The Adventures of Princess Sarah and her Many Companions, Tale the First.

In which Princess Sarah declares her One True Love to her mother the queen, displays her skill in swordplay to a Group of Passing Nuns, and meets a Wayward Wizard.

Once upon a time, in a kingdom far, far, away, there lived a princess named Sarah. Princess Sarah, like every princess, was rapturously beautiful and endlessly kind and sweet. But unlike every princess, Princess Sarah did not enjoy the endless balls. It wasn’t that she disliked dancing or wearing lovely dresses, but she found that she deeply disliked being paraded in front of people and disliked even more knowing that they were talking about her. When in a large crowd, Princess Sarah liked best to look at any of them at little as possible. For example, when our story began, Princess Sarah was currently in a Very Important State Meeting with her mother the queen, paying very little attention to what anyone was saying, and paying a great deal of attention to her drawing.

“It is time for us to consider potential suitors for our daughter the princess,” announced Queen Elaine.

Princess Sarah stopped sketching in her notebook and looked up at her mother and the councilors. “What?” she said.

“My dear princess, you must pay attention,” simpered Princess Sarah’s least favorite councilor, Lord Dorin. “The queen has been speaking of the future of the kingdom.”

“It may not come to pass for a few years yet,” continued the queen, “but we must begin to look for suitable future kings.”

“Or maybe not,” muttered Princess Sarah, returning to her drawing of the room and its inhabitants.

“What was that, princess?” asked her mother, her voice dangerously calm.

Princess Sarah straightened up in her chair.

“I will never marry, Mother,” she declared dramatically. “For I have only One True Love!”

One of the councilors (the skinny one that Sarah had secretly drawn as a broom in her sketch) gasped loudly. “How romantic,” he whispered to the person next to him (Councilor with a Moustache #1).

“And who, pray tell,” continued the queen icily, “is your One True Love?”

“My One True Love,” responded Princess Sarah, “is….is….”

“No doubt it’s Prince Michael, I heard all the young ladies are head over heels for him,” whispered Councilor with a Moustache #4 to his neighbor.

“Certainly not,” said Princess Sarah, insulted. “My One True Love…is Orienne.”

“Orienne!” sighed the Broom Councilor dramatically.

“Isn’t Orienne the name of the princess’ pet dragon?” murmured Lady Jetta (Princess Sarah’s favorite councilor and by far the one she was most afraid of).

“Orienne is indeed a dragon,” cut in the queen smoothly. “My dear princess, everyone’s One True Love is of course their pet, but I speak of the good of the kingdom-“

“As do I!” declared Princess Sarah. “I cannot possibly think of marriage until I can be assured of Orienne’s eternal happiness.”

“Nevertheless,” continued the queen. “We will begin to review suitors for the princess.”

~~~

Princess Sarah slumped into her favorite chair in her chambers, the one that her lady-in-waiting Leah sat in while she embroidered. Every time Leah finished with a color of thread, she would simply knot that thread into the fabric of the chair so that she didn’t lose the thread, but then she tended to just leave the loose threads there instead of retrieving them later, so the chair now rather resembled a colorful stringy beast.

“What’s wrong?” Lady Leah inquired.

“My mother’s such a-“

“Turpentine,” interrupted Leah.

“What?” said Sarah, confused.

“A princess must never use Unsavory Language, especially against the Rulers of the Realm, and particularly when that Ruler happens to be One’s Own Mother,” recited Lady Leah. “Remember? The etiquette lesson yesterday?”

“Oh yes,” said Princess Sarah. “Well then, my mother is such a…turpentine. And a complete Arsenic too!”

“Ooh, that one’s a little poisonous,” commented Lady Leah.

“Leah,” declared Princess Sarah, “fetch me my sword. I feel like defeating a few tyrants today.”

~~~

Once she was appropriately attired in her fighting costume (which consisted, unfortunately, of too-big colorful trousers stolen from a troubadour, her most sensible slippers, and a worn-out tunic found abandoned outside a tavern) and had her many long braids and curls safely tucked away into a turban fashioned by Lady Leah’s skillful hands, Princess Sarah was ready to depart the castle. Secretly, of course. She leaned out the window.

“Orienne!” she called. “Orienne!”

