Elizabeth Ann Scarborough - Argonia 03 - Bronwyn's Bane.pdf - Elizabeth Ann Scarborough - widez2

[Argonia 03] – Bronwyn’s Bane by Elizabeth Ann Scarborough

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Release Date: May 12 th , 2003

PREFACE: (FROM THE ARGONIAN ARCHIVES TRANSCRIBED BY SIR

CYRIL PERCHINGBIRD FOR THE ARGONIAN HERALD)

CROWN PRINCESS CURSED AT CHRISTENING!

QUEEN SWOONS AS BEWITCHED TOY SHOUTS "LIAR" AT HRH

BRONWYN

Fort Iceworm, Northern Territories, Argonia: Reign of King Roari the

Red, Year I ... The Royal Christening of the firstborn of our King and

Queen was marred earlier this year by the antics of a bewitched

christening gift, a jack-in-the-box that shouted "You're a liar!" at the

infant Princess Bronwyn, cursing her to be one. Queen Amber-wine

fainted hysterically but gracefully into the arms of her Lord while the

vocally distraught Royal Heiress was soothed by onlookers.

Experts fear the curse may damage the Princess's ability to succeed her

Royal Father on the Throne and reliable sources say the King is launching

an investigation into the source of the curse.

CLASSIFIED DECREE: FROM HIS ROYAL MAJESTY KING ROARI I TO SIR

CYRIL PERCHINGBIRD, CHIEF ARCHIVIST:

"Perchingbird: While We approve of your notion of transcribing the archives into

readable form for the populace against such a time as the populace shall learn to read,

the above article wasn't exactly what We had in mind. As you know, Our quest to

have the Princess's curse lifted has not been entirely successful, and must needs be

delayed while other matters of State take precedence. Therefore, in order to prevent

undue disrespect on the part of Our subjects for Our daughter, and to keep from

making life harder than it already is for the poor wee lass, We and Our Queen have

decided that this incident shall be in no way published abroad until such time as We

otherwise declare, and that those persons who have knowledge of Bronwyn's curse

shall keep their big mouths shut about it around her so she can grow up as normally

as possible without being punished and plagued for that which she cannot help. We

know We can expect your loyalty in this matter. Roari, Rex."

(FROM THE ARGONIAN ARCHIVES TRANSCRIBED BY SIR CYRIL

PERCHINGBIRD FOR THE ARGONIAN HERALD)

GOOD NEWS AND BAD NEWS: QUEEN AMBERWINE

WITH CHILD AFTER MORE

THAN A DECADE AND ABLEMARLE LAUNCHES INVASION FLEET

Queenston: Reign of King Roari the Red, Year of the Great War ... A palace

spokesman announced this year that by the Grace of the Mother, our good Queen

Amberwine is to bear another child for the greater glory of our realm. The Queen

has been elegantly but fruitlessly slender since the birth of Princess Bronwyn, well

over a decade ago. Due to Her Majesty's delicate constitution, our Queen's healers

have recommended bedrest for her for the duration of her pregnancy. His Majesty is

quoted as saying he doesn't care if the new babe is a boy or a girl, just so it, and the

Queen, are healthy.

On the darker side of the national scene, official sources have confirmed that the

King announced to his council that we are now officially at war with Ablemarle. A

reliable Royal spy has spotted the Ablemarlonian Navy, with King Worthyman the

Worthless himself aboard its flagship, headed our way. An unconfirmed report has

it that the Ablemarlonians are planning to unleash a new secret weapon to wreak

death and destruction among us, may the Mother preserve us. King Roari and the

consolidated Argonian Army and Navy, and the three-dragon Air Force, have

already set sail to foil the blackhearted aggressors.

During the King's absence and the Queen's indisposition, Her Majesty's half-sister,

Lady Wormroost (nee Magdalene Brown) has been appointed Regent by His

Majesty. Her Ladyship, a hearth witch from birth and a national heroine (for an

account of Lady Maggie's and Earl Colin's rescue of Her Majesty from the Forces

of Evil, see The Herald back issue dated Year of the Election of King Roari I) was

created Honorary Princess by His Majesty some years ago, a title she modestly

chooses not to use. Her Lord, Colin Songsmith, Earl Wormroost and President of

the Minstrel's Academy Alumni Association, is presently abroad in the countryside,

rallying the populace with song and story to the defense of their King and Country.

