas is dead, and no one can lift the spell.”
“That isn’t so, William. The spell can be lifted if we can find out the exact words Vorvas used. Princess and I have been searching high and low for any archives, or annals, or chronicles, or anything at all that might tell us what Vorvas said that day.”
“But you found nothing,” said Rokkmund.
“Not yet. But what about you? What do you know about Vorvas’s spell?”
“Alas, nothing. Great-great aunt Hedvig was devastated by the spectacle of your transformation. She entered a convent that very day, and never spoke another word. Her secrets all died with her.”
“Then
. . .
there’s no hope for us at all,” said Louise faintly.
“None whatsoever. Accept your destiny. Be my blade, and lead us to glory!”
“Just a minute, Louise,” said Princess. “I don’t think you should make any decisions until you’ve had a chance to speak to Kedrigern.”
“But there’s no hope for us. He can do nothing without knowing the spell,” said Louise, her voice leaden.
“He may think of something. Despelling is his specialty.”
“If I may ask, my lady, who is this person Kedrigern?” Rokkmund inquired politely.
“He is my husband, a wizard of great skill.”
Smiling sardonically, Rokkmund folded his arms and looked down on her. ‘So, a wizard? And are my great-
great-aunts and my great-great-uncle, after all their suffering at the hands of the evil wizard Vorvas, to submit themselves to another wizard in some vain hope of deliverance? I think you mock us, my lady.”
“Kedrigern isn’t like Vorvas. He’s very clean,” Louise said.
Princess looked Rokkmund in the eye and said, “Kedrigern is a great wizard who knows everything there is to know about despellings and disenchantments. If anyone can help your family, he can, and he will.”
“But no one can help them, and you know that well.”
“Kedrigern just might.”
“And if he fails? Think of the consequences, my lady. If great-great-uncle William becomes a chafing-dish instead of a shield, will he be happier? And if great-great-aunt Alice finds herself turned into an embroidery hoop, will her lot be improved? If Panstygia, black blade of the west, is transformed into a bodkin, will—”
“Oh, my goodness! I just realized
. . .
the mace! Was it a relative of ours?” cried Louise in sudden horror.
“It was no one at all. A simple mace, and no more,” Rokkmund assured her. She gave a deep sigh of relief, and he went on, “Why dawdle? Why waste time waiting for a wizard who can do nothing to help you and who may, without intending it, do you harm? Come, join your brother and sister. Ride at my side, to battle, to victory, to glory!”
Princess felt the blade twitching. Pulling Louise close in a protective gesture, she said, “Leave her alone, Rokkmund. It’s not fair, pressing her like this. She needs time to talk with William and Alice.”
“My lady, I offer her a lifetime of close union with them.”
“But Louise is unhappy being a sword. We’ve discussed it many times.”
With an expression of sweet reasonableness, Rokkmund spread his arms wide, palms open generously, and said, “Of course she was in the past, dear lady. What sword would not be unhapppy buried in a tree, or wielded clumsily by non-swordspersons and mean wretches of low ambition? But I offer her fulfillment—the chance to flash in baffle—to carve a path to glorious victory! Together, we will conquer an empire!”
“That’s very thoughtful of you, Rokkmund, and I appreciate it,” said Louise warmly. “I’d just like to think about it, and talk it over with Kedrigern.”
“I understand, dear great-great-aunt. Perhaps
. . .
perhaps while we wait, you would like to try my scabbard. It has been empty, at my side, awaiting you.”
“Do try it, sister,” said William. “He had it made especially for you. It looks very comfortable.”
“Go ahead, Louise. You always did look good in black,” Alice urged.
Hesitantly, Louise said, “Princess.
. .
do you think.
.
“It’s entirely your decision.”
“Well
. . .
I don’t suppose it would hurt to try it on.”
