by Daniel Fox
Instead he stepped back from the princess and shifted through the maps. "He was looking for you," he said.
"This is all my fault." The princess dug her fingers into her hair, clasping her head.
"Stop that. Your Highness," he added. "Did you turn all these people to stone? Is that some kind of special power that princesses have?"
The princess sniffed, rubbed at her eyes. "No," she said, her head drooping. "But-"
"Blame the ones who need blaming. For now, I think we should go."
"Go? Go where? This is my home."
"We'll find someone to take you to one of the other kingdoms. They'll take you in, won't they?"
"Yes. I suppose."
Willuna held out her hand. Idwal took it. And then just stood there.
"Well?" said the princess, looking up at him.
"Forgive me, your Highness. It seems there's something sharp sticking into my back."
***
A voice spoke from behind Idwal's ear, full of anger and ugly promises. "There will be something sharp sticking out of your front if you don't remove your hand from the princess."
Willuna's head snapped up at the sound of that voice. She sprang to her feet and rushed forward, causing the farmer a moment of panic, thinking she was attempting to skewer him. Instead she knocked him aside and threw herself into the big strong arms of a ridiculously handsome man.
"Anisim!" she cried. "I knew you'd come!"
Anisim waved his astonishingly large sword at Idwal. "Who is this?"
"Hm?" said Willuna, her face pressed to the young king's chest. "Oh, him. He's just some farmer."
"Oh," said Anisim, lowering his sword. He looked at Idwal with interest. "Not the turnip farmer? I heard about that. What was it, some kind of special fertilizer or-"
Willuna gasped. Really? Again with the turnip? Now, when she was vulnerable and most assuredly beautifully distraught? The farmer was like a rash that just refused to go away, the kind of rash that lesser people had. Willuna reached up and grabbed Anisim's strong chin between her fingers, tilting his head down so he was looking at her. "You wouldn't believe the adventures I've had! First I-"
But Anisim continued to address the farmer. "We'll need provisions and weapons. This way."
Anisim turned and strode out of the room, clearly expecting the others to follow. And they did. It was impossible not to, really. Anisim's commanding presence was like a magnet, drawing the others along behind him.
"We'll make for my kingdom," he said. "Not that any place seems particularly safe anymore." Anisim stopped, eyeing a statue of a guard. "But my soldiers are wary and on alert." Plan made, Anisim nodded to himself and started up again, eating up the ground in his long supremely manly strides.
Willuna was delighted with the idea. "I concur. I suppose I'll be there for quite a while, you having to avenge my father and everything. We'll just nip over to my room so I can pack and then-"
"No," said Anisim, "no packing. We head to the armory, then the kitchens, and then we leave."
"But-"
"Um," the farmer raised a hand as he scurried along after the king. "I don't suppose it would be alright if I just went home?"
"But Anisim-"
"Are you sure?" said Anisim to the farmer, ignoring her. "I can think of no safer place than the Castle Wolf."
"You can't just expect me to-"
"I'm sure. I mean, thank you very much for your kind offer, your Majesty, but back home I've got a girl that needs marrying and a field that needs plowing and there's not a statue to be found."
"As you wish," said the king. "But you'll help me get the princess to safety first?"
"Oh no," said Willuna, "we're probably better off alone."
"That's probably true," said the farmer.
"He's very clumsy."
"Well, I don't know about-"
"He knows nothing about fighting."
"That is definitely true."
"And he takes astonishingly liberties with my body."
Anisim skidded to a halt and looked down at the farmer. "Liberties?"
"Er…" said the farmer, squirming. "Oh look," he said, pointing, "the armory."
The king gave the farmer one last glance and then went on through. Inside were rows upon rows of swords and pikes and daggers and bows and all sorts of polished bits of armour. Willuna was excited, and felt a bit naughty. Her father had never allowed her in here. She grabbed up a broadsword that was nearly as long as she was. Grunting, she hauled it up. It was far too heavy for her and it dragged her around, the sword swinging her instead of the other way around.
