Kedrigern Wanderland

by John Morressy

  “It’s no more than I deserve. But let us not waste time talking about such a worthless wretch as myself. Tell me, if you will—”

  “I will tell you nothing until you cease acting like a

  worm and show some spirit. If you wish me to converse with the likes of you, you must force me to do so by violent means.”

  “Those are the words of a man of true power,” said Kedrigern. “What a powerful fellow you must be, to venture into these woods alone and unarmed!”

  “I do not choose to speak of my power, worm,” said the other, scornfully, “but rather of your contemptible weakness.”

  “Ah, now that’s the speech of a powerful man. Tell me, sir, do you work spells? Do enchantments? Can you—”

  “Shut up, you fool! You idiot! You meek, groveling, forgiving, spineless, milk-blooded coward!” roared the man, shaking his pudgy fist in Kedrigern’s face. “Aren’t you getting angry?”

  “How could anyone be angry with such a splendid fellow as yourself? I’m eager to leam of your great power, your courage, your—”

  “Oh, blast my power! To hell with my power!” howled the other. A sudden gust of wind swept over them, warm and sulphurous, and he paled and turned horrified eyes on Kedrigern. “No!” he whispered. “I didn’t mean that! I didn’t!”

  “But you said it.” Kedrigern reached out and tapped him on the shoulder with the silver tip of the staff. He vanished with a wail that echoed and re-echoed among the stones like the cry of one falling down a bottomless well. The puddle went up in a hiss of foul-smelling steam that quickly dissipated. Baked in the mud at its bottom were the prints of two broad hooves.

  Kedrigern let out a deep shuddering sigh of relief and set the staff against the rock, tucking his hands close against his ribs to still their sudden trembling. To his astonishment, the rocks in the clearing faded away, leaving in their places a group of men and women and horses who gaped at one another, and at him, in astonishment. The rock upon which Kedrigern had been sitting was now

  a tall, well-armed knight, whom the wizard assisted to his feet.

  “I thank you for your kindness,” said the knight. His hair was shot with gray, as was his beard, and his face was lined with years and cares. He looked about, and his expression brightened when a woman of matronly mien, but still of great beauty, hurried to his side with eager arms opened to his own embrace. With one arm protectively around her waist, the knight asked, “Now, good fellow, can you say what has befallen us?”

  “I think you’ve been under an enchantment—perhaps for as long as a hundred years.”

  “Indeed?! I recall very little. We stopped here for the night. A stranger joined us . . . a fat, friendly man . .

  “He shared his provisions with us most generously,” said the lady.

  “So he did, my dear. A very friendly, generous man. But . . . there was a quarrel. I know not the cause, but tempers flared . . . swords were drawn. . . .“ The knight shook his head, perplexed, and looked helplessly to his wife for help in remembering.

  She exclaimed, “Hendso! He tried to make peace, but no one listened, not even to the exhortations of that holy man. And then something . . . something happened to him. Something terrible, I think

  “Was Hendso a monk?” Kedrigern asked.

  “Yes. He was our household chaplain,” the lady said.

  Kedrigern told of his encounter with the grisly monk, and its outcome on this very spot. When he had finished, he took up the staff and handed it to them.

  “We will honor Hendso’s memory. He was a good man,” said the lady.

  With a sigh, the knight said, “He was indeed, but he was born into bad times. There has been nothing but unrest since the fall of the Kingdom of the Singing Forest.”

  “Is that where the princess was turned into a sword?” Kedrigern asked.

  “One into a sword, another into a crown. And their

  brother into a great iron shield! It all happened just across the river,” said the lady, gesturing in the direction Kedrigern had been heading.

  Gloomily, the knight said, “Nothing but accursed wizardry and enchantment everywhere these days. One cannot even visit a cousin in safety. We were only an hour or so from the castle of Cent Saints, where my cousin rules, when this spell came upon us. Now, who can say what we may find there?”

  With a broad smile, Kedrigern said, “I’ve just come from there. They, too, were in an enchanted sleep, but it’s over, and Blamarde is to marry in three days. You’ll be in plenty of time for the festivities.”

  He excused himself and slipped off to remount and be on his way before anyone got a good look at his horse and started asking questions. The enchantment on the woods was broken now, and his way was clear.

  A few hundred paces down the road he came upon the packhorscs grazing under a cluster of birches. They seemed unaffected by their sojourn into enchantment; the only ill effects Kedrigern could discern was the slight damage done by the fieldmice that had gotten into the packs. He tied the animals behind his mount and proceeded until he came to a feeble trickle of water running between steep banks. As he crossed he heard it whine and grumble; at this time of year it was too low to moan in any satisfactory way, but he knew it to be the Moaning River. Passing on, he came to a forest where the air was filled with the far faint sound of voices, like a children’s choir heard at a great distance. He glimpsed beyond the trees the outlines of a castle half in ruins.

  Emerging from the forest, he saw the horses tethered before the castle gate. Princess’s transparent mount shimmered faintly among them, apart from the rest. He rode closer, and still saw no one. He dismounted to tie up the packhorses, and just as he turned toward the castle a brilliant burst of light blazed silently forth from gate and windows, smokeholes and arrow slits, and every crack and

  crevice in the massy walls. He stepped back, blinking, and when his vision cleared he saw men dressed all in black stagger from the gate, helplessly bedazzled by the light.

  He sprang to the back of his black horse and rode into the castle over a narrow stone bridge that rocked beneath the great silver hooves and collapsed with a terrible roar behind him.

  Twelve

  a knight without a sword

  PRINCESS AWOKE to a misty dawn. She felt a bit stiff in the neck and shoulders, but well rested and eager to be on her way. After the flight of the three weird sisters, the night had gone by without disturbance, clear and dry and comfortably mild.

  Louise had passed the night as a staff, to avoid any possibility of rusting, and remained so through Princess’s hasty morning ablutions and dreary breakfast. Disinclined to small talk at so early an hour, Princess did not summon her, and Louise did not, in fact, resume the sword mode until Princess found herself at a fork in the path with no indication of the proper way.

  “Louise, I need directions,” she said, giving the dark staff a gentle shake.

  Once again the air resounded with the peal of struck metal, and the blade responded, “Directions, did you say?”

  “Yes. We’re at a fork

  “I see.” Louise was silent for a time, struggling to remember, and then she cried, “To the left! It’s only a short way to the river, Princess, and then we’re practically home! We’re almost there!”

  “I do hope Kedrigern’s waiting there for us. I’m very concerned about him,” said Princess, directing her horse to the left-hand path.

  “I’m sure he’s safe. If there’s anyone who can deal properly with an enchanted wood, it’s a wizard.”

  “If he were at full strength I wouldn’t be concerned for a minute,” said Princess earnestly, “but the Green Riddler cost him a lot of magic. And on top of everything else, he’s probably worrying about me and not concentrating on his own predicament. He’s like that, you know.”

  “It would seem that you two have a good marriage.”

  After a thoughtful pause, Princess said, “I believe we do. I don’t mean to sound smug, but I really believe it. I only wish I knew
more married couples, so I’d have some grounds for comparison.”

  “How many do you know?”

  “Two. Three, counting toads. But we never see them, so I have no idea how they act toward one another. And I can’t recall a thing about my own family,” Princess confessed.

  “Well, if it’s any help to you, I remember my mother and father worrying about each other’s well being and happiness all the time, and they seemed to have a very nice marriage.”

  “That’s encouraging. Thank you, Louise.”

  “I do wish they’d passed along the secret, whatever it was,” the sword went on, somewhat pettishly. “I couldn’t imagine being happy with any of the princes who came to the castle seeking my hand. What a dismal lot they were!”

  Princess nodded in knowing sympathy. “Handsome princes aren’t all they’re cracked up to be.”

