“Your bread, my lord Hamarak,” she said in a breathy, childlike voice.
“Are you the baker?” he asked.
“I am Berrian, the baker’s daughter,” she replied with a bow. “You met my father earlier today, after your victory.”
“A little fat man gave me bread. I didn’t see you, Berrian."
She lowered her eyes, and with a catch in her voice, said, “I was within, recovering from my fright. Had it not been for you, Dendorric was lost, my bold lord Hamarak.”
“You don’t have to be afraid anymore. Panstygia and I will protect you,” said Hamarak, plucking the sword from the tabletop, setting his jaw grimly, and gazing with narrowed eyes into the distance.
Setting down the tray, Berman stepped closer. “You’re so brave . . . and so alone,” she said huskily.
Hamarak shook his head and reached out to take her hand. “A wise woman once told me, ‘It’s lonely at the top, Hamarak. Fortunately, there are compensations. You must stay and dine with me, Berrian.”
Princess caught Kedrigern’s eye and winked. Clearing his throat, the wizard approached the throne and said, “If my lord Hamarak will excuse us, we will make ready to depart on our quest.” -
Hamarak looked at him for a moment in utter bewilderment, but recovered himself and said, “Go, friends of Dendorric. I wish I could go with you, but . . .“ He sighed, smiled wearily, and concluded, “As we kings say, ‘Noblesse oblige.’ “
“It certainly does,” said the wizard sympathetically.
KEDRIGERN AND PRINCESS
left Dendorric early the next morning, to the great relief of the hostler and stable boys. They crossed the river at sunrise and rode into the misty, silent forest, their destination a forgotten, perhaps vanished, kingdom in the west, their way unknown, their plans unformed.
Despite the early hour and the chill air, Princess was in the best of spirits. She considered their undertaking a glorious adventure, a high quest in the noblest tradition. Kedrigern was less enthusiastic. He had begun to have doubts before they were halfway back to the inn the previous day, and his doubts had grown overnight. Now, in the morning’s clear light, he felt as if he were involved in some monumental act of lunacy, angry at his impulsiveness and unable to do a thing about the situation.
Any decent wizard would be happy to assist a princess in distress; any proper husband would go to great lengths to secure for his wife the gift her heart was set on. But surely there were limits. And just as surely, dashing off on less than a day’s notice, without a map, without a guide, without even
a
clear direction to pursue; with each day shorter than the one before, the mornings chillier, the leaves falling, the winds rising, and every sign foretelling
an early and bitter winter; surely such behavior exceeded all reasonable limits. And he could see no way out of it that did not involve guilt, recriminations, and long silences in the winter evenings. He felt trapped.
Princess swooped past him, circled, and came back to hover at his side with a soft hum of wings. “Isn’t it a glorious morning?” she asked ebulliently.
“It’s cold and wet.”
“It’s bracing, Keddie. It’s invigorating!”
“You’re awfully chipper for someone who was up half the night talking.”
“Oh, what a delight to have a mature, intelligent woman to talk with! When this is over, we must invite Louise to visit. She can have the room overlooking the garden. It’s lovely in the summer.”
“When this is over? We could spend the rest of our lives on this quest,” said the wizard glumly.
“Don’t be so negative. There’s nothing to it. We just have to find the Kingdom of the Singing Forest, look up Hedvig’s descendants, find out the wording of Vorvas’s spell, and undo it. Why are you so grumpy? You’ve done much harder things.”
After a brief peevish silence, Kedrigern said, “You must realize that if I disenchant Panstygia—”
“Louise,” Princess corrected him. “She’s Panstygia in public, but among friends she prefers Louise.”
“Louise, then. If I disenchant her, I’ll have to offer to do the same for her cousin Wanda. Wanda may even disenchant automatically when Louise does.”
“Well, of course. I know that.”
“But I thought the whole point of this was to get you a wand!”
“Really, Keddie, do you think I’d use the relative of a sister princess as my wand? Naturally I want Wanda despelled. According to Louise, she’s a channing girl.”
“What about your wand?”
“Having been one herself for so long, Wanda can give us the best idea of where we’re likely to find the genuine
item. She may have met dozens of other wands who are looking for a princess. She may even be able to tell you how to construct your own. Doesn’t it make sense to try to find her?”
Kedrigern gritted his teeth and forced out an exasperated “Yes.”
Princess laughed merrily, blew him a kiss, and flew off, leaving him to grumble to himself. After a time she drew up beside him on her translucent mount, which looked milky in the morning light, covered with fine moisture. In a cool matter-of-fact voice, Princess said, “And on the other hand, if Wanda turns out to be permanently enchanted, I’ve got my wand.”
“No enchantment is permanent. That would go against the Third Law of Magic.”
“Well, Arlebar was supposed to be a great, great wizard, and he told us that I could never again be turned into a toad. That’s permanence, as far as I’m concerned.”
“Arlebar was talking about disenchantment. That can be permanent. I know quite a few people who are permanently disenchanted.”
