The Sleeping Beauty (29 page)

She froze, as she heard a growl behind her, and smelled hot, doggy breath.

“What’s that?” Desmond said sharply.

She knew not to move. That growl had been deep and menacing.

“My hound seems to have found a spy, sire,” the Huntsman replied, in a growl not far removed from the dog’s.

“Well that you set him to watch then,” replied the Prince, and uttered a few guttural words in a language she didn’t recognize. “Now you can call him off.”

She heard a whistle, and the dog padded away.
Now!
she thought, ready to run for it, and—

Couldn’t move. Not a muscle. She couldn’t even make a sound.

She was barely able to blink and breathe.

“Let’s see what little mouse we’ve caught,” said Desmond, his voice full of cruel amusement. Two dark figures approached her where she was stuck, leaning against the stable wall. The light from a shuttered lantern flashed into her face, and she heard the Huntsman’s swift intake of breath, and then Desmond’s slow chuckle.

“Well, well, well. It looks as if you have managed to snare me my quarry after all,” Desmond said. He tore off the magical bracelet Lily would have used to find her, and threw it on the ground before uttering another handful of words. And that was all she knew….

…until she woke up.

She was not in the stables of her Palace. This place was cold, and it was dank. It smelled like wet stone. It was so dark that at first she was in a panic, thinking she was blind, and she lurched to her feet, fell, smacked her head on stone and saw stars.

That was when a shutter in a door she could not see until that moment grated open, and a light shone in on her, proving that at least she wasn’t blind.

“You’re awake!” It was the Huntsman, and he sounded surprised. “His Highness told me you wouldn’t be awake for half a day yet!”

“Well his Highness doesn’t know everything, then, does he?” she snapped. Her head
hurt
. Where was she?

The Huntsman laughed. It was the sort of laugh that put cold chills up her back.

“Bold little Princess. Not that it will do you any good. Desmond is the best sorcerer in his generation. He is patient, and thorough, and
you
are where you cannot escape and cannot communicate with anyone or anything. Not even a mouse or a spider. Every way in which a magician can see at a distance has been eliminated.”

She gulped, the pain in her head forgotten. So that was why they had never caught the Huntsman doing anything other than what he was supposed to! Desmond…

“Your Godmother will not find you a second time, Princess. And in case someone is listening as well, somehow, you may be sure that neither of us will say where you are within your hearing. I myself have been geased against doing so.”

Her blood ran cold. It sounded as if Desmond had thought of everything.

“He is still at the Palace, of course. When your loss is discovered, he will be as horrified as anyone else.”

Of course he will.

“I, of course, will be the logical suspect. When searchers are sent out, he will come here. No one suspects him of anything. Unlike some of the others, no one will demand he take a partner.”

It was logical. There would be no reason to suspect Desmond.

“When he returns here, he will proceed to envelop you in magic.
He has specialized in the kinds of magic that—well, to put it simply, make it possible to control one other person. He has studied these things for years. Such spells take a great deal of time to cast, but that does not matter. He will have all the time he needs to make them work on you as there is very little chance that anyone will discover this place. If they do, there would be no reason to think you are here. If you are sought here, this cell is well hidden. His Highness will have sufficient time to wrap your mind in so many, many spells that not even the urge to eat and sleep will be your own. Then, when you are completely his thrall, he will ‘rescue’ you.” The Huntsman laughed again. “Perhaps he will put you to sleep, and wake you with a kiss. You will be overjoyed to be with him by then, and he will reveal to your people that
he
is the answer to your problem, that his magic can control the enemies of this land and set them against each other instead of Eltaria. You will adore him, and be overjoyed to wed him. Who knows, you might even actually feel those things. You will probably be very next to an imbecile when he gets done draining you of magic, but that won’t matter.”

The slide clattered shut, then abruptly opened again. “There is a bucket of water and a dipper at the rear and to the right of this room. There is an empty bucket in the left. Food and water will be left here when you are sleeping.”

The slide clacked shut, leaving her alone in the dark.

Panic rose in her, and she gave it room to run for a while. That was something she had learned from Lily; when things were at their worst, if you had the space, let the panic run out. Besides, they were expecting this. If she were calm, they would suspect her of being strong, or of having some secret way to get help. If she acted like one of the helpless things they expected, they would underestimate her.

That,
she had learned from Siegfried.

So she screamed, cried herself hoarse, permitted herself hysteria.
The stone cell echoed with the noise of anguish. She sobbed helplessly as she felt her way around the stone cell on her hands and knees and begged the Huntsman to let her go. She offered immense bribes, and cried some more.

