I begged her to give the spyglass back. I swore to ask her permission before looking in it, but nothing I said had any effect. She told me to work on my embroidery. I did, although my vision was blurred by tears.
Now my sewing didn’t satisfy her. She complained that the colors I chose were wrong, that I worked too slowly, that I wasn’t careful enough. During the morning I had to give back twenty items from my cabinet. Fifty-five were left, which would not last long if she kept taking them twenty at a stroke.
She was restless as well as irritable. She started stories and broke them off. She began to count the bones in a chest and stopped abruptly, leaving a heap on the carpet. She rushed outside and flapped her wings and rushed back in.
In the afternoon she took thirty more items, including Blood-biter, Drualt, and my magic cloak. At this rate she’d kill me before nightfall.
At dinnertime she took the magic tablecloth from me. “I shall speak to it from now on.” She placed it on the ground. “Good tablecloth, set thyself please.”
It did nothing. She repeated the words in a furious whisper. Her eyes glowed red. I was terrified, and I wished the tablecloth would open. She shouted the words, glaring at it. She shouted again, and this time she said the words in their proper order. The tablecloth opened and began to set itself.
“That’s better.” Her eyes quieted from red to gold. “But I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to eat now. Good tablecloth, I thank thee for the fine meal.”
It finished setting itself and food began to appear.
“Good tablecloth, you will do well to heed me. Good tablecloth, I thank thee for the fine meal.”
Say it right, I prayed. Say a fine meal.
“You will regret this.” A tongue of flame licked a corner of the tablecloth.
Nothing happened. It wasn’t even singed.
“Good tablecloth,” I began. “I thank—”
She turned on me. Her eyes were bright orange. “I said I would command the tablecloth.” She roared at it, “Good tablecloth, I thank thee for the fine meal.”
Food continued to arrive.
She yelled, “Stop!” and spit a fireball at the tablecloth.
It didn’t burn, but the food did. The soup boiled, a loaf of bread turned black, and fire crackled over a roast turkey. The rugs beneath the tablecloth caught fire.
Vollys shrieked. Her tail flailed about, sending chests careening about the floor. She blocked the cave’s entrance, so I backed away, hoping not to draw her notice, praying not to be crushed or burned by accident.
The fire in the rugs began to spread toward the rear of the lair, where I stood pressed against the cave wall. Vollys flamed again. An inferno engulfed the tablecloth, reducing the food to ashes, but the cloth still didn’t burn. I wished it would. Perhaps that would satisfy her.
Several chests were in flame. A cabinet only a few feet from me caught fire. At any moment my gown would catch.
Vollys strode about the cave, the tablecloth in her mouth. She was biting it and flaming at the same time.
The lair’s entrance was clear. I ran toward it. A fiery chest lay between me and my goal. I raced around it. I stepped on burning carpet and kept running.
It was dusk outside. The sole of my right boot was scorched, and my foot smarted. I ran around the boulder outside the lair. I glanced back to see if Vollys was coming after me. She wasn’t. I still saw her dark shape in the incandescent cave.
I ran on. I didn’t look back again. If she was coming for me, I’d know soon enough.
My throat was parched. The desert map had shown an oasis eight miles away. I would go there and find a place to hide.
I ran.
The moon rose. My breath gave out. I slowed to a walk and allowed myself to look back. I didn’t see the lair. I couldn’t even tell which cliff it was in.
I slipped from the shadow of one cliff to the shadow of another, hoping I was headed the right way. When my breath returned, I ran again.
Meryl must be awake with the fever by now, I thought. I’d never reach her in time, even if I managed to leave the desert alive. I wouldn’t be with her when she died.
I felt a wind, and Vollys landed before me, blocking my way. She flamed at me, and I jumped back, unharmed.
Her bells chimed. “Ah, little Adelina, I’ve found you. The fire is out, and you may come home.” Her tail picked me up, and she returned me to the cave.
