The Runaway Princess (8 page)

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Authors: Kate Coombs

BOOK: The Runaway Princess
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Vantor's servant stopped fighting, his body tense.
“That's better,” Bain told him. He tied the man's hands and feet and settled Horace just outside the cave. “Don't go rolling off the mountain,” the prince advised. Horace's curse was muffled by the cloak. Bain scoured
about to find a fallen tree branch and lit it with a flint from his pocket. He went into the cave with his makeshift torch, coming across Horace's fallen lantern at the mouth of a side passage. “You see?” Bain said softly. “Good fortune.” He lit the lantern and walked deeper into the cave.
“WELL?” THE KING PUT HIS FEET UP ON AN EMBROIDERED footstool and settled back to listen.
“I've spoken to the remaining princes,” the prime minister told him.
“‘Remaining'? What's happened?”
Garald cleared his throat. “It appears the witch cast a spell on a number of our candidates.”
“Hmmph,” the king said. “Frogs, I imagine?”
The prime minister nodded. “Most of the others spent all day searching for the dragon's cave.”
“None of them found it?” the king asked incredulously.
“Not that I've heard.”
“Go on.”
“Prince Vantor hasn't returned yet. Perhaps he's found the dragon and is on his way here even now—he seemed a likely sort,” Garald said hopefully.
“Perhaps the dragon found
him
.” The king chortled. “And?”
“That's about all. Those twin princes were last seen in a tavern. Bought everybody drinks, wanting to talk about the dragon.”
“There was a prince from the north, the one with all the fur,” the king mused.
“Frog.”
“And the short one with the red hair?”
“Frog.”
“What about the dark-haired lad? Bain, isn't it?”
Garald shook his head. “He's still off somewhere.”
The king creaked forward. “I want results, Garald. You do know that.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. Just give them a few more days!”
“Not them. You. I'll give
you
a few more days to sort out this mess.” The king pursed his lips, making his beard bristle. “I don't think the neighbors will like hearing that their sons have been changed into amphibians.”
“No, Your Majesty,” Garald said faintly.
King Stromgard went to the window and forced himself to look across the meadow at the tower, where candlelight illuminated the high window. “Do you suppose she's all right up there?”
“It should be a pleasant interlude for her,” Garald reassured his monarch. “She gets the very same food that you and the queen eat. She also has plenty of books, embroidery, and a fine view of the castle.”
“Let's get this thing over with,” the king said, turning back to the prime minister.
“Yes, Sire. Will you excuse me?”
“Go on,” King Stromgard told him. “And send me my minstrel on your way out. I could use some cheering up.”
The prime minister practically ran to the door, but he couldn't avoid the king's last words. “Results, Garald!”
 
Nort paced the tower room, careful to stay well away from the window. If Arbel caught sight of him! Nort sighed, staring around the room. No wonder the princess wanted out. He sat down gingerly at the table. The books were all about royal girl stuff. Maybe the wedding one would be good for a laugh. Nort flipped through it. Gowns and geegaws and—he found a wedding where the bride was kidnapped by a rival monarch. The wedding turned into a great bloody war. Nort forgot where he was, turning pages as the candle burned low.
 
“We can't take that creature to the castle,” Cam argued. They had stopped well away from the cave, perching on a heap of rocks beside a dark stand of pines.
“We have to tell my father about Vantor!” Meg cried. “The dragon's our proof!”
“I thought you wanted to save it.”
Meg crossed her arms over her knees. The dragon leaned against her, thrumming like an oversize cat. “Of course!”
“What do you think your father would do to it?” Cam asked reasonably.
“Oh.”
“What's more—” Cam started. He stopped himself.
“What? What's more what?” she demanded.
Cam sighed. “He's not going to believe anything you say right now. You're not one of his wonderful princes, and you're not in that tower where you're supposed to be.”
“He'll say I'm just trying to ruin things, won't he?” Meg said glumly.
Cam was silhouetted against the starry sky, but she could see his nod. “Probably.”
Meg gasped.
“What?” Cam asked, alarmed.
“I'm supposed to be in the tower right now!” Not that she wanted to go back, of course, but Nort would be waiting for her.
“Well, either everybody knows…”
“Or Nort's thought of something.” They fell silent, pondering this unlikely possibility. Meg put her arm around the dragon.
“Doesn't that burn?” Cam asked.
“No. I told him not to. I asked him not to burn anything unless I said so.”
“He?” Cam repeated. “What makes you think it's a boy dragon?”
Meg stroked the dragon's head. “I just know.” She could feel a sort of something—agreement, maybe, when
she guessed right about the dragon. “It's like he's talking to me.”
“Uh-huh,” Cam said, unconvinced.
Meg began considering the dragon's possibilities. “He'd make a good bed warmer. He could start the fire in the mornings. He could be taught to catch rats.”
“My sister loves cats,” Cam said in a thoughtful voice.
“That's it, then,” Meg said.
Moving the dragon wasn't easy. He seemed happy to follow Meg, but he was like a large puppy, bumbling off on side trips every two minutes, so that she had to keep calling him back.
Cam's sister lived on the other side of the Witch's Wood. They followed a goat track leading east. “If this doesn't turn south, we can make our own way down once we're past the wood,” Cam explained.
“How will we know?” It was a clear night, but still dark enough that they stumbled every so often. Finally it occurred to Meg to ask the dragon to light up a bit. This meant they could see the way ahead about half the time, since the creature kept rambling off the trail, sniffing happily.
“I'm hoping we'll be able to see the lights of the farms in the valley once we've gone far enough.”
“And if they've all gone to bed?”
“Then we keep going till we come to the moors and the bandits steal our dragon!” Cam snapped. “Do you have a better idea?”
Meg didn't. They tramped awhile in cranky silence.
Then Meg decided to forgive Cam by talking about something else. “He needs a name.”
“Who?”
“The dragon.”
“How about Sniffy?” Cam suggested.
“Cam!”
“What? There he goes, sniffing and sniffing—”
“No.” Meg caught herself from falling again. “He needs a name he can grow into. Something dramatic.”
“Nosy?”
“I'll think of a name by myself, thank you very much,” she huffed.
“I hope Tob doesn't mess with my bean vines,” Cam mused. “He was mad the other day when I went off spying with you.”
“Don't talk about beans. Aren't you hungry?”
“I'm trying not to think about it,” Cam said.
They walked on for at least another mile. “Stop!” Meg cried.
“What?”
“I do see a light!”
“Where?”
“Down there!” Meg called the dragon so she could get a better look at the terrain. Sure enough, a trail dropped away down the hill. They had missed it in the darkness.
 
