So war would be as much a disaster for them as it would for the rest of the Kingdom. What did surprise him was that they were coming to people like Leopold and himself for their information. He would have thought that they would go straight to the source—the Queen—rather than get information secondhand.
Then again, maybe they didn’t trust the Queen. Given what he’d been hearing, they were probably right not to trust her.
Uncharacteristically, the Dwarves waited until the order had arrived before hunching over in a conspiratorial manner and fixing both of them with earnest gazes. “All right, what’s this Queen got in her head?” the one who had accosted them asked. “The King, rest him, dies, and there’s looking like an invasion any moment—”
“Bad for business, that, very bad for business,” one of the Dwarves muttered.
“Then of a sudden, there’s armies pulled back, and the Palace is full of Princes and adventurers—”
“Actually the adventurers are being put up in army tents on the drilling field,” Leopold interrupted. “Or the barracks, if they’re lucky. No princely pedigree—” he waggled his fingers in a shooing motion “—no bed in the Palace, nor pavilion in the garden. Rank does have its privileges.”
“Yes, yes, yes,” the Dwarf replied impatiently. “The point is, what’s going on?”
“The Queen must have studied my people,” Siegfried replied, when Leopold said nothing. “She invited the lot of them to come, Princes got direct invitations, adventurers apparently smelled what was up and were allowed to join in. She told them they could all make a trial for the hand of the Princess, implied they might make a trial for hers, and now she’s got a city full of hostages.”
The Dwarf cast him a sharp look. “Northlander, are you? Aye, you’d know that ploy when you saw it then. Well. That’s a sharper notion than I’d have given her credit for. But how long will it work?”
Leopold shrugged. “Who’s to say? Don’t forget there’s that Godmother to reckon with. The longer the Queen can hold things off, the more time the Godmother has to do something about all of this.”
“Oh, aye, the Godmother.” The Dwarf pulled on his beard. “Not sure what she can do about an army—”
Siegfried shrugged. “I’m a Hero. I can challenge the champion to single combat, assuming they’ll appoint a champion and he’ll take it.”
“Aye, aye, that’s one way…” The Dwarf who had spoken chewed on his lip. “But what if they don’t?”
Leopold leaned back a little and looked utterly relaxed. “Well, that would be a problem, then. But look at it this way—this Queen is clever. She sends out invitations for hostages. That’s all well and good, but the first ones show up at dawn the next day! You don’t get that without magic help. So the Godmother here is meddling in this, as well. Maybe more than just her. Hmm?”
“I saw the first one arrive with my own eyes,” Siegfried said thoughtfully. “Looked like a Sorceress bringing him, not a Godmother. Actually, if I were making a guess about it, and you were to push me to tell that guess…looked as if it was his mother leaving him to try his luck.”
They all gave him an odd stare, and he shrugged. “Prince can’t have a Sorceress for a mother? Or maybe a sister? The thing is, where there’s one like him, there’s probably more—if not mothers or sisters, then, well, patrons. Friends. Ties, that’s the point, ties to magicians. Yes? Bad idea to meddle in the affairs of magicians. Unless you like eating flies.”
“Or think that your crown would look better with all your hair burned off.” Leopold chuckled. “There you are, not only do we have hostages with fathers with armies, we have hostages with friends and family that can turn you into a newt. That will be enough to make the neighbors pause, I should think.”
The Dwarves made thoughtful sounds and contemplated their beer. Siegfried kept eyeing their armor, and thought wistfully that if he only had the tremendous sum it would take to buy a coat of that chain mail, now would be the time to strike a bargain with them.
But he didn’t. And there was no use even thinking about it. Gods got armor like that, not mere Heroes like him. Not unless they got a god to give it to them. Granted, his parents were half god but…his grandmother was more likely to send a thunderbolt to kill him than give him armor, and his grandfather was the one trying to set him up to marry his aunt and have that Colorful Doom descend on him. Dwarven chain-mail was no compensation for getting hacked to bits.
