Deep, deep within the earth are sunk the dungeons of Castle Bonespire. Bleak is my prison cell. The walls drip with moss and the howls and screams of the other prisoners are my only companionship throughout the endless nights. The hideous form of the Dark Wizard who rules this place is branded in my memory. Taller than a man, with a face like iron and a cruel smile, he snatched me from my chambers at my father's castle and brought me, flung senseless across his saddlebow, to this place. Surely he means to torment me, or even worse, to marry me and make me his dark bride! I pray each day that my father will send a champion to rescue me. But the days grow long . . .
I have never been so bored in my entire life. Thank goodness at least I had my diary in the pocket of my nightgown when I was kidnapped or I really would just expire right here on the floor. If only I hadn't gotten up in the middle of the night last week with a truly remorseless craving for butter tarts. If only I hadn't decided to sneak downstairs to the kitchen. If only I'd guessed that the night guard in the kitchens was in the pay of the Dark Lord Vexor. Ah, well, as my father always says, it's no use wailing over things you can't change.
All right, so my previous entry wasn't entirely accurate. My prison cell isn't damp, it's quite dry, with clean straw on the floor. There's a window, although it's covered over, so I might not actually be in a dungeon. I have no idea how I got here but I think it was probably by magic and not on a horse. As far as I can tell, there are no other prisoners, and if there are, they certainly aren't doing any screaming. Vexor is actually quite short, and if he has a cruel smile I haven't seen it. He comes by sometimes just to stare and look grim, but I can hardly see his face at all because he keeps his hood pulled down over it. For all I know he might be quite handsome, although I doubt it. If he was handsome he'd probably have a more cheerful disposition and then he wouldn't have any need to go around kidnapping people now would he?
Today counted all individual bits of straw in pile on floor. Counted up to 4,325 when Vexor came in and made me lose count. He still had his hood pulled down but I could see a little of his face. He has quite an ordinary chin for a dark wizard.
He was frowning. "Princess," he said, "another week has passed, and still no word from your father. Your doom draws nigh."
"I told you already he isn't going to send word," I said crossly. "It's not the done thing. They send their champions instead. He's probably holding tournaments right now to find the boldest and bravest knight for the task."
"And when his knight fails?"
"You are conceited, aren't you? He might not fail, you know."
"He will fail," said Vexor. "First he must pass the impassable mountains. Then he must defeat my troops, who are massed on the plain below." His tone was condescending. "As you can see, they are fearsome in number, and mighty in—"
"Actually, I can't see anything of the sort. I only have one window, and you bricked it up."
He looked sort of surprised. "I did?"
I pointed at it in an accusing manner.
"Oh," he said.
He shuffled around for a bit, and then he left.
When I woke up this morning, the bricks were gone out of the window. I have a view! I can see the front of the castle, some mountains. A little bit of drawbridge over a gorge and a sort of courtyard thing with a well in it. Am obviously miles from anywhere; no surprise there.
I can see troops practicing down on the plain in front of the castle—my sisters would call it a greensward, but it really is just a plain. They're all carrying Vexor's banner, which is a sort of snake with ropey things poking out the eyesockets. Quite nasty. And doing little marches in tandem.
Bread and jam again for lunch today. Every day, a little slot opens up in the door, and an Unseen Hand puts food through it. At least I expect I'm supposed to assume it's an Unseen Hand, and be properly terrified because after all, magic and all that. I'm just glad it's bread and jam. The first few days it was gruel.
Vexor came by again today and interrupted me while I was watching the soldiers practice. He just waltzed in and stood there sneering until I noticed he was there.
"Gazing out the window," he said darkly. "But of course. Waiting for your bold rescuer to appear?"
"I'm sure he's coming," I said airily. "He's probably been delayed by the rain."
The sky had been cloudless for days. Vexor gave me an odd look.
"I don't see why you care what I do anyway," I said. "All you want is my father's money."
"All I want," Vexor corrected me, "is the overthrow of the High King."
This was news to me. "You do?"
"Yes. And if I need more money to raise a proper army, than I'll just have to get it however I can."
"Including kidnapping helpless girls?"
Vexor made an indignant noise. "Spoiled princesses whose families grow fat off the backbreaking toil of their peasants—"
"I AM NOT FAT."
