Split Heirs (29 page)

“Stop it!” the queen cried out in anguish, pounding Clootie's back. “Use your magic to turn that dragon into something harmless!”

Clootie tried, but the spell fell flat. The scholar in him made a mental note that here was proof that living things, once transformed, did not resume their original shapes so easily, if at all. The man in him felt his heart go out to the poor, unhappy queen and mother. “I'm sorry,” he said. “I tried.”

Arbol leaned against the post where she had been so recently shackled and gathered her strength for one last lunge. The cheers of her Companions filled her ears. She could hear Pentstemon yelling something about who cared if the prince was a girl, what a follow-through!

Someone else shouted, “Yep, the lady sure is a spunky little vixen!” Arbol promised herself that if she survived this fight, she would hunt that person down and kill him.

Unfortunately it didn't look as if there would be much chance of that. The dragon had backed off, not out of fear but sportsmanship; it was allowing her time to catch her breath. Sweat streamed into her eyes, blurring her vision. She took one last look around the square. There was that dumb hero, who'd tried strangling the beast. He was pushing his way to the front, hollering, “Don't hurt her! Don't hurt her!” Arbol didn't know if he meant her or the dragon.

There was Wulfie, too, who had magically freed her from her shackles. She wondered where he'd picked up that little trick, and whether he had any more. If so, she hoped he wouldn't use them on the dragon. This fight was a matter of honor. Judging by the expression of consternation on Wulfie's face, it didn't look as if she'd have to worry about that; just about staying alive.

Funny: Wulfie's face looked an awful lot like that free-lance hero's face. Wulfie's face also looked an awful lot like hers. “Later,” Arbol said to herself, wiping the sweat away. “I'll worry about that later.”

If there was a later. Arbol hoped there would be. She had an awful lot of questions she wanted to ask people, starting with her mother. Speaking of whom, there stood Artemisia, next to the wizard they'd charged with Illegal Transformation of a Prince. Arbol knew it was a silly accusation: She'd always been shaped the same way, from the time she was old enough to notice such things. Now she understood that
this
shape meant “female”. What she didn't understand was
why
Mother had kept it a secret from her all these years.

So she was a girl. Big fat green scaly deal. She could still whip any of her Companions in a fight, she could still out-spit, out-drink, and out-cuss most Gorgorians, and she even understood how to get her own way at Council sessions. You just kept chopping heads off until people saw your point of view. The only disadvantage she could see to being a girl was some moron would always turn up and start calling you a spunky little vixen.

Arbol tried to raise her sword for the charge. It was too heavy, all of a sudden. Her muscles felt like ribbons. The dragon watched her, beginning to look impatient. There was probably just so long the beast would give her to get her strength back, then ready or not, here it would come. She braced herself against the pole and prepared for death.

A cold smile curved Bernice's lipless mouth. She only had eyes for Arbol. She didn't even notice that five other people had detached themselves from the mob and were doggedly making their way to the princess' side.

“Soup's on,” said the dragon, and took a deep breath, readying a health stream of flame. No one had ever asked her, but Bernice was fairly sure she preferred her meat well-done.

“I wouldn't,” said a voice as chill and heartless as her own. A heavy paw fell on the dragonly equivalent of Bernice's shoulder, that tricky little joint just above where the wings attached. She swiveled her neck and saw a face as green and scaly as her own.

“Why not?” she hissed defiantly.

“Because there are rules,” the other dragon replied. He lowered his head and began to whisper in her ear.

An uneasy ripple ran through the crowd. “Does this mean we're goin' t' have to scare up another royal virgin?” someone asked.

“Ha! Like we could.” Someone else in the mob guffawed. “First come, first served, that's what I say. Here, you! You other dragon. Clear off.”

The second dragon gave this upstart a cool glance. “My name is Antirrhinum and as soon as I have explained matters to this beguiling creature, I am going to rip your liver out. Then we can talk.” He returned his attention to Bernice while the unlucky speaker scampered away.

