He thought he might be making out the shape of something from behind one of them. The brown cape it wore concealed it behind the gnarled tree trunk. Lord Forn stopped his horse, dismounted, and approached the tree carefully while leading his horse behind him. He knew that tree trolls were loyal to Serpentine so he figured as soon as this particular troll realized who he was, he would be allowed to pass in safety.
He had almost reached the tree, when quietly, a band of ten trolls suddenly encircled him. Their leader raised his black staff, cautioning his rough companions, “Do not let him fly away; he has that elfin ability. Keep your staffs aimed at him and concentrate or he will escape.”
The black caped band of trolls followed their leader’s orders, aiming their magical staffs high and directly at Lord Forn’s chest. The trapped lord could not free himself and gave a cheeky grin to their king. He bowed slowly when their leader recognized him. The head troll spoke in his disturbing gruff voice, “So, the son of Serpentine travels alone through our domain. I know whom you seek for that princess has killed my second-in-command. I want my revenge upon that magical girl. Beware of her charm; it can melt you to dust with its pink smoke. I will let you pass safely if you relinquish your fine horse.”
“I hate to part with him, how about some gold coins instead?”
“I am sorry, my lord, if I did not make myself clear. We happen to be hungry and have not had decent horse to eat in over a fortnight. Do not provoke my hospitality by declining my kind offer.”
Lord Forn paused. He felt sorry for the stallion but he nodded his acceptance of the troll king’s terms while still planning on rescuing the horse. Before he could reach the air, a powerful curse was uttered, “Kravender! Scravender! Fall and Flail!” and the lord was thrown by an unseen force to the frozen ground.
He landed on his back while the very rocks from underneath him grabbed his arms and legs, cutting into his flesh and holding him down like a butterfly pinned to a piece of wood by its outstretched wings. He squirmed but the sharp rocks only pierced him more and he felt warm blood trickling from his wounds. The angry trolls jabbed him with their black sticks, causing purple bruises to appear on his flesh. He could not move; their spell had him caught like a boar with an arrow in its heart. As if this wasn’t bad enough, he heard the tortured screams of his horse as it was being eaten alive. His stomach clenched suddenly in spasms and he vomited some of the potion he had swallowed earlier.
The trolls tired of beating Lord Forn after he no longer resisted their cruel prodding. They left him behind, after dining on his pitiful stallion.
The badly beaten lord felt the troll curse wearing off and he clutched his stomach while attempting to rise. Then he saw a black dog from out of the corner of his eye. He realized it was no dog but that same black wolf from Duchess Claudine’s bedchamber, the one which had nearly bitten him. He grimaced, muttering, “I suppose you have come to gloat. I think there is a spot on my left arm which has remained unscathed, you may as well bite me there.”
The black wolf raised his brown eyes in an unspoken rebuke and replied, “Perhaps another time. I have come to escort you back to your castle where Albrecht will tend you. You have been given a strong dose of a mind-controlling poison. I am afraid Serpentine suspects your loyalties are divided; she seeks to bind you to her more strongly.”
Chapter Six
The next morning Serese and Sir Roan made a hasty breakfast of the leftover raisins, cheese and bread. They continued up the Balzac Ridge trail, keeping a lookout for icy patches.
The path wound up and as it inclined, they breathed heavily in the thin air, exerting themselves.
The rocks were coated with icy patches of snow and on their northern sides, they were dusted with white powder. The bent trees of the previous day had been replaced by thorny shrubs.
As they ascended the icy trail, the mountain air developed a sharp bite which seeped through Serese’s cloak and woolen cape, spreading into her cold skin. She clutched her cloak to her, sighing as she observed Sir Roan briskly walking ahead of her. He seemed oblivious to the stinging chill as his thick coat shook with his definite steps.
Serese found herself thinking of Lord Forn. She wondered what he would look like with his scowling mouth relaxed into a smile. She also wondered what it would feel like if he kissed her and she tried to banish that thought.
