“Yaaaah!”
The scream came from the house. An object flew overhead, too quickly for Chele to even comprehend what it was. It smashed along the forest floor that separated the eyes from Chele. Fire erupted in a small pool.
Yipe!
The wolves retreated a few steps. Huge teeth reflected in the firelight along with the orange eyes. Chele froze to the spot, terrified. A hand, cold and clammy, grabbed her arm and pulled. The ground slid underneath her, small rocks and twigs tearing at her clothes and skin.
More light surrounded her as someone pulled her into a yard, probably of the house she had briefly seen. Chele wanted to see who was pulling her, but her neck wouldn’t cooperate. After what felt like an eternity, the hand let go.
Howls echoed in the night, but were distant again. The human’s mind barely registered the sound. Too much pain was issuing forth to her brain. Her eyes rolled.
“Doesn’t look like much.” The voice was…she didn’t have a good word for it. Not human?
“In the end, she might be worth the trouble. Come tend to me first, Queig. The wolves won’t bother her here.”
Chele blacked out.
***
The food was delicious, despite being messy. They dug into juicy boar steaks and fried potato sticks, green beans, and a cheese spread that was simply indescribable. Ra’na did not care for decorum; she ate with her hands, using a utensil every now and then. The council member tried to be proper but then must’ve realized it was just taking longer to eat.
Ra’na cast a smile his way. Gantha blushed.
It took them a whole fifteen minutes, but every scrap of food ordered was gone. Lourak tried once to come and mooch, but Ra’na slapped his hand away. Eventually he left and shared a plate with the Minotaurian.
Gantha sat back in his chair, a new mug of ale—his fifth—grasped lazily in his relaxed hand. His stomach appeared filled to the point of bursting. Ra’na felt the same, leaning forward, resting on an elbow.
“That really hit the spot,” she said, still inspecting the plate.
“Yeah…” He stared at Ra’na, sitting forward, propping himself up on an elbow. “You’re pretty.”
She laughed and sat back. Crimson creeped up his face. “You better not let Niava hear you say that.”
Gantha looked behind him, possibly thinking the Echidna would be peeking over his shoulder. She remained at the bar staring in his direction. The she-viper blew him a kiss and threw him a wink. He stared a moment longer, taking his time to look away.
“So, let’s talk some business before we turn in,” Ra’na said. “It must be something the council considers serious if they are sending out a representative to check on it.”
“It’s a load of frog water…that’s what it is.” Gantha pushed the stein aside. He reached into his robes and pulled out a scroll. Ra’na took it.
She didn’t say anything, reading the written version of the prophecy over twice. “‘Warlock of races’? I guess you could call Ynob that. A human wizard that lives in the Territories?”
“That’s…” Gantha leaned forward and poked a finger at the paper, not in the right spot, “That’s who I am looking for.” Ra’na looked up at Gantha and studied him.
“We should probably get you off to bed.”
“I’m not sleepy.”
“Oh, you will be.” Ra’na muttered a quick spell and Gantha slumped on the wood top.
An uproar rose at a nearby table as the Minotaurian bellowed in outrage. His huge fists hit a plate and then swiped sideways, knocking the dwarf on the floor.
“Wait ye, just a sec. Aye can get yer coin.” Lourak stumbled to his feet and while walking backward, motioned to Ra’na. He turned away from the huge creature and retreated to the others quickly. Ra’na spoke before he could ask.
“You watch him. I’ll take care of Old Duff.” Ra’na stood and casually walked over to the old Minotaurian, his nostrils flaring as if he had seen something red. The dark elf bent down and spoke to the creature, and moments later the beast was calm. Ra’na smiled at Old Duff as she turned and sauntered back to Lourak.
Gantha stirred. Ra’na’s sleep spell was one that only put the victim out for a few minutes. Great in a bind, but terrible for long-term. Ra’na grabbed the council member’s arm, bringing him groggily to his feet.
