by Peter David
She said nothing for a good long time after that, but when she did speak, it was with quiet conviction.
“He’ll come for me, Tacit will. And I will have my happy ending, squire, whether you like it or not, or believe in it or not. I will have my happiness.”
“May you have all the happiness that you deserve, Highness,” I said, and with that I leaned against the wall, keeping my hand wrapped around the hilt of my sword, and allowed myself to drift into a very light sleep.
Chapter 16
When morning came, I found that she was leaning against me in her sleep. Not only that but, instinctively, she had wrapped her arms around one of mine. I looked down at her and, in repose, I found that she was in fact much prettier than I’d originally thought her. In fact, she bordered on lovely. There was something about the way her face was trapped in a perpetual sneer when she was awake that ruined her features.
“You’re staring at me,” she said. Her eyes were still closed. I had no idea how she had known. “Obviously you think I’m attractive.”
“I once spent an hour watching maggots crawl through the corpse of a boar,” I replied. “There wasn’t any aesthetic value to that; just a kind of morbid fascination.”
“You are a pointlessly vicious and mean person, and when we get back, I’m going to ask my father to behead you.”
“If we get back,” and I made a point of emphasizing the conditional word, “your father will be so bloody grateful to me that he’ll probably want to make me a knight.”
“My father will do as I ask.”
“Did you ask to remain at the castle instead of being sent away to the Faith Women?”
She looked down, giving me the answer without a vocal reply. “I want you to stop bringing that up,” she said with obvious irritation.
“As you wish, Highness,” I said. The Prince of Obedience, that was me.
There was a chill fog hanging over the woods, which on some level was a good thing. Anything which would make it problematic for the Harpers Bizarre to spot us from overhead weighed in our favor. On the other hand, the chill carried with it more than just a feel of early morning. I had the distinct feeling that we were experiencing a definite climatic shift … not surprising since we had gone so far north. As I stood, stretched my legs, and swung my arms around to restore circulation, I considered our options and didn’t like what I was coming up with.
“What’s wrong?” she demanded. She could obviously see the concern in my face.
“I’m worried about how far north we are,” I said. “The north is renowned for its early and fearsome winters. If the cold is truly moving in …” I didn’t finish the sentence. I didn’t have to. Even the princess, still caught up in her dreams of the heroic Tacit and happy endings, had to see the danger inherent in such a situation.
“I’m hungry,” she said abruptly.
Truth to tell, so was I. I looked around at the vegetation; there seemed to be some plants that appeared edible. Mushrooms and such. But then I saw something stirring in the brush nearby.
Without a moment’s hesitation, I pulled my dagger from its sheath on my leg and threw it. It thudded into the brush and, a moment later, a reasonably sized rabbit tumbled out.
“Breakfast,” I said.
If the princess was appalled by the notion of feasting on something as relentlessly cute as a rabbit, she gave no sign of it. Instead she sat quietly and watched as I skinned it, never averting her eyes. My estimation of her climbed ever so slightly.
But then my estimation promptly dropped off again as she said petulantly, “You have no plans to cook it?”
“I told you; I don’t want to light a fire if I do not have to.”
“I think,” she said very deliberately, in an obvious attempt to egg me on, “that you’re afraid to light it … because Tacit might then locate us, and you figure your life is forfeit.”
“You can think whatever you wish.”
“Then perhaps I’ll light my own fire.”
“Yes, you obviously have a great deal of experience at that. Aiming to burn down an entire forest this time?”
She glared at me once more. Endeavoring to look as nonchalant as possible, I carved a piece out of the rabbit and extended it to her. Blood was still dripping from it. She looked at it distastefully. “You first,” she said, perhaps thinking that I believed the entire matter to be some sort of “dare” situation.
Shrugging, I reversed the knife and popped the piece into my mouth. I chewed happily; not because of the taste of the raw rabbit, which was chewier than I would have liked, but from the look on the princess’s face. I felt blood trickling down the side of my face. I didn’t bother to wipe it off. Something in me took delight in causing her to react in disgust.
“Well? Aren’t you going to build us a fire?” I said. “Using your considerable experience?” I carved off another piece.
“You really think I burned down the Faith Women’s retreat, don’t you.”
“Yes.”
She shook her head, and there was that same smirk. “What,” I inquired, “are you saying you didn’t?”
“I think I’d rather not tell you,” she replied. “I somewhat prefer the notion that you don’t know what to expect of me.”
“You mean you would prefer that the person who is supposed to be your protector should be afraid to turn his back on the woman he’s protecting, for fear that she’s so unstable that she might knife him at the first opportunity? Oh yes, Princess, by all means, that sounds like a superb way to travel.” I cut another piece. From a few feet away, the rabbit’s head—which I had naturally cut off and discarded—looked at me in silent accusation. He got off lucky. At least he didn’t have to put up with Entipy.
But something in her expression changed and then, very softly, she said, “Thank you.”
I was caught off guard. Part of me thought that that was what she was trying to do. “For what?” I asked.
“For referring to me as a woman. I don’t know that anyone’s ever done that. Even Tacit always called me his ‘beautiful girl.’ “
“Yes, well, I’m not Tacit,” I said pointedly. “For one thing, I’m here, and he’s not.”
