Kingdom of the Singing Forest to the arrival of her present visitors. Kedrigern listened attentively, without interrupting, and his expression grew ever more grave as the narrative proceeded. When she ended, a long silence followed, broken at last by the wizard.
“I’ve heard of Vorvas. He was one of the big names when I was just starting out. People used to say, ‘When Vorvas enchants them, they stay enchanted.’
“Was he really vindictive?” Princess asked.
Kedrigern’s eyebrows rose. “Was he ever. What he did to Tirralandra, the Musical Princess of Gaspenberg, was absolutely
. . .
Well, no need to go into that. You see, Vorvas never stopped believing that he was irresistible to women, beautiful young princesses in particular.” Turning to the sword, he said, “I take it you were a beautiful young princess at the time of your misfortune.”
“I had many admirers,” she said with dignity.
“Of course. And Vorvas expected you to fall at his feet, whimpering for a smile and a caress. Actually, women used to gag when Vorvas was still fifty paces off. Men didn’t enjoy having him around, either. A totally repulsive person, Vorvas. Rejected by everyone. And the more rejected he felt, the more vindictive he became. He turned more beautiful young princesses into grotesque objects than any wizard I know. And you’re one of the lucky ones. I’m sure it’s not pleasant being a sword, but you got off a lot better than Tirralandra. He turned her into a hautboy.”
“Better a hautboy than a sword,” Panstygia said impatiently.
“Ordinarily, one might think so, but Tirralandra was a very musical person. She was born with perfect pitch. Hand her a strange instrument, and before you could cross the room she’d be playing it like a virtuosa.”
“Then I should think she’d enjoy being a musical instrument,” said Princess, looking perplexed.
“That’s where Vorvas’s vindictiveness comes in. A hautboy is difficult to play well. Vorvas saw to it that this particular hautboy came into the possession of Bertrand the
Bumptious, a local nobleman who fancied himself— erroneously—to be a musician. It was said of Bertrand that he couldn’t carry
a
tune if he had six strong minstrels to help him. Think of poor Tirralandra’s sufferings at his hands!”
“I’d prefer to think of my own sufferings, thank you. As if things weren’t bad enough, that wretched Mergith made me lose my temper. There’s no telling what inconvenience I’ll have to put up with to regain it,” said Panstygia.
“That’s no problem. You’re an enchanted sword. You’ll never lose your temper, nor your edge.”
“I won’t?” said Panstygia with happy surprise.
“Not a chance of it. Do you mind if I heft you? May I, Hamarak?”
Hamarak, who had remained cautiously silent and watchful during the conversation, obligingly handed Kedrigern the black blade. Hamarak wore the expression of a man who was in deep waters, and knew it.
Panstygia was heavy, and Kedrigern was about half the size of Hamarak and a modest swordsman. Nevertheless, the dark sword was so perfectly balanced that his practice cuts through the air had the smooth grace of a master’s, and he felt no more strain in his shoulders than if he had been flicking a willow switch.
Returning the sword to Hamarak, he said candidly, “When Vorvas turns you into a sword, he turns you into the very best. That’s real workmanship.” With a gesture toward the hearth, he added, “You could shear through that poker as if it were a broom straw.”
“That’s very reassuring, but I’d prefer not to,” said Panstygia, and Hamarak blurted, “She’s not going to be a sword anymore, she’s going to be my crown. We worked it out, didn’t we, Louise?”
“I said I’d think about it, Hamarak. Actually, I’d prefer to be a princess once again.”
“I think that’s your smartest choice,” Princess said.
“Crown? What’s this about a crown?” Kedrigern cried in sudden alarm. “You haven’t tried any homespun magic, have you?”
“No. I thought we’d just get a good blacksmith and have him make Louise into a crown. Like her sister,” said Hamarak defensively.
Kedrigern placed a steadying hand on Hamarak’s beefy shoulder. “Good thing we got here when we did, my boy. You tamper with one of Vorvas’s spells, and there’s no telling what might become of you. When Vorvas turns someone into a sword, he means for that person to remain a sword.”
Hamarak’s small dark eyes widened. “Really?”
“You saw what happened to Mergith.”