She knew he was out there, listening. She could hear him moving occasionally, or laughing quietly. And when the hysteria ran out, when her eyes were so raw she could hardly see, she felt her way to the pallet she had found and lay down on it.

She hadn’t recognized the language that Desmond had used for his spell-casting…but that didn’t actually matter. Lily had not been teaching her narrowly defined or restricted magic of the sort that those tied to rituals did.

Lily had instead been teaching her how magic worked.

She had learned how to see the constructions that magic made around the person or object a spell was cast upon. It was entirely appropriate to say that a spell was “woven,” because that was what such things looked like, an intricate interlacing of something between thick yarn and thin rope. Desmond had been very careful and very clever not to weave
any
powerful magic back at the Palace, nothing that he could not have been given by some tame wizard to help him with the trials, or she and Lily would have seen it. Probably he had made arrangements to meet the Huntsman in the forest. Now, however, he was free to weave as many spells as he cared to.

She strongly suspected that The Tradition had a great deal to do with spells working. If it were only following exact ritual that worked, then how could the improvisational magicians get anything done? Yet exact ritual was much, much more powerful than extempore work.

Unless you knew the principles behind how magic worked. And unless you could see completed spells.

“There are many more magicians who work by what they have memorized than there are those who work by knowing the principles of magic,”
Lily had
said.
“There are plenty who can’t see it, and rely on the ritual to do the manipulation for them, rather like a blind person threading a maze that he has memorized. All the Fae can, which is one reason why Fae magic seems so unpredictable to many human magicians. If they need to, the Fae can cast and unmake spells without using any sort of ritual at all.”

Lily
did
use spells and cantrips all the time, she said—and certainly Rosa had seen her do so. Was that because it was easier? Or was it because The Tradition said that they worked, so—they worked?

Did it even matter?
No it doesn’t. My mind is spinning in circles again.
The point was, she could see magic. With patience, she could unravel it—

Or maybe, apply what Siegfried taught me about squirming out of a hold. Don’t resist, look for the weak point, then duck under it…Oh, bless you, Siegfried!
If magicians thought, well, like humans, they would model their spells, whether they knew it or not, on how humans bound things—grappling, ropes. Ropes could be unwound. The grappling arms could be squirmed out of.

She just had to keep her head…

Desmond had frozen her in place, then had the Huntsman carry her—up. She did her best to conceal her shock when she realized that underneath the cosmetic changes, she recognized that he had carried her up through the cellar to what had once been the Dwarves’ cottage.

It had been heavily fortified somehow. Given how beautifully the stonework fit together, it had probably been the Dwarves themselves who had been forced to labor on it. She recognized the kitchen immediately, although it, and the huge table and stools around it, had been cleaned until the wood of the furniture was a clear gray and the stone of floor and walls was almost white. The blackened beams of the ceiling remained, but the plaster between was snowy. The
windows were gone; the entire ground floor had been encased in a layer of stonework, the original door replaced by a new, thicker one. That door stood open on what had been a garden, and now looked like a tangle of wicked thorns as long as a man’s arm. As she
looked
for magic, they all glowed; they had been magically grown, then.

Oh no…
Thorns? Tower? He was using The Tradition, too! The thorns that guarded the Beauty Asleep! No wonder he kept her sleeping most of the time! No wonder the Huntsman had laughed about awaking her with a kiss!

Everything but the table in the kitchen was gone, replaced by new fittings and utensils. The Huntsman carried her up a new set of stairs built along the outside wall in what had been that storage room to a second and much more luxurious room. The original cottage was now the base of a fortified tower.

In the center of the room on the second floor was a chair, covered, rather ominously, with engraved signs. The Huntsman put her in that chair—of course she still couldn’t move, but as soon as she got over the shock of recognition, she began trying to see the bonds of the magic that held her. As she began to make them out, she saw that they were like heavy shackles, one on each arm, one on each wrist, made of braided bands of power. Experimentally, she tugged a little on one of the ends.

It loosened.

Yes! She could do this—

Then heavy footfalls above warned that someone was coming down. Her chair faced the staircase that slanted down the outer wall, and she knew it was Desmond from the moment she saw the too-shiny boots.

The genial manner was gone, replaced by a complete lack of expression. She had seen statues with more animation. By now, she had managed to ease herself free a little, and he didn’t seem to have noticed, so she kept quiet and acted as if she was still paralyzed.

Meanwhile, he went to work.

He began to chant.

And within moments she knew this was going to be a real fight, for her mind, for her very self.

