Song of Sorcery

by Elizabeth Ann Scarborough

  “Well—yes. It would have been better if I’d come with you at once, but I’m still Rowan enough that I listened to my pride for a while before I set out to follow you. I’d decided by the time I met Zorah that I was no fit king, or even much of a hero, if I let my sister-in-law do all the rescuing in the family. And when Zorah told me the mess you’d got into…” He glared across the table at Xenobia and Davey.

  “How did you know where we were, though?” Maggie asked.

  “Zorah said you were off to find the Sorcerer of Dragon Bay, since she’d extracted Colin’s promise to get that scamp’s heart.” He indicated Davey, who studied the food he was carefully masticating twenty chews to the mouthful, “And the last day, your Aunt Sybil’s budgie bird come bringing us a message that you’re up t’ the sorcerer’s place and something was amiss.”

  “We was about to leave port when ’is lor’ship come askin’ for you, lad,” said Neddy. “We didn’t like leavin’ you, after you’d saved the ship and all, but when we went back to the rock, you was gone. So as I say, we was just lucky he come when ’e did.”

  “Whew,” said Maggie. “You were lucky!”

  “I have some unfinished business,” said Rowan, rising to his feet. “It pains me, sir,” he said to Davey, “for His Highness of Ablemarle is a fine man, or bear, depending on how you look at him, and he tells me you’re his son and acquitted yourself nobly in the dragon affair. But you’ve offended the honor of m’ lady and for that you’ll have to answer.”

  “No!” Zorah leapt to her feet as well. “Do you think I brought you here so you could kill him?”

  Rowan looked bewildered. He was honor-bound to Zorah, as much as he was to avenging the insult. While he was trying to decide if it was more important to avenge a reputation lost than to reward a life saved, Amberwine tugged on his sleeve ’til he sat down.

  “I only regret we let the villain get away before we got that heart for Davey,” said His Highness. “He was such a good boy once.”

  “Is this it?” asked Amberwine, pulling it from her pocket. Its jeweled light danced across their eyes.

  “Winnie,” said Maggie, “How ever did you…?”

  “When your uncle put the bear to sleep, Maggie, I saw it sitting about, and dropped it in my pocket while they were all watching you. I wasn’t sure what it was, but it seemed important to you,” she said the last to the bear as she gently set it in his paws.

  His Highness rose and made Amberwine a bow. “Madam, if I wouldn’t wet you to the elbow in so doing I’d kiss your hand.” He climbed heavily over the bench and lumbered on his hind legs to where Davey sat beside his mother. The cynical smile on Davey’s lips as the bear pressed the crystal against his empty beast underwent a subtle change. “Be a man, my son,” said the bear as the light gradually was absorbed into Davey. While everybody was busy feeling touched, the bear changed back into human form and embraced his son.

  The innkeeper’s wife screamed at the naked prince as she had not screamed to see a bear at her table. Rowan hastily handed the prince a cloak. Enchantments were sometimes careless about details.

  “Ah, yes,” sighed Xenobia. “I believe I do like you better in that form.”

  “Can you forgive me my callousness, dear lady?” asked the prince, who, if not young and handsome, was, as they all knew, brave and kind and intelligent, which was the same thing, only better. Actually, Maggie thought he still looked like a bear. His hair and beard were dark and curly, and before Rowan had produced the cloak his body hair had seemed equally copious—and he was a short, stocky, sturdy-built man. But what had been little dim bear eyes were now luminous and chocolate-drop brown as they looked kindly at the gypsy woman. “Had it not been for you I’d now be a hearthrug for that murderous magician.”

  “Had it not been for me, you wouldn’t have been in such a condition. Of course I forgive you, Worthy…” and they went on in that vein for some time, until they too finally stopped to watch the long, passionate clench that Davey and Zorah were indulging in, much to the general edification of the crew of the Bane, who had filled up the rest of the inn and were cheering and laughing and taking bets on how long the couple could hold out without coming up for air.

  Finally they did, however, and Davey, handing Zorah the empty prism that had once imprisoned the best part of him, sighed. “Ah, Zorah, darling. And to think I didn’t know I cared!”

