Elizabeth Ann Scarborough - Argonia 02 - The Unicorn Creed

[Argonia 02] - The Unicorn Creed by Elizabeth Ann Scarborough

PROLOGUE

When Colin Songsmith arrived with the royal party at Fort Iceworm, he scarcely recognized the place.

Indeed, he scarcely could see the place, once he and the rest of Their Majesties' entourage had passed

within the huge log gates, for it was crammed ten deep with people everywhere. Even now, in

midsummer, when crops needed tending, animals needed herding, and peasants needed supervising, and

in spite of Fort Iceworm's remoteness from Queenston, Argonia's capital city and center of both

population and enterprise, no one wanted to miss the royal christening.

From all corners of the realm and the known world, the guests had already gathered-kings and

statesmen, queens of faery, wazirs and wise men, gypsies, an unusually large number of assorted

unattached noblemen, plus other noble people, ignoble people, were-people, half-people and even a few

non-people. All had assembled to christen the baby Princess Bronwyn in the hall of her grandfather, Sir

William Hood.

What portions of the castle's structure were visible were layered with silken banners of every color,

bearing every crest in the realm, fluttering less with wind than with the comings and goings of the throng.

The meadows separating castle and village from the vast forest were strewn with guest pavilions, like

huge overblown summer flowers, crimson, azure, golden and green of every shade and tint. From the

topmost turret of Sir William's keep flew the King's own crest, a rowan leaf on a field of scarlet. Directly

below it, as was proper, flew Sir William's own banner, an iceworm, blue, on a field of white. Pennants

bearing both emblems were hawked through the streets by enterprising peasants. Every cottager and

holder for leagues around lodged at least twenty people in his small home, and at all hours elaborately

clad servants came and went from the humblest of village dwellings. Never did the smell of cooking food,

nor the sound of laughter and song, abate, for the entire week of festivities proceeding the christening.

It was a good thing that His Majesty was so tall. Otherwise Colin, whose duty it was as chief minstrel to

always be at the King's right hand, chronicling his regally witty remarks on the marvelous occasion, could

never have found either the King or his right hand. Fortunately, His Highness was descended from frost

giants, and was thus of conveniently outstanding stature.

Colin had less luck locating the other person he most wished to find at the christening, his old questing

companion, Maggie Brown, Sir William's bastard daughter and Queen Amberwine's half sister. He knew

where she was well enough-or where she had been, at any rate. It was Maggie's special talent, her

hearthcraft witchery, which kept the entire christening from being a greater domestic disaster than it was.

Hers was the power to perform all household tasks in the twinkling of an eye, and wherever she went she

cut a swath of fragrant cooking fires, clean rushes, whitewashed walls, clean dishes, hot food, cold drink,

emptied chamber pots, fresh linen, kindled torches and tidied beds. It was not an unpleasant trail to

follow. Nevertheless, Colin had hoped for a more personal confrontation-a bit of a reunion, as it were-a

chance to sing her his new songs, to tell her of his life at the castle, and perhaps to strut for her a bit in the

rich apparel the King had given him. But somehow he never seemed to be free of his duties at the same

time she was free of hers in the same room. Once he almost collided with her as he was coming in from a

party at Sir Oswald's pavilion, but without looking up she'd brushed past him in a brown blur,

automatically mending a small tear and cleaning a wine stain on his sleeve in passing. He was, for once,

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

speechless, and after that had no more opportunities to seek her out, preoccupied as he was with his

own duties of observing, chronicling, dancing, singing, entertaining and being entertained by his fellow

guests.

So it happened that, although she was the first person he'd looked for, he never really saw her properly

until the actual christening had begun and he took his favored place, slightly behind and to the left of Their

Majesties' makeshift thrones inside the cow yard, which was the only area large enough to hold even the

noble part of the assemblage.

