"How about 'are'? That's the loyalist barons, I take it. Who do they have with them? A powerful wizard? If they do, he might be the one who pulled me here."
"Throe estimates are accurate." Stegoman eyed him warily. "Malingo cannot progress against the barons, nor can they gain an ell of land toward Bordestang. Thou riddlest well from tiny rhymes."
Matt almost blushed. "So the situation isn't a total conquest, it's a precarious balance. Astaulf and Malingo have the throne, but the barons have the people and a sizable chunk of the land. And I'd guess they're pretty evenly matched. So if you don't want that balance, introduce a random factor - me - to upset the apple cart. "
"Aye," the dragon rumbled suspiciously, "but who would wish that most?"
"The barons," Matt said promptly. "Malingo has the upper hand, right now. For the barons, anything that breaks the stalemate is welcome, provided it doesn't come from Malingo."
"A fascinating theory." Stegoman nodded. "But it trips and stumbles on one point: the barons have no wizard."
"None?" Matt's eyebrows shot up.
Stegoman shrugged impatiently. "Oh, they have a few of minor power - holy men, monastery abbots and the like. But no great wizard."
"Hmm." Matt bit his lip. "You sure?"
"I am. Their strongest asset is the princess, and she's imprisoned."
"Princess?" Matt's head snapped up. "What princess?"
Stegoman sighed. "I forget how newly thou art come. Still, 'tis strange thou hast not heard of her."
"I've been a little busy. Who is she?"
"King Kaprin's daughter. Rightful heir to Merovence's crown."
"I'm surprised she's still alive."
"Be not. She is a lass of beauty. And Astaulf bums to have her."
"What's stopping him?"
"Malingo. He plans further ahead than Astaulf. To marry her would give the usurper legitimacy - but only if she comes unsullied to him, so that the marriage may be duly solemnized. And she'll not wed him."
"I don't blame her. And come to think of it, I did hear Astaulf say something about an idiot girl in the dungeons. I gather he's getting impatient."
"Quite," Stegoman said grimly. "Six months agone he moved her to the dungeons with the rats. Rumor says he speaks now of torture. But she will have none of his plan."
Matt nodded approval. "A girl with guts." He turned away, stroking his chin. "A real, live princess in durance vile!"
Stegoman regarded him with jaundiced eyes. "Thou hast a scheme in mind, man?"
"Matt," Matt said absently. "We ought to be on a first-name basis by now."
"Matt," the dragon conceded. "Thy scheme?"
Matt shrugged. "It's not really a scheme. I'm just wondering which is better - to wait here for Malingo to come and pull the plug on me, or to go looking for trouble when I have a good excuse."
Stegoman was quiet for a moment, chewing that one over. Then he sighed and rattled his spinal plates. "Thou hast the right of it, I fear; there's nothing to be looked for here. But how dost thou mean to leave this cell?"
"By going from bad to verse. Poetry got me into this fix; poetry should get me out."
He was silent, thinking for a moment. The dragon eyed him warily.
Then Matt began to recite:
He took a breath to go on to the second verse-just in time, for the dragon to blast out, "Hold!"
Matt leaped aside from the gout of flame, deciding Stegoman was a bit perturbed. "Yeek! Uh-was it something I said?"
"Nay, what thou wast about to say." Stegoman's eyes glowed in the candlelight. "Thou wast about to leave this cell!"
"Well, sure. I mean, we talked it over, didn't we? And decided -"
"That challenging blind fate would better suit thy taste than awaiting certain doom within this chamber. Aye, 'tis so! Yet didst thou think that dragons are more partial to such cramped and noisome quarters than are men?"
"Oh." Matt bit his cheek in consternation. "Sorry. I was in a little bit of a rush, wasn't I?"
"Aye, and thou wast near to making waste - of thee."
"I see your point." Matt eyed the dragon's cocked and loaded snout. "Well, suppose I get you out of here first? Any particular place you'd like to be?"
"Anywhere, so it be wide and free and open."
"The plains, then." Matt rolled up his sleeves. "How about next to a stream?"
"Stream, flood, or bog, I care not one whit! Only put me there!"
Matt nodded and began,
Air imploded with a padded thud, and the cell was empty, except for Matt and the giant candle, flame streaming in the wind. He drew a long, shaky breath; he'd felt forces gathering around him again and was more certain than ever that they had been molding themselves to his words, somehow.
Idly, he wondered why there should be weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in, right after the line about enameled skin. It hadn't made that much more sense in the original, really - but Shakespeare had put it in, so who was he to turn it down?
Back to the matter of the moment - how had that prisoner verse gone again?
He felt it beginning again - a gathering of forces, like static electricity around a lightning rod, before the faint spark flew.
The feeling was much stronger now, with something slightly ominous about it. He wondered, fleetingly, what would happen if he built up a field as strong as this, then couldn't think of an imperative, a directing phrase, a route for the magic field's discharge.
Come to think of it, what was he going to use for an imperative to this verse? Umm.
A silent, invisible explosion blasted him; the floor seemed to slide sideways beneath his feet, and a huge hand squeezed him, then let him go. He looked up, panting, amazed to find himself dripping with sweat, and saw the princess.
CHAPTER 4
She was tall, about five feet ten, with long blond hair flowing down over her shoulders, curling out in smooth, full billows over high, firm breasts, then falling almost to her waist. She had an oval face, with clear, pale skin, arched, delicate eyebrows over large, long-lashed blue eyes, a straight nose with a hint of up-tilt, full and very red lips, and high cheekbones. She was by far the most beautiful woman Matt had ever seen.
And that was without a bath - or a decent dress, for that matter. She was wearing muddy maroon rags that once might have been a long, tight-sleeved kirtle under a tight-laced, scoop-necked bliaut with wide, hanging sleeves.
At the moment, she was staring at him as if she were wondering whether he were an angel or a demon. Matt decided he'd better update her.