Princesses Are Never Lost Page 4

  "It looks like there's a clearing in that direction." Princess Pointy-Ears pulled the hood of her cape over her head. "I shall go scout it and see. Wait here."

  "Nuh-uh. You're not ditchin' me here that easily. We go together." Selvi struck out in the direction the half-elf indicated, hacking at the underbrush with her scimitar.

  Gwenevrael sighed. "Could you be any noisier?"

  "Yeah, but now ain't the time to be singin' the grand history of the clan." Selvi could hum it though. She enjoyed watching those pointy ears twitch every time she hit an odd note. Orcish ballads were meant to intimidate others in battle, so their tunes were as offensively off-key as possible. The Academy's musical instructor had given up on Selvi within the week, the khan's daughter was proud to say.

  She was still humming when they reached the clearing. Then the atrocious noise got snorted all the way back up her nose and she coughed for a moment. The dim green light of the forest, filtered through branches high above, shone down upon a campsite. And not just any campsite, she noted. There was a tribal spear, its haft stuck in the ground and its point in the air. A pair of animal skulls hung from it by an old leather thong, along with a chain of colored beads and broken teeth. Selvi might not recognize the order of the pattern, but she knew an orcish camp when she saw one.

  "Hey, all-yallies!" she shouted in Orcish. "Selvi Khan's-daughter of the Clan Dungivadim demands the right to hospitality for herself and her pointy-eared slave girl!" Behind her, the half-elf was protesting, but not as loudly as she might. Selvi grinned. Someone obviously couldn't speak the fierce language of warriors.

  "What do you think you're doing?" Gwenevrael hissed.

  "Gettin' us a bit of help," she said. "Doesn't matter how isolated they are, all orcs know my father's clan." Selvi stopped five yards from the camp and waited for the response.

  No words came. Four bodies moved in the green twilight, and they certainly were orcish in shape, but they were silent. No mumbles, no grunts, and certainly no proper response to her call. They they turned to face her, and she could see why.

  They had no mouths. They hardly had faces, covered by endless folds of rough, bark-like skin. Or maybe it really was bark. The same stuff covered their arms and legs, and even their armor seemed more wooden than leather.

  Their weapons were wooden too, but that didn't make them any less dangerous. "Hey!" she cried, barely sidestepping the first orc's oversized club as it made its way clumsily down. Her scimitar snaked out, but before she could return the attack, a boot like a tree stump caught her in the belly.

  The ranger leapt over her as she fell, with her own short sword at the ready. Much like its owner's ears, the elfy little bar of silvery metal was too pointy and not nearly as sharp as the half-elf thought. Gwenevrael stabbed at the gnarled, bark-covered face of the first orc without so much as chipping the surface.

  "Well, this is another fine mess," Selvi griped as she raised her scimitar to block the next orc's unsteady blow. The only saving grace for them seemed to be that the enemy was half-blind from the disfiguring bark -- the same stuff that kept the princesses' hits from doing anything. The orcs were circled around them, and even flailing blindly they could certainly hit their targets now. Selvi aimed low, hacking at ankles and feet, while Gwenevrael stabbed at where eyes should be. It was like chopping at strangely ferocious trees, and about as fruitful.

  Five long notes echoed through the woods. Du-dee-du-der-doo! It could have been a hunting horn. The orcs all paused in place at the sound, and as one they shambled off to face the noisy newcomer.

  A bush beast crashed out of the undergrowth. Unlike the previous one, this living topiary was well trimmed and graceful in its movement, and in its shape it was an odd cross between a horse and a wolf. Upon its back was the figure of a knight, kitted in full armor and his face hidden by a helmet. A heavy mace, as wooden as the orcs' own gear, smashed one of them upside the head and sent it sprawling to the ground. Greenish sap oozed from the wound.

  The beast reared, clawing at the air with its front trunks, and an angry rustling filled the space between the trees. The remaining orcs grabbed their fallen comrade and hobbled away as fast as they could. The knight did not direct his steed to follow, but instead turned to face the two staring princesses.

  "Be ye fair, young ladies?" The voice boomed from behind that helmet, slightly hollow in tone. Now that she had a good look, Selvi could see that the knight's entire raiment was made of sanded wood, though she didn't know what type. She wasn't a pointy-eared tree-hugger, after all.