“Whatcha say to ’em?” the dwarf asked.
“Just a small sleep spell. Gantha will be fine.”
“No, Old Duff.”
“I’d stay away from him for the rest of the evening. But your debt is covered. I promised him some of my biscuits when I got home.” Ra’na’s cooking was known far and wide. It was her passion, and all races enjoyed her food. She didn’t have an eatery, more of a carryout or home-delivery operation. Old Duff was a sucker for Ra’na’s biscuits, especially her cherry-apple-cinnamon ones.
Gantha surfaced from the spell, mostly awake now. Ra’na helped him to the stairs. “To bed,” Ra’na commanded, and the council member started up.
“That were mighty kind of you,” Lourak said, grabbing for Gantha’s stein, drinking down what remained.
“Oh, you owe me one for this, little man.” She turned back to watch Gantha’s progress. He was on the balcony, looking down at the bar area. Niava winked and mouthed, “See you soon.” Gantha showed alarm but then seemed to forget the exchange as he headed for his room.
It was time for bed.
***
Morning light warmed the old woman’s house, gradually awakening Euphoria out of her dreamless sleep. She felt well-rested, yet something, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on, was out of place.
She sat up and looked about the unfamiliar setting. It was then the memories of the day before came to her.
“Morning.” Hazel busied herself cracking some eggs over a pan.
Euphoria stood and joined her in the kitchen. “Anything I can—?”
“Have yourself a seat, missy. Your captain’s outside feeding the horses.” Hazel’s words came out a bit brusque. Euphoria didn’t know what to say.
“I’m sorry if we have put you out in any way,” she began.
Hazel turned, ready to say something, but held back. She then went to the stove. Taylon came in a moment later.
“How are you feeling today?” He quickly came to Euphoria’s side.
“I’m…good.” Euphoria puzzled over what to say around Hazel. “How are the horses?”
“They are ready to go.”
“Where are we headed?” What was the plan, now that they had lost the mirror pieces?
Taylon stumbled with the words. “Um, I thought back to the castle.” The queen looked at him, and then her glance went to Hazel. Even while she prepared the morning meal, the old woman was still listening.
“But doesn’t Hazel know someone who knows about the box?” She spoke it to Hazel, who never turned around. An awkward silence prevailed in the room. “Don’t you, Hazel?”
The woman looked around, giving a hard stare at the captain before answering Euphoria. “Yes, yes I do.” The queen caught this look.
“Then that is who we are going to see.” Euphoria stood, trying to make her point. All eyes stared toward Taylon. He looked a bit startled.
“But….”
“Are you questioning your queen?” This statement startled Taylon.
“No, Your Majesty.” His words came out bitter. Her hand found his and pulled him to the side.
“This is for me. The more we find out about that box, the more we can find out if something is wrong.”
“Wrong? You said you felt fine.” His words were a whisper.
Euphoria looked into his worried eyes. “Nothing, or at least I think it is nothing.” She gave his hand a squeeze again. “I will tell you when something is wrong.”
Taylon nodded. She saw deep concern in his soul.
“Can Hazel take us to her friend?” Euphoria asked him.
“I was just trying….”
“I know,
and I appreciate that. But I think Hazel won’t lead us astray. So can she?”
After a minute of hesitation, Taylon nodded. Euphoria knew Hazel had been listening the whole time, even though the old woman acted surprised at the news.
“Eat quickly, because we need to start the ride as soon as possible.” The medicine woman talked while she plated and served the eggs.
“Do we need to hitch a cart to one of the horses?” Taylon asked as he sat down at the table.
Hazel turned and stared at him. “I may look old, but I can ride a horse better than anyone, including you. I’ll be fine, Soldier Boy. Hopefully you can keep up.”
“Okay.” He drew out the o in his word.
In no time at all, Hazel had proven her riding abilities twofold.
