Kedrigern in Wanderland (9 page)

Zorilon took up pen and parchment and cleared a space at the table, saying to his guests, “You’ve been very helpful. I’d like to copy down your suggestions while they’re still fresh in my mind.”

“Good idea. We’ll toddle off to bed and leave you to your work,” said Kedrigern, putting down the dog and taking Princess’s hand.

ln the morning, Zorilon greeted them red-eyed and yawning but in good spirits. He had sat up much of the night rereading his fairy tales and making notes, and was bursting to talk of his planned revisions. Only the repeated admonitions of Princess and Kedrigern not to talk away all his good ideas but to start working on them at once kept him from submitting his entire
oeuvre
to their scrutiny then and there.

Zorilon followed them to the stable, all the while protesting that his hospitality was but feeble recompense for their literary insight and counsel, and lamenting that he could not hope to repay them properly. He kept up his apologies as Kedrigern saddled the horses and packed their gear, and then, abruptly, the wizard rounded on him with a smile.

“Zorilon, I’ve thought of a way you can repay us,” he said, laying his hands on the young man’s shoulders. “You’ve traveled far and wide in the course of your research. Have you ever heard reference to the Kingdom of the Singing Forest?”

Zorilon pondered the question, frowned, and said, “No.” As Kedrigern turned away with a fatalistic sigh, Princess asked, “Perhaps you heard a tale of a wicked sorcerer? A nasty man who turned a royal family into a sword, a shield, and a crown?”

“Oh, that one. Yes. ‘The Vengeance of Vorvas the Vindictive,’ they called it,” said Zorilon matter-of-factly. “I only heard it once. It wasn’t nearly as popular as the ones about someone’s beautiful daughter marrying a handsome prince, or someone tricking a little man out of a pot of gold.”

“Did the story-teller say where it took place?” the wizard asked.

“Long ago, in a kingdom in the west.”

“Was there any mention of landmarks?” Kedrigern asked in growing frustration.

“Let me think.
. . .
There was something about a river. Yes, you must cross the Moaning River, that’s what it was. And there was a warning. ‘Beware the Green Something-or-Other,’ the man said.”

“Anything else?”

“No. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, Zorilon. You’ve been helpful,” said Princess. “We’ll head west and listen for a moaning river. What could be simpler?”

“Getting a ring from the nose of a man-eating ogre. Or a scale from the chin of a fire-breathing dragon,” Kedrigern said under his breath.

Princess looked at him sharply. He shrugged his shoulders and gave her his most innocent smile. She fluttered gracefully up to the saddle, Kedrigern mounted his black beast, and they started on their way. They had proceeded only a few paces when Princess snapped her fingers sharply, reined in her diaphanous steed, and turned to Zorilon.

“One more observation, Zorilon: Your openings need more life,” she said.

“More life, my lady?”

“They’re flat. They don’t create that immediate feeling of involvement and curiosity and wonder that every storyteller strives for. I mean, ‘Quite some time ago
. . .‘
or ‘Some years back
. .
.‘just won’t grab an audience.”

“She’s right, Zorilon. They certainly didn’t grab me,” Kedrigern said. “How about, ‘Once, a long time ago.
.
.‘?“

“Yes, something like that. ‘Once, years and years ago...’”

“Or maybe, ‘Once upon a time
...‘“
Kedrigern suggested.

Zorilon’s face lit up. “That’s it! That’s a perfect opening! I love it! Oh, thank you both so very much!”

“I’d work on the ending, too. People don’t like their stories to trail off. They want a punch line
. . .
something to tie it all together,” Kedrigern said.

“Keddie’s right. Your endings need work.” Princess pressed a hand to her brow and closed her eyes in thought, then said, “You used a phrase last night when we were discussing the need for conflict. You wanted your characters to live happily
. . .
oh, what was that phrase?” All were silent, expectantly, and then Princess cried,
“
‘And they lived happily ever after!’ That’s it, Zorilon. I think it would make a lovely closing line for a fairy tale.”