Dagle and Dorn had to follow the little boy so far south of the city that they lost a fraction of their good humor
by the time they got to his grandmother's house. When the child's granny agreed to sell the animal and invited them for supper besides, they soon cheered up again. Now they were heading back.
“Shouldn't we have reached the city by now?” Dorn asked.
“I think we missed the turn,” Dagle told him, tugging on the cow's lead. “Maybe we should spend the night by the side of the road.”
“Surely we're getting close.”
They trudged along, their shadows swinging with the sweep of Dorn's lantern. The road began to narrow. Soon after, it sloped upward.
“What's that?” Dagle said.
Dorn shuttered the lantern briefly, peering ahead. “It's a light!”
They quickened their pace. But Dagle slowed again, disappointed. “That's not the city. It's another traveler. Maybe he's lost, like we are.”
“Maybe he's not.”
They came closer. “Ho there!” Dagle called.
“Hello?” came a girl's voice.
“It's a lass,” Dorn told his brother.
“And a lad,” Dagle said when they met up with the other travelers. A boy with curly brown hair stood beside a girl with her lighter hair in a braid. The girl stooped to adjust an odd-looking bundle at her feet—a dusty cloak that seemed to be moving about. There was no sign of a light.
The cow mooed uneasily.
“Why, it's the lad and lass from the castle,” Dorn said.
“Hello,” the boy said. “How are you?”
“Very well,” Dagle said. “We've just purchased this fine cow!”
“What for?” the girl asked. She straightened and stepped in front of her bundle. The bundle coughed.
“Mind your manners, Emma,” the boy said. “My sister's not used to princes,” he explained.
The girl nearly choked, she was that abashed.
“I remember,” Dagle said kindly.
“You see, lass, this cow is going to help us catch a dragon!” Dorn said.
The girl looked alarmed. “It is?”
Dagle smiled. “Don't be afraid for our safety, lass. The cow is merely bait for the ingenious trap that my brother and I will soon be constructing.”
The boy put his foot out to one side as if it hurt. Something thumped.
“What's that you've got?” Dorn asked, lifting his lantern.
“My auntie's pig,” the girl blurted. “We're taking him to her farm.”
Dorn lowered the lantern. “You aren't lost, then?” he asked, pleased.
“No,” said the boy. “Are you?”
Dagle and Dorn glanced at each other. “Well,” Dagle said, “perhaps a little.”
“Do you want the castle or the dragon cave?” the boy said, rushing things.
“Dragon cave?” Dagle asked, astonished. “You know where it is?”
The boy waved his hand behind him. “We just passed that way, but we're not princes, so it didn't interest us much.”
“Of course not,” Dorn said graciously. “Please go on.
“Follow this path up the mountain and you'll soon come to a goat track. After that it's due west, a good ways off.”
Dagle dug in his pockets. “Here's a coin for your troubles. I'll give you another if you'll show us the cave!”
The girl shook her head.
“Sorry,” the boy said. “We're in a hurry ourselves. Pig's hungry.” The creature snorted as if to agree, then blundered off into the shadows beside the road.
The girl had been very quiet, sweet child. Now she spoke suddenly. “After you pass the dragon's cave, you'll see another trail leading down the mountain to the road. That will take you back to the castle.”
“Thank you, lass!” Dorn tossed her a coin. She caught it with one hand, blushing bright red in the lantern light. “Farewell!” the princes said. They marched up the slope with their cow behind them. The lad and lass turned about to watch them go.
 
 
“I can't believe you said that!” Meg hissed.
“Said what?” Cam asked, starting down the path again.
“‘Not used to princes'!”
“Well, are you?”
“No,” Meg had to admit.
The baby dragon reappeared. “Look, Meg,” Cam said as they walked on. “Servants don't question princes without a lot of bowing and scraping, and I didn't think you remembered that.”
“I'm supposed to be a servant'” Meg conceded. She held up the coin. “No one's ever thrown money at me before!”
They both giggled. “Come on,” Cam said. “We'll soon be at Hookhorn Farm.”
“Why is it called that?”
“After my great-grandfather's prize bull.”

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