Song of Sorcery

by Elizabeth Ann Scarborough

  “I nearly forgot about her as time went by. Being crown prince is fairly heavy work, y’know. One thing father insisted on was that I choose and marry one of the local princesses. Princesses in general seemed a sorry, simpering lot compared to Xenobia, I thought then, but finally I chose Jane of Brazoria as the least objectionable of them, and we were married, and I resumed learning my duties as king-to-be while Janie and I tried to produce an heir.

  “Probably because we weren’t so lucky on that account, I was ready, when I got Xenobia’s message, to believe her when she said little Davey was my son. By the time I heard, you see, the lad was well along to being eight years old. I didn’t question that he was mine for a moment, either, once I saw him. He looks like me, don’t you think? No? Oh, yes, not so shaggy—heh, heh—keep forgetting. Not used to being both man and bear. S’awkward.

  “Anyway, little Davey was my son, and a charming, laughing child he was too. I wish Xenobia hadn’t hidden herself so well when your friends released me. I’d have shown her a bear! ’Twas a terrible thing she did to our boy.”

  “Hmph,” said Maggie. “He seemed to be doing all right for himself, if you ask me.”

  “Well, of course you’ve no idea, not having been around long. But I can tell you, gurrl, that my son is not the warm, gay child he was. He is not even a nice person now. Many fear him, and many envy him, but no one except his mother and that girl who opened my cage truly love him—and even Xenobia and the girl only love what he used to be.”

  “I see.”

  “Back to my story—I say, I hope I’m not boring you?”

  “Oh, no.”

  “Well, then. Davey was a beautiful child, and we loved each other at once. For a week I bided with the gypsies and taught him the things I knew—a bit about hunting, a bit about affairs of state, a few songs I’d learned off the circuit minstrels. But when time came for me to go, Xenobia cornered me, wantin’ to know couldn’t I stay with her and the lad. I explained about learning to run kingdoms, and Jane, and I s’pect she must have figured I’d gone snooty on her. Since I already had a wife, I couldn’t take Xenobia and the boy back to court, even if they could have adjusted to the life. It wouldn’t have done at all.

  “I thought she understood that in spite of the fearsome frown on her face as I left them. Five years later I received another message, this one askin’ me to come to young Davey’s manhood ceremony. I see now that her frown, when I first told her there was no room in my life for her and our son, marked the moment when she decided to change, and all three of us became monsters.

  “She met me on the road before I reached their camp, and was all smiles and chuckles. Even eight years ago, Xenobia was still quite a good-looking woman, and I flattered myself that my charm certainly wore well. I’d no idea it was a different charm altogether that she had in mind then, for we never went through the main camp at all, but straight to her wagon. She gave me meat and drink.

  “I asked to see my son, but she told me he was being prepared. After I drained my wine glass, I felt a little drowsy, y’know, so I thought I’d just have a bit of a nap.

  “When I woke up I was in the bear’s cage, couldn’t move a muscle or say a thing. My body was changin’ into a bear’s then, you see, and it seems to affect you like that. It was dark, and Xenobia came up carrying a torch, hard yella light on her hard, wicked face. I wondered then what I saw in her. Behind her was this fella all muffled in cloakery, like some sort of pilgrim.

  “‘This here’s the sorcerer, Prince Davey,’ she says to me. ‘Come all the way from Dragon Bay to be at our boy’s ceremony.’ Then she went on, mocking me. ‘As your highness may have noticed, I don’t write to you overmuch, not bein’ an educated woman like your wife and the noble kind. But our tribe has lately suffered the loss of our beloved bear—got a bit rough in the bear-baiting, and the poor thing got killed.’ Well, I thought she was daft, you know, goin’ on about some bear and me not bein’ able to talk.