They had, and they recalled it vividly. Kedrigern’s words brought an uncomfortable silence over the throne room. Hamarak slumped dejectedly on the throne, Panstygia across his knees. Kedrigern perched on the edge of his chair, rubbing his chin. Princess reclined among the pillows, her small feet placed daintily on the cushioned footstool, her pensive gaze fixed upward. Kedrigern wondered at her silence. Having experienced some nasty enchantments herself, Princess might be expected to take a levelheaded view of the present situation; but she was a naturally compassionate woman and Panstygia—or Louise—was——or had been—a sister princess, and Princess was offering her cold comfort at a time when heartfelt consolation seemed in order. Perhaps, thought Kedrigern, there were memories too painful to discuss before strangers.
“Must I remain a sword forever, then, wizard? Can you do nothing? Tell me the truth,” said Panstygia.
‘To every spell there is an equal and opposite counterspell, and to every enchantment an equal and opposite disenchantment.’ That’s the Third Law of Magic,” Princess announced in a loud clear voice.
“That’s absolutely correct. The problem is, some of the counterspells and disencbantments are so subtle, or so obscure, or difficult, or dangerous, that they’re of no practical use,” Kedrigern added.
“I don’t believe you’ve answered my question,” said the sword coldly.
“I can’t, if you interrupt me. Now, just listen. Vorvas has obviously backed up his original enchantment with all sorts of traps and pitfalls for anyone who tries to disenchant you. Only when I learn precisely what he inflicted on you—his exact words, if possible—will I have any hope of undoing it.”
“But I can’t recall the spell. I’ve tried, and I can’t.”
“Naturally not. Vorvas would see to that. If the enchantee recalls the details of the enchantment, disenchantment becomes child’s play. And since you, your brother and sister, and two cousins, were the only ones present except for Vorvas, and Vorvas is dead and you’re all enchanted, then there’s no one who remembers it. Under such circumstances, any attempt at disenchantment might well lead to disaster for all concerned. Your situation appears hopeless. I’m terribly sorry to have to say it, but I don’t see how I can assist you.”
The poignant silence was broken by Princess’s urgent voice. “Keddie, you must do something. If you don’t, who can?”
“My dear, I fear that no one can.”
“Don’t say that. It’s bad enough to be enchanted, but to be hopelessly, irrevocably, irremediably enchanted
.
“A moment, wizard,” said Panstygia sharply. “One of the cousins was my second cousin Hedvig. From childhood, Hedvig had been strangely immune to magic in all forms. No one could make anything of Hedvig. I cannot say for certain that she escaped the spell, but I do recall seeing the others transformed, and not Hedvig. I can picture the scene distinctly.”
Kedrigern frowned, deep in thought. “Yes. It’s possible I’ve heard of such people. But after all these years, and the dissolution of the kingdom
. . .“
“There was the shield. That was William. Alice became a plain, simple golden crown,” Panstygia went on dolefully, headless of the wizard’s objections. “And Wanda. Oh, poor Wanda! I can see her now, lying there so slender and helpless. She’s the most tragic figure of us all. Wil
ham and Alice and I insulted and threatened that dreadful man, but Wanda did nothing to offend him. Wanda never offended anyone. His cruelty was completely gratuitous. When be heard her name, Vorvas actually laughed and said that he couldn’t resist the opportunity
Shaking his head slowly, Kedrigern said, “We’d be looking for Hedvig’s great-great-grandchildren, and hoping that one of them could tell us something that Hedvig overheard a century ago. No, it’s hopeless. The odds must be millions to one.” He fell silent, gazing gloomily down at the flagstones.
“What did Vorvas do to Wanda?” Princess asked.
“He turned her into a wand!” Panstygia cried.
Kedrigern’s head snapped up. He turned to Princess. They shared a glance, then a smile, then an eager nod, and the wizard sprang to his feet and boldly declared, “But we defy the odds! We’ll take that chance, however remote it may be!” With a shake of his fist, he added, “We’ll go to the west and seek out Hedvig’s descendants. And we’d better leave at once—Princess and I want to be home before the first snow.”
“Then you’ll help me!” Panstygia cried.
“Of course,” said Kedrigern, with a gallant sweeping bow.
“I want to come, too!” Hamarak said excitedly.
