Kedrigern Wanderland

by John Morressy

  “And demons. Mustn’t forget the demons.”

  “Oh, ever so many demons, yes. It was grand, the Desolation was.”

  A pause, then a nostalgic sigh, and one of the sisters said, “It’s a shame to see the old places change. You’d think wizards would have a little consideration for the rest of us.”

  “They’re an independent lot, those wizards.”

  “Out for themselves, wizards are. That’s what I always say. Wizards are out for themselves.”

  Princess’s nostrils flared a bit, and she gritted her teeth audibly, but did not speak. Louise whispered to her very softly, “Pay no attention to them.”

  “I hear tell the Knight of the Empty Scabbard is at it again, dashing about with his band of loyal followers,” a witch said.

  “A great simpleton, that one.”

  “Oh, yes. Just like his father. And his grandfather.”

  “He’ll never find it. The Mother of Darkness has been lost since I was a girl. Longer than that.”

  Louise gave a little jump at the words. Princess laid a steadying hand on her hilt and patted her pommel to calm her and keep her from crying out. “I’m all right now,” Louise said after a moment. “It gave me a turn, hearing my name.”

  “I understand, Louise, Let’s listen to what they say,” Princess whispered.

  The witches’ mood had improved. They were cackling again, now and then emitting a bloodcurdling shriek of laughter.

  “Ah, that Vorvas. There was a wizard for you,” said one fondly.

  “Never did a kind thing in his life. You wouldn’t find Vorvas mucking about with the Desolation of the Loser Kings, except to make it even nastier.”

  “A great one for putting uppity princesses in their place, Vorvas was,” said one witch, eliciting a fresh outburst of happy cackling.

  “That little snip Blamarde has been snoring away for nearly a century because of her proud tongue.”

  “And those redheaded twins from off beyond the mountains. Fixed them good and proper, Vorvas did.”

  “His best one was right nearby, in the Kingdom of the Singing Forest, when he changed that great cow Louise and her brother and sister and—”

  “Wretches! Villainous, venomous crones!” cried Louise in a voice that set Princess’s ears ringing. The blade was fairly vibrating with passion. “You’ve gloated your last gloat, hags! I, Panstygia, Mother of Darkness, the great black blade of the west, will be avenged!”

  With shrieks and howls, the witches snatched at the pool of light and caught up their glowing spheres. They raised them high, hopping about in jerky motion, staring upward, pointing at every quiver of the leaves above them. The lights blazed up. Cries of “There! No, over there! It’s a demon! Where?” overlapped.

  “Well, you’ve done it now,” Princess said.

  “I couldn’t help myself,” Louise replied, still quivering with barely controlled anger.

  “I suppose not. Do me a favor, and let me handle things from now on. I’m going down there and talk to them.”

  “Talk to them? Carve them to bits! That’s what they deserve! Just swing your arms, Princess, and leave the slashing and smiting to me.”

  “There will be no slashing, Louise. And no smiting, either.”

  “Just a few good whacks with the flat of my blade. Please.”

  “These witches know things that may be helpful.”

  “Well. . . if they try anything, I’ll be ready for them.”

  “So will I, Louise.” Gripping the sword firmly by the hilt, Princess lifted off with a soft hum of her wings, circled the tree, and landed lightly and silently behind the shouting witches. “Looking for someone?” she asked.

  They turned, emitting startled cries. In the lurid light of the globes, Princess was a formidable sight. She stood erect, gripping the great dark sword with both hands, the flat of the blade resting lightly on her shoulder. Her expression was severe. Her circlet twinkled and glittered in the glow of the swirling lights.

  “It’s a fairy godmother!” cried the Witch of Mud.

  “They don’t come that big,” said the Witch of Over There Someplace.

  “I don’t care how big she is, sisters, look at her wings. Those are the wings of a fairy godmother, mark my words.”

  “That’s no wand she’s carrying.”

  The third witch wailed, “It’s Panstygia! It’s the Mother of Darkness!”

  “The great black blade of the west!” cried the first.

