“Good,” said Anya hurriedly. “Go and talk to Sir Malorak. I have to kiss more frogs.”
She put her finger in the now-quite-cool mixture and applied it again. Somehow the plum flavor was not as appealing as it had been earlier, and her face was a bit sore from puckering up so often.
The next frog was Prince Denholm. He stood blinking in the sunlight, then slowly knelt at Anya’s feet.
“Thank you, Princess,” he said, wiping his eyes. “I could not have stood being a frog for very much longer. I was starting to forget that I had ever been a man.”
“I’m sorry you got transformed in the first place,” said Anya. She hesitated, then added, “I expect you’re worried about Morven. While it is true the Duke has completely taken over Trallonia, Morven is … is most likely unharmed.”
“Oh, Morven,” said Denholm uncomfortably. “I’d rather forgotten about … that is, being a frog, my mind was clouded. Of course I shall not rest until Princess Morven is rescued, but … um … I might need some help.”
He looked around anxiously at Anya’s rather raggedy army, who were busy preparing more quarterstaves and cleaning up the battlefield, trussing live weaselfolk for kissing, and dragging the dead ones off into a clearing to make a funeral pyre.
“We’re all going to rescue Morven,” said Anya. “But first we have to gather more reinforcements. The Seven Dwarves are coming, and Bert’s robbers, and I hope the royal dogs, if they can be found. We’ll probably attack the castle tomorrow. If the Duke doesn’t attack us first.”
Denholm frowned, his handsome face troubled.
“Surely with Morven in danger, we must act!” he said resolutely. “Ah, who, by the way, are these dwarves and ‘Bert’s robbers’?”
“Do you not remember anything from when you were a frog?” asked Anya.
“No,” said Denholm. He thought for a moment, the effort of it obvious on his face, reminding Anya that he hadn’t been all that clever when he was a human. He shuddered suddenly and added, “I remember eating bugs.”
“You need time to recover,” said Anya thoughtfully. “Why don’t you go over to Sir Malorak and cut yourself a quarterstaff?”
“Yes, but Morven!” exclaimed Denholm. His memory appeared to be coming back, as he got a kind of goofy look on his face as he said Morven’s name. “My heart aches to think of my poor beauty imprisoned by that foul sorcerer Rikard.”
“Try not to think about it,” advised Ardent kindly. “Think about something nice instead. Like bones. Or rabbits.”
“Bones or rabbits?”
“Hunting or feasting,” suggested Anya. “Now you must go. I have a lot of frogs still to kiss. Go!”
Denholm went, scratching his head. He hopped a little too. Like all the others, he caught himself doing it and almost fell over with the effort of stopping. But at least he wasn’t absentmindedly snapping up flies like Parengoethes.
The next frog was a princess. She was twenty-five or so, and very pretty, even in her mildewed rags, all of which made Anya acutely aware of how stinky, filthy, and young she was herself. But this princess listened politely to Anya’s standard speech, looked around the clearing and the signs of battle, and raised her chin in a determined fashion.
“I’m Princess Saramin of Ulastar,” she said. “I can fight, but I’m a better surgeon and doctor. Is anyone hurt? And do you have medical utensils, bandages, healing herbs, and the like?”
“No one’s really hurt yet,” said Anya, pleased that this older and beautiful princess was treating her as an equal. “But we will have to fight a battle again soon, I expect. Perhaps you could find whatever you can, and prepare?”
“I’ll do that,” said Saramin.
“There’s a prince over there,” said Anya thoughtfully. “Denholm. He could be a useful assistant.”
Saramin raised her eyebrows, which were quite pronounced.
“He doesn’t look very bright,” she said dubiously.
“He’s very good-natured and will do what he’s told,” said Anya. “Please, excuse me. I must kiss more frogs.”
“Don’t exhaust yourself,” warned Saramin. “While not as taxing as spells, even using a magic ointment will weary you.”
Anya hesitated as she lifted more lip balm to her mouth. She did feel incredibly tired, but had thought it was just from her adventures and lack of sleep.
“I have to go on,” she said. “We need these frogs to fight. I don’t know when my allies will get here, and Duke Rikard may attack at any time.”
Saramin looked Anya over professionally.
“Pause for a minute between frogs,” she advised. “Drink water and try to eat a little. Sit down to kiss them; don’t stand, because you may faint. I’ll go and see what I can organize in the way of a field hospital.”
Anya took Saramin’s advice, but she also kept kissing frogs. There were more knights, including the truly massive twin sons of Sir Malorak, whose appearance created several minutes of quite scary backslapping and hugging between all the members of that family. Anya was almost reminded of her confrontation with Beware the Giant, though they were merely very large humans and not giants themselves.
Nearly all the frogs turned out to be knights, Anya gathering from the overheard conversations as they greeted one another that most of them had been engaged in quests to rescue other knights who’d been transformed earlier. If she’d had the time and energy she would have taken a moment to feel proud that one small princess and her friends had managed to succeed where all the knights had failed.
Anya reversed the transmogrification of eighty-one frogs in total, and seven weaselfolk. The resulting weasels were released and sped off quickly enough, the slower ones a little encouraged by Smoothie and Ardent.
At the end of it, Anya slumped against a tree and could barely lift the cup of water or eat the hunk of bread and honey that was handed to her by Martha.