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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, brushing 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 shifted 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.” Laphroig spit out the name distastefully. “Whatever is the matter with him?”

As the words left his mouth, a huge shadow fell over the assemblage, 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 gratitude.

“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 massive 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 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 shifted 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 institution. 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 associate 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 shifted 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 grass 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 bumped 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.”

Although she was pretty sure by now that talking was the only thing keeping her would-be captors at bay. She had to find a way to break this off without provoking an attack, and then she had to find a way for both Thom and herself to leave.

She wondered suddenly what had happened to Edgewood Dirk. She had thought the Prism Cat would be there to help her at this point. But it appeared he had abandoned her in the same way as Strabo. She regretted anew that she hadn’t done a better job of keeping loyal Haltwhistle at her side. He would never have left her.

“Haltwhistle,” she whispered to herself in a voice so low that even Thom, standing right next to her, couldn’t hear.

“Lord Laphroig,” His Eminence called. “Let’s put our differences aside long enough to deal with the Princess. She remains our common enemy and the lure by which we might still trap her father. You and I can settle up later, once she is incapacitated.”

Laphroig seemed to be thinking it over, and now Rufus Pinch was turned toward her, too, crossbow pointed. Mistaya saw her window of opportunity slipping away. She had to do something, and she had to do it right now.

Suddenly she saw Haltwhistle standing just at the edge of the trees behind His Eminence and Laphroig, hackles raised. She took a long moment to register his presence, to make certain she wasn’t mistaken. But there he was, good old Haltwhistle, not an apparition but the real thing.

She took a deep breath. “Haltwhistle,” she whispered a second time, and the sound of his name almost made her cry.

“Mr. Pinch?” His Eminence called softly.

In the next instant, everyone moved at once. Pinch released the trigger on the crossbow, Laphroig flung the dagger, and His Eminence leveled a dark charge of magic with lightning quickness. Mistaya retaliated with her own magic, already waiting at her fingertips, to protect both Thom and herself, and as she did so she felt Thom slam into her, knocking her aside. As all of this was happening, she saw Haltwhistle’s hackles turn to frost and his magic lance out in a sudden rush.

Dagger, crossbow bolt, and magic seemed to arrive at the same moment, exploding in front of her in a cloud of smoke. The force of the explosion sent her sprawling, so she didn’t see clearly what happened next, except that the confluence of magic and dagger and crossbow bolt seemed to rebound from her own defenses and carom away, sharp flashes indicating results she could not make out. She found herself sprawled on the ground, the stench of His Eminence’s powerful magic raw and pungent in her nostrils, the heat of it layered against her skin. She lay stunned for a moment, entangled with Thom, who had also been upended by the attack. Struggling to disengage, she tried to peer through the clouds of smoke and the mix of random flashes to see what had happened, but everything was obscured.

As she scrambled to her feet, she took a deep breath of air that was suddenly sharp and bitter and assailed her mouth and nostrils with suffocating power. She tried to fight it off, failed, and lost consciousness.

She came awake with a blinding headache. Everything seemed hazy and a bit vague, as if she were viewing it through gauzy curtains.

“Mistaya!” Thom whispered from somewhere far away. She felt his hand squeeze her arm. “Are you all right?”

She wasn’t entirely sure, but at least she could breathe again. She opened her eyes and looked into his. “Are you?”

“The dagger missed me,” he replied.

She wasn’t so sure how that could be. Right at the last, he had tried to save her and put himself in the path of the blade. It hadn’t looked to her, in the split second she’d had to witness the attack by his brother, that it could have missed him. But maybe her magic had deflected it.

Haltwhistle nudged into view through the haze, his hackles lowered again, his coat smooth. Things must be all right after all, she thought. She sat up slowly and smiled. “Good old Haltwhistle. I’m so sorry for not taking better care of you. I won’t do that ever again.”

The mud puppy’s beaver tail wagged eagerly as he sat down close by, but safely out of reach. If he didn’t think there was any danger, there probably wasn’t. With Thom helping, Mistaya climbed back to her feet, searching for her adversaries, the last wisps of smoke wafting away on the breeze.

Then she saw Laphroig. He was standing approximately where she had last seen him, one arm raised in the follow-through of a throwing motion, his face twisted with anger. He wasn’t moving.

Chances are he wouldn’t ever move again.

He had been turned to stone.

She looked farther around the clearing. But there was no sign of Craswell Crabbit and Rufus Pinch.

“What happened here?” Thom asked quietly.

Mistaya didn’t know. It was entirely possible, she decided, that she never would.