The Runaway Princess (6 page)

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Authors: Kate Coombs

BOOK: The Runaway Princess
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“We fear not your magic!” a bearded prince called.
“You got that at the pond,” another prince jeered.
“Fine,” Gorba snapped.
“Hexibus, tantalus
,
langulus, trab
—”
“To me!” George yelled, lunging at the witch. The rest of the bunch followed, piling onto the porch in a tangle of arms and legs, nearly drowning out the witch's voice. The tangle shrank and turned green. A couple of men-at-arms scrambled to their feet and ran.
Gorba sat up to catch her breath. She patted her hair back into place. “I gave 'em fair warning, didn't I?” A chorus of voices from within the cottage croaked their agreement as a cranky witch began shooing frogs into the house.
AT THE EDGE OF THE CLEARING, PRINCE BAIN stepped out, one of his men beside him. “Now,
that
was a good trick,” he said genially.
“What are we going to do about her?” the other man asked.
“Fight fire with fire,” Bain told him. “We need some magic of our own.”
Just then Dilly's fingers slipped. The branch she was holding scratched across its neighbor. Dilly stilled it quickly, but the voices stopped. She stood up partway and tried to move away from the cottage at a crouch. She hadn't gotten very far when she heard running feet and felt a hand on her shoulder.
“What are you doing here?” a rough voice asked as the man spun her around. “Spying?”
Dilly couldn't think what to say. But the other man said, “Let go of her, Feg. I'm sure she'll be happy to explain herself.”
Reluctantly, the prince's companion loosed his grip on her shoulder, and Dilly stepped back. The prince was smiling at her, his eyes glinting green. “I am Prince Bain. Who are you?”
“Dilly, my lord,” she managed to say. He didn't look easy to fool.
“Why are you here?”
Suddenly Dilly knew exactly why someone like herself would be at the witch's cottage. “Oh, sir,” she said, “I can't tell a gentleman.” She threw in a nervous giggle.
The two men glanced at each other. “Were you hoping to see the witch?” the prince asked.
Dilly nodded. “I work up at the castle, and there's this boy, he works there, too, and they say the witch, they say she knows about such things.” Dilly batted her eyelashes a bit.
“She's after a love spell?” Feg asked dubiously.
“It would appear so,” Bain replied. “And you hid because?”
“Oh,” Dilly said, blushing, “I got here, and I saw all these princes about, coming after the witch, so I thought if I just waited—” She shut her mouth abruptly.
Prince Bain laughed. “The old woman would turn us into frogs, and you could get on with your business?”
Dilly's eyes widened. “I'd never wish such a thing on a gentleman!” she protested.
“Of course not,” said Feg, still suspicious.
“Run along, girl,” Prince Bain told her. “The witch is busy with other guests.”
“Thank you, Your Highness,” Dilly said. There was no need to fake her relief as she took to her heels. It was a pity she'd have to wait all day to tell Meg what this prince was planning for the witch.
 
Meg and Cam watched a group of men struggling up the slope far, far below. “I'll bet it's Vantor,” Meg said. “They're wearing gray, like his tent.”
Cam coughed, waving away a puff of smoke that swirled past lazily, as if a giant were smoking his great pipe in the cave beside them.
“We've got to go in
now
, before they get here!” Meg whispered furiously.
“And if the dragon eats you?” Cam asked.
“You're chicken!” Meg challenged.
“No. I just think we should let it kill that fathead Vantor, and
then
decide what to do!”
“What if that fathead kills it first?”
Cam didn't seem too concerned.
“And takes the treasure?”
Cam shrugged.
“I'm going in whether you come or not,” Meg announced.
“They
like
princesses!” Cam exclaimed.
“Flame-broiled!”
She looked at him narrowly. “Fine. I'll let you go first.”
“Meg …”
But the princess had scrambled up and was clambering over the rocks to the cave's mouth. Cam had no
choice. “As usual,” he muttered, following her into the darkness. He coughed again as another twirl of dragon smoke wafted up his nose.
“Come
on
,” Meg said, lowering her voice.
Cam stepped past her. A rock caught his shoulder. He moved away from the cave wall with a grunt. “Take my hand,” he said. Meg didn't argue for once, just reached out to grab his hand with hers. They stepped forward, bumping along through the darkening tunnel. Gravel slid beneath their feet. Cam slipped once, but Meg pulled him up.
After a while they came to a fork. They touched the walls, stumbling back and forth. “This way,” Cam said finally.
“How do you know?”
“It smells of smoke.”
The two walked down the new tunnel. Meg could feel her heart beating faster, and Cam had forgotten all about the prince behind them. They had to choose their way at two more points. In one place, the cave branched in three different directions. And then suddenly they emerged into the dragon's chamber.
Cam and Meg stopped. The high hall of the dragon was lit an eerie red-gold. They stared about, startled enough to be easy prey for a moment. The room was filled with treasure, centuries' worth of collecting by an oversize pack rat with very good taste. Golden chalices and goblets and coins, emeralds and rubies and pearls, several suits of armor with—Meg gulped—
fragments of bone sticking out of them. Half a skull grinned crookedly atop an inlaid chest. A swirl of satin looked uncomfortably like one of the dresses tossed on Meg's bedroom floor.
“Where's the dragon?” Cam breathed an inch from Meg's ear.
Meg peered higher and deeper into the cavern. Stones were piled around the edges, and … “Over there,” she murmured, pointing. “Those aren't stones.” In the farthest shadows, like a jumble of great swords and spears made of silver and pearl, lay the vast skeleton of a dragon. A tatter of wing silk like another lady's gown hung down from one long, arching bone.
“It's dead,” Cam said, his voice ringing out with his surprise.
“Shh. Yes, but if it's dead, where is the smoke coming from?”
Cam turned around. “And the light, for that matter.”
“Look,” Meg said, pointing again. Beyond the highest pile of treasure, the red glow was stronger.
They tried to close in quietly, but their feet clinked and clanked, stepping over and around the dragon's gold.
Something hissed like a large teakettle. Meg stopped as the glow was dimmed by a new gust of smoke. She moved forward, more slowly now. She gestured to Cam. He nodded and worked his way around the side of the pile of jewels and coins and armor as she began to scale the miniature golden mountain.
Meg lifted her eyes over the top. An instant later, Cam appeared below Meg, to her right. The dragon squawked.
“It's a baby,” Meg cooed.
The dragon was just smaller than one of her father's wolfhounds. Its wings and throat were butter-colored, its back was scarlet streaked with amber, its staring eyes were round and black, with gold slits. It glowed like a hearth fire at midwinter.
“Stay back,” Cam said. “Just because it's young doesn't mean it isn't dangerous.”
The dragon breathed out. Little flames licked the nearest coins, melting them atop a glob of already blurry gold.
“It's beautiful,” Meg said. “You see?”
“See what?”
“We can't let them kill it!”
Cam sighed. “I hope you have a plan.”
“It's just—What was
that
?”
But they both knew, hearing the voices and footsteps outside. Prince Vantor was already here.
 
