“No, Julian, but I am a Fairy Godmother. And your kindness and courtesy to an old woman shall have its reward. I am here to help you on your Quest.”
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She’s here to help us? Alexander could hardly believe his ears. Fine help she’s been to me! And what did she do with Octavian?
But then, from somewhere deep inside, perhaps the same place as that memory, came another set of thoughts.
When you thought she was nothing but an old peasant woman, you would have dismissed her as something less than the dirt in your path. And you tried to run her down the moment you thought she might be a threat, without waiting to see what she would do or answering her cry for aid. You seem to have forgotten all those knightly vows you took, and you haven’t exactly proved yourself worthy of help.
Have you?
He felt his ears flattening against his head, and he gritted his teeth. I am a Prince of the blood! Why should I care about some stupid old base born woman? Julian bleats about the peasantry all the time, and this is where his concern leads him!
Let her family take care of her, or let her go to the poorhouse where decent people won’t be bothered by such as her! Isn’t that why we built the things?
The voice in the back of his head—snickered. Nastily. Ah.
I see. So long as you don’t have to look at “such as her,” you needn’t concern yourself. Is that it?
Of course it was—but somehow, that felt like exactly the wrong answer. And he didn’t know why.
The woman who was calling herself a Fairy Godmother made a tiny gesture with the wand. As Alexander watched her with his ears still flattened against his skull, beside him in the bushes something moved, snakelike.
His attention was distracted, away from the woman, to 232
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the horses. And as he stared, the reins of both horses came unknotted from where they’d been tied.
They moved as if they were alive, or as if there was someone actually undoing the knots.
But that wasn’t the least of it, oh no. Before his very eyes, they changed color. The bay became a grey, and the packhorse a dapple; the armor packed onto the latter simply vanished altogether, and the shield with it.
She gestured again, and the two horses tossed their heads to free the reins and ambled out into the clearing as if she had called them.
And then, as calmly as if the horses and their burdens were her property to give away, she handed the reins over to Julian. “Here is all you will need for the physical tests you will face,” she said, as Alexander nearly choked, his fear for his brother turning to outrage at her high-handed behavior. “But it will take more than strength to win the Princess.
It will take cunning.”
Julian bent his head to her, as humbly as if she was some sort of Queen, instead of a thief and a trickster. “Tell me,”
he begged. “What must I do?”
The next half hour was the worst period in all of Alexander’s life, as he watched and listened, unable to move, speak, or interfere in any way, while that infernal woman coached his younger brother through everything he needed to win through the trials and get King Stancia’s daughter and throne. Not that some of it made any real sense—some babble about freeing trapped foxes, rescuing baby hawks, feeding ants—
But that didn’t matter. She was cheating, helping Julian, The Fairy Godmother
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and why? Because he’d stopped to help a worthless old woman! Where was the sense in that?
She’d stolen his gear too, and given it to an idiot who didn’t have the sense not to leave without the proper equipment! The more he watched and listened, the angrier he got, until he was nearly faint with rage and trembling in every limb.
Of all the Questers that Elena had ever tested, this one was probably the best. He was even better-looking in person, with the animation of a good intellect in his eyes, and a ready smile on his lips. Like his brother, Alexander, he was clean-shaven and long-haired, but somehow (and perhaps it was the faint air of untidiness about him, the lack of perfection in his dress) she got the impression that Julian was not given to much thought about how he looked. To tell the truth, his horse was better groomed than he was; his brown doublet was just a bit faded, and someone else probably would have given it to a servant by now. His linen was clean, but it was clear that he hadn’t changed his shirt before he left. And his breeches, of soft doeskin, were made for use, not for looks.
Everything he said was intelligent and to the point. Prince Julian was a fine, considerate young man—but more than that, he was much cleverer than his brothers and father gave him credit for. That was borne out in his conversation.
“Have you done something with Octavian and Alexander?” he asked, quietly, when he accepted the reins of the two horses that Prince Alexander had brought with him. By the tone of his voice, it wasn’t exactly a question; he knew, 234
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he just wanted it confirmed. “I can’t imagine them getting past you, you see—”
He didn’t quite accuse her, but he clearly remembered the sorts of things that Godmothers did. Which was more than his brothers had.
She raised an eyebrow. “I’ll tell you that they’re as safe as I could make them,” she said, finally, “but that they won’t be competing with you for Stancia’s daughter, and neither of them will be seeing Kohlstania for a while.”
“Ah,” he replied, and grimaced, and for a moment, those fine, dark eyes were shadowed. “Alexander has always been kind to me. And I don’t wish any harm even on Octavian.”
Hmm. “Even” on Octavian? Some bullying there, I suspect.
Well, if that’s the sort of fellow Octavian is, he won’t be seeing home next month.
“I’ll keep my eye on Alexander then,” she promised, repressing a little smile. Oh, she would be doing that, all right.
