A Princess Of Landover Part 25

Crabbit moved her back a few steps, worked a quick conjuring with words and gestures, and she was suddenly clothed in a stunningly beautiful white gown that left Laphroig with his eyes wide, his mouth open, and his tongue hanging out.

"Princess, I have never seen anything-"

"Thank you, my Lord." She cut him short with a perfunctory wave of her hand. "Shall we go outside into the open for the ceremony?"

Again, His Eminence didn't look pleased with this suggestion, but Laphroig leaped on it like a starving dog on a bone and proclaimed that, indeed, the wedding must take place outdoors before his a.s.sembled knights, who would act as witnesses.

So out the office door they went, then down the hall to the front of the building and out into the sunlight. The knights still sat their horses, and the G'home Gnomes were still bound and gagged atop their mule. Cordstick had gone from looking distressed to looking euphoric. Mistaya ignored them all, resisted the urge to look back for Thom, and kept her eyes fixed straight ahead as His Eminence marched her out to a small grove of rather wintry trees and placed her side by side with the Lord of Rhyndweir.

Craswell Crabbit cleared his throat. "Be it known, one and all, from the nearest to the farthest corners of the realm, that this man and this woman have consented ..."

He droned on, but Mistaya wasn't paying attention. She was thinking through her plan, knowing that she must put it into play quickly. If the wedding got too far along, there might not be enough time for things to come together as she needed them to.

Mistaya gazed out at the a.s.sembled knights, who had removed their helmets out of respect for the ceremony, whatever it was, and the girl, whoever she was, most of them obviously having no clear idea of what they were all doing there. The G'home Gnomes were moaning softly through their gags, and every so often the two guards bracketing them would lean over and cuff one or the other or both.

"Mistaya Holiday, Princess of Landover, do you take this man, Berwyn Laphroig, Lord of Rhyndweir to be-"

"What?" she asked, snapped back into the moment by the question. She looked blankly at His Eminence and then at Laphroig.

"Of course she does!" The Frog snapped. "Get on with it, Crabbit!"

Craswell Crabbit looked flummoxed. "Well, we need rings, then. One from each of you."

Laphroig began pulling at the rings on his fingers, of which there were plenty, trying to loosen one to give to her. Mistaya glanced at her own fingers. She wore only two rings, both given to her by her parents as presents when she left home for Carrington. She grimaced at the thought of giving either up.

She made a show of trying to remove the rings, but in effect began the process of casting her spell, weaving her fingers and whispering the words of power. His Eminence was preoccupied with watching Laphroig, who was thras.h.i.+ng wildly now in his efforts to loosen one of the rings he wore.

As he finally succeeded, turning back to Mistaya, reaching for her hand to slip the ring in place, she said abruptly, "My Lord, I lack a ring to seal our bargain, but I give you this gift instead!"

She wove her hands rapidly, completing the spell. His Eminence tried to stop her, but he was too slow and too late.

Crimson fire blossomed across the sky above them, an explosion of flames that dropped the wedding party to its knees and caused the mounts of the knights to rear and buck and finally bolt in terror.

"I warned you, Princess!" His Eminence shouted at her, covering his head with his hands as he did so. "I warned you!"

Laphroig had dropped flat against the ground, his eyes darting every which way at once, trying to discover what was going to happen to him. "You promised!" he screamed at Mistaya. "You gave your word!"

Overhead, the flames parted like the curtains on a stage, and the dragon Strabo appeared.

TILL DEATH DO US PART.

Strabo was the perfect incarnation of anyone's worst nightmare, a huge black monster with spikes running up and down his back in a double row, a fearsome horn-encrusted head, claws and teeth the size of gate spikes, and armor plating that could withstand attacks from even the most powerful spear or longbow. He was impervious to heat and cold, no matter how extreme; he was able to fly high enough and far enough to transverse entire worlds whenever he chose. He was contemptuous of humans and fairy creatures alike, and he regarded their presence as an affront that he did not suffer gladly.

The dragon burst through the flames and swooped down toward the wedding party. Rhyndweir's knights and their mounts scattered for a second time, taking the unfortunate G'home Gnomes with them. Cordstick dove for cover under the trees. Mistaya stood her ground, watching the dragon approach. Laphroig had flattened himself against the earth at her feet, screaming in a mix of fear and rage, and His Eminence was crouched to defend himself, apparently the only one prepared to do so.

