Kedrigern in Wanderland (4 page)

The castle on the hilltop was smaller inside than it appeared to be from the outside, and very untidy. All the way to Mergith’s throneroom, Panstygia was making low sounds of disgust and disapproval, just loud enough for Hamarak to hear.

He said nothing; he was too impressed to speak. This was the first time Hamarak had ever set foot in a castle, and despite Panstygia’s complaints, he thought Mergith’s stronghold a marvelous place. Rubbish was lying about everywhere, true, but it was rubbish of the very highest quality. Even the rats were sleek and well fed. For the first time in his life, it occurred to Hamarak that owning a farm might not be the finest thing in the world. Being a wizardking seemed much nicer.

Mergith’ s throneroom, the state chamber of Dendorric, was a spacious room at the top of the castle. lt had an uneven flagstone floor and rough stone walls hung with darkened tapestries that quivered in the constant drafts. A roaring fire warmed the room just a bit, and a half-dozen torches mounted in brackets gave illumination. Beside the hearth stood a crude table and a pair of low stools. The only other furniture was an elaborately carved wooden throne which appeared to have been freshly painted. On the throne sat a lean, sharp-faced man dressed all in black. He was as tense as a tightened spring.

Four guards stood by the throne, and when Hamarak and the pikeman entered, the guards stepped forward, hands on their weapons, to form a box around Hamarak. They said not a word and made no threatening gesture, but their expressions were not friendly.

The pikeman went to the foot of Mergith’s throne. “This is the man who drove off the brigands, Master,” he said.

“Indeed. All alone?” said Mergith softly.

“Entirely alone, Master. His sword is enchanted, the people say.”

“How very fortunate for him. And for them. What is his name?”

“He didn’t say, Master. He doesn’t say much.”

Waving the pikeman aside, Mergith smiled, revealing crooked yellow teeth. “Swordsman, come closer that I might convey my gratitude for your service to my subjects,” he called.

Hamarak came to the foot of the throne, the sword still resting on his shoulder. The guards kept close watch, ready to pounce at the first suspicious move.

“What is your name, my fine champion?” Mergith asked.

“Hamarak.”

“So. A good name. A fine strong name. A hero’s name. And what brings you to Dendorric, Hamarak?”

“I’m going east. Dendorric is on the way.”

“So it is, so it is. Particularly if one is coming from the west,” said Mergith, a yellowed smile nearly splitting his narrow face. “And you bear an enchanted sword, I’m told.”

“Yes. This is Panstygia, Mother of Darkness, the great black blade of the west. She wants to meet you.”

Mergith shrank back: a momentary flicker of fear ran through him at the thought that Hamarak’s words might be the subtle mocking prelude to a quick and fatal slash; but the sight of Hamarak’s homely open features reassured the wizard. There was no subtlety, nor malice, in that face.

“Does she?” he responded, raising his black brows in wonder. “How nice of her. How very sociable. May I hold her?”

“If you want to,” Hamarak said, presenting the hilt of the black sword to Mergith. The wizard stood and grasped it in both his bony, long-fingered hands. He raised the blade high and made a few nimble passes in the air.

“lt’s beautifully balanced,” he observed.

“It’s a good sword,” Hamarak said agreeably.

Mergith returned to the throne, sat down, and laid the black sword across his knees. He pushed back the lank black hair that had fallen over his forehead. Favoring Hamarak with another sallow smile, he gestured to the guards. “You may leave us,” he said. “I would
speak
with the swordsman in private.”

No sooner had the door shut behind the last guard than Panstygia said in a clear commanding voice, “Mergith, you must help me.”

Mergith gave a start and jerked his hands away from the blade. “Did you speak to me?” he asked warily.

“I did, Mergith. I’ve come a long way to seek your assistance. Do not disappoint me, please.”

Mergith looked suspiciously at Hamarak, who stood gazing at a half-eaten loaf that lay on the table by the fireplace. The swordsman’s lips had not moved. He could not be a ventriloquist. And yet Mergith had heard of no enchanted talking swords in the area. It could be a trick.

But who would dare? More to the point, who was capable? The people of Dendorric disliked him; but they were a mob of clods. They could never have come up with such an elaborate ruse. Yet someone had. But was it a ruse, or was this truly an enchanted blade speaking to him, asking his aid?

There was one easy way to make sure of Hamarak. Mergith summoned the swordsman closer and said, “I have been remiss in my thanks. I must reward you for your service to Dendorric.” He dug deep into the sleeve of his gown and drew forth a large golden coin, which he held up in two fingers, turning it to catch the torchlight. “Look at this coin, Hamarak. It’s a bright, pretty coin, isn’t it? Look how it catches the light.”

“It’s pretty,” said Hamarak.

