Briar Blackwood's Grimmest of Fairytales

by Roderick, Timothy

  “Crap on a stick!” Dax said to Tarfeather.

  “What’s happening?” Leon asked, from inside the cage.

  Dax opened it up and Leon hopped out to Dax’s shoulder in order to get a good enough view. “I can’t take this anymore. Someone’s got to help her,” Dax said.

  Something suddenly changed and Briar’s eyes blazed with a focused fury. The torches along the walls dimmed and her hands glowed with blue, undulating fire. She noticed the unused sword propping up one of the coats of armor and she lurched for it—as though she knew what she was doing. Despite its weight and size—for it was nearly as long as Briar was tall—she wielded it as though it was a feather in her hands. She stood tall, an iron strength permeating her body, and without giving thought to her next move, she poised the sword like a trained warrior.

  The prince and the wolfguard clanked swords in a fiery frenzy. Blade met blade again and again. Swords sparked ferociously until finally, swoosh! The guard’s blade passed close to Valrune’s head, but he leaned back in time to dodge it. That was when the prince lost his balance and fell back. His sword skated away.

  Leon sprang from Dax’s shoulder and hopped madly across the floor. Dax charged behind him until they reached the wolf. Meanwhile Briar, hands tightening on her sword and jaws clenching enough to pulverize her molars, took a lunge at the wolf herself, and thwacked his sword away. It happened just as he was about to plunge it into Valrune’s chest. The wolf’s sword slid with a metallic scrape across the floor and he looked with eyes of disbelief. Leon hopped from elbow to shoulder and then to the guard’s face where he slapped his webbed feet across the wolf’s eyes. Dax stepped up and socked the wolf square on the muzzle.

  “Ow! Shit that hurt!” Dax said, shaking his hand.

  The soldier yipped and shook his head, then he tried to unseat Leon. Briar lifted her sword once more and jabbed it mightily it into the guard’s leg. He howled while revolting black blood, like that of the dragon, spurted profusely. He fell backward, clutching his leg with a manic yowl. Then he realized Leon was still on his helmet and he tried to pull it off. But Leon quickly hopped away and averted the wolf who sunk one of his own claws into his blistered, exposed skin. He cried in pain once again, but it was only a moment before he turned the pain into a white-hot rage.

  He managed to get up on all fours, tuck back his ears, and prepared to kill. But first he had to be rid of Briar’s protectors. He turned with a poisonous rage to Dax, and with a single paw-swipe, backhanded him to the floor. Then he reached behind him and struck at the base of a suit of armor, causing it to tumble with a great crash and the weight of steel across Valrune.

  The prince wheezed and his face turned purple. The wolf realized that it didn’t kill the prince so he turned to topple the second suit of armor. Briar lifted her sword once more, and this time she jabbed its point at the center of the wolf’s chest. Valrune, meanwhile, clawed at the floor, trying to pull himself out from beneath the pile of armor parts.

  The wolfguard backed away. “You’ll be found,” he croaked. A thin strand of drool dripped from his mouth.

  “Shut up, you freak-ass dog,” Briar shouted. Her eyes were focused and clear, and she continued to hold the sword point sharply at the wolf’s heaving chest.

  “Guards!” the wolf croaked. But as soon as he did, Briar shoved the sword into his other leg. He arched his whole body as more black blood gushed out. But then he clenched his mouth and gave Briar a defiant smile.

  She lifted the sword back to his chest and shoved the sword in a bit deeper. Black blood began to run in a thin stream down his front side. He pressed himself against the window. “They say you’re the one from the Omens,” he sniggered. “But you’re just an insignificant talebreaker. You’re nothing. And you’ll never be anything.” He laughed with a snarl, his eyes wild and insolent.

  “My, what big fuckin’ eyes you’ve got,” Briar said. She dropped the sword, then powerfully shoved him against the tall window. Her thrust was so great that he lifted from the ground and crashed backward through the window. He fell only halfway through, and jagged sheets of glass pierced his back. He screamed and wailed, his black blood running down the knife-edged pieces. Briar flicked the flames from her hands at the immense razor-sharp shards still dangling above him in the window frame. They loosened and fell, lodging deeply in the wolf’s neck with an awful bone crack and a squish.

