Enchantress

by Christine Schumaker

  The queen was left standing, gazing after her favorite child. The willful princess did not glance back or she would have seen the tears in her mother’s eyes.

  Serese rode for her father’s hunting lodge, at the edge of the Argot forest, bordering the kingdom of Calrake. Its familiarity would comfort her while she thought about her next course of action. Although, truly, nothing useful came to mind. How did one accomplish the impossible?

  Her heart beat like a snared rabbit. Sorceress Serpentine will crush me like a twig. Perhaps then my parents will be sorry they have deceived me. Once I am returned to them—a pile of broken bones.

  “I must get away. But where shall I go?” Serese worried aloud.

  The swirling snow tried to snatch her cloak but she held it stubbornly against her. Her mare whinnied and Serese patted her, “There, there, darling. I will keep you safe.”

  Serese had always been grateful she had not been raised in the same manner as her sisters. She was the youngest of three girls and therefore—a disappointment. But the harsh reality of her father’s treatment of her stuck in her stomach like a thorn. He had lied to her, he and mother both, and it made her blood boil.

  Does it matter that I can skin a rabbit quicker than gamesman twice my age? Or jump higher than the best riders? What good will an opal trinket be against the most feared Sorceress in ten kingdoms?

  The blood red moon which disturbed everyone else comforted her while the black sky served as a fitting backdrop for her mood. I will forge a new identity for myself. I could pass as the daughter of a poacher or a stable man. Selling my jewels would provide me with plenty to live on; I could purchase a cottage somewhere. And hide forever. I cannot be that much of a coward; it is not to be endured.

  From out of the corner of her eye, Serese saw a black shaggy dog follow her. When she turned her head again, it was not there.

  Slowing Sasha to a trot, she studied the tree line. Sure enough, there were three, no, four dogs trotting briskly in formation. How strange. When they moved closer, she realized they were not dogs at all but a pack of wolves.

  These were no ordinary wolves; they jumped into the air with every stride they made. Hunting wolves communicated with their pack members with excited yips and howls but these wolves were silent. Her heart raced and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

  Serese shuddered and quickened Sasha’s pace but her horse had smelled the wolf pack and shied away from the trail. Then the panicked horse reared while Serese clung fiercely, refusing to be thrown off. The princess gained control of Sasha, continuing onward.

  The sounds of hoof beats alerted Serese and she noticed with horror that the wolves were not her only threat.

  Mounted men-at-arms, wearing Lord Forn’s colors, rode toward her! There must be a dozen knights headed her way. The moment to make a break for the woods had passed.

  “God’s Teeth!” Serese swore as she pulled her knife out of its sheath. She turned Sasha to face the approaching riders. Now, they were only a stone’s throw away from her.

  Then Serese watched, amazed, as the wolves sat on their haunches in a circle around the riders’ horses. The galloping mounts came to an abrupt stop and tilted their heads as if listening while the wolves whined in unison. The odd scene unfolding before her gave Serese pause. These wolves are bewitched. Her nightmare had only begun with her mother’s command.

  A cloud appeared around the men as the wolves opened their muzzles and a mist came out of their jaws. Serese blinked several times, wondering if the snow impeded her vision. But her eyes did not deceive her.

  A mist, visible through the falling snow, surrounded the knights on horseback. Serese sat still, transfixed, while her mare also observed the proceedings with interest.

  The men-at-arms shouted, attempting to rein in their bucking steeds, but they were overcome. The riders fell limply from their steeds, and crumbled to the snowy ground. It was as if they were enchanted.

  They will be torn apart; this winter has been especially cruel. Even fathers’ best gamesmen have been hard pressed to provide boar or venison for our table.

  But to her amazement, the wolves sat upon the unseated riders. Their shaggy butts rested on the men’s chests. The shaggy beasts then proceeded to drool on the men’s bearded faces. What sort of wolves are these?

  All the riders, but one, were thrashing on the snowy ground. The remaining rider rode rapidly for Serese. His steed was large and fast and the princess had a choice retort for her mother on her tongue. For of course she recognized the man.