The fire was out, but the cave was as hot as an oven. The first thing I saw was a mountain of food rising from the tablecloth, which still hung in the air. Dishes continued to appear, but slowly and in small quantities. Some had fallen onto the carpet, which still smoked here and there.
“Tell that thing to stop, there’s a dear.”
“Let me go and I’ll—”
Vollys’s bells clanged. “Little one, I shan’t ever let you go if you threaten me. I can find other lairs if your tablecloth is determined to produce meals forever. But I would be grateful if you would save me the trouble.”
I would gain nothing by refusing. “Good tablecloth, I thank thee for a fine meal.”
The tablecloth stopped serving, and the mess of food vanished. The tablecloth folded itself and hung in the air.
“Take it, little princess. It will feed you while I’m gone.”
Gone?
“I could not understand why I was so irritable today. But as soon as I flamed at your tablecloth, I knew. That tablecloth had kept me from hunting, but I must hunt. I’m a dragon. So now, Adelina, I shall do so.” She lit the torchères that were still standing and waddled out of the cave.
She was leaving!
I followed her out and stood leaning against the boulder, hoping . . . hoping. . . .
She turned. “I know you mean only to see me off, but I’ll just imagine your fond farewell.” Her bells rang again. Her tail picked me up and put me back in the cave.
I beat at the tail with my fists, and her laughter grew louder.
“Little princess, I would miss you far too much to let you go.” She pushed the boulder to block the cave’s entrance.
I was entombed.
Chapter Twenty-five
* * *
A MOUSE COULD HAVE squeezed through and escaped, but I couldn’t. I ran at the boulder and kicked it, only succeeding in making my toe ache.
The cave was in chaos. The wardrobe from which I had selected my gown lay on the floor, its contents ashes. Chests were scattered here and there, some on their sides, some upside down, the wood of many charred and burned, their contents spilling onto the floor.
I sat on a chest that was only slightly charred. Then I jumped up. Where was the big one, the chest with the seven-league boots and my spyglass? I tore through the cave, praying that the boots weren’t cinders and the spyglass hadn’t melted. I found the chest, on its side and half submerged in the pool at the back of the lair.
It wasn’t much burned. A few of the wooden slats were scorched, and one was loose. I scraped my hands trying and failing to pry it off. I rushed to the weapons cabinet, which listed to one side but still stood. I snatched up a sword and raced back to the chest. In a moment I pried the slat free.
But only my hand and forearm fit through. I felt one boot, but the space wasn’t big enough to get it out.
I pushed the chest over and saw that the wood around the hinges had been softened by heat and water. It took only a few minutes to chop and dig around them.
I opened the chest and grabbed the spyglass.
Meryl was awake, sitting in the red chair, which was drawn up to the fireplace. She was wrapped in blankets, and the fire was blazing, but her jaw trembled, and I realized that her teeth were chattering. Her eyes were open, shining brightly, too brightly. Her cheeks had turned ashy, the color of the Gray Death.
Milton placed a compress on her forehead. Bella bustled into the chamber with another blanket. Meryl’s lips moved. Bella answered her, and then Milton said something. Meryl laughed—my Meryl, laughing in the fa
ce of the Gray Death. Meryl, the laugher.
Couldn’t I do anything? I wished for Rhys. I could tell him the cure, and he could fly Meryl to the waterfall.
Suppose I was ready when Vollys returned. She could return before Meryl . . . She had to!
She would move the boulder aside, and for a moment the entrance would be clear. In that moment I could take a step in the magic boots, and I’d be off to Meryl, to carry her myself to the Aisnan Valley.
I pulled the boots out of the chest. They hadn’t burned—they were just damp. I sat on the chest to put them on. There. I stood up—and sat down again. I had to be careful. If I took a step, I would crash into the cave walls or into the boulder, and I’d be dashed to death.
I sat there, thinking. How much time did I have? How much time did Meryl have? If her fever had struck a few minutes ago, she had three days yet to live. But if it had struck this morning, she had little more than two. If Vollys returned tomorrow . . .
