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  Much as he abominated travel, Kedrigern recognized his obligations as a wizard and an old acquaintance of the royal family. Princess was pleased by the prospects of a visit to a royal court, albeit a distraught one. She spoke cheerfully of a nice little trip, as Kedrigern had known she would. “A nice little trip,” he reflected unhappily, was Princess’s term for any journey short of a decades-long mass migration fraught with perils beyond imagining.

  * * *

  This trip, if not exactly nice, was at least short and free of mishap. They left Silent Thunder Mountain at first light, yawning and uncommunicative, and covered the distance in less than four days’ hard riding.

  Dusty, travel-sore, weary, and faint with hunger, they were conducted at once to the presence of Queen Yulda. In her youth she had been known as Yulda of the Dovelike Voice, and praised in the conventional forms for her beauty; but her youth was now a remote memory. Yulda had changed. She was now a large frowning woman with hair the colour of wood ash and a jaw like a nutcracker.

  Her manner suited her appearance. Without so much as a glance at her exhausted son, she speared Kedrigern with an angry question. “Who is this woman?” she demanded of him in a voice more corvine than dovelike.

  Princess had concealed her wings under her cloak. Though as tired as the others, she was still spectacularly beautiful, perhaps too much so to be taken for a wizard or a wife. Her black hair gleamed; her blue eyes glowed; and at Yulda’s question, her white teeth clenched.

  “This is my wife. She is a woman of royal blood and my fellow adept. We work together,” Kedrigern replied.

  “I require your services only,” said the queen.

  With a low bow, Kedrigern said, “We work together, Your Majesty, or we do not work at all.”

  Queen Yulda glowered on them both, and cast a quick, angry scowl at her son. “You are presumptuous in your speech, wizard,” she said.

  “Those are my conditions, Your Majesty.”

  She pondered for a time, frowning mightily, then said, “Only five days remain before the wedding. Can you help Tarpash? Be truthful, wizard.”

  “I’ll have to see His Majesty before I can answer that.”

  “You’re supposed to be a great wizard – can’t you work a spell, or a counterspell, or something like that? Something quick?”

  “I am a great wizard, Your Majesty. And precisely because I am, I do nothing in haste. A great wizard never disenchants or despells until he knows what kind of enchantment or spell he’s dealing with. May I see the king?” Kedrigern replied patiently.

  “His Majesty is asleep, and I do not wish to have him disturbed. He played very hard today, and missed his nap,” said the queen.

  “Then perhaps you will provide what information you can. I must know precisely what happened.”

  Queen Yulda glanced surreptitiously around the chamber, then beckoned Kedrigern closer. Lowering her voice, she said, “We don’t know. His Majesty was fine at breakfast. By midday he had lost his wits.”

  “Where did His Majesty spend the morning?” Kedrigern asked.

  “The king was in the countinghouse.”

  “Counting out his money?”

  “Certainly not. The Treasurer’s men do that. The king goes to the countinghouse to relax.”

  “Was anyone with him?”

  “He never takes anyone with him. He likes his privacy. He stayed in the countinghouse for a time, then went out to sit under his favourite tree. It was a beautiful sunny day. Not a cloud in the sky.”

  “I see,” Kedrigern murmured, stroking his chin in a thoughtful gesture. In truth, he saw nothing. A thick mist of fatigue lay over his mind. His stomach felt like an abyss, his bones ached, and he was ready to collapse from exhaustion; but he did his best to preserve a wizardly façade. “Where were you and the prince?” he asked.

  “I was in the parlour when I received word of the tragedy. I had just finished a light repast,” said the queen.

  “Bread and honey, I presume,” Kedrigern said confidently.

  “Currant cake and sweet wine,” Yulda corrected him, with an expression of genteel disgust. “Bread and honey is not a suitable snack for one of royal blood. It is very common.”

  Princess, who enjoyed the occasional bit of bread and honey, gave the queen a black glance, but said nothing, being too bone-weary to dispute over any matter less than life-threatening. She merely yawned.

  “And where were you, Prince Middry?”

