Enchantress

by Christine Schumaker

  Then, he pointed to the fire place and suddenly, Amber was back in it. Again. The thwarted Fire Faerie Queen raised her fist in anger as she disappeared in a blaze of sparks.

  Jonathan and Serese stared, amazed, while Lord Forn said, “I learned a few tricks from my grandmother. I suggest we depart, before Allegra visits. Unfortunately, she tends to follow behind her sister Amber.”

  But it was too late, for they heard a crack of thunder and the wooden floors rumbled. The stone house quivered, but it remained standing, although it groaned as if its beams were being pulled apart.

  They huddled together in the shaking room. The supper dishes from their meal clattered to the floor, smashing into pieces. The writing desk from the opposite wall slid toward them as the house pitched. Lord Forn held Serese while Jonathan clutched Sir Roan, who had dug his nails into Jonathan’s thighs in his eagerness to hold on.

  Then, the floors buckled and they found themselves tossed on an ocean of moving furniture as they scrambled to catch hold of anything to stop flailing about.

  Lord Forn threw his arms around Serese as she pulled her hot opal away from her neck. It glowed a bright pink, as steaming rays of light radiated from it. Jonathan’s sleeve caught a ray of light and a scorched hole appeared as the shepherd cursed. Lord Forn’s eyebrows raised as he noticed the power emanating from the opal.

  The shaking floors quieted, and a loud bang was heard. All was once again still. The room was a shamble. The princess and her companions staggered to their feet.

  Laughter sounded from beneath the floors, as a crevice into the earth opened and the gleeful voice of Allegra shouted, “Toss the opal and I will cease!”

  Lord Forn yelled, “I suggest you depart to your underground cavern, Allegra, before I throw you out.”

  “I will not be as easily deterred as Amber. Your magic is not as strong as Mother earth’s. Why not join me?” the booming voice called out.

  “I will not ask you again,” Lord Forn threatened as he leaned over the chasm in the floor, peering into the blackness below.

  His reply was met with silence as Serese peered into the large fissure. The smell of wet soil wafted from the pit as Serese waited for the Earth Faerie Queen to appear. She clutched her arm, remembering the dreadful worms which Allegra had left as a parting gift. Truly, she wished she had access to her own crawling vermin which she might throw down the pit. A gift for a gift.

  Jonathan had snuck up behind them and readied his bow. He let an arrow fly into the crack in the floor. A scream was heard and then, nothing.

  “Now you have annoyed her, for you have clipped one of her wings,” Lord Forn stared quizzically at the shepherd, “Are you certain you are entirely mortal? Your blow could not have wounded her if you were. Who is your father?”

  Jonathan raised his eyebrows and said, “As far as I know, our family has lived in my village for hundreds of years. My Father was Horace Hillsdale but he has not been seen for many years. I know nothing of any extraordinary connections. Why?”

  Lord Forn said, “There is a mystery surrounding your birth. But we have not the time to pursue it. Thank you. I am in your debt. I always repay my debts.”

  The shepherd nodded in understanding. Having the renowned Lord Forn beholden to him could prove beneficial. Jonathan did not want to contemplate being the part elf-magician’s enemy; the consequences would be disastrous. They gathered their belongings and quickly left.

  Finding the weather cooperative, they hiked until they could go no further. They set up camp in a clearing at the rocky base of Balzac Mountain. They did not notice the red-eyed crow in the tree branch above them, glaring at them, before flying away.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The winter sun peered timidly through a charcoal cloud into Lord Forn’s empty tower room. The sorceress seethed with anger as she discovered her son’s escape. Her web-like gown flowed around her legs in agitation as she paced the length of his room.

  “How did this happen, Grunklin? I assigned you to guard him. You were not to leave him alone.” Serpentine placed a pet serpent on the goblin’s shoulder and he jumped away, horrified. His mistress glared at him and he feared he had gone too far. His would-be replacement would not be happy to discover his promotion. The goblin had hoped he would not be murdered but it seemed an inevitable outcome for all of Serpentine’s assistants. Grunklin wished his queen had selected another to be her right-hand goblin.