There were too many ifs. I couldn’t plan. I could only be ready. On my knees (because of the boots) I began to search for the other things that had been in my sack. I found Blood-biter, Drualt, and my embroidery. It was too dim in the cave for me to see my magic cloak, but luckily my hand brushed against it in the chest that had held Blood-biter. I failed to find the sack itself and the maps, which might have burned up.
It didn’t matter about the maps. The location of the Aisnan Valley was etched in my mind.
Except for Blood-biter, I tied everything into a bundle, using the skirt from a lady’s gown. If my scheme failed, I would stab Vollys before she killed me. She wouldn’t make a pet of me again.
I stood and raised the sword. I slashed the air with it. I began to lunge—
And something crashed into me and toppled me. I tried to stand, but it wouldn’t let me. I struggled against it, but it was too strong and kept pressing me to the ground. Finally I gave up. Had Vollys left something behind to harry me? I sat back, panting.
Then I realized—whatever had pushed me had saved me. If I had lunged, the boots would have thought I’d taken a step.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
In answer, I felt myself lifted into a kneeling position. The sword came up, and I thrust with a strength I didn’t know I had. While I thrust, I felt happy—no, joyous.
Vollys didn’t return that night or the next morning. I nearly went mad with impatience. I couldn’t be still. I crawled about the cave. I cried. I shouted.
Sometimes I read from Drualt and wished for impossible things, things that happened only to heroes in fables.
Sometimes I even worked on my embroidery of Vollys and enjoyed pricking holes in her with my needle.
Sometimes I thought about Rhys. I loved him. If I died here, he’d never know, which might be for the best. If he ever discovered how I longed for him, he’d be miserable.
Most often I looked in the spyglass.
I looked at Meryl, shivering under all her blankets. She ate nothing, drank only a few sips of broth. She was so sick, and her expression was so untroubled. She had such courage!
Once, while I looked, Father entered the sickroom. He stayed five minutes and then left after reading from Homely Truths, after staring down at his feet, after speaking to Milton and Bella, after not kissing his daughter, after not shedding a tear.
She laughed when the door closed behind him, and I cried my heart out.
Then I directed the spyglass here and there in Bamarre, beautiful Bamarre. I saw a grove of pear trees near Lake Orrinic, a field of corn in the Bamarrian Plains, fish jumping in a stream in the Kilket range.
In the town of Wempuc I saw a cobbler finish making a pair of round-toed shoes fit for a duke. Back in the Kilkets I watched goats graze, tended by a sleepy goatherd lad nodding in the shade of a spruce tree.
I was about to lower the spyglass when I saw an ogre lumber down from a higher slope. The goatherd jumped up and fitted an arrow to his bow. The arrow missed its mark, and the boy threw down the bow and raced off down the mountain. Laughing, the ogre ran a few clumsy steps after him before turning back and snatching up half a dozen goats from the bleating, milling flock.
Then my eyes followed the goatherd to his walled village. He dashed through the gate, and someone closed it behind him. A few moments later archers manned the wall, but no one left the village to chase the ogre away.
I peered behind the wall and saw a dozen or more humble cottages, built of wood and thatch. But the village wall was made of stone and very high.
I spent a long while peering through the spyglass. I saw splendid landscapes and I saw people at their work, appearing serene, appearing well fed. But I saw more to dismay me than just one ogre at a flock of goats.
I saw a gryphon swoop down and snatch a baby from its cradle. I saw a troop of ogres besieging a walled town. I saw a coach rolling down a quiet lane, accompanied by a company of archers—and I realized that without the archers, the coach would have had to stay home.
I saw Vollys gorging on a herd of cows in a sea of blazing grass. A castle stood on a nearby hill.
I saw more victims of the Gray Death, young and old, peasants and townfolk and nobles. And I saw the grief of the people who loved them.
For the first time I understood Meryl’s zeal to save Bamarre. Father had done little for our subjects, but if she lived, she would bring them relief. I swore that if I lived, I’d no longer stand in her way. I would go with her and fight at her side. If I lived and she died, I would do my best alone.