She took note of the angle of the sunlight across the clearing; in fact, the clearing was entirely in shadow at the moment and it wouldn’t be long until sunset. She needed to get him on his way, and soon. He probably wouldn’t make it out of Phaelin’s Wood tonight, but at least now he’d have the gear for a night in the forest. “Never mind them, Julian.
It’s you who will be needing help, all right? Now, before you ever get to the Glass Mountain, you’ll probably encounter several tests like mine. Perhaps there will be a trapped fox that you will need to free—perhaps you will have to rescue a young hawk or eagle and return it to its nest—perhaps you will have to save an ant colony from flooding. I can’t tell you what it will be, but I can give you this.”
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She handed him a tiny, red glass vial that contained, in part, some of the dragon’s blood that she herself had once drunk. This, however, was not the straight, undiluted stuff.
This was a potion, created by her, which would last no longer than it took to finish the trials.
Being able to converse with animals could cause a great deal of trouble. It was not a gift given lightly, and few deserved or needed to be burdened with it for very long.
“When you are a mile or two down the road, stop and drink this,” she told him. “When it takes effect, you’ll be able to speak with the animals for several days. At some point, you’ll get the chance to save the lives of one or more wild creatures, and by doing so, you’ll earn the right to their help later in the tasks. Now, when you get to the Glass Mountain, the first task you’ll encounter will be to find a way to get past a lion without fighting him.”
She did not actually give him the answers; that would be for him to work out for himself. That was why it was a trial.
And every other Quester who got past the initial test of kindness and courtesy would be getting the same sort of advice, so it wasn’t as if they weren’t all on the same footing.
There was no guarantee that Julian would be the one to win the Princess, though she had a good feeling abo
ut him.
No, this was just a way of making sure that the best Questers were not only the ones that actually made it to the testing, but were properly equipped when they arrived. And she had to admit that it tickled her to use the arrogant Alexander’s equipment to outfit the quiet and considerate Julian.
After about a half an hour of coaching, he was as ready as he was ever going to be.
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“Time to go,” she said, and he mounted onto the warhorse. He looked back uncertainly at his palfrey; there was no way that he was going to be able to manage three horses, and he knew it.
“I’ll take care of Morgana,” she promised, then hesitated, and decided to add one more little bit of advice. It wasn’t exactly the sort of thing that went with The Tradition—but it was still good advice. “Prince Julian, in the future, you do not need to be quite so generous.”
He blinked at her. “What do you mean?” he asked.
“Well! When someone begs you for food, for instance, as I did—it is quite generous of you to say, ‘I have food and I’ll share it with you,’ and quite unnecessary to do what you did and give it all to me. The former is noble-minded and generous; the latter is daft.” She gave him a long and level look. “Not everyone you meet is going to be a Fairy Godmother.”
“Oh,” he said, and “Ah,” and colored up. “I—do things without thinking, sometimes.”
“Well, if you want to win King Stancia’s daughter, you’d better practice thinking first and acting second. Now, good luck and godspeed,” she told him, and she sent him off down the path, into whatever The Tradition had in store for him.
He rode off into the shadows under the trees as the air in the clearing cooled noticeably, and the sky in the west turned to red and gold.
At least, if he failed this Quest, the worst that would happen to him was to be sent home. Too many of these things ended up with Questers dead.
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mind that the reward in the end was a good one, the point was that there was only one reward and that failure was fatal. She always warned the ones she sent on, too, and some of them even turned back. Not enough, though.
Did Bella ever have trouble sleeping at night after testing Questers? Does anyone else? she wondered. It wasn’t the sort of thing you brought up at the little Godmother gatherings that happened at christenings and weddings.
She let the illusion of her court gown fall once the lad was gone; no point in looking overdressed out here, and she didn’t feel the need to impress Alexander. Well, with Julian safely out of the way, there were only two things to be dealt with. Julian’s palfrey, which he had left in her hands—and Julian’s brother.
The horse first; she was easiest.
For a moment, Elena toyed with the idea of keeping her.
She was a beautiful creature, with a fine, arched neck, flowing mane and tail, and a broad forehead. But while Elena did not own a horse at the moment and presumably Alexander would learn his lessons and be gone so that they would not even have him to do the chores, this was not the sort of beast that was of any real use to her. She needed a carthorse, not a palfrey.
She sighed with regret though; she couldn’t ride, but she couldn’t help thinking about how nice it would be to be able to. She toyed, just a moment, with the image of herself in an elegant riding habit, the sort she had seen the Sorceress Lilliana wearing, riding along the green-shadowed paths of the forest. Ah, she could see it, the palfrey’s mane and tail shivering and rippling with every step, she could feel it, a freedom 238
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like flying through the air when the Little Humpback Horse pulled the cart—
Silly. When would I have the time to learn to ride properly? Besides, there’s a Traditional use for Julian’s horse, and I need to cement the path to it. Nothing like doing the job right, and getting the whole family in one go. She turned her attention towards the pretty black mare and put herself in the right frame of mind to talk to it.
