DARING DEEDS OF DERRING-DO AS TOLD BY AWARD-WINNING, BESTSELLING MASTERS OF FANTASY, INCLUDING:
“Gwydion and the Dragon” by C.J. Cherryh: Once upon a time there was a dragon, and once upon that time a prince who undertook to win the hand of the elder and fairer of two princesses. Not that this prince wanted either of Madog's daughters…
“Chivalry” by Neil Gaiman: Mrs. Whitaker found the Holy Grail; it was under a fur coat…
“The Bully and the Beast” by Orson Scott Card: There is a flame at the heart of every dragon. It doesn't come from the dragon's mouth or the dragon's nostrils. If he burns you, it won't be with his breath…
“The Land Beyond the World” by Michael Moorcock: Elric dreamed. He dreamed that he had dreamed of the Dark Ship and Tanelorn and Agak and Gagak while he lay exhausted upon a beach somewhere beyond the borders of Pikarayd…
…and many more.
MORE SHORT FICTION FROM WARNER ASPECT
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Futures: Four Novellas
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Sisters of the Night
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Tales of the Knights Templar
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Copyright
Copyright © 2002 by Margaret Weis and Tekno Books
All rights reserved.
“Introduction” by Margaret Weis. Copyright © 2002 by Margaret Weis.
“Gwydion and the Dragon” by C.J. Cherryh. Copyright © 1991 by C.J. Cherryh. First published in Once Upon a Time. Reprinted by permission of the author.
“Misericorde” by Karl Edward Wagner. Copyright © 1983 by Karl Edward Wagner. First published in The Sorcerer's Apprentice #17. Reprinted by permission of The Karl Edward Wagner Literary Group.
“The Barbarian” by Poul Anderson. Copyright © 1956 by Fantasy House, Inc. First published in The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, May 1956. Reprinted by permission of the author and his agents, Chichak, Inc.
“The Silk and the Song” by Charles L. Fontenay. Copyright © 1956 by Fantasy House, Inc. First published in The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, July 1956. Reprinted by permission of the author.
“Mirror, Mirror on the Lam” by Tanya Huff. Copyright © 1997 by Tanya Huff. First published in Wizard Fantastic. Reprinted by permission of the author.
“Chivalry” by Neil Gaiman. Copyright © 1992 by Neil Gaiman. First published in Grails: Quests, Visitations, and Other Occurrences. Reprinted by permission of the author.
“Firebearer” by Lois Tilton. Copyright © 1990 by Lois Tilton. First published in Dragon magazine, January 1990. Reprinted by permission of the author.
“The Bully and the Beast” by Orson Scott Card. Copyright © 1979 by Orson Scott Card. First published in Other Worlds #1. Reprinted by permission of the author.
“A Time for Heroes” by Richard Parks. Copyright © 1996 by Richard Parks. First published in The Shimmering Door. Reprinted by permission of the author.
“The Cup and the Cauldron” by Mercedes Lackey. Copyright © 1992 by Mercedes Lackey. First published in Grails: Quests, Visitations, and Other Occurrences. Reprinted by permission of the author.
“The Lands Beyond the World” by Michael Moorcock. Copyright © 1977 by Michael Moorcock and Linda Moorcock. First published in Flashing Swords #4. Reprinted by permission of the author and his agents, the Howard Morhaim Literary Agency.
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First eBook Edition: September 2009
ISBN: 978-0-446-56477-9
Contents
More Short Fiction from Warner Aspect
Copyright
Introduction Margaret Weis
Gwydion and the Dragon C.J. Cherryh
Misericorde Karl Edward Wagner
The Barbarian Poul Anderson
The Silk and the Song Charles L. Fontenay
Mirror, Mirror on the Lam Tanya Huff
Chivalry Neil Gaiman
Firebearer Lois Tilton
The Bully and the Beast Orson Scott Card
A Time for Heroes Richard Parks
The Cup and the Cauldron Mercedes Lackey
The Lands Beyond the World Michael Moorcock
About the Authors
Introduction
Margaret Weis
I once heard author Gary Paulsen tell a group of children that the very first authors were those who flung the wolfskins over their heads and crouched in the firelight to tell their tales to the tribe. I am certain that among the tales these early storytellers told their people were those of men and women who set off on quests.
