"Any further business?" Lady Frances asked, sounding like the answer was supposed to be no. She blinked her long lashes, which surrounded predatory blue eyes set in a youthfully pretty face.
Instead of the usual answer, there was an anxious silence. Princess Gillian looked around the long table, only to discover that every single minister was staring at Nebbley, the Minister of Finance.
Nebbley cleared his throat. "The princess is of age," he said slowly. "It seems to us—" Someone poked him, and he grunted. "Seems to me," he tried again, "that we should be planning a coronation."
The regent let them squirm before she said, "Perhaps we could discuss that at our next meeting, once we've all had time for a little think."
Gilly kept a straight face. A little think? More like a little drink. She wondered what poison Frances would use this time. She didn't look at her aunt, or at poor old Nebbley with his jowls a-quiver. It was something of a miracle Gilly got to attend these meetings at all.
Finally it was over and Gilly returned to her chambers. But she had scarcely spoken to Hemmla, the lady-in-waiting her aunt had appointed to attend her, before she was summoned to see the regent. Aunt Frances didn't believe in wasting time.
Princess Gilly sent Hemmla to return a fan to Lady Visek and made her way through a gauntlet of guards to her aunt's inner sanctum, where she dropped into a soft pink chair covered with cherubs. It reminded Gilly of her aunt's smiles, which were also soft.
"Tea?" the regent inquired, signaling to a footman.
"No, thank you. You wished to speak with me?"
"It's just so difficult," Frances began. "I so hate to put you in danger."
"Danger?" This was going to be good.
"Minister Nebbley pointed out that you are old enough to take the throne."
"He did," Gilly said warily.
Lady Frances lifted her rose-patterned teacup to her lips and took a sip before she said, "I have postponed this day for as long as I could, but I see I can put it off no more."
Gilly waited.
The regent sighed beautifully. "Every true ruler of the Kingdom of Minark has begun his reign by secretly going in search of a great talisman."
"What kind of talisman?"
"Why, the tongue of a dragon."
"Fresh?" asked the princess.
"Fresh," her aunt confirmed. "And it is a quest of such import that it must be undertaken without any artificial aid."
"Like a troop of seasoned soldiers?" Gilly asked, catching on fast.
"Well, yes. It's a solitary quest, you see, to be accompanied by a great deal of introspection. Although perhaps you could take just one servant to deal with your luggage." Lady Frances gave her niece a tragic smile.
Gilly's heart sang, not because her aunt was sending her on a deadly quest and telling her a pack of lies, but because this was her chance to go somewhere and do something interesting. "I suppose I'd better prepare to set out," she murmured.
"If only you didn't have to go," Aunt Frances cried as Gilly took her leave, which the princess thought was laying it on a bit thick.
Gilly spent the rest of the afternoon packing. She checked her weapons twice to be sure her aunt's minions hadn't sabotaged them. But then, the regent would be counting on a dragon to take care of things.
Speaking of dragons, Gilly thought as she surveyed her tidy stack of bags, she really should speak with the Royal Librarian. You had to find a dragon to get at its tongue, after all.
Gilly let Hemmla trail after her down three flights of stairs and along a dusty corridor. The girl practically moved her lips, taking mental notes for her next report to the regent on Gilly's doings.
"Princess Gillian!" exclaimed the Royal Librarian. "How may I assist you?"
"Dragons," Gilly said shortly. "Where are they?"
"Oh my." Master Jontford adjusted his spectacles. "Dragons, dragons." He hurried to a distant shelf and came back with a stack of books, handing Gilly one called Dragons of Greater Minark and Environs. He pulled out a chair for her and another for Hemmla, who began picking at a hangnail with great concentration. The librarian sat down and opened a small green book.
Most of what Gilly read was historical, about dragons that had already been killed by princes or the occasional aspiring peasant hero.
"Aha!" said the Royal Librarian six books and a pamphlet later. "It appears a fearsome dragon guards a tower on the Dark Waste north of Ratchon. The author notes that there's a treasure of some kind."
"Very good," the princess said, closing her own book. "I don't suppose you have a map?"
"Maps? I have hundreds of maps!" Master Jontford began to rummage through a set of large shallow drawers.
* * * *
Early the next morning, the princess rode out the back gate, with only Lady Frances and one of her more sinister henchmen to see her off.
The horse was Gilly's own, Shard, but the servant assigned by her aunt was new, a skinny, nervous boy who kept looking at the regent with wide eyes.
"Young—" the regent paused.
"Roff," said the henchman.
"Roff," the regent said, "will look after your things. He's been studying armed combat, too."
"For three whole months!" Roff blurted.
"How lovely. Come along, Roff," Gilly told him, folding up her map.
The boy had to work at getting onboard his placid mare, but a few minutes later, Gilly and Roff were ready to ride out.
"Be safe, my dear!" Lady Frances called soulfully as the henchman grinned.
"Thanks ever so much," Gilly told her aunt with only a titch of sarcasm.
As she rode away, the princess asked young Roff, "Tell me, how is Minister Nebbley this morning?"
The boy gasped. "Haven't you heard? He was eating supper in his rooms last night when he choked on a fishbone and died!"