“Look closely. Listen. You’ve worked hard today, Hamarak. You must be tired. Aren’t you tired?”

“A little. It’s still only morning.”

“But think of all you’ve done. You need a rest. Wouldn’t you like a nice rest?” Mergith asked in a soft, lulling voice.

“I wouldn’t mind. My arms are tired.”

“Then you must rest,” Mergith said, turning the coin, on which Hamarak’s eyes were fixed. “You’re already beginning to feel very sleepy. Your eyes are getting heavy. It would be nice to sit by the warm fire, and rest your weary bones, and go to sleep. Wouldn’t that be nice, Hamarak?”

“Very nice.”

“Then you must do it. Go over by the fire and sit on a stool. Have a good long sleep, and don’t wake up until you hear the command. Go, Hamarak.”

Hamarak walked at his customary slow pace to the fireside, where he settled on a stool and leaned his elbows on the table, resting his chin on his hands and gazing drowsily into the fire. Mergith looked upon his broad, motionless back, smiled, and patted the hilt of the sword possessively.

“And now, my
dear
sword, we can converse in privacy. What would you ask of me?” said Mergith.

“I am the victim of an enchantment. My brother and sister are victims, too. Only a wizard can help us. Needless to say, you will be rewarded generously.”

“I can see your problem. What happened to the others?”

“William was turned into a great iron shield. And Alice dear, sweet little Alice
. . .
was turned into a golden

crown.”

Mergith’s brows rose. He nodded slowly and appreciatively. “That’s a very impressive triple enchantment. Whatever did you do to bring it upon yourselves? And at whose hands?”

“It was the work of Vorvas the Vindictive,” said the blade coldly

“I’ve heard of Vorvas. He was legendary for his transformation spells. He’s dead now, you know. Died about twenty years ago, in his cave.”

“Was it painful?”

“I should think so. Slow, too, in all likelihood.”

“Good,” said Panstygia grimly.

“It was also quite humiliating.”

“Better and better. Tell me all about it.”

“Not much to tell, really. Vorvas became rather absentminded in his last century or so. One day he turned himself into a vole for some reason, and forgot to notify his familiar of the change. His familiar was a large black cat.”

“Serves him right. But if Vorvas died, why am I still a sword?”

“He wasn’t called ‘Vorvas the Vindictive’ for nothing, good blade. He placed an exceptionally strong spell on you to make sure it would outlast his own life. What did you do that got him so angry?”

The blade hesitated for a moment, then plunged ahead with her story. “When our parents died, the neighboring kingdom seized disputed lands on the western border. William and I went off to fight them—his battle name

was Shield of the Realm, and I was called Sword of Righteousness—while Alice stayed behind to act for the crown. During a lull in the fighting, when the three of us were home together, Vorvas came to offer his magic in our cause. In return, he wanted to marry me.”

“But you refused him.”

“Vorvas was three hundred and eighty-nine years old at the time, and exceedingly ugly. He smelled like a dead goat. I spumed him. William threatened him. Alice denounced him. He enchanted us on the spot and carried us off with him. He even put enchantments on distant cousins who happened to be visiting us at the time. He was extremely cruel. I ended up sealed in an oak tree. I don’t know what’s become of William and Alice. Or our cousins,” the sword concluded.

“It may be difficult to find out. You were sealed in that oak tree for a long time. Just a few months before his fatal oversight, Vorvas celebrated his five hundredth birthday.”

“One loses track of the days when one is sealed up in a tree. But surely you can help me find the others, and free us from our enchantment,” said the blade confidently.

“I’m afraid I must disappoint you,” the wizard said, gripping the sword firmly and rising from the throne. “In the first place, I much prefer not to tamper with one of Vorvas’s spells. He was far more powerful than I, and very nasty. And in the second place, I have little need at present for a pair of grateful princesses and a grateful prince, but I could do very well with an enchanted sword. Oh, yes, very well indeed.”

“Then you won’t help us!” the blade cried.

“On the contrary,
you
will help
me
. . .
Panstygia, is it? Very impressive name. What is your real name?”

“I’ll never reveal it to you!”

“You will, sooner or later. We’re going to be together for a long time, Panstygia. I know a bit about these enchantments, and I know that you’re bound to obey and protect the one who wields you.”

“But I don’t want to be a sword! I insist that you change me back!”

“Not for a long time, if ever. I suggest that you learn to enjoy being a sword. It will save you no end of frustration.”

“I hate being a sword!” Panstygia cried in anguish. “All that hacking, and smiting, and hewing, and slashing

and the noise! And the
crowds!
It’s no fit work for a princess. I was better off sealed in the tree! Help me, Mergith—! ‘11 reward you generously.”

“With what?” he asked, and laughed in a cruel, superior way. “After all this time, your kingdom is lost metrievably. It’s gone and forgotten.”

