Voice for Princess (v1.1) Page 5

  The spell was a stopgap, and Kedrigern had to think fast. At Morgosh’s first recovering groan, the wizard rushed to his side, loosened the collar of his tunic, and began to fan his face, inquiring with the greatest solicitude, “Is your lordship well? How does your lordship?”

  Morgosh groaned again, heaved a deep sigh, and came wide awake. Sitting up, he exclaimed, “What happened? Something came over me… a seizure… a fit…”

  “Understandable, in view of the terrible disappointment your lordship must have felt. But one must be brave at times like these. One must set an example for one’s people,” Kedrigern said with great earnestness, clasping Morgosh’s forearm in a firm manly gesture of support.

  “What times? What disappointment?”

  “To have your beloved Metalura back, and then to give her up so generously! So nobly!” Kedrigern wiped his eyes and added, in a choked voice, “Forgive me, your lordship. One seldom sees such a display as I have seen in this chamber.”

  “What did I do?” Morgosh asked wildly.

  “When I freed Metalura from the spell—”

  “Freed her? She’s still a statue!”

  “Observe her attitude. It’s not what it was.”

  Climbing unsteadily to his feet and shaking off Kedrigern’s assistance, Morgosh approached closer to the statue and studied it, muttering, “No. No, it’s not. Her hands were different… and her expression…Tell me, Kedrigern, what’s become of my precious child?”

  “Once restored to common life, she began to weep piteously. Surely you remember, my lord.”

  “I remember nothing! It’s all blank!”

  “She had found great peace and happiness in her enchanted state, it seems, and she begged to return to it for a time, until her enlightenment is complete. Your lordship acceded to her entreaties, but the shock to your system was great. You… you fell in a swoon,” Kedrigern explained, averting his eyes.

  Morgosh studied the statue’s expression. “She doesn’t look as though she was imploring,” he said dubiously.

  “Well, I didn’t mean to suggest that she groveled. A woman of her breeding, after all…”

  Morgosh grunted. He lowered his gaze, and noticed the morningstar. “What’s this doing here?” he demanded.

  Kedrigern looked away. Awkwardly, he said, “Your lordship was… reluctant to comply with her request. But the reluctance quickly passed.”

  “Reluctant? Do you mean that I…”

  “You very nearly did.”

  With a horrified cry, Morgosh took a step backward and flung an arm before his face. “My darling treasure—I might have chipped her! Smashed her to gravel!”

  “Your lordship might—had I not prevented it.”

  Morgosh turned to Kedrigern, and the look in his eyes was that of a lost and freezing man seeing the lights of a distant cabin. He stumbled to the wizard’s side and threw his arms around him. “How can I thank you, Kedrigern? How can I reward you as you deserve?” he blubbered.

  “Your lordship will think of something,” said Kedrigern.

  He stayed at Mon Desespoir for two nights, and left on the gray morning of the third day. His accommodations were luxurious, he was waited on hand and foot, and the food and drink were superb, but Morgosh’s interminable encomiums for his daughter eroded all patience. Not a crumb of bread, not a sip of wine could pass the lips without a tearful reminiscence of the lapidified Metalura. Kedrigern found it insufferable, and was happy to put it all behind him.

  He had lost his opportunity to wed a clever, well-born beauty, but there were compensations. Life with Metalura would have been a life of constant warfare, he was certain of that. And a woman of her standing would not be happy in his simple cottage, with only a troll to wait on her. There would have to be extensive remodeling, and troops of people everywhere, and Morgosh coming for long visits and bringing a small army of retainers, and spoiling his daughter worse than ever. It might even have become necessary to relocate entirely, and take a larger house down on the plain, where there were people coming and going in all seasons, no peace, and precious little privacy. The very thought of such a life made Kedrigern’s stomach churn.

  He told himself that it had all been an idle fancy, and he was lucky to have come out of it as well as he did. His marrying a nobleman’s daughter was a preposterous notion. But now the idea of marriage was in his head, and it was not easily dislodged.

  Morgosh had rewarded him generously. There was no need for him to consider the dowry when choosing a wife; he could marry anyone he liked. He could have a partner, not a despot.

