She wondered how soon after her escape, her father had sent soldiers after her. She suspected that Lord Forn had also sent soldiers to kidnap her again. Which cavalry force would capture her first? Perhaps they would come across one another and a battle would ensue. It would serve them both right.
She sighed, stretching her wool stocking covered feet before the fire while catching her fingers in her tangled hair. How was it she had detested her lady maids arranging her hair? She longed for their administrations again. Her very scalp itched with desire for a thorough washing.
Sir Roan rested on his side atop a snarling bear on the rug and let out a satisfied groan. Serese asked, “Do you suppose Lord Forn will arrive shortly to fetch me back?”
“Albrecht will need to stitch the bite I gave him. I surmise that Lord Forn will be sleeping off the effects of the brandy he will have taken to ease the pain.”
Serese gave Sir Roan such a reproachful look, the abashed wolf said, “He is not permanently harmed, child. I had to distract him before he did lasting damage to you. He is helpless against Serpentine’s commands; only the presence of pain helps him to resist her pull.”
Serese asked, “Is Lord Forn the rightful prince then? Is he the boy who was stolen to be the sorceress’s heir?”
Sir Roan lifted up his head and said, “That is not for me to say.”
“I have come willingly on this dangerous quest. I am likely to perish before it is finished. The least you could do, Wolf king, is to be forthright with me. I detest evasiveness.” Serese stepped over the wolf, frowning, as she walked toward a shuttered window, opening it to the night.
“You must learn to bridle your tongue, princess. Were you never taught that honeyed words result in a more desirable outcome than vinegar complaints?”
The snow swirled furiously into her face as she said, “Well spoken, Sir Roan. I am wondering if you have corresponded with my mother.” Serese hastily shut the shutter.
The wolf’s gruff laugh caused Serese to grin. She returned to the chair before the fire.
“Would you have any idea why my father would match me with the sorceress’s stolen son?”
Sir Roan replied, “It is likely your parents suspected you may be the chosen girl. Your mother’s side has turned out gifted enchantresses for centuries. Your family emblem is the blooming rose, pierced by a thorn.”
Serese swallowed some of the spiced cider she had taken with her, “They never mentioned it to me.”
She wondered if she would be better off returning to her castle and asking for reinforcements. Why should she travel alone with a wolf? It was quite dangerous really.
“I wouldn’t attempt an escape either,” Sir Roan guessed her thoughts, “I’ve placed a protective spell over the cabin. We should try to rest. Tomorrow will be difficult.”
Serese lay down beside the fire, but sleep did not come. Serese thought about the cruel lord and wondered if all of the rumors she had heard about him were true. She would be expected to rule alongside him then, most likely as his wife.
Lord Forn could charm anyone into doing his bidding. But, the worst thing about him was that he was part elf. Everyone feared the elves, for their abilities were more advanced than any mortal’s.
Serese worried about the rumors until she fell into a fitful sleep. In her dream, Lord Forn had recaptured and married her. He forced her to sew clothing for their elfin children until her fingers bled.
Chapter Four
Lord Forn sat completely still while his elderly manservant sewed tiny, straight stitches into his wounded arm. He swallowed another drink of the amber colored brandy and swore softly as the needle pierced his broken skin.
He tapped the fingers of his good arm on the cold black marble surface of the table, asking Albrecht, “How was it the tower door was left open? How far does she think she will go, unescorted, and on foot?”
Albrecht replied, “I know not, my lord. I wonder if that bewitched wolf somehow managed to free the girl.”
Lord Forn groaned, “I am in no mood for jests. Someone betrayed me and I intend to find the man responsible. You are not working very quickly. Ouch!”
The manservant sighed and said, “My eyesight is not what it used to be, Sir.”
“I need you to hurry! Dammit! I must retrieve my reluctant betrothed again.”
Albrecht assumed his most humble expression as he replied, “Aye, master, I am proceeding as quickly as your ragged bite allows; the edges are not easy to fasten together. Shall I have cook bring you some of your favorite stuffed quail?”