"Not yet," he said, eyeing me coldly.
"No wonder everyone hates you," I muttered. "I've heard peasant mothers keep their children in line by threatening them that if they misbehave, Vexor will get them."
This appeared, inexplicably, to enrage him. "What?" he sputtered. "Why, that's—that's outrageous!"
I blinked at him. "It is?"
With a grunt, he stalked away from me, over to the door. Which by the way, is double-planked oak with iron fittings. I kicked it a whole bunch of times the first day I was here and I didn't even make a dent. "I bid you good day, Princess."
"Well, all right, but I don't see what you're upset about, I really don't."
He paused for a moment, staring at the door. "No," he said finally. "You wouldn't."
Have discovered that if I wedge myself right into the window frame I can see down into the courtyard where the minions are having their practice maneuvers. Is just like watching the soldiers practice at home, except that here they keep their helmets on all the time, probably because of being so evil and unsightly and all that. I do enjoy watching the practice though. I used to watch the soldiers all the time at home until Father said it wasn't proper for a princess to hang about where men were getting all sweaty, especially not when they should be attending to their own training.
I have started to be able to tell the minions apart by number of stripes on their helmets. There's a little one I'm quite fond of; the other ones are always beating him in single combat during the practice sessions but he always gets up gamely and carries on. I've started calling him Tiny, because he's the smallest and hasn't got any stripes at all. Today he had to fight an absolutely monstrous brute in a helmet with horns on it.
I got so carried away watching that I started shouting encouragement down to him: "Right, parry right! Can't you see he knows you always attack from the left?" They all jumped about six feet in the air and stared up, trying to figure out where the noise was coming from. A couple of them pushed their helmets back. Very disappointing, really, everyone always said that Vexor's army was made up of red-eyed demon fiends, but they looked ordinary enough to me. I ducked right down out of the window before they saw me.
Damn and blast. Vexor came stomping by in a complete strop. "I'll thank you not to shout at my soldiers!" he ranted, clomping up and down in my cell in his great big iron-studded boots. "Boris almost got his ear taken off thanks to you!"
I wondered if Boris was Tiny, or the one in the spiky headgear. "They were doing it all wrong," I said sulkily.
Today his hood had slipped back. I could see his eyes. They were dark and flashing with rage. "And how would you know?" he demanded. "What training have you got? Attack needlepoint? Assault with a deadly spool? Killer embroidery?"
"It is apparent to me," I said coolly, "that you have some very outmoded views of what it means to be a princess!"
Vexor cut me off with a wave of his hand. "And I suppose that's why you're still here, waiting to be rescued?" he sneered.
"Well, it would be rude to Father if I just left," I said reasonably, "after all that trouble finding a champion."
"You are deluded," he said, quite peevishly.
"At least I know what proper weapons training looks like," I said. "If you don't arrange your troops with some gaps in the front lines, there's no way the secondary forces can move up while the first line of defense retreats."
Vexor stared at me and for a brief moment I thought he was going to ask me something else. But instead he just grunted. "Don't talk of matters of which you know nothing," he snarled, and clanked away.
Rained all the past three days and so there was no practice. Finally the sun came out a bit this afternoon, and when I climbed up on the windowsill I nearly got the shock of my life. Vexor was out there on the greensward, looking all dark and spindly in the sunlight, and there were the troops marching with gaps in their formations. I couldn't believe it! He'd completely nicked my idea, after telling me I didn't know what I was talking about!
I almost yelled "Oi!" down at him when I realized, with a sobering sort of heavy feeling in my stomach, that I'd just given perfectly good battle advice to the sworn enemy of the High King, the most evil wizard in the entire kingdom. Father was right, I need to think before I talk. I crawled down from the windowsill feeling chastened indeed.
Am refusing to watch the practices. Too hard not to shout advice down. I tried ducking out of sight when they all looked up, but this morning Vexor caught me and gave me a cheeky little wave. I hope Boris accidentally hits him with that pikestaff.
For the first time today Vexor actually knocked before he came barging into the tower. It was a bit pointless since it's not as if I can open the door but I suppose it's the thought that counts.
He came in, fidgeting slightly. "Princess," he said.
"Yes?"