***
Fret felt nasty when he awoke. The night chill had infiltrated his bones, even though his fire kept one side of him warm through most of it. He smelled of burned wood and animal urine. He wasn’t sure why the latter, until he stood up and saw a night creature had raided his food cache. It must have had a grand party, for it ate half his supplies. The food must not have agreed with it either, because Fret stepped in a pile of dung a few feet away.
His anger grew as the wood smell faded and the urine smell became prevalent. Throwing away his outer vest helped, but the odor lingered still. After putting his provisions back together, Fret looked for the mirror piece. It lay dark.
“Lyra? Lyra?” Fret carefully picked up the piece and spoke at it. Nothing happened. He shook the mirror, but it did nothing.
Luckily, his horse was still there. At least he had transportation. Fret could find more food. But which direction did he need to head? He tried to remember what Lyra told him last night, but it came forth distorted—like with his dream, a blur.
He looked at the mirror one last time before he secured it on the saddle. He would keep heading west for now. It was time to see what was out past Smead.
As Fret rode, he pondered on all that had happened. He wondered what his father was doing. Was he worried? Of course he would be worried about his only son. But everyone else in Smead was probably rejoicing. The big bully was gone, maybe forever.
Forever… It sounded like such a final word. Would he be gone forever?
Nothing changed in the landscape as he rode. Hills, trees, rocks, and then a lake. It was a small lake, more of a pond. Fret brought his horse near, letting it drink. The sun was beginning to warm the day, but he still shivered. Each shiver brought the scent of woodsmoke and animal urine. He should have remembered to put his food up, away from critters.
While his horse drank, Fret scanned the horizon, looking for something different or interesting that he could ride toward. Same thing, different place. Maybe he should go back home? The mirror wasn’t talking anymore. Fret started to doubt that it had ever spoken to him.
But then he remembered whom he had taken the pieces from. A cold shiver of fear ran its claws down his spine. The Witch Guard could be coming after him!
Fret had only seen the Witch Guard once in his life. That was the time when Hazel stood accused of being a witch. The soldiers galloped in and pretty much took over, did what they wanted to do without fearing the consequences.
A Witch Guard soldier stopped after almost running over young Fret. Perhaps a scolding was coming, but the man changed his tone as he saw how the boy looked up at him. Fret wasn’t afraid of the soldier but had awe and wonder plastered all over his face.
The man dismounted, placed a hand on young Fret’s shoulder, and said encouraging words. “One day, you too could join the Guard. We need strong young men like you. Working for the king is great…” and other things like that. Fret grew out of wanting to be a soldier once he realized the hard work that went into it. He would rather just stay in Smead and bully people.
His horse finished and raised its head. Fret reached back for the mirror. As he did so, its edge gave him a small cut. He pulled the mirror forward, inspecting his finger. Just a little cut, nothing to bother with. Absentmindedly, he wiped the drop on the surface of the mirror.
Instantly the glass brightened. Not the pulsing, exotic glow, but just a simple step up in the color scale. He lifted his finger, looking at it and the mirror. After a minute, he came to a conclusion. Fret squeezed another drop of blood from his finger. He cautiously let it fall to the mirror.
Drop.
When it hit the mirror, light ripples echoed out from the contact spot. Again, the light was a shade higher, but no voice, no pulsing, and no Lyra. Fret stared down at the glass, amazed by his discovery.
This magic takes blood!
It was more of an ah-ha moment than one of fear. Fret’s mind never took into consideration what magic fed on blood would ultimately do. Once he made the connection, he knew how to get Lyra back. He just needed to find her sustenance.
At first he did think about using his own, but quickly tossed out the idea. Looking around again, his eye caught something on the horizon he had missed. Faint smoke trailed up into the sky in the southwest. A home? A brush fire?
He wasn’t sure, but fire usually meant people were around. Fret secured the mirror once again and gave the horse a swift kick. It galloped off toward the smoke and the possible blood source for the mirror.
