The Sleeping Beauty

by Mercedes Lackey

  “Good!” Lily went back to the table and finished taking notes. “No, I can’t. That business with the sheep and eggs sounds utterly nonsensical, and as such, it follows all the Traditional requirements for this kind of trial. We’ll supply armor to those who don’t have it, of course. And horses. I can magic all that up without any effort at all, thanks to all the Traditional power we have built up here.” She noted that, as well. “The mice will hate me.”

  “Actually I think the mice will be amused. They seem to have very good senses of humor. Did you know Siegfried’s bird knows all about The Tradition?” Rosa had spotted the big Northlander, off to one side with Leopold, and, as always, the little brown bird on his shoulder. The two seemed as thick as thieves of late. Really, so far as she could tell, they were becoming friends, which was interesting, considering how they had met.

  “Yes I did. And I believe that she told Siegfried about The Tradition, as well.” Lily gave her a sidelong, unreadable glance. “Which would certainly save a great deal of time and education if he should happen to win these contests.”

  “Do you think that’s at all likely?” Rosa asked, feeling her cheeks grow hot. She wasn’t supposed to have favorites, but so far, the Northlander and the roguish Leopold were ahead of any of the newcomers.

  “One never knows,” Lily said enigmatically. “I’m trying to hedge this about so that whoever does win, is exactly what Eltaria needs. If ever there was a crisis in this kingdom, this is it.”

  “Quite right, too,” replied Rosa stoutly, her cheeks cooling immediately—and her heart sinking a little. “This is no time to be taking anything else at all into consideration. But…”

  Lily looked up from the list she was making. “But?”

  Rosa tried not to think too hard about a few of the candidates she’d seen. Oh, they probably would be eliminated quickly—but— “But what if the one who is best for Eltaria is…horrid?”

  Lily gazed back at Rosa with a sober expression. “I don’t know, dear. I can do a certain amount by making sure they don’t cheat. But you are right, it is possible for someone to win these contests entirely honestly and still be a nasty piece of work. I don’t know how to prevent that. I can only promise that I will try.”

  Rosa nodded, and turned back to the window, watching Siegfried and Leopold. She shouldn’t have favorites. It wasn’t right. But that didn’t prevent it from happening. Rosa had been quizzing the Northlander’s bird remorselessly about both men. The bird obviously was going to sing—literally—Siegfried’s praises, but she grudgingly admitted that Leopold seemed to be a decent fellow, too. He and Siegfried had entered into a pact to help each other, which she had no intention of telling Lily about. It wasn’t strictly within the rules, but it wasn’t against them, either. There were other cases of such things, although normally the two men in question were lifelong friends, or even brothers. So Traditionally, it was sanctioned.

  She had already decided that she was going to help them covertly as much as she could. After all, Traditionally, the Godmothers helped their favorite candidates, and there were all sorts of other helpers, not only Traditionally, but right here and now, from sorcerers to animals both ordinary and Magical.

  So if they could, she could.

  She left Lily writing out the list for the trial, comparing it to the list of those who had applied to compete and what they had brought with them. This was not as tedious as it might have been, since Jimson was helping her. She would call out the name, and Jimson would see if the fellow in question had brought a warhorse and armor. If he had, Jimson would give it a good look-over and tell Lily.

  Just as she was slipping out, she heard the first disqualification.

  “Adrian of Beau Soleil.” Lily called out the name. There was a long, long pause, and Rosa hesitated, palm against the panel of the servants’ door, to listen—because such a long pause from Jimson generally meant something was up.

  “Regretfully disqualified, Lily,” said Jimson, just as Rosa was starting to grow impatient.

  “What?” Lily exclaimed. “Why?”

  “The Prince is, in fact, a Princess,” Jimson said solemnly. “And while under other circumstances I would have been willing to let this pass, we did distinctly invite only Princes, and I do not believe that Rosamund would be in the least interested in co-ruling with another of her sex.”