"Shiny!" she said, giving the sword a weak swing that spun her right around on her feet. The farmer winced and shuffled back. "Honestly," said the princess, "is there anything you aren't afraid of?"
"Boredom and old age."
"Well you can have your silly blah vegetables and your silly little blah farm." The princess took another swing, shuffling along as the weight of the sword dragged her all over the place. "They'll sing of me for ages to come. Serious Willuna and her quest for vengeance."
"What are you doing with that?" Anisim strode over and grabbed the long sword away.
Idwal sang under his breath, "There was a young maiden of lore, who wasn't to play with a sword-"
The king rounded on him. "And you, you haven't armed yourself yet?"
"Me? Armed?"
Anisim grabbed a bow and a quiver of arrows from their stands and shoved them into the farmer's hands. The farmer looked ridiculous holding the weapons.
"I'm not a hunter."
"That's not a hunter's bow," said the king. "Now for the kitchens, then we're off."
And Anisim was off again with those manly strides, the others following along behind. Willuna watched as the farmer tried to sort himself out, slinging the quiver over his shoulder and trying not to trip on the bow.
"Please understand your Highness," said the farmer, "I'm not a soldier. I can't shoot, I can't fight, and a miser outwitted me. I'm a wretched failure at this adventuring business."
"It's true," said Willuna, "he is. We should leave him someplace and go on alone."
"Speaking of alone," said the farmer, "shouldn't you have guards? I thought important people always had all sorts of guards."
Anisim peered around a corner, making sure the next hallway was safe. "There was a hundred of us making a tour of my kingdom's inner posts. A messenger tracked us down and told us that Willuna's father was asking for help to find her."
Willuna beamed. This was more like it. Her handsome, gallant king dropping everything to ride in a search for his beautiful queen to be.
Anisim turned and looked down at the princess. "What were you thinking?"
"But I did it-"
"Onwards." Anisim started walking again, hand on the hilt of his sword. "Me and my hundred were nearing the crossroads that would lead us here when we came across a very cranky old gravedigger gibbering a foul tale of robbed graves and emptied tombs. And then the very next moment these… things hit us. They came pouring out of the woods, moving so fast… And even when one of us managed to hit them, they wouldn't go down. They wouldn't bleed. I swear I saw one lose a leg. It just stood on its hands and charged us again."
Willuna didn't want to hear this. What she wanted was to have Anisim to herself, all alone, where she could tell him how she had become a serious young lady and that it was alright for him to marry her now. She wanted Anisim to tell her that her father would somehow be okay, that this evil statue curse was no worse than a common cold and could be cured, abolished. And walking behind him, looking back over her shoulder, what she suddenly wanted most of all was to tell the other two that there was something moving in the shadows behind them.
"When it was over I was all that was left of my unit. My men, their bodies had been dragged off into the woods. All that was left of them was one empty helmet…"
"Um," said Willuna, pointing behind them. She was ignored.
"One
helmet?" squeaked the farmer.
"One helmet," said the king, "rolling across the road. I'll never forget that sound."
"Yes, okay but-" said the princess again.
"All of them gone."
"Look at my finger!" said Willuna. And they did, finally.
"It's a very nice finger Willuna," said the king.
"As fine a finger as they come," agreed the farmer.
"Honestly?" said Willuna. "Look!" And she thrust her finger out again. Finally the two men looked back down the hall. They were coming, the things. Crawling over statues, along the walls, hanging from the carvings along the ceiling. Creeping and grinning. One of them made a tiny little tinkling noise.
"Oh," said the farmer.
"Ah," said the king.
"For my father," said the princess, "charge!"
But instead Anisim grabbed her around the waist and sprinted the other way.
"Why aren't we killing them?" wailed Willuna.
They barrelled into the kitchen. Anisim turned back. "Use your bow!" he said.
It took the farmer a moment to realize Anisim meant him. He'd never had a martial command directed at him before. "Oh! Me! Right!" he said. He fumbled around over his shoulder and managed to pull an arrow from his quiver, scattering three or four more across the floor. He turned, fit the arrow to the bow's string, and aimed back through the doorway. And loosed the arrow! Sort of. The arrow promptly dribbled over the farmer's fist and flopped down to the floor.
