by Eric Flint
As he stalked through the hallway on his way to the throne room to listen to today's commoners" complaints and aristocratic annoyances, he felt a thump on his hip. Looking down he discovered Violetta's wretched, ragged, beggar wenchling striking him with a book.
Roughly shoving her into the wall with his fist in her shoulder, he snarled, "I don't know what you're up to, or what exactly your relation is to that pallid vixen, but I'll find out. Something isn't right here."
Her eyes didn't register fear or pain. They seemed to tear into him like a flame, scorching and charring his soul. Not like a meek beggar at all.
"Who are you?" he asked, shaken.
"Haah," she said slowly, continuing to stare at him.
He had the distinct impression of being measured for later consumption. He shuddered. Throwing his shoulders back he hurried off for the throne room.
* * *
Theora followed Winthorp at a distance, angry and frustrated. Humans! Weak, ignorant fools. A glance at a window showed she had only a few hours until noon, when she'd change back into a dragon without Winthorp's kiss. At this point she didn't want it. Besides she already had several of his courtiers picked out to do lunch with.
After following him into a room filled with humans, she sat near the back to watch what happened. Tedious and boring, plotless and pointless, like most of the human doings. Everyone seemed to be taking turns whining and complaining to Winthorp. No wonder he'd been grumpy this morning.
She was just beginning to consider going somewhere else to change, when two wizards she recognized ran into the room shouting. Even at that distance and with her human nose she could smell them.
No one could make sense of their shouting until finally the tall thin one clamped one bony hand over the chubby one's mouth. "Your Majesty is in terrible danger."
Sighing, Winthorp motioned to the guards to get the wizards. Before the guards could reach them, the air directly in front of the wizards began to shimmer and sparkle. The young wizard appeared. He grinned at the other wizards and said, "Thou hast got the king, though thou be none: so all hail, Zenpfennig and Rueberry."
"Stop that," tall and thin growled at him, "We have to warn the king about the invasion and the dragon."
"What?" Winthorp shouted as he pounded the arm of his throne with his fist.
The young one bowed gracefully to Winthorp, emphasizing other's discourtesies. "Say if thou'dst rather hear it from my mouth, or from my masters?"
Tall and thin pushed past him. "Your Majesty is in terrible danger!"
"Fragaria's army marches on Dzungary!" the chubby one added.
Winthorp leaned forward and motioned to his guard to return to their stations. "What did you say?"
"Fragaria's army marches on Dzungary," tall and thin said. "We saw them on the road from Mertensia."
"Get me the Master of the Guards!" Winthorp stood up, shouting and motioning to his guards. "Arrest Princess Violetta!"
"She's not Princess Violetta," the chubby one panted. "They sent a common whore in her place so she couldn't be used as a hostage."
"I knew something was wrong with that woman!" Winthorp said triumphantly. Some of the men around him paled.
I knew something was wrong with her too, Theora thought, but I couldn't tell anyone. Princesses had to be much plumper. She edged quickly toward the nearest door. By her reckoning she had perhaps fifteen minutes left before she returned to herself, and she didn't want to wait around until the wizards remembered her and warned Winthorp.
* * *
Mazigian prodded Zenpfennig. "Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf, witches' mummy, maw and gulf."
"The dragon!" Rueberry cried, "We forgot about the dragon!"
"Speak for yourself," Zenpfennig said scornfully. He turned back to the king with his usual hauteur and said, "We must find a naked little girl. She's an enspelled dragon, who is apparently enamored of you and decided to marry you. You must kiss her or she'll turn back into a dragon, probably a very angry dragon."
"A naked little girl?" the King asked incredulously. "Oh, no. Not her. Violetta's beggar!" His eyes scanned the crowd. He dashed through the crowd followed closely by his guards, Zenpfennig, Rueberry, and Mazigian. "She was just here!" Once out of the throne room he motioned various directions to the guards. "You, that way, check the kitchens and middens. You check the inner chambers. You and you, search the east and west wings. You take the tower and dungeons." He turned to the last remaining guards and the wizards. "We'll look in the library. She's hidden there before." King Winthorp took off, running flat out. He glanced back over his shoulder. "How long until she changes back?"
"Unfortunately we don't know," Zenpfennig said from directly behind him. "We gave her the potion. It was that or be burned. But we don't know when she took it. The potion would last for three days, from whenever that was."
Rueberry panted, bringing up the rear as they raced through the palace. He arrived in the library in time to see King Winthorp leaning against an open window frame, clutching a small, grubby dress, his eyes closed, his expression tired and dejected. Through the window Rueberry saw a dragon in flight, away from the palace.
"I don't suppose it's possible she might remember her stay here fondly?" Rueberry puffed.
The king groaned. "No." He pulled himself away from the window and began giving orders to his guard, to call off the search for the beggar girl and to swiftly organize an army to protect Dzungary. "Our army may be small, but we will have to win the battle somehow."
