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Fantasy Stories

The Littlest Wyrm-Maid

Written by Rebecca Lickiss

Illustrated by Jessica Douglas

The problem, of course, was that humans were such speciesists. Go ahead, ask any human and they'd tell you—trolls are dumb as rocks; elves are all tall, snotty fairies; dwarves are greedy, hairy bastards; and dragons are all untrustworthy, slippery, winged-and-taloned snakes.

Theora watched the three human wizards cower against the rocks as she contemplated this problem. If she tried to pick the wizards up to bring them more to her eye level—something she considered a courtesy—they'd be bound to scream about her talons and scales. If she brought her head down to their level, the tall thin one would surely strike her nose with that silly knobbed stick he was waving about. Her only choice was to try speaking with them. Theora had practiced speaking as humans did for over five years now. She still had some difficulty creating the proper noise from her mouth without crisping the listener.

As she took a deep breath, the chubby one—he looked like he had some good eating on him—began clawing the rock and screaming arcane phrases. Concentrating, Theora managed to say, "Purchase magic spell?"

The tall, thin one stopped mid-gesture and gaped at her. The chubby one turned his tear-stained face to her—his head would be nicely salted now, just the way she liked it. The third, a young fire-haired man, grinned and said, "That this great wyrm may kindly say our duties did her welcome pay."

"It's ‘king,’ and stop that!" The tall, thin one looked over his shoulder at Chubby. "We have to do something about that curse." He used the stick to support himself and took a step closer to her. "Do I understand you to say you want to purchase a spell?"

Theora nodded her head, using a human gesture familiar to her. She took another deep breath running up to another bout of speech. "No tricks."

"Of course, of course." The tall, thin one motioned to his colleagues. The other two flanked him; Chubby dashing the tears from his eyes—hands were hardly worth eating, all bone. "Now what sort of spell are we talking about here?"

"Once upon a time," Theora began, settling her head down on the ground at their level, "a beautiful dragon met a handsome prince." She searched her mind for words they'd understand and she could say without charring them. "She wanted to be with him, but needed to transform herself into a human. So she consulted three kind wizards who transformed her. And everyone lived happily ever after."

"I see." The tall, thin one turned to his colleagues. They huddled in conference like sticks leaning together for a fire. Theora politely looked away and didn't listen. When they looked at her again, he said, "Transformation is very time and energy consuming, and therefore expensive. Also, the spell requires an effort on the part of the transformed, in order to make the transformation complete."

Nodding, Theora filled her gullet with air and said, "All my treasure hoard." Their eyes went round and wide. She added, "No tricks. Follow me."

She led them into a cave entrance nearby. After several turns she entered her small treasure hoard chamber. Theora hoped it would be enough. In her twenty-five years she hadn't amassed much treasure, spending most of her time tracking down the storytelling young man who'd spent many summers in the valley nearby.

She looked at the pile of glittering gems and gold objects. Just large enough for her to sleep on and keep her from the cold stone floor, but not enough to wallow in and scrape off old scales. Theora moved off to the side by the entrance so they could get to the hoard.

They passed by her as if in a trance. The young one murmured, "By the pricking of my thumbs, something wealthy this way comes."

"Be still," the tall, thin one growled at him. He turned to Theora. "We'll take this back with us and return with your spell. In, say, three days."

"No." Theora blocked the entrance. "Do here. Now. No tricks. No penalties."

"What do you mean penalties?" the chubby one asked.

The other wizards were cooling off quickly in the cavern, but to her practiced eye this one's flesh remained nicely warm. Theora occasionally liked raw meat, but only when the weather was particularly hot. She pulled her thoughts back to the business at talon. "No penalties. Straight transformation. No pain, no other cost except treasure hoard. If can't complete, straight transformation back. Enough time transformed to complete." She looked at them fiercely and they recoiled. "No tricks. No penalties."

"We understand," the tall, thin one said, nodding nervously.

"Also. No transform here. Make spell in potion to take where transform."