  It was done. Beyond Briar’s belief, she had killed twice now. A cold dread clutched her heart. Reeling backward from horror, she tripped on Valrune and the armor scattered across his body. Landing on her hands just beyond him, she blinked in astonishment.

  Dax moaned and rubbed his jaw. Tarfeather stepped out from behind the wall and tried to help Dax to stand.

  “How in the heck did you do all of that?” Dax asked.

  Briar sat by Valrune, aiding him until he could stand. He was sore and winded, but he could still get up. “You don’t go through six weeks of theater combat class without walking away with something,” Briar said. She tried to sound fine. In fact, she was beginning to realize that her fear was because she felt fine. She shouldn’t feel that way—not after killing twice. She wanted to feel badly about it all. But instead she felt nothing.

  Valrune clasped a hand over his bruised chest. “Come with me, all of you,” he said. Dax went back for Sherman, and then they all followed as Valrune, leaning on Briar, half-jogged down the halls.

  “Why, it’s my knight in shining armor!” Tarfeather said in a female southern drawl, while he and Leon hopped alongside the group. “Gates lockery. Long walkery by foot,” he added in his own rough voice.

  After a few short turns down several narrow passages, they arrived through a side entrance to the main throne room. The lion banners that formerly hung so grand and regal were shredded and torn. Cold night drafts stirred the frayed fringes of their remains.

  With a face full of deep, unquiet pain, the prince surveyed the destruction of his home. “Hurry,” he said. He limped with the group to the enormous main doors that had been split and left unhinged. None of Orpion’s soldiers stood guard, which Briar counted as fortunate, but peculiar. “Before I found you, I told the wolfguard that you had escaped and headed south to the Ink Sea,” Valrune said.

  He scanned the great hall for possible stragglers or spies. Then to Tarfeather he said, “Go down to the carriage house. If it has not been ransacked and looted, tell them that Valrune requests a carriage with two of the king’s fastest horses.” Tarfeather nodded and ran quicker than Briar had ever seen him run. Out into the night past the torchlight of the palace he ran and disappeared into ruined shadows.

  The prince turned to Briar, saying, “Take the carriage, all of you. The driver knows where there is safe hiding. Wait there. I will first see that my father is not harmed and then I will join you by horseback.”

  Briar shook her head slowly and looked into his deep, sturdy gaze. “We have further to go,” she said. “We came to save Leon here.” She glanced to the floor where Leon sat by her foot, his throat bloating with air. “But before we take him back to his home—our home—we must find the spell that can change him into his own form again. So we’re going to the Towery Flowery Hill.”

  “I see,” Valrune said. There was more than a hint of disappointment in his voice. He eyed Leon and then Briar. “You have endured these hardships to save this frog?”

  “Hey, watch it, buddy,” Leon said, feeling testy.

  “Well, he’s not really a frog. He’s a friend of mine,” Briar said.

  “A friend?” Valrune asked.

  Briar reiterated. “A friend.”

  “A friend?” Leon asked. The tone of his words almost sounded like Briar had slightly bruised his ego with her platonic definition of their relationship.

  Briar held her breath a moment and felt mixed up. Leon had made it clear that he was interested in Megan. And now, if Briar read Valrune’s intentions right, there was a prince on the horizon of her life. It made no se
nse to her that Leon should even care. She had already admitted her heart’s secret to herself the same night Leon crushed it. No, there was no sense in fooling herself any longer. Leon should just stay a friend and nothing more.

  “Yes Leon. A friend.”

  Dax piped up. “Can we change the subject? I’m feeling a little confused.”

  Briar heard the sound of hooves clattering on stone and she knew Tarfeather had returned with the coach. “Here,” she said to Valrune. She reached into an inner pocket of her dress and produced the smooth stone given to her by Ash. “Take this and give it to your father. It’s a powerful charm that can protect him.”

  She placed the stone in his broad hand and closed her fingers around his. Her hand rested on his for a moment and she found it difficult to take it away. It was heartfelt and safe. Whatever was happening between them was palpable to everyone standing nearby.

  Valrune leaned in close, as though to kiss Briar in thanks for the charm.