I put down the spyglass and a few minutes later fell asleep, although I’d sworn not to. When I awoke, it was dawn of the next day, Meryl’s last day. I raised the spyglass.
She was up again, sitting as close as she could to the fireplace. Rhys was with her. His ceremony must have ended. He was using his baton to call a cloud into the room. It drifted in and covered Meryl and her chair, making a cloud blanket.
Thank you, Rhys, my love. That will make Meryl warm, if anything can.
I heard a rustle and a thump outside the cave. I rammed the spyglass into my bundle.
“Little princess, stand back. I know you’re wearing those boots of yours, but I shan’t let you go.”
I heard a whoosh, and the boulder was lined with flames. On my knees I scrambled to the pool at the back of the cave and rolled in the water till my gown was soaked. Then I stood and waited, Blood-biter drawn. If Vollys flamed at me, I’d hurl the sword. With luck, my dying would bring her pain.
She pushed the boulder aside and left behind a wall of flame. This was my chance, and now that it had come, I felt no fear. I inhaled deeply, raised Blood-biter, lifted my right foot in the magic boots, and took a step.
Chapter Twenty-six
* * *
SEARING HEAT! Then I was through.
Ahead of me was Vollys, standing upright. I slammed into her, the force of my step driving Blood-biter deep into her belly.
She shrieked.
I thought that my chest had caved in, that my lungs were crushed.
My boots pulled me around her. I would have lost Blood-biter but for my viselike grip on the hilt. After that I remember little. The boots dragged me, bouncing and bumping across the desert, over cliffs, into gullies, while I fought for breath.
Finally the boots slowed and stopped. I lay in a heap, swallowing air in tiny sips, wishing never to move again.
But I wasn’t allowed to rest. That invisible something—that meddling helper—pushed me, tugged me, wouldn’t let me be. All right! I thought. I moved my left leg in the beginning of a step, and I was off again.
I was bullied into taking four more steps, until I was out of the desert and onto the plains. Then I fell, and the spirit let me stay where I was. I lost consciousness.
Meryl! I awoke. I fumbled to unpin the pouch from my shift, fumbled to open it, fumbled to pull out a flower. As soon as it was in my mouth, my mind cleared. For a second I felt the pain at full power, giant hands squeezing my chest. But then the han
ds loosened their grip, and I breathed easier.
I looked around. I was in a field of tall grass. The sky was cloudy, and a strong wind sent ripples through the reeds. My bundle was next to me. Miraculously it hadn’t opened and spilled all my things. I began to reach into it for the spyglass when I saw Blood-biter a few feet away, its blade matted with sand and mud. I took a handful of grass to wipe it clean and saw, beneath the dirt, that it was smeared from tip to hilt with sticky, crimson dragon blood.
Good! I’d be glad if she was dead, glad if Bamarre was rid of her. I looked through my spyglass. She was sprawled before her cave, facing away from me. I watched for several minutes, but I couldn’t tell if she still breathed.
I turned the spyglass to find my way home.
Mountains, too low to be the Eskerns, must be the Kilkets. So Bamarre castle should be—
“Addie! I was looking for . . . Are you hurt?”
Rhys! I began to jump up, but my ribs hurt and I remembered the boots. I sat down again with a thump.
He landed before me. “You’re hurt!”
“I’ll be all right. I just knocked into a dragon.”
He grinned and then bowed. “Is it all right?”
“I don’t know. Oh, Rhys, I found out the cure for the Gray Death!” I told him quickly. When I got to the part about stabbing Vollys and escaping, he bowed again.
“You and Drualt,” he said admiringly, “the only ones to fight dragons and live to tell the tale. I don’t think even Drualt ever escaped from one of their lairs.”
I wished Rhys could always look at me the way he was now.
“I was on my way home,” I said. “I was finding my bearings when you—”
“I can fly you home.”
The Two Princesses of Bamarre Page 13