  “I spent the morning with my tailors. It was such a lovely morning, too. Perfect for riding. But they insisted on a fitting,” said the prince, pouting.

  “And how did you learn of . . . the incident?”

  “Mother sent the messenger directly to me.”

  “Yes, of course,” said the wizard, nodding. He turned to the queen. “Do you recall the messenger’s exact words?”

  “No. He babbled. When I finally got him to pull himself together, he told me that the king was sitting under the oak tree near the counting-house, eating a worm. I perceived at once that something was amiss. When I arrived at the scene, Tarpash had pulled a boot over his head and was trying to put his gloves on his feet. I was greatly distressed.”

  Middry, after a wide, audible yawn, said, “Mother, one must not overtax oneself. Let’s continue this in the morning.”

  “I am not overtaxed. Every minute is precious.”

  “But, Mother, I am overtaxed. I’ve been travelling hard for days. I’ve been in the saddle since dawn.”

  “Think of the kingdom, boy! Think of the wedding. Think of your father. Pull yourself together,” said Yulda severely.

  “Your Majesty, we are all overtaxed. Disenchantments always work best when one is fully rested and one’s mind is keen. Fatigue can be hazardous to the enchantee,” said Kedrigern. He emphasized his words with a yawn.

  “Delay can be hazardous to the kingdom, wizard,” Queen Yulda growled.

  “We still have five days, Your Majesty.”

  “If you wait until morning, we will have only four days.”

  “Trust me, Your Majesty,” Kedrigern said. After a great yawn, which was immediately reprised by Princess and Prince Middry, he went on, “I will confer with the Royal Physician first thing in the morning, and then examine His Majesty – if he is awake.”

  Yulda glowered at all three of them in turn. At last, grudgingly, she said, “Very well. You are dismissed. I will have you roused at the first crowing of the cock, wizard – you and your fellow adept.”

  Princess did not speak until they were alone in their chamber, to which she strode with lips compressed and eyes narrowed. When the door was closed, she rounded on Kedrigern, saying, “That woman deserves a curse on her own head, and I’m ready to provide it! I never met such a surly virago in my life! If she thinks I’ll lift a finger to help—”

  “My dear, Yulda’s upset. We’re not seeing her best side,” Kedrigern said in his most soothing voice. He opened his arms to embrace and comfort Princess, but she would have none of it. Taking wing, she flew to the mantelpiece, where she perched with cold eye and folded arms. “Best side? Hah!” she said with a contemptuous toss of her head.

  “Think of the strain she’s under. Her husband’s wits gone, her son’s happiness in jeopardy, her kingdom—”

  “A lot she cares about Middry’s happiness. Did you see the way she treated him?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “No wonder he’s so fearful of the wedding’s being called off. He can’t wait to escape from this place and that monstrous woman!”

  “I’m sure Middry really loves Belserena. He spoke glowingly of her at every opportunity.”

  “Talk. Nothing but talk. He only wants to get away. It’s hard to blame him, actually,” said Princess. She flew down and stood by the open window.

  “Then we must do all we can to help King Tarpash. To help him is to help Middry.”

  Princess paced up and down before the window, fluttering a short distance every now and then as
was her habit when deep in thought. She stopped abruptly and said, “What about the poor girl? It’s all very well to help Middry, but Belserena will wind up with that gimlet-eyed fishwife for a mother-in-law. And no great prize for a husband, either.”

  “Presumably the young lady knows what she’s getting herself into, my dear. She may be in love. Perhaps she’s doing it for her kingdom. I don’t think we ought to meddle in private affairs.”

  Princess was unconvinced, but she and Kedrigern were by this time too weary to dispute further. A servant brought them a tray of bread, cheese, and fruit, which they consumed with great appetite before turning in, to fall asleep at once.

  A pounding at the door awoke them just as the first light appeared in the eastern sky. A cock crowed near by.

  “All right, all right! We’re getting up! We’re up!” Kedrigern groaned. “Stop hammering!”

  “The Royal Physician attends in his chamber,” a voice outside the door announced. “I will conduct you to him.”

