Sir Apropos of Nothing

by Peter David

  I tumbled end over end, having no idea how long I fell, certain that it was for ages when very likely it was only for seconds. And then I hit.

  I heard something loud snapping and for one delirious, insane moment I thought I was hearing the breaking of every bone in my body. My mother had once told me that once a broken bone heals, it becomes much stronger. If that were the case, then I would be a virtual superman if I ever managed to walk again.

  But then I realized that the ground was giving way beneath me, and—comprehending by degrees—I further realized that I had not in fact struck the ground. Instead I plunged into the midst of what was clearly an assortment of branches, and I understood immediately that I had fallen into trees. The branches served to slow down my descent, although not by much. They crackled and splintered around me, tearing at my clothes, ripping my skin. I tried to grab onto some for support but none of them were large enough to singly support my weight.

  And then I was through the forestry. The air whirled around me and I saw tree trunks hurtling by, and then I crashed into a thicket of bushes.

  With thorns, naturally.

  Fortunately enough, I was by that point so dazed, my body racked with such pain, that the thorns barely made an impression on me. I simply lay there, amidst the brush, looking around in a daze, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, and for my brain to adjust to the reality of my not being dead.

  That was when I heard a yowling from overhead.

  I knew who and what it was before I even craned my neck to look up. I could see Entipy’s legs thrashing about in the upper reaches of the branches. Apparently, with her being somewhat lighter than I, the trees had actually managed to slow Entipy’s fall so that she didn’t penetrate the greensward. She was hung up high above me, uttering a series of most unprincessly imprecations.

  “The more you jostle about up there,” I called up to her, forcing my voice above her shouting, “the more likely you are to break loose, fall, and injure or kill yourself.”

  That stopped her.

  For a long moment I seriously considered just walking away, abandoning her altogether. The princess was no walk in the woods, and that was apparently just what I was going to be stuck with. I was reasonably sure I could survive in a forest indefinitely. I didn’t need her. Nor, for that matter, did I really need to return to the castle. At that point in time, if I never saw the place again, it would suit me just fine.

  But I had embarked on a course. I had to see it through, because …

  … because the truth was that I had never seen anything through.

  I make no bones about it to you. I have sworn utter honesty, after all. In truth, there was no one in all the world whom I held in greater contempt than I myself: he who came from nothing, aspiring to be something, who had not only surrounded himself with hypocrites, but was the greatest hypocrite of all because he was trying to gain their favor and beat them at their own game. And that selfloathing radiated from me and determined how I viewed all those around me. Part of that inwardly directed anger stemmed from the fact that I had never truly managed to stick with anything and see it through. Every plan in my life had come to an unfortunate end, either due to shortsightedness on my part or character flaws that simply prevented my being able to conclude it properly. So there I was, having embarked on an endeavor to usurp destiny and see through the role of “hero.” Which meant that I was going to have to get the damned princess back to her damned palace. As tempting, then, as it might be to melt into the woods and never be seen again by the eyes of man, the inescapable fact was that I was going to have to retrieve the little shrew from her perch and get her home safely.

  “I’m not going to jostle or break loose up here,” her voice floated down after a time.

  “Oh really? How do you know that?”

  “Because I’m stuck,” she said with obvious annoyance. “The branches are so thick they’re snagged in my hair, my clothes … everything. Get up here and cut me free.”

  My getting too near her with a sharp object probably wasn’t the brightest idea. “With all deference, Your Greatness, I’m not exactly built for scaling trees. I’m rather lame of leg, as you must have noticed.”

  “And brain as well, I’d wager.” Obscured by the branches, she must have been considering the situation a moment, for there was blessed silence. Finally she commanded, “Throw your blade up here. I’ll do it myself.”

  “As you wish.” I wasn’t thrilled about the notion of hurling my sword into the shadows of the foliage. Since I wasn’t able to see exactly where she was, there was a possibility that the sword might impale her on its upward flight. A pleasant thought but, as noted, counterproductive. So I removed the sword and scabbard, braced myself, and then hurled the sheathed weapon upward. It vanished into the branches and then there was silence. “Have you got it?” I called.

