She stopped. “Do you think that’s enough, Addie? Rhys? Do you think I’m beating back Sir Gray Death?”
I was afraid she’d collapse, but I said, “I think Sir Gray Death hasn’t met your like before.”
Rhys agreed, and Milton helped her to bed.
“Bella, would you give us our lesson here today? I want it just as if—I want it. Tomorrow we’ll be back in the library. Tomorrow—”
“You should rest,” Bella said. “That’s today’s lesson—when people are sick, they rest.”
“Addie thinks I shouldn’t let Sir Gray Death gain sway over me.”
“She can’t give in,” I agreed, hoping I was right. “I think we should have our lesson. Can you go over the end of Drualt and the monsters’ assaults on Bamarre?” If anything could fortify Meryl against the Gray Death, that would.
Milton said a lesson would do no harm, so Bella called for servants to bring books and a table from the library. Rhys left us to go to the king’s councillors.
The servants brought in three chairs and arranged them around the table. Meryl walked the two paces to the table in ten slow, small steps. She sat, breathing hard. I unclenched my hands and saw white nail marks on my palms.
Bella opened Gryphons, Ogres, and Dragons: The Bamarrian Wars with Monsters. She took her spectacles out of her reticule and assumed her governess voice. “I hope you remember that King Alfred was the first king whose records have come down to us.” She began to read. “‘When he had been king for three years, a tribe of ogres laid waste . . .’”
In the First Ogre War, it had taken King Alfred five years to drive a horde of ogres back to the Eskern Mountain Range, which formed our northern border. During the reign of Alfred’s nephew, King Alfred II, the dragon Vollys began the raids on villages in the Bamarrian Plains that had gone on to this day.
When Bella paused, Meryl said, “Addie, do you remember what I said when Vollys carried off that farmer last year?”
I shook my head. I did remember, though. But I wouldn’t have been able to say it without weeping.
“I said I’d slay Vollys someday and eat her eggs in an omelet.” Meryl took a deep breath. “I’ll still slay her. I hope you’re listening, Sir Gray Death. I’ll still do it.”
“You’ll do it!” I said, wanting to keep her spirits up. And my own.
“Meryl,” Bella said, “a dragon would catch you as quick as look at you, illness or no. Vollys . . . Listen. It’s in this very lesson.” She began a long list of the dragon’s depredations—farms burned, livestock eaten on the spot, families carried off, knights roasted in their armor, castles plundered. And all the humans—dead, or never seen again.
Bella passed on to the Second Ogre War. At first Meryl sat straight in her chair and asked questions or offered opinions. But after a quarter hour she became silent, and her hand came up to grip the tabletop.
She mustn’t fall again! I stood. At the same moment Milton put down his knitting and went to her.
“You’ll be no worse for resting,” he said.
She nodded. “I think I’d be more comfortable in bed.”
Bella closed her book.
“Don’t stop the lesson.” Meryl leaned on Milton’s shoulder for the short trip to the bed.
I wondered if fighting the Gray Death was weakening her, or if she’d be even weaker if she weren’t fighting.
Or if the Gray Death was in charge, and nothing else mattered.
Chapter Nine
* * *
“SAY THE END OF Drualt, Bella,” Meryl said as Milton tucked the blankets around her. “That will give me heart.”
“Wouldn’t you rather sleep a bit?”
Meryl shook her head emphatically.
She still has some energy, I thought desperately.
“I only hope you aren’t sorry.” Bella reached for the library’s copy of Drualt. “You remember that Drualt is only nineteen when his story ends?”
Meryl and I nodded.
At this point in the epic, Drualt and his sweetheart, Freya, were battling the monsters alone. Earlier King Bruce’s army and even ordinary Bamarrians had fought alongside them. Together they had beaten the monsters back to the mountains, the desert, and the forest. But as time passed, people became less willing to risk their lives against monsters that rarely troubled them.
Bella said, “The final episode begins when Drualt and his sweetheart pitch camp outside the walled village of Surmic, in the Eskern Mountains. Drualt goes hunting, and Freya sets off to fish in the Surmic River.”
Meryl’s eyes were closed, but she nodded as Bella spoke. Milton set down his knitting and listened.
Bella continued. “When the hero returns, he hears Freya crying for help. He gallops to the river, where he finds her harried by a dozen gryphons—and not a single villager has come to her defense.
“I will begin to read now.
“Two gryphons lay dead,
Entrails spilling
On the riverbank.
Two gryphons staggered
And reeled, wings savaged.
Drualt laughed. His sweetheart
Was a doughty warrior.”
Meryl opened her eyes and pushed herself higher in bed.
“Eight gryphons still
Set upon Freya, feasting
On her living flesh.
Freya, down upon
Her dimpled knees,
Fought on, but
Her life’s blood poured
Into the roiling river.
Drualt’s laughter died, and
Nevermore did Drualt laugh
Or smile in Bamarre.”
Bella’s voice cracked, and she blew her nose into her handkerchief.
Meryl recited softly. But although her voice was weak, her delivery had as much feeling as ever.