"I just wanted you to know that I don't mind you watching the practices," he said abruptly. "Your advice—it was very good advice."
I continued to stare at him haughtily.
"I'm sorry I said you didn't know what you were talking about," he said, all in a rush.
I felt somewhat mollified. "All right."
"So." He had begun to play with a loose thread on his cuff. "Which one do you think is the best?"
"Which one of what? The minions?"
"They're soldiers."
"Whatever." I screwed my face up thoughtfully. "Well, Tiny could be good except for always feinting from the left, and there's the two that always fight together, they'd be hard to beat. Really all of them need—" I broke off. "Wait. You're choosing a champion, aren't you?"
"Yes," he said.
"I can't help you," I said, shaking my head. "I can't help you pick which one of them is going to go out and kill innocent people—"
"Do you know what the first day of every month is in the Four Kingdoms?" Vexor interrupted me, sounding strained.
"No."
"Tax day," he said. "And you know what the High King does to anyone who can't pay their taxes? He has them whipped, unless they can find a champion to fight for them. Of course if they could afford a champion, they could afford the taxes. You see how it is."
I started shivering. "I don't believe you," I said angrily. "The High King wouldn't do that and anyway, what do you care? It's not like you're above terrorizing the peasantry—"
"I've never terrorized anyone!" he yelled suddenly. "Those are just stories I spread so that the High King would be afraid of me!"
"You're trying to trick me." I put my hands over my ears. "Just go away and leave me alone! Go and—and be evil, or whatever it is you do!"
He stood very still for a second. "As you like," he said finally, and swept me an awfully formal bow—a real prince would have been impressed. Then he stalked out of the room leaving me feeling very out of sorts indeed.
Tonight I was woken up out of a pleasant dream about running Vexor over with a bricklayer's wagon by an enormous crash. I leapt to my feet brandishing a handful of straw only to see a young man in bright white and gold mail lying sprawled on the stone floor under the window, completely tangled up in rope.
I ran over and dropped down next to him. I had a horrible feeling he was dead, but as it turned out, he wasn't. He groaned as I rolled him over and looked up at me entreatingly. The first thing I noticed was that he was very handsome, with springy gold curls and eyes the color of violets. The second thing I noticed was that there was a sizeable arrow sticking out of the upper part of his leg. All around it the white mail was edged in red.
I knew I was supposed to address him as "Brave and valorous knight" but I was too startled and the sight of the wound was giving me a terrible fizzing sensation in my ears. I panicked. "Are you all right?"
"Fair maiden," he gasped, looking pained, "I lie wounded."
I rather thought this was obvious, but it would have been rude to point it out. "How did it happen? What can I do? Does it hurt? Who are you, anyway?"
"I am Prince Rupert, sixteenth son of the High King Edmund, and I have been sent by your father to rescue—"
He broke off with a gurgle. He was turning a luminous shade of green. I didn't think it was likely he would be rescuing anyone soon. "Of course you have," I said soothingly. "What happened?"
"Minions of the Dark Lord," Prince Rupert wheezed. "Shot me as I was climbing up the wall."
"You poor brave thing," I said comfortingly. "Just hold on a tick and I'll get that arrow out of your leg."
He looked alarmed. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?"
I nodded. "I've read plenty of manuals on field medicine," I assured him. "I know you're supposed to pull the arrow out right away. Or push it through the other side," I added, more thoughtfully. "I'm not sure exactly. I suspect it rather depends how the arrow's fletched and all that. Still, no time to waste."
He protested weakly. "I'd really rather you didn't."
"It'll go septic if I don't."
"I'll take that chance."
"Oh, don't be such a baby," I said, and yanked the arrow out.
"Auugh," said the Prince, and fainted dead away. There was a quite a lot of blood, too. I tossed the arrow aside and started ripping strips off the hem of my skirts for bandages. I'd made a tourniquet and was just tying the last bandage extra tight when the door opened and about twenty minions came pouring into the room, the Dark Lord on their heels.
The oddest thing about it was that I couldn't help feeling as if Vexor was somehow disappointed in me. He kept looking at the window and then at me and then at Rupert, and glaring. I don't know what he was astonished about; I told him my father's champion was on his way.