  Leon spoke up. “Hey, buddy, back off.”

  The prince glanced down at the smooth, glossy frog, so small and pathetic on the floor by her foot.

  “Yeah, that’s right. She doesn’t want any part of your so called princely-charm, or your phony-baloney palace living…”

  “—Or your sizzling good looks, or your wealth,” Dax added.

  “You’re not helping,” Leon said.

  While looking at Leon, Valrune noticed Briar’s bare toes protruding from beneath her gown. “Dame Titania,” he said. “You cannot journey in bare feet.” He reached down and slipped one then the other of his own long, black leather boots from his feet. Then he knelt down and helped Briar into one. It felt warm and slightly dewy. “They may not fit, but they can keep you from further injury,” he said. Then he fitted her other foot with the second boot.

  “Aren’t those supposed to be glass slippers?” Dax asked. The prince gave him a bemused look, cocking one eyebrow. “Always amusing, Lord Bottom,” he said.

  “That’s what they tell me,” Dax replied.

  “Dame Titania? Lord Bottom? Who is he talking about?” Leon asked. This whole thing was clearly not settling well with him.

  A familiar voice dolefully called from the shadows. “Your Majesty.” Then from behind a pillar stepped Damarius, a grave expression on his face. “I heard the sounds of battle in the great Halls of Murbra Faire. There was no protection for me, so I secreted away until all had quieted. There were murmurs of Cole going missing and of these, his guests in grave peril. And, by all the Legends, you have found them. A job well done.”

  The prince arose and faced the king’s advisor. “Damarius, the Lady Orpion has taken control of the palace. You were right to hide. But now you must flee.”

  Damarius looked confused. “It is difficult to believe that with so many negotiations undertaken and sacrifices made that she would end things thusly—” Then he stood looking into the battle-worn faces of those before him. “Surely our own men can defeat the small number of troops she has in her retinue,” he said. He saw Sherman lying in Dax’s arms, bleeding, unconscious. “What madness is this?” Briar noticed that his voice changed suddenly in seeing Sherman. His usual detachment seemed rattled—almost emotional. A royal advisor who must observe certain precepts and formalities cannot overtly display such feelings, she thought, and it seemed peculiar.

  “Yes. Orpion’s work to be sure,” Valrune shot back. “I have arranged to send these innocents to safety.”

  “Indeed,” Damarius said. He established a firm, determined gaze upon Briar as though trusting her for the first time, and expecting that same trust in return. “And where in these Realms can these children hide? If Orpion has her eye fixed upon them as talebreakers, she will not stop until—” He cut his thoughts short and took in a short sharp breath. He bowed his head to the prince, but said no more.

  “We journey south, to the Ink Sea,” Briar said. She gave Valrune’s hand a short squeeze to cue his silence.

  “A wise choice. The Ink Sea is a considerable journey south of the Black Waste, and the Lady would not risk the dangers of night bandits she would surely encounter along the way,” Damarius said. Then he noticed the jeweled mirror tucked into Briar’s bodice boning.

  “Great Goose,” he said. His throttled emotions were now clearly on display. “Is that not—the Lady’s mirror?”

  “Gelid had it and used it to seal me in her chamber before she changed into a psycho-dragon that nearly ate me,” Briar said. “I figure that it’s probably safer with me.”

  Damarius swallowed and his face looked like fallen sacks of flour. “This is a foul artifact of blood magic; it’s only purpose to harm. It should be destroyed at once. Give it to me…”

  “Hold it right there,” Briar said. She said putting a stopping hand against the man’s chest.

  Damarius was unaccustomed to anyone questioning him, it seemed clear to Briar. He clenched his jaw and drew his hands into tight clamps.

  “I beg your pardon—” Damarius said.

  Valrune watched Briar carefully, and then said, “You have no need for it, Damarius. Whatever Dame Titania needs, she shall have. And her purpose will be questioned by none.”

  Damarius’ breathing became labored and his face was the color of stewed tomatoes. He withdrew his hand and bowed solemnly. Valrune spoke again. “Besides, without it, I trust, the Lady Orpion will have one less power at her disposal.”

