A True Princess (3 page)

Karina nodded vigorously, water spraying from her braid. “Oh, please,” she begged. “I long for a bed!”

“You girls can share, since you are the only females,” the woman told us kindly. “And the lad can stay with the men. The dog must bide downstairs, though.”

She took our rain-soaked cloaks and pointed us to a space at the long table. The men slid over to make room for us on the bench. In a moment we had bowls of fragrant stew and mugs of warmed cider. The meat was strange but good; I was so used to mutton that I could not name it.

“’Tis reindeer,” the serving maid, Sigrid, said when we asked. “It makes a fine stew, doesn’t it?”

We nodded with enthusiasm, eating as fast as we could, and Ove gulped his food down by the fire. When at last we pushed our bowls away, we were full for the first time in days and beginning to dry out.

The men—I marked them as traders from the North Kingdoms by their full packs and dark hair—began to sing. Their voices were rough, but their songs were like stories, and we listened, enthralled. After two songs, a trader turned to me, his dark beard flecked with foam from his ale.

“You must sing for your supper too, ladies!” he cried, and the others took up the call. “Sing! Sing!”

Karina was fearful and embarrassed, but I took her hand and stood. “We had better do as they ask,” I whispered to her. We chose a song about a knight enchanted by elves. At first Karina’s voice was weak and shaky, but mine was strong; and the attentive silence of our audience soon made her feel more confident. We harmonized well, and at the end the traders clapped and cheered and stomped their heavy boots, and we bowed our heads, pink with pleasure.

Then, from the far end of the table, a short, bearded man spoke up. “I know an elf song as well,” he said. He was one of three, all richly dressed and obviously of high birth. Next to him sat a tall lord with a long, craggy face who shook his head at his friend’s words.

The third companion, a lord in a dark blue cloak, protested sharply. “No, that one is too dark, Erlend; it will frighten the ladies.” I noticed that his eyes were on Karina. But the traders called again, “Sing! Sing!” and so Sir Erlend began.

Sir Erlend’s voice was clear and pleasing, but shivers ran through me as he sang more stanzas telling of the father’s desperate ride to save his son from the grasp of the Elf-King, and finally finished the song:

Chapter 3
A True Princess Moves with Measured Grace

A
t the end of the song there was utter silence. All I could hear was the crackling of the fire. Then Ove whimpered in a dream and the spell was broken. The men laughed and began to talk again. Sir Erlend turned to us.

“They say ’tis a true story,” he told us, his eyes twinkling above his trim beard.

“It’s a very terrible tale,” I said. “I would hate to meet the Elf-King.” We had heard little about him in Hagi, but I knew he was a creature of the North Kingdoms.

“Are you going north?” Sir Erlend asked. We nodded.

“Then beware of Bitra Forest, for it is said that is where the Elf-King bides.”

“Does he only take children?” Karina asked nervously. “For we are all beyond childhood, and should be safe.”

“I know only what the song says,” Sir Erlend replied.

The lord in blue interrupted him. I could see that his eyes, like mine, were violet, and I thought,
He must be from my homeland!
“There is danger on the road and in the forest,” he warned, “both human and elvish.”

“Do you believe the stories, sir?” Karina asked, looking at him. He met her eyes and smiled. I saw her blush, but she smiled back at him.

“I do, lady. I know that the Elf-King rules the forest, and I have heard the sound of the horn and the baying of the hounds in Odin’s Hunt.”

“Odin’s Hunt? What is that?” I asked.

The blue lord answered courteously, “The story differs depending on who tells it. Odin is a spirit, or a fairy, or a supernatural being of some sort—no one knows for certain. But he is an immortal. His Hunt is a sign of danger, or of bad times, or at least of change. If you witness the Hunt passing, they say, you will die within a fortnight. Even if you just hear the passing, your life will surely change.”

“And you, sir,” I said hesitantly. “When you heard it, did your life change?”

His face darkened, and I thought to apologize for my boldness, but again he replied.

“It did, milady. I was just a child when I heard the Hunt pass. I knew the stories, so I covered my eyes and hid behind a tree. I did not see Odin and his eight-legged horse and his black dogs. But I heard him, and after—ah, then everything was changed.” His voice was so sad that I felt tears start in my eyes, and when I looked at Karina I could see that she too was moved.

“I am sorry, sir,” I said softly. “I did not mean to pry.”

“And the Elf-King,” Karina said, trying to change the course of the conversation. “Is he a danger only to children?”

“Yes,” said the lord. “He is a terrible threat to infants and children alike, but they say he does not take anyone past the age of seven. We call those he has taken changelings, though he does not leave any of his own kind in their place. None is ever seen again.”

Sir Erlend added, “But his daughter, milady! It is said that the Elf-King’s daughter is the most beautiful creature that has ever existed. For a man to look on her is to risk enchantment—and even death.”