"You did say your father's wrath would be swift," he said, eyeing poor Rupert, who was still bleeding profusely onto the straw. "I suppose I had not expected it to be quite so inept."
I stuck my chin in the air and didn't say anything. A princess knows when certain things are below her dignity.
Vexor snapped his fingers and his minions snapped to attention. "Chain him up," he ordered, indicating Rupert. "Strip him of his weapons and armor."
"But he's bleeding!" I protested. "He might die."
"It appears to me," said Vexor, "to be a flesh wound merely," and with a curt nod, he swept out of the room.
Once Vexor had gone, the minions stripped poor Rupert of his armor and took his sword, his shortsword, his daggers, and even his nail-studded boots. Then they manacled his ankle to the floor and clanked off sniggering, the brutes.
I sat down next to him on the straw and pondered our tragic fate. Perhaps Rupert and I were doomed to die together at the hands of the Dark Lord, our relationship unconsummated and, I had to admit, largely nonexistent. He seemed a nice enough bloke and he did have cheekbones like knife blades, but I had to admit that, strictly speaking, we had not yet become close. Still, I had pulled an arrow out of his leg and in all the ballads that always signals True Love. Tired of watching him sleep, I reached out and shook him by the shoulder.
He came awake with a groan. "Roderick, I told you I wanted to sleep in—" His eyes focused on me and he let out another groan. "It's true then, isn't it? I've been captured by the Dark Lord?"
"Yes, unfortunately," I said. "But take heart, brave knight. We may yet escape."
"I hardly see how," he said peevishly. "You pulled that arrow out of my leg, didn't you?"
"Yes." I beamed and waited for thanks.
His sculpted lip twisted into a frown. "If your hamfisted attempts at medical treatment leave me with an unsightly scar, your father had better be prepared to handsomely recompense me for my mental anguish." His blue eyes scanned the room. "Where are my belongings?"
"The Dark Lord took them," I told him.
He collapsed back on the straw. "Then we are doomed," he moaned. "My enchanted armor! My inlaid daggers! My sword Durendal, that can cut through anything! I am helpless without them!"
"You named your sword?" My father always said that only prats named their swords.
He gave me a very unpleasant look. "Yes, and what of it?"
"Nothing," I said.
"I didn't actually think I'd be chosen as champion," Rupert confided suddenly. "I thought, why not try out? Seemed like a lark and there's not much to do if you're a sixteenth son, even if your father is the High King. And then I was picked and the money was pretty good. I couldn't say no. I suppose I wasn't thinking realistically. I never do. And now look. Cut off in my prime, not even twenty yet, ignominiously laid low by the blade of the sneaking enemy . . ."
I wanted to point out to him that it was his own fault for trying to crawl in the tower window in broad daylight and that the enemy hadn't been so much sneaking as simply doing their jobs. But I couldn't get a word in edgewise. He was already complaining about how if he ever recovered he'd probably limp forever and Vexor was probably off somewhere trying on his mail and stretching it all out of shape. For someone so handsome, he has an awfully squeaky voice.
Rupert continues to be useless. I thought he might get a bit better once his leg healed up, but he hasn't. He just lies on the straw and rattles his chains and sometimes he turns his face to the wall and murmurs that death befits a prince better than vile imprisonment.
"You know," I said to him today, "we should really work on escaping."
He gave me a hateful look. "If you hadn't noticed, Princess, I'm chained to the floor, and helpless without my weapons and armor."
Because you were so much use with them, I thought darkly. "Well, I'm not chained to the floor. The least you could do is help me think of a way for us both to escape. You're a prince and a hero, you must have escaped from dungeons before."
"This isn't a dungeon."
"You know what I mean."
He turned his face to the wall. "Leave me alone. I am disgraced, ruined. You're just a girl, you couldn't possibly understand."
I ignored this. "There's no way out through the window, since I can't possibly climb down and anyway, I'd be seen. It has to be the door. There must be some way to pick those locks. . . ."
"There isn't," muttered Rupert, who had been pretending to not listen.
I ignored him. I already knew that the door was three feet thick at least and made of oak. I supposed I could try to take Rupert's belt buckle away from him and tunnel through it, but it would take at least ten years to make it through to the other side. Maybe I could tunnel under it . . . ?