“Though gryphons bit and clawed
And set upon him, too,
Drualt reached his sweetheart
And knelt and tried
To stanch the rush
Of her heart’s red blood.”
I began to cry. Today the loss of Freya was unbearable.
Bella took up the tale again. Drualt cradled Freya in his arms. He declared his love, and she spoke for the last time, saying she’d known he wouldn’t desert her. Then she died.
Tears streamed down my face. Meryl was crying too. I ran to her and hugged her.
“I don’t want to die,” Meryl sobbed. “I don’t want to die.”
Bella flew to Meryl’s other side. “Don’t cry, sweet.”
“Go on, Bella,” Meryl gasped between sobs. “I want to hear it. . . . Just wait . . . a minute . . . It’s doing . . . it will do me good.”
We waited. I forgot my own tears as we all watched Meryl cry into my shoulder.
After a few minutes she pushed away from me. “I’m all right now. Crying is part of the adventure. Go on, Bella.”
Bella took a moment to find her place. Then she began again.
“A monster pecked
At Freya’s dead lips.
Drualt arose in fury and
Slew it with one sweep
Of his angry sword.”
Drualt killed the remaining gryphons quickly. When they lay dead, the gates of Surmic village opened, and the villagers stepped out timidly. Drualt shook his fist at them.
Bella recited, deepening her voice:
“‘Come you now?’ roared the hero.
‘Come you now, when all need
Is past? Come you now,
When my love is dead?’
Frightened, the villagers
Drew back and whispered
Among themselves, their voices
Dry as salt.”
Drualt lifted Freya and turned from the villagers. He began to walk away, bleeding from his many wounds. An old woman hurried and caught up to him. She asked if he would return to their aid in times of need.
“Drualt told the crone,
‘Bamarre will see no more of me
&n
bsp; Until the timid
Go forth with the strong.
But while her heroes
Still fight alone,
Bamarre will see no more of me.’”
Meryl took my hands in hers, and I stroked her wrist with my thumb.
It was odd—I’d never before noticed the likeness between Drualt’s vow and the specter’s prediction of the Gray Death’s cure. Drualt wouldn’t return until the timid went forth with the strong, and the cure wouldn’t be found until cowards found courage. I wished for meaning that could help Meryl, but I saw only coincidence. Still, it was curious.
Meryl began to murmur along with Bella.
“Drualt went then
Into the mountains,
Carrying Freya,
Bold spirit, lost love.
And he was no more
Seen in Bamarre.
“Now, when specter haunts,
Or dragon flames,
Or ogre attacks,
Or gryphon descends,
Bamarre fights alone.
Drualt, the laugher,
Tall among men,
Is gone.
But the tale has not
Run out—not yet.
So be brave, Bamarre!
Go forth, Bamarre,
The timid with the strong.
Let not your heroes
Fight alone.
Then one day,
In the spring of the year
When monsters are hunting,
A hero will come,
A laugher,
Tall among men.
Drualt, hero of Bamarre,
Will return.
So rise up, Bamarre!
Be brave, Bamarre!
Be worthy, Bamarre,
Of your hero’s return.”
Bella closed Drualt. Milton wiped his eyes. I would have wiped mine, except Meryl still held my hands, and I didn’t want to pull away.
Chapter Ten
* * *
AFTER THE LESSON Meryl fell asleep. I went to my bedchamber, where I slumped on my bed, too tired even to cry.
Too tired! That was how Meryl had felt after she declaimed. I leaped up, terrified.
I ran out into the corridor. I saw Milton in the distance, trundling away from me. I called out to him, and he waited.
“Yes, Princess Addie?”
The elves had seen Trina’s stride and had known she was sick. Milton had watched me run to him, so he’d know by now.
“Milton . . .” I didn’t know how to ask. “Er, I don’t feel sick, but I’m so weary that I wondered . . . I wondered if—”
“You’re not sick with the Gray Death,” Milton said, smiling. “You’re not a bit sick.” When he smiled, his wrinkled cheeks became round as walnuts, and his eyes became slits of pleasure.
“Then why am I so tired?”
“Illness is exhausting, even when someone else is ill.” He reached up and touched my shoulder. “I often see this. People don’t feel safe themselves when one they love is—”
“Meryl won’t die.” I turned and hurried away, almost as fast as I’d run toward him a minute before. When I turned into the next corridor, I slowed down, and then I wandered outside into the garden.
After a few minutes I found myself in the old courtyard where Meryl had declaimed only yesterday. I sat on the wooden bench and looked up at the sky. It was still cloudy, but no rain had fallen. Could fate—or the ancient prophecy—be waiting, weighing Father’s actions, holding the skies in readiness? If he was brave, rain would fall and the cure would be found, but if he wasn’t, the cure would remain hidden and the skies would clear.
I watched a butterfly flit above the grass that poked up between the cracks in the paving stones. The butterfly flew off, and I stared at the ground. I don’t know how long I stared, not thinking, feeling nothing.
Eventually I lifted my head. The afternoon was over. The grapevines and the fountain stood out in the distilled light of dusk. The evening air was chilly, and I shivered.