  Peevish and puffy-eyed, Kedrigern and Princess dressed in haste and followed the servant up several broad staircases, down three long corridors, and along a gloomy passageway until, having climbed one final narrow, winding staircase, they came to a tower room. A portly, bald man with a bushy, grizzled beard stood in the doorway, yawning.

  “The wizard Kedrigern,” the servant announced.

  Princess gave a flutter of her wings, hovered before the servant at eye level, and said sternly, “Announce us properly, young man. It’s the wizards Kedrigern and Princess, and don’t you forget it.”

  “My lady flies!” the servant whispered, hoarse with astonishment.

  “That’s not all she does,” said Princess, gliding to Kedrigern’s side. “Well, go ahead. Announce.”

  “The wizards Kedrigern and Princess,” said the servant, his voice cracking slightly on her name. Dismissed, he sped off.

  “Very nice. So you’re the wizards. Mind if I have a look at those wings?” said the physician.

  “I am not here to be examined,” Princess said with dignity.

  “Just a quick look, my lady. I want to see how they’re attached.”

  “They are not attached; they are mine. It was all done by magic.”

  “Look, about the king . . .,” Kedrigern said.

  “Can’t help you there, I’m afraid,” said the physician, not taking his eyes off Princess. “Yours, you say? Growing right out of your back?”

  “We have to learn what’s happened to King Tarpash!” Kedrigern cried in exasperation.

  “Well, don’t look at me. I’m not going to make a fool out of myself.”

  “How can you make a fool out of yourself by telling us what you found?”

  “I didn’t find anything. It’s none of my business, anyway. You’re the wizards – you help him.”

  “If you didn’t find anything, why did you tell the queen to send for a wizard?” Kedrigern demanded.

  “Because it’s all magic, that’s why! It has to be! If you tell them what happened, they’ll believe you, but if I – Never mind. Just leave me out of this.”

  With a little flirt of her wings that captured the physician’s attention at once, Princess said, “If the king doesn’t recover, Queen Yulda will rule. Won’t that be nice?”

  The physician’s expression clouded. He licked his lips nervously, but said nothing.

  “She’ll make a wonderful ruler. So strong-willed. So determined,” Princess said, smiling.

  Taking a cue, Kedrigern said, “She’ll stand for no nonsense, that’s certain. She’ll make people toe the mark. Heads will roll.”

  “You must promise not to tell anyone I said this,” the physician blurted.

  “My dear fellow! Of course we promise,” Kedrigern warmly assured him.

  Lowering his voice, looking furtively around the room, the physician said, “Lightning. The king was struck by lightning.”

  “Lightning?” Princess repeated in disbelief.

  “But it was a lovely day. Everyone said so!” Kedrigern objected.

  “It was a gorgeous day. Best all year. I know. I sat by the window, looking out over that very oak tree, for a full two hours. I heard no thunder. I saw no lightning.”

  “Yet you say His Majesty was struck by lightning.”

  “Definitely. I know the signs.”

  “So you suspect magic.”

  “Of course. Don’t you?”

  “It certainly looks that way.”

  “I’ve never been comfortable about lightning. It comes out of the heavens, after all. That puts it outside my line. And when it comes out of a clear blue sky . . . well, I just don’t want to get involved,” said the physician. He appeared to be uneasy even talking about the subject.

  “Understandable. Can you tell us anything more?”

  The physician shook his head and spread his hands in a gesture of utter helplessness. “The king was struck by lightning. Only, he couldn’t have been struck by lightning. There was no lightning. What more can I say?”

  “Nothing, obviously. Thank you for your help,” said Kedrigern.

  “I want to see the king recover. We all love His Majesty. But if I tried to tell them . . .” The physician shrugged. Brightening, he asked, “Now can I look at those wings?”

  Lifting out of reach, Princess called down, “We’ll talk about that when the king has his wits.”

  Unaccompanied, undirected, Kedrigern and Princess made their way down to the kitchen, where they beguiled the cook into preparing them a quick breakfast. Afterward they inspected the oak tree under which Tarpash had been found witless. Princess flew up into the branches and examined everything carefully while Kedrigern studied the ground and lower trunk. They found no traces of a lightning strike.