The quest story has been handed down through time because it is story to which each one of us can relate. The quest story mirrors the journey of our lives. From the moment of our birth, we begin the great quest that ends in this world with our death and, perhaps, at that point starts anew.
One might say that almost every story ever written or told is a quest story in one form or another. Sherlock Holmes quested for truth and justice. Elizabeth Bennet set out upon a famous quest for love. D'Artagnan took the road to Paris in search of adventure and honor. Mr. Pickwick left London to discover humanity (and good food!).
Quests are not relegated to days past. We read tales of ancient heroes who set about searching for the golden fleece and tales of modern heroes who take up the quest for golden medals at once-ancient games.
Most important, the quest story involves a search for self.
Charles Dickens wrote in David Copperfield: “Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by anybody else, these pages must show.”
We turn to quest stories to learn how to be the heroes of our own lives. Quest stories show us how other people live their lives, face their challenges, and deal with their problems. We may emulate them or shun them, pity them or admire them, hate them or weep for them, but we always learn something from them.
In each story we read, whether it is the quest for the Holy Grail or the search for the Hound of the Baskervilles, we are studying mankind. We are studying ourselves and examining our own quests. In this book, you will find some of your favorite fantasy authors writing stories of men and women questing, striving, seeking, finding.
Each day begins a new quest for each of us. Take along this book of some of my favorite quest stories on yours.
Gwydion and the Dragon
C.J. Cherryh
Once upon a time there was a dragon, and once upon that time a prince who undertook to win the hand of the elder and fairer of two princesses.
Not that this prince wanted either of Madog's daughters, although rumors said that Eri was as wise and as gentle, as sweet and as fair as her sister, Glasog, was cruel and ill-favored. The truth was that this prince would marry either princess if it would save his father and his people; and neither if he had had any choice in the matter. He was Gwydion ap Ogan, and of princes in Dyfed he was the last.
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Being a prince of Dyfed did not, understand, mean banners and trumpets and gilt armor and crowds of courtiers. King Ogan's palace was a rambling stone house of dusty rafters hung with cooking pots and old harnesses; King Ogan's wealth was mostly in pigs and pastures—the same as all Ogan's subjects; Gwydion's war-horse was a black gelding with a crooked blaze and shaggy feet, who had fought against the bandits from the high hills. Gwydion's armor, serviceable in that perpetual warfare, was scarred leather and plain mail, with new links bright among the old; and lance or pennon he had none—the folk of Ogan's kingdom were not lowland knights, heavily armored, but hunters in the hills and woods, and for weapons this prince carried only a one-handed sword and a bow and a quiver of gray-feathered arrows.
His companion, riding beside him on a bay pony, happened through no choice of Gwydion's to be Owain ap Llodri, the hound-master's son, his good friend, by no means his squire: Owain had lain in wait along the way, on a borrowed bay mare—Owain had simply assumed he was going, and that Gwydion had only hesitated, for friendship's sake, to ask him. So he saved Gwydion the necessity.
And the lop-eared old dog trotting by the horses' feet was Mili: Mili was fierce with bandits, and had respected neither Gwydion's entreaties nor Owain's commands thus far: stones might drive her off for a few minutes, but Mili came back again, that was the sort Mili was. That was the sort Owain was too, and Gwydion could refuse neither of them. So Mili panted along at the pace they kept, with big-footed Blaze and the bow-nosed bay, whose name might have been Swallow or maybe not—the poets forget—and as they rode Owain and Gwydion talked mostly about dogs and hunting.