"Yes, your Majesty," the guard replied. "We did capture Violetta. She has offered to turn traitor to Fragaria and tell us what she knows in return for her life. What should we do with her?"
"Deal with that snake? No. Lock her in the dungeon. We'll deal with Fragaria's army first, then with its spy." King Winthorp narrowed his eyes as he looked out the window and whispered, "Not death, I think. Something worse. Perhaps Lord Borchardt." He looked up and turned to the wizards. "You have our thanks for your warnings. We assume you will be helping Us in defense of Dzungary."
Mazigian again bowed gracefully. "Our vessels and our spells provide, our charms and everything beside. Great business must be wrought ere noon."
Zenpfennig's fingers twitched in the beginning of a spell, but Rueberry interrupted him, "I don't suppose we could break bread first?"
King Winthorp grinned. "A meal first, definitely. None of us will think well on empty stomachs."
"Casting spells requires more than just food," Zenpfennig lectured condescendingly. "Many spells require rare and expensive items in order to cast. Learning the arcane arts is a difficult and painstaking process. The proficiency of the executor—"
"You will be rewarded, of course," King Winthorp said with a sigh and a roll of his eyes.
Rueberry assumed Winthorp'd had experience with other experts in the field. Zenpfennig smiled like a skull and rendered a rickety bow.
* * *
The sun hadn't cleared the horizon, but enough light filtered up that Winthorp could finally see his hastily assembled army scrambling through the forest. Scouts sent out last afternoon indicated the best place for Fragaria's army to settle for the night was the opposite shore of the Bittersweet River. Winthorp hoped to reach the river during or before the enemy crossed. The army paused, still in the cover of the forest, overlooking the scenic Bittersweet valley. They'd made it; Fragaria's army was still breaking camp on the opposite shore.
From his vantage point behind a large tree, with one eye always on the enemy, Winthorp conferred with his counselors. Together they cobbled up a battle plan. He sent them off by saying, "With a bit of luck and unwavering determination, we may yet win this day. Hold your men until the signal's given, then fight with all your will and strength. For your families. For your honor. For Dzungary!"
After they'd left he turned to the wizards standing nervously nearby. "And how long will you stay by me?"
The leader, Zenpfennig smiled and bowed. Rueberry looked at his feet. The o
ne called Mazigian said, "When the hurlyburly's done, when the battle's lost and won."
Winthorp murmured, "Honesty, how rare," as Rueberry said, "That will be ere the set of sun."
Zenpfennig swung at the chubby Rueberry, who dodged with a surprising swiftness. "Not you too."
"It just seemed like the thing to say," Rueberry whined.
Zenpfennig snorted and stalked away. Rueberry was now close enough that Winthorp tugged gently on his sleeve to get his attention. "About Mazigian. He's . . ." Winthorp searched for the right words, "Not well, is he?"
"We really need to get him to a specialist," Rueberry whispered. "But he'll do for the battle, if that's what you're worried about."
They waited, anxious and jumpy, for the enemy to begin the river crossing. That was the signal to attack. The enemy finally deigned to cross and Winthorp's army rushed to meet them as they came up out of the water.
The battle had just begun, when Mazigian pointed to the rearward sky and shouted, "Hail!"
Winthorp turned and saw what he'd feared. He repeated Mazigian's cry, but with a change of vowel. A flying dragon bore down on them, skimming the treetops, and inhaling.
"We're cooked now," Rueberry moaned.
The Dzungarians threw themselves to the ground in mass surrender and the vain hope of escaping the worst of the flames.
The Fragarians paused, considering this turn of events. Prince Erskine began leading a charge, having apparently decided if the Dzungarians recognized and feared the dragon it must be on his side.
The dragon flew over the hindmost of the Dzungarians without flaming, aiming straight for King Winthorp and Prince Erskine. Winthorp saw the dragon bearing down on him and wanted, desperately, to throw himself to the ground with the wizards and his guards, but his legs wouldn't work. He'd stopped breathing, stopped thinking. His sword slipped in his sweaty hand and he clutched it tighter. Behind him he could hear Erskine's charge coming through the water, splashing through the shallows near the bank of the river, but he couldn't turn away from the fiery death awaiting him.
The rumble of fire in the dragon's throat shook the valley like thunder and the wind from its wings blasted Winthorp as the dragon sped past him, to flame Prince Erskine and his ill-fated charge.
Winthorp raised his sword high not daring to take the time to consider, or challenge, his good luck, shouting, "Up, up! Dzungary!"
Mazigian looked at him in wonderment. "Fair is foul, and foul is fair." It was almost a question.
His army was slow getting to its feet, but the dragon had made quick work of the Fragarians; flaming, boiling, biting, and shredding. The Dzungarians merely had to catch stragglers and deserters.
Winthorp watched her as she rended the Fragarian army, grinning and hoping she wouldn't turn on them when she was done. The fact that she didn't use her left front claw as she battled concerned him, but he also considered it as a potential weak point if she should be merely letting the Fragarians know that she intended to kill the Dzungarians.
