by John Moore
“But that means you charge right into the flames!”
“Well, if it were easy, everyone would be doing it.”
“Good Lord!”
“The beauty of this method is if he opens his mouth, he’s vulnerable. If he doesn’t open his mouth, you have no problem. Except for the claws, of course. But basically, all it takes is a steady nerve. And a good horse and lance, as I said. And you have to get him on a flat, open stretch of ground, where your horse can get up some speed. It’s not really that big a deal.”
“What if you’re attacked and you’re not on a horse and you don’t have a lance, and you’re not on open ground?”
“Then it’s a big deal.”
“Then you have to go for the eyes,” said Wendell. He paced the ground excitedly, making stabbing motions with his fist. “Pierce the eye socket with your sword. Zounds! Right through the eye and into the brain. Skissshhh!”
“Ah,” said Ann, amused. “You’ve killed a dragon, I see.”
“No,” said Wendell. “I could, though. I know I could. But his Highness thinks I’m too little.”
“I didn’t say that. I said you weren’t ready yet.”
“You go at him from the side, see, ’cause the dragon’s eyes are on the side just like a horse’s. That way you can keep out of the flames. You have to keep moving fast, though, to stay to the side of his mouth.” Wendell danced a half circle around the base of the tree, jabbing and thrusting at an imaginary adversary. “Yah! Tchah! I drive my mighty sword Challenger in to the hilt. Take that! Gotcha!” He stood back, hands triumphantly on hips, and watched the invisible foe collapse thunderously to the ground.
“So perish all our enemies,” quoth the Prince solemnly. Ann’s eyes were laughing.
“Then,” continued Wendell, with an air of noblesse oblige, “I offer my arm to the beautiful princess that I’ve just rescued. She takes it and I swing her on to the back of my horse…”
“You don’t have a horse, remember?”
“I leap on to the back of her horse,” said Wendell, not missing a beat, “and then sweep her up and take her back to her kingdom, where she is so grateful that she…” He paused.
“Yes?” said the Prince.
“Yes?” said Ann.
“She throws an enormous banquet in my honor. And the food is all dessert. Cakes and pies and whipped cream and ices and puddings and candy. So there.”
Charming and Ann applauded. “A noble spectacle, good sir.”
“It does seem as though dragons are always carrying off maidens young and fair,” said Ann. “I will have to be careful.”
“Everybody carries off young maidens around here,” said the Prince. “And then the call goes out for — um — some dumb sap to risk his life rescuing them. Why a dragon should prefer to eat young girls instead of a goat or a cow is beyond me. Or why they carry them back to their lairs instead of devouring them on the spot.”
“Oh, but it’s so romantic. A beautiful girl in the delicate flower of youth, snatched away from the arms of her loving family by a hideous, snarling monster, a monster no doubt drawn to her by her aura of innocence, as a moth to a flame. Then…”
“Also dogs,” interrupted Wendell.
“Dogs?”
“Dragons love dogs,” explained Charming. “Beautiful maidens and dogs, that’s their two favorite meals.”
“Dogs,” repeated Ann, with diminished interest.
“We used to have a dog that hunted with us,” said Wendell. “But a dragon got him.”
“Scooped him up with his tail and popped him right into his mouth,” said Charming. “Two bites and he was gone. He was a good hunting dog, too. That’s another thing you have to watch out for when fighting dragons — the tail. Knock you right on your ass, um, bottom.”
“Girls and dogs, just great,” said Ann. “Centuries of romantic epics told, hundreds of beautiful ballads sung, scores of tapestries woven, dozens of murals painted, all inspired only by the fact that there weren’t any dogs around that day.”
“Oh, I’d hardly say that. Dogs are a lot harder to catch than girls.”
“You are a jerk,” said Ann, and stomped off to tend to her horse.
“What’s her problem?” said the Prince. Wendell could give no reply.