  “Yes. Hold on.” For a moment more there was no sound, and then I heard the noise of hacking and slashing. She was whacking away quite handily. Bits of leaves and branch spiraled down. I stood there, leaning on my staff, waiting for some indication that she was close to finished.

  I got a far more profound indication than I could possibly have hoped, for suddenly there was a quick rustling of the leaves and then the blade plummeted from overhead, straight toward my upraised face. I threw myself out of the way, just barely avoiding it, and it thudded point down right where I’d been standing. The scabbard flopped to the ground a moment later. I lay there, gaping at the still quivering blade, and then saw the princess—looking rather tattered but otherwise undamaged—easing herself down the tree trunk. I called up with unfettered annoyance, “You might have warned me!”

  “Oh. Look out,” she said, and continued her descent.

  “That was amazingly stupid, Highness.” I picked myself up, dusted myself off, and yanked the sword from the ground. “It may not have come to your attention, but you have a much better shot at getting through this in one piece with me at your side.”

  “Indeed?” She dropped the rest of the way to the ground, landing in a crouch. “At my side, until such time that you see fit to abandon me yet again.”

  “I told you. I was—”

  “—going to get a phoenix to save us.” She shook her head and dislodged the leaves from her cloak. “Squire, you are either extremely duplicitous, or extremely lucky, or a combination of both. I haven’t quite decided.” Then she took a moment to look around, to examine her surroundings in a rather imperious manner. I felt a chill in the air and wasn’t sure whether it was because the woods seemed oppressive or the temperature was dropping. Evening was drawing closer, however, and I did not like the fact that we had no shelter.

  “We need to find somewhere to take cover,” I said. “I don’t want us out and exposed this way.”

  She seemed about to say something in rebuttal, but I think she realized that in doing so, it would only be a knee-jerk reaction. Disagreeing with me on principle, which was a foolish notion and a waste of time. So she said nothing, which was a refreshing change of pace.

  I looked around and perceived that, in one direction, the terrain seemed to be turning a bit more rocky. Without explaining why (and, at that point, not really caring if she followed or not), I sheathed my sword and started off. I didn’t have to look over my shoulder to see if she was behind me; I could hear her boots scraping on the rocky ground. Despite my lameness of leg, I was making reasonably good time; fear of being stuck out in the woods with no shelter and at the mercy of whatever happened by was always a good motivator. She did not, however, huff or puff or ask me to slow down to accommodate her, which either said a great deal for her ability to keep up or not much in terms of my ability to set a rapid pace.

  As I hoped, the ground had a rocky cast to it because it was serving to lead us to a small series of caves. I looked for something reasonably small and insinuated myself within, then looked up at her expectantly.

  “Why don’t we find something bigger?” she demanded.
She was regarding me with tremendous suspicion. “Are you trying to put us at close quarters on purpose?”

  “Not especially,” I replied. “If you climb in here or don’t, it makes no never mind to me. But I was endeavoring to avoid anything substantially larger so that we don’t find ourselves sharing facilities with a bear or similar beast that might take issue with unwanted guests.”

  She seemed to want to toss off a smart remark, but then she closed her mouth and nodded. The fact that she was willing to accept something I said at simple face value gave me some measure of hope, as meager as that hope might be. Without another word she slid into the cave beside me, drawing her tattered cloak tighter around her as if it could serve as a shield. “Shouldn’t we make a fire or something?” she said, and then added with a touch of her customary derision, “Or don’t you know how to?”

  “I may not be on par with you when it comes to crafting infernos, Highness,” I said pointedly, “but I have enough woodcraft to begin a blaze. However, I have to assume that the Harpers would likewise have enough craft to track us if we provided them with a convenient means of locating us … such as a fire.”