King Roari and his queen, the exquisite Lady Amberwine, were flanked on one side by the most

important of the royal guests, and on the other side by a smug and beaming Sir William, an equally proud

Granny Brown, Maggie's irascible witch grandmother, and by Maggie herself. She was still dressed in her

brown woolen skirt and tunic and manure-spattered wooden clogs, her apron splotched with a fresh

grease stain, neglected in the excitement, her brown eyes darting restlessly around the courtyard, as if

looking for tasks that still needed doing. Only her shining otter's pelt of brown hair was clean and neatly

braided, and bespoke personal preparation for the historic moment about to take place.

As the Mother's Priestess lifted Princess Bronwyn from Queen Amberwine's arms, and carried her

gently and ceremoniously to the mound of christening mud heaped high upon the white-silk-covered table

in front of the throne, Maggie caught Colin's eye and grinned at him. It was her old grin, and full of relief,

though somewhat nervous. He grinned back at her, trying to think how to signal her to wait for him after

the ceremony, but then there was no time. The baby had stopped howling in the priestess's unfamiliar

arms, and now gurgled happily as the woman tenderly smeared the small body with the Mother's

life-giving mud.

The congregation cheered as the last of Bronwyn's shining pink flesh was blessed with another gooey

glob, and the small Princess was borne away into the castle to be bathed before the gifting began.

Colin thought then he might step over to one side and snag Maggie before she disappeared again. But

before he'd taken a pace, King Roari lifted his hand slightly, and the royal herald, standing just to Colin's

right, blew a loud, whinnying blast on his trumpet. Colin winced.

The King rose majestically-he was very good at being majestic, being so large-and the trumpet-silenced

assemblage knelt; not an easy task, since a kneeling person took up more room than a standing one, and

the cow yard was already packed.

Colin hoped His Majesty would have the good sense to make it short, whatever he had to say. The

noonday feast awaited them and he, for one, was hungry.

"Noble friends and loyal subjects," King Roari began in his most dignified version of his booming

hillman's brogue, "I shouldn't like it noised about that I'm a man forgets 'is debts. The queen and me and,

aye, our wee baby too, all of us owes where we are today, that is together and able to be servin' you

from the throne of our great realm, to the courage and loyalty of them as saved m'lady and child from

certain unscrupulous sorcerers with whose names I will nae sully this grand occasion."

Ah, now wasn't that thoughtful? His Majesty was publicly going to thank Maggie and himself for rescuing

the then-pregnant Queen Amberwine from the clutches of deluded gypsies and Maggie's deranged uncle,

the wizard Fearchar Brown. It wasn't necessary, naturally. That was the sort of thing one had to expect

on quests, but since the King evidently had made up his mind to make a fuss, Colin dusted off his own

tunic and prepared to look humble and grateful when he was thanked. Maggie'd started the whole thing,

of course, but he'd gone with her as friend and protector during the rescue (well, usually he'd protected

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

her; sometimes it was the other way around). He tried to catch her eye again, but she was staring at the

King with a mixture of pleasure, apprehension, and what appeared to be impatience to be out of the cow

yard and elsewhere.

"As ye all may know from the fine song m'minstrel Colin here has written about the quest, 'twas m'wife's

sister, Maggie, took it on herself t'go tae m'lady's rescue. I've thanked her personal before, and Colin

too, for t'great boon they've done us, but it's been pointed out tae me that though Maggie is, so far as I'm

concerned, the noblest lassie in a' t'kingdom except for m'lady Amberwine, she has nae lands nor title o'

her own. It also happens, y'know that I've nae blood relations, we Rowans bein' a notoriously careless

lot with our hides, as ye may've heard."

The throng laughed politely. Maggie, kneeling, looked like she was preparing to sprint off down the hill

and out the gate. Beside her, her grandmother and Sir William turned to see the King more clearly and

Colin beheld the big, self-satisfied smile on Sir William's face. The reason for it was evident when the

King spoke again.

"So it come to me that the thing for me to do-the thing for me to do is to adopt this woman,

Maggie-Magdalene?" Sir William nodded his head. "Magdalene Brown, m'wife's half sister, tae be sister

tae me as if she was born that way, and so a princess of the realm."