  “Definitely not,” Rosa muttered to herself and slipped out the door.

  She had already written out what the first trial was going to be on a small square of paper, and she had purloined Lily’s “Old Maggie” cloak. Now she pulled it on, used the servants’ stairs and doors and went down into the garden and along the gardeners’ path until she got to where the two men were sitting, watching some of the others. Leopold wasn’t flirting with any of the women of the Court, because at this point the women of the Court were quite spoiled for choice, and there wasn’t one of them that didn’t have her own particular Prince to be flattered and cajoled by. Rosa eased through a gap in the hedge and came out behind and between them.

  “Hist,” she whispered. “Don’t be turning around. I’m a friend. But I don’t want everyone to see you’re talking to me.”

  Of course they both moved their heads stiffly to try and see who was talking to them. That was why she had stolen the “Old Maggie” cloak. What they saw was a brisk old woman, not the Princess.

  “All right, friend,” said Leopold out of the corner of his mouth. “What can we do for you?”

  “It’s what I can do for you,” she replied, with a laugh forced out of her by tension. “Unless you’ve no use for knowing what the first trial will be.”

  There was a long silence, in which, at first, she was afraid she was going to be refused. But then Siegfried spoke up, his voice a thoughtful rumble.

  “No one gives this sort of secret away—” he began.

  “Except in tales,” she interrupted. “And here you be, in the middle of a tale. Say, you’ve earned it. I’m sure ye’ve done a mort of good works in the past. Say, there’s someone partial to you in the Palace, maybe some lady who’s taken a fancy to you. Say or think whatever you like, but Old Maggie thinks you won’t be the only ones getting help. So you might as well have it from me.”

  The men exchanged a quick glance. “Well, there was that first Prince I saw, and he had a sorceress bringing him. I doubt she’s confining herself to just giving him a ride,” said Siegfried doubtfully. “And I’m sure the others have all manner of charms and things. Magic armor and swords…maybe more, too.”

  Encouraged, she thrust the square of folded paper into Siegfried’s hand. “Ye have a friend in Old Maggie,” she said, and tried to simulate a cackle. “Old Maggie will see to it.” She failed miserably, managing only a giggle, and on that note, she slipped back through the hedge. Now to get back upstairs and return the cloak.

  On the whole, she thought that her performance had been rather good. The giggle was only a little slip, and whoever said old ladies didn’t giggle? They wouldn’t suspect a thing.

  “That was no old lady,” Siegfried said solemnly, before the bird could. “I’ve never heard an old lady that sounded like that, ever.”

  “Not with that voice,” agreed Leopold. “It was a good disguise, though. Magic, do you think?”

  “Probably. This kingdom is thick with it. Practically nothing is what it seems to be.” Siegfried unfolded the paper and looked it over. Unfortunately he had the same difficulty he’d had with the Inn sign.

  He couldn’t read it. This was very frustrating. He looked at the bird.

  “Don’t look at me,” the bird said cheerfully. “I can’t read. Period.”

  Mutely he handed it to Leopold, defeated. “What do you make of this?”

  “Well, this sounds normal enough,” Leopold began. “A race in full armor on a warhorse. That’s better than a footrace in full armor.”

  “Much,” Siegfried agreed, but then Leopold exclaimed in dismay.

  “What?” he said
with outrage in his voice and incredulity in his gaze. “This is insane! What kind of a contest is this? What does this have to do with—with—well, anything?”

  “What is it? And keep your voice down.” Siegfried drew Leopold with him behind the hedge. Leopold had crumpled up the paper in his fist, he was so upset; now he smoothed it out again and shook it at Siegfried, as if the Northerner was somehow to blame for what was written there.