  It was altogether an extremely long night. If matters had been left strictly up to the initial participants in the situation, everyone would have retired early. But the crew of the Bane had seized the occasion as one suitable for celebration and a great deal of drinking, singing, and lying ensued on the part of all and sundry.

  At one point in the festivities, Colin returned to the Bane to pick up his kit, guitar, and Obtruncator, plus the soggy remnants of his beloved fiddle, rescued by Neddy from the rock. He returned the sword to Rowan. “I thank you for its use, sir, but it didn’t suit me like my fiddle did. That’s ruined now, but I can make merry enough with my guitar, if Neddy and his hornpipe and Tom on the concertina give a hand.”

  “Suit yourself, lad,” said Rowan. “But I have a wish that you’d hold on to Obtruncator a spell longer. I’d the feeling there was something following us in the wood almost until we approached the Bay.”

  Colin groaned, as he had had more adventure than he expected ever to want to see again. “Of course you needn’t go back with us,” Rowan said quickly. “The captain tells me he’ll be delighted to have you on the Snake’s Bane. Say the word, and I’ll ask him to ’prentice you as an officer trainee so that you can accept an admiralty I’d like to offer you in the King’s Navy—if I’m the king, that is.”

  Colin nodded, but said, “That’s kind of you, my Lord, but I’m afraid my new friends might be put off a little at such grand promotions not obtained—er—in the line of duty. I’ll see you safely to the castle, and perhaps you could use my services ’til you’re ready to return to Queenston for the election? I’ve never been to court before, other than as a student. I might wait there ’til the Bane returns, to sail with her next time around.”

  No sooner had the Bane put to sea than the gypsy band came tumbling into the town. Rowan was saddling his horse when Prince Worthyman and Davey came to tell him that they wouldn’t be going along back to Castle Rowan after all. “I’ve decided not to return to Ablemarle for now,” the prince explained. “I want to spend some time with Xenobia and my son here, and now that I’m not in a cage I rather enjoy the gypsy life.”

  “Will you let your brother know you’re alive then, Highness?” asked Rowan.

  “Only if he gives you any trouble when you take over rule of Argonia. Perhaps then I could be a bargaining point…”

  “Spoken like a born statesman, Prince.” Rowan’s huge hands engulfed Worthyman’s as he said goodbye. “I hope I may count on you for advice, in case I’m elected.”

  The coming of the gypsies to Dragon Bay was not to be the last event that morning to ruffle the town’s composure.

  Suddenly people ran screaming in an orgy of frenzied terror as Grizel and Grimley flew low over the streets, as though they were looking for someone.

  “Eeeeeek!” shrieked the innkeeper’s wife. “’Tis the sorcerer’s revenge! They’ve returned to murder us all in our beds!”

  “You’re not in your bed,” pointed out his lordship, “But Mistress Maggie and her cat are. I suggest you fetch them here.”

  A tangle-haired Maggie was rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she came downstairs, and Ching had to pause to wash a paw, having yet to complete his toilet.

  After good-morning-did-you-sleep-wells all around, Rowan told her what he had in mind. “You talk to the cat, lass, do you not?”

  She yawned and nodded.

  “Do you think he’d serve as me recruitment officer for a moment or two?”

  When Maggie had secured Ching’s agreement, he walked out a short way from them, and in one or two flips of his tail, he was join
ed by both dragons, right there in the middle of the corner at Bayshore and Second Avenue.

  In a moment he came sauntering back to Maggie and Rowan. “You can tell him,” Ching said, “that the dragons will be happy to move out to his place in exchange for their own sheep and cattle herds and all the enemy bandits they can eat. I think they’d go for anything that involves eating and flying about, but Grizel says they were thinking of moving to a better neighborhood anyway, with more room, as there may be little dragonets along in another year or two.”

  Maggie told Rowan, who gave the dragons the universal sign for victory.

  Ching continued. “And if you don’t mind very much, witch, Grimley would like to know if the Mighty Enchantress—I suppose that’s you, as you’re the only one answering a description anything like that—would very much mind restoring his fire. Grizel is delighted to cook for him, naturally, but he says he misses the warm feeling in the pit of his stomach.”