And without waiting for her to come to him, the King strode down off the throne's platform and in one

giant step stood over her and clapped a silver circlet on her head. She looked up, startled, and the circlet

slid down over one ear. She caught it and shoved it back up again.

"That's all I've got to say," King Roari said. "Let's eat, before the giftin' starts."

Whatever reward Colin had expected the King to bestow upon Maggie, a princess's coronet was the

last thing he would have imagined. Her baffled expression was almost as funny as the sight of her; plain,

earthy Maggie with grease on her dress, chimney grime on her elbows, and a crown on her head,

princess of the realm! Ludicrous! Ah well, she'd give the court a few lessons in plain speaking, no doubt.

Perhaps she'd even bring usefulness back in fashion. Choking back heartfelt but unseemly laughter, he

wiped his eyes and tried to look decently, soberly pleased as he hastened forward to congratulate her.

But though she hadn't taken a step, she'd disappeared again.

Where before had been a clear space in front of her for the priestess 'to move about, now was a solid

wall of the backs of eligible princes, dukes, counts and earls, each vying with the other to introduce

himself in the loudest and most flowery tones, managing overall to sound very like the villagers hawking

their souvenir pennants.

Sir William's grin spread across his face like jam on bread.

"Look at the bloody fools!" Granny Brown hissed. "You'd think they'd never seen a pretty girl before!"

"Now, Mother Brown," Sir William replied slyly, "It's only fitting a girl her age should have a few

friends."

Colin thought the suitors seemed less like friends than like a pack of hounds tearing apart a doe, and he

waited as long as he could to make his way through them to speak to her. But though he missed the feast

entirely, and was almost late for the gifting, he never got near enough for her to hear him. Just before he

turned to go, however, the composition of the cluster around her suddenly shifted, and she surfaced, like

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

a drowning woman, and shot him one wild, despairing look before being swallowed up again, to be

swept past him to the gifting tables.

He found a place near the Queen, behind a lady in an astonishing broad-winged purple cap with several

yards of veiling attached. The first gift was just being presented. He didn't see Maggie there, nor her

suitors-but he did spot one lone fellow who seemed to have missed out on the courting, an insolent

looking gray haired chap clad in silver, down at the end of the reception line. Colin thought at the time

that the fellow's sneer was inappropriate to a christening, but put it down to indigestion.

As was customary at christenings, the intangible gifts were presented first. These were bestowed by the

magically endowed guests, each in accordance with his or her specialty. From Maggie's aunt, the seeress

Sybil Brown, the baby received the gift of insight. From Queen Amberwine's faery kin, beauty and

kindness to all natural things. From Granny Brown, whose witchcraft allowed her to transform things, the

baby received the power to make the best of a bad situation. It went on and on like that-beauty, loyalty,

courage, understanding, generosity, wisdom and other qualities a princess would need to live an

exemplary life, along with certain wishes, spells, and enchantments for her protection from such baby's

banes as diaper rash and colic. The King himself concluded that portion of the gifting by bestowing on

her his own name day present, a bright red miniature shield with the Rowan crest carved into its wooden

surface and painted by his own hand. Though Queen Amberwine looked up at her husband rather oddly,

no one had the heart to tell the King that it was a peculiar sort of gift to give a daughter.

After that, everyone turned to the table where the more material gifts were piled. Some of them were

mere toys, though others were amulets, talismans, medicine bundles or charms. These gifts were already

unwrapped, and each in its turn was publicly admired and exclaimed over, after which the particular

benefits of each and the donor would be noted by the Court Rememberer and ceremoniously explained

to the by-now cranky baby, who clearly, from the smell of her, wanted changing.

Normally a model of poise and serenity, the queen rapidly lost her regal composure under the squirming

weight of her child. Like many rituals, christenings were hardly designed for the comfort of the persons

being honored. Desperate to find a gift gaudy enough to please her undignified daughter's unsubtle eye,

Amberwine skipped over rattles, blocks, dolls, and magic stones.