But in the same moment she realized that, she also felt something else. The necklace of unicorn hair lying around her neck began to warm.

Neither the Huntsman nor Desmond had taken it from her; for whatever reason, they hadn’t noticed it. They probably assumed it was from a dead unicorn, not a live one, and couldn’t do anything to help her—and of course, once she was bespelled, Desmond could have it merely by asking her for it. Strictly speaking, it couldn’t help her, she supposed. But the bands of power that were snaking around her, trying to bind her, pulsed with a faint sensation of evil, and the necklace would not allow them to actually touch her.

She didn’t know how long that would last…but the fact it was happening at all gave her the breathing space she needed.
I can study how these things are weaving, so I can unweave them,
she thought with a spark of anger-fueled energy. But she remembered what Siegfried had taught her about anger, and using it, and not being used by it. She throttled that anger down, letting it become the force behind her concentration, rather than letting it destroy her concentration.

Siegfried had taught her so many things—not just how to defend herself, but how not to be helpless. How to keep still and see a way out of what looked hopeless. He had shown her that, even if The Tradition was trying to steer your fate, you could push right back at it and change it.

She wasn’t going to let The Tradition rule her, and she certainly wasn’t going to let some arrogant Prince who fancied himself a great sorcerer do so. The very fact that he was depending on exact ritual meant he wasn’t nearly as good as he thought he was.

So Desmond thought she was just some helpless little idiot, did he? Unable to stand up against his magic, and unable to help herself.

He was going to find out exactly how wrong he was.

SIEGFRIED WOKE FROM A DREAM OF SHARPSTONE
guarding the border, a dream that he knew in an instant was the key to his winning Rosa’s hand.
Dragons!
He thought with elation.
Not all dragons are bad, but they all need a lot of feeding and safe lairs….

But the dream was driven out of his mind by the agony that woke him, screaming, with twenty kitten claws impaling his left foot with red-hot needles of pain.

So much pain that for a crucial moment he was paralyzed. Then his reflexes kicked in—and so did he. The bedclothes went flying.

Fortunately the kitten had better reflexes than he did, and leapt off his foot and out of harm’s way before his reflexes made him do something regrettable to it.

He sat up, eyes bulging, staring at the demon-in-fluff that had lacerated his foot. He tried to get words out, and failed utterly.

“BigMan, BigMan, BigMan!”
the kitten mewed, bouncing like a demented ball of wool.
“Mama says get BigMan! Mama says BadMans take Lady!”
It repeated this in a high-pitched cat-yowl that cut right through his bewildered brain.

By this point, the bird, awakened by the screaming, was flying blindly around the darkened room, screaming
“Cat! Doom! Cat! Doom! Cat!”

Siegfried hit the side of his head to clear it, but it was several moments before he managed to fumble a match onto a candlewick—by which time the bird had flown into a wall and knocked itself silly and had to be rescued from the kitten. It was longer before Siegfried could get any sense out of the kitten.

But once he did, he was into clothing and tearing down the hallway to the Royal Chambers as fast as he could go.

Of course, the guards there wouldn’t let him in, but he was shouting so loudly before they grabbed his arms to drag him away that he made more than enough noise to wake Godmother Lily, who came to the door of her rooms herself. More to the point, he made more than enough noise to wake Rosa’s maids, who discovered that she was gone about the time that Siegfried was insisting to Lily that she was in danger, which prompted more shrieking and shouting. Siegfried was at his wits’ end by that point, trying to get
someone
to listen to what he had to say about the kitten—

Lily quelled it all by dropping her disguise of Queen Sable with a probably unnecessary thunderclap. When the stunned crowd fell silent, she began issuing orders. She pointed to the guards who had been at her door. “You guards—check on the remaining Princes.
Now.
Find out who is missing.” She pointed to the ones that had come running at the fuss. “You guards—see if the Huntsman is gone.” She turned to the maids. “You get back in those rooms, and if you can’t calm yourselves, at least keep your hysterics
in there.”
And then to Siegfried. “Where is the mother cat?”

It was the kitten, clinging to the shoulder opposite the one that the wary bird claimed, that replied. “Mama outside! Mama see BadMans!”

“Put him down,” she ordered Siegfried, who was perfectly happy to pry those twenty little needles out of his shoulder and put the kitten
on the floor. “Take me to your mama,” she ordered the kitten, who scampered off. “Find Leopold!” she called to Siegfried as she followed.

Siegfried ran back the way he had come, and burst in the door of Leopold’s suite—for now that there were so few candidates, they all had their own suites again. Leopold was groggily clambering into his clothing, having been awakened once by Siegfried’s screaming and again by the guards checking on the Princes.