  "Fair enough," the pointy-eared tree-hugger replied. "And we thank you for your timely intervention. I fear those orcs would prove too much for us."

  Selvi snorted at that. "For you, maybe. I was a single good hit away from cuttin' down one of them."

  "Sure you were..."

  "Don't you go doubtin' the strength of these arms," the half-orc growled. "Or I'll be showin' it to you personally."

  Gwenevrael was quiet for a moment, and Selvi almost thought she'd won this argument, but when the half-elf faced her it was with clenched teeth and an angry glare. "You... you... conceited, big-toothed idiot! We are not in the eastern lands. This is not the khan's territory. You cannot just go in with your blade bared and blindly trust that everyone will be cowed into bowing down to your sorry butt!"

  Oh... those were fighting words if she'd ever heard them, and Selvi already had her scimitar out. The only thing keeping the blade from separating a pointy ear from that pointy head was the knight's heavy mace, which materialized between the two princesses faster than magic.

  "Ladies," the wooden voice boomed. "I know not what bad blood flows between you two, but ye shall not solve it with steel, but with words instead. Understand," he said to Selvi, "ye would not prevail against the Oaks. They have lost all semblance of thought and reflection, and barely hold to an understanding of pain and fear, little though they feel either. The forest has its roots deep in their souls. It is best if ye should quit this place ere it is too late."

  "Some of us are trying, sir knight." Gwenevrael's words were for him, but her glare was only for Selvi.

  "Hey, I want outta here, too!" the barbarian princess shot back. "And if we did it my way, we might be gone already. Why, my illustrious father--"

  "Your illustrious father isn't here. He has no idea where you are, and frankly I can't see why he would care," Gwenevrael spat.

  Selvi had always been one to prefer fists to words, so she was surprised by how much that felt like a sucker punch. There was a hollow pit in her stomach, ready and willing to devour her sinking heart. She tried to strike back, to hit Princess Pointy-Ears with even stronger words, but nothing came from her throat. From her eyes, she was surprised to feel the warmth of tears.

  "Certes, ye need to talk between the two of you," said the knight. "Take this." He took a twig from his armor, snapping it off and presenting it to Gwenevrael. "So that ye may call me in time of need. I cannot linger here, and ye need your privacy."

  "Th-thank you, sir knight," Gwenevrael said. Selvi managed to straighten up and nod her own thanks, though her voice still failed her.

  "Well, I am off! Good luck to you, and godspeed!" The knight leapt upon his leafy steed, and the two vanished into the foliage. The two princesses stared at the shaking leaves of its wake, and then at each other.

  "Talking, eh?" said Gwenevrael. "Where shall we begin?"

  Princess Gwenevrael, daughter of King Artundus of the Fifth Court and Duchess of the Lonely Grove, had never been so lost in her life. This wasn't even the normal sort of lost, which could be solved with a good elven-made map. Not even the greatest of cartographers could draft a chart to a person's heart, but that was exactly what she needed here.

  The khan's daughter sat on the log next to her, but not beside her, if that made any sense. There was a gulf between them that was far wider than the few inches of bark and wood. She wasn't sure if they had ever had a real conversation, more than a few words, that wa
sn't a disagreement or argument of some sort. Back at school, they'd rarely run into each other at all, and that was only partly by accident. Surrounded by like-minded friends, neither had felt the need to bridge the divide.

  Well, they needed a bridge now, and Gwenevrael could only think of one thing that would work. "I'm... sorry. I apologize for what I said. About your father."

  "You mean that?" Selvi sniffled. "Not just sayin'?"

  "Yes. I definitely mean it. You're not the only one who misses her father. I've barely seen mine at all in the past five years."

  "Huh. That's elves for you." It was a quick, snide remark, but she could tell it was just a knee-jerk reaction.

  She chose to accept it, because it was the truth. "Unfortunately yes," she agreed, which got a surprised blink out of Selvi. "I don't know how much you know of elven politics, but it is best described as the politest slaughterhouse ever conceived. The great lords and ladies live incredibly long lives, shuffling through ranks and stations on a whim, and in their boredom they find ever more creative ways to stab each other in the back. I..." She sighed sadly. "I'm a point of weakness for my father, and so he sent me away. To be safe."

