Princess Ben (25 page)

"Not that you would ever know, he snarled.

"Not that I would ever want to! Nor would I give one moment of my life to 'invade' your dreams. How arrogant you are! I do not need this ridiculous chatter, I do not require your aid, and I certainly do not appreciate you and your father lurking like vultures about my castle! Begone!

At once Florian reined his horse about and shot downhill.

Furious, I dug my heels into my pony's sides. Yet again the man had captured what little composure I fancied myself to retain and destroyed it utterly. If he and his pathetic coterie deserted Montagne this very instant, 'twould not be soon enough. How dare he believe I sent myself into his dreams—

At this, I flinched. A "lovely vision"—so he had described me. Was it possible his dreams mirrored my own disturbing visions of a doting and delightful prince? That as he slept,
I
was equally attentive to
him?
Hot blood raced to my cheeks, and in furious embarrassment I drove my pony onward. O dreadful thought. I must not waste time musing so.
I had responsibilities—somewhere above me lay a man in great suffering. I was a healer. I was a
princess.
I would comport myself thusly.

***

The chill alerted me to how far my pony had climbed. Ancienne's peak stood somewhere above, the mountain's breadth blocking it from view. We entered a hollow so deep and sheltered that last year's snow lay banked yet in its shadows. There, prone in the middle of the glade, lay the crumpled corpse of a man. I had arrived too late.

Then the wind shifted, the air swam with sulfurous gas, and without warning my pony, as horses everywhere are wont to do (the exception of course the noble steed of Saint George), reared in terror, tossing me to the ground, and fled downhill at a gallop.

I lay there, stunned by my pony's unprecedented display of ill manners, when a heavy scraping noise caught my ear, and at once all reason fled my brain.

Out of the shadows slithered a most utterly terrifying monster. The black-scaled beast was thrice the size of an ox, its batlike wings tattered with age. Filthy wisps of smoke oozed from its nostrils, and claws as long and sharp as
scythes scratched the rocks. The beast burped, and a belch of flame puffed between its yellowed fangs. Bleary, lidded eyes peered in my direction, and it sniffed the air, seeking me out.

Help
, a voice—a small, scared voice—whispered inside my head.
Help.

"Help, I whispered aloud. "Help. A dragon. I should flee, I recognized vaguely, but I could not budge, for terror had turned me to stone.

Ever closer the dragon crawled, its pace quickening. It stank of sulfur and rot, and slime dripped from its eyes. It belched again and fire licked its nostrils. A scream rent the air—I recognized it belatedly as my own—and the dragon, leering, reared up—

A disturbance, some sound—I knew not what—caught its attention and it turned, sniffing the breeze. This gesture somehow released my paralysis and I scurried behind the nearest tree. The beast, noting my disappearance, released a hoarse roar of flame.

"Ben!Your pony—it bolted ... shouted a familiar voice, and Prince Florian burst into the glade, sword drawn. He caught sight of the dragon and stepped back. Whatever he had been anticipating, this was not it, and daunted indeed he appeared as the monster faced this new disturbance.

In truth, I was no safer negotiating the dragon's aft, for its long tail lashed like a whip, sending up hailstorms of gravel. I retreated desperately from this onslaught ere I was slashed, or worse.

The dragon swiped at Florian, and the prince leapt back in the very nick of time.

"Look out!" I cried, unnecessarily. Again the dragon struck at Florian. Bravely the prince feinted, parrying his outsized opponent as best he could.

Now safely beyond that awful tail, I realized I must offer some assistance. My dragon-fighting skills being what they were, I had no plan, but in a fit of bravado I picked up several rocks and commenced hurling them at the dragon's thick hide, praying the distraction would provide Florian a respite. The rocks, alas, soared far wide of their mark, one practically grazing Florian's head.

"At the
dragon!"
he shouted. "You're supposed to throw them at the
dragon!'"

"I'm trying! I shrieked back.

The dragon turned toward my voice. I screamed in fear, and again brave Florian stepped into the monster's path, drawing its attention.

Retreating, I stumbled on my little healer's kit, thrown
with me from the saddle. Surely it contained something useful! Ointments, herbs, bandages, needle and thread (for what—mending? Mother carried them), a scalpel—perhaps that would work.