That, as the same poets say, was the going of Prince Gwydion into King Madog's realm.
Now no one in Dyfed knew where Madog had come from. Some said he had been a king across the water. Some said he was born of a Roman and a Pict and had gotten sorcery through his mother's blood. Some said he had bargained with a dragon for his sorcery—certainly there was a dragon: devastation followed Madog's conquests, from one end of Dyfed to the other.
Reasonably reliable sources said Madog had applied first to King Bran, across the mountains, to settle at his court, and Bran having once laid eyes on Madog's elder daughter, had lusted after her beyond all good sense and begged Madog for her.
Give me your daughter, Bran had said to Madog, and I'll give you your heart's desire. But Madog had confessed that Eri was betrothed already, to a terrible dragon, who sometimes had the form of a man, and who had bespelled Madog and all his house: if Bran could overcome this dragon he might have Eri with his blessings, and his gratitude and the faithful help of his sorcery all his life; but if he died childless, Madog, by Bran's own oath, must be his heir.
That was the beginning of Madog's kingdom. So smitten was Bran that he swore to those terms, and died that very day, after which Madog ruled in his place.
After that Madog had made the same proposal to three of his neighbor kings, one after the other, proposing that each should ally with him and unite their kingdoms if the youngest son could win Eri from the dragon's spell and provide him an heir. But no prince ever came back from his quest. And the next youngest then went, until all the sons of the kings were gone, so that the kingdoms fell under Madog's rule.
After them, Madog sent to King Ban, and his sons died, last of all Prince Rhys, Gwydion's friend. Ban's heart broke, and Ban took to his bed and died.
Some whispered now that the dragon actually served Madog, that it had indeed brought Madog to power, under terms no one wanted to guess, and that this dragon did indeed have another form, which was the shape of a knight in strange armor, who would become Eri's husband if no other could win her. Some said (but none could prove the truth of it) that the dragon-knight had come from far over the sea, and that he devoured the sons and daughters of conquered kings, that being the tribute Madog gave him. But whatever the truth of that rumor, the dragon hunted far and wide in the lands Madog ruled and did not disdain to take the sons and daughters of farmers and shepherds too. Devastation went under his shadow, trees withered under his breath, and no one saw him outside his dragon shape and returned to tell of it, except only Madog and (rumor said) his younger daughter, Glasog, who was a sorceress as cruel as her father.
Some said that Glasog could take the shape of a raven and fly over the land choosing whom the dragon might take. The people called her Madog's Crow, and feared the look of her eye. Some said she was the true daughter of Madog and that Madog had stolen Eri from Faerie, and given her mother to the dragon; but others said they were twins, and that Eri had gotten all that an ordinary person had of goodness, while her sister, Glasog—
“Prince Gwydion,” Glasog said to her father, “would have come on the quest last year with his friend Rhys, except his father's refusing him, and Prince Gwydion will not let his land go to war if he can find another course. He'll persuade his father.”
“Good,” Madog said. “That's very good.” Madog smiled, but Glasog did not. Glasog was thinking of the dragon. Glasog harbored no illusions: the dragon had promised Madog that he would be king of all Wales if he could achieve this in seven years; and rule for seventy and seven more with the dragon's help.
But if he failed—failed by the seventh year to gain any one of the kingdoms of Dyfed, if one stubborn king withstood him and for one day beyond the seven allotted years, kept him from obtaining the least, last stronghold of the west, then all the bargain was void and Madog would have failed in everything.
And the dragon would claim a forfeit of his choosing.
That was what Glasog thought of, in her worst nightmares: that the dragon had always meant to have all the kingdoms of the west with very little effort—let her father win all but one and fail, on the smallest letter of the agreement. What was more, all the generals in all the armies they had taken agreed that the kingdom of Ogan could never be taken by force: there were mountains in which resistance could hide and not even dragonfire could burn all of them; but most of all there was the fabled Luck of Ogan, which said that no force of arms could defeat the sons of Ogan.