“If I did not know you better, Albrecht, I would say you are playing me for a fool. What I want is that recalcitrant princess on a leash, after I fetch her back. Am I such an unwelcome groom that she evades me at every opportunity?”
“Sir, I cannot speak for the wiles of young maidens but I know they all enjoy a bit of romance. Tokens of your affection, jewelry, candied tarts, that sort of thing.”
“Now I know you are jesting, Albrecht. You may leave me alone with my bad disposition now.”
Albrecht finished his stitching and left, hiding a grin, which his lord thankfully missed.
Lord Forn drank one more swallow of brandy and opened the small silver box with a single hand. There should be an ancient heirloom resting in the box and it infuriated him that it was still empty.
He thought of Serese on foot in the icy mountains and he shook his head incredulously. How had he ever believed this princess was helpless?
How could one so young possess such a formidable will? Her stubbornness made him respect her and it was not an emotion he normally associated with the opposite sex. Attraction? Yes. Desire? Yes. But to feel that a mere flower of girl was in any measure equal to him? Never, until now. Serese’s stubborn fortitude reminded him of himself.
The look she had given him from her piercing eyes had melted some of the hardness in his heart. She was in his thoughts a great deal. He wanted to clutch her to him in an embrace and he also wanted to spank her.
Lord Forn was interrupted from his romantic reverie by the silky voice of the sorceress as the crystal ball on the table began to glow.
Serpentine’s voice emanated from the grey, shining, crystal orb, “My son, I shall send a goblin battalion to capture the girl and the wolf. My army will eliminate your traitorous manservant since I doubt you will have the heart to do it. I need you to acquire something for me…”
Lord Forn listened as his stepmother relayed her orders to him. For the thousandth time, he wished that there was no elfin blood in his veins.
It seemed like a distant dream the night Serpentine had invaded Forn castle and killed his parents. The roasted boar had been relished, the wine and mead had been heartily consumed, and the court bard was about to begin his mesmerizing tale.
The double wooden doors had suddenly burst open, and in she strode—a frightfully beautiful woman. She had worn a shimmering diamond covered white gown and her long blonde hair was wound upon her head in a mass of braids. The next thing he had noticed were the snakes she had wrapped around her arms.
He had thought, “What interesting pets for a lady to have.” Until she had calmly approached his parents and the snakes had bit them, instantly killing them.
Lord Forn had been ten years old when Serpentine had cursed him and brought him to her black tower. He had hated her for sixteen years while hoping that he was, indeed, the prince the sorceress believed him to be. If he were, then an end to his misery was in sight. Serese would be able to cure him of the mind spell which infected him and he would finally have his vengeance.
He followed his stepmother’s orders now, entering the tower room, climbing into the window, and stepping onto the ledge.
He moved his black cape aside and jumped into the air, soaring high into the winter sky. His elfin powers had begun to manifest when he was thirteen. Flying was the one ability which melted the ice in Serpentine’s eyes. She relished the freedom this dreadful gift had given her; he became the e
rrand boy for her diabolical schemes.
His destination was the castle of Duke and Duchess Cardwell. His current mission concerned the eldest of King Argot’s daughters who had married the Duke four summers ago.
The lord flew through the night with the white moon glowing reproachfully behind him. Passing through clusters of clouds, he stretched his arms out before him as he sighted the Cardwell holding in the distance.
The stone fortress rose boldly into the dark sky, its solitary tower standing strong with a granite wall encircling it.
Lord Forn landed silently on the ledge outside of Duchess Claudine’s bedroom. Using his magic elfin ability, he unfastened the gated window, and stealthily entered the room.
He felt uncomfortable in the sweet-smelling room with its garden motif tapestries smothering the stone walls.
The Duchess Claudine slept soundly on a canopied bed with pink floral embroidered coverlets. His elfin vision enabled him to see all of the nauseating blooms.
The lord cautiously approached the sleeping woman who bore a striking resemblance to her youngest sister, Serese.
Her black curls clustered around her peaceful face and her steady breathing informed him that she was relishing a sound sleep. Lord Forn wished he slept soundly but those nights eluded him.
Taking a glass cylinder out of his pocket, he pulled his knife out of his boot and bent over the sleeping woman.
He gently pricked her neck with the tip of the knife, using his mind powers to encourage her to remain at rest. Then he held the glass cylinder to the small cut, collecting a few drops of her blood. As he held the container still, he heard a growl from the direction of the window behind him. He corked the vial, placing it back in his pocket.
Then, Lord Forn turned in the direction of the growls. Disbelief crossed his face as he saw a black wolf enter through the window, as if it too, had flown through the air.
The canine’s hackles were raised, it was twice as tall as a normal wolf and its white teeth were bared menacingly while it advanced slowly toward him. It was preparing to spring when the quick-thinking lord took to flight, just in time to avoid the hurtling wolf.
The black creature landed with a thud on top of the sleeping Duchess who awoke and screamed for her husband. The wolf licked Claudine on her cheek, startling her into silence while she gazed with alarmed eyes at the large beast upon her stomach.
The wolf jumped off the bed, leaping out of the window after Lord Forn.
The bewildered Duchess watched the wolf’s apparent leap to his death. She had missed the black cloaked figure of Lord Forn, flying silently out of her chamber and into the sky.
The lord was soaring to his stepmother’s black tower where she eagerly awaited the treasure he carried. She had all of the necessary ingredients together for her foul potion but for one; she required the blood of one who had worn the opal charm.
Chapter Five
The sorceress Serpentine sat on a silver streaked marble throne in her ebony and violet great hall. Her silver boot heels tapped rhythmically on the black granite floor. Silver candle sticks provided a dim flickering light as the room’s only leaded glass window was shuttered closed.
Serpentine was robed in a white, diamond encrusted gown and her pale blonde hair was wound into a coiled nest on her head.
In this braided nest, a silver snake slept and another silver snake wrapped itself possessively around the sleeve of her right arm. The sorceress’s eyes were pale grey and they held no warmth, only cruelty, and her white face was as animated as a statue. She was regally beautiful but she resembled an empty tomb come to life. She looked as if she had awoken from a nap in a coffin, arising to dress herself for an unnatural wedding. She looked to be near thirty summers and bitterness and regret seeped from her pores.
The ebony hall in which she sat had narrow wooden tables alongside its marble walls which were hung with tapestries reflecting various witches of years past. The wooden tables were painted black and held the assorted tools of her dark trade. There were stuffed crows, dragon claws, and dried tarantulas in sealed jars, various dried grasses and herbs in leather pouches with labels. There were glass vials filled with mysterious ingredients. In the corner, next to her ebony throne, a propped-up skeleton leaned against a marble table.
A grey marble fireplace held an iron kettle with a simmering stew which smelled as if it were fit for human consumption. A table with a silver linen cloth rested before the fireplace and it was set for two with porcelain white china and etched silverware. Nestled among the place settings were silver candlesticks detailed with carvings of bats and snakes. The menacing creatures wound themselves around the stems of the candlesticks, observing their surroundings with malice.
Serpentine waited for the arrival of Lord Forn and smiled coldly as she thought of the potion she would complete with the final addition of Claudine’s blood. She sensed that Lord Forn was slipping away from her control and she needed to take matters into her own hands. A knock sounded upon the massive snake carved door and a gruff voice announced from outside, “My Queen, Lord Forn has arrived.”
Another smile made its way to Serpentine’s lips but not to her grey eyes as she replied, “Well, Grunklin, see him in. Do not let us be disturbed.”
The short brown, green, speckled goblin servant obeyed his mistress’s orders, opening the chamber door and escorting the lord into his stepmother’s great hall. The goblin quickly closed the door, relieved to be out of his queen’s presence. Her moods were ever changing and many a slow-moving goblin bore bruises from her leather boot.
Lord Forn smiled cynically while bowing before Serpentine. She extended her right arm out to him. The silver snake upon it writhed, flicking its black tongue on Lord Forn’s cheek. She motioned for him to be seated at the table and he wearily sat. Serpentine almost looked wifely as she spooned stew onto the porcelain plates.
The sorceress sat next to him as if they were having an intimate dinner but the tension between them was obvious.
They ate in silence and Serpentine leaned back in her chair after she had finished, smiling at Lord Forn. She placed a white hand over his and he shivered as a chill moved into his heart.
Lord Forn said “A black wolf surprised me. It seems your plans are not unexpected.”
The sorceress said in her silky voice, “My son, those interfering dogs will not stop us. Now, where is the Duchess’s blood?”
Lord Forn withdrew the glass vial from his tunic pocket. Hesitating, he slowly passed it over
to his stepmother who eagerly snatched it from his hand.
She went over to her bowl and stirred in the blood, mixing in dried bat brains, spider legs and dried moss. Lastly, she splashed some brandy into the thick black fluid. The steaming mixture was poured into a pewter mug and Serpentine watched as her stepson reluctantly drank it.
“You must find Serese and be joined with her. After you have wooed her, bring her and her charm to me. Our three-stranded reign will not be easily torn asunder.”
The lord grimaced as the hot liquid slid slowly down his throat and into his quivering stomach. He was anxious to leave the sorceress’s presence. Her cold eyes questioned him. “I think I will make a start of it tonight. I will return with the girl and her jewel. Goodnight.”
“Beware of that opal she wears; stay away from it until you have conquered her. It is a powerful elfin-made talisman. It will protect her. She will not be alone.”
“I suspect a grey wolf with a sharp bite is guiding her. I am not without elfin ability myself. I will take care of that wolf and then Serese will be mine.”
Lord Forn confidently swept his black cloak aside as the goblin servant opened the door and released him. The lord went to the stables where he saddled one of Serpentine’s ill-tempered stallions; he could have flown but he wanted to conserve his strength.
The day had dawned clear and bright and the winter sky was a pale clean blue. The black tower he left seemed secure of its hold upon the mountain and Lord Forn d
escended slowly down the granite road to the mountain pass which would bring him to the kingdom of Calrake.
The stubborn princess could not have wandered far, he was certain he would reach her before sunset. The craggy rocks around him jutted proudly from the brown, partly snow-covered earth and he felt as if they were saluting him. He wondered if he were possibly feeling the effects of the tonic he had just ingested.
Lord Forn found his thoughts going back to his childhood as he admired the drifts of white snow piled against the cliff sides next to him. He remembered a green forested mountainside which had been resplendent with thriving pine and oak. Calrake Lake had once been stocked with the most delectable trout; he had not found their like to this day.
He faintly recalled a brunette woman with ribbons throughout her hair, holding him closely as he leaned over the lake with his fishing pole. He had told her not to let him go. She had laughed delightedly and replied, “My darling boy, you will not sink to the bottom. You can fly!”
He wondered if she had known what would come later that year. It was a question which haunted him periodically after he had spent time with Serpentine. His real mother had loved him and he clung to the few memories of her which he had.
Suddenly, a vision of Serpentine appeared in the snowy cliff before him; she pointed her pale hand at him and his stomach clenched. The memories of his mother were struck from his mind and he reeled atop the stallion.
He groaned from the pounding headache Serpentine gave him and gathered the reins in more tightly as he sighed. There would be no more escaping into his idyllic childhood today.
The day passed quickly and the evening moon had begun its rise into the sky when Lord Forn sensed he was no longer alone. He felt as if he were being watched as he rode through a narrow rocky gorge with nowhere to hide in sight. The skin on his neck prickled and goose bumps appeared on his arms. He slowed his chestnut stallion to a plodding walk, looking left and right. But he saw only scraggly black trees on either side of him.
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