Then again, Father always said that the best way to deal with a seemingly insoluble problem was to try to look at it from the opposite side. An idea popped into my head.
I snapped my fingers. "Give me your belt buckle."
"What? No. You're mad. What could you possibly want with my—get off me! Thief! Madwoman! Leave me alone!"
It wasn't nearly as hard to take the hinges off the door with Rupert's belt buckle as I'd thought it would be. They popped off so quickly that for a moment I was worried that the door would swing out and hit me in the head, but it didn't.
"You can't just leave me here!" Rupert wailed as I levered the door open and slipped through the gap. "I'll scream until the guards come! You'll get caught!"
I popped my head back into the room. "Be quiet. I'm just getting the keys to unlock your manacles. I'll come back."
Rupert looked unconvinced. "You'll probably get caught and killed anyway."
"Then you won't be any worse off than before."
The hallway outside was bare with a vaulted ceiling and torches spaced at intervals. It was quite clean and neat; Vexor had good housekeeping. I took a torch down off the wall and crept down the corridor.
All the halls seemed to be deserted. I was just congratulating myself on my stealth when I turned the end of the corridor and smacked directly into a guard. I nearly knocked him over; he gave a bellow of surprise, righted himself, and came at me yelling and waving his sword.
I was hastily backing up when I realized from the striped helmet and the dimunitive size that this was Tiny. He swung the sword up and came at me from the left, but I was prepared—I ducked out of the way and hit him over the head with the torch. He went down with a grunt and strong smell of singed ear hair.
"I told you not to always feint from the left," I said severely, and bent down to grab him by the feet.
He was very heavy to drag and I'm afraid I hit his head against several uneven steps before I found a door, pushed it open, and hauled him inside. It was only after I'd dropped his feet and straightened up and looked around that I realized I'd wandered straight into Vexor's private chambers.
They were really quite plain. There was a long table covered with maps of the Four Kingdoms, some couches, and a high black bed hung all around with long glimmering curtains. They had the constellations picked out across them in silvers of what looked like either diamonds or glass. The bed was empty. I wonder where he is, I thought, turning around nervously.
It was then that I caught sight of him, wrapped in his black robes, lying prone across one of the couches against the wall. I was too shocked to scream, which turned out to be a good thing for two reasons. The first was that he was fast asleep. The second was that lying on the floor by the couch was Prince Rupert's sword and his mail armor, quite neatly folded.
I set the torch into a bracket on the wall and crept over to Vexor. I suppose I ought really to have been more frightened but he did seem so very asleep. Up close, without the mask on, he looked much younger and his hair was ordinary brown and in need of brushing. He had long eyelashes. If it hadn't been for the familiar boots and the black robes, I wouldn't have even guessed it was him.
I snatched up the mail and the sword and retreated to the other side of the room. Much as I would have liked a change of clothes, it didn't seem the time or place. I shrugged the mail on over what I was wearing—Prince Rupert wasn't that much taller than I was, so it only bunched a bit—buckled on the weapons belt, sheathed the sword, and, as an afterthought, pinched Tiny's helmet. I apologized to him when I did it; I had a feeling the other minions wouldn't be too pleased with him when he woke up.
The mail clanked so much that I was worried it would wake up Vexor, but he didn't stir. Which was a good thing because as soon as I slipped out the door, I discovered that the hallway was full of guards. Why, oh why, did they have to go everywhere together? Before I had a chance to go for my sword, the one in front spoke, "Oi! Boris! What's going on?"
He thought I was Tiny! I pitched my voice low. "Nothing," I grunted.
"Thorvald thought he heard a noise," the guard went on, eyeing me.
Thorvald was the huge one. I looked at him with loathing. "I was just . . ."
"Where's Vexor?"
"Not around," I said quickly. "Gone to visit relatives."
"I didn't know he had any," said Thorvald.
They really were useless, I thought furiously. "He left explicit orders," I said. "We're to practice our underwater fencing all afternoon until he returns."
"But none of us can swim!"
"Time to learn, then!" I cried. "To the lake!"
Thorvald took up the cry. "To the lake! Everyone!"