For just an instant, Strabo loomed over Libiris and the surrounding woods like a huge dark cloud that threatened to engulf them all. Then he turned to smoke, vaporized in an instant without warning, and was gone.

There was a stunned silence as everyone but Mistaya waited for his return. Then, quite slowly and deliberately, Laphroig climbed back to his feet, brushed himself off, turned to Mistaya with a smile, and struck her as hard as he could across the face. She managed to partially deflect the blow, but went down anyway, her head ringing.

"You witch!" he hissed at her.

His Eminence stepped in front of Rhyndweir's Lord, blocking his way. "Enough of that, Lord Laphroig. Remember our purpose here. Time enough for retribution later, after the wedding."

Mistaya heard him and took his meaning, but pretended not to. She hung her head for a moment, waiting for the ringing to stop and her vision to clear, her eyes filled with tears.

Then she climbed back to her feet. "It was only pretend," she said to Laphroig, brus.h.i.+ng at her eyes. "It wasn't meant to hurt anyone. I kept my word; I did not try to escape. I thought that a demonstration of what my magic can do might make your knights respect you even more. If you have a wife who can-"

"Spare us your bogus explanations," Craswell Crabbit interrupted. "Your intention was to distract us and escape. The only reason you are still here is that your magic was insufficient to allow for it."

He made a quick series of gestures, spoke a few brief words, and Mistaya's hands were again bound, encased in the swirling mist. She stared at them in dismay, even though she had known that this would happen, that her momentary freedom would be taken away. But escape would have put Thom at risk, and she wasn't about to do anything that would allow for that. Her plan was to see them both freed, and anything less was unacceptable.

Laphroig moved over to stand so close to her she could smell his mix of fear and rage. "When this is over, Princess," he whispered, "I shall take whatever time it requires to teach you the manners you so badly need. And I shall enjoy doing it, although I doubt that you will."

He stalked away, calling back his knights, some of whom still remained close enough to hear his voice. Those who responded he dispatched to gather up the others. The wedding would proceed with all present, including those who had fled. Even Cordstick had managed to put himself back in the picture, standing by uneasily, trying to look as if nothing much had happened.

It took awhile-quite a while, in fact-but eventually all were gathered together once more, and His Eminence rearranged the bride and groom and began to speak anew.

"Be it known, one and all, from the nearest to the farthest corners of the land, that this man and woman have consented to be joined ..."

"You've already said that!" Laphroig roared. "Get to the part where you left off and start from there, and be quick about it!"

His Eminence looked at Laphroig as he might have looked at a bothersome insect, but he held his tongue. Mistaya had hoped that he would say he had to start over in order for the ceremony to be valid, but apparently that wasn't the case. She s.h.i.+fted her feet worriedly, gazing down anew at her shackled hands. She could feel time slipping away and her chances with it.

His Eminence took a deep breath and began anew. "Having spoken their vows and pledged their love, having exchanged rings-ah, rings and other gifts-to demonstrate their commitment, I find no reason that they should not be man and wife. Therefore, by the power invested in me, as a certified and fully authorized delegate of the crown, I ..."

"Run!" someone screamed from behind him, someone who seconds later went tearing away from the wedding party and across the hills, waving and shouting and pointing.

"Isn't that your man Cordstick?" His Eminence asked.

"Yes, Cordstick." Cordstick." Laphroig spit out the name distastefully. "Whatever is the matter with him?" Laphroig spit out the name distastefully. "Whatever is the matter with him?"

As the words left his mouth, a huge shadow fell over the a.s.semblage, sweeping out of the skies like a thundercloud falling from the heavens, thick with dark rain. It was winged and horned and spike-encrusted and black as the mud pits of the lower Melchor, and when Mistaya saw who it was, she felt her heart leap with impossible grat.i.tude.

"Strabo!" she exclaimed.

His Eminence and Laphroig were caught between emotions, not knowing whether to run or to stand their ground, looking from the dragon to Mistaya and back again as they tried to figure out how she had made this latest apparition appear. What sort of magic was she using now that her hands were shackled anew? But there were no answers to be found, and by the time they had determined that this dragon was not an apparition, but the real thing, and that headlong flight might be a good idea, it was too late. Cordstick was gone, the knights had scattered once more, taking the G'home Gnomes with them, and the wedding party of three found itself abandoned to its fate.