  She held her blade ready in her hand. I will not give in to him without a struggle. Perhaps I will be lucky and deal him a glancing blow. Anything to hinder him and allow my escape.

  The sound of hoof beats grew louder as the grey stallion approached. The princess spurred her horse in a last-ditch chance to outrun the rider. But the man whistled and Sasha came to an abrupt stop. Her traitorous mare obeyed the man’s whistled command. Serese kicked Sasha but the stubborn horse refused to budge. The dark lord chuckled.

  The rider was none other than Lord Forn. He smiled cruelly as he saw the amazed expression on Serese’s face.

  The princess swiped her knife at the lord’s generous mouth which was set in an intimidating grin. Her blade nearly nicked his neck, when a large, black-gloved hand enclosed hers in a cruel grasp.

  Serese stared angrily at him as she struggled to free herself from his iron grip. “Release me at once!” she commanded.

  The lord was tall, with wavy brown hair, cunning brown eyes and well-made if harsh features. His cloak was black and embroidered with silver snakes. My mind is succumbing to this stress, for I swear I heard those snakes hissing at me.

  His voice was deep and melodious and Serese was reluctantly drawn to it. As he spoke, the opal charm sent a mild shock to her throat.

  “I did not think you a witch as well, but how else could you set a pack of wolves on my men and leave me, alone, unharmed? I would make you my equal and yet you refuse me.”

  Serese glared at Lord Forn, “Were I a witch, I would change you into a toad. As it is, I cannot marry you.”

  Lord Forn asked, “Why do you disobey your promise to your king?”

  The lord twisted Sasha’s reins, bringing the skittish horse and Serese closer to him. Another gloved hand gently raised the princess’s neck and dark eyes searched her face.

  Serese brushed his hand away, “I have not promised myself to you—that was my father’s doing. I do respect my king in matters of state, but not in matters of my heart. In case you had not noticed, the wolves are keeping pace with us.”

  “I would give you half my kingdom and yet, you seek to escape me. My pride shall not recover from this mortal blow you have bludgeoned it with.”

  “I am certain it shall, my lord. A bit of humbling will do wonders for your disposition.”

  Lord Forn chuckled as he replied, “Ah, there is no other who speaks so freely to me. I will have you.”

  “You may delude yourself all you like; it is no concern of mine. I will not submit.” Serese replied.

  Lord Forn bound Serese’s hands, before tying her securely to her mare’s saddle horn. The touch of his hands caused her heart to flutter like that of a captured butterfly; she was thankful the night hid her blush.

  Then he had the audacity to rope her apparently enamored mare to his grey stallion. Her horse stared moony-eyed at the lord’s silvery steed. As if being taken hostage by him weren’t humiliating enough; his stallion has captured my mare’s fickle heart. I can only hope it is not a sign of things to come.

  The fuming princess sat silently and Lord Forn wisely did not attempt any further conversation. She felt his gaze on her but she ignored him.

  The road was outlined by the red moon and the wolf pack still followed them. Serese could faintly make out the coloring of the lead wolf; his coat looked black. How strange. He seems to be escorting them.

  Not that it matters since Lord Forn has captured me. I wi
ll ensure he regrets this, once I get the chance—I will not let this proud rooster have his way with me.

  The night sky changed to a grey dawn as the sun peeked out of its barricade of clouds. The barren mountain ranges on either side of them told Serese they were now in Balzac territory.

  The scraggly trees struggled to keep their tenuous hold on the naked mountains. The snow had stopped falling and the frozen Calrake Lake resembled a jagged mirror placed on its back.

  The outline of a weathered, granite castle loomed before them. The remains of a happier time could be seen in the sleeping rose bushes which scrambled upward on its walls. Its four towers were formidable and the keep was twice as large as her father’s. It is impressive, not that I will share my opinion with him.

  Lord Forn and Serese rode to the entrance beneath the right front-most tower. The lord dismounted and helped Serese from her mare; the touch of his hand upon her arm burned.

  A stable lad came for the weary beasts and Sasha whinnied when she saw she was being taken from her mistress.