Watch, Madog had said. And certainly her father was astute, and cunning, and knew how to snare a man by his pride. There's always a way, her father had said, to break a spell. This one has a weakness. The strongest spells most surely have their soft spots.
And Ogan had one son, and that was Prince Gwydion.
Now we will fetch him, Madog said to his daughter. Now we will see what his luck is worth.
The generals said, “If you would have a chance in war, first be rid of Gwydion.”
But Madog said, and Glasog agreed, there are other uses for Gwydion.
“It doesn't look different,” Owain said as they passed the border stone.
It was true. Nothing looked changed at all. There was no particular odor of evil, or of threat. It might have been last summer, when the two of them had hunted with Rhys. They had used to hunt together every summer, and last autumn they had tracked the bandit Llewellyn to his lair, and caught him with stolen sheep. But in the spring Ban's sons had gone to seek the hand of Madog's daughter, and one by one had died, last of them, in early summer, Rhys himself.
Gwydion would have gone, long since, and long before Rhys. A score of times Gwydion had approached his father, King Ogan, and his mother, Queen Belys, and begged to try his luck against Madog, from the first time Madog's messenger had appeared and challenged the kings of Dyfed to war or wedlock. But each time Ogan had refused him, arguing in the first place that other princes, accustomed to warfare on their borders, were better suited, and better armed, and that there were many princes in Dyfed, but he had only one son.
But when Rhys had gone and failed, the last kingdom save that of King Ogan passed into Madog's hands. And Gwydion, grief-stricken with the loss of his friend, said to his parents, “If we had stood together we might have defeated this Madog; if we had taken the field then, together, we might have had a chance; if you had let me go with Rhys one of us might have wo
n and saved the other. But now Rhys is dead and we have Madog for a neighbor. Let me go when he sends to us. Let me try my luck at courting his daughter. A war with him now we may not lose, but we cannot hope to win.”
Even so Ogan had resisted him, saying that they still had their mountains for a shield, difficult going for any army; and arguing that their luck had saved them this far and that it was rash to take matters into their own hands.
Now the nature of that luck was this: that of the kingdoms in Dyfed, Ogan's must always be poorest and plainest. But that luck meant that they could not fail in war nor fail in harvest: it had come down to them from Ogan's own great-grandfather Ogan ap Ogan of Llanfynnyd, who had sheltered one of the Faerie unaware; and only faithlessness could break it—so great-grandfather Ogan had said. So: “Our luck will be our defense,” Ogan argued with his son. “Wait and let Madog come to us. We'll fight him in the mountains.”
“Will we fight a dragon? Even if we defeat Madog himself, what of our herds, what of our farmers and our freeholders? Can we let the land go to waste and let our people feed this dragon, while we hide in the hills and wait for luck to save us? Is that faithfulness?” That was what Gwydion had asked his father, while Madog's herald was in the hall—a raven black as unrepented sin … or the intentions of a wizard.
“Madog bids you know,” this raven had said, perched on a rafter of Ogan's hall, beside a moldering basket and a string of garlic, “that he has taken every kingdom of Dyfed but this. He offers you what he offered others: if King Ogan has a son worthy to win Madog's daughter and get an heir, then King Ogan may rule in peace over his kingdom so long as he lives, and that prince will have titles and the third of Madog's realm besides….
“But if the prince will not or cannot win the princess, then Ogan must swear Madog is his lawful true heir. And if Ogan refuses this, then Ogan must face Madog's army, which now is the army of four kingdoms each greater than his own. Surely,” the raven had added, fixing all present with a wicked, midnight eye, “it is no great endeavor Madog asks—simply to court his daughter. And will so many die, and so much burn? Or will Prince Gwydion win a realm wider than your own? A third of Madog's lands is no small dowry and inheritance of Madog's kingdom is no small prize.”
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