But Ann’s sour mood was no match for the delightful spring day and the spirits of the whole party were in full fine fettle as they approached their destination. They passed through the thriving village of Briar Rose without stopping, as the Prince did not want to be delayed by admiring throngs, and entered a dense wood about a dozen miles beyond. Although they had to dismount and walk their horses, the woods were not particularly hard going, and enough of the sun showed through the trees to keep an accurate idea of direction without resorting to compass. Charming removed Ruby’s map from his saddlebags and the three travelers consulted it. “Any time now, according to this, we should start running into some thorn bushes,” said Ann.
“Mmm,” said Wendell. He pointed to the ground where a stand of mushrooms grew in a perfect circle. “This is a fairy wood.”
Charming was examining the trunks of the trees. He scraped some of the moss with his fingernail. “This was a fairy wood. I think most of the magic has gone out of it. It happens sometimes.” He shrugged and they pressed on. A few hundred yards later, they found thorn bushes.
“Oh my,” said Ann.
It was not a descriptive comment, nor a particularly helpful one, but it did seem to sum up the situation as well as anything else that could have been said. What they found was a solid, impenetrable wall of thorns some thirty feet high. There was no way to judge how thick it was, but it stretched out of sight in both directions, with a slight curve that indicated it would completely circle the castle within, if indeed there was a castle within. The thorn bushes were unlike any Ann had ever seen, for they followed no one style or species. Some were long, gleaming stilettos, iron-hard spikes that could pierce all the way to a man’s heart. Others were the softer hair-type thorns, thin almost-invisible pins that stuck to your clothes, penetrated your fingers when you tried to brush them off, and were nearly impossible to pluck out because they were so hard to see and even harder to get a grip on. In between lay thorns of between one and three inches long, and plenty of them. They grew of oily dark wood, were needle sharp, and seemed to shine with an evil gleam. The bushes themselves were of the flexible cane type, almost a vine, the kind of branch that could wrap around and cling should you have the misfortune to fall into it. All in all, it was a most disturbing sight.
“A few thorn bushes,” said Wendell. “I think that Queen Ruby was slightly misinformed.”
“That’s my stepmother. A mind like a steel trap. Rusted shut.”
“Hmmm,” said the Prince.
“Hmmmm what?”
“This is not a natural formation. Someone went through a lot of trouble to grow this hedge. That’s pretty tough magic.”
“Is that what drained the magic out of the rest of the wood?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. But whatever is behind it must be pretty worthwhile. Now what’s the best way to get in?”
“I know,” said Wendell. “A bag of smoke.”
“Say what?”
“Mandelbaum told me how to do this. Do you ever watch the smoke from a fire?”
“Sure.”
“And it always goes up, right?”
“Get to the point, Wendell.”
“Okay, okay. Mandelbaum’s idea is to get a huge silk bag and let it fill up with smoke. If the bag is big enough, the smoke will lift up the bag and also a passenger hanging beneath it. You can fly right over anything. We start upwind and then, when we cross the thorn barrier, we let out some smoke and gently descend.”
Wendell waited expectantly. Charming and Ann stared at him. Finally Charming said, “Mandelbaum thought of this?”
“Doesn’t it sound great?”
“Good old Mandelbaum. Wendell, that is the craziest idea I’ve ever h
eard. I can’t believe you took this seriously.”
“Who is Mandelbaum?” asked Ann.
“Dad’s royal magician. The best wizard in Illyria, which means the best wizard anywhere. When I was a kid he was constantly coming out with new spells and enchantments. He wrote a whole bunch of papers on integrated magical systems.”
“What happened to him?”
“Same thing that happens to all court magicians. Once he got tenure he kind of slacked off. Anyway, thanks for the suggestion, Wendell, but this looks like a problem that can best be solved by the classical methods of brute force and ignorance.”
The Prince pulled Endeavor from its scabbard and ran his thumb once along the blade. He paced back and forth along the wall of thorns, choosing a likely-looking spot for his assault. Eventually he concluded that one spot looked no better than another and simply whipped the sword forward and down in a rapid slicing motion. Thorny branches parted neatly beneath the flashing blade and fell to the ground. A few more chops and he had cleared a man-sized opening in the hedge. He stepped back and looked at it.
