Slowly he shook his head back and forth in denial. He did not wish to be influenced by his stepmother tonight but the grey crystal ball on the table glimmered and his eyes were unwillingly drawn to its eerie light.
He heard Serpentine’s silky voice speak to him through it, “You must be joined with Serese now. I you will be too late if you wait for the priest. Go now! Do not touch the necklace she wears; she must surrender it of her own free will.”
Lord Forn rose from the chair as if in a trance and it appeared as if a cloud covered his brown eyes. He withdrew his sword, walking slowly down the stairs of his tower and back up the stairs of the tower which held Serese. The small part of his mind which still belonged to him knew that he would force himself upon Serese. Serpentine had only to command and he was compelled to obey. That small piece of his soul which remained his alone vehemently protested his stepmother’s manipulations and wished to be free of her.
He looked at the painting of himself at six summers where he had perched impatiently upon his mother’s lap. He had just received his first pony that morning and the painting master was taking longer than usual to capture his expression. He remembered how he had squirmed and his gentle mother had laughed while chiding him to be still. She had smelled like lilies and tree bark and he missed her terribly. He was thankful she could not see him now; he knew she would have been saddened by the man he had become.
The cursed lord reached the locked tower door of Serese’s room but was prevented from unlocking it by the menacing growl of a large grey wolf which stood between him and the door. The lord was taken aback by the wolf’s golden eyes which glared at him with righteous fury. He reached forward with his sword but the beast watched him and leapt at the lord before he could strike a blow. Lord Forn shoved at the wolf, but with a growling lunge, the grey canine bit him on his right arm. He yelled, kicking at him, but the grey wolf was quick and skirted away from his black boot. Instead, Lord Forn’s boot collided mightily with the stone wall which brought forth a string of obscenities from him.
The wolf looked directly at Lord Forn as if to say, “Do not attempt it again or I shall truly harm you,” before sitting on his haunches before the princess’s door.
The aggravated lord sank to his knees, relieved not to have harmed Serese. He was free of the mind spell Serpentine had placed on him; physical pain released the sorceress and her demands from his thoughts.
He smiled at the bravery of the strange wolf and knew for certain that it was part of the legendary order assigned to protect the Argot enchantresses.
Serese would be the cure for him; once he found a way to convince her that it was in her best interest to help him. He winced at the throbbing ache of the wolf bite as he staggered to his feet, gingerly holding his injured arm to his side, limping slightly on one foot as he made his way back to his quarters.
Serese had not awoken from the scuffle outside her door; she was lost in a soothing sleep where black, grey, and white wolves conversed among themselves while she sat in the midst of them. k12
Chapter Three
“Princess Serese,” Albrecht knocked twice before unlocking the massive door and entering the tower room. He carried a silver tray with a small loaf of bread, a wedge of cheese, dried fruit and spiced cider, which he placed on a table.
Serese sat up in the roomy bed, pushing the down coverlet aside. Her stomach growled and she was grateful the lord had not planned on starving her into marrying him. She smiled at the servant who observed her curiously as if she were some exotic specimen from a faraway land.
“Is there something amiss?” she inquired, for he stared so intently.
“I must admit, I expected you to be more formidable; you are rather delicate. There must be elfin blood in your family tree. It is likely—you being chosen by the ancients.”
Serese’s eyes widened at his remark, “Those are bold words, Sir. How is it you know of me?”
The elderly servant moved closer, pointing to the mark under her neck. “It is there for the entire world to see, your highness. The reign of our evil queen is nearing its end. You must know the tale of the rose-kissed girl.”
“I am familiar with the legend. I had no idea until last night that it pertained to me. Now I understand why my father raised me so differently from my sisters.”
“I am glad your father was wise in his care of you. You will need all of the skills he has taught you, if you are to defeat Serpentine.”
Serese questioned Albrecht, “What do you know of my journey? My mother told me I must kill the sorceress and she gave me this-” and Serese pulled the opal out of her bodice. The manservant eyed it warily and said, “You will find the way of it, I suppose. If not, my lord is doomed to remain in the clutches of that harridan who calls herself his ‘mother’.”