  “Then she says, all sweet and reasonable, ‘So I thought we could help each other out. You want to be near the boy, and I need a new bear. The sorcerer here is obligin’ us by arranging for you to be the bear. If it should by any chance happen, I have to tell you, that should you ever get help getting loose from the cage by another magic animal—and where will you find one of them among us?—or—and this is what the sorcerer is about to make really impossible, and you’ll see for yourself what I mean, my love, soon enough—if this magical animal that helps you is aided by our boy’s true love, you’ll get to think and talk like a man again. Of course, anybody else tries to help you, you’ll probably eat them, because in a lot of ways, mighty prince of mine, you’re getting to be all bear.’ She laughed then and it was hair raisin’ to hear.

  “‘After this ceremony, our sweet little boy will never have to worry about findin’ a true love to desert the way his Papa did. His heart will belong to his mother and only to her!’

  “I didn’t know, of course, what she meant by that, but I was soon to find out, for she left the cage facing the gypsy’s campfire.

  “This ceremony they were having was lit by torches carried by the friends of all the boys getting passed to manhood, and I could see well enough. Young Davey, he was eager and excited, and they smeared paint on him and on the others and waved symbols in the air supposed to be magical, had some dances, give him a speech about how he’s a prince now. Ha! If only he knew, he could be a real prince with none of that hokum about it.

  “But on with what I was saying. Anyway, pretty soon it’s all over for the other boys and they go back to their parents. But Xenobia tells the boy that since he’s a prince and so on, he has one more bit of special rigamarole to go through.

  “She takes this crystal thing from the sorcerer—what d’ya call them, gurrrl? A prism. And she holds it in front of the child and tells him to watch it, to watch the fire inside it, to watch the colors of it, and pretty soon he gets real stupid looking. A trance, I s’pose it was.

  “The sorcerer comes forward then and takes this prism from Xenobia, places it against the boy’s breast. He chants and sing-songs and makes more magical patterns in the air. Wasn’t much of that went on before the prism gets brighter and brighter, and then very bright, indeed. Xenobia held out her hand for it then, but the sorcerer didn’t give it to her. She put up no fuss, either, afraid of undoing the magic, I suppose.

  Davey woke up then, and a great feastin’ party was held. I felt hungry myself, you see, for I was this way by then, and the meal I’d had as a man was hardly enough for a bear. I was also beginning to feel stupid and dull and ornery, and I tried to lift my arms to rattle the side of the cage. I saw my paws and forelegs then, and I knew she was telling the truth, that I was turning into a bear. I tried hard to understand what they were saying as they came to the cage, hoping they’d give me a clue as to how to free myself.

  “Xenobia had figured by then that the sorcerer had tricked her and was hollering at him. ‘You promised me I’d have the heart,’ I heard her say.

  “The sorcerer was sweet as honey. ‘I only promised to relieve him of it, dear lady, Come now,’ he says, ‘why should a traveler like yourself be needing extra possessions to cart around? I’ll just keep it safe for you as a memento of this lovely party and this charmin’ native ritual of yours. Someday, maybe, when I’m sure of your friendship and loyalty, I may let you have it back.’

  “Xenobia didn’t say anything to that, and he raps on my cage. I knew I was more bear than man already, for he smelled delicious. ‘By the way, Highness, the lady was not exactly playing fair with you. She neglected to tell you the rest of the antidote, as I’m bound by the spell to do. If, having been freed by those other conditions she mentioned, you manage to recover this little trinket,’ he flashed the prism again, dazzling my eyes and taunting Xenobia, ‘so your son can be as dreary as most young men, you will regain your human shape. If you don’t die of old age in that bear body first!’

  “Then I’ll be if he
didn’t mount on a great black swan and fly away before Xenobia could be at him again.”

  “I must say,” Maggie admitted through her yawn, “that was an amazing story.” Her eyelids had been getting ever heavier as the bear’s deep voice growled on. The bear prince raised his great shaggy head from her lap, and if a bear’s tiny eyes could look solicitous, his did.

  “Ah, gurrrl, and you listening to my tale after being up all night and none of the sleep you natural folk need. You’re in sore need of hibernation.” He rose to his hind paws again and looked around, then dropped once more to all fours. “You nap a bit and I’ll keep watch. I doubt any of Xenobia’s tribe have lingered in the area, but we’ll wait for nightfall to move along all the same.”