  “It says here that at the end of the first stage of the race, we’re to herd three sheep into a pen—three sheep? Are they insane?” Leopold looked very much as if he wanted to punch something. “Is this some kind of joke? Are they trying to make fools out of us? What kind of a test is that? And then, as if that isn’t bad enough, we’re to gather up a dozen eggs while wearing gauntlets—”

  But Siegfried nodded wisely, because he could see the sense in it. It was like all the seemingly tedious chores he’d been forced to do by the Dwarf who had taught him forging and the old man who had taught him fighting. They seemed tedious and as if they had nothing to do with the task he was supposed to be learning, but when he looked back on it all, he’d been strengthening his muscles, getting coordination and learning patience. Oh yes. Patience. “The eggs? That’s to prove you’ve got patience. If you rush things, you’ll break the eggs, and you know they’ll take points off your score if you do. The Dwarves made me do that. The trick is that you don’t pick them up. You put one hand flat, then roll the egg into it. Then you put it down like this—” He mimed cupping his hands together, then carefully separating them so that presumably the contents settled slowly into place.

  Leopold looked momentarily convinced, then he looked down at the notes, and exploded again. “But sheep! Sheep!”

  “You were herding sheep,” Siegfried observed.

  Leopold looked at him as if he had lost his wits.

  “When the King died and these silly court people were panicking. They acted without thinking, in their minds, running in circles. Like sheep, frightened by wolves.” Siegfried shrugged. “You were herding sheep.”

  “That was a meta—that was diff—that was—” Leopold stuttered to a halt, and stared at Siegfried.

  “That was what you did. And you herd real sheep the same way.” Siegfried nodded. “Unless you have a dog to help, that is. The dog is fast enough to herd them by frightening them just a little to make them move the way he wants them to. You watch a herd-dog—he acts like a wolf, barks, jumps—they run away from him. But a man alone can’t move that fast, so you don’t frighten them more than they already are. In fact, you don’t frighten them at all if you can help it. You just get them moving and stand where you don’t want them to go, blocking them from going there, then move slowly and keep them moving. The one thing sheep want to do is stay together, so if you can get one moving in the right direction, they all will go. If your horse is well-trained, you can do what a dog does. Or you can lead them if you can manage to find the one you can lead. But you don’t chase them, because that will only frighten them more and make them harder to herd.” He took a deep breath. “And that’s why herding sheep really is showing something important. That is what a leader does. He gets sheep to do what he wants them to do by giving them no other choice, but does it in a way that does not frighten them.”

  “But that—but I—” Leopold opened his mouth and closed it a few more times. He scratched his head, looked around for a bench here on the servants’ side of the hedge and sat down in the shade. “You’re…right.”

  Siegfried nodded, then added casually, “Of course, the shepherds will be there on the side, with their dogs. I see nothing in this that says you cannot go to them and give them money to herd the sheep for you. Or I suppose you could hire a shepherd and a dog and take them double with you on the horse. That is also what a leader does. He finds people that know how to do what he needs done, then he puts them in charge of doing it so he doesn’t have to.”

  Leopold stared at him, then burst into laughter.

  Siegfried patted his shoulder. “Do not say it. I already know. I am smarter than I look.”

  Leopold shook his head. “All right, let’s just look at this thing and figure out what needs to be done and how we can do it better than the rest of them. We don’t have horses, but this says they’ll supply them. I don’t think there will be any advantage to anyone there. I’d bet a round of ale that the Godmother had a hand in this, and that she’ll be making mouse-horses.”

  “Magic armor, too.” Siegfried considered this. “I have armor. You don’t. Mine is light, compared to some of the foolishness I have seen people trying to wear around here. You could ask for light armor too, but…” He considered. “Now that I think about it…there could be a problem with this. I am fairly certain that at some point we’ll have to fight. And I am fairly certain that at that point, if we made a specific request for this trial, they will give us the same armor we asked for the first time and make us fight in it. These sorts of trials are full of things to catch you like that.”

  “Hmm. I see your point. Riding in armor is no joke. But if you pick light armor for this, you’ll be stuck with it when we fight. If you pick heavy armor, you’ll be laboring at this trial.” Leopold sucked his lower lip. “Unless—”

  “Unless they allow us to pick whatever we want?” Siegfried brightened, thinking of the one thing that would serve both purposes.