The gilt box emblazoned with crimson jewels fairly leapt into her hand. She seized it and held it in front

of Bronwyn's face, bathing the child playfully in the dazzle from the gems. The baby chortled and

stretched out her chubby arms to snatch it. The queen allowed her to gum it for a moment or two before

turning it over to see who had sent it. She shook her pretty head, shrugging, and handed it to the Court

Rememberer to examine.

"Look, ma'am, where it was," her young lady-in-waiting suggested helpfully. "There's a bit of parchment

there, with pictures and writing and all. Perhaps that says." But the parchment's drawings and runes were

all indecipherable even to those of the court who could read. Finally, the King, always a man of action,

tucked the parchment into his jerkin and took the box from the Court Rememberer.

"We'll just have a look, then," he said, lifting the catch, "There'll be a crest inside t'thing, of course."

But there wasn't.

The lid sprang open, and the crowd near the royal family gasped as a hideous gremlin popped from the

box and bounced into the baby's face. "You're a dirty liar!" it shrieked at the little princess. "You're a

dirty liar!"

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Unlike the crowd, baby Bronwyn did not merely gasp. Taking the matter deeply to heart, she emitted a

bellow that drowned out gremlin, crowd and all, for some time to come.

It was the baby's howl that first alerted Colin that something was very wrong and that the gift, which was

concealed from him by the remarkable headgear of the lady in front of him, was in any way unusual. Up

until then, he had been rather bored with the whole affair, preoccupied as he was with the amusing if

rather alarming idea of Maggie Brown as a princess, and thinking to himself that a royal christening was

not so very different from the more prosaic country ceremonies he was used to in his home village of East

Headpenny-only the magic available to the royal child was of a higher, more powerful quality than usual.

The bad as well as the good, so it now appeared.

Since he'd missed so much of what had gone on at first, he stepped forward to inquire of the lady in

front of him. But before he could tap her on the shoulder, she jumped backward past him with a little

squeal, evidently to make way for the Queen, who was fainting into her lord's arms. As the King caught

the Queen, Colin caught the Princess, rolling from her mother's slackened arms.

No one challenged his right to lay hands upon the royal child, except perhaps the royal child herself, who

was still lustily screaming. In the midst of the chaos, with the ladies screeching and noblemen cursing, the

King roaring his concern over his wife like a mother bear with an unaccountably limp cub, and everyone

pushing at the table, chattering like a lot of forest animals who have suddenly sensed the presence among

them of a large predator, Colin's only coherent thought was to quiet the baby.

He began to sing for her his christening gift, a most soothing lullaby, though he feared, practically having

to shout the song into her ear as he did, that his voice would sound anything but soothing. Fortunately the

tune was undemanding, musically, being essentially a chanting of the higher reaches of the multiplication

tables. The baby apparently found mathematics as enervating as Colin found less complicated

christenings, for her mouth stopped quirking, and formed a tidy little "O," drooling small moist bubbles,

and for a time she regarded him from round blue eyes, before they closed and she snuggled against his

chest.

Perhaps the lullaby had had a calming effect on the adults present as well, or perhaps it was only that he

had been singing longer than he realized, but when he looked up from the sleeping child, the Queen had

revived enough to reclaim her, and the King had disappeared-though only visibly; Colin could hear the

royal roar in the background, ordering his soldiers to prepare for an immediate return to Queenston.

Closer to hand, those gathered around the Queen were arguing.

"Well, of course, it's some sort of a curse," said the lady who had jumped aside when Amberwine

fainted. "You don't suppose for a moment that sort of thing is a BLESSING, do you?"

"It has that look about it," the Grand Wazir of Babacoola commented. "Only a villain would play such a

dastardly joke, and villains are unlikely to bestow anything except curses."

"What do you think it means?" Lady Althea, the Queen's nubile young handmaiden, asked. She was

busily fanning Amberwine and the baby with a silken kerchief.

Granny Brown, across the gifting table from the rest of them, grunted. "Means she'll grow up a liar, no

doubt. Pity no one thought to give her the gift of honesty. Now the damned thing's sure to stick."