  He weighed the question carefully before coming to a decision. A strong, sensible woman with some experience of life as it really is: that was the kind of wife for a wizard. She need not be of noble blood. What, after all, was birth? Go back a few generations, and every noble name had its roots in brigandage. Nor need she be clever, or witty; he was not seeking a match with a jester. She need not be a legendary beauty, either. Of course, she could not be some slack-jawed dull-eyed cow who conversed in grunts. A comely lass with a clear mind and a sweet temper, that was the wife for him. Though he had yet to meet the woman, and had no idea how to begin his search, he was confident that their life together would be sublimely happy.

  Along with two pouches of gold and a rather gaudy ruby ring, Morgosh had given Kedrigern a donkey, to facilitate his return home. Kedrigern took the high road back, camping in the forest for the first two nights, guarding his small encampment with a simple spell against predators of all kinds. On the third afternoon of travel, he came to an inn. It looked clean, and the aromas that drifted forth promised good dining. After two nights of sleeping on hard ground and eating dry bread and cheese, he was ready for something more civilized. He stabled his donkey and entered the inn at an eager pace. A girl was scrubbing the flagstones of the entry, and Kedrigern nearly fell over her. She looked up at him timidly, and he saw bright blue eyes and delightful freckles and a long tumble of hair the color of fresh-scraped carrots and a charming snub nose and, as she rose and pulled her tattered skirts close around her, soft white arms and a neat slender ankle.

  “I’m terribly sorry to give you a start, miss,” Kedrigern said with a slight bow. “It was clumsy of me.”

  “It were my fault, sir, all my fault. I be in the way, as I mustn’t be,” she said, with rustic intonations that lent charm to her simple speech. She curtsied repeatedly and looked up at him with wide, frightened eyes.

  “Here, now, what you be up to, Rasanta?” said a gruff voice from within. “You be warned about your carelessness, girl, and you pay no heed, and if I have to—” A large red-faced man with scraggly brown hair and a thick brown beard came into view, scowling menacingly and shaking his fist. At the sight of Kedrigern he stopped short, turned his fist-shaking into a clumsy wave of welcome, and smiled brightly at the wizard.

  “Welcome to Stiggman’s Inn, traveler, where weary wanderers find the finest food and the bonniest beds this side of the mountains,” he said jovially. To the girl, he snapped, “Be off, slut, and take your mop and your slop-bucket with you,” and then returning his attention to Kedrigern, he gestured to the main room, where a fire burned brightly. “Have a nice bit of warm, traveler, and I be bringing you a mug of my best ale to make up for this clumsy chit,” he said, aiming a backhand swat at the red-haired girl.

  She ducked the blow, glared at him, gave one appealing glance to Kedrigern, and fled. He could not help noticing that she had a fine figure. A very fine figure.

  “More trouble than she be worth, that slut,” Stiggman grumbled as he arranged a footstool before the fire for Kedrigern’s greater comfort. “Wife have to pound her like bread dough to get a lick of work out of her. And a surly trollop, too, she is.”

  “She seemed rather well-mannered, I thought.”

  “Oh, she know well enough how to please the men. They come flocking here to see the flirting and the flouncing and the jiggling of her. She be good at bringing the young men here to ga
wk and gape, though she be good for nought else,” Stiggman said. He quickly added, “It be going no further than the gawking and the gaping, though, sir. Stiggman’s Inn be no house of bawdry, I tell you.”

  “Clearly not,” said Kedrigern righteously.

  The ale was very good, and very cold, and very refreshing. The food was hot, and delicious, and in generous portion. As the evening wore on, young men began to fill the room, and as Stiggman had predicted, their eyes remained hungrily fixed on Rasanta as she hurried back and forth bearing mugs of ale. She was a very attractive girl, and even her ragged, dirty clothes could not detract from the beauty of her face and the perfection of her form.

  Kedrigern looked on every bit as appreciatively as any man in the room, though his admiration was more detached than theirs. They were burly, noisy bumpkins whose small eyes glimmered with uncomplicated lust; Kedrigern was a man who knew beauty, and he savored the sight of Rasanta’s fluid motion as he would the splendor of a fine sunset, or a difficult spell well wrought.