“But the elves will not go on the road, will they?” Karina asked fearfully.

“No,” the blue lord replied. “They live deep, deep inside Bitra Forest. They will not travel on paths that humans have created. On the road you are safe—from elves, at any rate.” The lord reached into a saddlebag that rested on the floor beside him. He pulled out a blade—a short, straight sword, much smaller than the jeweled sword at his side but much larger than Kai’s stubby knife. Then he came over and held out the sword to Kai.

“Sir,” he said to Kai, who seemed surprised at such an address. “Will you take this sword to protect your companions? Thieves travel the road, preying on the unwary; and many a tinker, trader, and traveler has lost his belongings, or even his life.” I glanced again at Karina and saw my own unease reflected in her face.

Kai stood and bowed. “My lord,” he said, grasping the sword’s hilt, “I will take it, but only for our journey. I would return it to you after we have reached our destination.”

“And what is your destination?” the lord asked.

“The North Kingdoms,” Kai replied. He held the blade aloft and admired its shine.

The lord smiled. “We are from the North Kingdom of Dalir and will be returning there within the month. Stop in Gilsa Town, which is not far after the road emerges from the forest, and ask for Sir Erlend. You can return the sword to him.”

“I am grateful, my lord,” Kai said, bowing again, “and I am at your service.”

“And I at yours,” the lord replied, bowing too. Karina and I rose and curtsied, I deeply and Karina with an awkward wobble. Then the lord paid Sigrid in shiny coppers and left the inn with his companions, though it was still raining outside. We stared after them openmouthed.

“Well,” Kai said finally when the door had closed behind them. “That was strange.”

“Indeed it was,” I agreed. “And now you have a sword!”

“But no idea how to use it,” Kai said ruefully, and we laughed, the traders laughing with us. “We should sleep,” Kai said then. “We have a long journey yet.”

“So you are headed to the kingdom of Dalir?” asked one of the older men.

I nodded. I did not know Dalir, but something about it sounded right to me.

“Ah, you shall have to try your hand at the contest!” he boomed, and the others laughed.

“What contest? I asked.

“The king and queen of Dalir have decided that their son, Prince Tycho, shall wed, so they have offered to interview prospective brides,” the trader told us. “But they will not accept just any lady, oh no!” The others nodded their heads in agreement. “They require a true princess, and there are not many of those in the North Kingdoms. So the ladies who come to call must pass a test.”

“What test?” Karina asked, intrigued.

The man shrugged. “Who knows? Archery, writing, singing, manners—whatever it is that princesses do that the rest of us do not. Thus far they have had no luck at all.”

“No luck,” the men murmured.

“But you, my beauty—you look royal enough for anyone!” The trader swept low in a bow before Karina, spilling his ale and almost losing his balance. The other men roared, and with that, Karina and I allowed Kai to hurry us away from the table and up the steep staircase.

Our room was low-ceilinged and rather damp. The furnishings—a bed, a rickety table, a wobbly stool—were rough-hewn. There was a looking glass on the wall, though, and I stood before it as I sometimes had before the wavy glass of the mirror at the farm, wondering at the girl who looked back at me. She seemed such a stranger, with her odd-colored eyes and dark hair.

The bed was lumpy as all beds seemed to be, and I knew I would not sleep; but I climbed in with Karina anyway. She sighed with pleasure, though I squirmed as the mattress bunched beneath me.

“That lord was handsome, was he not?” she said dreamily, a smile on her face. I looked at her, surprised.

“The one in the blue cloak? Handsome? Well . . . I suppose he was. If you like dark hair,” I said.

“Your hair is dark, Lilia,” she retorted. “There is nothing wrong with dark hair. And what a kind face he had!”

I smiled. It was unlike Karina to be so romantic, but then, when had she had the chance before? On the farm we saw no one, and in Hagi we knew all our neighbors too well. It was impossible to dream of fat Konur; or the cobbler’s son, Lars, with his lank hair and mottled skin; or Stig, the son of the butcher, who always smelled of fresh blood and sometimes sported streaks of it on his shirt as well.

“But what do you think of this prince of Dalir?” I asked. “Should we go there and present you as a possible bride?”

Karina laughed. “Me? A princess? I do not have any royal skills to help me pass the test. They’d throw me out on my ear!”

“Well, you can cook a fine meal,” I pointed out. “And sew a small stitch, which is more than most princesses can do, I’m sure.”

She made a face at me, and I warmed to my teasing. “But I guess that doesn’t matter since you love the blue lord!”

“Oh!” she sputtered, and reached out to tickle me in revenge. I leaped out of bed to avoid her pinching hands and began to pull on my boots.

“Don’t leave, Lilia,” she begged.

“I’m going to make sure Ove is settled,” I said. “I’ll be back later.”