Amberwine looked peaked and distraught, her eyes flitting from one speaker to the next, apparently in

hopes that one of them would say something encouraging. The lady in the ridiculous hat was as fast with

wit and tongue as she had been on her feet when the Queen was fainting. "Now, now, milady, don't you

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

fret," she said, laying a kind hand on Amberwine's emerald satin sleeve. "I've been at court for many

years now, and believe you me, if only the truth were known, any family of any real consequence has at

least one little curse attached to it somewhere."

"That's so," nodded the Court Rememberer.

"Why, my dear," added the Dowager Queen of Wasimarkan, "From what I've seen of court life, I'd say

that this curse could easily be the most useful gift your daughter's been granted yet."

"To be a liar?" Amberwine cried, and began to yawn. Colin noted the yawn with dismay. Having had the

honor previously of rescuing Her Majesty from dire peril, and a dragon to boot, he was aware that the

Queen, gentle and sensitive lady that she was, had the unfortunate habit of handling crises by napping for

the duration while someone else dealt with the problem. Though she made a valiant effort at maternal

protectiveness, rocking her persecuted child tenderly in her arms, the Queen was more affected by the

rocking than the already sleeping baby. The more Amberwine rocked, the wider her yawns became, until

finally they would not cease and she couldn't help nodding. At the last moment, she relinquished Bronwyn

to the lady nearest her, and knelt peacefully at the table with her head cradled on her arms among the

christening gifts until servants carried her to her bed.

But five days later, when the royal party was already a good third of the way back to Queenston, Colin

found that what preyed on his mind wasn't the baby's curse, nor the Queen's continued somnolence, nor

even the King's threats of war against whoever had cursed Princess Bronwyn. He was plagued instead

by a niggling forboding centering on Maggie, and on the trapped look on her face when last he'd seen

her. Funny as it had seemed at the time, it gnawed at him now, and so, when he'd sung Bronwyn to sleep

for the hundredth time since the christening, he sought out the King, and begged his leave to return to

Fort Iceworm.

CHAPTER 1

"Sorry, sir," the tower guard said. "No one allowed in Princess Magdalene's cell but family members."

He jerked a dirt-creased thumb toward the tower door. "Her old man's in there chewin' 'er out right

now."

"Oh, it's quite all right, I assure you," Colin replied, fumbling through pockets filled with penny whistles,

bells, drumsticks and guitar picks until he found the crumpled piece of parchment with most of the Rowan

Royal Seal still intact. "You see?" He waved the paper triumphantly. "I have a pass from the King."

The guard squinted down the considerable length of his crooked nose, just as though he could read what

was written on the parchment. He couldn't, of course, or he would have seen that the pass was actually

entitled "Master Songsmith to procure from the Royal wine cellar whatsoever brews and spirits he deems

necessary for the entertainment of the King's Company." What the guard did recognize was the royal

seal. His aunt had been sewing the blasted thing on those little flags for the last six months. He snapped to

attention, or, at least, he snapped to his idea of attention.

A real guard would know about such things, but then, Bernard wasn't a real guard. He was only the

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

cook's nephew, filling in while Sir William's militia honor-guarded the royal party back to Queenston.

Well aware of his lack of professionalism about such matters as guarding and standing at attention, he

endeavored to redeem himself in the eyes of this important gentleman by volunteering some inside

information.

"I wouldn't go in there just yet, sir, if I was you, seal or no seal," he confided from behind his hand. "But

if you was to put yer ear to the door, careful like, you might hear when 'is Lor'ship's leavin', an' manage

to be out of 'is way, if you take my meanin'. 'Course," he shrugged. "You bein' a King's man and that,

you mayn't wish to avoid 'is Lor'ship, but I should, sir, if I was you. Proper ogre he is these days, Sir

William is, sir, if you take my meanin'?"

Colin took it. In a land where so much of the lore passed from tongue to tongue that even the archives

were sung into seashells, any minstrel worth his salt knew full well the value of the oral tradition. He knelt

and pressed his ear to the door, as suggested.

Sir William was just wanning up.