May the Mother grant him speed and success.

Chapter I

Bronwyn the Bold was still flushed from the heat of battle when the Lord Chamberlain found her in

the small courtyard below the eastern wall of the Royal Palace. The courtyard was in ruins. Trees,

walls, jousting dummies, the Queen's prize petunia patch, all were gouged, hacked and otherwise

dismembered. The Princess knelt beside the wall, her short sword cooling in its sheath, her red carved

shield close by her side. Evidently satisfied with the routing she'd dealt her enemies, she bent over the

prone forms of her dolls, each of which was blanketed by one of her monogrammed handkerchiefs.

"My lady," the Chamberlain began.

"What is it, Uncle Binky?" she demanded in a fair imitation of her father's regal roar. "Can't you

see I've mortally wounded casualties on my hands? We need healers and medicine now !"

"Yes, my lady," the Chamberlain replied with a tone sober and a face straight from long and

difficult practice. "I'll see to it personally, my lady. . . ."

"A simple 'general' will do," Bronwyn said graciously, since she was actually very pleased to have

someone to talk to. She hopped to her feet and took the Chamberlain's hand in hers, her action very

like that of any normal child except that ordinary little girls didn't tower over adult royal retainers.

"What news do you bring from behind our lines?"

"Your lady mother wishes a word with you, madam," the Lord Chamberlain replied.

"She hasn't—?" Bronwyn asked, jiggling his hand excitedly.

"No, madam, she has not. Nor will she deliver the babe for a month yet to come, as the Princess

Magdalene has already informed Your Highness." And he clamped his lips tightly shut as if he were

afraid she'd steal his teeth.

Bronwyn was quite used to having not only the Lord Chamberlain but everyone else who attended

her adopt such attitudes when she tried to question or talk to them, so as usual she continued chattering

at him as if he were answering each remark and paying her rapt attention. She supposed it went with

her high rank to have everyone so in awe of her presence that they couldn't speak properly out of

deference. Later, she decided that his silence was less usual than she'd thought, and smacked of the

stoicism of a guard escorting his prisoner to the block—or into direst exile.

Maggie, Lady Wormroost, paced the Royal sick chamber with an anxiety which was in no way

relieved by the sound of her niece's big feet galumphing towards her from down the hall. At least this

interview would be short, but it wouldn't be easy.

She glanced at the Queen—sleeping, of course, as she should be to conserve her meager strength.

Except for the mound of belly drifted over with white satin coverlet, the Queen was more frail than

Maggie had ever seen her, her bones sticking out like those of a plucked bird, her skin thinned to a

ghost-like translucency, marbled with blue. Maggie loved her elder half-sister and wished there was

something she could do for her besides keep her company when she woke and see to it that her

chamberpot was kept empty and her bedding spotless.

For though Maggie was officially Regent, she knew only enough about government to know that it

was best left in the hands of the few capable ministers the King had appointed to take charge of the

war effort on the home front. Oh, she had used her hearth-witchcraft, which allowed her to do all work

connected with the home magically, to give a hand at readying the castle and surrounding city for

siege. But she hoped the preparations she made, mostly consisting of magically expanding and storing

existing food supplies beyond normal winter needs, would be unnecessary.

With any luck at all, King Roari's army would be able to head off Worthyman the Worthless and

the Ablemarlonian forces and persuade them of the error of their ways. But it would not be easy.

Worthyman was an unscrupulous scoundrel and a wastrel, but in one of his wiser moments he had

chosen to squander a large portion of the treasury on a professional standing army of trained soldiers.

Immediately thereafter, without bothering to try to forge a trade agreement, he had declared war on

King Roari. He used the excuse that his country needed Argonian timber for its ship-building industry,

which may have been true since, at his direction, Ablemarle's remaining forest land had been denuded

and cultivated. However, the private opinion held by the King, Maggie, and a few others, was that

Worthyman was actually hoping to find and eliminate his elder brother, the true Crown Prince, a focus

of frequent Ablemarlonian rebellions even though he preferred to dwell quietly among the Argonian

gypsies.