The five people who had joined Arbol at the stake closed ranks while the two dragons conferred. On the far side of the square, a bunch of men wearing grubby tunics and tights in a variety of woodsy shades gathered together to form their own subsidiary mob. They were all gesturing, arguing, and pointing at the dragons. Pretty soon the din they made grew so loud that the original crowd dispatched a representative to complain about the noise to the Gorgorian nobles.

Before Lord Bulmuk and his cohorts could do anything to restore order, the two dragons raised their heads in a menacing manner. Dead silence fell over the square.

“Pitiful,” Bernice commented. “Look at them shake! Just pitiful. I like it.”

“So you see now why we must have these rules of ours, dear Bernice,” said Antirrhinum. “In the first place, the majority of humans are not especially succulent morsels, but they do provide excellent sport-hunting on occasion. It wouldn't do to slaughter them at random, easy though it would be
—
we must practice conservation. And there
are
certain hazards, if one gets them sufficiently angry
—
while a lone human, even a hero, is generally harmless, they can be quite clever when they gang up. Shall I continue to explain?”

“Please do.” Bernice linked forepaws with Antirrhinum and the pair waddled a short distance away.

“Hey!” Ubri called from her place among the Gorgorian nobles. “Hey, Dragon, aren't you forgetting something?”

“Like what?” Bernice asked.

“Like eating the prince!”

“Princess,” Bernice corrected. “Nope. Not gonna do it. Once a princess has been rescued from the place of sacrifice by a sword-carrying hero willing to fight the dragon, she's off-limits.” She turned to Antirrhinum. “Did I get that right?”

“Perfect.” He nodded approvingly.

“But
—
but aren't you allowed to eat the hero who freed her?” Ubri demanded.

“Yeah. So?”

“So there's your sword-carrying hero.” The Gorgorian jabbed a finger at Arbol. “Eat her!”

Bernice considered this option. “Mmmmnope. Can't do it.”

“
Why not?
” Ubri's face was crimson.

“Because she's the princess who was rescued from the place of sacrifice and you don't eat a properly rescued princess.”

Ubri's scream shattered every glass window for a seven-block radius.

Chapter Thirty
-
Four

“Clootie!”

“Dunwin!”

“Odo!”

“Wulfrith!”

“Arbol!”

“Aw, Mommmmmmmm!”

The group at the stake didn't take long to sort out their situation or what had drawn them all there, to stand together against the world. Wulfrith and Dunwin stared at each other for a moment, then shrugged off what was a fuzzy memory and felt like nothing more than a remarkable coincidence. They wasted another few heartbeats staring at Arbol, who stared back, but none of the three had much leisure to swap any questions. Just because the dragons were taking a break didn't mean they were out of danger yet.

Danger was an ugly thing. So was Lord Bulmuk. He plowed through the crowd, the massed Gorgorian nobility trailing in his wake, and took a stand facing the place of unsuccessful sacrifice.

“
Real
nice ones,” he said, indicating the princess's naked legs.

Lady Ubri thrust him aside, then turned to the remaining Gorgorian barons. “Behold!” she declaimed. They beheld. It was quite a striking spectacle, Wulfrith, Dunwin, and Arbol all lined up in a row. One of the nobles rubbed his eyes. Another pulled a small bottle out of his tunic and smashed it against the cobblestones.

A third one, however, demanded, “What in the name of the sacred oxsallet is going on here?”

Queen Artemisia stepped forward. “Oh, what's the use?” she said. “Once the dragons have settled things, we may all end up as one big happy fricassee, Hydrangeans and Gorgorians both, so why go on pretending? When I think of all that I've had to give up just because of a stupid superstition
—
” She cast a fond, regretful glance over her children, then sighed and prepared herself to face a peril more dire than dragons and Gorgorians combined: telling the truth.

As she spoke, the square grew very quiet. The only thing heard, apart from her voice, was the sound of Antirrhinum still explaining the dragon rules to Bernice and Bernice's occasional giggle when Antirrhinum tickled her under the chin.

“
—
and I never knew what became of my sons until recently,” Artemisia concluded. “I missed them so much! I still carry the little talisman that old twerp Ludmilla tied to my daughter's wrist by accident.” She fished a gold chain out of her neckline and showed everyone the miniature portrait of Prince Helenium the Wise.