With an angry shout, mostly for my own benefit, I hurled myself at the dragon's flank, swinging the blade at the beast.

The scalpel bent in half against that scaly hide. Ignoring me, the dragon swung at Florian with a great roar, knocking him sideways to the ground.

"Ben! Magic! Where is your magic? the prince cried in desperation.

"I can't!" I wailed. What good be elemental fire against a flame-breathing dragon?

The creature sent a triumphant burst of flame at Florian, who at the last second hurled himself beyond reach of this blast. We were doomed, both of us—

But wait. There was a possibility—the smallest, slimmest thread of possibility—that I might yet make some contribution.

The dragon caught Florian with a blow that split his scalp.

I ripped off my riding habit and brandished it wildly. "You
there—Hideous! Get away from him, you sniveling excuse for a beast!

The dragon, posed over Florian, one clawed foot pinning him to the ground, peered back at me. Venom dripped from its open jaw.

"Yes, you!" I shouted. "You pathetic, worm-faced, scabrous lizard! Get over here!

"No," gasped Florian. "Do not sacrifice yourself..."

"Sacrifice?" I shrieked. "The sacrifice today shall not be human! I was more beast than human at this point and, as if to prove it, with my free hand magicked a ball of fire that I hurled between the dragon's eyes.

The gauntlet had been tossed. With a rumbling growl that shook the trees, the dragon marched toward me.

"Oh, you're quite the monster! I sneered. "You should try eating
me!
Not him! He's all muscle and sinew. You want to eat me—nice, fleshy me, don't you?"

The dragon rumbled its eagerness, stalking me across the glade. I had no escape. If my plan did not work, I would die, but death at least would come quick. The beast was too enraged to prolong my execution.

With a flourish, I tossed my riding habit aside and planted
myself, arms outstretched, a perfect target. The dragon took one last lunge, I recoiled backward—and tripped, falling into the deep snow preserved in the shadowy gloom.

I can only imagine the horrifying spectacle that followed. The dragon plunged its fearsome snout into the bank, grasping me between its teeth. Florian screamed, but too late—the dragon tossed back its head and with one enormous gaping motion swallowed me whole.

What transpired next I did not have opportunity to witness, to my everlasting disappointment, so some portion of this description remains conjecture. The dragon turned from this scene of infamy, en route to its next victim. It burped, but the belch included a great cloud of steam. The dragon paused and peered down at its belly in puzzled concern. With an ear-splitting whistle, enormous clouds of steam erupted from its open jaws. The dragon began to gag violently as steam poured from its mouth and nose. It staggered, coughing, the steam gradually abating until only wisps seeped out. Sagging to the ground, the dragon attempted one last time to burp up fire, but the flame in its gut had been extinguished. With a deep groan, the beast dropped its head to the ground and perished.

"Ben!" I heard Florian cry. "Oh, no!"

Shivering with cold, I eased my head out of the snow bank. The dragon lay sprawled before me, its corpse awful to behold. "It worked! I exclaimed in disbelief.

Too wounded to move, Florian could only gape. "But you're not—it ate you..."

"No, it didn't," I said, climbing out. "And avert your eyes, please. I was clad only in camisole and petticoats, which the melting snow had rendered quite transparent.

Noble man that he was, the prince acceded to this request, though he spluttered and gasped as I dressed.

"It was not me it consumed, but my double, turned to ice, I explained as I knelt at Florian's side, clutching my healer's pack. The man was punctured from the dragon's claws, an awful gash above his ear; perhaps a bone was broken as well. "We must get you help.

"My father—he went ... Blood ran freely down his scalp. I ripped the lining from my gown and pressed it to his head. This wound, I knew, could not wait.

"I'll need to stitch you up, I said, trying to control the palsy in my hands as I dug for the needle and thread.

"Do you know how?

"No. I'm a terrible seamstress—I daresay not the best response I could have tendered.

"How marvelous," he murmured. "I'm not going to die, you know.

"Of course you're not." But at that moment I caught sight of his doublet.

"What is it? he asked.