  Serese struggled in Lord Forn’s grasp as he led her to a tangled bramble of branches on the castle wall.

  “Quit squirming, my lady. I only seek to guide you through these thorns.” Lord Forn advised. “So,” Serese thought, “He is aptly named. He shall be sorry he pricked me.”

  Suddenly they stopped and Serese was pressed against the lord’s solid back; he held her tightly to him when she tried to distance herself. I hope he did not notice the sudden racing of my heart. Why must I react thusly when I am near him?

  The door was covered with iron hammered vines, stretching across its surface. Two branches met in its center and formed a rose, studded with thorns.

  Lord Forn withdrew a key from his pocket and opened the engraved door. The wood groaned in protest as the lord nudged Serese inside and up the winding stone staircase. The smell of musty loneliness greeted her as the dust made her sneeze. Clearly, this tower has not received visitors in quite some time. I do not know if that is a comfort to me or cause for distress.

  The grey granite walls were fit with black iron sconces whose grey candles threw off a flickering light. The walls were hung with paintings of a dark-haired woman with a small boy. Each painting revealed the woman holding him at various stages of his childhood. The paintings stopped when the boy looked to be ten summers.

  They reached the landing and the tower room door was propped open with an unusual black wolf head doorstop made of iron. That beast resembles the wolf I saw earlier. The doorstop grinned. Have I lost my senses? Is that elfin made and somehow magical?

  The circular room they entered contained a grey fireplace in which a well-tended fire warmed a copper pot of stew. The room’s mahogany paneled walls were hung with pictures of the hunt. A great canopied bed loomed before her, from its prominent place next to a shuttered window.

  Serese avoided looking at it at all costs. Surely Lord Forn does not mean to consummate our engagement, thus forcing a marriage. I would not put it past him.

  Thankfully, my dagger remains tucked in my boot. Not that its presence helped me earlier but I will try again if he lays a hand on me. He will learn that this violet rose has thorns.

  The stone floor had a burgundy wool carpet embroidered with black wolves dancing around a lonely grey hare. That poor rabbit. This room’s warm atmosphere offers reassuring comfort. It is not what I expected. But then this entire day has been like that.

  A small table held a decanter of wine and was set for a late-night supper for two. Surely Lord Forn does not plan on wooing me at this hour? He did not make flowery speeches or give me trinkets earlier. Instead, he met with Father and the two of them sold me like a parcel of land. I do not care if Lord Forn has placed the highest bid. He will not plow me. I will die first.

  Lord Forn gave his black cloak to an elderly grey-bearded man who entered, carrying a silver box, “Here is the item you requested, my Lord,” he said in a refined voice, “Is there more you and the princess require?”

  “Yes, Albrecht, send for a priest for the wedding ceremony to be held tomorrow. That will be all. Goodnight.”

  Serese glared at Lord Forn as she sat on a cushioned seat at the table, “You will not have me as your wife. I have pressing business to attend to—you do not know the half of it. Besides, the priest will not force my hand.”

  Lord Forn smiled a grim smile, which would have been alarmingly handsome had it been sincere, “Serese, I do not require your consent. I need your magical gemstone; give it to me.”

  Serese looked bewildered and the irate lord answered, “You think I do not know the prophecy then? The sorceress has every renegade creature at her disposal searching for you. Have you not heard the stories of village maidens being most cruelly examined? They do not bear the mark she seeks, do they? But you do.”

  He reached out a large hand, gently raising Serese’s neck and he saw the white rose-shaped sign on her neck. He smiled a chilling smile, but his brown eyes momentarily reflected a pain, so sharp, it pricked her heart. Just as quickly, his familiar mocking expression replaced the glimpse of his secret torment which she had seen. What troubles him so?

  I will not pity him. I must escape. I must avoid any personal involvement. Especially not with this man whose reputation precedes him.

  The dark lord turned away from her, facing the heat from the steadily burning logs. He bitterly said, “Many times over, I have wished I am not who I am. I desire to be free of her. I require an ally. Perhaps, in time, you will see I had no choice in the matter.”

  He turned, looked into Serese’s eyes and placing his hand on her cheek; he said softly, “Rest well, my fellow warrior, for tomorrow we wed.” He removed the wolf doorstop, locking the heavy wooden door behind him.

  He paused outside her room and pushed his linen shirt collar aside to scratch a painful spot on his own neck; somehow, he was reluctant to tell her exactly what the prophecy entailed.

  Serese stared at the locked door and brought her finger to the tiny bump of the rose mark under her neck.

  Nanny told me stories about a vicious barren sorceress who had killed a royal family, stealing their young son to be her heir. A princess kissed by the ancients’ mark was predicted to break that curse.

  Why nobody had seen fit to ask me if I would welcome such an honor is another injustice. Clearly, my permission if of no consequence. I wish an old seer was standing before me so I could slap him. Deus!

  She slowly stood before the fireplace, carefully tugging the golden chain out of her bodice, admiring the multi-colored stone. She touched its blue veined center and marveled at shiny bits of purple hidden in its milky depths. Mixed in among the purple specks were tiny dots of green and blue.

  I remember one of the castle shepherdesses whose throat had been badly scratched by a flying man’s reckless examination. I thought the girl had been at the spiced mead. Perhaps the shepherdess had been telling the truth. The sorceress had been searching for me.

  Only birds, dragons and elves flew. Then there are the angels in the celestial realm. Of course, midgets and butterflies and winged insects flit about in the skies as well.

  Bu, I will not believe that men cavort in the skies like bewitched birds.

  It irritates me to see Lord Forn so conflicted. He is no monk, that much is certain, but what has made him so formidable? I must do what I can to aid him; he stirs something in my heart.

  Her neck tingled as she felt the opal charm grow warm against her skin and a heat spread from her neck outward. Serese held the opal and watched as its bluish-purple streaks began to glow. She gazed in amazement, “It must be a vision,” she mused aloud.

  Two small girls sat before a thriving rose bush with a grey castle wall sheltering them. One of the girls was fair and dressed in a red linen gown, trimmed with black pearls. The other girl was dark and dressed in a purple linen gown, trimmed with silver pearls. The children looked to be near ten summers and were both beautiful with small silver crowns upon t
heir heads. Then the fair girl touched a violet rose on the bush, causing it to wither and die. She smiled a wicked, frightening smile while staring intently into the dark-haired girl’s eyes, almost as if she were daring her to defy her actions. The dark-haired girl boldly stared back at the blonde-haired girl and touched the rose bush with her own hand. The dead shrub sprang back into life and the branches which she had touched had awakened in violet blooms. The fair girl rose up in anger and flounced away while the dark girl sat quietly before the enchanted shrub.

  Slowly the image faded into milky white and disappeared. Serese felt the radiating heat leave her neck. The opal became an ordinary jewel again.

  She walked over to the imposing bed, holding the necklace in her hand while sitting on the edge. Why is that rose bush familiar to me? Who did the dark haired little girl remind me of? Something nags at my memory but I cannot place either child.

  Suddenly she yawned and before she could think anymore, she curled into her favorite feline position and drifted into a troubled sleep. Her mind roiled with questions but her body had worn itself out.

  Serese dreamed of a wise grey wolf with a deep growling voice who counseled her. His yellow eyes were intelligent and kind and his white whiskers shook as he spoke. The wolf laid his grey head on her shoulder as he said, “Follow your heart and do not fear what you do not understand. Trust the opal for it is always on the side of all that is noble. But the darkness will try to win you. You must resist. There are friends who will aid you in your quest.”

  The princess twisted in her sleep, trying to escape the strange talking wolf in her dream. Reaching out a hand to push its black nose away, she woke up. She looked and seeing no wolf; she finally surrendered to sleep. In her anxiety, she missed a clump of grey hair on the pillow next to her own.

  Chapter Two

  In the granite walled room in the opposite tower, Lord Forn sat resting his head in his hands. He leaned on a black marble table and frowned. A tugging began in his spirit as he twisted his hands in his thick brown hair.