The tromp of their boots hid the noise as I quietly slipped away and back down the corridor. When I got back to the tower, Rupert was sitting up against the wall moodily chewing on a piece of straw. It fell out of his mouth when he saw me. "How . . . ?"
I swung the sword at his chains and it cut right through them as if they were butter. "We'd better go," I said. "All the minions are down at the lake practicing their underwater fencing, but I doubt they'll stay down there forever."
Rupert goggled at me. "I can't believe it!"
I allowed myself a smirk. "I know, I can't believe it either. I've rescued us!"
"No, I meant I can't believe you're wearing my mail! You'll stretch it all out of shape!" He rubbed his chafed wrists and eyed me resentfully. "Give it back!"
Seems like I haven't written in this diary forever but actually we've only been on the road a few days. Thank heaven we finally found a wayside inn. If I'd had to hear Rupert complain one more time that the dry mountain air makes his hair frizz, I would have chopped it all off in his sleep.
I'd say I've never had such a hard time traveling before, but the truth is I've never traveled anywhere much. I guess that's why all the villages looked so small and poor to me and the people so dispirited. Somehow I was expecting the peasantry to be a bit more hearty and cheerful. I said as much to Rupert but he just told me not to get too close to them because they probably have fleas.
On the third day I saw six or seven men and women being whipped in the central square of one of the villages. Over Rupert's objections I rode closer to ask the magistrate what they had done. He said they hadn't been able to pay their taxes that month. I couldn't help remembering what Vexor had said about the taxes being too high for people to pay them.
As we rode away I asked Rupert what the High King spends the tax money on. He scrunched up his face in thought. "Just the usual things," he said. "Concubines cost a lot more than you'd think. Peacocks. My mother's collection of gold swan boats." He reached out and petted me on the head. "Don't worry," he said, "younger sons aren't allowed to have concubines. When we get married, you'll have me all to yourself."
Rupert's finally gone downstairs for a drink; I think I'll have a bath while he's gone. I washed already, but I still feel dirty.
Fell asleep after my bath but was woken up shortly by the sound of drunken carousing. I could hear glass smashing, chairs being thrown, and loud yelling. I slid my feet into my boots and clomped furiously downstairs. The first sleep I've had in weeks that wasn't on dirty straw or hard ground and Rupert has to ruin it!
I thought maybe he'd gotten into a bar brawl—I could imagine any number of reasons someone would want to punch his smirking face—but it wasn't a brawl. It was just a bunch of drunken locals crowded around Rupert. He was sitting atop a table like the royalty I suppose he is, a tankard in each hand. "Of course the silly girl was no use at all," he was saying. "She was so grateful to be rescued she just wept and clutched onto my leg. It made it very difficult to fight my way through the crowds of the Dark Lord's soldiers, but I managed it. We did get into a spot of trouble when he imprisoned us, but luckily I had the bright idea of taking the hinges off the door . . ."
I though about stalking over there and upending a tankard in his lap, but it didn't seem worth it. There were tears in my eyes as I stumbled upstairs, not because I'd expected any better from Rupert, but because I hadn't. By the time I got back to my room my vision was swimming and I almost crashed into a small figure who'd been lurking outside the door, trying to look inconspicuous.
Even without the helmet I recognized him right away. "Oh," I sniffled. "Tiny! I'd better warn you," I added sternly. "I beat you once in combat, I can beat you again. You'd better leave me alone."
He paled. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Did Vexor send you to bring me back?"
"I don't know anyone named Vexor."
I poked him in the chest, where the snake insignia was embroidered over his pocket. "Don't be ridiculous."
"Oh, Vexor. All right, I do work for him. But I'm on vacation. Just passing through. Nice to have bumped into you again. It's a warm night, isn't it? I think I'll go for a walk."
"Tiny," I began sternly. "I know perfectly well you've been following me. Why? Because if Vexor's trying to kidnap me back—"
Tiny sighed. "He's not," he said. "He just told me to follow you to the border and look out for you. Report back if anything . . . happened to you."
"An unlikely story."
"Vexor's not such a bad sort," Tiny said, rubbing his bald spot thoughtfully. "I know he seems stern and forbidding and all that, but he means well, and he was kind of fond of you. He's just been moping out by the fountain every day since you've gone."
"You have to say he's not so bad. You're a minion."
