The Sleeping Beauty (18 page)

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.”

“
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?”

“Good!” Lily went back to the table and finished taking notes. “No, I can’t. That business with the sheep and eggs sounds utterly nonsensical, and as such, it follows all the Traditional requirements for this kind of trial. We’ll supply armor to those who don’t have it, of course. And horses. I can magic all that up without any effort at all, thanks to all the Traditional power we have built up here.” She noted that, as well. “The mice will hate me.”

“Actually I think the mice will be amused. They seem to have very good senses of humor. Did you know Siegfried’s bird knows all about The Tradition?” Rosa had spotted the big Northlander, off to one side with Leopold, and, as always, the little brown bird on his shoulder. The two seemed as thick as thieves of late. Really, so far as she could tell, they were becoming friends, which was interesting, considering how they had met.

“Yes I did. And I believe that she told Siegfried about The Tradition, as well.” Lily gave her a sidelong, unreadable glance. “Which would certainly save a great deal of time and education if he should happen to win these contests.”

“Do you think that’s at all likely?” Rosa asked, feeling her cheeks grow hot. She wasn’t supposed to have favorites, but so far, the Northlander and the roguish Leopold were ahead of any of the newcomers.

“One never knows,” Lily said enigmatically. “I’m trying to hedge this about so that whoever does win, is exactly what Eltaria needs. If ever there was a crisis in this kingdom, this is it.”

“Quite right, too,” replied Rosa stoutly, her cheeks cooling immediately—and her heart sinking a little. “This is no time to be taking anything else at all into consideration. But…”

Lily looked up from the list she was making. “But?”

Rosa tried not to think too hard about a few of the candidates she’d seen. Oh, they probably would be eliminated quickly—but— “But what if the one who is best for Eltaria is…horrid?”

Lily gazed back at Rosa with a sober expression. “I don’t know, dear. I can do a certain amount by making sure they don’t cheat. But you are right, it is possible for someone to win these contests entirely honestly and still be a nasty piece of work. I don’t know how to prevent that. I can only promise that I will try.”

Rosa nodded, and turned back to the window, watching Siegfried and Leopold. She shouldn’t have favorites. It wasn’t right. But that didn’t prevent it from happening. Rosa had been quizzing the Northlander’s bird remorselessly about both men. The bird obviously was going to sing—literally—Siegfried’s praises, but she grudgingly admitted that Leopold seemed to be a decent fellow, too. He and Siegfried had entered into a pact to help each other, which she had no intention of telling Lily about. It wasn’t strictly within the rules, but it wasn’t against them, either. There were other cases of such things, although normally the two men in question were lifelong friends, or even brothers. So Traditionally, it was sanctioned.

She had already decided that she was going to help them covertly as much as she could. After all, Traditionally, the Godmothers helped their favorite candidates, and there were all sorts of other helpers, not only Traditionally, but right here and now, from sorcerers to animals both ordinary and Magical.

So if they could, she could.

She left Lily writing out the list for the trial, comparing it to the list of those who had applied to compete and what they had brought with them. This was not as tedious as it might have been, since Jimson was helping her. She would call out the name, and Jimson
would see if the fellow in question had brought a warhorse and armor. If he had, Jimson would give it a good look-over and tell Lily.

Just as she was slipping out, she heard the first disqualification.

“Adrian of Beau Soleil.” Lily called out the name. There was a long, long pause, and Rosa hesitated, palm against the panel of the servants’ door, to listen—because such a long pause from Jimson generally meant something was up.

“Regretfully disqualified, Lily,” said Jimson, just as Rosa was starting to grow impatient.

“What?” Lily exclaimed. “Why?”

“The Prince is, in fact, a Princess,” Jimson said solemnly. “And while under other circumstances I would have been willing to let this pass, we did distinctly invite only Princes, and I do not believe that Rosamund would be in the least interested in co-ruling with another of her sex.”

“Definitely not,” Rosa muttered to herself and slipped out the door.

She had already written out what the first trial was going to be on a small square of paper, and she had purloined Lily’s “Old Maggie” cloak. Now she pulled it on, used the servants’ stairs and doors and went down into the garden and along the gardeners’ path until she got to where the two men were sitting, watching some of the others. Leopold wasn’t flirting with any of the women of the Court, because at this point the women of the Court were quite spoiled for choice, and there wasn’t one of them that didn’t have her own particular Prince to be flattered and cajoled by. Rosa eased through a gap in the hedge and came out behind and between them.