“But, my lady, last night you spoke so persuasively on the other side!”

“I did?”

“You did, my dear,” Kedrigern said.

“You persuaded me that except for yourself and Master Kedrigern, people don’t live happily ever after. They can’t. Maybe they shouldn’t even try. In any case, they don’t.”

Princess looked thoughtfully into the distance for a time, then said, “Oh, let’s give them a break, Zorilon. What are fairy tales for?”

“But, my lady, what about all those disasters? The suffering? The plagues and dragons and misfortunes and ogres and all that?”

Princess leaned down to pat him softly on the cheek. “Give it a try, Zorilon. Let them live happily ever after. Do it for me.”

He took her hand and kissed it reverently. “For you, my lady.”

“Thank you, Zorilon. And remember: if you really want to fix them good, you can always write a sequel.”

THE STOP
at Zorilon’s cottage had been a pleasant interlude. The young man’s information, though sketchy, had been helpful. But as Kedrigern proceeded westward, his old doubts returned. Autumn was in full glory all around him; and if autumn came, could winter be far behind? Surely not. All too soon there would be ice and snow and bitter cold and impassable roads and wolves and frostbite; desperate searching for shelter; meager food; wretchedness and misery; and worst of all, an ever-lengthening absence from the warmth and comfort of their home on Silent Thunder Mountain.

Winter mornings could be quite pleasant when one awoke to them in a warm bed, under a cozy comforter or two, or three, with Princess nestled at one’s side. Very pleasant, indeed. A snowstorm was an exhilarating sight when viewed through a window, with the warmth of a fire at one’s back. The distant howl of wolves was a kind of stark music, all the more musical for being muted by intervening doors and walls. But a winter in the open, in the rugged trackless west country, in search of a half-remembered kingdom and an unknown distant relation, was certain to. be unpleasant at the very best, and at the worst, horrendous.

The scant directions they had were nothing to inspire 
confidence. For a start, cross the Moaning River (not the Happy River, or the Laughing River, or the River of Hope. No, the Moaning River). The Singing Forest, if they ever reached it, would probably sing only dirges. And who—or what—was the Green Something-or-Other, and what did he—or she or it or they—have to do with this affair?

Even if they somehow found their way to Louise’s former home, there was no guarantee that they would be near their goal. What if Wanda and the rest of the family had, like Louise, been placed in a tree? Were they to go through the forest asking every tree if a relative of Louise’s was inside? The more Kedrigern thought on the situation, the worse he felt.

He kept his misgivings to himself. Princess, knowing his moods, did not inquire into his long silences. He contained himself for several days, until at the end of an afternoon of cold, drenching rain he erupted in a wild tirade. Princess let him go on, and when he was out of breath she patted his hand and said sweetly, “You’ll think of something.”

The next morning was dry and sunny, almost summery in its warmth. The leaf-paved trail was misty, the forest curtained in gray, and Princess laid her cloak over her saddle and flew above the treetops to scout out the way. It was pleasant to escape the closeness of the lower world, and stimulating to exercise her wings. She swooped, and turned, and dipped, and circled, and then quite unexpectedly she came speeding back to Kedrigern’s side.

“Three armed men ahead!” she cried breathlessly.

“Robbers?”

“Don’t think so. They’re dressed
. . .
as guardsmen.”

“That’s a good sign. All the same
. .
Kedrigern brandished the black staff. The air rang, and in his hand was Panstygia, Mother of Darkness.

“Is there any trouble?” she asked.

“It’s possible,” Kedrigern replied.

“I saw three armed men on the road ahead. They may be friendly, though,” Princess explained.

“I thought they’d be a lot friendlier if I were carrying a big black sword,” Kedrigern further explained.

Panstygia sighed. “If you absolutely must use me, you’ll be the greatest swordsman in the world, but I do hope you can avoid violence. I don’t enjoy hewing and smiting.”

