by Mike Ashley
Kedrigern emerged dressed in a clean, plainly cut tunic of dark green homespun stuff, his old brown trousers tucked into comfortable, well-worn boots that had been freshly dusted off. Princess and Spot were nowhere to be seen; he assumed that they were busy withindoors. He went to the front gate to await the arrival of the knight and squire, who were now in plain view, approaching at an unhurried pace.
When they were close enough for facial features and expressions to be distinguished, and Kedrigern could see that the knight was young, with dust-coated blond hair and dark eyes and a rudimentary mustache, he raised a hand in salutation. The knight reined in about ten feet from the gate, and his squire drew up just behind him, on his right.
“Good day to you, cottager,” said the knight.
“And to you, sir knight,” Kedrigern replied. Polite youngster, he thought, but none too bright. Couldn’t tell a wizard from a cottager. Probably been hit on the head in the tiltyard too many times for his own good.
“Tell me, my good man, is this Silent Thunder Mountain?”
“It is indeed, sir knight.”
“Ah, then my direction holds. And is it—”
The knight stopped in mid-question, sprang from the saddle, and bowed low. Kedrigern turned and saw Princess approaching. She had folded her wings flat and thrown a gray cloak over her shoulders. Her dark hair shone, and her simple golden coronet gleamed in the sun.
“Turll of the Bronze Shield, at your service, my lady,” said the knight. He gestured to his squire, who held up a large bronze shield to verify his master’s title.
“Welcome, Sir Turll. My name is Princess. This is my husband, Kedrigern,” she said.
Turll gave a start, looked at Kedrigern, then at Princess, grinned, and turned to his squire, who returned the grin and clapped his hands enthusiastically. “Kedrigern, the great wizard who purged the evil from the Desolation of the Loser Kings? And Princess, who turned the wicked Grodz into a toad?”
“The very same,” said Princess with a smile.
“Then I am the most fortunate of men! I had hoped to find you, but I was told you were on a great quest.”
“We got back early,” Kedrigern said unhappily.
Turll’s face fell. “But Master Kedrigern must think me a fool – I mistook you for a cottager. Can you forgive me?”
Before the wizard could frame a dignified and kindly response, Princess said, “Don’t give it another thought, Turll. People are always mistaking my husband for a cottager, or a scribe, or a merchant, and it’s his own fault. He refuses to dress in a manner befitting his profession. He won’t even grow a long silken beard. So there’s no need to apologize.”
“You’re forgiven, Turll,” Kedrigern quickly added.
“Now, you must stop to take some refreshment, and tell us all the news. Have your squire take the horses to the stable, and I’ll have Spot bring out a snack.”
“My lady is too kind,” said Turll with a bow and a flourish.
“She certainly is,” Kedrigern muttered under his breath, adding aloud, “Am I to understand that you’ve been seeking us, Turll?”
“I have, Master Kedrigern. I am a knight as yet untested, on a quest perilous.”
“And you need help professional?”
“I do. I must learn the ways of gnomes if I am to have any hope of succeeding in my quest.”
Kedrigern brightened. “All you want is information, then? You don’t want me going off into some accursed wilderness with you?”
“I would not dream of imposing on the time of such a renowned and busy wizard – especially since the fortunes of my family have declined in the past few generations, under the curse of Cashalane.”
“Cashalane? That miserable old witch?”
“Yes, Master Kedrigern, it was she who—” Turll stopped short as his squire went into a series of vigorous gesticulations, like a man throwing a fit. “Please excuse me,” said the knight, responding with lively gestures of his own. Kedrigern and Princess exchanged a quick glance of bewilderment, but said nothing. The dumb show went on, with animation on both sides, for several minutes. At last, Turll folded his arms; the squire nodded, and, saluting, he led the animals to the stable.
“Forgive the interruption, I beg you. My squire, Jeniby, does not speak,” said Turll.
“The poor lad,” Princess murmured. “Is it because of the family curse?”
“Oh no, my lady. Well, not directly. It was entirely his own idea. He has vowed to speak no word until I have rescued the fair Floramella, mistress of my heart.”
“What loyalty! What devotion!” said Princess, her eyes shining.
