In three days, there were more than fifty Princes in the Palace, Siegfried and Leopold were sharing one room of his three-room suite, and there were two princes in each of the other two rooms. The rest of the guest quarters of the Palace were similarly crowded. There was a field set aside that was full of pitched pavilions, both those that had been brought by the candidates and those that had been put up at the Queen’s orders. There were even, so Siegfried had heard, plenty more without any claim to royal blood who had shown up for the trials. The bird said that they would be allowed to join, too—after all, The Tradition was full of tales of commoners who rose to thrones by winning Princesses.
And, it appeared that Queen Glacier’s plan had worked, for there was one Prince from each of the five neighbors of Eltaria. Three were sons outright of the ruler in question, two were nephews. Messages had come from the watchers on all of the borders. The armies had withdrawn, and the Eltarian army brought King Thurman’s body home.
There was a very impressive funeral, which Siegfried was able to see quite well, since he was a head taller than almost anyone else. There was a great deal of singing of massed people—the bird said it was called a “choir,” and this was quite a new thing for Siegfried. His people had skalds, who recited rather than sang, and very raucous drinking songs. On his travels, he had listened with great pleasure to bards, minstrels, jongleurs and ladies who were said to be accomplished singers and musicians, but he had never heard massed, disciplined voices before. It was very moving. He actually found himself with stinging eyes several times, even though he did not know the dead King. He rather wished there had been more of that and less of talking. The god here, if he understood the speeches aright, was considered to be very far away, and everyone who was good got to go to a lovely place that was completely unlike Vallahalia—more of a great sky-garden than a feast-hall and a battlefield. Then again, while these folk did enjoy their feasting, they didn’t seem to enjoy fighting nearly as much as Siegfried’s people did, so Vallahalia probably wouldn’t be much to their liking.
Finally the speeches and the singing were over, the King was put into a stone box in the god-hall instead of being set on fire, and the funeral was over. The bird, which had been on his shoulder the whole time, being very quiet, fluffed her feathers and stopped looking like a bird-shaped ornament. Some people milled about, talking about the dead King, while the throng of Princes remained to talk, retired discreetly to their quarters, or their martial exercises, according to their natures, and Siegfried pondered which group it would be better for him to join, though he was inclined to the most active choice.
That was when Leopold drew him aside. “Care to get away from this lot with me?” the man asked, rather too casually. “I know a good tavern.”
Siegfried considered this. “Does it have plain food? Meat that is meat, and not hiding under a sauce?” He was getting just a little weary of the stuff these people ate. “And a good strong beer?”
Leopold smiled. “And no little dogs yapping around at your heels.”
Siegfried snorted. But it was to cover what the bird was saying, because this had all the trappings of some sort of trick or trap. It might not be, of course. Of all the people here, Leopold knew him the best, and he’d not seen nor sensed any falseness about the fellow. But it paid to be careful.
“It’s fine,” the bird sang. “I don’t feel any treachery from him. I think he wants to talk.”
“All right,” Siegfried agreed. “But I pay. And when my money is gone, we leave. I don’t want to be chased by your creditors.”
It was Leopold’s turn to snort. “I’m not the sort to think I don’t have to take care of my reckoning because of my blood. I always pay my due. I just do it with other peoples’ money.” He sighed melodramatically. “Lucky at dice, unlucky at love.”
“So you say.” Siegfried smiled. “Lead on, then. I already made my bow and condolences to the Princess and the Stormcrow before all of this. I don’t think we’ll be missed.”
“Stormcrow?” Leopold asked.
“Black Glacier. Frozen Obsidian. You know.” Siegfried shrugged. “The Bird of Ill Omen. She Who Is All In Black. The—”
“Oh, right.” Leopold eyed him curiously. “Are your people generally so poetic?”
“Cautious,” said Siegfried. “If you speak something’s name too often, it might come looking for you. I don’t want that to come looking for me.”
“Ha! Point taken.”
Leopold led the way toward the gardens that the courtiers strolled in, and which now were packed full of Princes and courtiers, supposedly being sad about the late King but actually abuzz with speculation. There would be trials for the Princess’s hand, of course, that went without saying; it was the reason they were all here. But what trials? This sort of thing was unprecedented. There had not been a gathering of Princes like this for—well, in living memory of anyone who was here, and the Princes were a far-flung lot indeed.
The path Leopold took, however, skirted the edge of the gardens, then went behind all the lovely plantings and flower beds, shrubberies and fountains. Clearly it was one used by the gardeners. It led out of the pleasure gardens and into the practical ones, the vegetable and herb gardens. And from there, into the orchards; the particular plot of trees they were in was laden with little green apples.
The orchards ended at an extremely high wall; Leopold pulled out a key and unlocked the door. He motioned Siegfried through.
On the other side of the wall was a city.
Siegfried was astonished; he’d had no idea there was such a thing so near the Palace; all he had ever seen was the side that fronted on the forest. It was a big city, too, houses crowded so closely together that there wasn’t enough room to put your hand between them. The door dropped them straight into the middle of it, the wall looming on one side of the street with temporary stalls all along it, a row of houses and shops on the other. Leopold emerged from the doorway and locked it behind them, put the key in his belt-pouch, and stood for a moment, grinning at the street and the traffic on it, breathing the air deeply.