“Sorcerers’ cloaks are very warm.”
I jumped.
Rhys draped his cloak over my shoulders. “It’s often cold when we fly.”
“Thank you.”
Had he been watching me for long? I wondered. No. Why would he?
I pulled the cloak close. It felt as warm as wool and as soft as velvet.
He came around to my side of the bench. “I have something to tell you. I’ve spoken with Orne, my teacher. I told him that Princess Meryl is sick.”
His teacher knew the cure! I sprang up. “Did he tell—”
“I didn’t mean to raise your hopes.” Rhys looked woebegone. “Orne didn’t know how to help her, but he said, ‘The wind is shifting in Bamarre.’ I asked him what that meant, but he only repeated it. I think it must be something good, because he almost smiled as he said it, and he almost never almost smiles.”
The wind . . . Maybe the shifting wind would bring the rain! And maybe something could be done to help the wind.
“Rhys? Remember yesterday when you made the cloud music and you made rain fall from a cloud? Could you make rain fall everywhere?”
“No. I wish I could. It’s a wonderful idea.”
“Could Orne?”
He shook his head.
“Could all the sorcerers together?”
“If there were clouds everywhere, which there wouldn’t be, and if there were enough sorcerers, which there aren’t. I can draw rain from only a few clouds at a time. Orne can command a mile of clouds, which is amazing.” Rhys looked amazed, but then his shoulders slumped. “But it wouldn’t be enough. I’m sorry, Princess Addie.”
“Never mind.” I sat down again.
“Princess Meryl is extraordinary,” he said. “If anyone can overcome the Gray Death, she can.”
“That’s what I think,” I said, although I no longer knew what I thought. “I wonder if Trina overcame it.”
He didn’t say anything. I turned to him, and his face gave him away.
“She died, didn’t she?”
He nodded.
“Oh.” Poor Trina. I wondered if she had tried my method at all.
“Princess Addie . . .” Rhys spoke rapidly, pacing back and forth across the courtyard. “I just thought of something. The cure prophecy could be fulfilled even if the king fails. It could be fulfilled, and you might not even know it.”
“How?”
“A stranger fifty miles from here could find courage. . . .”
There are hundreds of cowards in Bamarre, I thought. Thousands. “That’s true.”
“What’s more, the rain could fall late at night. It needn’t rain for more than a minute.” He smiled triumphantly.
I smiled back, feeling a bit more cheerful.
His smiled widened. But smiling mustn’t have been enough. He rose three feet in the air.
Then his face changed, and he came down. “It’s late. I must find your father’s camp. He’ll be expecting me.” He bowed, then launched himself. In a moment he vanished into the darkening sky.
The wind is shifting in Bamarre.
The prophecy had to come true sometime. Why not now?
The wind blew cold, and I pulled the cloak tighter. Rhys’s cloak! I still had it. I hugged it to me and left the garden.
The next day was cloudy yet again. Meryl paced ten laps in her bedchamber and then had to lie down. She tried to go to the dining hall at noon but was unable to walk as far as the grand staircase. She failed again to lift Blood-biter using only one arm, but she could still lift it with two.
It was unbearable to watch these minute accomplishments, to smile encouragement, when I wanted to hold her and squeeze her so tightly that my strength would flow into her.
My only consolation was that she was in no pain. She joked grimly that the Gray Death just killed, it never hurt.
Rhys returned early in the afternoon. He reported that Father had quartered the distance to Queen Seema’s castle. He and his retinue had thus far b
een untroubled by monsters. Father had forgotten his slippers, and Rhys was to bring them that evening.
On Sunday we saw the sun, although a few fluffy clouds remained. I told myself that sunshine didn’t matter so long as there were still clouds.
In the morning Milton asked Meryl and Bella and me if we’d like to hear an elf tale about Drualt.
“Yes, please!” Meryl said, sitting up a bit straighter.
Milton put his knitting down and went to the middle of the room. “We begin all our stories with these words: ‘Good health to you,’ and the same words are the refrain. Here is the tale.” He folded his hands over his little belly and began.
“Good health to you.
“It was spring and time for Queen Iola to bless the moily herb. She repaired to the field with her handmaidens.
“The sky turned black.
“Queen Iola heard the beating of many wings.
“A hundred gryphons blotted out the sun, cawing and screeching, flapping and wheeling.”
Milton flapped his arms and ran a few zigzagging steps, completely failing to look greedy or fierce. Meryl watched, smiling.
I thought, Thank you, Milton, for giving us a moment that has nothing to do with the Gray Death.
He took up the story again. The gryphons descended. Some feasted on the elves’ picnic lunch, and some devoured the harvest.
I interrupted. “I thought gryphons ate only flesh.”
“No, Addie,” Meryl said. “They eat almost anything.”
Milton continued,
“Good health to you.
“The gryphons began to feed on Queen Iola and her attendants.
“A gryphon snapped off the queen’s left thumb as she shielded her youngest handmaiden.”
I clasped my own thumb and held it protectively.
“Good health to you.
“Drualt rode by.
“He galloped to the queen’s aid.”