  “Frequently they’re not even handsome. There was one who resembled a wild boar: great big head, little piggy black eyes, hardly a trace of chin. He behaved like a boar, too. And another one looked exactly like a toad. He was the ugliest . . .“ Louise stopped abruptly. In a chastened voice, she said, “Oh, my dear Princess, I am sorry. I didn’t mean . . . He wasn’t an actual enchanted toad, you understand. . . . Oh, I feel terrible.”

  With a comforting pat on Louise’s pommel, Princess said, “I understand completely. Believe me, I do. I didn’t feel the least bit attractive when I was a toad, and the other toads looked positively ugly to me.”

  “All the same, it was a thoughtless thing for me to say. I’m terribly embarrassed.”

  “No more of that, now, Louise. Let’s forget it ever happened.” They went a short way in awkward silence, and Princess suddenly said, “I wonder how Lalloree and Conrad look to each other. That never occurred to me before.”

  “Who?”

  “Lalloree is that little princess who was turned into a toad by the magic mist. Conrad was caught in it, too. It seemed to bring them together.”

  “Was Conrad turned into a toad?”

  “Yes. In a sense, it worked out conveniently for both of them. It’s so difficult to meet someone suitable once you’re enchanted like that.”

  “It isn’t all that easy when you’re not enchanted, believe me. If they’re not . . . unattractive, they’re like merchants. It’s bargaining, not romance. I want nothing to do with it.”

  Princess said thoughtfully, “I suppose I was lucky to meet someone as I did.”

  “How is it, being married to a wizard? I don’t mean to pry, but one so seldom meets a wizard’s wife.”

  “It has its advantages, Louise. Marriage to a prince— even a handsome prince—can be dreadfully boring. Princes are always dashing off to slay something or do battle with giants or ogres or recreant knights. If they’re not doing that, they’re planning a war, or fighting one, or recovering from one.”

  “That sounds quite exciting,” Louise observed.

  “It’s exciting for them, I suppose, but what’s a wife to do while they’re off somewhere hacking and smiting? They only come home to unload their booty and give their wounds time to heal and knock the dints out of their

  armor, and then they’re off again. By the time they’re thirty, they’re all covered with scars and have bits and pieces missing. Your wizard, on the other hand, is basically a homebody.” She paused, then went on, “Of course, that can be a problem, too. It’s very difficult to get Kedrigern out of the house. He abhors travel. But it’s never boring. Wizards have interesting friends, and the clients are sometimes interesting, too. There’s generally something going on around the house. On the whole, it’s a pleasant life, especially if you learn a bit of magic yourself."

  The road began to dip, and when she noticed this, Louise lost all interest in the homelife of wizards and grew quite excited. She asked Princess to hold her as high as possible, so she might survey the area. After a brief look around, she shouted, “There it is! The Moaning River— it’s just ahead!”

  “Are you sure? I don’t hear any moaning,” Princess said cautiously.

  “You won’t at this time of year. The water is low. All you get is a kind of peevish muttering and a lot of sighing,” Louise explained. “You have to listen carefully.”

  A few moments later Princess exclaimed, “I can hear it, Louise! It sounds like . . . like someone in the next room with a toothache.”

  “It does, doesn’t it? You really ought to hear it after a good heavy spring rain. You’d think you were at a royal funeral.”

  The horse splashed through water that was scarcely deep enough to wet its hooves, then scrambled up the far bank onto the level path. They crossed a grassy field, and then the forest closed about them once again. As they rode ever deeper into the cool, shadowed wood, a wind rose, and the air filled with voices. The deep drone of basses rumbled from the trunks of ancient oaks, and thin tenors sang clear and sweet from the tops of the tall pines. They had reached the Singing Forest at last, and in safety, and the beauty of its song made words quite unnecessary. The voices surrounded them like an a cappella choir of angels, growing

  ever richer and finer, until they glimpsed a broken tower ahead, and a poignant melancholy note crept into the song. Louise gave a little stifled sob, then a sniffle, and then was bravely silent again until they emerged from the Singing Forest to the neglected grounds of a castle half in ruins.

