Princess Ben (22 page)

My fists began to complain of their pounding, and as I sank to the floor, my rational side pointed out that I had little to contribute to the field of battle. The army had healers enough, medics experienced in the treatment of war wounds. Nor, I suspected, did our soldiers require aid with their penmanship and table manners. Surely there was some role I could play in this hour of need, some element of my ridiculous education to put to use!

No, I realized with a start. Not
that
education. But the other one ... I knew not how,exactly, but I could help. With trembling fingers I conjured a Doppelschläferin and dashed through the wall.

The wizard room was as I had left it, though dusty—remarkable, it is, how quickly dust gathers. Now arrived, panting from the climb, I had no further plan. The spell book lay closed on its pedestal; I would not receive guidance there. Nor had I use for that blasted magic looking glass. I peered about, desperate for some encouragement. The cabinets as always hovered in shadow, the wash bucket rested in one corner, the broom propped beside it—

Hair rose on my neck. The broom! I had left it shattered atop Ancienne! For it to have returned would be—

Its return would be magic. Unnerved though I was, I barked a laugh. A magic broom by definition surpasses reason. If it could fly, why not reincarnate? Who knew, indeed, of what the broom was capable? Steeling my heart, I reached out and felt that familiar tingle. Settling myself on the handle, I at once rose several inches into the air. Fly I could, that much was true. But what good would this do me, or my country? I needed to preserve my people, not provoke alarm.

Yet the broom had returned for some reason.

My hair brushing the ceiling timbers as the broom wandered, I pondered how I might possibly defend Montagne ... At once the solution came to me, each component falling into place with wondrous clarity. My feet thudded to the floor. Grasping the broom, I raced downstairs, past the portal to my cell, farther downward, and, pausing only to clarify that I was alone, into the queen's privy chambers. Through the reception area I dashed, through the bedroom, the bath, a parlor, finally locating her dressing room.

Mirrored wardrobes lined the walls; padded brackets
displayed hats, caps, veils, and bonnets. I flung open one door after another, attempting even in my madness to preserve the neat piles, for my disheveling would only cause another's punishment. At last, buried at the bottom of a trunk, I found it: a gown of poppy red silk laced with gold. Spreading it before me now, I marveled anew at fate. Had the queen, so clothed in this serpentine fabric, not lashed my palms that momentous evening, I might never have discovered the magic portal. I would not be here at this moment, exuberantly donning a dress I once abhorred. The high neckline, the train that extended a body length or more behind me ... though the bodice drooped and puckered, and I tripped over the hem, the effect would not be altogether wide of the mark.

Admiring myself in the mirror, I caught sight of a most remarkable headdress of netting and golden horns (or so it appeared, unschooled as I am in the millinery arts), and I attached it to my head at once. Grasping my broom—but no, that would not do: the broom must at all costs remain hidden!—I lifted my skirts, and with no minor embarrassment worked the broomstick under the gown's waistband to my bosom. Leaning forward, my hands awkwardly clasped to my chest, I rose into the air and flew so hastily to the window that I quite smacked my forehead against it. The latch unlocked, the frame swung open, and I was in flight, the long train flapping and snapping behind me.

***

The precipice from which Chateau de Montagne rises is not a cliff in its own right, but rather a diminutive extension of the north face of Ancienne. The queen's dressing room overlooked this precipice, and thus I providentially found myself but a moment's ride from the protection of Ancienne herself. So long as I hugged this cliff face I could avoid detection, for I had no desire to feel the sting of my own country's arrows, particularly when the broom required all my attention.

My last airborne experience, I now recalled grimly as I reeled and plunged, had not been the most elegant demonstration of enchanted flight, and though my life at the moment was not nearly so threatened, I had little time to waste mastering navigation. Focusing on the first star that caught my eye, I ascended until I convinced myself that even the most owl-eyed soldier could not discern me. Lurching, I rose over the cliff's edge. Below me, farmhouse lights
twinkled, scattered across the valley, and a line of torches bobbed and shimmered against the flank of Ancienne.

