Voice for Princess (v1.1)

by John Morressy

  “It has your nose,” Kedrigern observed.

  “Do you really think so?” she asked, pleased and flattened.

  “Oh, absolutely.”

  “It do have Gnurtt’s eyes, though. Gray as pebbles and so small you do hardly be able to see them.”

  “They certainly are tiny. And so very close together.”

  “And the ears. Lovely big ears.”

  “Lovely.”

  “Will you take the little fellow, then?” the troll-woman asked, placing the tiny bundle at Kedrigern’s feet.

  “Me?”

  “No one better than a wizard for raising a troll-child proper and useful, Master Kedrigern. Ordinary folk be no good for that at all. Aside from their foolishness about wanting silly little things with big eyes and no noses at all, ordinary folk just don’t last. They’re all worn out and feeble of body and mind before a troll-child is half grown.”

  “But I’m not—”

  “Your wizard, though, outlives everyone, even us trolls,” she went on. “That’s provided, of course, that he don’t be caught in a moment of weakness with his magic down. But it’s at times like those that a good strong young troll is handiest. Why, even the little fellow here, small as it is, could handle a pair of big strapping barbarians the way you’d flick pebbles with your finger.”

  “It could?”

  “Oh, no doubt of it. And loyal, too. Your dog isn’t in it for loyalty compared to a troll.”

  “Well, that’s—”

  “And better than any cat when it do come to keeping the mice away. And well behaved, too. Gentle as a breeze, most of the time, and if it do start to act up, all you have to do is slam it over the head with a good stout club, and it will understand. Raise a troll-child well, Master Kedrigern, and you do have a treasure that will last a wizard’s lifetime,” said the troll-woman, backing away.

  “But is it housebroken?” Kedrigern cried desperately.

  “That’s a problem trolls don’t have,” she responded. Turning, she started off, calling back over her shoulder, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Master Kedrigern, I do be in a hurry to get to the field where my Gnurt is waiting. Have to be in proper position by sunrise, you know. Wouldn’t want to be caught on the way and turned into a foolish lonesome rock in the middle of the woods, no use to anyone and nobody to chat with.”

  As she moved off with slow, earth-shaking steps, Kedrigern caled, “The name! Does it have a name?”

  “Call it what you like, Master Kedrigern,” she replied. “It’s no mater. When the time do come, it will learn its proper name.”

  As the echoes of the rumbling voice faded, and the trembling of the ground subsided, Kedrigern looked down at the little figure. It was incredibly ugly. It began to wriggle, and kick away the rags that wrapped it, and the more he saw of the troll-child the more appalled he was. Mostly head, with huge hands and feet, it was warty and rough-skinned and spotty. He picked it up, gingerly, and tried to console it. It kept wriggling, and he set it down again. At once it began to crawl after its mother at great speed.

  “None of that, now,” Kedrigern said, grabbing it by one stubby leg and lifting it off the ground. “Mother’s going off to be turned to stone. We don’t want that happening to you. First thing to do, I suppose, is find you a name. What about… how do you like Rover?” The troll-child emitted a scream that raised ripples in the brook and caused the bark to shrivel on the nearby trees. Kedrigern grimaced and quickly assured it, “All right, I won’t call you Rover.”

  The little creature was still. Kedrigern put it down, and this time it remained at his side. “That’s better,” he said. He studied it thoughtfully and said, “Spot. How does that sound to you, little fellow?”

  “Yah, yah!” the troll-child cried happily, and standing on tiptoe, it embraced Kedrigern’s calf in a bruising grip and placed a noisy kiss on the wizard’s knee.

  Kedrigern, who had never had a troll of his own before, was touched by the gesture. He had a natural sympathy for abandoned children—even troll-children—anyway, and this one was turning out better than he had expected. “That’s a good troll, Spot,” he said, taking the creature up in one hand and its fallen rags in the other. “Now I have to get you all covered up before sunrise, or you’ll turn into stone. We don’t want that, do we?”

  “Yah.”

  “Of course not. And once you’re wrapped up, you’re to stay wrapped, do you hear? No peeking.”

  “Yah.”

  “Good.”

  Once covered up, Spot went immediately to sleep. The creature was proving no trouble so far, but like all trolls it was rather heavy. That morning they covered scarcely a mile before Kedrigern was arm-weary. He stopped and arranged a sling that would enable him to carry Spot at his back, cushioned by his own small traveling pack, and proceeded much more comfortably.

  They emerged from the forest and crossed the empty plain. Barbarians had passed this way not long ago, and laid waste all in their path. Farmsteads and hamlets were reduced to charred and tumbled ruins. Fields were trampled into muck. All the young trees had been hacked down, and the older ones turned into gallows for those who had not fled.

  “These are bad times, Spot, and they seem to be getting worse. Between the barbarians and the alchemists…”

  Kedrigern shook his head ruefully.

  “Yah,” came in a faint muffled voice from behind him.

  “It’ll be nice on Silent Thunder Mountain, though. You’ll see. Lots of sun and fresh air… room for you to run…I’ll work a spell so you can stay out in the sunlight. You can plant a garden.”

  “Yah!” once again, sleepy but happy.

  They traveled on, and came at last to the ruined, blasted tower where Kedrigern lived and worked. In the fading twilight it looked comfortably ominous, and he put down his burden with a sigh of relief. It was good to be home.

  He unlocked the spell that held the tower secure against intruders, entered, and reset the spell. One could not be too careful these days.

  What was a ruined tower when seen from the outside was a cozy, if somewhat cluttered, wizard’s workshop inside. Kedrigern lit a fire in the big stone fireplace, and the flames quickly rose to illuminate the interior. An unmade cot stood near the hearth. A large and very messy work table occupied much of the central space. The walls were covered with shelves. About half the shelf space was taken up by books, the rest by various accouterments of the wizard’s profession, some of them nasty to behold, some unrecognizable as anything in particular.

  Kedrigern leaned forward and placed his palms on the table in a proprietary gesture. He lifted them at once and began brushing them together to remove the dust. It was amazing how quickly dust accumulated. The brazen head that served as his filing system was very much in need of a good dusting, but he decided to put it off until tomorrow, when he could start breaking in Spot.

  As he stood in thought, a large black spider with a hairy body about the size of an apple dropped silently from the rafters and dangled before his face.

  “Hello, Manny,” the wizard said, reaching out to scratch the spider’s belly. “I trust you’ve looked after things in my absence.”

  The spider waved its two forelegs gaily in reassurance. Its jeweled eyes twinkled in the firelight.

  “I have good news, Manny,” Kedrigern announced. “I’m going to follow your example and build a house of my own.”

  Manny stopped waving. He dropped a bit lower and pendulated slowly before the wizard, observing him cautiously.

  “You’re welcome to come along, Manny. I’m going to put in lots of lovely dark corners. There’ll be plenty of places to build, and lots to eat.”

  As Manny drew himself up into the rafters, presumably to mull over the projected move, Kedrigern straightened, brushed the last traces of dust from his hands, and turned to where Spot sat. The little troll was yawning and rubbing its tiny eyes with huge clumsy hands. Blinking, it stood and looked around the chamber.

  “Yah?” it asked so
ftly.

  “We’ll be here for a little while, Spot. I have to pack everything for the move, and then summon up a poltergeist to do the actual moving. That’s always a tricky business.”

  “Yah?”

  “Well, if you don’t work the spell exactly right, everything gets thrown about and smashed to bits. No need to think of that at the moment, though. Right now, I’d like a snack and a good night’s sleep. Are you hungry, Spot?”

  “Yah!”

  “What do you generally eat?”

  Spot glanced about, then darted off with astonishing speed into a dark corner beside the fireplace. It returned to Kedrigern bearing a limp rat in each hand.

  “Oh,” said the wizard, swallowing loudly. “I think it would be best if you took your meals outside, then. Keep close to the tower, and mind you’re inside before sunrise.”

  “Yah!” cried Spot, careening off.

  Kedrigern fixed himself a simple collation and stretched out on his cot with a sigh of sheer bliss. No more Wizards’

  Guild. No more torpid meetings. One last journey, to Silent Thunder Mountain, and then no more traveling. Time to study, to learn new spells and polish up the old ones. If anyone wanted his services, they could just come to Silent Thunder Mountain and ask. If they could find their way to his house, and if he felt like helping, he would. And if he didn’t, he wouldn’t, and they could go find another wizard, who wouldn’t be half as good.

  He adjusted the protective spell to permit Spot’s reentry, then drifted off to sleep, wearied by his long journey, and enjoyed pleasant dreams. An odd, constricted sensation came over him, and his dreaming grew uneasy. He dreamed of an insect hovering near, a nasty snickering thing with a pinched human face, and raised a hand to brush it away. The hand hit something cold and hard and sharp, and Kedrigern came wide awake on the instant.

  He froze. A hairy, dirty, emotionless face looked down on him and a large sword was poised less than a finger’s breadth above his chest.

  The reek of stale sweat, blood, smoke, and rancid grease assailed his nostrils. A barbarian was here, in his sanctuary, standing over his very cot.

  This was impossible. A nightmare. No barbarian could penetrate the spell that guarded this tower. Kedrigern closed his eyes tight, then looked again. The barbarian was still there, looking and smeling as barbaric as ever. Impossible it might be, but it was very real.

  Another figure appeared at the opposite side of the cot. Kedrigern did not recognize him at first in the dim light, but when he heard soft, rasping laughter, he knew.

  “I penetrated your spell, Master Kedrigern. Remember me? Remember Jaderal, whom you once threw bodily out of this tower?”

  “I—”

  “Don’t try to speak or move!” Jaderal cried. “I know the spells you can work with a single word. If you try anything, Krogg will kill you. Just be still, and listen to me. You said I’d never be a wizard. You were right, for a time. No wizard would receive me once you cast me out. But the alchemists welcomed me, and took me in, and taught me. I’m an alchemist now, but I never forsook my wizardly studies, and now I’m about to become more powerful than any of you. I’m going to learn all your counterspells.” Jaderal laughed again, a low unpleasant rasp of sound. “Everyone knows that Master Kedrigern is the great authority on counterspells. But soon Jaderal will be the authority, and no one will be safe behind a spell if I choose to undo it. With Krogg and his band to attend to the necessary physical details, I will rule all the land one day. And I will rule with a heavy hand, I promise you. They will all pay dearly for neglecting me.”

  “Kill wizard now?” said the barbarian.

  “Not yet, Krogg. We want the master to answer a question or two.” Jaderal laughed once more, and bent to say confidentially, “If Krogg asks a question, you will answer, Master Kedrigern. Krogg knows tricks that would make a statue talk.”

  “Wizard talk, he try make spell. Kill wizard now,” said Krogg.

  Jaderal paused in his gloating to stare thoughtfully at the shaggy swordsman. His gaze flickered from Krogg to Kedrigern, lingered on the wizard, and returned to the barbarian. “You may be right, Krogg,” he said. “Perhaps it would be wiser to—”

  Suddenly Krogg jerked upward, as if he had grown a foot taller in an instant. He gave a startled grunt, and then he flew across the chamber to slam full force into the stone chimney with a noise like a felled ox landing on a bundle of dry twigs. He adhered to the stone for a moment, then slowly peeled off and dropped to the floor.

  With a word and a gesture, Kedrigern froze Jaderal into immobility. It was only a short-term spell, but sufficient for his purposes. The first thing he had to do was find out who, or what, had so effectively removed Krogg from the picture. As he glanced about the chamber, Spot hopped onto the cot and bounced merrily up and down.

  “Yah! Yah!” it cried triumphantly.

  “You?”

  “Yah!”

  “Well, I thank you, Spot. Very good work.”

  “Yah,” said the little troll proudly.

  “Now we’ll see what remains to be done,” Kedrigern said, turning to Jaderal. “I’m going to let you speak so you can answer my questions. If you try any tricks, of any kind, I’ll turn you into a fly. A nice fat sluggish fly,” he said, and as he spoke, Manny descended and hung by his shoulder, hopeful. Jaderal’s eyes glazed with terror.

  “How many men are with Krogg?” Kedrigern demanded.

  “Eight.”

  “Anyone else out there?”

  “Twenty-two captives. A wagon to hold supplies and loot. Nothing more, I swear,” Jaderal said.

  Kedrigern nodded and scratched his chin reflectively. He laid a hand on Spot’s warty head and asked, “Do you think you could handle eight more?”

  The troll’s tiny eyes grew round. “Yah,” it said in a chastened voice.

  “It’s all right, Spot. I was just asking. There’s no sense using magic to do what one can have done with muscle.” He thought for a time, then asked, “Could you free the prisoners without making any noise, or letting the barbarians know?”

  “Yah!” Spot cried happily, bouncing on the cot.

  “Then do it. We can leave the rest to—”

  A prolonged scream of pain came from outside, followed by a chorus of hard laughter. Voices muttered low, and someone shouted angrily.

  Another agonized outcry folowed.

  “What are they doing?” Kedrigern demanded of Jaderal.

  “They’re only playing. It wasn’t my idea. That’s how they treat prisoners,” Jaderal whined.

  Kedrigern glared at him murderously. A scream cut through the night, and he turned and strode outside.

  Two of the barbarians were feeding a fire, while two more held a slumping figure whose ragged clothes were smoking. The other barbarians were sprawled nearby, watching, while the prisoners huddled by the wagon.

  Kedrigern cried out in an unfamiliar tongue and raised his hands high. The barbarians were alert in an instant, and as they turned to face him, their swords drawn and ready, he leveled his hands at them arid spoke a guttural phrase. There was a flash of green light, and eight shaggy mongrels stood stunned before him. Kedrigern stooped, took up a heavy stick, and sailed into the pack, flailing to his left and right with pleasure and great vigor. Yelping and howling, the dogs took to flight.

  As he stood looking after the last of them, he saw Jaderal, the spell worn off, slip from the tower and skulk off after the barbarian dogs.

  Kedrigern pointed and spoke the phrase of transformation, and a bony yelow cur went yapping after the rest of the pack.

  The captives were dumbstruck by their sudden reversal of fortune. They looked on in terrified silence as Spot snapped their chains, and submitted meekly to Kedrigern’s ministrations. Only when they had been fed and had their injuries cleaned and bandaged, and looked upon the abandoned weapons of their captors, and seen the mushy remains of Krogg, did they fuly realize what had befallen. And then they began a great outpouring of th
anks and praise.

  Kedrigern accepted it all very humbly and graciously, and insisted on sharing the credit for their liberation equally with Spot. Several of the freed prisoners timidly patted Spot on the head, but most of them preferred to address their gratitude to the wizard.

  “There’s no way to thank you proper, Master Kedrigern, and that’s the plain truth,” said their spokesman, a burly, neckless, bald-headed man named Mat. “You saved us all from a terrible fate, you did, surely.”

  “I’m happy to be of service, Mat. Decent folk have to help one another out whenever they can,” said Kedrigern, smiling placidly.

  “True enough, Master Kedrigern, but all the same we’d like to repay you. Not that we’re wealthy men, but we’re none of us beggars, either. We’re honest working men, and good at our work, every one of us.”

  Kedrigern waved off these protestations with a good-natured smile. “I did what any true wizard would have done. No need to talk of rewards.”

  “Must be some way we could show our appreciation, Master,” said one of the others.

  “Just knowing that you’re back at your honest toil is sufficient reward. What exactly do you do?”

  “Myself, I’m a stonemason,” said Mat. “Tib and Burt and Guly are carpenters. Ham and Vil are thatchers, best in these parts. Most of the others are good all-around handymen. They can fell trees for lumber, and dress stone, and dig a good well or a foundation; anything that needs doing in the building line. And Robey’s a kind of architect. He hasn’t built anything yet, but he has some grand ideas.”

  Kedrigern listened thoughtfully. In the first glow of false dawn he could see the silhouette of the wagon and the two shaggy ponies. It occurred to him that the wagon was just the right size to hold his household goods. And horses, though slower than poltergeists, were much more dependable.

  “So like I say, Master Kedrigern,” Mat went on, “we’re not rich men, but we want to show our gratitude.”

  “I’m deeply touched, Mat. But of course a wizard could never accept money for doing what I’ve done.”

  Mat frowned in perplexity and rubbed his shiny pate. “Is there nothing we can do then, Master Kedrigern?” he asked plaintively. “Some service, maybe…?”