Still she was startled to feel her opal charm give her a small spark of heat. Could it approve of the direction her mind was taking? Or perhaps it was out of sorts. She wished she could read the talisman better. Once again, she was annoyed that her parents had not seen fit to give her more guidance concerning the temperamental jewel.
A sharp, sudden gust of wind nearly tore her fur cloak away from her and the whistling air howled in agitation which made Serese wish she were in her father’s castle, sitting before a healthy fire.
She longed to be cuddled in her eiderdown coverlet in her canopied bed. Her thoughts drifted shamelessly to her leisurely afternoons. Whenever she hadn’t been training with her fathers’ knights, that is. Even her former embroidery lessons held an unexpected appeal.
As they climbed higher, the sun shone from behind clouds and Serese hoped her mare was safe at Calrake castle. As she crunched small clusters of ice beneath her boots, she was reminded of an incident which had occurred when she was twelve summers old.
She and Sasha had been riding in her father’s woods on an autumn day when a snake had risen up out of the dried leaves of the forest floor. It had struck at her beloved horse and Serese had quickly thrown her dagger at the snake, killing it in an instant. She had brought the remains of the poisonous serpent back to the castle and that was the moment when the other children had begun to shun her in earnest.
It had never occurred to her then that she was being groomed for her future. Now she only hoped she was indeed skilled enough to satisfy her parents’ belief in her. Never mind the approval of the ancients. If she failed, she did not know how she would contend with her father’s terrible temper. She would not find her mother releasing her from prison so easily the next time.
Her reverie was interrupted by an angry shout and an arrow whistling through the air, a mere hands-breadth from her face.
Then Serese heard the cawing of crows and dreadful birds plucked at her clothing and her face. The princess threw her hands up to fend them away and another arrow struck a crow which fell to the ground with a terrible squawk.
Another arrow flew quickly by, landing in another black bird and her opal charm grew hot. Serese said, quickly, “Fleet of flight, dark delight, sleep alright, caught in light.”
A violet cloud enveloped the crows which struggled, cawing to break away but caught in a pink web.
A crow fell from the sky, landing before Serese’s feet. The arrow stuck in the dead bird had a dragon emblem on its shaft. “How odd,” Serese said “that the symbol of wizardry should be found on such a remote arrow. Who released it?”
The canine guardian sank his teeth into a crow and the bird was still. The wolf’s golden eyes focused on Serese as an angry shepherd boy stormed across the rocky mountain face toward her.
“Stay still, my lady! I will slay that wolf!” The young man had an arrow notched and aimed at Sir Roan as he pulled back the bow string.
Serese narrowed her violet eyes, saying none too gently, “This wolf is my friend. He is to be left alone. You may be on your way.”
The curly headed youth opened his brown eyes wide as he noticed the expensive cloak, and the fine leather boots which the young lady wore. He raised his eyebrows, grinning as he mockingly replied, “Aye, I am sorry princess. It is not often a mountain lad has the honor of meeting royalty, which you must be, from the quality of your garments.”
Serese had withdrawn her dagger from her boot and aimed it at the boy’s face. Serese asked, “That wolf is the king of his kind and my guide. He is not pleased by your eagerness to slay him. You are no simple mountain lad, from the mark on your arrow. Who a
re you? Go about your business and leave us to ours.”
“I am sorry, your highness. But I have no wish to be on my way. My father disappeared when I was but a boy. I barely remember him.”
Sir Roan bounded over to the shepherd, who retreated a step as the uncommonly large wolf sat before him, glaring at him with intelligent eyes.
The lad’s own eyes widened in shock when the wolf addressed him, “Do you believe in fate, wizard’s son? We could use a quick hand like yours.”
“I am Jonathan of Hillside, the village over the next pass. You must be one of those elfin wolves from the legends. How is it the king’s daughter journeys in these dangerous parts?”
Serese lowered her dagger, placing it back in her boot, and she said, “Do not fret on my account. I am here on my father’s business.”
Jonathan chuckled, “I’ve heard about King Argot’s youngest daughter—the reluctant bride. Who have you spurned this time? I’ll offer my aid if you put in a kind word for me with your father’s Captain of Arms.”
Serese raised her dark eyebrows and replied, “If you offer me your loyalty, I will gladly repay you. I must warn you, questions will not be tolerated.”
The handsome young man grinned and said, “I’ll be as silent as the grave.”
“Know this, shepherd; this journey will be more dangerous than any in your realm of experience,” Serese cautioned.
“I have wanted to escape this mountain my entire life. Let me get my pack.” As the shepherd bounded over to a rock, Serese glanced inquisitively at Sir Roan. She wondered if this boy was the other friend whom Lord Forn’s manservant had mentioned.
Sir Roan nodded as he wagged his tail enthusiastically. Serese sighed. This boy was not the sort of companion she had hoped for. A battle-scarred warrior would have been more to her liking.
The wolf seemed to trust the shepherd, despite their prickly meeting and that convinced Serese that Jonathan should join them.
She watched as the shepherd returned, carrying a leather satchel, a hideously ugly sheepskin coat and a replenished quiver of arrows which Sir Roan viewed with distaste. Battles had not been won with such meager aids in the past but Serese suspected this boy’s skills would somehow benefit them.
Jonathan’s brown eyes brightened with hope as he wondered if he would finally be allowed to train in the king’s army. He had always wanted to become a knight or even a squire; this might be his chance. Another village shepherd had stayed behind but he had promised to relay the news of Jonathan’s departure to their village.
The three travelers continued up the icy path, Jonathan using his wooden staff for balance when the trail was especially slippery. He led the way for he was more familiar with Mount Balzac’s menacing cliffs and sheer sudden drops. The conscientious shepherd smiled as he brushed protruding branches aside so they did not scratch the princess. He could not keep himself from glancing at Serese’s lovely face when he thought she was not looking. The princess was the most beautiful and the tallest girl he had ever seen.
The pale sun struggled to warm them, but the higher they climbed, the lower the temperature sank. Jonathan kept waiting for the princess to complain but she surprised him with her continued silence; he had never known a girl to keep to herself for such a long stretch of time and it amazed him. While he was very curious about Serese’s purpose on Mt. Balzac, he did not wish to pry.
Instead he softly whistled a rowdy tune which the princess had once heard a court jester sing. She had been allowed liberties which were denied to her sisters. She blushed as she recalled the song’s lyrics. Of course, Serese did not let the shepherd know that she was familiar with the tavern ballad. She wondered if she should tell him it was foolish to make such noise.
But her wolf guide seemed fine with the ruckus Jonathan was causing, so she kept her opinion to herself. It was not an easy task for her to keep quiet.
They walked the rest of the day until the winter sun began its slide into its much needed nightly nap. Sir Roan whined slightly back in his throat, paused and inhaling deeply through his black nose, he said, “Wait here.”
Serese and Jonathan cautiously sat on a smooth weathered boulder as Sir Roan jumped over rocks, disappearing around the side of the mountain. Serese looked down into the valley below and noticed a gnarled thorny tree clinging stubbornly to life at the side of the craggy mountain. Its top branch reached to the sky like a black hand; it reminded her of a drowning man throwing his arm out of turbulent waves. She shivered at her morbid thoughts and Jonathan asked, “Would you like to borrow my sheepskin cloak?”
“Thank you but I am not cold. I cannot seem to control my gloomy thoughts. I know
what awaits us. I do not know how to prepare for it.”
Jonathan raised his thick eyebrows as he looked at her, “Why worry over danger which hasn’t shown itself yet? Your father has most likely sent knights after you. I am skilled with my bow and I know this mountain; that should ease your mind.”
Serese brushed a long dark tendril of hair out of her mouth and smiled weakly, “Do you fear nothing then?”
“Nothing in the mortal world, princess. I can defend my flock easily enough. But there are things in these mountains which cannot be killed by men.”
“If I do not destroy the sorceress, I will become as she is.”
“You mean to battle Serpentine? You will be killed! This is much worse than fleeing an unwelcome suitor.”
“It is a dreadful duty. I only feel I ought to be honest with you.”