  “He wanted better food and sent me to fetch it,” the goblin pleaded as he struggled to keep up with Serpentine. But his short misshapen legs moved awkwardly and he lagged behind. He awaited his queen’s orders while still hoping she would not release her temper. He still felt the cut on his jaw from the slap Serpentine had given him earlier. If she did not wear so many ornate rings, her outbursts would not hurt so much.

  None of the goblins understood the slavish devotion the sorceress exhibited toward Lord Forn, especially when he was consistently disobedient and ungrateful. In the goblin realm, he would have been executed long ago; they did not keep betrayers around, even royalty did not escape justice.

  Serpentine ceased pacing. She glared at her nervous assistant and hissed, “Send my first regiment of goblins after King Argot and his warriors; slaughter them all. Assign my best Night dweller fighters to accompany them. Send my second regiment after Lord Forn and bring him to me. I will make time to dispense with him myself. He will not elude me again. Bring Princess Serese to me, unharmed. I may still prevent the prophecy.”

  Without thinking, Grunklin asked, “How can you prevent a prophecy?”

  He wished he could take the question back, as he realized his mistake. A cold white hand struck him suddenly across his cheek. A sharp diamond slashed open his skin. Serpentine’s blow left a handprint as his cheek smarted. Grunklin wiped at the blood, backing away from his mistress.

  “How dare you question me? Go! Before I change my mind and preserve your severed head for my dark arts. You will not be forgiven the next time you question my orders. My mercy will not extend that far,” and Serpentine kicked the goblin soundly in his shin, breaking open his leathery skin. Blood ran from the wound but Grunklin did not utter a single complaint. Instead, the frantic goblin nodded, hurrying to fulfill her orders. He departed and Serpentine rolled her eyes in annoyance.

  “The idiocy of those creatures grates on my nerves, my sweet pet,” she cooed to the snake clinging to her left arm. “Why is it my sister gets the desirable court and I am left with misfits and rebels?”

  The serpent had no answer but flicked its black tongue out and hissed agreeably instead.

  Then an idea flashed across Serpentine’s face and she gasped as she hastened to her work table.

  The sorceress uncovered her crystal ball. She thought of the place she wanted to see and placed her hands on either side of the orb. She chanted under her breath, dark mutterings that stirred the purple draperies. A rat scurried back into its hole as Serpentine’s whispers grew more frenzied. A drop of blood fell from her nose as her serpents hid themselves in their nest atop her head. Serpentine tapped her black fingernails on the marble table top and waited for her desired vision to appear.

  Gradually, the Argot castle came into view, its ramparts unguarded. Inside the Great Hall, various ladies at rest appeared within the crystal orb. The remains of a feast were evident but the guests had departed. Only a few serving maids worked tirelessly as they scrubbed the tables and placed fresh rushes on the floor. A smattering of hunting hounds lay slumbering before the fire.

  All of the men were absent, which confirmed Serpentine’s suspicions. King Argot had likely ridden with his army, to do battle against her. A smile crossed her face, as she realized King Henry had foolishly left his women folk unprotected.

  Now, her annoyingly pious twin sister, Queen Annaliese, would taste the bitter pang of sorrow. That sanctimonious monarch had stolen her love. The passing years had not lessened Serpentine’s wrath. She gave a cry of delight as the stirrings of re
venge rose from the recesses of her heart.

  Serpentine threw her sable cloak around her shoulders. The putrid contents of a glass vial on her work shelf were hastily swallowed. She strode over to her window. Hurriedly, she lifted the latch and opened the shutters. She stepped onto the ledge and soared into the air, riding the wind to Argot castle. k`1`2

  She had not drunk that slaughtered elf girl’s blood for nothing; her flying abilities were as refined as any of theirs. Her goblin armies marched on the rocky terrain beneath her, breaking apart to follow their assigned courses. Soon Serpentine would take a large bite out of her sister’s heart and she laughed, giddy with anticipation.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The following morning, Lord Forn led his intended and her compatriots toward the Forbidden Forest. Sir Roan suggested, “Perhaps we could journey to the Night Dweller Kingdom by taking the longer way around? We have narrowly escaped its inhabitants once.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Serese agreed. “Is it wise to risk their discovery again?”