  “You’re the prince,” Maggie agreed, snuggling down into a nice grassy place and immediately falling asleep.

  14

  Due To The Magical Nature of This Tale Chapter 13 Has Been Omitted

  Awakening in his comfortable room at the Queenston Inn, the homey weight of Ching’s purring body stretched across his legs, Colin felt like crying. His body ached all over from wielding the great sword, and from riding in one day the day-and-a-half distance from the gypsy camp to Queenston. He had actually allowed himself to be so panicked by pursuit as to take Davey’s word for it that Maggie was safe and likely on the road ahead of him. He had half-killed his horse galloping down that forest path in hopes of catching up with her.

  For the first league or two that flew beneath his horse’s hooves, he had expected to rein in at any moment to hoist a brightly clad figure up behind him. Instead, the path had been empty, the town at the hour of his passage had been empty, and the highway beyond the town leading to Queenston, while not empty, had not led to Maggie either.

  He hadn’t really supposed she’d get so far ahead as to reach the highway on foot before him, but nonetheless her absence upon it caused him to feel empty. It was by then too late to turn back, or to slow down, for the gypsies would have recaptured their mounts and been after him if that was their intention. He could not take the chance that it wasn’t.

  So today he was less weary, but sore of mind and body, and a day behind from sleeping through it if he could judge from the ruddy sunset pinking the lace curtains that hung at the window.

  He was hungry too, and had no assets except a sword that didn’t fit him, his musical instruments, the clothes on his back, and a borrowed cat. He also had a lack of bright notions how to proceed with keeping his promises to Maggie and to Zorah.

  Ching raised his black-masked face from his kneading front paws, green eyes slitted with contentment.

  Colin idly scratched behind the cat’s whiskers. “At least you’re in a good mood. We’d best get to work, however, before they throw us in prison.” The cat didn’t look particularly worried. Having no purse, he could hardly be held responsible for bills. Colin walked to the window to get his bearings. The capitol swept down to the brilliant water of Queenston Harbor, whose garden of masts and spars was outlined in sharp detail against the mountains. The sunset frosted the upper peaks hovering protectively around the harbor with strawberry ice. “Ah, well,” sighed Colin as he pulled his boots on, “at least if we don’t come up with something here they’ll only jail us—if they catch us. This is a nice place. Some inns, I understand, they’d simply cut our throats and be done with it.”

  Fortunately, temporary impoverishment was one contingency the academy had trained him to contend with. Guitar strung across his back, and fiddle under his arm, he held open the door of the room for Ching to stroll through. “Now, cat, I promised you you’d never go hungry, didn’t I? How does some nice fish sound?” Ching gazed raptly up at him for a reply.

  Hoping not to meet the landlord, Colin slipped softly down the stairs, and for a change luck was with him. He breathed more deeply when they had put several streets between themselves and the inn. The salty, fishy smell of the harbor tanged at their noses, and Ching padded along in a positively frisky fashion.

  Colin soon thought it prudent to lift the cat to his shoulders so he could ride between the guitar and Colin’s neck. The capitol of Argonia was much busier than it had been when the third-class apprentices from the Minstrel Academy had visited their hall there years before.

  Even now, in early evening, merchants and sailors and servants and nobles streamed around him, bartering and buying right in the middle of the street. Heavily laden wagons pulled by horses or oxen parted the stream of passers-by as a boulder parts a stream of water. Carriages, gilded and probably belonging to noble court officials and administrative personnel, clattered by, heedless of the traffic, and Colin shied, nervous of so much activity after the relative peace of the highway.

  He ought to have expected it would be busier, though, with the tribunal convening in only three months. Servants would be renovating their masters’ and mistresses’ townhouses, merchants would be heavily stocking their inventories, and, naturally, more ships would be required to bring the goods.

  Country folk would be coming to town looking for work more lucrative than farming to see them through the coming winter. And curiosity-seekers would be trying to find a good place to stay before everyone else got moved in. For everybody wanted to know what would happen when the elder statesmen of Argonia met to nominate Finbar the Fireproof’s successor to the crown of Argonia.