Chapter Eight
Queig the goblin was a good servant. Once he had finished with his mistress, Katrena, he dragged the woman inside the house. A few of the night insects were feeding on her, but that was to be expected. No sign of the wolves. Disgusting creatures anyway.
Before Katrena retired to a much-needed rest, Queig asked what she wanted done with the human.
“Do whatever you want. Just don’t kill her.”
Freedom to do whatever I want? The goblin had never worked on this race before, never even seen one until tonight. Ideas blossomed in his little mind.
His mistress kept a wide range of cosmetics, chemicals, potions, dyes, and other medicinal substances for use during her adventures that helped with disguises. Many of the concoctions could physically alter flesh while others provided just a mask to fool or elude capture. Queig’s mind was all aflutter as he perused the makeup.
The human, Chele, if he remembered the name his mistresses called her, lay on the floor, unconscious to the world. Carefully, Queig inspected the woman, amazed by the creature. Small, red slashes lined her face from a tree branch assault. One eye appeared to be swollen—a scratch ran from her nose across her eye and then upward. Her clothing was simply unsalvageable. Queig hadn’t liked it anyway, so discarding it had been easy.
Queig grabbed a pair of shears from the table. He bent down, running one hand through her hair. Much too long for what he had in mind. The color was wrong too, but one thing at a time. Snip, snip, snip.
The goblin hummed a tune very softly while he worked. His patient stirred once. Queig quickly prepared a small sleeping potion just in case she came to. This makeover would not work with the human flailing about. She was going to be Queig’s masterpiece, and her opinion didn’t belong.
After her hair, he used the shears to remove her clothing. Underneath, the canvass was not much better. Bruises welled up on her pale skin like mold. Her sides had scratches and branch marks as well. Once the clothes were off, he threw them in the fire. This woman would not be going back to those. Queig grabbed a blanket to throw over Chele, not wanting her to catch cold, but he also didn’t like looking at the pale, bruised torso.
Shears aside, he grabbed some dye to work into her hair. It wasn’t as easy working with the passed-out human as he thought it would be. He propped her up as he applied the dye. She tilted to the side twice, causing a mess on the floor. Queig, never one to give up, pressed through.
Putting the dye back on the table, he looked to see what else Katrena had for him to play with. Tattoo ink, piercer, razor, and skin-color pills were just a few of the things he put to the side. Each one would play a role in his plan of attack.
Queig was putting the fin
ishing touches on her face tattoo when his mistress awoke.
“Queig! Bring me more of that balm we used last night,” Katrena cried out from her room. The goblin instantly stopped his work and followed the command.
“Here you go, mistress.” He extended the balm out to her.
“You need to put it on. I do only have one hand.”
“Much sorry, mistress.” Queig opened the jar and began applying it to her stump. Her eyes closed, and a look of relief washed over her. The goblin’s heart beat faster. He liked contact with his mistress and the sound of her satisfied.
“So how’s the human?”
“She’s not awake yet. I just finished.” Katrena slapped his hand away as the rubbing became a little too intense.
“Finished?”
“Yes, come see.” Queig bounded out of the room like he’d received a pot of gold. Katrena followed him into the main room.
“Queig! What have you…!” The words slipped out as she saw the human on the floor, or what used to look like a human.
Chele now had short-cropped hair that sparkled a fire-blue color. Katrena could barely see the dozen black tattoos overlaying her violet-hued skin. One of the tattoos followed the branch-lash mark that had swiped her eye. The human now had a nose ring, and one ear looked like it dangled with about seven earrings. The goblin had added other body jewelry as well.
“Do you not like?” Queig was very worried. “You said I could do anything.”
“Yes, I did…. But did you have to pierce her that much? And where are her clothes?”
“I burned them. She needs a new set of clothes to go with her new look.” He opened his eyes wide, waiting for approval.
Katrena looked over the human again. “Yes, Queig, you did well. Now go fix some food. Our little princess may wake up at any moment, and I will need you here to calm her shock.”
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