“I’m not fond of it myself,” the wizard assured her.

Princess flew back to her horse, mounted, and drew up close behind Kedrigern. They rode on slowly, alert for any sign of the guardsmen. As they passed into the shadow of a pair of giant oaks that rose like sturdy columns on either hand and formed a shaded vault overhead, a figure loomed before them and a voice called out, “Halt, if you please, travelers.”

Kedrigern, in the lead, drew in the reins and his black steed was still. Princess rode to his side before stopping, and said confidently, “He’s too polite to be a robber.”

“Let’s hope so,” Kedrigern replied; then, raising his voice, he addressed the figure in the road. “What business have you with us? Speak, stranger.”

“None, if you are ordinary travelers. My lord and master, King Ezrammis, is sore afflicted,” said the man, starting toward him. “A curse has come upon him, and he seeks the aid of a
. .
of a
. . .
a wuwuwu
. . .“
His voice shrank and was still. He stopped in his tracks, his eyes displaying much white. His mouth hung open.

“A wizard?” Kedrigern asked gently.

The man nodded. He looked at the slitted red eyes and beaded silver horn of the black steed that towered over him, and the black blade resting on the rider’s shoulder. The rider himself seemed quite ordinary. He was dressed in simple garments of homespun stuff, neat but not gaudy, and his features were alert but not particularly striking. The woman beside him was dressed rather better than he, and wore a circlet of silver. She was breathtaking in her beauty. She was on a horse that seemed to be only half there. These people were no commonplace travelers.

The guardsman stood gaping. Two others joined him and were transfixed in their turn.

“Perhaps we can help your king. I am Kedrigern of Silent Thunder Mountain. This is Princess, my wife. We have some knowledge of the subtle arts,” said the wizard.

“Quite a lot, as a matter of fact,” Princess added.

With a sigh of relief, the first guardsman said, “My master and mistress will be pleased to see you. You will be richly rewarded. If you care to follow us, it’s just—”

“No tricks!” said a clear ringing voice, and the three guards jumped back and huddled together. “I am Panstygia, Mother of Darkness, the great black blade of the west. No army can stand before my wrath!”

“You heard her,” said Princess.

“No tricks, I swear! Honest, no tricks!” the guard cried.

“Very well, then. Lead on,” Panstygia commanded.

lt was a bit pushy of her, Kedrigern thought, but he kept his opinion to himself. Princesses, he had found—with the single happy exception of his wife—were spoiled and willful creatures. In their way, they were as bad as the princes he had known, and the princes were impossible. And kings and queens could be much worse. He could only hope that King Ezrammis, of whom he had heard very little, was not like most of his class.

A short ride brought them to a tidy castle on a hill, with a pleasant garden and a lovely view to the south. They were brought directly to the throneroom and presented to a small gray-haired woman with a sweet, sad, motherly face. She was almost spherical in shape. She cast an envious glance at Princess and burst into tears, but recovered herself quickly.

“The wizards are here, Your Highness,” said the guardsman, bowing low.

“Oh, good dear kindly wizards, can you help us?” asked the queen in a voice to wring the heart of an ogre.

“I trust we can, Your Highness. In cases of cursing, the main thing is to determine the· facts. Can you give us a complete account? It’s particularly important that we know the exact wording of the curse.”

“Oh, I can tell you that,” said the queen. “Let’s just introduce ourselves, and then we’ll sit down to a little snack, and then get to business.”

Her name was Queen Pensimer, and her idea of a little snack was enough food for a healthy family of twelve. While Kedrigern and Princess ate moderately, the queen wolfed down dish after dish, stuffing herself indiscriminately with fruit and bread and meat and butter and cake and pudding and fish and gravy and nuts as they came within her reach. When the meal was completely consumed she sank back into her oversized chair, gasping, and covered a queenly burp with her pudgy hand.

“I never used to eat like this. It’s all part of the curse,” she said despondently.