They eyed the treasure, then each other. After another huddled conference they agreed. Theora helped them as much as she could by starting fires and such, but most of their needs were beyond her understanding. She personally had no use for eye of newt and toe of frog. An entire pond of newts and frogs was filling, but tasted like scalded scum-coated bracken. It took two days and all her patience—and hunger endurance, the chubby one looked tastier all the time—before they finally had the potion ready.

The potion turned out to be a powder, which filled a leather pouch donated by the young one. Theora tried to think how she could take it from one of their soft, tiny, vulnerable hands without taking the entire arm. The tall, thin one tied the pouch firmly and set it on a ledge outside the cave entrance. "It will transform you for three days. In that time you must locate your prince and get him to kiss you. Then the transformation will be complete and permanent. If you fail you'll simply turn back into a dragon. Do you understand?"

Theora nodded.

"Just out of curiosity," the tall, thin one said nervously, "who is the prince you're looking for?"

"Prince Winthorp," she answered, savoring the sounds as she said them.

The tall, thin one smiled weakly.

It took four tries before she managed to hook a loop on a talon. She clutched the pouch to her with her forelimbs and talons covering it completely. She turned back to the weary wizards. "Thank you. No tricks. Treasure is yours." She spread her wings and launched herself skyward.

Theora circled above the cave entrance once before heading east, away from her mountain home to Gilden, the kingdom's capital. Flying freed her mind to think over her plan. Finding out who the young man who told all the fascinating stories was without being discovered had been difficult.

Humans, you never knew what they were going to do. Rather like dragons, now that she thought about it. Her mother had disappeared when Theora and all her siblings were barely out of the egg. They never knew what had happened to her, if she'd died, or just abandoned them. Theora and her siblings had no recourse but to consume each other until they'd grown strong enough to fly and hunt for themselves. Only Theora had made it out of the nest. A nasty experience, but it had made Theora stronger than both of the other, older dragons she'd met. She'd not only been able to defend her territory and small hoard, but had added something of the other dragons' to it.

Still, Theora had been so alone, wanting something, but not knowing what it was. Until the night she'd swam close, her bulk and scent hidden under the river's water, to feast on humans conveniently surrounding a campfire. Before she'd started she'd heard a portion of a story, so she'd paused to listen and ended up not eating at all, merely returning whenever she'd seen the fire, to listen to the stories. Her loneliness disappeared those nights as she was swept up in the tales. Somehow the magic of the stories had taken her beyond anything she'd ever known or considered before. They made her more than she'd been, and she wanted to be even more than she was now.

So, she'd determined to find the young man that everyone listened to so attentively and get more stories. Two autumns ago she'd finally resorted to flying high above the young man's caravan as it traveled back to where he spent the rest of the year. Along the trip she'd made the happy discovery that everyone called him Prince Winthorp. Princes were easy to find. Locating traveling wizards capable of a transformation spell near her lair had been tedious and tasteless. Now, with the powdered potion in her talons and the capital a day's flight away, she knew she would finally get her fill of stories. Prince Winthorp would tell her new stories every day. And, they'd all live happily ever after.

****

Zenpfennig nearly collapsed against the rock as the dragon flew away. From beside him Mazigian said, "Double, double toil and trouble, dragon burns the wizard rubble."

"Stop it," Zenpfennig said automatically. Mazigian retreated into the cave, presumably in search of treasure.

"I think we're in trouble," Rueberry wheezed from his seat nearby.

"She meant what she said. I'm sure the treasure is ours," Zenpfennig said. He was certain of it, otherwise he'd never have agreed to make the transformation spell. No cash, no spell. "And we did the spell correctly. It'll transform her with, as she put it, no tricks."

Rueberry groaned as he stood and wobbled over to clutch Zenpfennig's arm. "No. Not the treasure. Not even the spell. How old would you say that dragon was?"

Shrugging Zenpfennig said, "Twenty, twenty-five years."

"So when she transforms she'll look about how old?"

Zenpfennig's eyes widened. "Six, maybe."

