So far, only three of the Princes had left for the mountain, which was something of a surprise to him. Curses were nothing to be sneezed at, and he wanted his taken off as soon as it could happen. The irritating fact was, if Leopold hadn't been obsessing over the loss of his gambling luck rather than figuring out what to do about the dragon, they themselves would have been halfway there by now.
He began to wonder if the bad-gambling-luck was the actual curse, or just a kind of side symptom of what was really afflicting his friend. This wasn't like Leopold at all. He was usually overflowing with optimism, not moping.
Looking at Leopold's tragic face, Siegfried made up his mind. This was ridiculous. He couldn't go on like this — not because having toads and frogs raining out of him with every word was all that bad, but because if he had to listen to Leopold moaning anymore, he was going to kill the man. It was time for him to take charge of the situation.
He put down the bucket, advanced on his friend and hauled him unceremoniously to his feet. Holding him by the collar, he shook Leopold vigorously and set him down again.
"Enough!" he said. "It won't be the end of the world as long as we go do something about it!" Five more toads landed on the floor. Leopold sagged back down onto the chair, and looked up at Siegfried in dazed shock. The Northerner stalked over to the arms rack, grabbed his sword and belt, and Leopold's, and threw Leopold's at him.
Reflexively, Leopold caught it. With a jerk of his head and a grunt — which only produced a hapless little tree frog he stalked out the door.
Leopold caught up with him at the door of the stables. Siegfried thankfully didn't have to say anything when he got there; the grooms were already waiting to saddle up horses for whoever turned up. It didn't look as if they were getting mouse-horses this time; what the grooms pulled out for the two of them were plain, sturdy brown beasts of the sort you might see pulling a farm cart. There evidently was a standard kit ready and waiting: saddlebags with provisions and a map to Sharpstone Pass. A glance at the map gave Siegfried one bit of good news; the Pass wasn't more than two days away.
Wordlessly, they mounted up and headed down the road on the map. It was easy enough to follow, and they spent an entire day in unwonted silence. It actually wasn't bad at first, if he didn't look back at his friend; Siegfried was used to traveling alone, and with Leopold hunched morosely in the saddle, obstinately refusing to do anything other than sigh, he might as well have been alone.
Still, having that giant lump of gloom trailing behind him began to wear on him after a while. Siegfried managed to keep from having to say anything until they found a spot to camp for the night — which was near enough to a stream that the poor creatures he was producing would be able to get to water easily.
Only then did he open his mouth.
"Are you done whining like a sulky brat?" he asked, producing a veritable flood of amphibians. It caught him by surprise; had the curse saved up an entire day's worth of toads to spill out as soon as he spoke?
"I think it's more than just losing my gambling luck," Leopold finally said, sounding — well, not at all like himself. Strained, but with something more under his voice. Panic, maybe? "I have this horrible urge to write poetry and learn to play the lute...."
Siegfried stopped catching frogs and chucking them in the direction of the water to turn to stare at his friend in absolute horror. Write poetry? Learn the lute? The Queen had warned them that there might be some curses that changed you — but — this could be bad. This could be very bad. "Please don't tell me you want to dress all in black," he said, aghast, as a couple more frogs dropped to his feet.
Leopold nodded, a haggard wariness coming over his expression. "Black...of course I want to dress in black. It suits the deep night of my soul. What rhymes with shadow?" he asked, then looked appalled. "I don't believe I just said that...."
In the back of Siegfried's mind, a tiny treacherous thought arose. It was obvious that Leopold was turning into one of those morose poet-princes, the sort that slouched around their Castles by night, slept by day and spent all their time trying to be Artistic and do what bards did, only do it half as well, if that. If I don't do anything, if I just leave in the morning without waking him, he'd never get there himself. He'd either go back to the Palace or just sit here moping. I'd get rid of him without ever actually doing anything to him —
Immediately, though, he stepped on that nasty thought and pounded it into submission. That was wrong; it was completely wrong. He and Leopold had promised to help each other, and he was not going back on that promise. Besides, Leopold as a poet? He wouldn't inflict that on the world; it was too cruel. No matter how tempting it was.
The bird was perched on a dead branch he'd driven into the ground near the fire where he could keep an eye on her. He hadn't spoken to her since he'd started this frogs-and-toads nonsense, but if anyone would have advice, it was likely she would. She was drowsing, having eaten some cake crumbs and a few insects she'd caught. He tapped gently on her branch, and she opened one eye.
Before he could ask for advice, she was already giving it to him.
"Try talking to him. The dragon, I mean," she said, and closed her eye again, settling back into her drowse.
Try talking to him? What kind of advice is that? It's a dragon! he thought indignantly. He was actually reaching for the branch to shake it, when he stopped himself.
Maybe that wasn't such a bad idea.
After all, the Godmother'd had to talk to the beast herself to get him to agree to this — though why a dragon would want cursed gold in its hoard — Wait, of course it would. If people think the dragon is sitting on a lot of cursed objects, they won't try stealing anything.
All right then. They'd try talking to it. What was the worst that would happen?
The worst that would happen would be we're stuck with these curses. No. No, I refuse to let that happen. I absolutely refuse to let that happen.
He glanced over at Leopold, who was hunting through their saddlebags.
"What are you looking for?" he asked with irritation, producing two toads and a big bullfrog.
"Paper. And something to write with. I thought of a rhyme for shadow."
It was going to be a long night.
The next day, Leopold was in the depths of despair because he didn't have anything black to wear, and there was no rhyme for ensanguined. Siegfried had to push him to do anything, he lost his temper multiple times, and another flood of toads marked every word.
That was when he got more avian advice. "You might not have noticed," the bird observed, "but the angrier you get, the more hoppers you produce. Maybe if you concentrate on feeling sorry for Leopold, you'll be able to take two steps without squashing a frog."
Siegfried stared at his bird blankly, then slowly nodded. He couldn't imagine how he had missed that simple fact, but there it was. He concentrated very hard on feeling grateful to the bird, and sorry for losing his temper. "Thank you. I'm sorry," he said humbly, and was rewarded by dropping a baby toad scarcely the size of a beetle.