Willuna was far from surprised. "Well there you have it," she said.
The silent creatures continued to speed towards them. Idwal rushed forward and slammed shut the heavy wooden door. He ran over and huffed and grunted and strained, shoving a heavy table in front of the door.
"I want to go home, I want to go home," whined the farmer.
"Don't worry, Anisim will slay every last one of them."
The farmer's eyes were almost as adoring as hers as he looked up at Anisim. "Really?"
"Or die trying."
"I want to go home, I want to go home."
Anisim took up a stance that looked very deadly. He stood with his feet apart, his front arm pulled back, his rear arm crooked in a sharp angle. The sword swayed in the air, horizontal. It reminded Willuna of a jouster's lance. Those things out there were in for it now.
"Farmer," said Anisim, "get ready to throw open the door."
"Open the door?" The farmer's voice quivered.
"I'll do it," said Willuna, She put her back to the heavy table, ready to shove.
"No," said the king.
"I can do it!"
"I said no." Anisim stepped forward and grabbed Willuna's arm, pulling her back and shoving her out of the way. Willuna tripped on the hem of her dress and fell to the floor. "Now's not the time for your nonsense," said the king.
He hadn't even noticed Willuna's tumble. Willuna sat in a heap, shocked and hurt.
The shutters over the windows smashed in. Kindling flew. Pale hands burst in, clawing, groping. Fingers twisted into the farmer's shirt, Anisim whirled and hacked them away. Grinning faces started to squeeze through the narrow windows, mortis grins leading the way.
The princess had no trouble permitting the farmer to touch her this time. He yanked her up by her hand, the two of them stumbling to the back wall of the kitchen. The room was open, no corners to hide in, no nooks in which to disappear.
Anisim put himself between them and the intruders. "Trapped! Well come then fiends, and find the Wolf King ready!"
"Oh," said the farmer. He pointed past Willuna. "Couldn't we just go through there?"
Willuna turned to look. A long low slab of wood, like a door standing on its edge, was hooked to the wall by rails and pulleys.
"Certainly not," said Willuna, "that's the garbage chute."
Anisim called back over his shoulder. "Does it lead outside?"
"It leads garbage outside."
Anisim nodded to the farmer. Idwal reached up and yanked on the dangling chain. The door of the chute glided smoothly up, exposing a garbage-strewn hill outside.
"No," said Willuna. "Absolutely not. I am a princess, thank you very much, and I simply will not-"
Anisim shoved her through. Willuna went somersaulting down the hill, getting coated in garbage, layering herself in the smells of rotting beef, weeks old eggs, stuff and goo she couldn't even begin to identify. It was a good thing that all the tumbling and bumping and scraping kept knocking the breath out of her; the words she would have chosen to express just how much she hated the farmer at that moment wouldn't have been very princess-like at all.
And then the river appeared below. Getting closer. Churning white as it rushed by rocks. Willuna tried to dig her heels in, but the ground was slick with ooze. She clawed at the ground. Just as she was about to bump off into the water a hand reached out and grabbed her wrist. Willuna looked up past the rough grip and saw the farmer holding onto her with one of his dirty peasant hands, the other clinging to Anisim's leg. Anisim in turn, above them both, was hanging onto the pommel of his sword which he had driven, heroically of course, into the ground.
The jesters slipped by them. Reaching and groping, the lithe little creatures found no purchase and sailed off into the river, all of them going by with only one splash between them.
The jesters didn't resurface. Good. She wished them all the most miserable of drownings. And not having to fend off evil-doers would give the princess more time to really tear into the farmer. She got herself to her feet, slipping and sliding. She pointed at the farmer, her eyes nothing but fury, so angry she didn't know where to begin.
"Um," said the farmer, picking an apple peel off his forehead, "I don't suppose that's a finger of gratitude and thanks?"