"She wants to marry Winthorp." Rueberry sat back on his rock. "How do you think His Majesty, King Winthorp, will react when an arrogant, naked six-year-old girl presents herself for marriage?" When Zenpfennig didn't answer, Rueberry said, "She'll turn back into a dragon. And before she destroys half the kingdom, she'll snack on three wizards."

Mazigian lumbered from the cave entrance, overburdened with jewelry and gem-encrusted gold valuables. "Come, let's make haste; she'll soon be back again."

"We have to warn King Winthorp," Zenpfennig shouted. "Our very lives depend upon it!"

"I'm too exhausted for a teleportation spell," Rueberry groaned. He slowly slid to lay on the dirt, curled up as for sleep. His ill-used wizard hat did double duty as a pillow. "Let's at least wait until morning."

"'Twould take us three days to recover enough to teleport," Zenpfennig mused. One bony finger tapped his chin. "The spell might take too much time to prepare. We wouldn't arrive in time." His close set eyes narrowed as they contemplated Rueberry. He swooped down like a hawk, fastening his claws on Rueberry's plump arm and dragging Rueberry to his feet. "Up. We must leave now. With luck we can make it to Gilden in two and a half days."

Mazigian watched amazed as Zenpfennig marched past towing Rueberry. "He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear his hopes 'bove wisdom, grace and fear."

Zenpfennig released Rueberry and turned on Mazigian, waving one thin, weirdly stained hand in arcane twirls, bony fingers tracing their own dance through the air. "I've warned you about talking, more than three times."

Mazigian froze. Zenpfennig caught him before he could fall and dragged his stiff, jewel-bedecked form back into the cave. Returning triumphant, Zenpfennig smiled. "That should hold him. For a few days at least."

"Um, do you really think he'll be safe here by himself?" Rueberry twisted his pointy wizard hat nervously.

"His kind always is," Zenpfennig said.

"Not always. There is the curse."

"Oh that." Zenpfennig waved one hand dismissively. "He's still alive and kicking, and will be long after we're both dead." He paused as if in pleasant thought, then shook himself. "We must be going. Now."

Almost as an afterthought, Zenpfennig snaked out one hand to grab his knobbed staff leaning against the entrance to the cave. "Come on, Rueberry. We've got a long march ahead of us." He stepped out onto the path briskly kicking the hem of his robe. Which only served to redistribute portions of its three-day accumulation of dust and grime into the nearby environment, namely wilting vegetation beside the trail and Rueberry.

"Couldn't we at least have a hearty meal to get us started?" Rueberry wondered aloud. He knew the answer, but asked anyway. "Maybe a brief nap?"

Zenpfennig continued at a military pace. "We'll stop to get one for the road, if we pass a likely inn. Otherwise we've got to get to Winthorp before that dragon does and convince him to marry a naked six-year-old, so that we don't get cooked."

"You mean, we must alert King Winthorp to the danger. In that way we can save the kingdom from the ravages of a ferocious, fire-breathing dragon, and collect a hefty reward in the process." Rueberry huffed and puffed to keep up.

"Exactly right," Zenpfennig answered. "Someone owes us a substantial reward. That's for certain."

****

His Majesty King Winthorp pulled one last time at the stiff collar to his latest, most irritating costume and contemplated the rolling hills and distant mountains displayed in all their glory by the light of the rising sun. He wished he could ride off on his fastest horse and escape the coming circus. But . . . Since his father's unexpected death four months ago in the middle of the negotiations with neighboring, hostile Fragaria, Winthorp had given up his reckless, wanton ways and become a firm, dependable king. Surprised everyone, including himself.

Sometime this morning Her Highness, Princess Violetta Betony Galiena Mathilda of Fragaria would arrive. Supposedly about mid-morning, but more likely in the middle of, or just after, lunch. At a time calculated to undermine civility and provoke tempers. Winthorp blew out a long breath to calm himself. His father's dying wish was that he finish negotiations with Fragaria, marry the princess and bring some sort of peace to the Kingdom of Dzungary. So he was determined to marry the wench, regardless of size, temperament, or visage. He'd just have to make the best of it, for the good of Dzungary.