“But he will be.”
I shrugged. Privately, I sure hoped that she was wrong. Because if he did show up, he wasn’t going to be any too pleased with me.
Imperiously, she gestured to the rabbit’s remains. “Let me try some. And wipe your mouth. It’s disgusting.”
I obliged by dragging a sleeve across my bloodied lips. “Change your mind?” I said. I jammed the knife into the remains of the animal’s carcass, giving it a “handle” by which it could be held, and then tossed the entire thing over to her. It landed on the ground a foot away from her, and she picked it up delicately. “Sure you’re up to it?”
“If you can take it, I can take it,” she said defiantly. I’ll say this for her: Once committed to the idea, she didn’t take it in half measures. She bit forcefully into it, tearing a piece away with her teeth. She chewed it and almost managed to swallow it before she retched up the entire thing. I tried not to laugh, but was only partly successful. She glowered at me. I don’t think I was particularly her favorite person in the world at that moment. Determined, she bit off another piece and actually managed to get it down. Before she could take another, her stomach revolted, and this piece exited with even greater force than the previous.
“I see how you manage to maintain your girlish figure,” I observed.
“Shut up” was her weary response as she continued to try and keep some portion of the “meal” down.
I should have felt sorry for her. Surprisingly, I even wanted to. But I didn’t. Because let us be candid: If it weren’t for her, none of those knights would have died, because if she hadn’t been such a loon, her parents never would have sent her away in the first place.
After a few more attempts, a couple of which were actually successful, she slid the carcass off the dagger blade and tossed t
he dagger over to me. I would have expected that she would hurl it at my chest. Instead she simply lobbed it and it fell to the ground in a most unthreatening manner. I picked it up, cleaned it as best I could, and we started off.
I wasn’t even going to try and retrace the path that the phoenix had overflown. I knew what lay in that direction: considerable forest, the remains of the Harpers Bizarre, and a revenge-driven Tacit. I had no clue as to what waited ahead, but it was the classic case of the devil you know versus the devil you do not.
Our journey passed with a minimum of conversation, which was fine by me. At least Entipy did not complain about things that couldn’t be changed, such as her feet hurting or her dress being torn and snagged by the brambles and brush. I kept hoping we would stumble upon a road, which would be a sign of civilization, not to mention much easier to navigate, but none seemed forthcoming.
She had to be getting thirsty, though; I was confident of that because I was myself. Every so often I saw her licking her lips, and once I noticed that she was looking to me in a sort of hopeful manner. I, however, was too busy being a nervous wreck over our surroundings. Every time I heard the slightest rustling from around us, I worried that the Harpers had picked up the scent, or Tacit was going to come springing out at me like a great, wounded monster, or maybe the Journeymen were back, or maybe it was something else entirely that was going to have a go at us.
The sun moved overhead without seeming to have much interest in us. At one point, we came across a river, moving briskly but not particularly deep. It provided us our first fresh water in what seemed like a millennium. Entipy crouched on the edge of the bank and sipped from it, but I waded in. If she hadn’t been there, I’d probably have stripped down. I’d’ve done it even if she was there, just to get a reaction out of her, but I was rather certain that the reaction I’d get would simply be derisive laughter and therefore saw no point to it.
I stuck my head under the water, refreshing myself. I came up, opened my mouth, drank deeply, went under again. I liked paddling around. When I was in the floating environment of water, it helped ease the frustration of my lame leg. I felt almost like a … there’s no other way to put it … normal man.
I lost track of time as I enjoyed myself, feeling relaxed for the first time in ages and thinking that maybe, just maybe, things were going to work out.
I had no idea how much time had passed before I realized that she was gone.
“Entipy!” I shouted, took a step forward, fell and submerged. I splashed back to the surface and waded to the shore. Quickly I surveyed the surroundings. My staff and sword were where I’d left them, and there was no sign of a struggle. That answered my first and most immediate worries. Apparently the brainless little twit had gone off on her own. Still, maybe it was nothing to be concerned about. She might just be going off to seek out some privacy in order to attend to nature’s call.
That was when I smelled smoke.
Oh my God, she did decide to burn down the forest was my first panicked thought.
I clambered onto the water’s edge, nostrils flaring, trying to pinpoint precisely where the smoke was coming from. It took me no more than seconds, because my sight backed up what my nose had already told me: It was coming from the north, not more than half a mile by my guess. I saw a plume of smoke wafting into the air, but even as I set off in that direction, I realized that I was not dealing with a raging fire. It was too controlled. Not only that, but I was starting to detect—ever so faintly—cooking meat. It was a fire coming from some sort of pub or tavern. Apparently my young charge had decided that that place was better than this place, and headed off without so much as whispering to me that she was leaving.
As I made my way through the forest, I began to shiver so fiercely that my teeth started to chatter. Mist was rising from my mouth. As incredible as it seemed, the temperature had dropped precipitously in the past half hour. Considering that my clothes were sodden, obviously that was something of an inconvenience. Memories of how I had fallen ill when I was subjected to varying elements upon my arrival at the castle flooded back to me. I had no desire for a repeat performance, for I have little doubt that I wouldn’t get off quite as lucky should such a thing recur. Naturally, though, I had left my cloak behind when I’d gone in, so it was bone dry. I drew it more tightly around myself, my breath coming in ragged and cloudy gasps.
The woods were thinning out, and I realized that the smoke had inadvertently brought me to the place that I’d been seeking all along: the outside of the forest. I drew closer and was able to make out the structure that was the origin of the smoke. It was belching out of a chimney, situated on top of a building that was rather unremarkable. In many ways it reminded me of the pub in which I grew up, and for an instant I felt a sudden surge of horror. What if, through insane happenstance, I had wound up right back at Stroker’s somehow? I didn’t know for sure where I was, but I would have bet that it was a geographical impossibility that I could have wound up there. But then cold reason (along with cold air, which seemed to have dropped even more in the last seconds) took hold. Stroker’s and my old life were miles away. It was simply that such roadside places were somewhat generic in their construction.
I saw a sign hanging off the edge, swaying in the stiff wind that was cutting through the air. I caught the name of the place as it swung. Apparently I was about to visit the Forest’s Edge Pub and Inn. Considering the place was at the edge of a forest, I wondered how many long minutes it had taken the genius who’d named the place to come up with that one.
There were other structures as well. Weapons shops, a butcher, weapons shops, a baker, weapons shops. As you might surmise, the abundance of weapons shops left me a bit concerned that we had wandered into a territory that was less than friendly. People were wandering about on their errands, dressed in heavy and ragged furs, barely nodding to one another as they passed. They were far more interested in dealing with whatever business they had to attend to than engaging in social niceties. Apparently all social congress was reserved for the inn, from wherein I heard rough and raucous laughter. It seemed a bit early in the day for drunken revelry, and that indicated two possibilities to me. Either the people hereabouts were hard and heavy drinkers … or else they had found something that was particularly hilarious to engage their attention.
I had the sick feeling that I knew exactly what that source of hilarity might be, especially when my sharp ears were able to detect a raised female voice. My every instinct told me that the only intelligent thing to do was turn around and get the hell out of here, and leave the little fool to whatever situation she’d gotten herself in. But I had gone too far, had thrown far too much of what I laughingly referred to as my self-esteem into the bargain. Like it or not, I was committed to getting her home.
A notice was tacked up on the door that said HELP WANTED. I made a mental note of it as I opened the door to the inn carefully. The noise from within practically blasted me back. I saw therein the scene that I had suspected I was going to see. There was Princess Entipy, standing in the middle of the inn, and assorted rough-hewn men were at their various tables, laughing their collective asses off. Entipy was trying to talk above them, but they were chortling so loudly that it was difficult to make out anything she was saying. The only person in the pub not laughing was a heavyset woman behind the bar. She had a glare as hard as coal, and a heart to match by the look of her surly face. She was cleaning a mug and seemed most unamused by the proceedings.
“This is the last time I’m going to say this,” Entipy fairly shouted, her fists clenched and quivering with barely restrained anger. “We want you to bring a commweaver to us immediately. It is a matter of utmost urgency! And we require your best accommodations while we wait for the weaver to be brought.” Since she’d entered without me, I could only assume that she had reverted to using the royal “we.” Unsurprisingly, the men—about a dozen in all—didn’t seem the least bit stirred to action by her demands.
“All right, gir
l,” the woman from behind the bar called. She walked around it carrying a mug in either hand and set it down near two behemoths at the table nearest Entipy. “Enough foolishness for one day.”
“Our commands are not foolishness,” shot back Entipy. “Do you have any idea who we are?”
I started to move across the tavern as quickly as I could at that point, but several men got up at that ill-timed moment, pushing back their chairs, and I was temporarily blocked.
One of the behemoths looked up at her in amusement. “Who are we?” he asked, the phrasing of his question alone getting peals of laughter from his companions and the others in the tavern.
“We are royalty!” Entipy informed him.
“What you are is a royal pain,” said the bartender/server. “Now get you gone.”
“Ohhhh, Marie, don’t be so hard on the girl,” the behemoth said. “She’s a comely thing, and might provide passing amusement. I’ve never had royalty before.” And he drew back a hand and slapped Entipy on the rump. The smack was resounding and there was more laughter.
Entipy did not hesitate. She grabbed up the mug of ale that had just been set down and hurled the contents into the behemoth’s face. It hit him square on, the contents cascading all over his face, down his thick, bristling beard, and down into his breeches.
Oh, my gods, we’re dead, I thought, and even as I did, the words What do you mean “we”? came to mind.
The behemoth started to rise, letting out a grunt of anger. Entipy windmilled her arm around, still holding the solid metal mug, and slammed it into the top of his head, knocking him back off the chair and sending him tumbling to the floor with a crash.
I would have thought a roar of fury would have arisen as a result, but we had a small fragment of luck, because the sequence of events instead struck the rough men as remarkably funny. In retrospect, I can see why: This slip of a girl comes in, tosses orders about, and when a man twice her size and three times her width takes liberties with her, she promptly gives him what-for.