  They looked at each other in glee, and said, simultaneously, “Dwarven chain mail!”

  “I have wanted a set of that since I first saw it,” Leopold said, matter-of-factly. “My father, the King, has a set. It’s been passed down in the family for generations.”

  “I would seriously consider trading my mother for a set,” Siegfried replied fervently. “I would definitely trade my father. Of course, given that my father was not noted for thinking very far ahead, that would not be a good bargain for the Dwarves.”

  “You’d better not consider trading me,” the bird twittered in his ear.

  Both men chuckled at Siegfried’s quip about his father, then sobered. “Well, assuming they have thought of that already, and have already decided what sort of armor those who don’t have any are going to get…” Leopold pondered. “This might not be a question of winning the race so much as not being eliminated.”

  “A very good point.” Siegfried nodded. “It’s the whole thinking-ahead business. People who race to the midpoint could get themselves into trouble. Arriving exhausted to deal with the sheep and the eggs…”

  Leopold shook his head. “It won’t be pretty. So, as long as we don’t actually fall off in the race, and we look as if we are making an effort, that ought to be enough to keep us just ahead of the middle of the pack.”

  “The middle is not a bad place to be,” Siegfried pointed out. “If you are not a leader, no one is shooting at you.”

  Leopold’s glance sharpened. “You think that might happen?”

  Siegfried nodded toward the other side of the hedge. “All of the Princess’s enemies sent young men to this trial. I very much doubt that they are concerned with anything but winning, and making sure that what they do to win is done quietly enough that no one suspects them. And besides the obvious candidates, those enemies could have covert agents, as well, placed not to win for themselves, but to make sure that their own Prince wins.” As Leopold’s mouth dropped open, he shrugged wryly. “Just because my people are sometimes dim, it does not follow that they are not cunning and treacherous. Remember, the keeping of hostages is routine in the north.”

  “I have the feeling that before this is over, I am going to be more grateful to you for your insights than you are for mine,” Leopold said ruefully.

  Siegfried smiled. “That depends on which of us wins the Princess.”

  12

  SIEGFRIED RECKONED THAT HE AND LEOPOLD would not be the only ones to get advance notice of what the first trial was going to be; they were only the first. And he was right. A full day before it was to take place, it was an
open secret. And there was not a shepherd or sheepherding dog to be had neither for favors nor money for miles around. It seemed that the first thing that came to most of the clever candidates was to take an expert riding doubled with them on the horse, on a pillion pad behind the saddle.

  Siegfried, on the other hand, went out and talked with sheep.

  Or rather, he listened to sheep.

  They were, on the whole, just about as dim as most birds—or the men of the north. But he spent a morning paying very close attention every time they wanted something. By afternoon, he had a good idea of what they liked. He had thought they were grazers and ate grass—well they did, but it wasn’t what they preferred. They preferred things with leaves and flowers. Clover was a favorite, but any leafy, sweet plant would do. In fact, that was a great complaint of the flock that he listened to; there were bean plants they would dearly have loved to get at, and at least once an hour they would drift over to the fence, lean against it longingly and complain that it hadn’t gone away.

  It was after supper by the time he hiked his way back from the pasture, but Leopold had promised to meet him at the tavern, and by the time he got there, Leopold had ale and a good meat pie waiting for him—the kind you picked up and ate, rather than the messier sort you had to carve up and fuss with.

  “So, I hope you learned something?” the Prince said, as Siegfried bit into the tasty crust.

  He nodded, but waited until he had stilled the complaints of his stomach before answering. “I have a plan. Sheep like clover and bean plants. We’ll carry bunches of bean plants in flower with clover at the center. When we get there, we’ll just lure them into the pens with those.”

  “You think that will work?” Leopold held up his hand. “Never mind, forget I asked. You’re the one who can understand animals. If the sheep said they like beans, then they like beans. I’ve been working out a way to deal with the eggs.”