Troll By Jury by Esther M. Friesner

"I don't know why she's going through with this if she doesn't want to," Garth Justi's-son said as he and his two companions picked their way along the bank of the Iron River that misty morning. "If you don't want to do something, don't do it, that's what I always say. Life is simple."

"For the simple-minded, maybe." Garth's wife, Zoli of the Brazen Shield, was all grouches and grizzles. The erstwhile member of the Swordsisters' Union was in one of her none-too-affable moods.

"You sound even less enthusiastic to be attending this event than Ethelberthina," Garth observed. "She's got to be there because it's her Maiden Morn-a girl turns thirteen just once, if she's lucky-but you didn't have to come."

"Ethelberthina asked us to be there," Zoli shot back. "D'you think I'd do this for anyone else? Poor kid, she needs us. Otherwise she'll be surrounded by relatives. Her relatives." Even the hardened ex-swordswoman shuddered at the thought.

"You know, I wonder why she is doing this." Garth rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "It's plain she'd rather die. When I was a lad, a girl had to celebrate her Maiden Morn or there'd be talk, but times have changed; folk here in Overford think it's old-fashioned. Skip it nowadays and no one blinks an eye, let alone gossips about it, and you know how we Overfordians love to gossip. Do you think someone's forcing her?"

"Who's got that sort of power?"

"If she were an ordinary girl, I'd say everyone and the miller's donkey," Garth replied. "But seeing as it's her-"

"Indeed." Dean Porfirio, head of the Overford Academy and the third member of the wandering party, gave a fond smile. "I've always said that Ethelberthina Eyebright is a most exceptional child."

"A twelve-year-old who counts a couple of retired sellswords and a wizard as her best friends? Yes, I'd call that exceptional, all right." Zoli adjusted the set of her armored bodice and spat into the reeds.

"The richest twelve-year-old in Overford and half the dukedom 'round," the wizard added.

"Maybe she's doing it because someone promised her a nice Maiden Morn present," Garth conjectured.

Zoli stopped, spun around, and hollered in his face: "Would you listen to yourself? She can buy her own presents! There's no reason she has to endure this stupid Midden Morn nonsense if-"

"Maiden Morn," Dean Porfirio corrected her, steepling his fingertips and nodding in that sage manner that so many wizards affected. Even while matching Garth and Zoli stride for stride, he still managed to convey the impression that he was back in his office, sunk deep in a comfortable armchair, delivering an instructive speech to wayward students. "A singular, local custom whose origins are lost in the mists of antiquity."

"Like us," Zoli grumbled. It was that legendarily darkest of all hours, the one that came just before the dawn, and nature had decided to add to the travellers' problems by casting a thick blanket of fog across their path. "We never should've agreed to call for you this morning. A wizard ought to be able to get himself out of bed and off to his appointments. I know the path from our house to the Iron River blindfolded, but from Overford Academy it's another story." She scowled at Dean Porfirio. "The only way we're going to find the river now is if we fall into it."

"We can't be late," Garth said. He sounded worried. "We've got to find the toll bridge, or at least the ford. The ritual's going to be held on the town side, and if we're not there soon, we won't be able to see a thing!"

"What's there to see?" Zoli wanted to know.

"Ah, I can answer that!" Dean Porfirio said. "First, the girl herself wades into the river and as soon as she sees the sunrise touch the water, she recites the Prayer for a Prosperous Husband. Then-"

"Prayer for a what?" Even through the fog it was possible to tell that Zoli was looking at the wizard as if he'd broken out in a rash of parsnips.

"Prosperous Husband. That's the whole point of having a Maiden Morn, letting a girl send out the word that she's officially on the marriage market. Then, as soon as she finishes reciting the poem-"

Zoli stopped spang dead in the middle of the path and slapped her forehead. "So that's it!" she exclaimed. "That's why Ethelberthina's gone crabbier than an ogre with the itch: It's that stupid poem!"

"Doesn't want a prosperous husband?" Dean Porfirio inquired mildly.

"Doesn't need a prosperous husband, nor any other kind," Zoli said. "What a question! You know the girl as well as I-more to the point, you know her father. From the moment she was born, Mayor Eyebright was her first, best, and only example of a prosperous husband."

Dean Porfirio's brow darkened. "That bloated sack of lizard droppings had me assaulted and left for dead in an alley, once. And Ethelberthina still talks about how he kept trying to get his hands on her trust fund. Hmph! No wonder the child doesn't want to advertise for a husband, even if it is no more than an empty ritual: She must think they're all like her father."

"Even me?" Garth asked in a surprisingly small voice for one who had single-handedly destroyed his share of dark legions, demon hordes, and effete high priests in his salad days.

"Of course not you." Zoli patted her husband's cheek. "It's not that Ethelberthina never wants a husband, it's just that she thinks it's stupid to make folks think that's all she wants."

"Unlike her sisters," Garth remarked. Everyone nodded. Ethelberthina's elder sisters, Mauve and Demystria, were famous in Overford song and story as being two of the most husband-hungry maidens ever to flutter a fan, drop a hankie, or bat a set of eyelashes at anything midway male. Recently Demystria had succeeded in her quest, using all her wiles and three bottles of Old Dragonbreath Reserve to extract a promise of marriage from a blacksmith's apprentice. Her whoop of joy shattered forty-eight neighborhood windows and her mother's best mirror.

"Ethelberthina's sisters would look quite natural in a pasture, chewing cud," said Zoli. "They take after their mother: No brains, but a baby-maker that works overtime. What's she up to? Seven kids?"

"Eight, and a ninth in progress." Dean Porfirio made a few mystical gestures and created a white-hot ball of light that immediately vaporized the surrounding fog for the radius of a good spear-cast. "Ah, there we are." He smiled up at the overhanging bulk of the toll bridge.

Zoli uttered a meaty curse. "Oh, wonderful. We've blundered right under the hideous thing. Now we'll have to climb back up the bank to cross on it."

"Don't bother; we're too late already," said Garth, pointing. The remaining mist had decided to move on before Dean Porfirio sizzled it into oblivion; the view across the Iron River was clear. From their vantage point on the Academy side, Ethelberthina's three friends saw the crowd of guests massed on the farther shore. Ethelberthina herself was already knee-deep, a crown of rosebuds perched at a tipsy angle on her head, her brand-new birthday dress kilted up between her legs but the long sky-blue cloak on her shoulders trailing heavily in the water. A plump, usually chipper child, she currently wore an expression popularized by dispirited captives everywhere. Behind her there hovered a large, obviously pregnant woman whose radiant smile more than made up for Ethelberthina's dejection.

"Stand up straight, dear!" the lady chirped. "You'll get your gown wet otherwise."

"Ah, Goodwife Eyebright," Dean Porfirio murmured. "But I don't see her husband anywhere."

"You wouldn't; this isn't about him," Garth said. "When he's not the center of attention, he stays away."