“What in hell is going on?” Leopold demanded, blearily, looking haggard and a bit the worse for wear.

“The Princess is missing, an animal came to tell me someone had taken her, the Godmother is—” Siegfried began, only too well aware that he was perilously close to babbling, when Lily returned with the mother cat he had aided in one arm, the kitten in the other.

“Desmond is missing,” Lily told them tersely. “He is the only one of the Princes gone. The Huntsman is missing, too. The cat says she was moving the kittens to establish them here at the stables, and she saw two men take Rosa. So unless the Huntsman has a confederate and Desmond followed them, somehow knowing when we didn’t that Rosa had been taken, we can assume they were collaborating all along.”

Siegfried snarled an inarticulate oath and headed for the door, but she stopped him dead before he got more than two steps.
“Wait,”
she ordered. “Just a moment. Think. What will you need?”

She was right. A moment spent now would be saved a thousand-fold later when he realized he was missing something. “My armor, my weapons, a horse—” he began.

“A direction,” Lily pointed out. She jiggled the mother cat in her arm a little. “Cat?”

“Told kitten to wake you. Followed to market. Lost there,” the cat said, tilting her head to the side and switching her tail rapidly. “Ran back here.”

Siegfried thought about that a moment; from the market there
were a dozen directions that Desmond could have gone, and at the moment he had no clear idea of which. Unless there was a witness…would the donkey have seen them? It was worth finding out. And if the donkey had not, perhaps he could start querying dogs. “There’s a stable there. I might have someone in it who noticed them.”

“I’ll take care of the horses,” Lily said. “You get down to the stable.” She put down the cat and kitten and hurried off.

“I’m coming with you!” Leopold interjected, now fully clothed, and bundling up what little armor he had. Siegfried wasn’t even going to try to dissuade him; first, it would be a waste of time, and second, Leopold had as much right as he did to join in the search.

“Come on, then,” he snapped, and headed for his rooms at a run. Like Leopold, he only bundled up his armor rather than pausing to put it on. Speed was of the essence now, though it was unlikely that they would overtake Desmond before he got—well, wherever it was he was going. The entire Palace had been aroused now; people were poking their heads out of doors as they passed, and he could hear the steady tramp of booted feet that could only mean Guardsmen on the move. For good measure, he also grabbed his pack, which out of habit he kept ready to go. He’d lived out of it for months at a time. If he needed something, well, hopefully it would be in there.

With his armor and sword under his arm, he ran for the stables. When he got there, he discovered that there were two horses already saddled and ready. “Hurry up!” one of them whinnied, laying back his ears as he stamped with impatience. “We need to run! She has us so full of magic we are about to pop!”

“She” was undoubtedly the Godmother, and he was not at all unhappy about these being two of her mouse-horses. He tied his pack and armor onto the back of the saddle, then literally leapt into the saddle without using stirrups; Leopold did the same, and the two of
them galloped out of the Palace grounds while the rest of the Palace was still buzzing in confusion after being roused from sleep.

At this hour the streets were empty, which meant they could gallop without encountering any obstacles. The occasional head popped out of a window, but otherwise there were no signs of life. He was still trying to think of what he was going to do if the donkey hadn’t seen anything as they pounded into the silent marketplace—but the donkey was already waiting there for him.

“The men with the Princess!” the little beast brayed. “They came through here, riding straight for the Forest Gate!”

Oh, bless you, little beast!

With a wave of his hand to the helpful creature, Siegfried reined his horse over to the left and urged him down the street that led to the Forest Gate. Too late, he forgot that the Gate was probably closed and locked—

But the moonlight beating down on it showed that it wasn’t. In fact, it stood wide-open. And the Gate-guards lay motionless beside it, on either side of the street.

He couldn’t stop to see if they were alive or dead—and he couldn’t help them either way. Someone else would have to take care of them, and he only hoped that all Desmond had done was to knock them out. Meanwhile, every moment that passed took Rosa farther from him, and that was all that mattered.

Leopold was right on his heels, though his friend probably couldn’t imagine how he was getting directions. Still the open gate and the guards alone would tell him that they were on the trail.

The horse made straight for the forest without any guidance, but slowed as they neared it. The Forest Road paralleled the edge, with dozens of smaller paths and trails leading in and wandering off in wildly different directions. Siegfried peered at the forest, looking for a sign of where their quarry might have gone in.
Nothing…it’s too dark…noth—

The horse abruptly reared on his hind legs, screaming with alarm; Siegfried fought to stay in the saddle, his heart accelerating with alarm. What—he couldn’t see anything—

“Don’t be foolish, mouse. I am not going to eat you.”
What Siegfried had thought was a shadow detached itself from the other shadows and lumbered forward, further spooking the horse, who half reared again, then stood, trembling.