Kedrigern turned to him, his expression solemn, and shook his head. “My good Hamarak, you are a king. You can’t just dash off on a quest, like ordinary people.”
“Why can’t I?”
“First of all, it’s very bad politics. I take it you enjoy being a king.”
‘It's been a little confusing so far, but I think I’m going to like it,” Hamarak said.
“Well, one of the hard truths about kingship is that it’s much easier for a king to go away than it is for him to return. And besides, you can’t abandon Dendorric. Noblesse oblige, and all that.”
“All what? What’s that you just said?”
Before Kedrigern could speak, Panstygia’s stern voice said, “He means that when you’re a king, certain things are expected of you, and you jolly well
do
them. There’s no getting around it, Hamarak. Duty is duty. You’re a king now, like it or not, and you can’t let the side down.”
“Remember, Hamarak,” said the wizard, “You’re the only one who stands between Dendorric and that wild gang from the forest. If you leave, they’ll be back here the next day, and there’ll be no champion to stop them.”
Hamarak weighed that for a moment, then said, “If Louise goes, I won’t be able to stop anybody anyway.”
“But Hamarak,” said the black blade in a tender maternal tone, “you never liked wielding me. You were always afraid of hurting someone.”
“I wouldn’t have to wield you anymore, Louise,” Hamarak said earnestly. “All I’d have to do is let people see you, and that would scare off the robbers and give courage to the people of Dendorric.”
“I think you’ve hit on the solution. A brilliant idea," said the wizard. “You’re thinking like a king.”
“What idea?”
With a wink, Kedrigern stepped to the hearth and took up the poker. It was of iron, very black, and about the length of Panstygia. Murmuring softly, he traced a design along its length with his fingers, then raised it high, brandished it, and plunged it down dramatically into the table top. There it stood embedded, a great dark blade the exact twin of Panstygia.
Hamarak clapped his hands and cried out in astonishment and pleasure. Kedrigern acknowledge this tribute, and Panstygia’s brusque “Well done, wizard,” with a dignified nod.
“The enchanted sword of Hamarak the Invincible, King of Dendorric,” he said with a gesture toward the slowly swaying blade.
“This one won’t make me the finest swordsman in the world, will it?” asked Hamarak wistfully.
“No. But you could always practice on your own,” Kedrigern pointed out.
Hamarak accepted the suggestion with a resigned shrug. He took up the genuine Panstygia and handed her to the wizard, then rose to inspect the duplicate. When he was out of earshot, the sword gave a little hist to attract Kedrigern’s attention.
“I’m not happy about leaving Hamarak,” she whispered. “He’s a decent young man, but he needs a firm hand to guide him.”
“He’ll learn,” Kedrigern assured her.
“I’m not so sure. He’s a peasant, and they’re all a bit—”
A sharp knock at the door of the throne room interrupted her observation. “The servants were told not to disturb us,” Panstygia said with vexation.
“You mentioned dinner. Perhaps it’s ready. But we can’t let the servants see two blades. If you’ll permit me—”
“No need, wizard,” said the blade coolly. She twitched in his grip, the air reverberated with a clear chiming tone, and Kedrigern held a black staff. With a low whistle, he said, “Vorvas may have been a consummate swine, but he certainly knew his stuff. That’s first-rate magic.”
A guard opened the door and peered in cautiously. “My lord Hamarak, the bread you requested has arrived,” he announced.
“Send it in,” Hamarak ordered.
“And the people to clean the palace are here, as well, my lord.”
“Tell them to wait.”
The door closed behind the guard and reopened to admit a girl bearing a tray on which three fragrant loaves lay under a clean white napkin. The aroma of fresh-baked bread filled the throne room. Hamarak looked on hungrily as the girl uncovered the loaves. Then he looked at the girl, and a light came into his eyes that had been summoned up previously only by the sight and scent of raisin pumpernickel bread hot from the oven.
The girl was young and very comely, buxom of figure, sweet of expression, light of foot. Her brown hair hung in thick curls nearly to her slender waist. She was simply and neatly dressed, with only a smudge of flour on cheek and forearm to attest to her haste. She held out her tray and looked up at Hamarak with wide violet eyes and a shy smile. King and subject gazed at each other for a long time, unmoving, in profound silence.