  "For him or for you?"

  "For us. No assassins get into Lady Amberyll's. I don't doubt that's why your father sent you there are well."

  That bridge between them, built so far mainly on her own words, wobbled unsteadily as storm clouds formed over Selvi's face. "My father sent me away 'cause I was weak."

  "Somehow I doubt that."

  "What other reason is there?" Selvi shouted. "If I was stronger, I wouldn't haveta be put someplace safe. I'd be right by his side, fightin' our foes and upholdin' the Code of the Khans, like my father and his father and his grandfather the great Hamrai Khan who united the peoples of the high plains under a single banner! But no, I'm weak and my father, he... he doesn't need..." Selvi stopped herself, turning her head away so Gwenevrael couldn't see the tears she was sure were there.

  Here we are, she thought as the silence deepened. Two little girls who just want their fathers to come and rescue them, though we'd never admit it. Child of elves and child of orcs, but still the same beneath it all. She sighed and stood up. Quickly she tugged her right glove off and presented the bare hand to the barbarian.

  Selvi stared at it like she'd never seen such a thing. Perhaps she hadn't. Gwenevrael almost always had some sort of covering on her hands, to hide the light scars that ran across the back.

  "I think we got off to a bad start, back at the Academy," she said. "So let me introduce myself properly now. Hello, my name is Gwen, and I'm half human."

  The khan's daughter stared another moment longer, then took that hand in her own and shook it. "Hello," she answered, a little slower and slightly confused. "My name is Selvi, and I'm half human, too."

  "Well then," said Gwen, not yet letting go, "shall we two half-humans cut our way out of this gods-forsaken forest and make our fathers proud?"

  Selvi grinned: a wild, sharp-toothed smile as genuine as any Gwen had seen on her face before. "Hells, yeah. Let's show 'em what princesses can do!"

  "Now have them kiss and make up!" Claire exclaimed. She was jumping on her bench seat so excitedly that Uncle was afraid something would crack beneath her, or that Katelyn would get bounced straight into the ceiling.

  "What?" Shelby shouted back. "Why would we..."

  "Claire..." Uncle sighed and shook his head. "It's not that kind of role-play."

  "Aw, c'mon! Yanno you wanna..." Claire had on her biggest, brightest smile, as wide as the crescent moon and even sharper on the corners. Right next to her, Katelyn was quietly giggling while Cynthia made kissy faces.

  "I've got a boyfriend, yanno." Shelby glared at the three of them.

  "A boyfriend we've never met," Cynthia pointed out.

  "He goes to a different school!"

  "Are you sure he doesn't live in Canada?" As expected, none of the girls got the joke, but Uncle felt obliged to make it. He smiled as the aroma of hot cheese and pepperoni wafted their way, and tried hard not to laugh as more than one stomach around the table gurgled loudly. "Perfect timing!" he announced. "Dinner, ladies!"

  Pizza Break!

  "So, um, who was your princess talkin' about earlier," Cynthia asked Shelby in-between mouthfuls. "Yanno, her great-grampa or somethin'."

  The dark-curled girl took a big gulp of cola before answering. "Well, Helen and I were talking, and we thought, we're already s'posed to be thinking 'bout our princesses' personalities and stuff, so why not history, too? So like, Selvi's great-grandfather was the first Khan, and he set up all these rules so the orcs and the humans and the goblins and the whatever else in the khanate don't all kill each other. I mean, they can fight and kill each other, but in a more organized way, with rules and stuff."

  "Like sports?" Claire asked.

  "Awful bloody sports, but yeah," said Shelby. "Everybody plays by the Code, or they don't live long. Judges get appointed by the Khan to sorta referee, and that's what Selvi wants to do when she grows up. But she gets so frustrated cuz no one she meets on these adventures lives by the same rules, so she gets angry and hits people till they behave the way she wants 'em to."

  "So where do you think she'd fall on the alignment chart?" asked Uncle. He cleaned his fingers with a wet napkin, then got out a pad and pencil to take notes for future reference.

  "Well, she's big on her family's Code, and she takes promises really seriously," said Shelby. The girl fiddled with a pizza crust as she considered. "I guess most folks would call her a crazy barbarian cuz they don't get how her personal rules don't match theirs, but she'd prolly be, um... Lawful Neutral," she declared, placing her chess piece on that square.