“I rather wish he’d consulted me first. It’s very loyal and all that, but it can be extremely inconvenient when one is in a hurry . . . all that waving, you know.”
The distant flapping of feet and an echoing “Yah” announced the approach of Spot with refreshments. To forestall unpleasantness, Kedrigern asked, “You haven’t taken any vow to attack trolls, have you, Turll?”
“No, Master Kedrigern. My quarrel is with gnomes.”
“Good. We have a troll to help out around the house, you see. Handy little chap. We call it ‘Spot’. Ah, here it comes,” said the wizard, as the knee-high house-troll came caroming out the front door and skidded to a halt before them, holding aloft a tray on which rested a tall pitcher of ale and four mugs. Not a drop spilled.
“Well done, Spot. You can leave everything here. I’ll pour,” said Kedrigern.
“I’m glad you warned me, Master Kedrigern. I would have considered Spot a gnome.”
“Oh, dear me, no. Trolls and gnomes have nothing in common except a predilection for subterranean residence. No resemblance at all. Gnomes look like wizened little men and women. Trolls look like . . . well, Spot is one of the better-looking trolls I’ve encountered. And one of the smallest. Of course, Spot is still very young. In another century or so, it will start growing.”
“Keddie, you’re talking shop,” Princess admonished him. “Perhaps Turll would simply like to relax in peace.”
“Oh no, my lady, quite the contrary,” Turll assured her. “I must learn gnome-lore, the more the better. It is my only hope.”
“You mentioned your interest in gnomes earlier, and then you spoke of rescuing a fair lady. Is there some connection?” Kedrigern asked.
“There is, good master. My Floramella, the fairest of princesses – of unmarried princesses – has been carried off by a gnome.”
“Carried off?” Princess repeated incredulously. “Gnomes are strong for their size, but . . .”
“This was a big gnome, my lady. A very big gnome. A giant gnome.”
Kedrigern reached out to seize Turll’s wrist in a firm grip. “Are you quite sure of that?” he snapped.
“Her entire family witnessed the dastardly act. It occurred at the local spring festival, just as Floramella entered, dressed all in green, a vision of loveliness. There can be no doubt.”
“Then this is a very serious business, my boy,” said the wizard. His expression was grave.
“Aren’t you exaggerating the danger, Keddie? The worst thing a gnome can do to a princess is bore her to tears,” Princess objected.
“Ordinarily, that’s true, my dear. Gnomes are among the most boring little people in creation. But we’re dealing here with a giant gnome, and when a gnome gets big, he’s gone bad. It’s something every gnome family fears . . . a rare occurrence, but invariably tragic in its consequences.”
“Tragic? Oh, my fair Floramella!” cried Turll. He staggered, flung up his hands, and fell in a swoon.
“Poor lovesick boy,” Princess said.
“When Jeniby is finished in the stable, we’ll have him lug the poor lovesick boy inside. Meanwhile, I’ll do some research into—” A shrill, wordless cry of terror interrupted the wizard, and Jeniby burst from the stable, pale and wild-eyed, waving his arms wildly. Kedrigern snapped his fingers in chagrin. “I forgot to tell him about our horses.”
; “It’s all right,” Princess reassured him. “I’m sure his vow permits an occasional scream.”
When he regained his senses, Turll was persuaded to stay for dinner and spend the night at the cottage. Princess listened patiently and sympathetically to his ardent protestations of undying love and eternal devotion to Floramella, paled appropriately at his promises of bloody revenge should a single flaxen hair of her fair head be disturbed, and then settled back comfortably to hear an update of the news of the neighboring kingdoms, principalities, dukedoms, palatinates, provinces, territories, domains, and dominions. Since Turll had to check most of his facts with Jeniby, his narration was lengthy, with frequent chiromantic interludes, and went on well past the accustomed dinner hour, until Kedrigern finally rejoined the company. Under the wizard’s arm was a thick book bound in green. He was solemn of countenance, pensive of mien, and empty of stomach, and his message was that there would be no further talk until after dinner.