"Nothing. I forced a smile. "Nothing at all. But it was. Droplets of pus-colored dragon venom bubbled on the cloth, mingling with Florian's blood. If the venom had entered his body, it would not bode well. "I'm going to start stitching now. I'll try not to hurt you.

"You couldn't hurt me." He smiled faintly. The poison had reached him, I could tell. His face was green, and his eyes rolled back in his head. "We're going to be married.

I paused in the act of threading my needle. "What?

"We're going to be married. I know it.

"Because of the prophesy? I revived myself. You won nothing—

Groping, Florian found my hand and squeezed it as best he could. "Nay, not the prophesy. We will marry because I love you.

I stared, and he smiled again at my amazed face. Still holding my hand, his head cradled in my lap, he let his eyes drift shut and passed to another world.

Alone with Florian's body, I stitched his wounds more carefully than ever I had finished a handkerchief, and washed them clean with water from my own two hands. These tasks I did not complete consciously, but with the automatic reflexes of a woman in deep shock. With time the prince looked so presentable, stretched on the alpine flowers, that it might have been possible to imagine him only dozing, were it not for the poisonous green of his cheeks.

In this way I maintained my composure until the first men, led by King Renaldo, burst into the clearing. Then I broke down completely as the king, sobbing, buried his face in Florian's chest. The soldiers turned away, granting him some small privacy, the tears that ran down their faces scarcely less effusive.

"He died to save my life, I whispered. The great hulk of the dragon, stretched behind us, told the rest of the story.

"Would that he never died, wept the king. "But if he must, he should die so nobly.

The Drachensbett soldiers did not return to Chateau de Montagne until dusk, the keen wail of their grieving preceding them, and they bore the prince on a pine bower. The king, beside them, appeared more dead than alive.

Standing at the castle gates, Sophia observed this procession, and I was stunned to see a tear working its way down her expressionless face. "We shall escort you tomorrow to your home. She paused, struggling for words, and, bowing to the king, spoke no more.

The prince was laid in state in the great entrance hall, his soldiers standing guard through the night until he would be carried to his final resting place. Unable to watch, incapable of aiding these men with their work, I fled. Alone in my chambers, I locked my door, for added precaution wedging my sturdiest chair beneath the knob, and with a furious lunge stepped through the wall.

***

The wizard room was as I had left it. Dust gathered on the floor, the mice marking it already with their own obscure tracery. On the lectern, the book rested, tightly closed.

In fury I slammed it, pounded it, to no avail. "How can I save him?" I roared to the room. "How can I save him if you will not give me the spell? He was poisoned—I can save him yet! Help me!

My screams faded in the stillness. I panted in frustration, glaring at the skull-shaped locks. The mirror caught my eye, and swiftly I wiped it clear. "The prince has been poisoned, I hissed at my reflection.

"You know that already," my reflection replied.

Yet again her nonchalance took me by surprise. Now that I had her attention, as it were, I did not want it squandered. My thoughts worked at one another like a hundred quarreling blackbirds. Abandoning for the moment my efforts with Florian, I returned to my reflection, at last able to speak these words: "My father is dead."

My reflection nodded.

My father lay near the peak of Ancienne. The dragon—a dragon that men for generations unknown had spoken of—truly existed, atop that mountain...

I raced back to the mirror, the realization coming to me at last: "A dragon killed my father.

No reaction. Furiously I smashed my fist to the pane. Why would it not agree?

Although, I realized, if the dragon had killed my father, how did he come to perish in the cave? I tried once more. "A dragon gravely wounded my father.

"Of course," my reflection replied in her irritating manner.

Another lightning-bolt revelation: "That same dragon killed my mother and uncle.

"Yes," my reflection drawled, examining her nails.

"Which means—I spoke to myself now, rather than the mirror—"that Drachensbett had no role in their deaths. If Drachensbett had no role—if the king was not guilty, if Florian was not ... Oh, my feelings were in such a horrible muddle!

"I must save the prince!" I cried out.

"Why?" asked my reflection coldly.

I blinked. In the turmoil, this question had not crossed my mind. "Because he saved my life.

"You saved it yourself," said my reflection in the same cold voice.

'Twas true. I had. I paced. I was so very tired. "He should not be dead because he is a good man, I said at last.