Strabo settled earthward with a flapping of wings that knocked Mistaya and her captors to their knees and then landed with such force that the earth shook in protest. The dragon glared as it folded its ma.s.sive wings against its sides and showed all of its considerable teeth in row after blackened row.

"I thought I made myself perfectly clear, Princess!" he snarled. "Was my warning too vague for you to understand?"

"It was perfectly clear," she replied. "You said if I used magic to create an image of you again, especially if it was to frighten someone, you would pay me a visit much quicker than I would like."

"Yet you did so anyway?" The dragon swung his triangular head from side to side in dismay. "What do I have to do to convince you that I am serious? Eat you?"

She held up her hands, encased in the swirling ball of mist. "I took a chance that you were as good as your word. I needed someone to help me, and I couldn't think of anyone more capable. So I deliberately made an image of you so that you would would come, and here you are!" come, and here you are!"

She said it with great satisfaction. She couldn't help herself. Her plan had worked exactly as she had hoped, and now she had a chance to get free from His Eminence and Laphroig for good.

The dragon looked at her magically shackled hands and hissed. "What is this?" he demanded, looking now at her captors, his great brow darkening. "Have you done this?"

Well, there was no good answer to that particular question, and neither His Eminence nor Laphroig tried to offer one. They just stood there, staring in horror at all those teeth.

"They are holding me prisoner and trying to marry me off against my will," she declared. "To Berwyn Laphroig!"

The dragon hissed at the accused. "You are forcing her to marry you, Lord of Rhyndweir?"

"No! Not at all! She's doing so voluntarily!" Laphroig was grasping at straws. "She loves me!"

Strabo breathed on him, and the combination of stench and heat knocked him from a guarded crouch to his hands and knees, gasping for fresh air. "It doesn't sound like it to me. Set her free at once."

"I can't!" sobbed Laphroig. "He did it!" His trembling hand pointed toward His Eminence. "It's his magic that binds her!"

The dragon s.h.i.+fted his gaze to Crabbit, who held up his hands defensively. "All right, all right, I'll release her. She's more trouble than she's worth, in any case."

He made a few gestures, spoke a few words, and the swirling mist dissipated. Mistaya was free once more.

Strabo bent close to Laphroig and His Eminence. "I've a good mind to eat you both. A snack would do me good after flying all this way to straighten you out. What do you think of that?"

"I think I would be most grateful if you only ate him," His Eminence replied, gesturing at Laphroig. "This was all his idea."

"Liar!" screamed Laphroig. "You were the one who-"

"You both agreed to this marriage idea," Mistaya pointed out. "I don't think either of you should try to blame the other."

"It isn't a good idea to force young girls to marry," Strabo lectured, looking from one man to the other. "Marriage, in general, isn't a particularly desirable inst.i.tution. It causes all sorts of trouble, from what I have observed over the centuries. In any case, a Princess shouldn't marry this young, the issue of the advisability of marriage aside. She should be free to grow up and spend time with more interesting creatures than prospective husbands. Dragons, for instance. We're much more interesting than you, Laphroig. Or you, Craswell. So be warned. If I hear of any further attempts at forcing this girl to marry either one of you or anyone you know or even anyone I think you know, I will not be so lenient."

His Eminence and Rhyndweir's Lord nodded eagerly, babbling their understanding in a jumble of hurried promises.

Strabo backed away a few yards, still watching them. "I don't know. I'm awfully hungry. Eating you now would solve a great number of potential problems later."

Mistaya didn't want that to happen quite yet, so she stepped forward quickly. "I wonder if I could ask one further favor. An a.s.sociate of His Eminence is holding my friend Thom prisoner, too. Can he be released, as well?"

Strabo licked his chops as he nodded. "Have her friend brought to me right away, Crabbit."

His Eminence looked as if he might implode, but he turned to the building and shouted for Rufus Pinch to produce Thom. Laphroig still didn't know who they were talking about, but as soon as Thom appeared, sliding past him quickly to stand next to Mistaya, he turned purple with rage and screamed a long string of bad words that don't bear repeating.