  “That … sounds reasonable,” she said with what sounded like reluctance. Then she added, “But don’t we need something for warmth? Or to protect us from wild animals?”

  “I’ll settle for this as protection,” I said, indicating my sword and sounding much braver than I felt. “As for warmth, we can always depend on your sunny disposition to suffuse the cave with sunshine-like radiance.”

  “You don’t have to be like that, you know,” she snapped, glaring at me. She had pulled her hood up so that practically the only thing I could see were her eyes. “Always so nasty.”

  “I’m not nasty,” I said nastily. “I’m worrying about a dozen things at once, and having you question me about everything simply adds a thirteenth thing.”

  “I have a right to question. I’m your princess. I will be your queen.”

  “Not if I don’t get you back alive,” I reminded her.

  That shut her down. I was, I admit, surprised. She generally struck me as someone sufficiently feisty to continue arguing until she had no more energy to do so. Instead, she was silent for a time, and when she next spoke, it was less challenging and more of a direct inquiry. “So … how do you plan to get me back? Alive or dead?”

  It was a reasonable question. “I don’t rate our chances tremendously high in making it all the way back to your parents, just the two of us, on foot. Probably the best thing to do is find a commweaver and have him or her message your parents.”

  There were two major methods of long-distance communication in Isteria and the surrounding lands. Sending birds with messages tied upon them was that most favored by those of limited funds. But that was a fairly unreliable proposition. If the bird wasn’t well trained enough it could go astray, and even if it was perfectly trained, it could fall prey to predators. Far more reliable were commweavers, spellcasters who were able to utilize magical threads to send messages cast-to-cast. It was a highly specialized form of weaving, however, second only to farcasting in rarity, and it was not inexpensive. I said as much, pointing out that that might prove a drawback.

  Entipy looked at me as if I was out of my mind, displaying some of the old attitude that had been mercifully absent for a time.

  “Money? Money is an issue?” She snorted derisively.

  “Only when you don’t have it. I have very little on me; certainly not enough to purchase the skills of a reliable commweaver. Do you have any?”

  “We don’t have need,” she said.

  “We don’t?”

  “No.”

  “Then what would you suggest in its place? Perhaps you could offer the weaver sexual favors … ?”

  She slapped me.

  I suppose I deserved it. This was, after all, a princess, and my remark was nothing short of crude. Nevertheless, deserved or not, it was all I could do to refrain from smacking her right back. Instead I simply sat there, my right cheek red from where she had hit it. She didn’t appear the least bit contrite over having done so, her eyes burning at the very suggestion.

  “Your problem,” she said, “is that you are accustomed to thinking like a peasant. That’s what you were, after all, wasn’t it.” It was not a question. “I can tell. I can tell nobility from a mile off, and you’ve none about you. You’re some sort of … of charity case my parents took in. They do that on occasion, probably to make themselves feel important and less guilty about having everything while others have nothing. Well? A charity case, am I right? That they took in?”

  “At least they took me in,” I said heatedly, “instead of shipping me away because they couldn’t stand me.”

  Her hand swung again, but this time I caught it at the wrist. I held it there for a moment, Entipy pitting her strength against mine, but this was a contest even I could win. Her arm trembled with the strain and then I pushed it away. I remained alert for a another round, but she lowered her arm and settled for glaring at me.

  “We will find a place … a civilized place,” she said haughtily, “on the morrow. There’s certain to be somewhere like that nearby.”

  “Oh, is there,” I said with obvious sarcasm.

  “Yes. And once there, I’ll simply order a commweaver be brought to me. It will be a royal decree.”

  “And it’s going to be just that simple.”

  “Yes, Apropos. Just that simple.”

  “The last simple plan you had,” I pointed out, “involved Tacit coming to get you and whisk you away so that you could live happily ever after. And as I recall, I claimed that you should never count on such cheerful conclusions. Considering how right I was, and how wrong you were, you might want to add more credence to what I tell you. And what I’m telling you now is that your scenario—while pleasantly convenient—is taking a hell of a lot on faith. Faith may be fine for the Faith Women, but it can have somewhat dire consequences in the real world if that’s what you’re counting on to carry you through. Do you understand what I’m saying here, Highness?”