Whatever the reasons behind the war, Maggie wished it were over and she and Colin were safe

back at Wormroost with their own daughter, Carole.

Which reminded her of her most immediate problem, one which concerned both Carole and

Bronwyn. Too bad the King hadn't left her some wise minister to whom she could delegate this sort of

domestic crisis, but unfortunately she and the Queen would have to muddle along by themselves.

If only Bronwyn weren't so bloody irritating. With her constant rattling nonsense, she was so

provoking that Maggie never seemed to be able to talk to the child without snapping at her, even

though she knew what annoyed her most was hardly the poor girl's own fault. Ah, well, Bronwyn was

lucky Maggie Was only a hearth witch and not a transformer like her Granny Brown or a really

wicked witch like child-eating Great-Great-Grandma Elspat, or there were times when Her Royal

Highness would have gotten worse than a snapping at. ...

"The Princess Bronwyn," the Chamberlain announced at the door.

"You think we can't see that for ourselves?" Maggie snapped—damn! The girl was getting to her

already. The Chamberlain beat a hasty retreat. Bronwyn gave her a shy smile that was ludicrous in

such a strapping girl. Then, with her eyes still on Maggie's, as if anticipating a blow, she tripped

sideways to her mother's bedside, stumbling at the last moment to fall across the sleeping Queen.

Amberwine gasped and sat up, catching at her daughter's arm. Bronwyn held her mother by the elbow

with one hand and with the other hand brushed at her, as if the contact might have dirtied her.

"Leave off, niece. You'll bruise her," Maggie advised as evenly as possible.

Bronwyn sprang away from the bed as if she'd touched the lighted end of a torch.

The frail Queen blinked her wide, green eyes twice and held out her hand to her daughter, who took

it timidly. "How good it is to see you, my darling. How are you today?"

"Splendid, Mama. Extraordinary in fact. I've just slain the entire Ablemarlonian army and the

leaders have all been hanged in your name."

Maggie groaned and Amberwine, had it been possible for her to have become any paler, could have

been said to have done so. "Er—how kind of you, pet. You're such a thoughtful child. Isn't she,

Maggie?"

Maggie shook her head and managed a faint, rueful smile. Bronwyn had her mother's eyes and

chin, but she was otherwise her father's daughter entirely. A fitting successor to her paternal

grandfathers, Rowans the Rambunctious, Rampaging, and Reckless respectively, she would have

made King Roari a fine son. Pity. She was a dead loss at the womanly pursuits, and had gone through

so many gowns her tiring women had finally given up and allowed her to go about in the simple

undergown and armor she preferred. She clinked somewhat now as she perched on the edge of the bed,

not quite resting her entire weight upon it, afraid she'd break her mother's bones if she relaxed. She

was such a large girl—half again as large as either Maggie or Amberwine and uncomfortably aware

that she had yet to gain mastery of her body. She knew she could cause irreparable damage to

practically anything in the twinkling of an eye. If only she could be allowed to puncture something

other than her own fingers during her earnest but ultimately painful attempts at needlework, perhaps

the child would be good for something despite her—problem.

Amberwine caught Maggie's eye and said to Bronwyn, "Your aunt has a wonderful surprise for

you, darling. Don't you, Maggie?"

Maggie felt another stab of guilt as a look of hopefulness and anticipatory pleasure dawned in the

girl's eyes, and before it could turn into a full-fledged smile Maggie lost her nerve and tossed the

conversational ball back to Amberwine. Sick or not, the Queen was Bronwyn's mother. Let her be the

one to break the news. "I think she'd rather you'd tell her, Winnie."

"Tell me what?" Bronwyn demanded in a childish parody of her father's boom.

She was a-wriggle with excitement now.

Winnie shot Maggie an injured look. "Why, that it's been arranged for you to have a nice trip in the

country for awhile, dear. To see some of the rest of the kingdom and to meet your cousin Carole. It

must be so dull for you shut up in the castle all the time and—"

"But it's not, Mama, really," Bronwyn protested, though, of course, it was.

"There's your duty too, young lady," Maggie said, stepping in before the child got out of hand. "To

your mother, your subjects and Argonia. You will need to see more of your realm than the capitol

Elizabeth Ann Scarborough - Argonia 03 - Bronwyn's Bane.pdf

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