  He could feel the glimmer rising in his own eyes when Rasanta stopped at his table to bring a fresh mug of ale, and he smelt the sweet fragrance of her hair and was warmed by the brightness of her smile. But of course anything more than detached admiration on his part was out of the question. She was hardly more than a child, and having passed his hundred-and-sixtieth birthday Kedrigern accepted the fact that he was no longer a stripling. A light-hearted roll in the hay was out of the question, and a more serious relationship was impossible. Respected master wizards simply did not marry kitchen slaveys. Not even young, beautiful slaveys with figures that grow more incredibly perfect as one observes them. No. He shook his head, drained his ale, and slipped up the stairs to his chamber.

  It was a small room, and he was fortunate to have to share it with no one. Unfortunately, it was directly over the great room of the inn, and the customers had by this time grown very noisy. For silence, and for the security of his two bags of gold, he placed a small enclosing spell upon the chamber, to endure until he woke. Tugging off his boots and pulling his tunic over his head, he fell on the bed and went at once into a sound sleep.

  Next morning, as Kedrigern breakfasted on bread and butter and cold cider, Stiggman slipped up beside his table and in a confidential voice inquired, “And did you be having a good night, sir?”

  “Yes, I did. I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow, and didn’t wake until after daybreak.”

  Leering, Stiggman said, “Ah, I understand, sir, I understand.” Winking and nodding and leering, he sidled out of the room.

  That was odd behavior for an innkeeper, but Kedrigern paid it no heed. Nor did he trouble himself over the pouting glance Rasanta gave him from the doorway, nor the imperious toss of her head as she turned her back on him. He finished his breakfast, paid his bill, and made ready to leave.

  It was a fine crisp morning for traveling. Kedrigern started down the forest road at an easy pace, and just as he passed from sight of the inn, Rasanta dashed from the roadside and clutched at his boot, sobbing piteously. He halted the donkey and dismounted.

  “What’s wrong, you poor child?” he asked.

  “Oh, sir, take me away. Take me with you, please!” she implored, throwing herself at his feet, clinging desperately to his boots. “They treats me awful here. Take me back to my father, and he be rewarding you generous.”

  “Just relax, Rasanta,” said the wizard, lifting her to her feet. “I’ll help you if I can. Now, tell me what’s wrong.”

  “I want to go back to my father, sir, and they be never letting me go. They keeps me here for to bring the young men to the inn. I hates it, sir, I hates it awful, but they forces me to smile, and lure the poor lads to drink.”

  “You seemed to be enjoying yourself last night.”

  “Oh, they beats me fierce if I don’t look happy, sir. Look at this,” she said, hiking up her skirt to reveal a set of purple fingermarks high on her thigh. “And this here,” she added, pulling her blouse down to show a similar mark on her breast.

  “Oh dear me… Well, who is your father, Rasanta? And where can I find him?”

  “He be a great merchant, sir, in the islands over the western sea. I was stole from him by pirates when I was a baby, and he be seeking me ever since. A traveler told me, sir. My father, he be ever so rich, sir, and he says he be giving my weight in gold to the man who brings me home. And his blessing on our marriage,” she added, shyly lowering her eyes, “if the man do want me.”

  This new configuration of circumstances was very pleasant, and Kedrigern took a moment to allow it to sink in. A wealthy merchant’s daughter in distress. A girl as lovely as Metalura, younger, and far sweeter tempered. A chance to do a fine, noble deed, and reap a charming reward. He took Rasanta by her slender waist and swung her up into the saddle.

  “Up you go, my dear. I’m taking you home,” he said.

  “Oh, thank you, sir. I know the way. We have to take a litle side trail not far from here.”

  “Lead on, then,” Kedrigern said with a flourish. He felt a hundred and twenty again.

  They proceeded down the road for a short distance, then Rasanta swung the donkey onto a narrow trail leading off to the right. At first Kedrigern walked by her side, but as the forest closed in, he was forced to take the lead. He glanced back from time to time, and each glance was rewarded by an adoring look. Rasanta looked happier than he had ever seen her before.