  22

  It was still chilly early morning when Winnie hugged Maggie one more time, carefully, with one arm only, for the other cradled little Bronwyn. They had breakfasted in the kitchen, to save time, and Rowan and his lady had risen early to say goodbye.

  “I wish you could stay longer,” Winnie said. “It’s been so much brighter here with you about.”

  “It certainly has,” said Cook, handing Rowan a lidded basket. “After you shined the brass, polished all the silver, cleaned the chimneys, swept the entire keep from top to bottom, waxed all the floors, and washed the walls and windows, not to mention laundering the carpets and draperies, it’s very bright around here indeed. Tell me, is your sort of witchcraft common? I hope not, or you’ll put the entire servant class on the streets to beg…”

  “At least she’s earned her ride out of the rowan groves by polishing all the diamonds in Grizel’s new nest,” Rowan laughed.

  “Ching did say Grizel greatly appreciated my little house-warming present,” Maggie admitted.

  “I wish you’d let her take you all the way, or at least let me provide you an escort, if you won’t wait until after the coronation when we all come north for the christening,” said Rowan, who was now officially king-elect. Maggie had stayed to help and keep Winnie company while Rowan was in the capitol for the tribunal and for the many other government conclaves that eventually led to his selection as king. She had spent the last six weeks helping Winnie pack what she wished to take to Queenston, and make arrangements for the management of the estates in their absence.

  In a day or two, the soon-to-be royal family would be leaving for the capitol, and Maggie really did need to return now to Fort Iceworm. Aunt Sybil’s budgie, flying high above the rowan trees, had brought word that while Sir William’s health had vastly improved, his temper had not. Granny Brown did not possess Maggie’s administrative abilities, and had already turned Sir William’s solicitor into a weasel and one of the local merchants into a raccoon. So it was time for her to return home, but she was in no great hurry to get back to what awaited her.

  “I’ll have escort soon enough,” she reminded Rowan. “I’ll be traveling in your lands almost the entire two days’ journey ’til I’m to meet Xenobia’s caravan, and that whole way I’ll be in plain view of Grizel and Grimley’s patrol flights.”

  “Very well, lass, I know you’ve your own mind, and that’s been to my benefit. Are you sure there’s no royal boon I can grant you in parting?” Maggie shook her head and occupied herself with undoing her pack to check it one more time.

  “Never,” said Cook, standing at the window with her hands fisted at the waist of her apron, “will I get used to seeing dragons land in my courtyard.”

  Maggie’s eyes raked the kitchen. “Where’s Ching?”

  “There he is, coming from the stables. I suspect he went to say farewell to the stable cats,” said Winnie.

  “It’s good-bye then, I suppose, ’til after the coronation,” Maggie said, shouldering the pack that contained the magic mirror her Aunt Sybil had given her, a new hand spindle carved for her by Colin, a dress, formerly underwear, which she planned to wear while in the company of the gypsies, her medicine pouch, a few staples for her magic to transform into meals, plus a small bag of gold from Rowan—she had had to insist on small. The amount he had tried to lavish on her would have been far too heavy for her to carry. There was also, carefully wrapped in velvet, a miniature portrait of the infant Princess Bronwyn, a gift for her maternal grandfather from the new king and queen, plus a few dried herbs and flowers peculiar to the area around Castle Rowan. Winnie, in the last stages of her pregnancy, had picked these for Granny Brown while Maggie was occupied with repairing the Rowan family tapestry showing Rowan the Rampaging single-handedly defeating the entire Brazorian army.

  Rowan and Amberwine saw Maggie out to where Grizel sat waiting. They knew good-byes had to be quick, for even though the rowan trees in the courtyard had been transplanted to save Maggie the discomfort of her witch’s allergy to them, still their essence wafted up from the groves that surrounded the castle.

  She hugged Winnie again, and kissed baby Bronwyn. Then Rowan, too, stepped forward to embrace her. “Take care of our loved ones, my liege,” she mumbled into his massive chest, “and your reign be blest.”

  He backed away from her with a sweeping bow and, before she could mount, snatched up her hand and kissed it soundly. “I can hardly fail with a mighty sorceress in the family, now can I?” he teased.