  At the sight of her home, Louise could hold back her feelings no longer. Walls had fallen; towers had crumbled; massive stones lay in a tumbled sprawl, like dominoes flung by an angry child. The wooden roof of the keep had collapsed in several places, and windows gaped to show the sky. The grass was high and thick, blanched by autumn to the pale hue of almonds; vines reached high up the ragged walls. Everywhere was neglect, abandonment, and the ravaging of time.

  “Oh, Princess, it’s all gone to pieces, and it used to be so lovely!” Louise wailed. “Beautiful crenellated walls, and round towers with painted timber hoardings . . . and fine smooth lists in front, for jousting and tourneys .

  and look at it now!”

  “It’s . . . picturesque,” said Princess, trying her best.

  “It’s a ruin! A desolation! Oh, why did I return here? I should have known better! It’s all madness and vanity!” cried Louise, her words coming between outbursts of tears.

  “Be brave, Louise. We had to come here to seek cousin Hedvig’s descendants. They’re your only hope. It’s too bad about the castle, but—”

  “Too bad?! It’s heartbreaking!”

  “You can rebuild it once you’re yourself again. First things first.”

  Louise took deep slow breaths to calm herself. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right,” she said tautly. “I mustn’t give way to my feelings. Let’s have a good look around.”

  The gossamer steed picked its careful way among the rubble and the clinging grass in a slow circuit of the walls which, though fallen in many places, had nowhere been breached to the extent that a horse might enter. Coming at last to a dilapidated bridge that led to the gatehouse, the animal hesitated and pawed anxiously at the ground.

  “I think it’s nervous about crossing the bridge,” Princess said.

  “Silly beast! Even after all these years, that bridge will support an army. My father employed the finest workmen in seven kingdoms,” said Louise indignantly.

  “No sense in forcing the poor creature. I’ll tie him out here and we’ll walk across,” Princess said, lightly dismounting.

  She looped the reins over a fallen tree. The horse at once set contentedly to grazing, and Princess, with Louise resting on her shoulder, walked to the end of the bridge and set one tentative small foot on the stone. There was, a faint grating, a groan, and the rattle of dried mortar and gravel cascading down the side of the ditch. Princess stepped back quickly.

  “I think we’d better fly across,” she said.

  “Of course!” Louise cried excitedly. “I keep forgetting that you can fly! It will give us a much better view
of things.”

  They lifted off and circled the walls once again, this time at tower height, looking down on the bailey. It was empty, save for the debris of fallen partitions and caved-in sheds, and the remains of what had probably been a well-house. The grass was tall in the places that received the most sun, and a few saplings had sprung up around the ruins of the well-house. It was a forlorn, depressing scene, and Louise maintained a gloomy silence.

  Princess climbed higher, until she could look down on the keep. Charred beams were all that remained of the roof, and debris was strewn about the upper floor. The hoardings were burnt away, and several stones of the crenellated parapet had fallen, but the building seemed otherwise intact.

  “Was there a battle, do you think?” Princess asked.

  “No. Lightning, most likely. Or plain carelessness,” Louise replied despondently.

  “It must have happened recently. I can smell wood smoke.”

  “It doesn’t look recent.”

  Princess came down daintily on one of the merlons and sniffed the air, eyes shut in concentration. “All the same, I smell wood smoke,” she said.

  With all the force of feelings too long held in check, Louise cried. “Oh, that wicked, evil, smelly old Vorvas! It’s all his fault, all of this! We had such a beautiful, impregnable castle, and just look at it now!”

  “Let’s go inside. There may be something that will tell us where we’ll find Hedvig’s descendants,” said Princess, lifting off.

  Louise sighed. “They’re probably all dead. Of shame. Or despair.”

  “It won’t hurt to look. And it will be nice to get out of this cool air.’’

  Princess swooped down and entered the keep by a window on the third level, where the great hall had been. She was startled by the sight of a small fire burning in the great fireplace, and a table drawn up nearby on which were a trencher and a flagon of wine.

  “Someone’s here, Louise,” she said, zooming up to ceiling level and surveying the room carefully.