“Now this is my sort of place!” the young man exclaimed, and slapped Siegfried on the back. “Come on, admit it, that Court is enough to put you to sleep, with gossipy hens shrilling in one ear and self-important asses in the other!”
“Well,” Siegfried admitted with a slow smile. “Yes it does. But this does not suit me, either. I am not fond of cities.”
Leopold looked surprised, then motioned to Siegfried to come with him. “Why not?”
Siegfried walked along beside him, keeping a wary eye out for trouble. Thieves often made the mistake of seeing a big man who moved deliberately as being an easy target. They always discovered their mistake. Depending on how old the thief was, that discovery could come at the cost of a broken finger, broken wrist or broken arm. “I’m not comfortable being in a place this crowded that is not an army camp,” he said. “I’d rather be in the wilderness, or a small village. It’s a matter of…knowing I always have to watch my back for trouble.” He shrugged, saw a very young pickpocket approaching, and swung his foot out sideways to knock the boy’s feet out from beneath him just as the lad reached for his belt-pouch, sending the child facedown in the road. Leopold raised an eyebrow as Siegfried walked on, leaving the young thief sprawled in the dust behind them.
“You’re better than I thought,” the Prince said. “Not as dumb as you look.”
Siegfried shrugged again. “There are thieves in my land, too,” he pointed out. “They are just usually a lot more obvious about it. Thieves where I come from tend to come straight at you, and bash you with something heavy. There’s nothing subtle about trying to hit you with a club. The subtle dangers are from the wildlife. But once you learn what to be alert for—“
The child was back. Persistent. Possibly thought the tripping had been an accident. This time Siegfried waited until the fingers were on the pouch. Then, fast as a snake, he had the child’s wrist in his hand and h
auled the thief up by one arm until his face was level with the child’s.
The boy dropped the tiny knife he was going to use to cut the pouch off Siegfried’s belt. Leopold caught it. The boy’s face was white.
“When I was your age,” Siegfried said, carefully, so that the boy would be able to understand every word even though the Hero knew he had a thick accent, “I had already killed two poisonous serpents twice as long as I was, a wolf four times my size, a bear as large as I am now and a man. I had a necklace made of their teeth. Yes, even the man. In my land, someone caught trying to steal is killed. Now, I have learned that this is a land where it’s not a good thing to kill every man who annoys you, so I am going to let you go. First, because you are not a man yet and there is no glory in killing you, and second, because killing you would disturb my friend. But I suggest that you find another line of work, because the next person who catches you with your hand on his money might not have a friend along, might not be as concerned about glory, or might have a hangover.”
By now, they had collected a small audience that watched and listened in silence.
He dropped the boy, who landed on his rump, turned without looking to see what the child did and walked off in the direction Leopold had been going. The crowd, seeing that there was no more entertainment coming, dispersed.
Leopold ran a couple steps to catch up with him. “Clever.”
“Not very. I’ve only discouraged the young and the less skilled. Now the most skilled will think I am a challenge.” Siegfried sighed. “And I will have to break some bones. That probably will discourage the rest. It is difficult to ply the trade of thief with a broken hand, and weighing the odds of small profit from me against high probability of not being able to cut purses for a month, they will leave me a—”
He reached behind himself and caught the wrist of the hand on his belt-pouch. It felt adult, so without even looking around, he twisted and jerked upward. He felt the bones breaking as he did so, and dropped the man before the fellow even started to scream with the pain.
“—lone,” he finished. “Well, that took less time than I thought. This must be a very sophisticated city.” Behind him, a man sat in the dust of the street, holding his wrist and hand against his chest, howling with agony. Siegfried had gone for the maximum amount of damage this time. It was possible the man would never be able to lift a purse again. “That’s good. It means word will spread quickly. You were saying, Prince Leopold?”
10
LEOPOLD GRINNED. “I WAS ASKING WHY YOU didn’t like cities. Obviously it isn’t because you can’t take care of yourself here. So, is it a matter of needing to be absolutely alert all the time?”
They pressed up against a wall to let a wagon pass, then resumed walking.
Siegfried nodded, very pleased with Leopold’s understanding. “Exactly so. I know the wilderness. I know it so well that I do not have to think about when I may be less on guard and when I must be completely on guard. In a small village, everyone knows everyone else, and I can tell by how they react to each other who cannot be trusted and who is harmless. And an army camp is disciplined and busy. A busy man does not have leisure to make trouble. Discipline keeps each man in his place, and when he is out of that place and up to no good, he stands out. Besides, in an army camp, a lawbreaker knows that troublemakers are going to be harshly dealt with. Army laws are harsh ones, you see. Thieves generally are hung on the spot.”
“I suppose I have the same instincts—or maybe training—in the city that you have in the wilderness,” Leopold said thoughtfully. “Interesting. Well, you will be safe enough from thieves in the tavern we are going to, if that makes any difference to you. Bar fights, maybe not. If a fight breaks out, the owner will eject the fighters if he can and guard the stock if he cannot, and then it is every man for himself. Card cheats, probably not—the owner doesn’t care if someone cheats others in his establishment. But the owner has a charm on the place that keeps cutpurses and other thieves out.”