Or a King might give him such a thing. Kings could afford it, too.
Maybe if he ended up having to challenge a champion from one of the enemy armies, he could ask for a coat of that mail from the Queen. The good thing about chain mail, of course, was that it didn’t have to be made and fitted to you; it was easy enough to have a general size, and just as easy to add some or take some away, so he could just ask for a Dwarven coat and it would turn up the next day. He had made chain mail in the past himself—the Dwarf that had taught him had said it was important for him to learn “the patience of the metal”—but nothing like as fine as this. Sadly, he had outgrown it long ago, and at the point where it had become too small, he hadn’t had access to a forge to make the rings to extend it. Nor, truly, the time to do so. With regret, he had bartered it for the breastplate, greaves and arm-guards he had now.
He forced his mind from the beautiful mail with an effort.
Leopold was deep in discussion with the Dwarves, about trade in gems and metals and how all of this might hurt them. Siegfried was surprised at first, but then he noticed something. Leopold was giving the impression of being knowledgeable, but what he was really doing was letting them talk, which they did with great enthusiasm and at great length. Leopold merely waited until they ran out of things to say, then asked a leading question based right out of the last things they had said. That set them off again, and like spirited horses with the bit between their teeth, they galloped on for a few more miles.
Siegfried accomplished much the same thing with his nods and “indeeds” among those people at the Palace. But not nearly as cleverly. Leopold really was getting a lot of information.
Finally the Dwarves were completely relaxed. They called over the serving boy—Leopold looked vaguely disappointed that it was a boy and not a wench—paid the reckoning and got up. “You’re good lads,” the chief of them said, as two of his fellows slapped Siegfried and Leopold on the back. “Best of luck in the trials. We’d bet on ye, but Dwarven folk don’t bet.” Siegfried had been ready for the slap and braced himself for it, but Leopold, like most folk who had never had much close contact with Dwarves, was not prepared for their strength, and nearly went over into his food. The Dwarves knew very well that they could catch the unprepared in this way, and were always hoping for it. This was the essence of Dwarven humor.
So it was Siegfried who gravely thanked them, while Leopold got his breath back. They trundled out, and it wasn’t until some moments later that Leopold stopped gasping. Dwarves really were very powerful.
The bird was laughing. Leopold leveled a withering glance at her. That only made her laugh more.
“Is your pet laughing at me?” he demanded.
“No, no,” Siegfried lied with a straight face. “She’s just singing.”
But the bird stopped laughing. “Pet?” the bird said in outrage. She fluttered her wings and hopped with anger. “Oh…just wait. Next time he wants to impress one of those maidens, I’ll fly over and drop a p—”
“Don’t even think about it, bird,” Leopold said, looking straight at her. “I know you must be thinking about dropping something nasty on me. I can tell by your expression. I have many, many feline friends.”
The bird actually spluttered.
“Now, both of you, please,” Siegfried said, alarmed now. “Leopold, yes, the bird is very clever. Smarter than I am, truth to be told. She has been giving me a great deal of help for some time now, purely because she is kind, so any threat to her, I take quite seriously.” He inclined his head to the bird, who was
somewhat mollified by that. “My friend, Leopold has done us no harm, and you must admit that you were laughing at his misfortune, which is not fair.”
Leopold nodded.
“Now. Let us have peace among ourselves. Leopold, I do not believe you wished us to come here because you are fond of the ale. Or at least, you did not ask me to come here because you are fond of the ale. Yes?”
Leopold gave the bird another sour look. “True enough,” he agreed, grudgingly. “I wanted to talk to you away from the hundred-odd pairs of ears back there. Now, besides being a prince of whatever far-off northern place you come from, you are some sort of wandering do-gooder, right?”