"I'm not a minion," Tiny protested, with some spirit. "I'm a soldier. I applied for the job and everything. Vexor pays us all regularly and he never beats us if we don't pay our taxes. You can't say that for the High King."
I shuffled my feet around in my boots. "I suppose not."
He eyed me thoughtfully. "Vexor thinks the Prince isn't very likely to actually marry you," he confided. "He seems to think he's a bad lot, although possibly he just doesn't trust royalty."
"We're not all bad," I said. "Look, Boris—could you wait here for a moment? There's something I have to do." I smiled at his startled expression. "I'll be right back."
It only took us half as long to get back to Castle Bonespire as it had to leave it—apparently Rupert got us lost more than once. Tiny took the direct route, although he didn't mind me stopping in all the villages to distribute the contents of Rupert's purse to the peasantry.
Tiny said it was likely that the innkeeper back in town would be very displeased with Rupert when he found out that Rupert had no money to pay for his rooms, his food, or all the ale he'd drunk. At least he didn't have to worry about the cost of keeping his horse, since I stole it, along with Rupert's mail coat, his sword, and his boots, to which I had become oddly attached.
From a distance, Castle Bonespire actually looks quite pretty. Its towers stand out against the sky like lacework and the lake sparkles. I put on the mail shirt, buckled the sword on, took Tiny's helmet, and told him to wait for me on the far side of the crevasse. He waved at me as I galloped over the drawbridge.
A few of the soldiers tried to stop me as I rode in through the gate, but I batted them aside with the flat of my blade. I was very mindful not to hurt them and I think even the one that I knocked into the manure pile won't hold any hard feelings for very long.
There were a whole group of them chasing me by the time I got to the central courtyard. Vexor was there, sitting on the edge of the fountain with his chin on his knees, his black cloak blowing around him. He wasn't wearing his mask. He looked up as I rode in and his eyes widened. "You," he said, beginning to rise to his feet.
I pushed the visor on my helmet back. "Me," I said.
He looked astonished. "You," he said again, but in a very different tone. "What are you doing here?"
I slid off the horse and knelt down at his feet. "I have come to present myself as your champion," I said.
"What?" For a moment I thought he was going to topple into the fountain. He ran a hand through his untidy hair in a distracted manner, and stared at me. "No. You can't possibly."
"I don't see why not," I said. "I've escaped Castle Bonespire, defeated your minions in single combat—"
"They're not minions, they're soldiers."
"Whatever. How many people have ever broken out of your fortress? Not many, I bet."
"Certainly you are the first one who has ever come back afterwards," Vexor said dryly.
"That's because I want to be your champion," I said. "Fight for your cause. At least mostly. There are some details we need to work out, but they're minor."
Vexor sat down heavily on the side of the fountain. "What kind of details?"
"Well, I won't fight with you against my father," I said. "But I don't think that'll be a problem, because it seems to me your real fight is with the High King, and none of the other kings like him anyway. If you could get them on your side, you'd be in a much stronger position."
"But they hate me," Vexor said. "You said so. Everyone hates me. Even the peasants are afraid of me."
"Well, of course they are. Look at you, hiding up here in the mountains, wearing all black, dressing your minions—"
"Soldiers."
"Whatever. Dressing them up in snake helmets, calling yourself Vexor the Dark Lord. Would you trust a man called Vexor the Dark Lord?"
"If his cause was just, I would—"
I shot him a look.
"Probably not," he admitted. "I just thought it would all be easier if everyone was afraid of me."
"Not at all," I said. "You'll see when I take you to meet my father. I'm sure he'll like you much better than he would have liked Prince Rupert."
"Rupert is a smug weasel," Vexor said. "He's my cousin, you know."
"Is he?" I got up from where I had been kneeling and went to sit next to Vexor on the edge of the fountain. "What's your real name, anyway?"
He smiled. He had quite a nice smile. "Simon," he said.
"That's a lovely name." I scooted closer to him on the side of the fountain. "I was thinking," I said. "Maybe it would help if your men had more cheerful uniforms. Like, if they were blue. Or even pink."
Simon looked at me thoughtfully. "Pink minions?" he said.
"You mean soldiers."
He grinned. "Whatever," he said.