  “Yes. Of course,” Damarius said. He lowered his eyes in a practiced manner.

  “Now please find my father and assure his safety,” Valrune said. “I shall be along presently.”

  Damarius nodded his head gracefully, but he cast the rage in his eyes at Briar. Then he rushed away, his expression fevered.

  Valrune steeled his voice like an officer giving a military command. “Take your leave, Dame Titania, Lord Bottom. You must not become embroiled in the contrivances of this palace.” With that, Briar nodded and they all piled into the king’s carriage that waited for them just outside the massive doors. “Be cautious along your journey, and stop for no one,” Valrune ordered. Then he slammed shut the carriage door and the driver sped them away, furious hooves beating into the blackness.

  Chapter 22

  The carriage bumped along the rolling plains of the Black Waste for what seemed like an eternity. There were few features to the landscape: a rise in the road here and there, a black tumbleweed, a dark, endless horizon.

  Briar pressed an ear to Sherman’s soft white chest for the umpteenth time listening to his withered heartbeat. “He’s not going to make it,” she said. She reached down and ripped her dress from the hem up to her thighs, exposing the shiny black boots that went up past her knees. Then carefully she ripped the lower part of her gown in a straight horizontal line.

  The mirror she had carefully tucked into her dress was not only in the way, it was jabbing her ribs. So she tucked it into one of her long boots where it could remain concealed and relatively safe. Carefully she took the fabric she had torn away and ripped it into a few manageable sections, which she then used to dress Sherman’s wounds. “This will have to do,” she said, looking at her work.

  “Wow, you really do like a certain look,” Dax said, admiring how the altered dress now seemed like another version of Briar’s former cinched-up black Victorian and grunge boots.

  Tarfeather, who sat on the tufted leather bench facing Sherman, had tears streaming from his tiny eyeholes. “I don’t think he’s gonna’ make it. And then what’ll I do without him?” he repeated from television.

  “What is Tarfeather going on about?” Dax said.

  “No, mister Dax not understandery. Magic flowers makery medicine for Sherman. But flowers at Towery Flowery Hill.”

  Dax looked at Briar perplexed. “But that’s good news, Tarfeather. All we have to do is get there and we can help Sherman.”

  Tarfeather shook his head then buried it beneath Briar’s mounds of shredded petticoats. “It’s such a long journey. I
don’t think we’ll ever make it,” he impersonated. Then he began to bawl, though it was muffled beneath Briar’s dress.

  “Don’t worry, Briar,” Dax said. “He’ll be okay. My dog Mitzy was sick for a week before she…uh—”

  “Wow Dax. Thanks for that message of sensitivity and hope,” Briar said.

  Leon sat next to Tarfeather silently fuming. “You know, you shouldn’t take this out on Dax,” he said. “The only reason we’re here—the only reason why he’s injured"—Leon pointed to Sherman with his small flipper—“is because of you, Dame Titania!”

  “What? We’re here because of you, dumb-ass.” Briar said. She had had enough of Leon and his flip-flop loyalties.

  “Me?” Leon asked. “I was handling things just fine, until you had to come and rile up Gelid. Oh, by the way, congratulations on killing Orpion’s best friend. I’m sure we can all rest well tonight.”

  “Are you out of your mind?” Briar began to raise her voice. “You are a frog. A frog. You were stuck in a cage that was woven into a tapestry. That was your idea of handling things?”

  “Yeah, I was better off there. I didn’t need you or Prince Boredom—the Pussy in Boots—to rescue me.”

  “Oh, that’s what this is about,” Briar replied. “Nice. You’re jealous of a storybook price—who is so incredibly, unnaturally gorgeous that he probably doesn’t even really exist. Meanwhile, you keep Megan as a girlfriend for your image, and me on the side because I entertain you. You’re a real piece of work.”

  Involuntarily Leon snapped his long pink tongue at an insect that had flown into the carriage and he sucked it into his mouth. “Oh crap, please tell me that I didn’t just eat a bug.”

  “Okay, everyone to neutral corners,” Dax said. “Leon, you’ll be home soon and out of this mess. And Briar…this flirting with the prince is just off the charts, girl.” Dax slapped a high five with approval. “Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about!”