"Don't you think I don't know what you're up to, you ungrateful girl!" the

Lord-High-Mayor-Knight-Protector-of-the-Northern-Territories (-And-Surrounding-Villages)

thundered. Colin could just imagine the old knight's face flushing the glorious eggplant color it always did

when he was vexed. He sounded very vexed.

"You can't fool me with your witch's tricks, me as has brought you up by the sweat of my brow all these

years and done my best by you, knowing full well I'd probably never marry you off decent, thorny thing

that you are."

"I never asked you to marry me off," Maggie pointed out. "But since you insist, I must insist on doing it

correctly." The thump and rattle of her loom continued rhythmically as she spoke, answering her father in

a calm, reasonable tone calculated, Colin was sure, to drive Sir William into a fit of apoplexy. "As I've

already explained to you, Father dear, before a hearthcrafter marries, she must spin, weave, and sew her

own wedding gown, and it must be perfect and done without the benefit of magic. Surely you want me to

look more presentable for my wedding than I did for my coronation? Now that I'm a princess, I'll have

certain standards to maintain, you know. Oh, dear!" she gasped a maidenly little gasp and the loom

treadles clattered. "I do wish you wouldn't distract me so, Daddy dearest. Just look at what you've made

me do now. I've an error two rows back I didn't even notice, you're upsetting me so! I can't think what's

the matter with you, railing at me like this! Haven't you heard that we princesses are delicate creatures,

not to be yelled at or balked?" Her voice dropped to a growl closer to her usual husky register.

"Now, leave me be, while I fix it. You've had your way, gotten the King to give me a title and those poor

sods out there to make fools of themselves proposing to me. Now I'll have mine. Why don't you send

that lot of dandies down to Queenston to plague your granddaughter if you want to marry off a princess?"

"She's much too young for that, as you very well know, while you, my dear, might be considered a trifle

overripe. Besides, Winnie's daughter can't inherit my post here. She's got the Kingdom to consider. By

the iceworm's snores, girl, why won't you be reasonable? Princess or not, you've no lands of your own,

and you can't inherit mine, not without a husband. Women can't BE

Lord-High-Mayor-Knight-Protectors and so on-too rugged a job for 'em. I'm getting no younger,

Maggie, NOR is your Granny, yet here you sit twiddling at this bloody loom when all the Lords of the

realm are filling my coffers with useless baubles for you while they empty my forests of game and cry in

the beer they swill from my kegs!"

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

"I'm sorry about that, I'm sure." Maggie's voice was as condescendingly patient as if she spoke to a

particularly dimwit ted cow. "I know how it must trouble you to have your precious game preserves

invaded. But you've only to see reason, you know, and let me out of here, and I'll expand the food

supply so no one will have to hunt."

"Not until you've chosen a husband and sent the rest of them packing," Sir William replied stubbornly.

"I couldn't possibly as yet. There's my hearthcrafter's wedding tradition to be fulfilled, as I believe I

HAVE mentioned."

"How can the bloody thing be traditional?" her father demanded. "You're the only hearthcrafter in these

parts, and the first one to marry that I've ever heard of."

"Probably there'd be more marriages among us if this weren't such a difficult tradition," she said with a

suspiciously heavy sigh. "The Mother only knows how I hate to weave without magic. But that is the rule,

and since I am, as you say, the only hearthcrafter in these parts, I'm afraid you'll simply have to take my

word for it."

"But the suitors-"

"Why don't you tell them to go away and you'll let them know when I'm ready? At this rate, with you

shouting at me every hour on the hour, I should only need another twenty years."

"I'll tell you what I bloody well will do, you snooty wench! I'll send them all out to do the most

dangerous deeds they can do-that should take care of some of the wretches-and bind you to the first

man among them who returns victorious and in one piece. You'll marry him whether you will or no!"

"That," Maggie said, "strikes me as a really dumb idea. If these fellows are such important Lords of the

realm, don't you think asking them to risk life and limb on my behalf is going to be a bit hard on the

national leadership?"