As expected the princess arrived after lunch had been set, but before anyone had eaten more than two bites. Winthorp hurried, with his advisors and courtiers, to the main gates of the palace to greet his fiancée. All of Gilden's residents had turned out for the event. The main road to the palace doors was lined seven deep with rabble, ruffians, and beggars, all craning their necks in the hopes of catching a glimpse of the new queen-to-be.

The princess' carriage pulled up and the footmen hurried to help the princess out. Alighting from the carriage was a vision of beauty, wealth, and quality. Her golden hair shone like the sun. Her pale skin, thin build, priceless garments, and fine, elegant features proclaimed her a princess to all who looked. The crowd stood hushed in silent awe. She appeared to float instead of walk over the rough, unpaved road. Winthorp held his hands out, surprised at his uncommon good luck in this turn of events.

A commotion at the edge of the crowd nearest the steps to the palace drew her attention. A young girl—obviously a naked, filthy beggar—kicked, bit, and fought her way out of the crowd and into the space left in the road. The girl hissed and growled at the fists and boots swung in her direction, showing no sign of fear or meekness.

"Poor thing." Approaching the beggar-girl, Princess Violetta removed her lace-trimmed silk shawl and wrapped it around the child to cover her nakedness. Her long tapered fingers pushed back the tangle of black hair from the child's face. "Poor thing. Come with me." She took the child's hand and led the child to the palace steps.

Too good to be true, Winthorp thought. Beautiful, and graceful, and kind, and she would be his wife? Something was wrong here. And he wasn't all that thrilled with the idea of his bride-to-be taking in stray beggars. It seemed an encouragement to vice. Still he smiled and embraced Princess Violetta as he'd planned, then gave the speech he'd rehearsed. Afterward he, the princess, the beggar-girl, his advisors, and all the courtiers retired back into the palace to their now cold lunch.

****

Theora looked with disgust around her. The room was larger than her cavern room, but the walls were all smooth and set perpendicular to each other, creating wasted space in the corners. And they were all made of wood. Even the furniture was made of wood covered in various textiles. Humans were just plain foolish. One wrong exhalation and the place would be nothing but blackened embers. And how could you rub loose scales off on wood?

The pale woman flitted about, moving various fabrics from one piece of wood to another, shoving trunks about and generally acting like a brooding wren. They were alone in this room. Theora had tried leaving to find Prince Winthorp again, but the woman had stopped her.

"Oh, no you don't," the pale woman said, pulling Theora away from the door. "You're here to help me, and don't you forget it. You can be wealthy beyond your wildest dreams, or it's the streets again, m'girl." The pale woman pulled Theora to a chair and pushed her into it. "We'll go searching for the secret passages and all the rest when I'm finished." The pale woman then went back to moving things around.

It was probably just as well. Prince Winthorp hadn't paid the least attention to Theora all through the meal, even though she'd sat between him and that silly, pale woman. He hadn't told a single story, though he and several others had spoken at length. Theora had been unable to detect a single plot or even any interesting characters in the narratives, though the gist of the speeches had been something to do with Winthorp marrying the pale woman. So, from what Theora knew of humans, that meant the pale woman had to be a princess. Theora was disappointed. She'd always expected princesses to look a good deal tastier and much better fleshed. Good thing she was filled from the small meal and wasn't really interested in eating.

Still, she was here and, with as often as Winthorp kissed the pale woman, it shouldn't be too difficult to get him to give her a kiss too. Perhaps after dinner's stories. Theora could wait.

"Now, little brat," the pale woman said turning her attention on Theora. "Let's find you something suitable to wear, then we can go exploring. Sound good?"

Theora tried to tell the woman that she'd never been on any adventures, but she'd heard about many. However, this body didn't seem to have any gullet and Theora couldn't seem to make noises correctly. She said, "Ahh grrwl. Ahh hrrh."