She finished up on the opposite shore and flew back. Winthorp and the others braced themselves, in case, but she settled, nearly blasting Winthorp off his feet with the wind from her wings, on all four claws.
"Thank you, great dragon," Winthorp said, bowing to the dragon. "What would you have as your reward?"
The dragon took a deep breath, its gullet rumbled, but Winthorp stood still, unafraid. It opened its left claw, there lay the book Winthorp had read to the little girl. "Live in the palace. Learn reading spell. Hear stories."
Winthorp walked over and took the book from her claw. As she remade her claw into a fist and lowered her head, he climbed up to sit on top of her fist and look her in the eye. "We don't think that's such a good idea. You'd scare the people and beasts living in Gilden."
A growl started in the dragon's throat.
"However, we can bargain." Winthorp clutched the book tightly as he smiled at the dragon. "Perhaps We should find you your own castle. Or perhaps you'd prefer some caverns, nearby the palace. Connected with some hot springs and other very nice features. You have your own, large sleeping chamber, and a nice treasure pile to sleep upon. And, of course, your very own library. And," he motioned to the wizards cowering nearby who obviously weren't sure about this turn of events, "your own teachers and storytellers. We'll keep you supplied with beasts to eat, and battles to fight, and We'll make a proclamation that a copy of every story shall be sent to your library. What do you think?"
The dragon nodded her head.
"You'll help us fight our battles? And provide other aid we might stand in need of from a dragon?"
The dragon nodded again.
"You name, please, good dragon?"
The rumbling in her gullet caused several of Winthorp's men to blanch, but the dragon only said, "Theora."
"Theora. Well, with such good teachers," Winthorp turned his smile on the frowning wizards, "in time, perhaps, we'll become more than friends."
Zenpfennig stepped closer. "Exactly what did Your Majesty have in mind?"
"It occurs to me that I'm in no hurry to wed, and that a wife who could transform into a dragon could be very handy. All I have to do is wait a few years." Winthorp set his mouth in a smile that would have made a dragon proud.
"Your Majesty forgets," Zenpfennig said. "She only had the one potion. Just one time. She cannot now transform at will."
"But she is an exceedingly smart dragon." Winthorp turned back to look Theora in the eye. "She can learn the spell for reading, and the spell for transforming. If she wants."
Zenpfennig raised one stained, bony finger. "Ah, but that would mean . . ."
A growling rumble stopped him. The dragon gulped air and said, "Read now. Bargain later."
Winthorp opened the book and began, "Once upon a time. . ."
Of course the story ended with, "And they lived happily ever after."
* * *
Rebecca Lickiss is the author of a number of books and stories.
Child, Maiden, Woman, Crone
Written by Terry Bramlett
Illustrated by Maurine Starkey
Child (Late Winter, early Spring)
The music filled the valley as Johnny Nobles coerced the strings on his Gibson. He ended the song with a flourish and sat still, eyes closed. The March sun warmed the rock he used as his stage. He waited for applause, but the new corn stood silent.
Two years ago, he sang his only hit song to packed houses across the nation. Today, he sat beside the cornfield on his land, just outside the Navajo Nation. His grandfather had been half Navajo, but his grandmother full-blooded Irish. He spent many days in his youth beside the corn, banging away at an old Alvarez as his grandfather worked the land for a meager living. Johnny sighed.
He missed the adulation of the crowd, the thrill of performing, but his career never blossomed. Friends quit calling. His agent dropped him. The song kept sending decent royalty checks, so he took his nest egg and fixed up the family farmhouse.
He formed a C on the neck and strummed. The resonance of the chord made him smile. He played a tune running through his mind, a new tune, native to his home. He closed his eyes and imagined the sun as the bright lights of the stage. Laughter broke his concentration. He stopped playing and glanced up.
"Very pretty," said a little girl. She looked to be about ten. Dark hair flowed over her shoulders. She wore the traditional blue skirt and blouse of the Navajo.
The round face favored him with a smile, displaying the innocence of the young, but her eyes saw too deep for a child, which unnerved him.
"How did you get here?" Johnny asked.
She laughed. "I belong here," she said "I won't stay long, but I would like to hear." She smiled and the innocence of her face returned. "You play so well."
"Do your parents know where you are?" Johnny looked around, wondering how she appeared without his hearing or seeing her, but when he was playing, he lost himself in the music and experience of performing, even if only in
a cornfield.
The little girl stared, holding his attention. "Play," she said with a soft, demanding voice.
Johnny sat up straight, but his hands found the strings. His eyes closed as the melody drifted through him. Words hovered at the edge of his consciousness. He forgot the little girl as he realized that this was a breakthrough moment, if he could only capture the lyrics that hid beneath the music.
He ended the piece with a repeat of the beginning. Silence greeted the finale. He opened his eyes and looked for the little girl, but she was gone. The music pulled at his thoughts. He played the melody again, but the words remained unheard. A gust of wind blew through the valley and he thought he heard a little girl laugh.