A small green dragon lazily flapped up to the window.

“Yes?” it inquired.

“I desire to- “

“Slay tyrants, yes, I know,” yawned Orienne. The tiny dragon gingerly took the back of Princess Sarah’s collar in her teeth and carried her safely down to the courtyard below, then returned to fetch Lady Leah down the same manner.

(For those of you doubting the ability of a dragon only the size of Princess Sarah’s hand to be able to bear her entire body weight, you have obviously not done your research. Dragons are very strong and can carry more than one hundred times their own body weight. Consider reading Eccolman’s Treatise on the Properties of Dragons and Other Magical Creatures to educate yourself.)

“I think I shall stay home this time,” remarked Orienne to herself.

“Oh no you don’t,” said Princess Sarah. “I need your dragonsmist to disguise me! Otherwise someone will recognize me and my mother will find out and that would be the End of My Life.”

“Seems a bit dramatic,” murmured Lady Leah.

“Fine, fine,” yawned Orienne. “But I’m not flying to wherever you’re finding tyrants this time. I’m going to sleep on that bear’s back.”

“Bear?” questioned Leah and Sarah simultaneously. They looked over at the entrance to the courtyard, and sure enough, a large black bear was ambling through, preceded by various servants and courtiers fleeing left and right with periodic screams.

“Not again!” groaned Leah.

“Really,” said Princess Sarah, “you should never have let that troubadour experiment on your dog, Leah.”

“He’s an alchemist,” snapped Leah.

“Perhaps,” inserted Orienne, “but alchemists turn things into gold, and this one turns dogs into bears.”

“And not even consistently,” added Sarah.

“He’s trying,” grunted Leah, as she tugged on the bear’s massive neck. “Come on, Zwingli. At least try to turn back into a dog.” Completely unconcerned, Zwingli licked his mistress’ face with his massive bear tongue and ambled away. Orienne flew over and alit on his back, curling into a small coil of green scales.

“Well then,” said Princess Sarah, “He seems to have some idea where he’s going, so let’s follow.”