Spot, who was a capable chef when carefully supervised, served up a splendid meal this night: a thick soup, a civet of hare, starling pie, a stew, finely minced venison, lampreys in galantine, and roast capons, with frumenty, fruit, and nuts for dessert. The food was enhanced by wines from the vineyards of a satisfied client, Vosconu the Openhanded. Turll was lavish in his praise, and Jeniby expressed his satisfaction as best he could by gestures, overeating, and exaggerated moans of delight.
When dinner was over, they rose from the table with many a satisfied sigh and took their places before the fire. Kedrigern opened the green book, checked several passages he had marked off, and cleared his throat.
“The phenomenon of a gnome going bad is uncommon, but the symptoms have been noted and recorded. First comes melancholy, and withdrawal from community affairs. Second is molting: hair and beard disappear completely, though the bushy eyebrows remain. At this point the afflicted gnome is moved out-of-doors, because the third step is rapid growth. The little fellow bursts right out of his clothing,” he began.
“But Master Kedrigern, all who saw the creature stated that he was clad in the garb of a typical gnome!” Turll interjected.
“As, no doubt, he was,” said the wizard patiently. “Gnomes are a prudish lot. The thought of one of their number crashing about in the woodland stark naked greatly distresses them. So every gnome community keeps an oversized suit of clothing on hand, just in case. In the interest of decency.”
“I see.”
“Good. To continue, then: in step four, the gnome, now twice human size or more, develops an irresistible craving for beautiful young princesses. He will wade any moat, batter down any gate, scale any wall, to attain his objective. Once having captured a beautiful young princess, he carries her off to a secluded place, where he—”
“Stop! I can’t bear to hear more! One more word and I swoon!” Turll cried, burying his face in his hands.
“Must you go on?” Princess said anxiously.
“I must. He takes her to a secluded place, where he puts her down and then runs off to look for another princess.”
Turll looked up, astonished. “He runs off?”
“He does. As I said, gnomes are prudes. And the ones who get to this stage are disoriented as well. They want to carry off beautiful princesses, but they don’t know what to do once they’ve got them. They may carry off half a dozen before they’re stopped.”
“But then she’s safe – my Floramella is safe!”
“Well . . . her virtue is safe, and that’s a comfort. But she stands a good chance of dying from starvation, thirst, exposure, misadventure, savaging by wild beasts, or sheer terror. How long is it since she was taken?”
“Five days.”
“If I were you, Turll, I’d be off first thing in the morning. There’s no time to lose.”
“Whither shall I seek her, Master Kedrigern? The giant gnome came in this direction, but I have no idea where he might have left poor Floramella.”
“There’s a small community of gnomes a day’s ride from here. They might know something. I’ll draw you a map, so—”
“We will accompany you on your quest, Turll,” Princess broke in.
With a look of dismay, the wizard said, “But my dear—”
“We must!” she repeated, stamping her dainty foot and looking with blazing eyes at each of the men in turn. “Turll is as interested in spitting that overgrown gnome on his lance as he is in finding Floramella, and he’ll be trying to do both, and he probably won’t manage to do either. Think of the poor child, alone in the dark woods, jellied with fear, racked with hunger, drenched to the skin . . . her feet bruised, her hands numbed . . . her hopes dwindling with each passing hour!”
“Floramella was never a light eater, my lady. And she was wearing her warmest cloak,” Turll said.
“And think of her feelings!” Princess went on, ignoring the interruption. “To be carried off and then abandoned like a sack of dirty laundry while your abductor goes charging after another woman! It’s humiliating, that’s what it is. And you’re not even mildly disturbed by the fact. Men are all alike.”
“My dear, you’re being unfair. It wasn’t a man who carried her off. It was a gnome,” Kedrigern pointed out, his voice wounded.
“Little men are all alike, too.”
Jeniby burst into a flurry of urgent gestures. Turll observed him, nodded, and said, “Jeniby reminds us that the weather has been mild this past week. There is yet hope.”
“Not the way you’re handling it. Any of you,” Princess snapped, turning to dart a challenging glance at Kedrigern. “You want to draw a little map and then go off to your workroom and forget the whole thing. And you” – addressing Turll – “when your fair lady is carried off by a gnome, go running to a wizard for information instead of staying on the gnome’s track, relentlessly, day and night, neither eating nor sleeping until Floramella is safe in your arms – if she cares to be, which I seriously doubt after the way you’ve botched everything so far.” Turning to Jeniby, she snapped, “And you can stop waving your arms and try to do something useful.”