  "Sorry to tell you this, kiddo," said Uncle, "but barbarians can't be lawful."

  "Says who?"

  "Says the rule-book. Barbarians are supposed to be chaotic and uncivilized."

  "Well, Selvi's great-grandpa was the Hamrai Khan," the curly-haired girl declared. "Named for Kublai Khan and King Hammurabi, who was the first king to create an actual set of laws, with eye for an eye and cutting the hands off shoplifters and stuff like that. Laws don't gotta be civilized. They just gotta be followed. And if people don't, then she whups 'em upside the head."

  That got a chuckle out of Uncle, even as he shook his head in disbelief. "You make a compelling argument, at least. Gotta ask, though: just what are they teaching you in history class these days?"

  "Only the boring stuff," Shelby said with a snort. "All dates and names, and none of the blood and guts."

  "She likes to drag out her dad's popular history books for class reports," Helen added. "Mrs. Brunswick got really angry a few times, like on the report for colonial America."

  "Hey, she coulda said that witch trials weren't an appropriate topic!"

  "I think it was the historical reenactment with those old Barbie dolls..."

  "Okay, I get the idea..." Uncle's sides were aching now and he was not bothering to hide it. "So, anyone else decided an alignment yet?"

  Helen picked up her chess piece and placed it right on the edge of Lawful and Neutral Good. "Gwen's been raised with a really complicated set of rules," she explained, "and she tries to ignore them as much as she can, but she's not really chaotic either. Yet."

  "Do we gotta have big histories?" Cynthia asked.

  "Not really, but if you want to..."

  "Ooh! Ooh!" Claire squealed. "Cassandrella's city's got a twin city on the other side of the bay -- or maybe it's a small sea? -- and together they worship the Moon and the Sun and..."

  "And I'm going to set up a new email account for this," Uncle promised. "I'll have Helen forward it on to you all, so you can mail in your ideas and I'll see what we can work into the story. Now, Claire, what's her alignment?"

  "Oh, yeah. Lawful Good!"

  "No surprise there. How about you, Katelyn?" He nodded as the quiet girl put her piece on Chaotic Neutral, but edged it up a bit towards Good. "Yeah, t
hat fits. And you, Cynthia?"

  "Lemme think... Flora is definitely a good girl, but she's really more on the side of Nature than anything else, so... Neutral Good," the pony-tailed girl declared, placing her chess piece.

  Uncle made a few more notes, then clicked his pen and snapped his notebook shut. "Okay, that's all out of the way at least. Is everyone finished with their pizza?" A chorus of contented mumbles answered. "Well then, let's get things rolling. And by that, I mean use a little deus ex machina to get you all together again. We don't have all evening, after all."

  It was easy enough for them to say they were going to cut their way out of the forest, but Selvi and Gwen were learning that words were no substitute for sharp blades. The undergrowth was stubbornly green and tough, not to mention completely annoying and inconsiderate in its lack of ears, because all of Selvi's cursing was in vain.

  "Oooooh! Someone said a naughty word!"

  Or at least, so it seemed at first. Selvi was about to yell at Princess Pointy-Ears for the comment when her own ears clicked with her brain and she realized that the voice hadn't sounded a thing like Gwen's. It was a lot higher, a bit squeakier, and--

  And Gwen already had her sword aimed at the speaker, a little girl with light green skin and vivid purple hair that stood straight up from her skull. Two ears, pointed but not as narrow as an elf's, stuck out like diamond-shaped jug handles. She was wearing a mess of old leaves that might charitably be called clothes. The sight of a sword held right in her face got no more reaction than a curious stare.

  "Who might you be?" the little green girl asked.

  "My name is Gwen," said the half-elf slowly and carefully. "This is my... my friend, Selvi. And you are?"

  "I'm Thistle! Are you the two who got the Oaks all riled up? Yes, yes?" she piped.

  "Yes..." Gwen and Selvi shared a look. "Did the knight send you?" Gwen asked.

  "Who, Sir Ulmus? Er, yes! Yes, of course!" The girl beamed. "I'm being usefully useful! Her Ladyship awaits! Mustn't keep her waiting!"