  The trail ended in a circular clearing. Kedrigern, puzzled, turned just in time to see Rasanta spring lightly from the donkey’s back. She stuck two fingers in her mouth and gave a piercing whistle. A large man stepped from the woods; then another; then two more. They spread out in a line before him. Their expressions were serious, and they carried clubs.

  “He do have a good bag of coins in each boot,” Rasanta said.

  “Rasanta, my dear girl, you disappoint me,” said Kedrigern sadly.

  She smiled, shrugged her pretty shoulders, and stepped back to allow the four ruffians room for their work. As they hefted their clubs, Kedrigern raised a hand and said, “Before you do anything we’ll all regret, I must warn you that I am a wizard. If you attack, I will defend myself in ways you’re sure to find unpleasant.”

  One of the ruffians laughed scornfully. “You be no wizard. I did see wizard once. I knows wizard.”

  Kedrigern sighed and nodded wearily. “I suppose your wizard had a long white beard, and wore a pointy hat.”

  “Aye, he did.”

  “And he also wore a long black robe, covered with mysterious symbols.”

  “Aye, that, too. A real wizard, he were,” said the ruffian. His companions looked on, envious of his wide acquaintance.

  “Alas, the poverty of your experience leads you to false conclusions. Despite my plain attire, I am a wizard. My anger will be hazardous to your well-being.”

  “He be no wizard, you bunch of ninnies!” Rasanta cried.

  “I have a feeling that all you lads have been as badly used as I have at one time or another. I have no wish to embarrass you further, or to harm you. Just go away, and take the lady with you, and no one need suffer.”

  The four burly ruffians hesitated at his calm words. They looked uncertainly at one another, each of them clearly wanting to get out of this perplexing situation but unwiling to be the first to suggest it. Then Rasanta’s furious voice cut the tense silence.

  “Fine lot of babies you be! Four of you, with clubs, and you be shaking in your boots for fear of one skinny little geezer!” she cried. “Hop to it!”

  That set things in motion. The four lurched forward, raising their clubs. Kedrigern, his eyes blazing, swept his hands wide and spat out a short, hissing phrase. In an instant, he was surrounded by five astonished cats: four big striped toms, and a fluffy, carrot-colored litle female.

  “Work it out among yourselves,” he said coldly, and turned to where the donkey was placidly grazing.

  He had not gone far down the trail when a g
reat yowling and screeching broke out behind him. He smiled a grim smile and rode on. The spell would be of brief duration, but he was confident that the memory of the experience would linger. Travelers would be safe in these woods for a long time to come.

  For the rest of the way home, Kedrigern took the low road, through the heart of the Dismal Bog. It was a gloomy place at any time of year, and he knew that it would suit his mood. He felt foolish, and ashamed of himself. A mature, respected wizard, a man of stature and reputation in the wizardly community—not a geezer, by any means, but certainly someone old enough to know better—should not go panting after scullions, however buxom and bright-eyed they be. Nor should he dream of wedding the pampered daughter of a foolish nobleman because her dowry is more generous than her mind. As well dream of marrying a princess, he told himself.

  Greed and lechery. That’s the way of the world, he reflected, and it nearly won me over and did me in. I was right to turn my back on it all. I belong on Silent Thunder Mountain. Just me, and faithful Spot, and good old Eleanor.

  Kedrigern had given up on the world some years ago, and was ashamed of himself for having wavered in his resolution. The world, to him, was a noisy, busy place, overcrowded with people he did not wish to meet—brutes, thieves, liars, viragoes; alchemists trying to turn everything into gold, and barbarians trying to turn everything into ashes. The rare souls who worked hard and lived decent lives generally died at an early age, victims of the brutes and blackguards. No, the world was no place for a conscientious wizard.

  He felt all this, and truly believed it, but he was lonely still, and the company of a brass head that always wanted polishing and a knee-high troll with a one-word vocabulary was not a cheering prospect. With a deep, heartfelt sigh, he reined in the donkey and dismounted. He wanted to sit on a rock and gaze into the gloom and feel sorry for himself, and this was just the place for it.