  She made no reply, instead preferring to glower. But that was an improvement, I supposed, on listening to her talk, so I said nothing. Instead I leaned against the cave wall, reaching back to pull out my sword. She looked with silent surprise at me as I did so. “Just in case,” I explained. “If something surprises us in the night, I’d rather have a weapon in my lap than behind me.”

  We lapsed into silence, simply sitting and watching the night roll in. I reached deep into myself, pulling up all the old techniques. I sniffed the air, listened as carefully as I could. I sensed things moving in the night, but they were small, insignificant. Nothing that would pay us any heed; indeed, things that would be more afraid of us than we of they. I hoped that cave would provide us sufficient insulation from the night air.

  I was so busy listening for the slightest noise that I jumped a bit, startled, when she spoke. There was a bit of weariness in her voice; I could tell she was tired, but something was preying on her mind, and the growing fatigue was enough for her to voice her concern.

  “Did you see him?” she asked.

  “Him?” I had no idea who or what she was talking about.

  “Tacit. In the woods. He should have been easy to spot. He’s tall and strong and handsome, and has an eyepatch.”

  “Ah” was all I said, stalling for time. Not for a moment did I consider telling the truth; instead I was simply trying to figure out which lie would be the most effective. “But … you heard the Harper. They killed him.”

  “No,” she said firmly, shaking her head. “I don’t believe that. I don’t.”

  “Why not? It is possible, isn’t it?”

  “No,” she told me. “He is a great hero, destined for great deeds. I know it. I just know it.”

  The thing was, she was right. That didn’t make it any easier to hear. In fact, it made it harder.

  Opting for a tack that would support vagueness inst
ead of specific duplicity, I said, “Princess, if he was there, in the woods … if he was alive … wouldn’t it be much likelier that he would have been the one to rescue you instead of me?”

  She had no immediate reply to that, probably because she knew I was correct. Fortunately, she did not make the leap that perhaps the reason he hadn’t taken a hand in the situation was because I had thwarted whatever intentions he might have had to do so. “He could still be alive,” she said softly.

  “True,” I admitted.

  “And … he is a hero …”

  “Well, you know, Princess, that’s part of the problem.”

  She looked up at me, clearly puzzled. “Problem?”

  “Yes, well … that’s the difficulty with heroes, isn’t it. They’re very much in demand. People are always seeking them out to go on quests or lead rebellions or such. Their time isn’t really their own. It’s possible that Tacit became distracted by something, or pulled into some other adventure and was unable to attend to your situation.”

  “I’m a princess. He was to rescue me. That’s the most important thing a hero can do,” she said petulantly.

  “With respect, Highness,” I said, trying my best to sound apologetic, “heroes have a funny way of deciding for themselves what is or is not the most important thing they can do. And then, of course, there are the tragic heroes …”

  “Tragic … ?”

  “Yes. Heroes who fail in their quest. It happens sometimes. Look at Orpheus. What a disaster that was. His love remains trapped in the underworld because he couldn’t keep eyes front, and he winds up being torn to pieces by Harpies.” I shook my head and, coming across as the most conciliatory person in the world, I said softly, “It’s all well and good to imagine oneself as the center of a great and epic adventure story, where good triumphs and evil is defeated. But the simple truth, Highness, is that you’re a young woman, on the cusp of adulthood, and you have to come to terms with the fact that life simply isn’t like that. Those who are evil have virtues; those who are good have flaws. And the outcome of the ‘story,’ if you will, isn’t predicated on high-flown morality, but instead on who’s smarter and better armed and luckier. That’s simply the way of it and the truth of it, and not all the starry-eyed romantic notions of your beloved savior are going to change that.”