  For although her opal and Forn’s love had previously healed her, remnants of the ghoul’s invasion still lingered in her memory. The images it had implanted in her mind were not likely to disappear anytime soon.

  “It would add another day to our journey, if we skirt the woods. The portion we would pass through is easily traversed in an afternoon. But, this route does present a special risk for Jonathan. Perhaps he wishes to go around as well?” Lord Forn asked as he examined his blade.

  “Why am I more at risk than any of you?” the shepherd asked, clearly puzzled.

  “I suspect you have magical blood in your veins. It is the only way you could have harmed Allegra. Your kind is especially loathsome to them,” Lord Forn explained.

  Jonathan said, “This is the first I have heard of it.”

  Lord Forn raised his eyebrows and asked, “Your father was a tutor of the Mystical Arts. Where did he gather his learning?”

  Jonathan could not answer that. Suddenly, he realized that strange things had indeed happened in his family. His brother, Jasper, had taken a liking to brandy and during one of his binges, he had poxed an entire flock of sheep. It came about when a rival had wooed the Lady Clarissa Ascot away from Jasper. His brother had cursed the unlucky fellow, who had quickly hidden behind his flock. The man had escaped with his life but his sheep had to be slaughtered and he was left penniless.

  It could be Lord Forn suspected the truth. But if Jonathan were descended from the magically gifted, why had no one told him? He would have been better equipped for a life of learning instead of the lowly existence of a sheep herder. But Jonathan admitted that a liking of books had passed him by.

  “I should think the ghouls would rather hunt you. Rumor has it your former stepmother cast the dark spell on them.” Jonathan commented.

  “I am descended from elves. The ghouls fear them. So, you know nothing of your origins?” Lord Forn asked.

  “My father never seemed to want to discuss the family background with any of us. Truthfully, I was more interested in fighting than in learning.” Jonathan acknowledged, “We will take this way again. Do not go around on my account.”

  Lord Forn nodded his approval, “So be it then.”

  The wolf noticed that Serese wrinkled her brow in distaste but did not utter a complaint. Instead, she withdrew her dagger and squared her shoulders. The fortitude of that girl never ceased to surprise him. Serese would make a fine queen someday.

  The naked branches clutched at Serese’s cloak. Then Lord Forn smacked them and they hastily retreated. Brambles embedded themselves in Sir Roan’s coat and Serese gingerly removed them. The trees tore at Jonathan’s fur vest.

  But the rotten limbs stayed entirely clear of Lord Forn. They actually moved aside as he passed. If Jonathan had not witnessed it with his own eyes, he would not have believed it.

  Serese stayed next to Lord Forn. She kept one hand on her dagger and the other in Lord Forn’s reassuring hand. She focused on the wolf’s swishing tail and not the dreadful trees or the foul air. Breathing through her mouth instead of through her nostrils eliminated some of the rotten egg odor surrounding them. Still, the image of her baby son with his little throat cut appeared in her mind. Surely, that version of her future had yet to be decided. It could not be written in stone.

  She consoled herself; if she was waylaid again, Lord Forn’s kisses would certainly revive her. His being part elf proved more beneficial every moment. She meant to ask him if he could fly like a hawk across the sky. But she did not want to seem simple-minded if the tales were not true. Serese wondered which of Nanny’s bed tie tales were genuine and which were false.

  The cautious party made their way into the dim woods, where the sun did not completely reach them through the dense canopy overhead. The silence overwhelmed Serese. She had the urge to whistle but knew she dared not.

  Jonathan constantly switched his leather satchel between his shoulders, which irritated the princess. Serese stopped twice to dig pebbles out of her boots. Sir Roan kept making lapping noises as he licked his front foot, which had caught a thorn. Lord Forn stopped every few paces, putting his ear to the ground, while he listened. Serese touched her opal but it remained cool and silent.

  They ate dried meat without pausing to rest. Every leaf which crunched underfoot had them searching every shadow. Serese’s shoulders felt as if they carried bricks. A nest full of birds flapping helplessly- that was her heart. She feared the ghouls’ attacking again. Her mind told her she was safe; the battle between her mind and her heart continued on.