My heart dropped—and my body as well, until I refocused—for those torches belonged to none other than Sophia and her retinue en route to the battlefield. As I continued to climb, I could now perceive bonfires at Ferdinand's Wall, and the Drachensbett army crawling down the mountainside as molten rock oozes from a belching volcano.

My grandfather had died battling Drachensbett. My uncle had been slaughtered defending my mother from that insidious nation. My father perished tracking those killers to their dank home. Montagne's time had come at last.

So swiftly did I fly that the wind brought tears to my eyes, and snatched them away. Soon enough the canyon spread beneath me, and like Jove himself I could observe the forces at work. The Drachensbett army had downed a massive tree—a Montagne tree!—and even now soldiers pounded it against the barricade that Montagne had desperately erected. Ever more Drachensbett men poured into the canyon, gathering around great bonfires as their archers traded shots with the defenders. Once the battering ram completed its dreadful work—and even at my great height I could hear the repeated thud, a veritable metronome of
death—Drachensbett soldiers would pour through the gap, overwhelm the defenders, and proceed down the mountain. Xavier's presence, the queen's, were immaterial; defeat would come regardless.

But not mine, I thought grimly. The battering ram I could not stop, but perhaps I could cast fear into the hearts of its operators. With a roar, I plunged through the air toward the wall. The red silk train streamed and snapped behind me—I prayed the fabric would hold against the strain—and as I drew closer, I released my hold on the broomstick, clutching it solely with legs and gown.

A great shout broke out! The men wielding the battering ram gawked so that I gazed into a score of open mouths. Muttering the spells for fire and wind, I shot a great flame at their heads.

I had anticipated reaction, yes, and hoped for fear—I had dressed as a dragon, after all, to the best of my abilities—but I had not foreseen defiance. The Drachensbett archers, far from treating my appearance as warning, appeared to consider me as a most entertaining target. As I banked skyward, countless arrows whistled past. Panicked, I sped faster, and perhaps this changing velocity prevented the archers' success. I did not at the time have the luxury to analyze.

Again I hovered far above the battle scene, my sweaty hands clenching the broomstick through the silk. I dared not attempt another pass. Already the attackers strove to lift the great log—they had dropped it in their astonishment, which offered me some solace—as hundreds of men scanned the heavens.

And then, I saw him. In a ring of torchlight, sword slashing the air, he issued commands from astride his stallion. Even from afar I recognized the gleam of silver crown, the undivided attention that every man in his earshot proffered and he without acknowledgment received.

Oh, how I despised Prince Florian! As an arrow is shot from a crossbow, so did I launch myself at him now. Defense mattered, yes, but I lusted for vengeance, the retribution a woman must exact from the man who has insulted her past all endurance. Again a shout rose—I had been spotted, but I cared not. Florian craned upward, his mouth ajar. Screaming the spell to the winds, I formed a rock and with all my might hurled it at that perfect head.

For the first, and perhaps the only, time in my life, my missile met its target. Alas, the quality of the spell did not equal my aim. Instead of granite or razor-sharp obsidian, I
had created ... mud. I craved the crack of stone against skull, perhaps even a crash as Florian collapsed from his horse. Instead, as I rose through the air, another volley of arrows singing past my ears, I heard only a wet smack followed by a yelp of surprise. And then—I was hit!

I lurched and spun as Drachensbett soldiers cheered. Glad I was to hold the broom inside my gown, or the force of impact would have thrown me off. Still I managed to rise through the arrows' onslaught, their volume lessening as I ascended. When the bonfires below appeared no more than coals, I slowed. Fearfully I felt about my body. My fingers found a shaft. I tugged, wincing in anticipation, but felt no pain. Encouraged, I yanked hard and found myself grasping an arrow, its head untouched by blood. Sophia's gown, I realized with a snort of relief, had so many layers that the arrow was halted ere it reached my skin.

With a rude curse I had learned in Drachensbett, I tossed the arrow back at my enemies. It glided down, turning end over end. I could not even
drop
something properly. At once, my martial spirit vanished completely. Enthusiasm, revenge: gone. My one conceivable contribution to the protection of my nation had failed. My damaged right arm throbbed from
the demands of my spell work. Fatigue flooded my veins. The lights of Chateau de Montagne at this moment appeared as distant as the stars themselves. My shoulders sagged, my head drooped forward in utter exhaustion. The broom, devoid of guidance, spiraled downward into the wilds of Ancienne as darkness pressed against my closed eyes, swallowing my consciousness. I knew no more.