“Well, this isn’t so bad. We still have a few hours of sunlight left. I’ll see how far I can go.”
“Would you like some help?” asked Ann.
“No, I can handle this. You just relax. Wendell, why don’t you unsaddle the horses? This is going to take a while.”
Ann settled herself back against the trunk of a tree while Charming hacked and slashed some more, creating a tunnel into the thorns. Wendell hobbled the horses and set them loose to graze, after rubbing their noses. It was very quiet, the only sound was the quiet buzzing of a stray bee, the occasional snatch of bird song, and the swish and chop of Charming’s sword. Ann watched as he worked himself deeper and deeper into the hedge. She could see his arms working as he switched the sword from hand to hand, sweat beginning to trickle down his back. As the tunnel grew deeper, he worked himself into shadow until she could only discern a dim movement. It was strange, she thought, how the shadows made him seem bigger. Suddenly she realized that he didn’t look bigger at all. It was the tunnel that was shrinking.
“Prince Charming!” she screamed. “The entrance is closing!”
It took Charming a few seconds to understand her meaning. He was ten feet into the hedge when he turned around and found himself in a barbed wooden cage. Fresh branches were sprouting from the tunnel floor, new thorns were growing from the cut walls. He started for the opening and a branch snagged his foot, the needle sharp thorns piercing right through his high boots. “Damn it.” He slashed his foot free and stumbled forward. Another branch dropped from above and wrapped itself around his sword arm. Cursing, he drew his dagger and sliced through the tendril, leaving a bracelet of thorns around his forearm that burned like fire.
Wendell reacted instantly to Ann’s cries. He was combing the horses when he turned and saw Ann beating at the thorn hedge with a tree branch, saw the Prince hacking his way through the vicious brush. “Sire!” He dropped the comb and ran for the baggage, instantly removed a brace of spare swords, and raced furiously for the hedge. “I’ll help you!”
“No!” yelled Charming, sword and knife flashing like an eagle’s talons. He was still a half dozen feet from the entrance, with a score of thorny tendrils wrapped around his arms and legs. Wendell paid no heed. Swords swinging left and right, he chopped through the closed entrance.
“Get back, Wendell!” But Charming spoke too late. A tangle of fresh branches sprouted beneath the page’s feet and instantly wrapped around his legs and waist.
“Aaah!” Wendell screamed as the needles drove into his skin. He looked down, but only for a second. More branches were coming at him from the sides and overhead. He kept both swords moving, lopping off the branches as they came near him, but had no time to deal with the branches from below. Rapidly the tendrils climbed up his chest, across his shoulders, pulling down his arms. In only a few more moments, the boy knew, he would be immobilized.
Charming was still fighting his own battle. His skin was crisscrossed with a myriad of deep scratches and his clothes were torn and spattered with blood. Ribbons of thorn branches, resisting every movement, wrapped both legs and arms. Beyond his struggling page the Prince saw the gap to safety narrowing. The entire hedge was shifting to close off the entrance.
With a final mighty effort, Charming drove his arms forward, tearing loose the branches that held them, driving the thorns deep into his flesh. Diving to the ground at Wendell’s feet, he used the dagger to cut the stems that held the boy to the ground. “Drop your swords, Wendell!” When the page stopped struggling he lifted the boy up and, drawing on his last reserves of strength, hurled him through the small opening to freedom. Wendell hit the ground in a mass of twisted thorns and, with a great crashing of underbrush, the hedge closed in on Prince Charming.
As soon as Wendell cleared the hedge, Ann ran to him and helped him tear the thorns off. Her own hands quickly became scratched and bloody, but she paid no mind to them, ignoring the minor wounds in the crisis of the moment as Wendell ignored his. When the last twig had been cleared away, they both cautiously approached the hedge.
“Sire?” called Wendell hesitantly.
“Prince Charming?” said Ann.
“Your Highness?”
“Yo,” came the whispered reply.