  “That physician is up to something,” Kedrigern said grimly.

  “He’s harmless,” Princess said, dismissing the suggestion with a smile.

  “Don’t be so sure. He had alchemic equipment in his workroom. I saw a cupel and a flask and a very pretty set of balances.”

  “That doesn’t make him an alchemist. Physicians use those things, too.”

  “He had alchemic texts on his bookshelf,” Kedrigern said, with the air of one clinching an argument.

  “So do you,” Princess pointed out.

  “But I need them! I have to know what the competition is up to.”

  “Maybe he does, too.”

  They sat under the tree in deep and thoughtful silence for a time, and at length, Princess said, “I don’t trust Middry. What if he doesn’t really want to marry Belserena? This could be his way of getting out of it.”

  “He sounded very sincere to me,” Kedrigern said.

  “Men always do.”

  Silence returned. After a time, Princess said glumly, “I just can’t figure out how. I wouldn’t put anything past Yulda, and it wouldn’t surprise me if Middry had some plot going, but neither one seems capable of magic.”

  “They’re not. I checked them out,” Kedrigern said, holding up his medallion and displaying the Aperture of True Vision at its centre. “The physician, too. But he could still be an alchemist.”

  “Alchemists can’t work magic. That’s why they’re only alchemists,” Princess reminded him.

  Silence once again. Then Kedrigern snapped his fingers and gave a little laugh. He sprang to his feet and held out his hand. “Come. We’re going to ask the queen a few questions,” he said, smiling with anticipation.

  Princess bounded up. “So you agree with me; that stringy-haired shrew is behind the king’s affliction!”

  “I think it’s something far more subtle than that, my dear, but Yulda may be able to help us clear it up.”

  The queen received them without delay, but before they could speak, she raised a peremptory hand and said, “His Majesty is playing in the royal sandbox and cannot be disturbed.”

  “Is His Majesty wearing the same clothing he wore on the fateful day?” Kedrigern asked.

&nbs
p; “Certainly not. If you must know, he is wearing a yellow sunsuit and a broad-brimmed straw hat – to keep the sun off his head.”

  “Then we may not have to trouble His Majesty at all. May we see everything the king was wearing when he was found?”

  The queen gave a command. Two servants hurried from the chamber. Yulda drummed her fingers on the arms of her chair, frowning impatiently.

  “Had His Majesty any enemies?” Kedrigern asked.

  “What a ridiculous question! Of course he had enemies. He was a king!”

  “Have any of the king’s enemies been seen near the castle recently?”

  “No. Things have been quiet. Very quiet.” Yulda heaved a deep, nostalgic sigh and shook her head sadly. “We’re all getting too old for feuding. We’re not enemies any more, not really. We’re all survivors now.”

  “Have you been reconciled with all your old enemies?”

  She nodded. “Nothing official. No pacts or treaties or anything of that nature. We’ve lost interest in the old quarrels, that’s all. Half the time we can’t remember why we quarrelled in the first place. We’re content to stay in our castles and keep warm and dry. Leave the bashing and the glory to the young, if they care for that sort of thing.” She glanced sourly at her son, who sat by the window fingering a lute. “Some do, and some don’t,” she concluded.

  “Then there’s no visiting back and forth?”

  “Can’t spare the time, wizard. We have our kingdoms to run. Besides, it’s too uncomfortable. But they’ve all been invited to the wedding, and they’ve all sent lovely presents. Three-quarters of them can’t attend, but they all sent presents.”

  “Aren’t presents usually sent to the bride’s residence?” Princess asked.

  “Not when she marries my boy,” snapped the queen.

  “These presents are all in the countinghouse, I presume,” Kedrigern said.

  Yulda and Princess both looked at him with sudden curiosity. Before either woman could speak, the servants returned bearing a pile of royal clothing. Under Kedrigern’s direction, they laid it out in orderly arrangement on the floor. Yulda and Middry joined the two wizards around the display.

  “Is this exactly what the king was wearing when he was discovered under the oak?” Kedrigern asked.