“Perhaps you could tell us more about this curse,” Kedrigern said, leaning forward, placing the tips of his fingers together and peering intently across the table at her.

“Well, I don’t know exactly how it all started. I walked in while Ezrammis—that’s the king, my husband—was in the middle of a bitter quarrel with the wizard Ashan. They’ve been friends for a long time, but they’re both getting cranky, and they argue a lot these days. Apparently Ashan had threatened to put a curse on our children for some reason, but when I entered he changed his mind and cursed Ezrammis and me instead. It was terrifying. He raised a skinny hand and pointed at my poor husband and began to recite:

‘May your teeth drop down like hail,

One each month, and never fail;

While you live on whey and bailer,

May your wife grow ever fatter,

Eating double lunch and dinner

Every day, as you get thinner,

Till at last you vanish utterly,

And she’s round and fat and butterly.’

That was three months ago. Since then, Ezrammis has lost two molars and a bicuspid, and I’ve doubled my weight,” said the unhappy queen.

“I think we can do something about this, Your Highness,” Kedrigern said with professional solemnity. “It’s a straightforward curse, and though I’ve never met Ashan personally, he’s known in the profession for being an impulsive sort—not a man likely to plot out a complicated curse in advance and brood over it for years. May we see your husband?”

They were shown at once to the royal bedchamber, where King Ezrammis, a sunken-cheeked, gray-bearded man late in his middle years, lean as a lath, was sulking. Kedrigern reviewed the situation with the king, who remained silent, communicating in nods and gestures of varying degrees of emphasis. When all was clear, Kedrigern had the royal couple sit side by side on the royal bed while he worked the appropriate counterspell.

When the last word was spoken, King Ezrammis looked up. Cautiously, he ran his tongue around his mouth. He tried a front upper tooth against the ball of his thumb, and grinned at the result. Very carefully, he gritted his teeth. With a whoop of glee, he shouted, “Solid as the dungeon walls! Well done, wizard! Now let’s get some decent food in here. Three months on milk and mush could kill you!”

“Ugh! Please don’t mention food, dear. The very thought of food revolts me. Isn’t that wonderful?” Queen Pensimer exulted.

· Kedrigern and Princess bowed graciously and withdrew to leave them to their rejoicing. Later that evening they were summoned to the royal presence. King Ezrammis was cheerfully picking his teeth after a snack of cold fowl, celery, nuts, and apples, while Queen Pensimer, already looking a bit thinner, sipped a small glass of water. A faithful old retainer sat by the king’s side, dozing.

“You do nice work, wizard. Very nice,” the king said in greeting, underscoring his praise by holding out a hefty purse of gold. “And you, too, my dear lady,” he added, taking Princess’s hand and slipping onto her finger a ring containing a diamond the size of an acorn. “I don’t know how things got out of hand, but I appreciate your help. It’s

not like Ashan to hold a grudge. I expected the curse to last a few days, maybe a week
. . .
but three months! I’m glad you came along.”

“You never explained that to me,” Pensimer said. “You never said anything to me at all.”

“Who could talk? If I tried, it sounded like I had a mouthful of dominoes. Besides, you were always too busy eating to listen to me.”

Kedrigern, puzzled, said, “Then it was all a misunderstanding?”

“You could say that. I never realized how sensitive

· Ashan was about his cursing. He was telling me how he laid this curse on some no-good knight and his whole family, gave all the sons indigestion and the daughters bad breath, and I laughed. ‘This is a curse?’ I said. ‘This is family history! When my sons gather in the courtyard after dinner, it sounds like an earthquake in a thunderstorm. My boys eat a crust of bread and sip a mouthful of water, and for two hours they rumble like volcanoes. And my daughters can etch glass just by breathing on it.’

“I wish you wouldn’t talk about the children that way, dear,” Pensimer said, frowning.