Ann and Wendell peered into the thicket. Charming was only a foot into the thick brush, but was nearly impossible to see because of the thorns wrapped around him. His arms, his legs, his entire torso, were tightly wound with branches and his head seemed to be encased in a woven wicker mask, through which his blue eyes could still be seen searching alertly forward. His hands still gripped sword and dagger, but the blades, too, were wrapped with thorny tendrils. Blood slowly ran down his arms and dripped to the ground.
“I can’t move,” whispered Charming. “There are thorns right up against my throat.”
As soon as this was over, Ann promised herself, she was going to have a good cry. Half a dozen long, black thorns were jabbed tightly against Charming’s jugular, as though directed there by a malevolent force, the thin points pricking the flesh and drawing bright drops of red liquid. The Prince was breathing in slow, shallow draughts, his chest constricted by the vines and more needles. “Wendell,” he whispered.
“Yes, Sire?” Wendell whispered back.
“You don’t have to whisper. I’m only doing this so the thorns don’t tear up my face.”
“Oh, right,” said Wendell in a normal voice.
“Don’t get too close. Try cutting a branch and see if they are still growing.”
“Right.” Wendell got another blade from the packs. Gingerly he approached the hedge, with Ann taking a firm grip on his tunic to yank him away if the thorns should make a grab for him. The hedge remained motionless. He chose a hefty-looking branch at eye level, where Charming could see it, and took a swipe at it. The sword sliced neatly through the wood and the branch broke free. Almost immediately, the severed end sprouted, and within seconds the barbed vegetation had replaced itself. “Darn. We’ll have to do some fast cutting.”
“This is hopeless,” said Ann. “We must ride back to the village and get help. We’ll pour salt water on the ground and poison the plants. That will keep them from growing back. Then we’ll cut you loose.”
“Forget that idea,” said Wendell. “I’m not riding off and leaving him.”
“You stay here and I’ll get help.”
“Hold on,” murmured the Prince. “Let’s try something else first. Wendell, build a fire and get some torches going. Ann, you’ll take a torch. As soon as Wendell cuts a branch, hold the flame to the severed end and cauterize it. Be careful not to get too close.”
Wendell and Ann nodded. It took an hour to put this plan into action, but the results were gratifying. This time the cut end, once scorched black, remained inert.
“All right,” said Charming. “Cut my hands free first, but don’t get into the hedge. It might be another tra
p.”
“Got it,” said Wendell, much relieved to have a plan of action and greatly reassured by Charming’s calm tone of voice. He and Ann went at it industriously, but it was slow, careful work made difficult by the close proximity to the Prince at which they had to work. Several times Wendell dealt him nasty cuts as he strove to remove the intricate web of twigs, and Ann raised blisters with her torch more than a few times before Charming’s arms were free. But the Prince bore this stoically. When his left arm bearing his dagger was at last loosened, he cut the thorns from his neck and gave Ann an encouraging smile as she burned the tips of the branches.
“There’s your right arm,” said Wendell. Charming flexed it and pulled out a few of the largest thorns, wincing as he did so. Ann moved in with the torch and cauterized the cut ends. As she did so, she jumped back with a little cry.
“What?” said Wendell and Charming together.
“Look.” She pointed to one of the first branches to be cut. A small bud of green was showing through the charcoal. “It’s growing back.”
Charming looked it over. “Okay, it’s growing back. No need to panic. We have plenty of time.” He had Endeavor tucked under one arm and was quickly, but methodically, stripping the branches from his legs with his dagger. “You two stand back, out of the way. Wendell, keep passing me fresh torches as they burn down.” His page drew back, obedient, but reluctant to retreat. Charming took a torch from Ann and burnt the branches in a circle around him as he cut himself loose.
It was a near thing. It took the cauterized branches a while to get started, but once the new buds pushed out of the burned area, they grew enormously fast. But Charming was close enough to the edge that he had only to cut his legs free and step clear, and this he did manage, although probably with less than a minute to spare. Wendell hugged him and Ann wanted to, except that he still had so many thorns sticking in him, it would have been a painful gesture at best.
Charming bent down and put his mouth close to Wendell’s ear. “She didn’t hear me swearing, did she?”