Siegfried thought about that definition. “I suppose that is as close as anything else,” he agreed. He explained to Leopold about Heroes, and the sorts of things they were expected to do. Then he explained about the Shieldmaiden of Doom without going too closely into The Tradition. For one thing, he wasn’t sure Leopold would believe him, and for another, he wasn’t sure the Godmothers wanted that sort of thing bandied about. It worried him sometimes that he knew, but since no one had struck him with lightning, he supposed it must be all right.
However, telling someone else might bring on the lightning bolts, and that was no better than any other form of Doom. So instead of telling Leopold about The Tradition, he framed the story in terms of a prophecy. He borrowed heavily from the sagas of his land, saying that the bird had directed him to a witch who had done a foretelling for him after he had slain the dragon, tasted its blood and could understand her.
“Not bad,” the bird said when he was done. “I think I even believe it.”
“So, you see, I am trying to find a maiden who is something like this demigoddess, near enough to satisfy the prophecy, but without things ending up like a saga,” he finished.
Leopold grinned. “You mean, ending up with murder, suicide and general all-around disaster?”
“That is a good summation, yes,” said Siegfried. “Although since my murder would start the last lot, I would not be about to see it. And since I would get stabbed in the back, I wouldn’t even have the satisfaction of my spirit going to Vallahalia and watching the rest. “
“We can’t have that,” Leopold said firmly. “Now, you were right about why I asked you to come here with me. You and I more or less started all of this together, and whether or not you believe in fate, we seem to complement one another. So what I have in mind is a pact between the two of us, yes? However these trials go, whatever we do, while there is still a lot of competition, we help each other. When it gets down to ten or so left, then we can talk about it more, but for now, you and me against the rest of that lot.”
Siegfried thought about it. He couldn’t see a flaw in it as long as Leopold upheld his side.
“It’s a good plan,” the bird said grudgingly. “And he means it. Well, he means it right now. Whether he’ll hold to it…I can’t say. He’s a bit of a rogue, I just don’t know how much of one.”
“What’s more, if in the end, when it is down to you versus me, if you don’t win the Princess, I’ll help you find a wench asleep in a fire circle even if I have to get a goose-girl drunk and set fire to the turf myself.” Leopold grinned but there was no doubt he was in earnest.
“I’m positive he’ll hold to that,” the bird said instantly. “He might even tempt you with it. Of course, if the Shieldmaiden shows up during all this, you might tempt him with her. She is very comely, after all.”
“All right, it’s a bargain,” Siegfried told him. “It’s a fine thing, Leopold, and I believe that we can help each other without conflict. My thanks.”
The bird fluffed her feathers. “I forgive him. Tell him I’ll try not to laugh at him anymore and I promise not to poo in his hat.”
Blinking, for the bird had never once given him permission to tell anyone that she wasn’t an ordinary pet, Siegfried did so, then cautiously took a sip of his mead and waited for a lightning bolt to strike him down.
Leopold grinned. “Ha. I knew she had to be a Wise Beast,” he said in triumph, the emphasis and meaning clear in the way he said “Wise Beast.” He did not mean a human that had been transformed into a beast, nor yet an ordinary animal that had been enchanted. He meant one of those rare creatures in animal form that had the understanding and intelligence of a very intelligent human indeed—rather more intelligence than a good many humans, and no few gods, if you were talking about the gods of Siegfried’s home of Drachenthal.
Siegfried stared at him. “How do you know about such things?” he asked.
Leopold stretched and leaned back. “Let me tell you about my great-grandfather and his boot-wearing cat,” he began, and signaled to the serving boy. “But first, another round.”
