Kedrigern Wanderland

by John Morressy

  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 confidently. “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.”

  “It’s no better for princes,” said Princess gloomily. “I’ve known them to be turned into toads, and bears, and swans, and monsters. Your own brother is a shield.”

  “It all seems terribly unfair. You don’t hear of these things happening to kings and queens, or the lesser nobility, and almost never to the common people. It’s always the beautiful princess or the handsome prince. What does everyone have against’

  “Just jealous, I guess.” Princess wiped her fingers daintily on a leaf, took a final sip of water, and stretched out, pulling the cloak around her. “I’m going to turn in, Louise. I’m exhausted.”

  “It’s been a hard day for you. I think I’ll stay on the alert for a while. One never knows what’s likely to happen in a place like this. Oaks tend to attract an odd crowd.”

  Princess mumbled an indistinct and sleepy reply. Louise, propped up securely in the fork of a branch, surveyed the dait forest. Scarcely anything was visible now, nor could any sound be heard save the soughing of the wind in the treetops. It was a restful, lulling sound, and in a short time Louise was ready to turn herself into a staff and rest, but then she had a glimpse of light far off. It disappeared for a moment, then she saw it again, and saw, out of the corner of her eye, another light in the opposite direction. They seemed to be converging on this spot. She watched them closely, to make certain, and when she saw a third light approaching on a course to meet the other two, she decided to wake Princess.

  When she had explained the situation, she said, “It’s probably a band of brigands meeting to divide their spoils.

  Nothing to worry about. Just take a good grip on me and do what comes naturally. I’ll take care of the rest.”

  Covering a yawn, Princess asked, “What if it’s fiends, or demons? Or witches? We’re near enchanted ground, and this is the high season for witches.”

  “Use your magic.”

  “I don’t know if I could handle three of them. Especially if they’re major witches. The Witch of the Isles, or the Witch of the Cold Seas, could turn me inside out,” said Princess uneasily.

  Louise did not reply for a moment. They both watched the lights closing on the tree, and finally the blade said softly, “Let’s just keep quiet and hope they don’t notice us.”

  “Good idea,” said Princess. She stretched out on her stomach so that she could peek over a limb, through the leaves, to the open ground below, and arranged Louise in a good viewing position at her side. There they waited.

  A cloaked figure arrived at the oak, joined almost at once by a second cloaked figure. Each bore a globe of swirling light in one hand. They dropped their lights to the ground, where the two flowed together to form a pool of brighter light, growing still brighter when the third traveler, and the third light, arrived. The figures threw back their hoods, revealing stringy white hair, warty faces, and pointy chins, and at once began to cackle with laughter and exchange greetings.

  “Welcome, my sister, Witch of Sticky Little Things! Where have you traveled, and what have you seen since last we met beneath this venerable oak?” asked the first arrival. Her question was preceded and followed by a great deal of cackling from all three.

  The second witch to arrive answered, “I have traveled to the sea and raised a squall to cause mild seasickness in threescore and seven sailors. And what has my sister, the Witch of Over There Someplace, seen and done, and where has she gone?”

  After more cackling, the last arrival said, “I have been to the castle of the King of the Murky Lake, where I caused the roof to leak and the chimneys to smoke, to everyone’s annoyance. And where has our sister the Witch of Mud been, and what things has she seen and done?”

  The witch who had been first on the scene said, “I have made the rounds of the fairs, where I caused jugglers to drop plates and balls and apples, and soured the cider and made flat the ale and burned the cakes.”

  They cackled once again, with noticeably less enthusiasm. The cackling dwindled and died out, and there was a long silence. Someone sighed. One of the witches said in a dull dispirited voice, “Another year shot.”

  “Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?” said one of her sisters. “Might as well sit home by the fire, gumming a crust of bread.”

  “If I had a crust of bread, I’d sit home and gum it, believe me.”

  “It’s the walking that does it. It I wasn’t so worn out from walking, I could do a nice bit of evil now and then, but I’ve been at this since I was a slip of a girl and I still haven’t scraped together the price of a broom.”

  “A broom? I can’t even afford to keep a cat!”

  “I had to sell my cauldron last year to pay the rent on my
hovel.”

  “Look at my cloak. It’s a rag. Shameful, I call it.”

  The complaints came flooding out! in whiny querulous voices. Princess and Louise listened from the darkness above. When the three witches began to argue over who had the largest holes in her shoes, and whose garments were most ragged, Princess whispered to the blade, “These are not major witches.”

  “Obviously,” Louise replied.

  The complaining went on until the witches had gotten it all out of their systems, long after each of them had ceased to pay any attention to the grousing of her sisters. They trailed off into a diminishing three-part harmony of grievance. Indignation slowly modulated to annoyance, thence to a sullen despondency that silenced all three. For some

  time no one spoke. Finally, one of the witches rose and scratched herself vigorously.

  “Maybe things will get better,” she said without conviction.

  “Can’t get much worse,” one of the others muttered.

  “Has anyone heard any news? There must be something going on that will give us a chance for some decent mischief,” another said.

  “Well, someone’s gone and cleared up the Desolation of the Loser Kings, that’s what I heard. A pair of wizards went in and blew all the magic to bits.”

  “No! What did they want to do that for?”

  “Just showing off, I suppose. You know wizards.”

  In the tree, Princess nudged Louise and smiled proudly. “That’s Keddie and me they’re talking about,” she whispered.

  One of the voices below said, “Lovely place, the Desolation. Hideous spells and curses and enchantments all bubbling and stewing together. Lots of fiends lurking about . . .“