“I want you to go home,” she told the palfrey, which flicked its ears forward to listen to her, two liquid-brown eyes gazing into hers.
“Why?” the mare asked.
“Because home is where the food is,” Elena replied, knowing what every horse is most concerned with, at bottom.
The palfrey licked her lips. “The oats,” she said, longingly.
“My stall. My manger.”
“That’s right. You need to go home,” Elena seconded.
Then she used just a touch of magic to reinforce her command. “Go straight home, as fast as you can, and do not allow anyone to touch you until you are in your stall.”
The mare tossed her head as the magic geas settled over her; Elena made her stay while she cut the reins away from her halter so that she wouldn’t get hung up on them anywhere—and so that anyone who tried to catch her would not have anything to hold onto. Then she stood back, and the mare was off like an arrow, cantering back down the path she had just come on.
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should manage to raise a great cloud of alarm and guilt in even the King of Kohlstania, who would discover that there was no more word of them after they had entered the Wood. With good luck and The Tradition on her side, King Henrick would learn that there are things more important than one’s ambition—things like one’s children. When Octavian returned, he would be welcomed back with tears of relief and the warmth that he probably had not felt since he was a child. And that would reinforce the lessons of humility he had learned. “Behold, my son who was lost to me is returned!” she thought, and smiled. It would even be good for King Henrick—who would spend his last days as a beloved King as well as a strong one.
But that was for the future, and now that she had put it all in motion, it was out of her hands.
So much for the horse. Now for the ass.
Overhead, the sky was growing dark, and in the far east there the first few stars were coming out, pale diamond-dust against the velvet blue. Not only was it time to get home, but she and the ass both needed to be out of these woods quickly. She would be safe enough, but it was going to get cold, and she didn’t want to try to negotiate the path in the dark. As for Alexander—asses didn’t see well in the dark.
Even if she could get him moving, which was debatable, he’d be stumbling over every little stone and root. She sauntered back to where she had left Alexander tied up, and was not particularly surprised to find she was being glared at out of a pair of eyes nearly red with rage.
His ears were back, his teeth were bared, and his neck was stretched out towards her. Now, unlike a real ass, 240
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Alexander probably wouldn’t bite her; it simply wouldn’t occur to him to do so. But he was angry enough that he might, and besides, he was certainly likely to try to step on her or kick her. “A good thing that I hobbled you, I think,”
she said, regarding him thoughtfully. “However, this does present a problem; how to get you home with me.”
“Let me go!” brayed the ass, angrily. “Witch! Slut! Traitor! Let me go! ”
“Oh, no,” she said, amused in spite of herself. “First of all, you brought this on yourself, so don’t blame me, blame your own behavior. For your information, I’m not a Witch, I’m a Godmother, and I am charged with seeing to it that virtue is rewarded and—now how shall I put this?—” She regarded him with a raised eyebrow. “Hmm—nasty little boys who behave like cruel, rude brats get their comeuppance.”
The ass nearly burst with anger at being called a “nasty little boy.”
“Now, just to complete your edification on this business of Stancia’s daughter,” she continued, really beginning to enjoy herself, “your brother Octavian is currently wandering in the woods, very nearly as ill-p
rovisioned as your brother Julian was. He will continue to do so until he learns to treat all people with the same politeness that he would give to his equals, and to give them the consideration he would expect for himself.” She tilted her head to the side and matched him glare for glare. She also tried not to laugh; the donkey looked absolutely ridiculous, trying to twist his face into an expression of affronted outrage. “Does that sound familiar? It should. I suspect he will be quite ragged—
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and very well acquainted with the kind of hunger, cold, and misery the poorest of the poor live with—by the time he mends his manners. And I suppose that you’re wondering why I let him go his way still human? He only ignored the poor, starving old woman. You attempted to run her down.”
The ass’s eyes flashed warningly. She feigned surprise.
“What, you don’t think there was anything particularly wrong with your behavior? I suppose you’re under the impression that your birth gives you the right to trample whoever you please under your horse’s hooves.”
He looked for one moment as if he was about to say something; she didn’t care to hear it. “Well, your punishment is in my hands, my lad, and as it happens, I’m going to see to it that while you are not as well-acquainted with hunger and misery as your brother, you will learn all about the hard labor that turns your peasants old before their time. I told you; I need a donkey, and you will do. The main problem now is, how to get you home, since I doubt that you’re going to cooperate of your own free will.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, and tapped her cheek with the tip of her wand while she thought out loud.
“I could put a spell of coercion on you, but you might hurt yourself trying to fight it.” That was a distinct possibility, for as angry as he was, although she doubted he could break it, he might well wrench muscles or even break a bone trying to keep from obeying it. Such things had happened in the past, because the sort of coercion spell that good magicians used only worked on the subject’s body, and imperfectly at that. Now, the coercions used by practitioners of the Dark Arts were more insidious. They worked inside 242
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