“I’m going to kill that alchemist,” muttered Leah to herself, trudging after Princess Sarah, Orienne, and Zwingli.

~~~

Orienne lifted her head, gave her wings a few sleepy flaps, and looked around. Zwingli had changed from a large black bear into a middling sized black dog, but other than that the landscape appeared to be the same idyllic countryside as it had been two hours ago. “Well, it seems that no tyrants are out tyrannizing today, so what say we go home?”

“To what, nap some more?” said Princess Sarah crossly. “That’s all you’ve been doing.”

“I conserve my energy,” said Orienne loftily. “You’ve no idea how much energy it takes to project a dragonsmist.

“Yes, but you haven’t been projecting dragonsmist at all,” argued Sarah. “All you’ve been doing is napping, all day, just like you do-“

“Shhh,” hissed Leah. “Someone’s coming.”

Around a bend in the road a group of people began to appear. Orienne hastily threw a dragonsmist over Princess Sarah, ensuring that whoever it was wouldn’t recognize her as her royal self. Sarah drew her sword, readying for battle. The Potential Tyrants came into view.

“Nuns,” groaned Princess Sarah. “They’re all nuns.”

“Tyrannical nuns!” laughed Orienne, rolling around on Zwingli’s back. “Watch out, they might baptize you while you’re not looking!”

“Shut up, Orienne,” Sarah muttered, sheathing her sword.

“Oh, kind ladies!” cried one of the younger nuns. “Would you lend us your aid? We are quite lost.”

“Where are you trying to get to?” asked Leah promptly.

“Millston,” answered an older nun with an oddly purplish face.

“Eleven miles further down this same road,” said Princess Sarah impatiently.

“Thank you, young lady, although I could do without that tone,” said the Purplish Nun sternly. “What’s that sword for? Are you carrying it for your brother?”

Princess Sarah straightened up. “No,” she said proudly. “I am a skilled swordswoman. My express purpose in coming out today was to fight tyrants.”

“You ought to fight Sister Wendell then,” whispered a very short nun to the much taller nun next to her.

“What?” asked the tall nun.

“I don’t fight nuns,” said Princess Sarah scornfully.

“I heard that,” said the Purplish Nun (or, as we now realize her rightful name is, Sister Wendell). “And you are quite right not to fight a holy woman. It would be against God’s express word-“

“When did God say that?” interrupted Leah.

“What?” asked Sister Wendell.

“When did God say, ’Don’t fight nuns? I don’t recall ever hearing a sermon preached on-“

“Stand and deliver,” said a sudden voice from behind them. The nuns gasped, and the Taller Nun fainted (unfortunately on top of the Very Short Nun, who, unable to balance her weight, crumpled in a heap of habits).

“A highwayman! Perfect!” cried Sarah, spinning around and drawing her sword.

Standing in the road was a Dashing Highwayman with drawn sword, a Lesser Accomplice lurking in the background, and a disgruntled looking old man bound in ropes.

“Oh,” said the Dashing Highwayman, looking uncertain. “Usually when I say that people just stand and deliver.”

“Not I,” said Princess Sarah. “I have come to fight tyrants.”

“Ah,” said the Dashing Highwayman. “Well, that would be me, I suppose. On garde, then?”

Sarah raised her sword, and– disarmed the Dashing Highwayman in one blow.

“Gosh, you’re not very good, are you?” said Princess Sarah in surprise.

“Well, that’s mean,” grumbled the Dashing Highwayman. “It’s not as if I get a great deal of practice.”

“You ought to practice your craft more,” said Sarah severely. “You can hardly hope to be a good highwayman if you expect people to just stand and deliver and not put up any sort of fight.”

“Well, to be fair, he did think he was just robbing nuns today,” murmured Leah.

“Come on, pick up your sword,” said Princess Sarah.

“What?” said the Dashing Highwayman.

“What?!” shrieked the Group of Nuns (except of course for the Taller Nun, who was still quite unconscious, and the Very Short Nun, who had not managed to crawl out from under her).

“Pick up your sword,” repeated Sarah. “I’m going to give you a lesson in swordplay. Come on now, feet apart.”

The Dashing Highwayman hesitantly picked up his sword and got into position. “You know, I never did really want to be a Highwayman,” he stated. “It’s just the family business, you know. Someone’s got to do it.”

“And you do a marvelous job,” leered the Lesser Accomplice from the background.

“Shut up, Harold, you know I only let you tag along to keep an eye on that wizard,” growled the Dashing Highwayman, panting from the exertion of fending off Princess Sarah’s expert blows.

“He’s a wizard?” asked Sarah, disarming the Dashing Highwayman yet again.

“Yes,” stated the Dashing Highwayman, stooping to pick up his sword from the road. “I tried to rob him a few days ago, but he’s only got magical things that I don’t know how to use, and I’m afraid if I let him go now he’ll put some sort of awful spell on me.”

“Oh, for heavens’ sake!” cried Leah. “This is all ridiculous.” She turned to the wizard. “Do you promise not to bespell him if we untie you?” she asked.

“Yes,” gabbled the wizard. Sarah quickly cut his bonds.

“I was lying,” said the wizard smugly, and threw a yellowish powder all over the Dashing Highwayman, who sat down suddenly in a fit of coughing.

“What was that?” cried Leah. Sarah raised her sword at the wizard.

“Turmeric,” said the wizard. “But he’ll never be able to rob someone again! He’ll have to be quite honest, a perfect saint from now on!” he cackled.

“Oh, well that’s all right then, coughed the Dashing No-Longer-A-Highwayman. “So long as I have a good excuse.” His face began to turn quite red from the coughing.

“Have some water,” said Leah politely, pulling out a small leather bottle.

“Thank you,” he coughed, then drank deeply.

“But what am I to do?” moaned the Lesser Accomplice. “All I’m fit for is Accomplicing. I can’t possibly be a Highwayman on my own!”

“I will not let such a soul go astray,” said Sister Wendell soulfully. “You shall rob and steal no more. My dear sisters, here is where I leave you. The Lord has called me to minister to this poor soul. You must make your way to Millston without my expert guidance.”

“Yay!” a younger nun cheered briefly, muffled quickly by the Taller Nun, who had regained consciousness and helped her Very Short friend to her feet.

“We shall rely on the Lord, Sister Wendell,” intoned the Taller Nun. “God go with you.”

“And with you. Now, come, Harold, you are an Accomplice of the Lord now, and I must teach you your prayers.”

“I know my prayers,” leered the Lesser Accomplice, trotting eagerly after Sister Wendell. “Pater noster, qui es in…”

The Dashing No-Longer-A-Highwayman turned suddenly to the Group of Nuns. “I don’t suppose I could assist you?” he asked. “I know my way to Millston quite well, I’ve robbed its highways many times.”

“Well, yes, I suppose,” stammered the Taller Nun. “I suppose that would be helpful.”

“In fact,” said the Very Short Nun, thinking of the Taller Nun’s unfortunate fainting spells, “are you looking for a permanent position? We could use a bodyguard. You know, to defend us against highwaymen.”

“Sister Wendell says the Lord will do that…” said one of the youngest nuns uncertainly.

“And just look, the Lord provided us with a nice bodyguard who knows all about highwaymen. That is, if you’re willing, of course,” said the Very Short Nun, turning to the Dashing Now-a-Bodyguard.

“Yes, that would be lovely, thank you,” he said, smiling.

A shriek suddenly came from behind them, reminiscent of a forgotten teakettle.

“But what about ME?!” screeched the wizard.

Everyone stared blankly at him.

“What about you?” Princess Sarah finally said.

The wizard puffed himself up. “I am one of the last of the Wayward Wizards, great is my power, I who­–“

“Don’t you mean ‘wicked wizards’?” interrupted Leah.

“Certainly not!” shrieked the Wayward Wizard. “A Wicked Wizard is something decidedly different. I am a Wayward Wizard, and I have never in all my two hundred and fifty-seven years come across such blatant disrespect of my arts. First I am subjected to an attack by a second-rate Dashing Highwayman and his Lesser Accomplice, and then he has the nerve to enjoy my Terrible Curse?! I have never been so insulted in all my days!” The wizard began to pace angrily back and forth in the road. “I am enraged, I am flabbergasted, I am OUTRAGED!”

“Perhaps if you take some deep breaths,” ventured a Younger Nun timidly.

“DEEP BREATHS!” raged the Wayward Wizard. “DEEP BREATHS! I AM FINISHED!” He shoved a carved wooden box into Princess Sarah’s hands. “You take my wizard’s box, what do I care for the magical arts, I’ll simply go into early retirement, who cares what my sister says!”

Princess Sarah looked at the box, bemused. “Wizard’s box? Isn’t it supposed to be a wizard’s book?” she asked.

“BOOK! Hah!” fumed the Wayward Wizard. “That is positively, absolutely, and certainly the VERY LAST STRAW!” And with that, the wizard suddenly and completely disappeared. The sudden silence of it was so shocking that the Taller Nun fainted again, but fortunately the Dashing Bodyguard managed to catch her before she toppled back onto the Very Short Nun (much to the Very Short Nun’s relief).

“Well then,” said the Very Short Nun. “I supposed we had better be off.”

“But–“ said Princess Sarah.

“But what?” replied Leah.

“I– well, I haven’t delivered anyone from any tyrants yet. The Dashing Highwayman didn’t really count.”

“Oh, you delivered us from Sister Wendell though!” cried a Younger Nun.

“And you delivered me from my Tyrannical Fate of being a highwayman,” said the Dashing Bodyguard.

“And I daresay you delivered probably quite a lot of people from the future curses of a tyrannical Wayward Wizard,” remarked Leah.

“Well,” said Sarah dubiously. “I suppose that is enough delivering for one day, although I wish there had been more swordplay.”

“Thanks for the lessons, by the way,” said the Dashing Bodyguard.

“I see you’ve got a wizard’s box now,” observed Orienne, who had woken from her refreshing nap and was poking around in the box. “Maybe you’ll finally manage to do your own disguises for once.”

“Disguises?” asked the Dashing Bodyguard.

“Is that a dragon?” shrieked a Younger Nun.

“Has your dog always been a bear?” the Very Tall Nun asked, confused (and still groggy from her recent fainting spell).

Leah turned suddenly to Zwingli. “I really am going to kill that alchemist one day.”

And with Princess Sarah having learned that the Tyrant is not always the most obvious foe, and with potential new Magical Skills, our story now comes to an end.