  “Shall we get ON with it?” Ching said, “I’d rather not hear the minstrel’s bitter complaints ringing in my ears the first five miles of our journey about how we made him stand a night and a day holding your horses.”

  Maggie mounted quickly, and Ching sprang to her shoulders. Grizel spread her wings and puffed up a take-off.

  For a long time Maggie made a point of not looking down. Ching butted his head against her cheek. “I know how you feel, witch. I will certainly be glad to be home riding nothing more spirited than my hearthrug. Dragons, whales, and horses are all very well in themselves, but hardly suitable cat accommodations.”

  “Hush, you’ll hurt Grizel’s feelings,” scolded Maggie, looking down and quickly back up again. The trees were passing below them in a dizzying dazzle of green, and the road whipped along like a dusty brown serpent. Perhaps she ought to have risked the trees after all.

  “She doesn’t understand our conversations unless I choose for her to,” said Ching. “Since I am your temporary familiar, we share privileged communication.”

  “That’s nice,” said Maggie. “Will you still talk to me sometimes back at Fort Iceworm?” The cat said nothing. “Well, will you?” she repeated.

  “There will be no need, will there?” he asked, not at all in his usual bantering tone. “And Granny must be very lonely—she’s causing all that trouble again too. She needs my help again—I suspect I shall be very busy with one witch. Sorry. I shall say cat remarks to you occasionally, and rub against you to be petted, and listen to you when I have nothing better to do, but our relationship will have to be pretty much as it was before.”

  Maggie said nothing else, as Grizel was circling in for a landing, and the witch was busy keeping her stomach in order.

  Colin rode a dapple gray mare and held a pretty chestnut for Maggie. He had ridden out from the castle the afternoon before, to be on the path beyond the rowans when Grizel arrived.

  Seeing that all was in order, Grizel made her good-byes and flew off to meet Grimley to discuss her new rear firewall for their lair.

  “That’s quite a dragon,” said Colin. He looked rather undressed without his guitar slung over his shoulder, Maggie thought.

  “Yes, she is.”

  “I trust her reconciliation with Grimley went well? In all the excitement of the coronation preparations and the tribunals and all you never told me what the cat said about that. I’ve meant all these months to get around to asking. He wasn’t angry or anything, because she went off in a huff—or I suppose you could say a
puff?”

  Maggie knew they were making conversation to keep from facing the moment when they’d part, and she strove for a light touch. “Oh, no, Ching said Grimley admired her spirit. Called her his little spitfire.”

  “Oh no. He didn’t?”

  “That’s what she told Ching. I—I imagine as soon as you get to Queenston you’ll be sailing off on the Bane?” Maggie put her hand upon her saddle horn with deliberate precision, put her foot in the stirrup, then took it out again to stand waiting for his reply.

  Colin had squatted down and was mauling some clover. “No—not right away, at least. Actually, the king asked me to delay that for a while. As soon as he’s taken office and the coronation’s over, he’s planning a little voyage to Ablemarle.”

  “Round the horn?”

  “Yes, and he wants me there to record the whole event and make a song of it so the taxpayers will know what he’s doing with their funds.”

  “You’ll be coming up for the christening, then?”

  “I suppose so, if you promise me I can keep my own shape.”

  Maggie grinned. “I can promise that, I think.”

  “Good. I say, your basket is making noises.” It was too, squeaking, odd noises. Maggie lifted the lid. A tiny kitten replica of Ching put a white paw on the edge of the basket and tried to scramble out.

  “I can’t talk to you, Maggie, but you’ll have your hands full with Sonnyboy, when he learns to talk,” said Ching, the fur on his snow-white chest puffing with fatherly pride. “Rowan thought a powerful witch like you ought to have your own familiar. He told me to tell you that, and you can’t know what it cost him. You ought to have seen him, down there in the hayloft, not knowing if I understood or not while he talked to me and that charming calico mother of Sonny’s, and us mewing back ever so innocently.”

  “Well, he won’t have as interesting a job, being my familiar, as you did,” she said, chucking Ching under the chin while stroking the kitten with one finger between his ears. “No more dragons or wizards for us now, kitty, just scrubbing that year’s worth of pots Gran won’t have done, and finding another one hundred and one ways to prepare ground venison.”