“Am I lying? Anyway, Ashan got very touchy and said that my kids’ troubles could be cured by an apprentice alchemist, but the knight’s family would need a first-class wizard to straighten them out. One remark led to another, and first thing I knew, Asban was climbing out the window, my teeth were waving around in my mouth like shirts on a clothesline, and Pensimer was eating everything that couldn’t run away.” Ezrammis paused, sighed, and shook his head sadly. “I hope Ashan is all right. It’s not like him to stay away so long.”

“Where did he go?” Kedrigern asked.

“The guard said he headed west. Nasty country out there.”

“Is there anything particularly nasty we should know about? We’re heading that way ourselves.”

“Must you? Nice people like you don’t belong out there,” said Queen Pensimer primly.

“We’re seeking a lost kingdom for a friend.”

“Well, be careful,” Ezrammis said. “You’ve got that big green idiot to watch out for—some crazy giant who leaps out at travelers and forces them to answer riddles.”

“What if they don’t answer?” Princess asked.

“He eats them. And there’s an enchanted patch of forest, too. You want to watch out for that. And the Moaning River. Depressing place, they say.”

“Does either of your majesties know of a Kingdom of the Singing Forest out there anywhere?” Kedrigern asked.

“Never heard of it myself, but I’ll ask around the castle. Maybe old Jossall knows something. He’s been here since my grandfather was a boy,” said the king, reaching over to nudge the old retainer at his side. The man’s eyes flew open and be exclaimed in a high thin voice, “Yes, indeed, Your Majesty, that’s absolutely true. Oh, true beyond a doubt, no question at all, Your Majesty. Well said and wisely put, not a word wasted, just as—”

“It’s all right, Jossall. I only want to ask you something,” Ezrammis broke in. “Have you ever heard of a Kingdom of the Singing Forest somewhere off to the west?”

The old man looked at the king, then at the wizard, and then at each of the ladies, with an expression of growing bewilderment. His eyelids slowly closed, he nodded, and just when he seemed to be falling asleep he jerked his head up and said, “Yes! I heard the story long ago
. . .
a sad tale, Your Majesty
. . .
a treble curse
. . .
a bold young warrior prince and two valiant princesses
. . .
the malice of a sorcerer known for his vindictiveness
. . .
oh, a tragic story it is, Your Majesty, and a lesson for us all,” concluded Jossall with lugubrious voice and rueful shaking of his white-haired, white-bearded head.

“Do you know the way to this kingdom?” Kedrigern asked.

“No one goes there now.”

“If someone wanted to go there, could you give him directions?”

Jossall looked at him steadily with pale, searching eyes, and at last said, in a soft and distant voice, “The way lies across the Moaning River, beyond the enchanted wood, through the domain of the Green Riddler. But you are not—”

“What’s the Green Fiddler?”

“Riddler. He is a giant who forces travelers to solve his riddles. If they cannot—”

“He eats them. We’ve been warned,” said Kedrigern. The name sounded vaguely familiar, but he could not fix it in his memory. Was it a name he had read, something out of a traveler’s tale, or a legend? Might it be someone he had once dealt with? He could not recall. In all likelihood it was a lot of nonsense, but the half-remembered name was bothersome.

“As I started to say,” Jossall went op, “you are not the one who is to find it.”

“I’m not?”

“The land is empty now,” Jossall went on, oblivious to Kedrigern’s question, speaking like a man reciting the remembered prayers of his childhood, “and the royal hall stands deserted, but one day a great hero will restore the glory of ancient times. So says the prophecy. Even now, he wanders the earth, an empty scabbard at his side, in his unceasing quest for the great black sword that will enable him to undo the curse of Vorvas.”

“Vorvas? Vorvas the Vindictive?” King Ezramniis asked sharply.

“The very man, Your Majesty.”

“What did Vorvas do, go around cursing everyone he met? He put a curse on one of my great-grandfather’s sisters. You must know about that, Jossall.”

The old man was silent for a long time before replying, “I was very young at the time, Your Majesty, but I remember a period of extreme constemation. Princess Gazura was cursed with blunt speaking. All her suitors vanished.