  All three began to shriek and mill about desperately, throwing up their hands in wild gestures of abandonment and despair and crying out incoherently about swords, curses, and revenge. Princess looked on, silent and un

  moving. Eventually the three weird sisters ran out of breath. They turned, panting, to inspect Princess more closely.

  “What are you doing here, a pretty little thing like yourself?” asked the Witch of Over There Someplace sweetly.

  “Gave us a turn, you did,” said the Witch of Mud.

  “Oh, yes. You don’t expect to have anyone drop in like that in the middle of the forest,” said the Witch of Sticky Little Things, baring a single grayish tooth in a grin.

  “Especially someone carrying a big black sword,” said the Witch of Mud.

  “Much too big for you, my dear. But it’s ever so becoming. Matches your hair, you know,” said her sisters, nodding eagerly.

  “It must be terribly heavy, though. Your poor little arms must ache from carrying that thing around,” said the Witch of Over There Someplace with great solicitude.

  “Why don’t you just put it down and come over here and sit with us? We can have a nice chat,” said the Witch of Mud.

  “Oh, that would be lovely, wouldn’t it? So seldom we get to meet the young people and have a little talk with them,” said the Witch of Sticky Little Things. “Let’s do that. Come, dearie, put the nasty old sword down and join us.”

  The blade vibrated angrily. Princesè whispered reassurance until Louise was calm, then said to the witches, “This is not a nasty old sword. This is Panstygia, Mother of Darkness, as you well know.”

  “Well, now, dearie, we might have shouted out all sorts of things in our surprise. Hearing voices up in a tree, and then seeing a sweet little thing like yourself right in our midst with a big black sword on her shoulder. . . oh, my, there’s no telling what we might have yelled out,” said the Witch of Sticky Little Things.

  “Now that I can see it clearer,” said the Witch of Mud, shielding her eyes with one hand, “I’m beginning to

  have my doubts. That blade’s not broad enough to be Panstygia.”

  The metallic voice of the sword rang through the darkness. “Wretched hags! Know that I am Panstygia, and I am returning to my kingdom!”

  “No! You can’t do that!” the weird sisters shouted in unison.

  “I can and I will,” the sword declared, and Princess stoutly added, “And I’ll see to it that she does.”

  The witches were staggered by these words. They gaped at Princess and her dark blade, then turned to one another.

  “The spell will be broken,” said the Witch of Over There Someplace, her voice quaking.

  “The curse will end!” cried the Witch of Mud.

  “Our power will vanish!” wailed the Witch of Sticky Little Things. "We must seize her, and take the blade!”

  They turned on Princess, their skinny hands outstretched. She lowered the sword and cocked her slender arms for a swing. Louise—now Panstygia—was comfortable in her grip, perfectly balanced. “Don’t try it, girls. You know what this sword can do,” Princess said evenly.

  They faltered and fell back. Princess advanced a step, raising the sword aloft. That was too much for the witches. With cries of “Flee, flee!” and “Every witch for herself!” and “Fly to the farthest corners of the earth!” they seized their globes of light and vanished into the dark forest. The little residual pool of afterglow faded and slowly dwindled, like water seeping into the ground.

&nb
sp; “I wonder what all that was about,” Princess said.

  “Apparently, once the enchantment on me is lifted; something is going to happen to those three. Serves them right,” said Louise.

  “I wish we could have found out more before they ran off.”

  “What more do we have to know? We’re close to my kingdom, and the fact that those crones were so worried must mean that I have a good chance of becoming myself again.”

  “But why were they worried? They seemed to be involved in your spell. They knew Vorvas. This whole affair may be more complicated than we suspect.”

  “I refuse to be troubled by the babbling of a few tenth-rate witches,” said Louise grandly.

  “And who’s the Knight of the Empty Scabbard? Whoever he is, he’s looking for you, and he probably expects you to be a sword.”

  “I certainly hope he’ll be disappointed.”

  “Louise, you’re not taking a very helpful attitude. We’re talking about magic, an enchantment of great potency that has lasted for several generations, and the more involved it gets, the more lightly you treat it. You really must take these things more seriously.”