“You’ll have my undying gratitude and respect!”

“I’d rather have an enchanted sword.”

“But you’re a wizard, Mergith—wizards don’t need enchanted swords.”

Mergith glanced sharply around the room, checking all the dark corners; then, in a lowered voice, he said, “Since I know that I can speak to you in confidence, my faithful blade, I will admit you to my secret: I am not a very good wizard. Oh, I can work an effective little spell now and then, but nothing like what Vorvas accomplished. And every time I do work a bit of magic, I’m exhausted for weeks afterwards. Consequently, my hold on Dendorric has become rather tenuous. Sleight of hand and conjuring tricks can keep the townspeople looking over their shoulders and behaving themselves, but I won’t be able to keep the brigands from the woods at bay much longer. They’re too hungry. But with an enchanted sword
.
He raised the dark blade high and looked lovingly on the glinting edge. “Great days lie ahead for Mergith the Magnificent, the warrior-wizard-king. And great deeds for his sword Panstygia.”

“I’ll never help you! I’ll miss every stroke and wiggle around in your grip!” Panstygia said defiantly.

“I think it would be best if you learned at once who is in charge of this partnership, Panstygia,” said the wizard, striding to the hearth. He plunged the blade into the bright

embers and stepped back. “Perhaps when you’ve toasted for a while, you’ll feel more agreeable.”

“You’ll destroy my temper!”

“Quite the contrary. I expect to improve it.”

“You’ll ruin me! l-Iamarak, get me out of this fire!”

“I’m afraid Hamarak is in a long, deep sleep, thanks to my hypnotic powers,” said the wizard with a thin smile of triumph.

“Hamarak, wake up!” Panstygia cried in desperation.

Hamarak gave a start, turned, blinked, and looked at the wizard and the sword in obvious bewilderment. “What are you doing in the fire, Panstygia? Do you want to get out?” he asked.

“Yes! Immediately!”

Mergith reeled back, astonished. “You’re supposed to be in a deep sleep! I hypnotized you! What’s going on here?”

Rising and drawing the blade from the fire, Hamarak turned to him. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t really asleep,” be said slowly. “I never sleep during the day. A man told me it isn’t good for you to sleep during the day.”

“But you were
. . .
you looked
. . .
you did as I said! You sat by the fire and didn’t move,” Mergith said, his voice tight and squeaky.

“I thought that was what you wanted me to do, so I did it,” Hamarak said, raising the smoking blade and inspecting it with apparent concern. “I never met a king before, and I wanted to be polite and do what the king told me to do.”

“You were right about one thing, Mergith,” said Panstygia. “You aren’t a very good wizard. You can’t even hypnotize a peasant.”

“Wait a minute, Hamarak,” said Mergith, backing away and skipping behind the throne. “Don’t do anything hasty.”

Panstygia’s voice was like an arctic wind. “We will not be hasty, Mergith. We will deal with you slowly and deliberately.”

“No! Wait! I’ll unspell you—how’s that for an offer?”

“Too late, Mergith,” Panstygia said solemnly. “You’ve already given me a clear idea of your ability.”

“But I’ll try! At least let me try!”

“The way you do things, Mergith, I might wind up as a kettle. No, thank you.”

“I’ll be careful. Please.”

After a moment of tense, expectant silence, the blade said, “All right. You can try.”

“Good! Fine. Now
. . .
you just hold her steady, Hamarak. Hold her by the guard. Parallel to your body, point down, hilt just above your head. That’s it. Hold it there,” Mergith said rapidly. He poked about in the recesses of his sleeve and took out three stubby black candles and a bit of blue chalk. “Stay still,” he directed. He then proceeded to draw a shaky triangle enclosing Hamarak, and placed a candle at each point. Extracting a small black book from another recess in his clothing, he leafed through the pages with tremulous hands until he came to the desired place. He glanced at Panstygia and Hamarak, licking his lips nervously.

“I want you to know that this is a very dangerous undertaking. There’s no telling what backup spells Vorvas placed on you. A man like Vorvas hates having his work tampered with,” Mergith said, his voice strained.

“I’m not afraid,” said the blade stoutly.

“i’m not afraid, either,” Hamarak added.

“I’m so afraid I can hardly stand,” Mergith whimpered. “This is the most dangerous thing I’ve ever attempted. Are you sure—”

“Start the counterspell,” Panstygia commanded.

The words were harsh and ugly, great thorny blocks of gargling gutturals and tussive gouts of consonants unsuited to human articulation. Mergith struggled through the first invocation. Pale and sweating, he paused for a breath, his eyes wild. Suddenly he jerked his head up, dropping the book. His mouth gaped, and he pointed to the fireplace with a pathetic little squeak of terror.

Something whooshed past Hamarak’s legs. It moved