"You knew about this, Crabbit! You knew, and you kept it from me! You will pay for this, I promise you." He wheeled on Thom. "As for you, I won't make the same mistake twice. I'll hunt you down once this is finished, no matter how long it takes, and when I find you-"

"You won't do anything, if you're inside Strabo's belly," Mistaya pointed out smugly.

But all of a sudden Strabo reared up and wheeled away, his attention diverted. "What's that I smell?" he growled.

They all looked and saw a handful of mounted knights racing away across the hills, trying unsuccessfully to escape notice. Apparently, they had recovered from their earlier fright and finding themselves on the wrong side of escape had decided to circle back north and try to slip past the dragon.

"Oh, my favorites!" Strabo enthused. "Crunchy on the outside and chewy on the inside. And all that iron is fuel for my inner child." He glanced at Mistaya. "I have to go now, Princess. I need a snack after all that flying. Good luck to you."

He wheeled away, spread his wings, and soared off into the sky, Mistaya and her captors forgotten in an instant. Already they could hear the rumble of his internal furnace as the bellows heated the flames to cooking temperature.

Mistaya was so shocked by the dragon's abrupt and unexpected departure that for a moment she just stood there. How could he leave like that, right in the middle of rescuing her?

Then Laphroig looked over at her and His Eminence did the same, and she realized how much danger she was in.

She brought up her hands in a warding motion. "Don't even think about it. This wedding is over. Just stay right where you are. I'm not your prisoner now, and if you try to make me one, I'll fry you where you stand."

"I think that it is dragons who fry people, Princess," His Eminence purred, his fingers flexing. "In any case, you are no match for me, free or not. You are young and inexperienced, and you are alone. Thom can't help you, either. His brother will see to him while I see to you."

The oblong head bobbed and a smile played across the odd face. "I would let you go if I didn't think you already knew too much for your own good. Best if you come back inside and remain as my guest until your father gets here."

Mistaya kept one eye on his hands, the other on Laphroig. "My father isn't coming. Didn't you know?"

"Oh, I think maybe he is. I sent him a message."

She didn't know if he was lying or not, but it wasn't something she wanted to chance. "It doesn't matter. I'm not helping you trap my father by staying. We're leaving."

Laphroig stepped forward quickly. "You'll leave when I say you can leave, you little snot-nosed whelp! You're mine, wedding or not, and I will do with you as I wish. By the time the dragon finds out what's been done, it will be too late. Crabbit, I will deal with you and your lying ways later. For now, bind her hands and my brother's, too, and get out of my way."

To emphasize the point, he produced a wicked looking dagger from beneath his robes and held it in a way to suggest that he was ready to use it on any one of them should they give him reason.

His Eminence looked taken aback. "Who do you think you are, issuing orders to me, Laphroig? I am not one of your lackeys."

He s.h.i.+fted away slightly, putting himself at the same distance from Laphroig as he was from Mistaya. "I've had enough of you, Lord of Rhyndweir. I think perhaps it is time for you to take your leave. You can do so voluntarily or I will help you on your way. Mr. Pinch? Do you have the crossbow pointed at his back?"

"I do, Mr. Crabbit," the other replied from just behind Laphroig. "As you instructed me to do earlier when I warned you that he was a snake in the gra.s.s and not to be trusted."

Laphroig smiled. "A crossbow won't do the job, Crabbit. I am armored against such weapons. And before you can work a spell, I will have this dagger through your throat. Now do as I say and stop playing games."

Mistaya was at a loss as to how to proceed. The standoff had pitted them against one another. If one attacked, the others would retaliate. She took two steps back and b.u.mped into Thom.

"Get behind me, Mistaya," he whispered in her ear.

She shook her head. "Stay out of this."

"I won't. I can help."

"Not with this." She didn't dare take her eyes off His Eminence and Laphroig to look at him. "Please, Thom."

"Princess," His Eminence called out suddenly, "what of your promise not to try to escape? Does that mean nothing to you? Have you abandoned your word and your honor, as well?"

"I kept my word," she replied. "I said I wouldn't do anything during the wedding. The wedding is off, so I am released from my promise."

"Some of us might argue with you."

"I think we are beyond arguing, Your Eminence."