"Did he really?" Gilly said, wondering just how the henchmen had managed that.
* * * *
Meanwhile, in a kingdom far to the north, another council was meeting. "And so we see that a tax on the merchants would begin to address Gorland's current shortfall," Counselor Bathwick concluded. Actually, Bathwick was so pompous that just about everything he said sounded conclusive.
"Very well," the king said. He saw that all of his counselors had turned to look at his son. It wasn't the first time this had happened. Everyone from the smallest commoner to the worthiest knight admired his heir.
Prince Lan was the perfect child—tall, handsome, intelligent, courageous, talented, and athletic.
Pity.
"What do you think of the proposed tax, Prince Lan?" Counselor Maxwell asked.
The prince leaned forward. "I don't think one group should be held to account for the economic difficulties of the entire kingdom. Perhaps a smaller tax on a larger portion of the populace—barring the poorest of our subjects, who are already stretched thin—would be more equitable, while solving the problems we face."
The counselors nodded and whispered, clearly approving of Lan's words.
Our subjects, King Crag thought. He said "our subjects."
Later that afternoon, the king called his son to his rooms. He did not offer him a seat. "My boy, it's time for you to prove yourself."
Prince Lan bowed slightly. "Yes, Father. What would you have me do?"
"A proper quest, of course. Can't know your mettle till you've done one."
"Of course."
It was hard to know what the boy truly thought. He was always respectful and polite. Even as a toddler, he had never been one to fuss and throw tantrums.
"There's a princess held captive in the Dark Tower," the king continued, "on the Dark Waste, over in the southern borderlands."
"Held captive how?"
The king stroked his beard, which was the kind of beard made for just such a gesture. "Seven dragons, if I understand correctly."
Prince Lan did not appear to be worried. "I assume she's of good family."
"Pardon?"
The prin
ce blushed. "It sounds like the kind of quest that ends in marriage."
That wasn't quite the ending King Crag envisioned, but he forced himself to smile. "You've divined my true purpose. Bring her back home when you've finished."
"I will, Father," the prince said resolutely.
"I suppose," King Crag said as if it had just now occurred to him, "that for it to be a true quest, you'll need to go alone."
"Perhaps one companion," Prince Lan said.
"I'm sure I can find someone suitable," the king said. He waved the prince out of the room, hiding his elation with some difficulty. "Good journey, my son," he called just as the door closed.
Through the carved oak, a muffled voice said, "Thank you, Father."
* * * *
Gilly made one stop on the edge of town. The princess was an accomplished swordswoman, but she was also a sensible soul. She left Roff holding her horse on the dirt road outside a cheery white cottage and walked through the garden surrounding the place. Rows of squash, onions and beans were followed by snapdragons, calendula, pinks, and daisies, then dozens of herbs—beginning with sweet basil and ending with a plant Gilly suspected could kill an army with the application of just a few leaves upstream.
A sun-browned woman rose up from the hollyhocks, dusting off her hands. "Good morning to you."
"Mistress Rue?" the princess asked.
"Aye, not so very rueful on a fine day like this," the herbwife said. "What would you be needing, my dear? Not a love spell. Something for a relative, perhaps?"
It seemed the woman wasn't a fan of the regent, but she was bold to say so. "Have you got anything for dragons?"
Mistress Rue chuckled. "They don't much like mogswort. 'Specially in the face."
"I'll take as much as you've got," Princess Gilly told her.
* * * *
In the middle of the Dark Waste, the Dark Tower jutted skyward, looking like a dagger that had been rusting in a ghoul-haunted barrow for centuries.
A princess stood at the window, watching the complete lack of movement on the plain below. Suddenly there was movement: the dragon came snaking around the bottom of the tower. As it did every day, the creature gave her a hungry look. It took a long while for the tail to pass from sight. A moment later, a griffin squawked right outside the window, causing the princess to start.
"Alack and alas," the Princess in the Tower said briskly as she turned back to her latest embroidery project.
* * * *
Traveling north and east, Princess Gilly concluded that if Roff was her aunt's spy, he was sadly under qualified. This impression was confirmed the night they were cantering through a dire wood and she heard an ominous rustling in the trees.
Gilly drew her sword in an instant as a wolf surged out of the darkness and leaped at her horse. Judging by its size and gleaming red eyes, it was no ordinary forest creature.
"To me!" she cried, wielding her sword rather more mightily than the regent would have hoped.
Roff screamed, fell off his horse, and ran in exactly the wrong direction.
"Roff, get back here!" Gilly yelled much less majestically.
The first wolf was down, but another was nearly on top of her, all yellow fangs and unearthly glare.
Gilly forgot about Roff for the moment, what with controlling her terrified horse and defending herself against the rest of the pack.
She thrust her sword right down the second beast's throat and it fell, choking on its own blood.
Another wolf came up behind her and bit Shard's hindquarters, although the horse spun to avoid the worst of it. Two more hemmed Gilly in on either side, but she stabbed one right between its flaming eyes and kicked the other hard before cutting its throat.
Then Shard reared up and wielded her flashing hooves to good effect on another wolf.