The crowd gasped.

“Arrrh, that ain't nothin'.” Odo came forward. “That's just one object dirt. I got two of 'em!” Proudly he displayed the naming tokens bearing the likenesses of Lord Helianthus the Law Giver and Queen Avena the Well-Beloved and spoke of what had happened following that last unlucky tryst with old Ludmilla all those years back. Clootie spoke up every now and then to confirm Odo's tale and make his own additions.

“Helenium?” Wulfrith repeated with some distaste after the queen announced the identities of the people portrayed in the miniatures. “You named me
Helenium
? Yuck.”

“Helianthus?” Dunwin laughed. “They'd run you out of Stinkberry Village on a rail if you had a prancy name like that!”

“
Avena
.” Arbol pronounced the name with supreme scorn and tightened her grip on the sword just in case anyone got any ideas about calling her something that stupid.

“You know, none of this would have happened if you Gorgorians would just take the time to
look
at twins,” Artemisia said. “When two babies are born looking just like each other, how could they possibly have two different fathers? And even when they're not identical, there's still a strong family resemblance. Just look at my darlings! You can't tell one boy from the other, and they look so much like their sister that we were able to substitute Wulfrith for Arbol several times with no one any the wiser, including my late, thank the gods, husband.”

Bulmuk rubbed his stubbly chin. “Got to admit, they
do
look a lot like old Gudge.”

“Are you mad?” Lady Ubri cried. “Three children at a birth means three different fathers. You know that!”

“But they
all
look like Gudge,” Bulmuk repeated.

Ubri snorted. “Hardly any resemblance at all. You'd have to be a fool not to be able to tell them apart.”

“Oh, really?” Wulfrith and Arbol said together, giving the lady matching smiles that spoke volumes, most of them volumes from the library. Knowing whispers darted through the crowd. Details of the circumstances surrounding Ubri's abbreviated engagement to the prince were common barrackroom and marketplace gossip. The lady blushed and retreated.

“So they're all three of 'em Gudge's brats. That don't mean dog droppings,” said Lord Ingruk. “What we've got to settle on is which of 'em's Gudge's rightful
heir
!” The other nobles agreed.

Wulfrith looked at Dunwin. “You want to be king?”

Dunwin looked at Wulfrith. “Nah. I'm the outdoors type. You?”

Wulfrith shook his head. “I wouldn't have time to do the job right. There's still a lot of magic I'd like to learn, and there's all those books in the library I haven't even started to explore.”

“I'll do it,” Arbol said, holding her sword at an aggressive angle. “Or else.”

The brothers shrugged. “Okay.”

“No, it is
not
okay!” Lord Ingruk roared. “For as long as I am a Gorgorian and have the fighting men who will stand with me, I refuse to be ruled by a woman!”

“Oh, come on, Ingruk,” Bulmuk wheedled. “Try it. Remember how Gudge used to be with the women? She's his daughter, so maybe she'll be the same with the men. And brother, has she got some nice ones!”

The eldest of the Gorgorian barons, Lord Vomgup, raised his own objection. “If you let a woman rule us, soon we shall become as soft and degenerate as the abominable Hydries!”

“Who's soft?” Pentstemon yelled. “
I'm
a Hydrie and I bet I can lick you, old man!”

“And can you also defeat my household troops?” Vomgup shouted back. “I swear that as long as my hand can close around the hilt of my sword, I will not allow this wench to sit on the throne! Who is with me?” He reached for his sword.

“I am, and all of
my
household troops!” Lord Ingruk cried, reaching for his.

Clootie gestured, accompanying it with a few simple words. Lord Vomgup turned into an armadillo. “His hand can't close around the hilt of his sword now, can it?” he said, pleased to have been of help.

“My men to me!” Lord Ingruk bellowed.

“Bernice!” Dunwin bellowed louder.

Bernice looked at Antirrhinum. “Can I, honey?”

“Oh, go ahead, sweetie-scales.”

Lord Ingruk got the chance to make one last wild swing with his sword before Bernice ate him.