“My lady, we are your slaves. Only command us,” Turll said, flinging himself to one knee before her, arms wide in supplication.
“Now, just a minute,” Kedrigern began. He got no further.
“We leave at dawn. You three will seek the gnome settlement. I will fly overhead and search the woods for—”
“Fly?” Turll blurted in bewilderment.
“Yes, fly. What do you think wings are for, to churn butter?”
“Wings?” Turll’s voice was faint.
With a sigh of sheer exasperation, Princess rose, flung aside her light surcoat with a sweeping gesture, and unfurled her compact opalescent wings. As Turll and Jeniby looked on in awe, she rose with a soft hum, circled the room, and came lightly to rest on the corner of the mantel.
“You can fly,” Turll said, almost inaudibly.
“I certainly can. And now I’m flying off to pack for our quest. Remember – we leave at dawn,” said Princess, rising from the mantel and soaring from the room.
“I was a bit abrupt last night, wasn’t I?” said Princess as they made their way down the mountain next morning.
“Perhaps just a bit,” Kedrigern said.
“I couldn’t help myself. There we all were, full and warm and comfortable and safe, and that poor child Floramella huddled in the cold and dark, slowly wasting away from hunger and thirst. Nobody was doing anything!”
“Something will be done,” said the wizard, pausing to cover a yawn. “The gnomes will help us. They want to avoid scandal.”
“Yes, but you would have left it up to Turll. He probably couldn’t have found the gnomes, even with a map and clear directions; and if he did manage to stumble upon them, he wouldn’t have understood what they told him, or would have forgotten it, if they talked to him at all – which, given Turll, seems unlikely. He’s the sort to burst upon them, threatening and making demands, and have them all disappear. And then he’d
swoon.”
“It’s possible,” Kedrigern conceded lukewarmly.
“It’s just about certain. And if he does find this big gnome, he’s going to need your help. Turll’s handsome, and devoted, and probably brave enough, but . . .”
“But?”
“Well, he impresses me as a man who’s done too much jousting without a properly padded helmet. I think he could get lost inside his own armor. And that squire of his is no help.”
Kedrigern did not reply at once. Finally he said, “I must confess I agree, my dear.”
“So you admit I did the right thing.”
“Much as I dislike traveling – especially at this hour – and distasteful as I find it to go off on a quest . . . yes, you did the right thing. Floramella wouldn’t have had a chance if we’d left things in Turll’s hands. A pity someone isn’t paying for our services, though.”
“Don’t be mercenary.”
“I’m being professional.”
“Turll can pay you when this is all over and he’s settled down. Handsome, bold knights always manage to make a decent living. The main thing now is to find Floramella. Once the mist has dissipated, I’ll see if I can spot any sign of her.”
Princess went up in midmorning. It was a glorious day for flying, and she spent the remainder of the morning and all of the afternoon aloft, except for short breaks to rest her wings. Though she crisscrossed the woods methodically, and at different altitudes, she found no trace of the unfortunate Floramella.
Turll and Jeniby kept a respectful distance from Princess and Kedrigern, chiefly out of awe at the mounts they were riding. Princess’s horse was a dainty little creature, entirely transparent. Once the morning’s condensation had evaporated from its sides, it was all but invisible, except for its silver saddle, deep blue caparison, and the glints of light that flashed from its hide when the sun struck at the proper angle.
Kedrigern’s horse was terrifying to behold. It stood eighteen hands high and gleamed like polished ebony. Its eyes were lozenges of fire, and a spiral silver horn jutted from its forehead. Silver hooves the size of kettles trod leaf-light on the dank trail. Except for an occasional snort of flame from its nostrils, the great beast moved in utter silence. The creature was, in fact, gentle and good-natured, but Kedrigern saw no point in broadcasting this to all. It certainly looked like the proper steed of a great and powerful wizard; the less people knew about it, the more formidable would be their speculations, and that was all to the good.