"Gratitude?!" She poked him in the arm. "Thanks?!" She poked and poked again. The farmer scrambled back, the princess chasing after him across the slick ground. "Look at me! I'll give you thanks! Thank you!" Poke! "Oh thank you!" Jab! "Whatever would I have done without you?!" Slipping on bacon grease, the princess scrabbled across on her knees so she could beat her little fists against the famer's stupid peasant chest.
A woman's scream peeled out from the bottom of the hill. Anisim, who had been coming to the aid of the farmer, turned and slid his way down to the very bottom of the hill.
Instantly forgetting the farmer, Willuna turned and chased after him. "Don't leave me!' she called. The farmer tried to stand, slipped, and decided to crawl down the rest of the way.
At the very bottom of the hill they found a woman, the very same woman from the market who had given a coin to a poor beggar. She was frantically scrambling along the edge of the river. "My daughter!" she cried, pointing at the river. "She got knocked in by those… those things!"
The farmer jumped into the river, his stupid peasant bottom hitting the water first with a tremendous splash. Anisim stripped away his armour, fast as he could. Chest-plate off, greaves gone, boots kicked aside, he dove in, barely causing a ripple. They resurfaced downstream, blowing for air, and dove under again. And again. The two women hurried along the bank of the river, keeping up.
A few town-folk who had, one way or the other, dodged the statuesque fate of their fellow citizens, had come running at the sound of the woman's screams. Now they too hurried along the bank, searching for the little girl.
Too long, thought Willuna, it's been far too long.
But then the king surfaced, gasping, and in his arms was a limp little form. Eager hands pulled them both to the ground. Anisim laid the girl, no more than six or seven, out on the grass. She was beautiful, and you could tell that she, like a closed rose waiting until it was time to unfurl its petals, would have grown more beautiful still. But now her body was limp, her lips blue. They had been too late.
"Another crime those creatures will be made to answer for," said the king. He brushed the wet hair from the little girl's forehead. "Be at peace, little princess." He leaned down to give her a gentle kiss good-bye.
&
nbsp; Willuna's heart broke at the sight. She spun around, unable to watch, bumping into Anisim's side. The bump caused Anisim to puff, the air forcing its way into the little girl's mouth.
The girl coughed water up into Anisim's face. Her eyes popped open.
"Hooray!" said the crowd. "Huzzah!"
"Thank you!" cried the mother, gathering the girl in her arms.
"His kiss is magic," swooned Willuna, her eyes full of the magnificent man before her.
And somewhere down the river the farmer called out, "We find her yet?" in an exhausted voice.
That was how Willuna first came to truly know tragedy. But it was also how she learned that there was always a reason to hope.
She also learned that she really wanted to start kissing Anisim. A lot.
Chapter 8
It took a special kind of castle to be truly foreboding. Stone alone scared no one. It took echoes in empty halls, rotting curtains billowing to escort in the rolling fogs. Cobwebs in corners were an absolute must.
Bodolomous was not yet satisfied with his home. He had jesters climbing every wall, clinging to every delicate chandelier, escorting spiders to their new homes, showing rats the hidey-holes with the grandest views.
"More festering!" he called out striding down one of the long dark halls. "I absolutely must have more festering! How are we ever going to have the proper company come to visit if everything is airy and bright?"
Rotter the jester came galloping down the hall, kicking up dust. His cap bells tinkled a rusty tune. He stopped, quivering, happy to be back in his dread lord's company, and dropped a cold something into his master's hand.
Bodolomous looked at the thing. It was a small statue of a bird, one wing broken off, the beak smashed. "My god," he said, "they were attacked by birds?"
The jester shook his head no no no. He reached out a crooked arm and tapped his jagged nail against the stone wall.
"Someone turned them all to stone?"
Yes yes yes.
"Turned to stone. Condemned to watch all they've built come tumbling down around them. Hundreds of years of being able to look nowhere else, until finally the rain washes away their eyes. So cruel, so cold, it's absolutely brilliant." And yet, in the pit of his stomach, Bodolomous felt a tremble. He was supposed to be the Most Evil Man Alive, but to do something like this to another human being…