  Louise did not reply at once; then, with a tremble in her voice, she said, “Oh, Princess, I so detest being a sword, and I want so badly to be a real woman again! I simply can’t face the possibility that I’ll have to go on this way. I can’t bear to talk about it, and I don’t even want to think about it!”

  “There, now,” said Princess, laying a gentle hand on Louise’s pommel, “I understand. I often felt the same way back in the bog. I hated being a toad.”

  “Then you know how I feel.”

  “Oh, I do. And I sympathize. But it was worse being a toad. I mean, I was just one more ugly toad. The bog was full of them. At least you’re something special.”

  “Don’t tell me how much worse it could be, and how fortunate I am, Princess. I don’t think I could bear it,” Louise said pettishly.

  “All right, Louise. I guess we’re both tired. Let’s fly up and get some sleep. We’ll make an early start.”

  Nine

  kedrigern without princess

  A Warning To The Reader

  Several very nasty scenes occur in this chapter, and those who are reading for delight and diversion may be upset by them. However, anyone who skips to the next chapter will miss important information and key details regarding the life of Dyrax, the useful but seldom-seen herb Haemony, and the shocking malice of Vorvas the Vindictive. It would be best to read this chapter in its entirety, but cautiously. And not too soon after eating.

  “OH DEAR ME,” said Kedrigern softly.

  “What’s wrong?” Dyrax asked.

  “Princess is gone. She must have strayed into the enchanted wood. The pack animals are gone, too.”

  “Maybe it’s we who have strayed, Master Kedrigern. This place is odd.”

  “What do you mean, odd?”

  “It feels strange. Tingly. Like cool breezes blowing on you from all sides, very gently, only. they’re not really cool and the air is still.”

  Kedrigern looked around, sniffed the unstirred air, and then looked around once more, studying the sky, the trees, and the path. “I think you’re right, Dyrax. We’ve crossed over somehow, but I don’t understand how I did it without knowing,” said the wizard, looking uncomfortable.

  “You said your magic was low,” Dyrax pointed out.

  “It’s not that low. I should be able to sense enchantment when I’m riding straight into it. Unless . . . maybe this is a very complicated and subtle bit of enchantment.”

  “It’s an old one. Or so I’ve heard.”

  Kedrigern grunted irritably. “I’ve heard that, too. And an old enchantment, as a rule, loses a bit of its strength as the centuries go by unless it’s very conscientiously maintained. But this one is still powerful. It must have been a masterpiece when it was new.”

  “Maybe if we just rode very carefully back the way we came . . .“

  “It wouldn’t do a bit of good. You can wander into an enchanted wood, but you can’t wander out again. You have to break the enchantment to escape.”

  “We could shout to your good lady. She could use her magic.”

  Kedrigern shook his head. “She wouldn’t hear us. These things are soundproof. I’m sure she’s calling to us right now, but you don’t hear her voice, do you?”

  “Not a sound.”

  “Well, then.” Kedrigern rubbed his chin thoughtfully, and at last said, “Princess will be safe, I think. She can fly. She’s got her magic, and she’s got the packhorses with all the supplies. And if worse comes to worst, she’s got Louise. What we have to do, Dyrax, is concentrate on getting out of here and making our way to the Singing Forest. She’ll go there and expect us to meet her.”

  “Then you plan to . . . to go on? In there?” Dyrax asked in a shrunken voice, pointing to the dark path ahead.

  “We might as well. We’re sure to end up there anyway.

  Enchanted woods are tricky that way. The paths have minds of their own. I want to get out of here as soon as possible, don’t you?”

  “Oh, yes. Yes, certainly,” said Dyrax, but he kept his horse reined in.

  “What’s the matter? A little while ago you were itching to fight an army. Don’t you want to perform a heroic deed?”

  “I do, but I’d rather perform it against an army. Enchantment makes me nervous.”

  “A little enchantment won’t hurt you, Dyrax. Trust me. Once my powers are back to full strength I’ll be able to handle anything we encounter.”