“Bear?” he said in astonishment, as Leopold’s horse also danced sideways.

It was, indeed, the bear that he had rescued from the showman. A scar across the bear’s muzzle identified the beast.

“Wolf is tracking them. I will guide you, for I have his scent, and he will take care to lay it down thickly.”
The bear whuffed at them.
“I told you that we would not forget your kindness. Now, follow me.”
The bear lumbered into the forest, shoving his way into a game trail.

“Siegfried, what the hell—” Leopold sat atop his trembling horse, his own teeth chattering.

“The bear is a friend…. Remember, I can talk to all animals, not just the bird.” He shook his head. He probably should have told Leopold about the animals he’d been rescuing, but he hadn’t thought it was that important. “I’ll explain later. We need to follow the bear, because a wolf that I know is tracking Desmond for us, and the bear is tracking the wolf.”

“A wolf…a bear…” Leopold shook his head. “Friends. All right. I have either gone insane or you
did
just say that, and if you did just say that—” He paused. “I have accepted the Queen turning into the Godmother in front of my eyes, mice becoming horses and squash becoming carriages. What’s so hard about you talking to wild animals as well as tame, and making friends of them?” He dug his heels into his horse’s ribs, causing it to nervously leap forward after the bear. “Come on! Rosa is getting farther away from us all the time!”

Once she had magicked up the mouse-horses and their gear, Lily had transformed back into Queen Sable. It would be too much trouble getting the servants who hadn’t seen her actually resume her real identity to obey her orders otherwise. She ran back up to her rooms, and from there, she sent out the servants to rouse the whole Palace. Desmond probably thought he had time to get back to the Palace before he was missed. Well, too bad for that plan; it had been disrupted the moment that Siegfried’s cat saw him steal the Princess.

That means either he has taken Rosa somewhere close by, or he has some variation on a spell of transportation.
She didn’t think they would be lucky enough for the former, so it was probably the latter. She didn’t think he’d have the “All Paths Are One” spell, since that was, as far as she knew, the peculiar property of Godmothers. But there were others, many others….

“Seven League Boots”—possible but unlikely; there were two of them, and neither of them would care to carry Rosa for very long. Probably they had left on horseback….

“Seven League Horseshoes” were possible. They wouldn’t be restricted to paths…but they’d seriously disturb birds in their wake, and creatures with magic in them would sense the passage. But they were rare, and required not just a magician, but a blacksmith-magician. There were none here, and none that she knew of in the surrounding Kingdoms; most of them were up north—or Dwarves.

She also hadn’t felt any huge perturbations of magic power, so he probably hadn’t built anything as powerful as building a Portal.

Likeliest… “Pass Unhindered.” That was an old, old spell, it was likely that Desmond knew it, and it would let the horses go at top speed through the densest of forest as if they ran on a smooth road. And if he was willing to kill his horses—which he probably was—he could layer on another particularly nasty bit of work, making it
“Pass Unhindered Swiftly,” that would make them run at three times the pace that any normal horse could do. “Pass Unhindered Swiftly” absolutely required the life of the creature it was cast on, a form of blood magic that took the sacrifice at the end, rather than the beginning. A fresh horse at his destination, and casting the spell again, would get Desmond back in no time at all, comparatively.

Her head pounded as she dropped down into a chair. Their best bet would be if he came back and didn’t discover that the Palace had been roused against him until it was too late to flee. She could get the location out of him—not easily, but unless he was extremely powerful, she could, if only because she could bring in as much help as she needed to.

But catching him by surprise wasn’t likely.

So they would have to hunt for him.

“Jimson,” she began.

As usual, he practically read her mind, answering her question before she asked it. “There’s a pair of mirrors in Siegfried’s saddlebag, and a second pair in Leo’s. I’ll speak to them through one of them at the first halt.”

“Is Desmond—”

“There is nothing shiny on his harness or his person.” Jimson’s face swam into view in her mirror; he looked positively haggard with worry. “We have to assume he knows about mirror-scrying at least, if not mirror-travel. If he is in league with the Huntsman, that would be how both of them evaded my scrutiny. So there will be no mirrors where he takes her.”

She swore. So at the moment it was all in the hands of Siegfried and Leopold, and whatever other searchers went out.