  Finbar had been one of the best kings ever to rule, and one of the most colorful. The Minstrel Academy was one of the King’s many educational advances, and had been founded some fifty years ago, shortly after Finbar had accepted the crown. Tax reforms, improved farming methods instituted by wise men sent abroad specifically to study advanced foreign techniques, the abolition of differences in the criminal code between magical and non-magical folk, and a general attitude of reason and tolerance had been the result of his rule.

  But Finbar, once the most stoic and courageous of princes, was finally growing old. Some said old before his time, as an unfortunate consequence of his family history. He came from a family of performing magicians, whose talents included not only Finbar’s own penchant for swallowing flaming swords (which made him virtually dragon-proof) but also being sawn in half, lying on beds of nails, sticking swords into boxes containing themselves, and other uncomfortable occupations. Even those who did not agree that the king’s premature infirmity at the age of eighty-six resulted from his magic had to admit that his perilous ancestral talent had cost him his heir to the throne.

  His descendants were less powerful than he, as he was less powerful than his ancestor who could climb invisible ropes into the stratosphere. The two young princes, in trying to live up to their father’s prowess, perished rather messily while attempting to master one of the more advanced skills practiced by him. The princess did happen to have a little talent for eating fire, but after the demise of her brothers she decided to retire from public life and become an illuminator of manuscripts.

  Some folk were uncharitable enough to intimate that a monarch with somewhat less magic and somewhat more mortal strength and horse sense might be a wise choice at this time.

  At any rate, the economy of Queenston was flourishing if the reigning monarch was not, and it was not easy for a man with a cat on his shoulders and a fiddle under his arm to elbow his way through the throngs that crowded the streets and waterfront. Here there were fewer nobles and rich merchants, and more longshoremen, sailors, and the ladies who profited by their company.

  He was about to ask one of these people where he could locate his dinner when his nose located it for him. Rancid grease, frying fish, sailors whose bodies touched water only when a wave washed across the deck of their ships, and the mingled stench of first- and second-hand ale and foreign tobacco told him he had found a place to earn his meal and rent money even before he heard the clamor of voices and the rattle of cutlery from within.

  He could see very little as he entered the inn, for two reasons. The first was that a friendly pre-dinner brawl was in progress, and p
eople were flying in and out the door on their knees and by the seats of their pants in confusing profusion. The second reason was that the smoke from both pipes and unattended oil lamps clouded the entire establishment with a haze of blue-gray fumes. Colin thought perhaps the patrons were so glad to see the place after months at sea, they probably considered the fumes atmospheric.

  Ducking the airborne diners, he made his way to a chair in the corner of the room where he could have his back against the wall and avoid being jostled from behind. Ching jumped down from his shoulder and went to investigate the fish smells emerging from behind the bar. Colin unlimbered his bow.

  For a time he played to himself, building his courage, and no one could hear him over the brawl. But the first of the brawlers to decide to sit and nurse his wounds over another flagon sat near him, listened to what he played, applauded loud enough even to be heard over the din, and bellowed a request. This innovative pastime quickly became fashionable among his fellows, likewise seeking less painful diversion that would allow them more drinking time.

  Requests were loud and competitive, and almost led to another brawl, until someone decided to influence Colin’s choice with a copper coin. Someone else decided that what one copper coin could do, two copper coins would do better, and so on. By the time he had enough to buy his dinner Colin was thoroughly enjoying himself.

  All of the sailors had voices, a few of them good, all of them lusty, and they brought the same enthusiasm to the singing that they had to the brawling. Their favorite songs were bawdy and very long, since on shipboard it was a common pastime to sing and to add new verses, appropriate to the current situation, to old songs. Colin was on the sixteenth verse or the eighteenth, he wasn’t sure which, of the one about the selkie who outwitted the sea serpent and seduced the siren, when the first of his listeners called the innkeeper for a pint for the fiddler.