The last two wolves ran, with Gilly right behind them, sounding a battle cry.
Unfortunately, the wolves faded back into the forest, and Gilly had to attend to Shard's wounds.
By the time she found Roff with the aid of the dim moonlight, her servant had been mostly eaten, and his horse was missing.
It really was too bad.
* * * *
Wending his way south and east, Prince Lan glanced over at his companion and wondered why the king had insisted on sending Mace instead of one of Lan's friends from among the knights.
Oh, Mace was strong enough, and he seemed handy with a sword, but there was something odd about him. He rarely spoke, and he had the flattest eyes the prince had ever seen, like a fish.
It didn't occur to Lan that he was making a habit of not turning his back on the man. He just kept doing it, with a fine protective instinct that, truth be told, he'd inherited from his father.
Then came the day when they were riding up a grim mountain and were attacked by a band of ogres.
Lan and Mace sprang into battle. An ogre grasped Lan with its clumsy gray-green hands, but he lunged forward and slashed its jugular. The creature let out a dying roar, its single yellow eye turning orange with blood.
Mace was finishing off another ogre on Lan's left just as a third monster attacked the prince from the right.
Lan ducked under the ogre's outstretched arm and slid around behind it to stab its broad back, then turned with the ogre still impaled on his sword so that the oncoming ogre would run into the dead creature instead of him. Even so, the newest threat gashed Lan's arm before he could dispatch it.
Mace brought down another ogre as Lan hamstrung a relatively small one.
He was diving in to deal it a death blow when the fallen ogre looked over his shoulder and smirked.
Lan shot sideways just as Mace's ax hit the ogre—right where the prince had been a moment before.
Without thinking twice, Lan swung his sword up Mace's nose into his brainpan, then thunked his elbow backward into the small ogre's snout before jerking his sword out of Mace to finish the beast off.
It wasn't easy killing the last ogre coming up behind him, but Lan managed it.
He left Mace's body for the buzzards, feeling more than one twinge of doubt about his father's motives as he rode on.
* * * *
A day later, Prince Lan helped an old woman find her lost pig and was given a magic ring.
For her part, Princess Gilly carried the firewood that an old man had dropped and received a curious amulet. (She would have preferred seven-league boots, but you can't have everything.)
That night Prince Lan got caught in a fell marsh, escaping only with the aid of his magic ring.
As she headed across a valley, Princess Gilly came to a raging river and was able to use her amulet to cross it, despite the green water-woman who caught her by the foot and nearly drowned her.
It is hard to say which of the two was more intrepid. On and on they traveled, facing unspeakable fears, doing undareable deeds, getting more and more tan and grubby.
* * * *
Finally the day came when Prince Lan reached the Dark Waste and caught sight of a tower that was just as dark. The place was surrounded by piles of boulders offering enough cover for any number of dragons.
Even expecting it, Lan jumped when a huge bronze beast filled the sky with its wings, giving a great paralyzing scream and pouring down upon the prince.
Who wasn't there anymore. Lan raced past the dragon and slashed at its tail, which swept through the air, nearly knocking him off his feet.
It seemed there was only one dragon, although it was monstrous enough for seven ordinary wyrms.
Having evaded the tail, Prince Lan feinted left and tried striking at the dragon's underbelly, but it rose up in the air just long enough to avoid his sword before dropping back down again.
As it landed, Lan got in another blow to the creature's wing. He was feeling positively hopeful right up till the moment a griffin attacked him from behind, scoring his shoulder with its terrible claws.
Then somebody shouted and hit the griffin with a rock, and that same somebody t
hrew a noxious herb in the dragon's face, which had just bent down to take the prince in its jaws. The dragon pulled back to snarl and swipe at its glittering eyes.
Prince Lan turned around to see a girl in the middle of vanquishing the griffin with an astonishing display of sword work. The prince spun back to the dragon, cutting off its head before the creature could recover from the insult to its eyes. Then he caught his breath and managed to say, "Thanks."
"You're welcome," the girl said, wiping griffin's blood from her cheek. "Are you on a quest?"
"I'm here to rescue the princess up there," Lan said, wiping dragon's blood from his own face and pointing with his sword.
The girl hesitated. "I know I didn't slay the dragon, but I would have if you hadn't been here."
"I believe you," Prince Lan said with a smile.
"So I thought maybe..." The girl's voice trailed off. "Or would that be dishonorable?"
"Would what be dishonorable?"
"If I took the dragon's tongue. My aunt wants it. Well, she sent me out to get one." The girl laughed. "Supposedly it's about proving I'm worthy for the throne."
"We did this together," Lan said gallantly. "Go right ahead." He would have liked to stay and talk to her, but a quest was a quest, and Lan knew his duty. He excused himself and climbed the winding stairs of the tower to meet the captive princess.
She was waiting for him at the top, clad in a dress made of gold samite.
"Are you—" he began. "You're not—" he said. "It's just that I thought—"
The Princess in the Tower nodded graciously. "I am," she said. It was evident, however, that she had been up there for a very long time. Her face was wrinkled and her long braid was steel gray.
Marion Zimmer Bradley's Sword and Sorceress XXV Page 21