Princess had no immediate response, but after a brief silence she turned to him with a triumphant look and said, “But
you
told Louise that some disenchantments and counterspells are so difficult, or so dangerous, that they might as well not exist. So an enchantment could turn out to be permanent for all practical purposes, even though a disenchantment exists for it.”
“That’s true,” the wizard admitted. “And I fear we may run into something like this in Louise’s case. Vorvas was as skillful as he was villainous.”
“But you’ll try, won’t you?”
“Certainly, my dear.”
She patted his hand, smiled, and said no more on the subject.
As the day warmed up, so did Kedrigern’s mood. The forest was bright with the brilliance of autumn, the sky a clear blue free of cloud, the air crisp and tangy. They saw
no one, and came upon no sign of human passage. Apparently the brigands’ raid on Dendorric had been a last-ditch attempt, and defeat at the hands of Hamarak had persuaded the robbers to seek their fortunes elsewhere without delay.
Toward evening, they found a pleasant glade near a stream, and here they camped for the night. After a simple but filling meal, Kedrigern kindled a fire and heaped up leaves into a comfortable bed. Laying a warning spell about the campsite, he rolled up in his blanket and stretched out.
Princess sat by the fire, her knees drawn up, her cloak thrown loosely over her shoulders and wings. Louise, once again in her sword mode, in which she could both speak and hear, rested against Princess’s knee. They conversed in low voices, with occasional laughter, and the sound of their
tête-a-tête
and the soft crackling of the fire in the background was pleasantly lulling.
Kedrigern listened as one listens to distant music: not eavesdropping, only half hearing, drifting in and out of a comfortable dozy state. The leaves rustled beneath him when he moved: the night breezes passed overhead soft as a breath. He went at last into deep sleep feeling that all might yet be well.
For two more days they saw no sign of life except for birds and squirrels, and then, on the third day at midmorning, a small black-and-white dog burst from the woods, took up a stand in their path, and filled the air with high indignant yipping. Kedrigern’s great black steed snorted and pawed menacingly at the ground with a hoof the size of a punchbowl, but the dog was not intimidated. It barked all the louder, skipping from side to side, darting forward and then as quickly retreating, its bright black eyes on the travelers. It seemed intent on arresting their passage.
“This is obviously not a wild beast of the forest. There must be someone dwelling nearby,” said Kedrigern.
Princess reined in beside him. “Someone sociable, but cautious,” she said judiciously.
“How can you tell?”
“The owner must be cautious, since he—or she—has a watchdog. But this dog is too small to attack people, or frighten them off, so the owner must be sociable at heart, and would welcome visitors,” she explained.
“Very astute, my dear. And since he—or she—lives deep in the forest, the owner must be someone who values privacy.”
“True. And a kindly man—the dog is well fed and clean.”
“So it is. But are you sure the owner is a man?”
“Quite,” said Princess calmly.
“Then shall we seek the fellow out?”
“No need for that. He’s over there, behind the beech
tree,”
said Princess, waving in the direction indicated.
From behind the tree stepped a very tall, slender man, youthful in his appearance but aged in his manner. He returned Princess’s wave tentatively. When Kedrigern smiled, and also waved cheerily to him, the man came forward.
“Rumpie didn’t frighten you, did be?” he asked anxiously.
“Surprised us a bit, that’s all,” said the wizard.
“He’s really very friendly. Wouldn’t hurt a soul,” the man said, picking up the dog and scratching it behind the ears, to the dog’s evident delight. “It’s all right, Rumpie. They’re friends,” he assured it. Then he saw the horses clearly for the first time and looked up with wide fearful eyes. “You
are
friends, aren’t you?”
“We are indeed. This is Princess, my wife. I am Kedrigern, of Silent Thunder Mountain. We’re on a sort of quest.”
“A quest? How exciting!”
“Yes, we’re seeking a lost kingdom for an enchanted friend,” Princess explained. “My husband is a wizard. And I fly.” She let the cloak fall from her shoulders in a dramatic gesture—which she had carefully practiced—and with a soft humming of her wings, rose from the saddle,
circled the men, and landed gently before the stranger, smiling.
“Are you a fairy godmother?” he asked.
“No. I’m too big to be a fairy godmother,” she replied, with a sharp glance at Kedrigern, who looked quickly aside. “I’m a princess. I just have these wings.”
“Oh, this is wonderful! This is more than I dared hope for! Will you stop for dinner tonight? And stay over? My cottage is very near, and I have a nice clean room for you. You could help me so much if you’d just stay for a while and listen to a few of my things.”
“What sort of things?” Princess asked.
“My fairy tales. My name is Zorilon. l’m a maker of fairy tales. I’m having a few problems.”
“What can we do to help?” asked the wizard, perplexed.