Siegfried raised an eyebrow. “I have never heard of that, but it is a wise thing, if possible.”
“Oh it costs him a pretty penny to get it renewed every month, but he told me that what it brings to his door in extra custom more than makes up for the cost.” Leopold grinned up at him. “Think about it. If you were alone in this city, how much more for a room would it be worth to you, if you knew that anyone who was going to rob you couldn’t get into the building?”
Siegfried mulled that over in his mind. “Quite a bit, actually. It would let me sleep sound of a night. A good sound sleep is worth more to a fighter than anything other than a good full meal.”
They continued on in relative silence—relative, because a city is never quiet—with a wary eye on their backs on Siegfried’s part, in case the fellow with the broken wrist had stupid friends. This was a fairly clean city; someone came along with a cart, scooping up droppings, quite frequently. And unlike places he’d seen where people just tossed nasty stuff into the gutters and waited for the rain to wash it away, it seemed that no one tossed anything into the street here.
There were just so many people…the only other time he was crowded like this, it was on a battlefield.
“And here we are.” Leopold gestured at a building, which had the usual signs of a tavern and inn on it. A hanging sign above the door with the name of the place—which Siegfried could not read, since the gift of tongues granted by the Dragon’s Blood didn’t extend to the written language—and a picture, a pair of crossed arms with a crown, which probably meant “The King’s Arms.” Down one side of the door frame were carved images of a wheat sheaf, a bunch of grapes and a beehive. So they served beer and ale, wine and mead. Down the other, a loaf of bread, a bed and a horseshoe. They served food, served as an inn where travelers could stay, as well as a tavern, and they had a stables. Above the door, a hammer and a leaf.
They would admit and serve Dwarves and Elves.
Those were signs he hadn’t seen too frequently outside of his homeland.
“Dwarves and Elves?” he said aloud.
“Is there a problem?” Leopold asked, brows knitting as he paused on the threshold.
“Not at all, I learned forging from a Dwarf. But I have been through some Kingdoms that don’t believe they exist.” He entered as Leopold held the door open for him. “And I was in one that considered them to be anathema.”
“I have, too. But this is a land whose wealth is based on mining, and where there is mining, you’ll find Dwarves.” Leopold nodded at a table full of them off to one side, all of whom looked up as they came in. Siegfried saw their eyes light up with purpose. “Um,” Leopold added, seeing the same thing. “I think they know what we are. They’ll probably want to talk to us—”
Before he finished the sentence, one of the Dwarves had already pushed his stool away from the table and was heading in their direction.
“—once they’ve made up their minds about it. Greetings and sound stone to you, friend,” Leopold finished, addressing the Dwarf. “What can we do for you?”
The Dwarf looked up at both of them. He was very well dressed, though not in the height of Dwarven elegance, Siegfried noted. His clothing was of leather, and not unlike Siegfried’s own, with light mail over the top of it. Light by Dwarven standards, which meant it was as fine as knitted silk, but would hold off the blow of a broadsword in someone like Siegfried’s hands. Siegfried tried not to salivate at the sight of it.
His brown beard was neat, braided into a club, without being ornamented at all; his hair was pulled back and braided into a similar club. He had the usual hammer, which served a Dwarf as weapon and tool—and a club. That was fairly typical for a Dwarf among humans; no one with any sense picked a fight with them, so they felt quite safe going about without edged weapons on their persons.
“You’re one of the Princes come to Court, aye?” Dwarves were direct. Very direct. Blunt would be an understatement. Siegfried liked this about them very much; it made discussion
s much easier.
Leopold nodded. “And you would like to hear what’s going on straight from the Prince’s mouth?” Siegfried smiled at Leopold’s manner, for it was exactly what he would have said. Leopold was good; he went straight to Dwarven manners. “Well, talking is thirsty work. I would be partial to a good yard of ale, and my friend Siegfried here—”
“Mead for me. Aye, I am willing to sit and talk. And I should maybe like some plain food, if the talk goes long enough.” He shrugged.
The Dwarf nodded. They tended to have faces a cardsharp would kill for, with the ability to keep just about everything they felt behind their beards. But this one looked a little more relaxed at discovering that the two humans weren’t going to play what Dwarves called “word-mincing” with him. “Then join us, and well met.”
Siegfried was actually rather good at reading Dwarves, which came from being apprenticed to one. There were anxious faces around the table, which should have come as no surprise. After all, a war would be terrible for them. Not because they couldn’t get out of the Kingdom—they could probably tunnel their way out if they had to, and it was unlikely that anyone would be able to stop them. But war would effectively close their mines. Even if the conquerors permitted them to continue operating, there would be enormous new taxes, and even larger export tariffs, and who within the country would be prepared to buy what they brought out? There were no Dwarven armies here; there was nothing to stop a conqueror from doing whatever he pleased.
The Sleeping Beauty Page 14