The thwack of a fist striking wood was followed by a howl of pain and a string of knightly obscenities

from Sir William. After the hasty clatter of a loom bench being swiftly evacuated, Maggie asked, "Hurt

yourself?" Her tone was a model of daughterly concern.

"You impudent wench! By the worm's rancid steaming bloody breath, you'll marry the first fellow who

comes back with a dragon's head or-or-an army of bandits in tow, see if you don't!"

"Naturally, m'lord Father, I'll have to do your bidding. You've spoken, haven't you? And the King?" Her

voice was frankly angry now. "Who am I, your bastard and a simple village witch, to question your

mighty will? Never mind that witches needn't marry and I'd be happier single, when you've taken it into

your head that marry I will. But I WILL make my preparations according to the prescribed customs of

my mother's people, and I won't budge before! And-why, goodness me, just look there!" She lapsed

back into sugary sweetness. "A threading error. Excuse me, please, father, but this is very serious indeed.

It may take me DAYS to fix this, but my dress really must be perfect so I'll be lovely as the May for the

lordly dolt my beloved father picks for my groom. I shall have to take it all apart and do it over."

The door swung open so quickly Colin had to jump backwards and down a step, hugging the wall to

avoid being knocked over as the purple-faced and fuming Sir William stormed out the door and down

the stone steps without even seeing him.

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

The tower room was bare of furnishings except for a straw cot and the loom and spinning wheel sitting

on the stark stone floor Behind the loom and in a pile near the wheel lumped bag after bag of silk, both

spun and unspun. Beside the loom bench an unglazed dish held congealed porridge.

Maggie stalked the room, her cheeks blazing burgundy and her dark eyes smoldering like molten iron.

She looked to Colin very much like a hungry brown lioness, her braids lashing tail-like in her wake as she

prowled her cage.

Colin cleared his throat and she whirled, looking at once glad to see him and annoyed at being

interrupted in the midst of a rage.

"They'd better never let me out of here or so help me I'll commit treason," she announced fiercely. "I'll

kill that bloody Rowan for putting me in this spot after all we did for him! What's the matter with your

nosy King, anyway?" she demanded. "Why couldn't he just mind his own business?"

Colin shrugged and sat down on her loom bench. "I suppose he thought you'd want to actually. You've

never been backwards about speaking your mind before. If you didn't want to be a princess, why didn't

you just say so?"

"What did you expect me to do in front of all those people?" she asked. "Shove the circlet back at him

and say, 'sorry, Sire, I never wear jewelry.' Oh, I suppose you're right. He meant well. It's just-just-"

"Just what?" he asked. To his surprise, he saw that her chin was trembling and a large teardrop was

winking from it. "Oh, really, Maggie. You mustn't take on so. The King wouldn't have made you unhappy

for the world. He honestly thinks he's done you a great turn. It was the only thing about this whole mess

that pleased him, paying you back that way. All this business of tower prisons and mandatory marriage is

your father's rather heavy-handed way of handling his domestic problems, not Rowan's. I'm sure if he

and the Queen could have stuck around instead of having to rush right off to clear up this curse thing,

none of this would have happened to you."

"I wish the rest of those ninnies who're hanging about acting so important would have rushed right off as

well," she replied with a return to her former heated intensity. "They've been after me every minute since

the christening, one bunch or the other. I've not had a moment's privacy. It was bad enough during the

festival, not getting a chance to speak to you or walk out to the woods, but since then it's been

impossible. And when they're not dogging me, they're rooting through the forest, killing Dad's animals,

Which I think is half of why he's so eager to be rid of me." She had been staring out the tower's narrow

window as she spoke, and when she turned to him her face was both wet and anxious. "Oh, Colin, I just

hope Moonshine has enough sense to keep clear of the castle. I haven't gotten to go see him since that

evening you caught me slipping through the gate. If he comes looking for me, one of my gallant admirers

is apt to think it clever to kill him and present me with a unicorn horn for a wedding present. Wouldn't

Dad think that a heroic deed!" Turning back to the window, she buried her head in her hands and began

sobbing with the same ferocious singlemindedness she brought to everything else.