“Well, you are in a heap of danger. A dark creature lurks in these mountains- vicious enough to kill a tree troll. Some villagers found its remains yesterday. Its flesh was melted clear off.” Jonathan shook his head, whistling under his breath.
Serese faced him and said, “I killed that troll. I suppose that will comfort you.”
“You killed it? Are you a witch?” He looked at her with apprehension.
“Truthfully, shepherd, I hope I am an enchantress whose gifts are used for good.”
Sir Roan bounded around the corner, his tongue hanging out of his mouth as he recovered his breath. He fixed his eyes on Serese as he said, “We are expected. It is her wish to speak privately with the princess.”
Chapter Seven
Serese and Jonathan followed Sir Roan around the path as it curved into a clearing beneath a granite overhang. There, a stone cottage nestled underneath it, sheltered by a protective cluster of pine trees. A frozen vegetable garden against the side of the stone structure contributed a welcoming feeling. Smoke wisps floated out of the chimney and leaded glass windows revealed a glimpse of bright rooms within. The weathered door had a wrought iron rose knocker which reminded Serese of the one from Lord Forn’s castle.
Serese lifted the knocker, letting it fall against the wood.
The door was opened by a beautiful, raven haired lady in a red gown. The graceful woman eyed the golden chain which was partially revealed underneath Serese’s cloak. She smiled while the princess gasped in astonishment as she recognized her own Aunt Serafine.
Serese cried, “It cannot be! I was told you had died five summers ago! How is it you are alive and in this lonely place?”
“My dear, please come in and let us make our guests comfortable. I have been waiting a long time for you. I will supply the answers you seek. Who is your companion?”
“This is Jonathan Hillsdale—a shepherd who has offered me aid. Against his better judgment, I think.”
“It is a pleasure to meet such a brave young man,” Aunt Serafine said.
Jonathan grinned as he tried not to stare at the regally attired lady before him.
She wore a snug fitting gown which hugged her womanly curves well and she did not look like any gypsy he had ever met. She seemed competent and he found himself liking her, even if he shouldn’t. Villagers liked to gossip. He decided he would believe the best of this Aunt Serafine unless she proved otherwise.
They entered the lavishly appointed cottage and Sir
Roan stopped suddenly and whined in the back of his throat. He glanced at the enchantress’s study and asked, “How is it you are keeping one near you? I was nearly pierced by one of those dreadful creatures.”
“He is under my care. I assure you, Sir Roan, he shall not trouble you. Now please bring the boy into the other room. I must converse with my niece.”
Serese looked quizzically at her aunt, who nodded briefly in the negative. The princess held her probing question back. What creature was her aunt keeping near?
Jonathan and the wolf waited in the guest room, where they enjoyed spiced wine and boiled mutton.
Aunt Serafine and Serese remained in the large central room with its gold and crimson carpets and its carved furnishings set with wooden roses. The cushioned chaise before the fireplace was liberally adorned with embroidered pillows.
The side tables held valuable silver candelabras which were fitted with costly beeswax candles. On the right table, a crystal decanter of port rested on leather bound books. It seemed decadent to Serese to place such a dark colored liquid atop the rare books, which monks had spent months engraving.
A palm-sized leather volume caught her eye and Serese glanced at her aunt, “May I?” she asked and her aunt nodded her assent. The princess carefully slid the book free from the stack and gasped as she read its title: “Enchantments and Spells for Furthering the Light”
“I have saved it for you,” Aunt Serafine said as she sipped her own port, “First; it passed to me and then to your mother. Then the burden of its content went to Serei and eventually to your own sisters. It has come full circle to rest in my care until I could pass it to you.”
“Tell me about my mother. She never mentions her youth.”
“Yes, it is time you knew the truth. But please have some port first.” Serese accepted a glass of the dark liquid which tasted delightful even as it burned on its descent down her throat.
The glass was carefully placed on the table next to her while her aunt motioned for her to remove her wet boots. Serese sighed with pleasure as she leaned against the silken pillows, resting her feet on an embroidered wooden stool before the fireplace.
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