“That is one way of putting the matter,” Serese thought, but she did not want to be responsible for Lord Forn’s happiness. Oh, men had always told her that she possessed the key to their happiness, usually while trying to steal a kiss. Somehow, she knew Lord Forn’s predicament was different.
The manservant poured spiced ale for the princess, “You are the violet rose; you must cure the rightful prince. There is no one else.”
“I find it difficult to believe I am the rose.” Serese sipped the ale.
Albrecht smoothed his beard and said, “You are the one, whether you feel capable of it or not. Your eyes are the same shade as that mystical flower of legend.”
“That is supposed to reassure me?” Serese laughed. “My eye color has destined me to a painful death then. I know my mother is a gifted enchantress. Why have the ancients not chosen her?”
The manservant smiled, “It is not for you or me to question their wisdom. But I know that the elves do not fashion such powerful talismans for whimsical reasons. You were chosen.”
Serese threw her bed covers off, “Why cannot I have a say about how I spend the time allotted to me?”
The manservant opened his mouth to speak but Serese interrupted him, “Do not say it! I was chosen. Yes, I have been told. I have been marked. But why do these prophets assign me the role of assassin while offering no way to fulfill it, but a necklace?”
“They have provided me, my child. I will introduce you to your guide. He will show you the way. You are not alone, Princess. Now, please eat, for I must help you escape before Lord Forn returns.”
Serese grinned as she approached the breakfast table. She grabbed a handful of raisins, the wedge of cheese, the bread and a wineskin. Then, throwing her cape over her shoulders, she followed the manservant out.
Down the spiral staircase she went, barely noticing the dark-haired boy in the oil paintings who seemed to watch her as they hurried past.
Albrecht brought her to another door, unlocking it with a key he withdrew from his pocket. Then, he freed Serese from her second prison in as many days. If fortune continued to aid her so, she would find herself accomplishing the impossible after all.
The princess breathed in the crisp winter air as she stood on the stone step.
The weather had improved overnight for the snow had ceased falling, leaving the rocky barren foothills of Mount Balzac covered in white. The distant peaks thrust proudly into the blue sky as if they were heralding a momentous change. Which Serese felt they were; her life had altered dramatically since the day before yesterday.
Serese did not see her beloved horse, Sasha, and Albrecht said, “You will not be bringing your mare, princess. The climb would be too much for her. She will be kept safe for your return.”
“She is most dear to me, I will hold you to your promise,” Serese said.
The manservant said, “I will treat her well. Are you certain you go willingly, of your own accord? My friend is not as young as he once was—I will not have him chasing you down to convince you to continue on your way. Do you go freely to kill the sorceress?”
Serese expelled her breath, “I shall proceed. Whether I succeed or not remains to be seen. I will t
ry my best. Will that be reassurance enough for your friend?”
Albrecht nodded, “Aye, that will do, princess,” and he gave a shrill whistle, which startled Serese. He turned his head to the side of the castle and Serese followed his gaze.
A large grey wolf trotted toward them. He had intelligent golden eyes, a black nose, and a pleasant bushy tail. He sat at Serese’s feet as he frowned at Albrecht, “Am I a dog then, to be summoned so crudely?”
Serese stared at the talking wolf, not quite sure if she was losing her mind for certain now. This was the same wolf from her dream. Then she remembered the tales of enchanted wolves who had been gifted by the elves. Surely this intelligent lupine was one of them.
The wolf looked intently into her eyes as if trying to find the measure of her, “I am Sir Roan and I will lead you to the sorceress’s tower. I’ve seen you compete in your father’s tournaments; you are more capable than you think.”
Albrecht smiled as Serese knelt and shook Sir Roan’s right paw. The wolf graciously nodded to the fascinated princess. “It is a pleasure to meet you as well,” Serese said.
Albrecht told her, “Trust your heart and the stone. God speed.”
Sir Roan leapt ahead of Serese, up the snow-dusted trail blanketing the mountain range and glanced behind, checking that the princess followed. Serese drew her fur cape around her and stared up the rocky path which ascended the foothills of the Balzac Mountains. The claw-like branches of the barren trees mockingly beckoned to her. Serese tried not to think of them as grasping hands. She tore off a piece of bread from the loaf she had taken and ate it with a bite of the sharp, yellow cheese.
Serese followed the wolf for he seemed certain of his direction. Lord Forn would try to recapture her. He must have more men-at-arms at his disposal who could continue a search. Surely those riders from last night had recovered from the wolves’ strange attack by now.
“Sir Roan,” she asked, “A black wolf escorted me here last night. Was he one of yours?”
“You have a curious mind, Serese, it will serve you well. Yes, he is one of our order.”
Serese asked, “It seemed as if a mist enveloped the men. They were hurt but not killed. Was your order responsible?”
Sir Roan replied, “Yes, it is one of our many gifts. The men will recover in a day or two.”
Serese looked thoughtful and asked, “How was it the wolves did not eat the men or their mounts?”
Sir Roan laughed gruffly, turning his head to her, “The beasts were blameless in the plot, why should they be harmed? Do you think we are like other wolves? That we are controlled by our appetites? Or preference is for mutton, not man flesh.”
Serese said, “I meant no offense. I have heard of your kind. Were you truly gifted by the elves then?”
“Well, we certainly did not become this way all by ourselves. The elves chose a pack of Balzac forest wolves to guard the royal bloodline. They knew the sorceress would be seeking the girl blessed with the mark. For hundreds of years, we have guarded your predecessors.”
“You watched over my sisters? I never knew of it.”
“I respected the wishes of your king. Your sister Claudine had this unwelcome habit of dressing our young in royal baby clothes. Your sister Sabrina bound their tails with ribbons and sewed collars for them.”
Serese said wistfully, “Sabrina always did like to embroider. She died in childbirth two summers ago. I still miss her.”
“I am sorry for your loss. Keep watch. We are entering troll territory. I would prefer not to encounter one.”
They walked steadily as the sun rose, and they gradually ascended the narrow mountain path. The trees grew tall but crooked, resembling arthritic sentinels, guarding the path. The valley below them contained Calrake castle, which now seemed as harmless as a doll house.
The air was biting and the absence of birdsong and wildlife was unnerving. A grassy, snow-covered clearing lay ahead of them with a cluster of ominous twisted trees in its center. The sudden stillness set Serese’s nerves on edge and she withdrew her dagger from her boot as she peered around cautiously. Nothing seemed amiss but her nerves stretched with an awareness of unseen danger.
A screeching yell sounded and a vicious ugly troll jumped out from behind a tree.
He was lumpy, misshapen and had crooked facial features. His black eyes were uneven while his long nose was bent in three places. It was as if his maker had purposely and cruelly bent his face and his figure for some savage reason. His gangly fingers grasped a wooden stick with a silver snake painted on its base. For some reason, Serese pitied the wretched creature.
“Who dares enter our queen’s domain?” the troll commanded in a deep voice which made Serese wince.
Sir Roan motioned with his head for Serese to wait while he approached the tall troll. She could hardly believe she was here on Mt. Balzac with a talking wolf and a tree troll and she had not yet been eaten. The trolls from her childhood tales never wasted time exchanging pleasantries before they devoured you. She knew troll heads fetched a high price at market. A hunter who brought one down developed sudden fame; it was next to impossible to kill one.
Her wolf escort spoke with the monster; she watched as the wind ruffled the coarse, grey, white fur on Sir Roan’s back. She noticed he wagged just the end of his tail very slowly. If he were a castle cat, Serese would have moved away from him to avoid an impending attack. The troll took no notice of the wolf’s flickering tail. Serese watched as the troll fixed his black eyes on her appraisingly. Sir Roan barked urgently and the troll shook his head angrily while raising his snake-emblazoned stick.
Serese stared, amazed, as the troll thrust his stick before him, holding it up high and shouting, “Kravender! Scravender! Down her! Flounder!”
Serese gasped in alarm as the ground at her feet began to tremble and the rocks from below grabbed her ankles. She teetered slightly while struggling to retain her balance. The opal charm on her chain grew warm while the rocks began to tear at her stockings. Soon the opal was so hot that Serese held it by its chain, away from her neck.
“Fiery light, shine now bright. Burn anew, death’s dark fright.” Serese spoke a spell recalled from her childhood. The troll screamed as pink mist from her opal floated over to him.
Serese watched, astonished, as sweet-smelling smoke enveloped the screaming troll.
The shape of the smoke took on a dragon, with wings spread open around the cruel servant of Serpentine. He dissolved like a piece of fatty meat on a spit. One moment he was there, thrashing and hollering. The next, he was gone. Only a jumbled pile of black raggedy clothing and a scorched diamond brooch remained.
Serese shuddered and Sir Roan sat perfectly still until the pink mist dissipated. He whined comfortingly as he ran back to Serese, who had dropped to her knees. Her heart raced as she stared at the remains of the troll.
Her neck burned where the enchanted opal had scorched it. She felt the sore spot which throbbed as if a particularly mean wasp had stung her; it beat in rhythm with her heart. Her skin was red. Then the opal cooled again.
She carefully placed it down the bodice of her gown, brushed her long dark hair out of her eyes and sighed deeply. Her mother was right; this rose charm was no ordinary jewel.
“I never knew it would do that. My neck feels as if it is on fire.” Serese felt the burn mark.
“Well done, princess. You will find the pain lessens over time. Whatever emotions you are feeling pass on to the opal.”
“I only worried for your safety and I wished that I might help you. The spell came out of the recesses of my memory.”
“Precisely. The opal heard your heart’s desire and your mind responded to it.”
“I never knew it could read my thoughts,” Serese said.
Sir Roan said, “There is much you must learn. I was afraid we might encounter a troll. Ever since they have aligned themselves with the earth faeries, they have been incorrigible.”
“I thought the faeries were filled with g
oodness and light,” Serese said.
“Some of them are, but some are quite malicious. Originally all of them were pure of heart. Many have been corrupted by Sorceress Serpentine.”
Serese stood to her feet, brushing the black dirt off her torn stockings and stamping away the pink dust on her boots. “Which ones have turned dark?” she asked.
“The earth and the fire faeries have joined forces with the sorceress. The air and water faeries have resisted her pull. I doubt we should come across any of them; they keep fiercely to themselves. Many of them have deserted these parts.”
Sir Roan gave Serese an admiring glance, “That was well done,” and he nodded briefly.
“Thank you,” Serese said.
The wolf and the princess continued up the stony trail as their surroundings grew more desolate. The air bit at Serese’s reddened cheeks while cliff side rocks tore at her woolen cloak, whenever she brushed against them. It was as if her very presence made them angry.
The sky was a dreary, misty slate canvas which Serese wished she could paint blue. The reassuring sun had retreated hours ago. They had hiked the entire day with no more rest than what was essential.
Just when her knees were quivering from the strain of their long hike, Sir Roan recognized the Calrake hunting lodge ahead of them. Serese wondered what sort of hunters climbed this unfriendly pass just for a chance to capture wild game.
The stone house had a wooden door which Serese found unlocked. They entered the solid structure. The one room hunting lodge had a stone floor and a stone fireplace. Flint stones and kindling lay next to the large hearth. Serese lit a fire. The furniture was sturdy, if a bit masculine for her taste. A faded brown and red rug embroidered with leaping deer and fearsome bears nearly covered the entire floor.
Serese collapsed into one of the chairs in front of the fireplace. She pulled her boots off, rubbing her sore feet. She had thrown her cape and her cloak on a table in the corner. Stale rushes were scattered over the floor. Serese was reminded of her father’s great hall the morning after a banquet.
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