11
“TRIALS,” SAID LILY, TAPPING HER LIPS WITH her quill pen. “We are going to need rather a lot of them.” It had been a week now, and no more Princes were trickling in, although new adventurers were still arriving. The bunks in the barracks and the tents on the drill-field were all filled up, and the contenders were either having to supply their own tent, find accommodations in the city or take their chances in the forest. This was proving a great boon to the farmers roundabout the city, as the adventurers—since they had not been invited—were being fed, but on the most basic of rations, army-bread. And at that, the General Provisioner of the Army was taking advantage of this to clear the warehouses of army-bread that was anything from two to ten years old. You could easily drive nails with it. “And lucky to have it,” the General huffed, when someone dared to complain. “No one asked you here. You’re free to go. You’re free to buy food you like, if you can find it. You’ve leave to hunt in the Royal Forest. Stay clear of the Common Forest. Our people need to eat, too. And…by the way, the Royal Forest has…Things…in it.”
Not surprisingly, even of the adventurers, there were not a lot who were willing to hunt the Royal Forest after that.
It was a good thing for all of the small farmers thereabouts, who were nervous anyway about crops being trampled into mush if there was an invasion. They were harvesting as soon as anything looked remotely like ripe, hauling it into the city and selling it to these fellows.
It was a good thing for some enterprising women, mostly the wives of bakers, who for a fee would take this stuff that none of these men knew how to cook, cart it away in the morning, and come back with it in some edible state in the afternoon.
It was a very good thing for the taverns, since most of the adventurers opted to save their coin, eat the bread and use the coin to drink with.
However, this state could not persist forever, and it was time to get on with the tests before the mob got out of hand.
“We have rather a lot of Princes,” observed Rosa, looking down at the crowded garden, which was full of the visitors. The Palace population had doubled. It was a very good thing that Lily could call on the resources of her own Castle to help feed them. The Chief Palace Cook was not arguing when the number of dishes he managed to squeeze out of the kitchen at every meal mysteriously doubled by the time it got to the dining hall. “Not to mention the adventurers, woodcutters sons, clever shepherds, goose-boys and odd brave little tailor or two.”
“True. Hmm.” The tip of the quill went tap-tap-tap against Lily’s chin. “If this were an ordinary set of trials, things would be different, my dear, but although I would like to be fair to all of them, this is a competition to prove who is the best suited to not only being your husband, but to ruling Eltaria. Frankly, if one of the drill-field lot even places among the finalists, it would be a miracle. And if such a miracle occurs, it will do so without my being fair to them. Sadly, while I would love to present your hand to a sweet young man who is blessed with all manner of graceful skills, none of those skills will serve when staring down an enemy army. So perhaps we should look at the situation in that way.” Lily made a note. “So, we need to concentrate on the skills of a King whose War Crown is rarely off his head. The King of Eltaria
does not have to be one of the finest of warriors, exactly, although it would help, but he should know his way around a battlefield…”
“Let’s start with something simple. Father was always having to get on a horse in full armor and get to one of the borders in next to no time.” Rosa stared down at a particularly foppish fellow, who looked as if he would faint if presented with a warhorse, much less the armor. “So, a race. In full armor, on a warhorse. That should eliminate about a third of these fellows at least. But I don’t think we should place too much emphasis on the winner, just use it as a way to eliminate people. Perhaps have a cutoff time.”
Lily put the pen down and went to join her at the window. She smiled. “We may lose most of that third as soon as they hear what the first trial is.”
“And then, when they get to the end of the first half of the race, they should have to—” Rosa thought carefully. “They should have to herd three sheep into a pen, still in full armor, then gather a dozen eggs wearing gauntlets, lay them out in a straight row without breaking them and gallop back to the finish line. That comes as close as I can think to how father used to have to organize stubborn allies and arrange all the camps before he got any rest.” She thought a bit more. “I think we should allow them to use any means they have to herd the sheep and move the eggs. That would count as assigning responsibility, the way father did. So using magic or hiring someone to do it for them should count. Except that, like father, they won’t know in advance where the point of the racecourse with the sheep and eggs is, and the longer they spend waiting for whoever they hired to come, the farther back in the race they’ll be. If they ride their helper double, the horse will tire and that will put them farther back. We should have someone do this to find a good average time that it takes, then allow a bit more for the cutoff. I can’t think of any way that anyone can cheat on that trial, can you?”
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