“Another ale!” Dagle called. The barkeep obliged.
“Wonderful stuff,” Dorn said. “Do you know where we might find the dragon?”
The men at the nearest table looked around. The customers of Ye Broken Egg appeared to be mostly farmers, but here and there a flash of velvet shone amid the homespun.
“No,” the man replied. “Sorry, good sirs.” He turned as if to go, then hesitated. “If any of this lot has the information you need, he'll be most likely to assist you when his throat is wet.”
“Wet throat?” Dagle repeated.
“He means buy them ale,” Dorn whispered loudly.
Still more men were watching the twin princes now. Dagle smiled back at them. “I'm buying,” he announced, “for the man who can tell us about the dragon.”
A dozen chairs scooted in their direction. A dozen voices began talking at once. “Here, my granddad saw the creature with his own eyes!” cried a peasant.
“Your granddad's long dead!” another burst out. “My father, now, he knows the exact cave—”
“The thing only eats young girls, so you best bring one of those along for bait!” said a farmer with a grim chuckle.
Dagle laughed, pleased. “One at a time, good sirs. Barkeep, bring us a round of drinks!” The men around them cheered.
It was well past noon when the brothers emerged into the street, their pockets lighter along with their hearts. “That went well,” Dorn told his brother.
Dagle frowned, striding back through the city of Crown. “But if it has six heads and can smell a mouse at a distance of two miles, how do we kill it?”
“Dagle,” his twin exclaimed, “we have to trick the creature!”
“How?” Dagle neatly sidestepped a bit of gutter muck.
Dorn thought for a mere four blocks before he came up with the answer. When he did, he stopped and put his hands on his brother's shoulders. “We, the twin princes of Hanaby Keep, are going to build a dragon trap,” he proclaimed.
Dagle's eyes lit up. “That's fantastic! And we'll bait it with—well, not the princess.”
“No,” Dorn said regretfully. “I've heard they like a juicy cow nearly as much, though,” he added.
“So the first thing we need is a cow,” Dagle mused. He looked around and soon spotted a small boy. “You there!” The boy came closer. “Where can we get a cow in these parts?”
The boy hitched up his scruffy britches. “My granny has a cow.”
“Well then,” Dorn said, holding out a coin, “take us to your granny!”
“Dorn, what about those other princes?” Dagle said when they were on their way to the cow by means of a series of winding streets.
“You're not worried, are you?” Dorn asked, astonished.
“I don't want them getting to the beast first, is all.”
“I do.”
Dagle blinked. “Whatever for?”
“So the dragon can eat them.”
Dagle laughed, and Dorn laughed with him, till the small boy faltered and Dagle had to wave another coin to get him moving.
“So that's how we narrow the competition,” Dagle said, snorting.
Dorn guffawed.
“What
competition?”
 
Prince Vantor held the torch high, his eyes burning amber in the reflected light of the dragon's treasure.
Horace waited behind him. “What do you see?” he asked finally. Vantor moved forward as if in a dream, and his manservant came after him. They stood silently gawking at the chamber.
Meg lay still behind a large suit of armor, trying not to touch the neck bone jutting out of it at a horrible angle just next to her head. The little dragon purred nearby. Cam twitched in his hiding place, making a coin slide.
“What was that?” Horace said, breaking the golden spell.
Vantor gestured at the great skeleton. “Dragon's dead.”
“And you killed it,” Horace said wisely.
Vantor smiled. “Of course.” He stooped to fill his hands with jewels.
“But the smoke,” his servant began.
“Go find out,” the prince told him, not taking his eyes from the gems.
Horace tramped toward the back of the chamber, around the hill of gold. He stopped short. “Dragon!” he said. Then he laughed.
Vantor let the jewels drop, running to join his servant.
“Ha!” he said. “You see, Horace? I'll slay a dragon after all!” The little dragon hissed at him.
“Sword or spear?”
“Not much sport,” the prince replied. “First let's start moving the treasure. I don't want dragon's blood all over my gold.”
“And the king's share?” Horace asked.
“Pity,” Vantor told him, “but the dragon had a very poor hoard. A goblet, a small chest filled with coins, a few inferior gems.”
“A pity indeed.”
Meg nearly jumped up yelling at these words of treachery.
“Go and get the others while I fetch a few of those dragon bones to make it look good,” the prince said.

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