Kedrigern in Wanderland (12 page)

“OH
DEAR ME,”
said Princess softly. She rode to the spot where Kedrigern and Dyrax had last been visible and looked in all directions, even up and down. They were gone without a trace. The track of their horses ended abruptly, without a suggestion of struggle or hesitation, as if they had gone in a single step from this plane of being into another; which, as she thought of it, was probably just what they had done.

“Keddie? Keddie, can you hear me?” she called. There was no reply. “If you can’t speak, give me a sign.” There was no sign. “Keddie, do something! Anything!” There was nothing.

She drew her cloak close around her, for protection; then she flung it off, to free her wings, in case flight became necessary. The packhorses were plodding on, and she knew she ought to go after them; but she was reluctant to leave the place where Kedrigern had vanished. He might be in danger. He might need her help. He might be safe, but as worried about her as she was about him. He might be, or think, or feel, almost anything.

She tried to put herself in Kedrigern’s place and think as he would. That was no help at all. Would he try to return here, or would he press on to the Moaning River, or perhaps all the way to the Singing Forest, in the assurance that she would go on herself and trust in him to meet her? She found convincing reasons to support every possibility, but none so overwhelming that she was forced to accept it. She longed for someone to talk to, someone who could help her weigh the alternatives, suggest different approaches, plan calmly; but she was alone in the middle of this gloomy wood, miles from friends and companions and kindly counsel.

It suddenly dawned on her that she was not renlly alone. She raised the dark staff and gave it a little shake. “Louise, I’d like to talk,” she said.

The staff twitched in her hand. The air rang, and she found herself clutching the black blade. It was massive, a weapon for a mighty swordsman thickly thewed and steelsinewed, and yet it rode gracefully in her grip. Although she had always—as far back as she could remember, in any case—felt an aversion towards weapons and a dislike for those who used them, she now found herself thinking that with this blade in her hands, she might be a pretty fair swordswoman. As she shifted her grip and hefted the blade, she became certain that she would be a very good swordswoman; in fact, she would be the best ever, anywhere. Barbarians, recreant knights, and obnoxious giants like the Green Riddler would go down like stalks before the scythe when faced with the might of Princess. It was a heady moment.

“You called?” said Louise in a cool businesslike voice.

Princess blinked and gave a start. “Yes, I did. It’s Kedrigern. He’s vanished, and Dyrax with him. We’re alone.”

“Did the packhorses vanish, too?”

“No. They’re going on ahead.”

“I suggest you get them before they wander too far. You’ll need the supplies.”

“What if they should return here? Shouldn’t we wait and see?”

“Kedrigern won’t return here,” the sword said confi
dently. “He’ll find his way to my kingdom, and expect you to do the same. He certainly won’t expect you to mope about in the woods, waiting for him to show up.”

“No, I suppose not. Surely not. He can take care of himself, and the sooner we’re out of these woods, the better I’ll feel,” said Princess, spurring her translucent mount.

“You needn’t worry about your safety. If you find it necessary to wield me, you’ll be the finest swordswoman in the world.”

“I felt that as soon as you became a sword, Louise. You have a knack for inspiring confidence.”

“It’s kind of you to say so. One likes to feel helpful. All things considered, though, I’d prefer to be a princess again,” said the blade. After a moment she added, “If it should become necessary to wield me, I hope you’ll remember to refer to me as ‘Panstygia.’

They caught up to the packhorses in a very short time, but once they had, Princess was not certain what to do. She had been raised as a princess, not as a drover, or herdsman, or whatever one called people who deal with large animals. She noticed a rope trailing behind the lead horse and managed to catch hold of it, then rode alongside the horse for a time simply holding the rope and feeling rather foolish. This was certainly not the way things were done. At last she rode ahead and looped the rope around her saddle horn. The packhorses trailed behind her obediently, and after a few glances over her shoulder to monitor their progress, she rode on feeling a bit more in command of things. She had her supplies; the trail was plain and easily followed; and Louise would help her to beat off any attackers her magic could not handle; in emergencies, she could fly. If only she could be sure of Kedrigern’s safety, she thought, this might almost be a pleasant little adventure.

Kedrigern could, of course, take care of himself, as she had assured Louise. His magic was not at peak strength, and that put him at a disadvantage; but he was a resourceful wizard, as more than one adversary had learned. She was pretty resourceful herself, Princess reflected, recalling the sight of Grodz, her would-be ravisher, turned into a toad and trapped in his own boot. The memory of her first big spell encouraged her, as did the knowledge that she had learned a thing or two since then. It will all work out, she told herself.

Her complacency received a jolt when the rope suddenly went slack, and turning, she saw that the packhorses had vanished. There had not been a sound, and there was none now. No bandits swarmed from the woods or dropped from overhanging branches. No tyrant’s bullying guardsmen appeared to seize the reins of her horse. This was the work of no human agency. It could only have been magic. She drew in the severed rope and found the end fused as smooth as glass. Yes, it was magic, beyond a doubt.

This was a bad turn of events. The packborses had carried all their gear—tent, tools, cooking utensils—and all the food except for some dry bread and cheese she carried in a scrip. Without the horses, she was helpless. Upon further reflection, she realized that she would have been every bit as helpless if they had remained, and encumbered as well. She had not the remotest idea of how to unload a horse, or do anything else with it but ride. She could not light a fire or put up a tent, and though she occasionally baked a bit of fancy pastry at home, the cooking was all left to Spot. She had never had to concern herself with such matters, either as princess, toad, or wife of a wizard. Louise, with a life experience limited to princess and sword, could offer no helpful advice.