“Oh, all right.” She sank back into the pillows with a sigh of contentment, and I went out. From the top of the staircase I could tell that all was silent below. I crept down and saw that the candles were blown out and the tables cleared and cleaned. The traders had retired for the night. By the fire, Ove lay coiled in a tight circle, and he raised his head and wagged his tail as I approached.

“It’s nice to be indoors out of the rain, isn’t it, boy?” I whispered, and his tail thumped,
Yes, yes it is.
I took my cloak, dry now, from the peg near the fireplace and covered myself with it. Then I curled up with my head pillowed on Ove’s flank and tried to sleep.

In the morning Kai came down before the traders, who were sleeping off their ale. He looked tired.

“They all snored, every last one,” he complained. “And there were only three beds for the ten of us. I’m half deafened and bruised all over—my bedmates kicked.”

“Poor Kai!” I said with mock sympathy, and he grinned.

“At least it was a real bed, and not a dog for a mattress,” he allowed. “I do think, though, that we should go right away. From what the gentlemen said last night, it sounds like we have more to fear at night than in the daytime. And people do not seem to take it amiss that we are traveling alone.”

I knew he was right. “I’ll wake Karina,” I said, and hurried up the stairs. I found Karina fresh and rested, and we packed up quickly and gathered for a bowl of porridge.

“I still have some money left,” Kai said when we had eaten. “I’ll buy some bread and cheese.” Sigrid was happy to sell him her leftovers, and she slipped in a little of the meat that had flavored our stew the night before. Then we started out, waving farewell to Sigrid as she stood in the doorway.

We walked down the road, now dry, past ramshackle shops and houses that leaned or sagged on their supports. Shopkeepers were sweeping at the front of their stores and arranging their goods for the day’s customers, and we smiled at them as we went by. The townspeople were not as friendly as Sigrid and the traders, though. Most ignored us; some frowned or scowled because we were strangers, and we hurried our steps, relieved when we passed through the northern gate.

“Lilia,” Karina asked me as we strode along, “where did you learn to curtsy like that?”

“Like what? I have never curtsied before in my life,” I told her.

“At the inn last night, when we curtsied to the lords. You dipped so low,” she said, trying it and wobbling so much that she nearly fell.

“Like this?” I inquired, curtsying. “Why, ’tis my natural grace, of course.” Kai snorted with laughter and gave me a little push, and I fell over into the road and leaped up again to chase him, Ove barking behind us.

We walked for a day, passing at last from the South to the North Kingdoms. A carved wooden map marked the border, and we stood before it. A large section labeled “Bitra Forest” was just above the painted dot that showed where we stood.

“There is nothing there,” Karina said in a low voice, looking at the vast expanse of woodland on the map. “No town, not even a village. Just woods.”

I traced the road on the map as it ran between the river on one side and the forest on the other. “But here is Gilsa, just north of the forest, right where the lord said it was,” I pointed out. “It is not so very far.” I said this to calm Karina, for I could see that it was quite far indeed. Still, it was good to have a destination in mind.

The next morning a kindly trader gave us a ride on his wagon. We offered to share our food with him, but he waved our meager supplies aside, pulling out bread and meat enough for a dozen. “Sit and eat!” he invited us. We perched on rocks at the edge of the road and ate happily, tossing scraps to Ove, while the trader told us stories of his travels. His tales of encounters with bears in the North Kingdoms made Karina shudder, but it was another tale he told that unnerved me.

“Have you ever heard of the Elf-King?” I asked him, and he nodded, his mouth full.

“Indeed I have,” he said after swallowing, “but luckily I have never come across an elf, even on my many trips through the forest. All I know of elves is songs and stories.” He offered to sing the song we had heard at the inn, but we quickly declined. Then he told us, “There’s many a tale of the Elf-King. Had you heard he slew a falcon?”

Our eyes big, we shook our heads. “Yes,” the trader continued, “he shot it with an arrow. He did it just for sport, I heard tell. Just to show he could. Ever since then, the falcons have hated the elves—and who could blame them?” That chilled me, the idea of killing one of those majestic birds for no reason at all.

The trader turned west when a smaller road intersected the big one, telling us, “This is the last turnoff before Bitra Forest. Are you certain you want to keep going northward?” We nodded nervously and jumped off the wagon, and Ove leaped after us.

Waving farewell, the trader called, “Be sure to stay on the road!”

It stretched out ahead of us, and the river sparkled to our right. Far in the distance evergreen trees marked the edge of Bitra Forest. I remembered Sir Erlend’s song and took a deep breath, trying to push it to the back of my mind. There were no other travelers on the road now, and we passed none as we tramped onward. It was nice to walk in the sunshine; but when we finally reached the trees, they nearly met overhead, blocking the sun’s rays almost completely. Immediately the air seemed cooler.