Rokkmund extended his large hand. Princess gave him the sword, not without misgivings, for she did not like his looks nor his manners, and doubted his motives. But he was Louise’s relation (though not, as far as Princess could calculate, a true great-great-nephew unless one allowed a very flexible use of the term) and had the better claim. Louise was free to choose, and she had chosen.
Rokkmund raised the sword high and brandished it proudly. With a fierce, clenched-teeth smile and a low laugh that Princess heard with deep foreboding, he slid it home in the black scabbard. There followed a moment of expectant silence, which Rokkmund broke.
“Well?”
“It’s very comfortable,” Louise said, her voice muffled.
“Made expressly for you, my dear Panstygia.”
“I never had a scabbard of my very own.”
“This is only the beginning. We will go on to greatness, the three of you and I. You will be immortal. In ages to come, when men speak with awe and envy of the empire of Rokkmund, Panstygia, Mother of Darkness, will be ranked with Balisarda and Joyeuse, with Durendal and
Sanglamore
. . .
with Excalibur itself! They will also mention my shield and my crown, of course,” he quickly added.
“It’s a very nice scabbard, and it was thoughtful of you to have it made for me, Rokkmund—”
“—A pleasure, dear great-great-aunt—”
“—But I’d still rather be a princess.”
“Unfortunately, I have no need of a princess. I need Panstygia, Mother of Darkness, the great black blade of the west. And now I have her,” said Rokkmund, smiling and laying a large possessive hand on Louise’s pommel.
“That’s just what Mergith said! You’re all alike!” cried the sword in a muted voice of outrage. “And l’ll tell you what I told him—I’ll never serve you! I’ll stick in my scabbard! I’ll give you painful calluses! I’ll lose my edge!”
“You will do none of these things, Panstygia, because I am your only living descendant and you cannot let me come to harm. So you will do my bidding—my exact bidding—as your brother and sister have learned to do it,” Rokkmund said confidently, looking amused by this exchange.
“He’s right, Louise. We have no choice,” said William in a dull, hopeless voice.
“At least we’ll be together,” said Alice, trying to be brave.
Rokkmund favored Princess with a low bow and a courtly flourish. Still smiling, he said, “Now, good lady, I leave you to this pile of rubble, to make what you will of it. I go to forge an empire!”
“No, you don’t. I won’t have you leaving this place until Kedrigern arrives, and we see what he can do for your relatives. And I won’t have you carrying Louise off with you if she doesn’t want to go. Or Alice or William, either, for that matter,” said Princess.
“You are fiery, my lady—but your fire will do you little good. When you wielded Panstygia, I had good reason to be wary of you. Now you are powerless. Rant if you will. Threaten if you like. You can do nothing more.”
“I can do a great deal. more, Rokkmund.”
“You bet she can,” came the muted voice from the scabbard.
Rokkmund’s brows rose. “Are you a sorceress, then? Or a witch?”
“A wizard,” Princess corrected him.
He laughed a soft mocking laugh. “But not enough of a wizard to assist my great-great-aunt. I think I have little to fear from you, my lady.”
“My husband is the one who specializes in despellings and disenchantments. I do other things. And if you try to leave here, I will do them to you and your men, and do them gleefully.”
Rokkmund looked down on her for a moment, thoughtfully scratching his chin with one large hand. Princess did her best to look forbidding as she searched her memory for a quick effective spelt to suit the situation. Rokkmund left off scratching, gave a curt, decisive nod, and murmuring, “Only one thing to do, then,” swiftly drew Panstygia and cocked his arm back for a neck-high stroke. Panstygia screamed, but could do nothing to prevent him. Taken completely by surprise, Princess had no time for a spell. She snatched the wand from her girdle and stuck it out before her. The black blade came swiftly around and met the white wand. There was a silent burst of dazzling light, as if the sun had exploded in their midst, and a shock that left her dazed and helpless. She heard sudden cries of pain and alarm, hurried footsteps, the crash of men colliding with one another and with articles of furniture, the clang of weapons dropped or thrown aside in panic, and then she sank to the floor, unconscious.