“Fine mess this is turning out to be,” Princess muttered. “Things could be worse,” Louise said by way of consolation. “You’re better off without those horses, if you ask me. Just something else to worry about.”

“It’s easier for you, Louise. You just turn yourself into a stick, and that’s that. I have to find water, and a place to sleep, and I have to make a fire, and do something about my horse . . . if
he
disappears, I don’t know what I’ll do!”

“He’s practically disappeared already,” Louise pointed out, with a hint of suppressed amusement.

“You can see him quite clearly when the light is right,” said Princess irritably. “Really, Louise, this isn’t funny.”

“Don’t get upset. You can always fly, you know.”

“Well, yes. I suppose . . . yes, I could.” Princess sighed. “You’re right, Louise, I mustn’t get upset. I just have to concentrate on finding a good place to spend the night. We’ll worry about the other things as they arise.”

“That’s the attitude I like to see. Remember, you’re a princess,” said Louise stoutly.

Before the sun was down, Princess had found a huge oak with a nice clean dry depression high up in the trunk where she could pass the night in safety, if not very much comfort. A brook ran nearby. She drank, washed the dust of the road from her hands and face, filled her water bottle, and watered her horse. The transparent steed seemed quite comfortable and untroubled, so she tethered it to a sapling within reach of the brook and flew up to her place in the oak. She spread out her cloak, seated herself, and settled down to a supper of hard bread, dry cheese, and water.

“It’s not easy, being a princess,” she observed glumly.

“Easier than being a sword,” Louise retorted.

“Yes, certainly. Or being a toad, for that matter. But there’s so much they don’t teach us. I can’t remember the details, but I’m sure I had a typical princess’s education— embroidery, court etiquette, the lute, singing—that sort of thing.”

“Dancing, too, I’m sure. I used to have dancing lessons every Monday and Thursday, just after Recitation. Hated it.’’

“I must have had dancing. I still remember some of the steps. But what I’m getting at, Louise, is what good has it all been?”

“It improves the carriage. My mother always said that.”

“I mean
practical
good. Here we are, out in the woods, and if it weren’t for my wings and my magic, I’d be helpless. If I were a peasant, I’d know how to kindle a fire, and make a shelter, and catch food, and cook it. I’d know what to do about horses, and how to keep the smoke from blowing in my face, and how to make a comfortable bed out of leaves and boughs, and find my way by the position of the sun and moss on the sides of trees. Peasants learn all those things. Why don’t we?”

Louise answered without hesitation, “They have to— they’re peasants. We don’t—we’re princesses.”

“That’s not much of an answer, Louise.”

“It’s the only one I ever got,” the sword admitted. “I thought it might help.”

“Then you must have asked the same question!” said Princess, delighted.

“Not exactly the same. I always wondered why Alice and I weren’t taught to fight, as William was. The kingdom was in constant danger and every additional warrior would have been a help. But my mother always said, ‘Soldiers do the fighting, Louise. They have to—they’re soldiers. You don’t—you’re a princess.’ It used to upset me terribly. I’d kick the dancing master black and blue out of sheer pique.”

“But you learned to fight, didn’t you?”

“I watched my father’s men training, and practiced in secret. My brother William got me a sword and taught me everything he knew. I learned quickly. Alice never got the knack of swordswomanship. Her heart wasn’t in it. She liked politics. So when the invasion came, William and I led the troops and Alice ran things at home. It worked quite well, until that disgusting old Vorvas . . . oh, the wretched man!”

“He must have been awful,” Princess sympathized.

“They’re all awful. The only decent men I ever knew were my father and William. I learned very early in life that men are out for only one thing—they want to turn you into something nasty at the earliest opportunity.”

Indignantly Princess said, “I don’t see how you can say they’re
all
awful, Louise. Kedrigern has gone out of hisway to do you a good turn. And he would never have met
you
if he hadn’t gone to Dendorric to look for a present for
me.
That’s two good turns right there.”

“Well . . . he’s an exception,” Louise grudgingly conceded.

“He certainly is. And Hamarak was decent enough, wasn’t he?”

“All right. Two exceptions. But most men are absolute devils. Can’t wait to find a beautiful princess so they can turn her into a sword, or a toad, or a rosebush. It’s all they think of.”

“It’s not only men, Louise. I was turned into a toad by a female bog-fairy. And I know a charming little princess— Lalloree is her name—who was imprisoned behind a wall of fire by a jealous sorceress.”

“At least Lalloree stayed a princess. She wasn’t turned into a toad.”

“Not then. That came later.”

“Aha!” Louise cried in triumph. “And it was some man who did it!”

“No, it wasn’t. It wasn’t a woman, either. It was a magic mist. It did all sorts of things, good as well as bad. Our horses were perfectly ordinary until the mist turned them into . . . well, into what they are now. And it turned me from a toad back into a woman and gave me wings, besides.”

“I thought your husband had turned you back into a woman,” said Louise suspiciously.

“He did, the first time. The second time, it was the magic mist that did it.”

“You seem to have had a run of very bad luck with spells.”

“I certainly did. For a long time, it was just one thing after another.” Princess fell silent, looking into the gathering darkness, thinking about those days; then she set her chin firmly, raised her head, and said, “But I came through it, and we’ll come through this, Louise. You’ll see.”

The sword did not reply at once. Finally, in a listless voice, she said, “It hardly seems to matter. You can never feel secure. I mean, I might get out of this spell, and wander into a magic mist, and find myself turned into a spear, or a warming pan, or heaven knows what.” They were both silent for a long time, and at last Louise sighed and said, “You were right. It’s not easy being a princess, Princess.”