At this pronouncement, Chamum Te’efoon hooted with glee and clapped her hands, and all the Redcaps whooped in elation.
Olot let the shouting nearly run its course. Finally he raised his hands and called out, “Now let us get on with the ceremony, and it’s a formality, I know”-he grinned a tusky grin-“but does anyone wish to challenge this wedding?”
And even as Redcaps smirked at one another, from the back of the chamber a small voice said, “I do.”
35
Olot’s yellow Troll eyes flew wide in disbelief. “What?” he roared, glaring out over the assembly, looking for the miscreant.
“I do so challenge!” Camille cried out. “I challenge, for the prince is consort to me!” Shaking off Lanval’s restraining hand and gripping her staff, Camille pushed forward through the throng. As she emerged from the crowd to step toward the low dais, she cast off her head scarf, and her golden hair cascaded down. And many slaves-those from Summerwood Manor-now gasped in recognition.
“You!” cried Chamumi Dre’ela, rage in her eyes.
“You!” cried Olot, lust in his.
The Bear raised his nose in the air and snuffled, then rushed to Camille’s side, and she threw her arms about his neck.
Even as she hugged the Bear, Te’efoon roared, “And just who are you to make such a claim?”
Camille stood and called out, “I am the Princess of the Summerwood, consort of Prince Alain.”
“You claim to be his wife?” shouted Te’efoon. “Were banns posted, a king notified, perhaps the king of Faery?”
Camille stood defiantly, yet she said, “No. No banns. No notification of a king. Yet we are joined by the bonds of love and also by common law.”
“Ha!” shouted Olot. “Since I am the first cham, the first king, to know of this, I deny that a marriage between you and he ever took place.”
But Camille was not to be deterred, for she had finally captured the elusive thought that had skittered ’round the edge of her mind-a thought concerning the Fates and wagers and living up to the terms of a contest. She looked into the faces of all three Trolls on the dais-cham, chamum, and chamumi-and said, “Nevertheless, I do challenge.”
A great hubbub filled the hall, among slaves and Goblins alike, for this chit of a girl challenged a Troll.
A great smile swept over the faces of the Trolls, tusks gleaming greenly, and Cham Olot raised a taloned fist and said, “Then I name the terms: combat to the death.”
Rage in his eye, the Bear reared up on his hind legs and roared, his black claws ready to strike.
Goblins shrieked, and Dre’ela cried out in fear. Chamum Te’efoon leapt up to flee, her throne crashing over backwards. Olot quailed, thrusting his hands out before him, to ward off any coming blows.
And, lo! Scruff struggled up out of Camille’s pocket and took to wing! The tiny sparrow flew! Camille gasped in astonishment as up and ’round he circled, and then shot through a high window slit and away. Yet Camille had no further time to wonder, for even then the Bear took a step toward Olot.
“Remember my curse, Bear: if you kill me, then you die,” shouted Olot.
Camille reached out a hand, trying to stay the Bear, and she cried, “Oh, Bear, oh, Alain, I would not have you die. Better that it be me.”
But the Bear was not to be deterred, and took another step forward.
Olot threw up both hands. “All right, all right, not combat to the death. She can name the challenge, but I shall name the terms.”
At that, the Bear looked back at Camille, and she nodded.
The Bear dropped to all fours.
“One of the terms,” said Olot, looking at Camille, “is that whatever you choose, the means for such must be in this chamber.”
Again the Bear looked at Camille, and again she nodded, all the time her mind racing: What can I possibly challenge him with? A singing contest? No! Remember Chemine’s warning: “Let not this girl sing to Goblins and Trolls.” Besides, Trolls and Goblins no doubt think that croaking or roaring is splendid singing, and I can do neither, hence I would lose were one of Olot’s stipulations be that goblins would judge.
What about echecs? I am a fair hand at that game. We could use the squares of the stone floor as the squares of the board, and slaves and Goblins as the pieces. Ah, but the Goblins are the only ones with weaponry, and they would slay a slave every time Olot captured a piece, and surely he wouldn’t let the slaves bear weapons on their part. No, not echecs.
“Come, come, girl,” growled Olot. “Name the challenge.”
Camille looked at the Bear and then at the slaves, then turned to Olot and said, “Riddles. A game of riddles.”
The Bear settled back on his haunches, even as a murmur whispered through the slaves.
“You have named the challenge,” said Olot, “and these shall be the terms: again I say the riddle must concern something within this great throne chamber.” Olot laughed, his gaze sweeping about, for well did he know the room, free of debris though it now was.
A murmur of dissatisfaction rumbled through the slaves, for these terms meant that many a riddle could not be posed.
But Camille looked about the chamber and agreed.
“You ask; I answer,” said the cham.
Again Camille nodded, then she said:
“To and fro does it go,
A long thread trailing after,
Leaving weaving in its train,
The tapestry of the crafter.”
Olot looked stunned, glancing back at Chamum Te’e-foon and Chamumi Dre’ela. And Dre’ela held up the shuttle dangling about her neck and said to Camille, “This, you stupid girclass="underline" a weaver’s shuttle.”
Camille frowned and said to Dre’ela, “It was your father’s to answer, but this once I will accept interference.” Camille then turned to the cham. “Is that your answer, too?”
“It is,” said Olot, both cham and chamum beaming proudly at their very ugly offspring, Dre’ela simpering at Olot and Te’efoon in return.
“Perhaps you shouldn’t have listened to your daughter, sire, for you lose,” said Camille.
“ What? ” Roared Olot and Dre’ela and Te’efoon together. “What else can it be?” shouted Olot.
Camille pointed to the base of the overturned throne and said,
“To and fro does it go,
A long thread trailing after,
Leaving weaving in its train,
The tapestry of the crafter.”
And there under the throne a spider was repairing the last of its web, weaving back and forth between the legs of the upset chair of state. “The answer is a spider,” said Camille. “Now I’ll take my Bear and leave.”
Some of the slaves laughed at the cleverness of this chit of a girl, many of those from the household of Summerwood Manor clapping. But at growls from the Goblins and the brandishing of swords and spears the mirth was swiftly quenched.
“Three!” roared Olot. “You must pose three altogether, and should you lose even one, then you lose all. Those are the terms.”
At this the Bear growled, and so did some of the slaves, but Camille nodded her agreement, saying, “Three it shall be, my lord, yet this time and the next you and you alone must answer.”
The Troll cham glanced at his daughter and wife, and then at the golden-haired girl he would most dearly like to bed. Finally he nodded his agreement.
Camille again glanced about the chamber, and then she said:
“ ’Round and ’round ’tis spun,
On which the thread is wrapped;
’Round and ’round ’tis spun,
Until it is fully lapped.”
Chamumi Dre’ela pulled the golden spool on its cord from ’round her neck, and she began tossing it up and catching it, even as she stepped in front of her sire and glared at him and jerked her head toward the bobbin.
Olot looked at her and growled, “You were wrong the last time, daughter.” He gazed about the chamber, and then laughed and said: