“Gotfried!”
Anya raced to the steps and rushed down, Ardent at her heels. All around the castle there was a calm, like the sudden stillness that follows a violent storm. Then people began to converge upon the spot where sorcerer and owl had fallen. Bert ran down from the gatehouse, taking four steps at a time, bow in hand, with Dehlia flying above. The dwarves laid their sacks of troll bits aside and moved together, once again in a wedge. Martha, who had been helping Princess Saramin bring the hospital cart in, left her and came running, looking for Shrub, with Hedric close behind her.
Even Sir Malorak paused in giving a constant stream of orders, clapped her daughter on the back, and declaimed, “Take charge of the perimeter,” and strode through the surrendered weaselfolk, who moved aside like water parting before the prow of some great ship.
The tumbled body of Rikard was sprawled across the cobbles. He was on his back, and the owl was still stuck on his face.
“Gotfried!”
The sorcerer’s body twitched. Anya, who had just leaned over to try to see if Gotfried was alive, jumped back. Rikard got to his knees, peeled the now limp body of the owl from his face, and threw it aside.
“I am not so easily defeated,” he hissed. Though there were holes in his cheeks from the owl’s talons, no blood was coming out. His eyes pulsed red, and when he bared his teeth, his incisors were as long as knives.
He was a terrifying sight. But when he started to stand up, Anya put her foot behind his ankle and pushed him hard in the chest.
Rikard fell back, his expression very similar to that seen on a newly stunned fish. Instantly, Ardent leaped onto his middle and pressed him flat with the dog’s full weight. Smoothie clamped her jaws around the wrist of his right arm, preventing him from making any spell-casting gestures.
Finally, Shrub waddled over and draped himself over the sorcerer’s mouth so he couldn’t speak.
Worn out by all the spells he had cast, and shaken by the fall from the tower, Rikard only struggled once or twice, and then lay still. But his eyes blazed like dangerous coals, focused on Anya, who ignored him.
Everyone gathered in a ring around the trapped sorcerer, leaving Anya and her friends in the center with Duke Rikard. Robbers bearing torches rushed to light the scene, and Cook came with the huge kitchen lantern.
Anya picked up the small form of Gotfried. His head hung limp, and when she held her ear close, she could hear no heartbeat.
“Broken neck,” said a cat by her feet, who like everyone else had come to be certain Rikard was defeated. His sooty paws were bloodied, for the cats had fought the enemy too. Anya thought it was Robinson again, but she couldn’t be sure.
“Quick and painless,” added the cat. “Very brave.”
“He always wanted to be brave,” said Anya. She wiped away the tears that had been falling unnoticed down her cheeks. “But how did he even get here?”
“I brought him,” said Merlin, stepping out of the circle around the fallen. “We came by carpet. It seemed to me he had something important to do.”
“He did,” said Anya sadly. “But I thought Good Wizards couldn’t interfere?”
“Ah, but I’m retired,” said Merlin. “Not wearing the beard, no longer Snow White. Not a Good Wizard at all. Just a concerned citizen, seeing to a few loose ends. What are you going to do with the Duke? Hard to kill him, but something could probably be worked out.”
“No,” said Anya. “We fought under the banner of the All-Encompassing Bill of Rights and Wrongs. He will get a fair trial.”
“Well said,” Dehlia and Bert replied together. “Very well said.”
“I mean, I think he should be tried,” Anya added. “But I suppose I’ll have to go and get Morven back, and when she’s queen she’ll decide.”
“Morven’s not coming back, except to visit, or perhaps later to show off her brood,” said Tanitha, slowly puffing up to Anya’s side. “Why would she? She has found true love, a permanently beautiful outfit, and Maggers will sing to her always and bring her all manner of shiny jewelry, even if most of it is tinsel or broken glass. Morven will not be queen of Trallonia. Which leads us to the question: Who will be?”
Anya sat down, cradling the dead owl librarian in her lap.
“I never wanted to be queen,” she said. “I think I want to be a wizard now. You can’t make me be the queen.”
“Who says we want to?” asked Tanitha. “Maybe someone else would be better.”
Anya stared at her, shocked. The idea that someone else could be queen of Trallonia was both startling and, she was surprised to discover, rather disturbing. Perhaps she was not being entirely honest with herself about not wanting to rule the kingdom …
“What do you mean you might get someone else?” Anya asked. She was unable to keep a note of indignation out of her voice. “I mean, if Morven’s out of the running, I’m next, aren’t I?”
“That depends,” said Tanitha. “Ardent! What is the result of your Quest?”
Ardent looked at Anya a little sheepishly.
“Success,” he barked. “I found a princess suitable in all respects to be queen of Trallonia!”
“What?” gasped Anya. “Who? Where?”
“You, silly!” said Ardent. He started to get up to give her a lick, before remembering he was helping to subdue Duke Rikard.
“Me?”
“You did not know it,” explained Tanitha. “But it is the royal dogs who decide who will rule Trallonia. We look first to the line of King Norbert, but should no one prove suitable, we may choose elsewhere. Morven clearly wouldn’t do, even before she became a magpie, and with you there were some doubts. Your interest in sorcery was worrisome, and some feared you might end up like Duke Rikard. But if Ardent has found you suitable, then you will suffice. We’ll have the coronation tomorrow.”