  “What if we encounter something before your powers are restored?”

  Kedrigern gestured confidently. “I’ll improvise. Or you can perform a heroic deed.” He urged the great black horse forward at a walk. A few paces on, he tumed and motioned to Dyrax. “Come on,” he said cheerfully. The young man followed, glancing from side to side and keeping his hand near his sword.

  Though he put up a convincing show of confidence, Kedrigern was well aware of the potential danger. Enchanted woods were, as a rule, places to be avoided whenever possible. The fact that no one knew for certain just how, and why, and by whom, and for how long this particular wood had been enchanted did nothing to reassure him. Even at the peak of his power he would have stayed clear of such a place. Now, still weakened in magic by his clash with the Green Riddler, he would have to be doubly wary and trust to luck.

  He had his medallion; that was some comfort. And he felt a bit stronger now than he had the previous evening. In fact, he thought, with the proper herbs he might even now be able to throw together a magic that would keep Dyrax and himself safe from most threats, lead them to the source of the enchantment, and help him to undo it. He slowed his mount and began to study the ground. Dyrax looked on

  curiously, but asked no questions -for a time. Finally, when they had ridden the greater part of a league with Kedrigern hanging half out of his saddle, peering closely at the herbage and sniffing the air like a hound on the scent, Dyrax could contain himself no longer.

  “Is something wrong? Have we wandered off the way?” he asked.

  “No, we’re doing very well so far. I’m just looking for herbs.”

  “Herbs?”

  “Yes. You can work some useful magic with herbs if you can find the right ones. And if you know what you’re doing.”

  “I thought herbs were just for fixing upset stomachs and toothaches and such.”

  “Not at all, my boy. You can do great things with herbs. Nice clean kind of magic, too. And if it doesn’t work, you’ve at least got the beginnings of a decent salad. You can’t go wrong with herbs.”

  Dyrax could think of no appropriate response, and attempted none. They rode a bit farther, until Kedrigern gave a happy shout, reined in his steed, and jumped to the ground, dropping to his knees in a patch of bright golden flowers.

  “Haemony!” he cried. “The real thing, Dyrax, genuine haemony! I almost didn’t recognize it with the flowers in fu
ll bloom!”

  “Is haemony good, Master Kedrigern?” asked Dyrax, dismounting.

  “It’s wonderful! Haemony is of sovereign use against all enchantments and ghastly apparitions. It’s also good for mildew and damp.”

  “Is it really? Do you mind if I gather some? In case I return home someday, it might help around the castle. My father was always—” Dyrax checked himself with a sharp intake of breath and began to pluck up the small yellow flowers, keeping his eyes lowered.

  Kedrigern studied him for a moment and at last said,

  “Make sure you get the roots. That’s where their strength is.,’

  “The roots. Yes. Thank you,” said Dyrax, keeping his eyes averted. “Tell me, Master Kedrigern, how did you learn of this wondrous plant? I’ve never seen it myself.”

  “You may have seen the plant, but never in bloom. It needs a special soil for that. Most of the time it has darkish leaves with prickles all over them. Rather unattractive. I heard about it from a shepherd lad. He wasn’t much to look at himself, poor chap, but he knew every virtuous plant and healing herb under the sun, and he loved to talk about them. He showed me a little dried-up root and said that it was called ‘haemony.’ Better than moly for protection, he claimed, and that’s saying a lot. He told me how to recognize it, but from that day to this I never saw so much as a stalk of it,” said the wizard, rolling up his sleeves. “I intend to lay in a good supply. So your father’s a king, is he?”

  “Yes, my father is Lutermine, King of the—” Dyrax said, taken off his guard by the unexpected question. He groaned and looked sheepishly at the wizard.

  “I thought so. Hard to disguise good breeding. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, my boy.”

  “It isn’t my birth I’m ashamed of, Master Kedrigern. On the contrary, I’m proud of my parents and I miss them greatly.”

  “Why did you leave them in the first place?”

  Solemnly, the youth said, “I have loved and lost, Master Kedrigern.”