  Then, a whisper of movement appeared before them and the passing stench on the breeze lifted Sir Roan’s fur. The odor revealed their fears as withering corpses stepped out from behind the trees. Of one accord, they glided closer, within reaching distance.

  Sir Roan barked sharply, jumping in front of Serese. He growled, snapping at the decomposing ankles of the skeletal ghouls. Serese crouched, her dagger ready.

  Lord Forn said, “I will keep you safe, my love. You need not dirty your blade.” He held her securely in his arms. She resisted the urge to squirm away to fight the foul ghoul. Trusting Lord Forn for her safety was a new experience; she found it appealing and unsettling at the same time.

  Jonathan knelt on the path, withdrawing an arrow; he notched it and let it fly. It landed in the empty hole where a ghoul’s heart should have been. The rotting creature let out a dry screech as it withered into a pile of ash. It would take time to reform itself.

  The other ghouls sniffed the air. Their raspy voices chilled Serese as they taunted her, “Come closer, pretty one. We are so hungry still.”

  Red irises stared at her, out of their empty eye cavities. Their bony hands beckoned to her. Their white, skull faces were faint enough to see through. The gnashing of their teeth sounded like hundreds of sticks crushing together. Their fleshless grins made her shudder.

  Serese saw dead leaves quivering on the branches behind them. Black worms crawled where their nostrils should have been. It reminded Serese of Allegra’s worms and the princess swallowed bile. She willed herself not to be sick. Lord Forn stroked her hair and whispered sweet words to her but she did not hear them.

  The princess clutched her knife so tightly she lost feeling in her hand. The ghouls hovered just out of reach. The elfin smell emanating from Lord Forn, kept them at bay. Still, they leered at her and their whisperings never ceased. “Come closer, lovely one. We must finish you. We need. We need to feed.”

  Jonathan emptied three more arrows into the ghouls. Lord Forn threw his knife into a ghoul’s eye socket. Sir Roan bit another on the ankle. Serese threw her own dagger, taking down a ghoul. Then, the raspy screams were silenced. The ghouls disintegrated into dust on the forest floor. The stench of chamber pots and rotten meat filled her nostrils. Brown smoke drifted upward, from their decrepit piles of remains. It amazed Serese how such brittle beings could release such a decomposing stench as their tattered robes continu
ed to smoke.

  Lord Forn helped Serese to her feet. He retrieved her dagger which she sheathed in her boot. She shook their dust out of her eyes and said, “I hope I never see any of them again. Will they be released to the next world once I destroy Serpentine?”

  “That is the legend.” Lord Forn answered. Then he faced Jonathan, “That was some excellent bow-work. Once again, I am in your debt.”

  Jonathan bowed his head, acknowledging the compliment as he said, “You throw a mean blade yourself.”

  Serese said, “I suggest we continue. My opal is getting hot. I think it is eager to be rid of this place,” Serese let Lord Forn take her arm.

  Sir Roan asked, “Is there any of Serafine’s fine port left? Those ghouls taste worse than goblins; they leave an awful taste on my tongue.”

  Serese sighed, “Alas, we have finished it. I could do with a hearty swallow of it myself. Perhaps the Night dwellers will offer us some such refreshment.”

  Lord Forn said, “I would not count on it. Hospitality and setting a fine table are not their strong points.”

  Jonathan agreed, “It would be fortunate if they do not seek us out for the same.”

  Serese’s necklace pricked her. She gasped as she held it away from her. The colors swirled together, forming into Argot castle. Then her home disappeared.

  “It seems to me it has something to reveal to you, my love. But its message will have to wait,” Lord Forn said.

  Serese knew her opal had tried to impart a vision. The thought came to her, “What if the stone was losing its strength?” She dared not contemplate the loss of her talisman’s power. She did not think she could succeed without it.

  Chapter Thirty

  Duchess Claudine Cardwell stirred restlessly in her bed, impatiently brushing aside the protective draperies. She had told her husband he should sleep in the chamber next to hers. Perhaps his safety would be better assured if she kept her distance from him. She had not revealed her prophetic dreams to him. He would have insisted on remaining by her side and she knew she could not protect him while battling her aunt.