“Hist,” she whispered. “Don’t be turning around. I’m a friend. But I don’t want everyone to see you’re talking to me.”

Of course they both moved their heads stiffly to try and see who was talking to them. That was why she had stolen the “Old Maggie” cloak. What they saw was a brisk old woman, not the Princess.

“All right, friend,” said Leopold out of the corner of his mouth. “What can we do for you?”

“It’s what I can do for you,” she replied, with a laugh forced out of her by tension. “Unless you’ve no use for knowing what the first trial will be.”

There was a long silence, in which, at first, she was afraid she was going to be refused. But then Siegfried spoke up, his voice a thoughtful rumble.

“No one gives this sort of secret away—” he began.

“Except in tales,” she interrupted. “And here you be, in the middle of a tale. Say, you’ve earned it. I’m sure ye’ve done a mort of good works in the past. Say, there’s someone partial to you in the Palace, maybe some lady who’s taken a fancy to you. Say or think whatever you like, but Old Maggie thinks you won’t be the only ones getting help. So you might as well have it from me.”

The men exchanged a quick glance. “Well, there was that first Prince I saw, and he had a sorceress bringing him. I doubt she’s confining herself to just giving him a ride,” said Siegfried doubtfully. “And I’m sure the others have all manner of charms and things. Magic armor and swords…maybe more, too.”

Encouraged, she thrust the square of folded paper into Siegfried’s hand. “Ye have a friend in Old Maggie,” she said, and tried to simulate a cackle. “Old Maggie will see to it.” She failed miserably, managing only a giggle, and on that note, she slipped back through the hedge. Now to get back upstairs and return the cloak.

On the whole, she thought that her performance had been rather good. The giggle was only a little slip, and whoever said old ladies didn’t giggle? They wouldn’t suspect a thing.

“That was no old lady,” Siegfried said solemnly, before the bird could. “I’ve never heard an old lady that sounded like that, ever.”

“Not with that voice,” agreed Leopold. “It was a good disguise, though. Magic, do you think?”

“Probably. This kingdom is thick with it. Practically nothing is what it seems to be.” Siegfried unfolded the paper and looked it over. Unfortunately he had the same difficulty he’d had with the Inn sign.

He couldn’t read it. This was very frustrating. He looked at the bird.

“Don’t look at me,” the bird said cheerfully. “I can’t read. Period.”

Mutely he handed it to Leopold, defeated. “What do you make of this?”

“Well, this sounds normal enough,” Leopold began. “A race in full armor on a warhorse. That’s better than a footrace in full armor.”

“Much,” Siegfried agreed, but then Leopold exclaimed in dismay.

“What?” he said with outrage in his voice and incredulity in his gaze. “This is insane! What kind of a contest is this? What does this have to do with—with—well, anything?”

“What is it? And keep your voice down.” Siegfried drew Leopold with him behind the hedge. Leopold had crumpled up the paper in his fist, he was so upset; now he smoothed it out again and shook it at Siegfried, as if the Northerner was somehow to blame for what was written there.

“It says here that at the end of the first stage of the race, we’re to herd three sheep into a pen—three
sheep?
Are they
insane?
” Leopold looked very much as if he wanted to punch something. “Is this some kind of joke? Are they trying to make fools out of us? What kind of a test is that? And then, as if that isn’t bad enough, we’re to gather up a dozen eggs while wearing gauntlets—”

But Siegfried nodded wisely, because he could see the sense in it. It was like all the seemingly tedious chores he’d been forced to do by the Dwarf who had taught him forging and the old man who had taught him fighting. They seemed tedious and as if they had nothing to do with the task he was supposed to be learning, but when he
looked back on it all, he’d been strengthening his muscles, getting coordination and learning patience. Oh yes. Patience. “The eggs? That’s to prove you’ve got patience. If you rush things, you’ll break the eggs, and you know they’ll take points off your score if you do. The Dwarves made me do that. The trick is that you don’t pick them up. You put one hand flat, then roll the egg into it. Then you put it down like this—” He mimed cupping his hands together, then carefully separating them so that presumably the contents settled slowly into place.