The pale woman threw something itchy and confining over Theora. "There you are." She pulled Theora's arms through some holes and cinched in the waist. "Isn't that more comfortable?"

It was miserable and nearly unbearable, but Theora couldn't say so. None of the stories ever said how weak and frivolous human bodies were.

"Come with me. We'll spy out the palace." The woman placed a jeweled tiara in her hair at the top of her head. "You can show me all you know about it."

Theora shook her head in disbelief. The pale woman possessed enough jewelry and metal knickknacks to start a small hoard. Almost enough to sleep on, and she wasted it on her head.

Squatting down, the pale woman put her face in Theora's. "Now, now. I think you and I can deal with each other well in this situation. You help me discover the secret places, like the underground passages, and unguarded doors, and other useful information about the palace—the secret things a beggar would need to know—and I'll reward you well when this is all over." She smiled thinly. "Let's go get lost."

As they left the room, Theora looked about her, hoping to find Winthorp and get him to tell some more stories.

The pale woman pushed Theora gently. "Okay, you lead me somewhere interesting. Quickly, before we run into someone."

****

Rueberry gratefully settled into the crook of a tree. He'd never before considered trees as comfortable places of slumber, but here he was falling asleep as easily as if in his own bed. His face snuggled against twigs and leaves, making a cushiony pillow. Funny, bark had always seemed so rough before. Just goes to show, he thought, you should never judge a book by its cover. Or a tree by its bark. There seemed to be something more to that thought, but it escaped him as he drifted off to sleep.

From the other side of the large tree trunk Zenpfennig woke him by saying, "We leave at first light tomorrow. Hopefully we'll make it by noon."

Rueberry woke again later with the sound of marching beneath him. He turned on the branch, certain it was a dream.

You really would sleep through an army marching past, Zenpfennig thought at him. Wake up!

Startled, Rueberry nearly fell out of the tree. "Huh?" He looked below him. An army was indeed marching beneath them. He gripped the branches tightly.

Silence! Be very, very still, Zenpfennig ordered. Use a telepathy spell, search their minds, see if you can find out what's going on.

Rueberry glanced at Zenpfennig, but couldn't see around the tree trunk. He concentrated on the complex telepathy spell, then began searching the minds beneath him.

Most knew nothing. Other than they were marching to war against Dzungary, they were from Fragaria, they were tired and thought their commander a . . . Rueberry just barely stopped himself from magicking soap into their mouths. Habits drilled into him by his mother were hard to break.

Finally they both latched onto a mind that knew something. He rode a horse toward the rear of the army, Prince Erskine of Fragaria. From his mind they gleaned that the army intended to attack Gilden in three days, during the wedding, slay Prince Winthorp, and take Dzungary. As a bit of caution, against finding themselves in a hostage situation, the woman sent as a bride to Prince Winthorp wasn't Princess Violetta, but a common whore and cutpurse. Though from the image in Erskine's mind Rueberry judged that she wasn't all that common.

After they'd learned what they could from Erskine, Zenpfennig thought to Rueberry, After they pass, we leave. We'll have to take a roundabout route. And still get to Gilden before the dragon changes. Winthorp has more problems than he can handle without our help.

The last image Rueberry received from Zenpfennig was Winthorp heaping treasures on them as he begged them to become his palace wizards.

****

Winthorp frowned as he left breakfast. Violetta had again seated the beggar girl between them at breakfast. He felt the signed and much negotiated treaty made clear that his intentions were honorable, but Violetta continued through her actions to insist on this very strange chaperone. At least the child had been washed and properly dressed. Winthorp assumed Violetta merely felt confused and unsure in enemy territory, and perhaps needed someone near who was even more vulnerable.

Violetta smiled at him with a vapid, adoring look as she bowed on his leaving. Her hand descending the front of her dress, accenting the low neckline. She reminded Winthorp of courtesans who had courted him.

John Kennard, Duke of Sedum and Winthorp's maternal uncle, followed Winthorp out into the back hallway. They walked briskly past the blank walls. "Your Majesty leads a charmed life. Your wife-to-be is one of the