My eyes fluttered open. I was in a bed, my bed, in my own Peach Rooms. How had this possibly transpired? Yet before I could gather my wits, Prince Florian appeared chuckling in the doorway. He grinned, shaking his head. "You thought you'd bested me!

Caught in his gaze, I could not turn away. He stepped closer, and with a warm hand stroked my cheek. He leaned toward me: "Will you never learn the truth?" His soft whisper tickled my ear, and I felt his breath as his lips drew closer—

"You'd sleep the entire day away if I let you.

My eyes flew open. Looming over me was the wide, florid face of Hildebert.

I jerked upright, gasping for breath. Sunlight poured through the bedroom windows, illuminating the rosebud duvet beneath which I lay.

"The entire castle's abustle, Hildebert sniffed, "and you dally as if naught in the world was amiss.

Frantically I scrubbed at my face—the sensation felt tangible enough, and painful. This was not a dream, not anymore. "What—who—how did I get here?

"From the belly of a woman as all folk do. Now rouse yourself, did not you hear me? The queen wants to see you.

Aching and creaky, memories of the night's adventures pummeling my wits, I consented to Hildebert's ministrations. I had no memory of my return to the castle, and indeed have none to this day. Whether it be magic or amnesia I cannot say, but rest assured the experience was altogether unnerving, particularly when compounded by yet another nightmare about Florian. And—most important!—what of the battle?

"Quit sputtering—and what have you done to yourself now? she snorted, pointing to an enormous purple bruise that covered fully half my bottom.

'Twas miracle indeed I had survived that Drachensbett arrow. Perhaps the bulk of fashionable skirts served more purpose than I realized. "I ... must have stumbled.

"You're the soul of grace, you are. Get this on now before they come calling again. And she would say no more as
she hurried me into my clothes, eliciting a yelp or two as she caught my bruise, and trotted me out of my chambers.

***

I was escorted to the Hall of Flags. The battle, then, could not have been complete defeat, for the room honored the nation's greatest victories. There I found the queen and Frederick, their clothes yet soiled from travel, in a crowd of courtiers and common soldiers. Popping corks greeted my entry, though the festive mood could not overcome the fright this noise gave everyone, myself included.

The queen, haggard from lack of sleep, beamed at me. "Benevolence! You appear no more rested than we, dear child.

I gulped. "I spent much of the night fearing for my country. I beg you, please, what happened?

"It is a marvelous tale, truly marvelous ... Has everyone a glass? Then we propose a toast: To the Drachensbett dragon!

Drinking deep, the others paid little heed to my choking response to these words, though a footman pounded me on the back with advice to hold off on champagne 'til I be older. More champagne flowed, and with many interruptions and
clarifications, the weary but ebullient soldiers described the night's battle.

Forewarned, the Montagne forces had spent the afternoon securing the fortification, and so had some defense ready when the soldier shepherds high up Ancienne sent word of the approaching army. Indeed, these shepherds preserved Montagne as well as anyone, for they drove their flocks across the narrow Drachensbett trail, obliging the attacking forces to brake their advance, for as everyone knows, sheep in panic take direction from no one. When at last the army reached the canyon, Prince Florian's men wasted no time in felling a battering ram while officers readied their troops to pour through the pending gap. Gallantly Montagne's soldiers struggled to maintain the barricade, but the relentless hammering shattered plank and stone.

I nigh chewed off my tongue.
What of the dragon?
I longed to scream. Nor could I sit—the Drachensbett arrow had seen to that—but could only pace in the manner of Sophia herself.

At last the soldiers came to the heart of the story: without warning, a red dragon plunged from the sky, spewing flame at the battering ram.

"Smaller it was than I'd imagined a dragon to be, offered one of the men.

"And it shrieked right like a girl," another said, his companions nodding in agreement.

I turned to hide my blush, but I might as well have stood behind a magic portal, so little attention did I receive. The others had eyes only for the soldiers.