“You’re experts!” Zorilon cried. “A wizard and a princess—a princess with wings—on a quest for a lost kingdom—why, you must know witches, and dragons, and elves—and-----and—”
The air rang and a woman’s keen voice cried, “And an enchanted sword!”
“Oh, marvelous! Wonderful!” Zorilon dropped the dog and clapped his hands in glee, skipping about like a child given free run in a toyshop. The dog leaped and yipped and scooted back and forth, as happy as his master. “Oh, please say you’ll stay! Just one night, please!” Zorilon pleaded.
Man and dog were so eager and happy that there was no possibility of refusing the request. Zorilon led them down a narrow path, through a clearing full of waist-high weeds to a pleasant, if somewhat untidy, cottage, apologizing at every step for the narrowness, the weeds, and the untidyness. Dusting off chairs for them, he said, “If only I were a wizard, I could just work a little spell and everything would be clean and bright in the wink of an eye.”
“Don’t believe it, my boy,” said Kedrigern. “Any wizard who uses up his magic on housework won’t last beyond his first century. We have servants.”
Zorilon’s face lit up. “That’s just the sort of background information you can help me with, Master Kedrigern! The housekeeping methods of wizards . . . how a witch talks to her broom . . . what sort of furnishings one might find in an ogre’s cave . . , Details like these lend authenticity to a fairy tale, but they’re very difficult to check out.” Gesturing to Panstygia, who rested against a chair by the table, he said, “For instance, I never knew that enchanted swords had no scabbards. I just assumed that every sword, enchanted or not, had its scabbard.”
“As far as I know, young man, they do,” said the dark blade. “I’ve never come across one that fit properly. They’ve all been tight up toward the hilt.”
“I see,” Zorilon said, reaching for a pen on a nearby worktable and scratching down a quick note.
They enjoyed a leisurely dinner of stewed wild fowl and vegetables, and afterward spent time over the empty dishes sharing news of recent events. Zorilon, aware of considerable movement in the forest in recent days, was beside himself to learn of Hamarak's deed and his assumption of power in Dendorric. He filled three sheets with notes and enthused aloud repeatedly over what a grand fairy tale this would make.
After clearing the table, Zorilon went to a cupboard and removed a folder full of sheets and scraps of parchment and vellum, all of them covered with close, tiny writing. Joining his guests at the hearthside, where they sat with Panstygia between them, he pulled up his chair facing them and cleared his throat shyly.
“I was wondering if you’d mind . . . I’d like to read you . . . I’ve got these fairy tales I’ve been working on,” he muttered, eyes fixed on the papers lying in the opened folder.
“We’d love to hear them, Zorilon,” said Princess.
“Oh, thank you!” Zorilon gushed. “Now, I really want your frank opinion. Don’t hold back, please. I know there are rough spots, and intelligent people like yourselves, knowledgeable in the field, can point them out and even
suggest improvements. These are all my own original work, you see.”
“Whatever got you into this field? I should think there are quite enough fairy tales about already,” said Panstygia.
Furrowing his brow earnestly, Zorilon said, “I thought the same thing myself when I started out. All I planned to do was travel about the countryside, gathering up the fairy tales told by the local peasants, polish them up a bit, and bring out a nice collection for children. But when I started doing my research, I found that I kept hearing the same stories over and over. If I stopped at a miller’s house and asked for a fairy tale, l’d hear the one about the miller’s beautiful daughter who married the handsome prince, if I stopped at a farmhouse, they’d tell of the farmer’s beautiful daughter who married the handsome prince. Blacksmiths would tell of the blacksmith’s beautiful daughter who married the handsome prince, and innkeepers . . . well, you see the problem. Once in a great while it would be a farmer’s, or miller’s, or blacksmith’s handsome son who married a beautiful princess, but nothing else ever changed. I must have heard that story three hundred times. The other one I kept coming across was the one about the miller, or blacksmith, or farmer, who encounters a strange little man in the woods and manages to trick the little fellow out of a pot of gold.”
“That’s commoners for you,” Panstygia sniffed. “Nothing on their minds but sex and money.”
“You surprise me, Zorilon,” said the wizard mildly. “I always believed the common folk were veritable repositories of fairy tales.”
“That’s what everyone thinks, Master Kedrigern, but it simply isn’t true. And I saw this as a great opportunity. Everyone assumed—as you did—that hundreds of fairy tales were circulating out there among the people. But everyone was wrong. So I decided to go ahead and make them up myself.”
“Very enterprising of you,” Kedrigern said, and Princess smiled approvingly.
‘Thank you. And instead of dealing in wish-fulfillment and fantasy, I planned to write the truth, and deal with the realities of life—spells, and witches, and dragons, and magic rings—”
“And enchanted swords. Don’t forget enchanted swords,” Panstygia broke in.
“Certainly not, I assure you, sword. So I came out here, where I could work in peace, and now l’ve got scores of drafts. May I read you one?” Zorilon asked. They nodded and murmured obligingly, and he rummaged among the sheets of parchment, finally drawing one out, and began to read: