Denies foul farm-burning.
House-harm and people-hurt!
Swears by Fafnir, far-famed fire-father,
Dean of all dragons.
That burning and butchery
Were work of wicked warriors.”
Kedrigern was not entirely surprised to hear this. With so much fire and pillage going on in the world, it was all too easy to lay the blame on dragons. Still, appearances were against Fingard. Its recent intentions had certainly not been friendly.
Jum cried shrilly, “Liar, liar! The thing’s lying, master! Blast it with a bolt of power! Shrivel it up into a pair of slippers! Destroy it!”
“Be quiet, Jum. I’m working,” Kedrigern.said. Turning to Fingard, he asked, “Why did you attack us?”
Fingard’s head sagged until it hovered just off the ground. The golden-green eyes filmed over as the dragon pondered the question. Its reply came in a subdued, shame-filled bass.
“Fingard forgot himself,
Had tiny temper-tantrum.”
His voice hard, his manner severe, Kedrigern demanded, “And did you have a tiny temper-tantrum at Belford, too?”
“In full faith, Fingard
Swears solemnly by Fafnir:
I burned no barns at Belford.
Scorched no citizens.
Charred no chattels!
Simply went sightseeing,
Flew over forests and farms.
Until arrow came unexpected,
Hit hard and hurt.
Now wizard knows well
The cause of this confusion—
Will Fingard find friendship?
Is healing help at hand?”
“I suppose I can do something. But I want to settle on my payment first,” said Kedrigern.
When the dragon responded, its deep rumbling voice had shrunk to the fawning whine of a street beggar. Its color faded, its head drooped, its eyes grew moist.
“The finances of Fingard are fragile,
Though gold-greedy gossips
Spread rumors of riches,
Musty mounds of precious metals,
Hoary heaps of high-piled treasure.
Fingard, in fact.
Guards gaudy geegaws,
Sits on scant silver,
A jumble of junk jewelry
And rust-rotted armor…
Dire days, these, for dragons.”
Kedrigern raised his hand and shook his head. “No need to go on about your treasure hoard, Fingard. I know how you dragons are about treasure. What I want from you is some blood.”
“Blood?” rumbled the dragon, its voice deeper and more resounding than ever.
“That’s right, blood. You’ll lose a litle when I remove the arrow, and I probably won’t require more than that. And I also want your solemn promise, no more temper-tantrums when you’re around people.”
“Blood?” Fingard roared, arching its neck high to glare down on the wizard.
“Stop showing off. If you want the arrow out, it will cost you two vials of blood. And you’ll have to swear by Fafnir and Ladon and Nidhogg that you’ll control your temper whenever you’re within ten leagues of human beings. Take it or leave it, Fingard,” said Kedrigern.
With a thin, steamy sigh, Fingard lowered its head and held out the arrow-pierced foreclaw, meanwhile intoning the solemn oath prescribed by the wizard. As Kedrigern examined the wound, the dragon winced, shut its eyes, and began to mumble gloomily.
“Still same sad story:
One man makes misery,
Another pockets profits
From injury to innocent.”
“Stop feeling so sorry for yourself, Fingard,” said the wizard, preoccupied with the wound. He cut off the arrowhead, gripped the shaft, and said, “This may hurt a bit. Don’t get excited and start flaming and smoking, do you hear?”
“Fingard will show fortitude,
Suffer in silence, smokeless.”
“See that you do. Ready?” Kedrigern gripped the arrow shaft in one hand, the scaly foreclaw in the other, and jerked the arrow free. Fingard emitted a little puff of steam, but no smoke or flame. “Thank you for not smoking,” said Kedrigern, and proceeded to collect his fee and bind up the wound.
Fingard, subdued, muttered its thanks, unfurled its wings with the crackle of sails in a strong wind, and took its leave. As the dragon flapped off into the evening sky, Kedrigern turned to his apprentice. Jum sat waiting, watching, a dour expression on his face.
“Well, I hope you learned something today, Jum,” the wizard said.
“Dragon lover!” the boy cried hatefully.
“Now, see here, Jum—”
“You’re soft on dragons! You healed that monster, and you should have slain it!”
“Wizards are not dragon-slayers. We may, on occasion, have to do severe damage to another wizard, or a barbarian swordsman, or a fiend, in self-defense, but we do not wantonly kill injured dragons. If you can’t get that through your angry little head, you’ll never be a wizard.”
“I don’t want to be a dirty dragon-loving wizard! I hate wizards!”
Kedrigern closed his eyes and took a deep breath to calm himself. In a cold, level voice he said, “All right, then, Jum. Get off the horse. If you hurry, you can be back at Hossel’s Inn by nightfall. Perhaps you’ll be happier there.”
“I will! I will!” the boy cried defiantly. “They’re not a bunch of dragon-healers like you!” He dropped to the ground and stood glaring at Kedrigern for a moment. Then his expression softened; his eyes filled with tears, and he rushed to the wizard, weeping, and threw his arms around Kedrigern’s waist. “Please, master, forgive me,” he blubbered. “I hate dragons. I can’t help it, master.”
“I understand, my boy. You’ll be happier apprenticed to a swordsman, I’m sure,” Kedrigern said, patting Jum’s head.
“Am I forgiven, master?” the boy asked, turning up his tear-streaked face.
“Of course you are, Jum.”
“And you’ll not send a punishing spell after me, ever? Do you promise that you won’t do that to me, master?”
“Of course, Jum. No punishing spells, I promise.”
“Then I’d best be on my way,” said the boy, stepping back and wiping his eyes and nose on a filthy sleeve. “Good day, sir. Remember, no punishing spells.”
“I’ll remember, Jum. And don’t worry about traveling. I’ll see that you get to the inn safely.”
“Thank you, sir,” said the boy, turning to set off down the road.
Kedrigern mounted and headed north at a brisk pace. He wanted to put the burnt inn and all that had happened there out of his sight and memory. For some inexplicable reason, he felt uncomfortable, and that bothered him.
Clearly, the boy had not been cut out for wizardry, and the sooner he learned that, the better. Kedrigern had actually done him a great service. Why, then, did he feel guilty? Why had he extravagantly promised a protective spell en route? Such things cost good magic.
And why had the lad been so apprehensive? Was he such an ogre that small children feared punishing spells for a single angry outburst?
It was a sobering thought. Kedrigern had come to think of himself as a kindly man, a loving husband, good with trolls, trusted by dragons; yet Jum had feared his vengeance. It was puzzling and unsettling. He decided that he would not mention Jum’s reaction to Princess.
He consoled himself by thinking of the profits of this trip. Vosconu’s wine would vastly improve the dinner hour for a long time to come, and he also had the two vials of dragon’s blood, which, as an ingredient in advanced spelling, were worth ten times the value of Vosconu’s entire vineyard. As an item of barter, they might well get him just what he needed to hasten Princess’s complete despelling. He had in mind a deal with Bess the Wood-witch for a certain crystal in her possession, a mater he meant to see to immediately upon his return home. And aside from his expenses at Hossel’s Inn, the trip had cost him nothing.
Absently, he reached down for hi
s purse. It was not in his belt. He patted his belt all around, then his pockets, then the recesses of his garments. No purse. He reined in the horse, dismounted, searched himself and his saddlebags thoroughly, even removed his boots and turned them upside down. No purse.
Kedrigern remounted, and was about to retrace his way when the truth burst upon him. The tearful embrace. The carefully extracted promise of no punishing spell. The sudden willingness to be off and away. And he, like a fool, had even volunteered a safe passage for the mean little sneak. Well, we would see about that, he thought darkly.
He turned to face south, extended his hand—and remembered his promise. He had given his word as a wizard.
There was no going back on it. He sat for a moment, fuming in silence, then flicked the reins and resumed his northern journey.
Good riddance to Jum. The whole idea of an apprentice— Jum’s idea—was preposterous. Very few of the wizards he knew had ever taken on an apprentice, and the ones who had were continually complaining about them. One could always summon up temporary help when it was needed, and be sure it was first quality help. No such guarantee with an apprentice. Not these days. If Jum was serious about an apprenticeship, let him sign on with an alchemist. He was a fine prospect: he already knew how to lie and steal.
By the time he had gone a few leagues, Kedrigern had composed himself. His only remaining annoyance was over the promise of no punishing spell. One should not be able to steal from a wizard and escape scot-free. It set a bad precedent, and worse still, if colleagues learned of it they would never let him live it down.
His head came up and his eyes brightened when he realized that the promise referred only to Jum. Well, of course he would do nothing to the boy. A wizard’s word was inviolable, and he had promised no punishing spell. But he had not said a word about the purse, or its contents. Not a word.
He rode on, smiling, humming a little tune to himself as he weighed the possibilities. It was amazing what one could fit into a purse with just a single small nonpunishing spell.
Nine
the crystal of caracodissa
Kedrigern slipped from his study, pale and bloodshot of eye, and eased shut the door behind him with trembling hands. He made his cautious way to the breakfast nook, pausing on the threshold of the sun-drenched room to sigh and swallow loudly. Narrowing his eyes to slits and shielding them with his hand, he entered, slowly.
Princess was already seated. She looked particularly fresh and lovely in a soft green robe, with her black hair loose about her shoulders. Kedrigern scarcely noticed. On this particular morning, the sight of Venus herself rising from the jam jar would have made little impression on him. Princess glanced up as he entered, and her look was cool and disapproving.
“Brereep?” she asked politely.
“Awful, thank you,” Kedrigern replied, gingerly lowering himself onto the seat opposite her.
“Brereep,” she said, with a tight, self-righteous smile.
“No, it does not serve me right, my dear. I had no choice in the matter,” said Kedrigern in a fragile voice. He listened to his stomach gurgle threateningly, gulped, and went on, “I know what kind of stuff Bess brews, and I watered my drinks as much as I could. She just kept refilling my bowl.”
“Brereep.”
“You don’t know Bess, my dear. She’s a good-hearted old thing, but she takes it terribly to heart if you refuse a drink in her hovel, and I didn’t dare risk offending her.” Kedrigern gave a shuddering, desolate sigh. “Would that I had. I don’t know how she survives it. Her stomach must be lined with stone. That stuff of hers isn’t fit for an alchemist.”
“Brereep?”
“Worse. I think it could paralyze a full-grown troll.”
As if on cue, Spot came skidding into the breakfast nook on huge flat feet. “Yah! Yah!” it shrieked in jubilant greeting. Kedrigern made a little whimpering sound and buried his face in his hands.
“No, Spot. Quiet. Please,” he said faintly.
The little house-troll waited by his knee, panting and freely salivating, while the wizard recovered. Kedrigern rubbed his eyes, then blinked and glanced down on Princess’s plate, on which lay a generous portion of grilled kidneys, a fried egg, and half a sausage. He quickly shut his eyes again.
“Plain porridge, Spot. A very small serving. A dab. And bring it silently,” he said.
Spot careened out, ears and hands flapping. Kedrigern looked again at Princess. Her expression of superior disapproval was unchanged.
“I wasn’t too bad last night, was I?” he asked.
“Brereep.”
“I did? Funny… I don’t remember that at all. Are you positive?”
“Brereep!” she said indignantly.
Kedrigern raised his hands before him defensively. “Certainly, my dear. If you say so. I’m terribly sorry.”
She glared at him, but said nothing.
“I didn’t… I didn’t try to work any magic, did I?” he asked apprehensively.
She solemnly shook her head in the negative.
Kedrigern let out a sigh of relief. “I’m glad to hear that. Working spells when one is… when one has had… well, it’s irresponsible. I’ve heard of conventions where everyone wound up invisible just because some silly wizard… anyway, we don’t have that to worry about.”
From her expression, Princess was not comforted by this observation. She did not speak. Spot caromed into the breakfast nook, eased a bowl of porridge and a pitcher of milk silently onto the tabletop, and departed. Kedrigern ate, in small, cautious helpings, and still Princess was silent. At last he laid down his spoon and looked directly into her eyes.
“In any event, my dear, I got what I was after. It meant a long trip, and hard bargaining, and an excruciating hangover, and the price was absolutely outrageous, but it was all worthwhile,” he said.
“Brereep?”
“More than that. Much more. I had to give Bess a full vial of dragon’s blood. But I don’t begrudge a drop of it. I’d gladly spend all the dragon’s blood I’ve got, to make you happy.”
“Brereep?” she asked. Her voice had softened.
“All for you, and you alone, my dear.” Kedrigern reached out and laid his fingertips gently on her hand.
“It’s a slightly belated wedding present: the crystal of Caracodissa. At this very moment it stands on my worktable. And as soon as my head is clear —”
She squeezed his hand in both of hers. With a brereep of sheer joy, she ran to his side, threw her arms around his neck, and kissed him repeatedly. He took her in his arms and drew her close.
“Brereep?” she whispered.
“Oh, no doubt at all. It’s the genuine article. I know the markings too well to be fooled. The inscription runs completely around it, in letters that burn like fire:
“Magic of the helping kind, Seek it here, and ye shall find, Wake the spirit that indwells, Find the spell to loose all spells.
“I’ll work on it first thing tomorrow morning, and by dinnertime tomorrow you’ll be speaking as clearly as ever.”
She drew away, and looked in dismay at Kedrigern. “Brereep?” she asked.
“No, tomorrow. Please, my dear. My head is throbbing. I’m in no condition to attempt—”
“Brereep!” she cried.
“Of course I love you!” Kedrigern said, wincing at the loudness of her voice. “That’s why I’m being cautious. We’re dealing with very delicate magic here, my dear. I can’t approach it lightly. I must have a clear head and a steady hand, and at the moment…”
“Brereep?”
“No. I can’t. There’s nothing to cure a hangover. Not even magic. We’ll just have to wait until tomorrow.”
Princess slumped dejectedly. She sat huddled by his chair, looking up at him with wide, sad blue eyes. A tear welled up in each eye, brimmed, and coursed down her pale cheeks.
“My dear, I can’t. A great deal of preliminary study is required. It would be very risky to barge ahead.”
She gave a little sob. More tears came. She buried her face in her hands and wept, silently.
Kedrigern’s resolve lasted less than a minute. Rising, he laid his hand on her shoulder and said, “Perhaps I can do something today, after all. At least we can look it over and get an idea… If Spot can bring me a cold compress.”
Princess sprang to her feet and clapped her hands once, sharply. Kedrigern twitched at the sound, which brought Spot reeling into the breakfast nook.
“A bowl of very cold water, and a clean cloth, Spot. Bring them to my workroom at once. And don’t make a sound,” said the wizard in a low, strained voice.
The cold compress helped ever so slightly. Kedrigern wiped his brow, dried his fingertips on his shirt, and turned his attention to the crystal cube that stood in a cleared space on his long worktable. Princess, too, gazed upon it with fascination.
It was a perfect cube, about a hand’s length to a side, and it glowed from within, where a misty radiance swirled like a slow sinuous current. Around all six sides in letters of reddish gold that flickered like living flame ran the inscription.
In the darkened room, Kedrigern read the familiar words aloud in a subdued voice, while Princess looked on in attentive silence.
“Wake the spirit that indwells. Seek it here, and ye shall find, Find the spell to loose all spells, Magic of the helping kind.”
Something nudged at his memory. He had not been at his most alert when he read the inscription earlier, but it seemed to him that the verses had been in different order. He picked up the cube, turned it over in his hands—it was oddly light in weight—and setting it down, read the inscription once more.
“Seek it here, and ye shall find, Wake the spirit that indwells. Magic of the helping kind. Find the spell to loose all spells.”
He drew out his medallion and studied the inscription through the Aperture of True Vision. It was unchanged. He let out a weary groan and reached for the compress. This was going to be more difficult than he had anticipated. Princess, seeing his look of concern, lent her aid, plunging the cloth into the bowl, wringing out the excess water, and applying the soothing compress gently to Kedrigern’s forehead. He accepted her ministrations silently, his eyes fixed on the glowing crystal surface.
Voice for Princess (v1.1) Page 14