"Of course!" Colin clapped his hand to his head. "I forgot all about the--" He bit off his sentence,

remembering that Bernard liked to be a noncontributing party to his prisoner's conversations. Rising, he

tiptoed to the door. As he opened it, the guard stumbled backwards, smiling at him foolishly.

Returning the smile with every evidence of man-to-man good fellowship, Colin joined him on the landing,

closing the door softly. "She's taking all of this pretty hard," he told Bernard in an exaggerated whisper.

"Well, sir, I expect for an honest, hard-working wench like our Goodwitch Brown this princess business

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

takes a might of getting used to," the guard allowed sympathetically. "My old auntie always did say that

politics was no profession for a decent woman but I say that Sir William's the Lord and the King's the

King and a man has to have a job and..."

"Exactly," Colin agreed hurriedly. "I knew you were a compassionate sort of chap the moment I laid

eyes on you."

"I does my best, sir," Bernard replied, flushing with pleasure at being complimented with such a large

word, whatever it meant. "And say, if there's aught I can do to help..."

This was the opening Colin had been angling for. "As a matter of fact, old man, what with all this

boohooing and so on, my handkerchief's gotten soaked, and my throat's quite dry from all the

'there-there'-ing, if you take my meaning, not to mention that it was a long, dry trip riding back here."

He looked around as if there could possibly be anyone else in the corridor. Finding the absolutely

isolated stairway predictably empty of all but himself and the puzzled but enthusiastic Bernard, he dug in

his pockets again and drew forth a silver coin, which he surreptitiously slipped into the other man's palm.

Bernard, being no fool, had naturally had his palm already outstretched and waiting.

"Now, sergeant," Colin continued in his stage whisper, "If you could see your way clear to fetching the

lady a towel to blow her nose on and a bit of refreshment for the two of us, I'll be happy to make sure

she doesn't go anywhere in the meantime."

"Needn't ask me twice, sir," Bernard winked, pocketing the coin, "I reckon what with you bein' a King's

man and all, it'll be well enough. And I'm obliged to be able to do somethin' to show the goodwitch I

bear her no ill will. She's a hard worker and takes care of 'er own, she does, and my auntie says there's

no nattier housekeeper in all the kingdom. A good woman and a good witch she is, even if she ain't

exactly princess material, I say. Between you and me, I think it's a cryin' shame to keep 'er locked up like

this, but no one asked me, you understand, and I need the job, and it's an easy one, even if it is a might

dry, if you take my meanin', sir."

"How thoughtless of me!" Colin apologized, companionably setting his hands on the man's shoulders and

giving him a friendly push toward the foot of the stairs. "Naturally, you'll need to refresh yourself before

you climb back up these wretched stairs. And do try to make it a nice, clean, soft sheet you find for

Maggie. Her nose is pretty raw from all that crying."

Bernard waved his version of a salute and bounded down the steps.

* * *

Seven giant black swans bore the wizard Fearchar Brown aloft in his magic chariot, up from the valley

and across the glaciers, to cross the mountains dividing Argonia from Brazoria. Watching the ascent of

the swans from her cliff castle's icy outer ledge was Princess Pegeen Ashburn, known commonly as

Pegeen the Illuminator, only daughter and sole surviving heir of the last King, Finbar the Fireproof, and

up until recently holding the satisfying rank of Royal Princess, Retired. Pegeen couldn't honestly say she

wasn't glad to see Fearchar go-even if only for a short time. She hadn't had a moment's peace since he

first sought refuge with her, and immediately set about making her sanctuary his stronghold.

As soon as he was gone, she fetched her drawing things and sat on her favorite spot on the ledge,

intending to push from her mind, for the morning, at least, her trepidations about her lover. Today, when

the glacier-rimmed valley was flooded with sunshine for a change instead of mist and rain, she would

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Elizabeth Ann Scarborough - Argonia 02 - The Unicorn Creed

相关推荐

开通VIP享超值会员特权

作者详情

相关内容

热门标签

举报选择: