The Pitchfork of Destiny

by Jack Heckel

“You’re wrong, Gwendolyn. The dragon changes everything.”

  She shook her head. “No, Delbert, even if the dragon kills Lady Rapunzel, I am the last woman in the kingdom that King William would marry.”

  “You assume that William Pickett will still be king,” he said with the confidence of a gambler who had just thrown his trump card.

  “What do you mean?” she said angrily. “Do you mean that the dragon might kill King William? Even if that were to happen, either Rupert or Edward Charming will take the throne, and the chances of my becoming queen go from fleeting to nonexistent.”

  “Pah!” the Dracomancer said with disgust. “The Picketts and the Charmings, they are the past. I am talking about the future.” He stood and struck a dramatic pose in front of the fire. “I am talking about you becoming the Dracoking’s bride and queen.”

  “You?” she said, and on her face was a look of utter confusion.

  “Don’t you see, with the coming of the dragon, and the King’s flight from Castle White, the ­people have no one to turn to but me. I have become the true power in Royaume. With my Dracolyte army, I can march from here and take Castle White in a matter of days, and that is just what I intend to do.”

  Her face was an emotionless mask. He knew that she must be overwhelmed by what she knew was coming and fearful to show her true feelings. The Dracomancer decided that one more flourish of gallantry would tip her, forever, into his arms.

  He came to her side and dropped to one knee. He extended one hand to his breast and swept the other wide. “Come with me, Princess Gwendolyn, and I will make you the woman . . . the queen that you were always meant to be. Come with me, and I will give you the life that you deserve.”

  Her eyes were wide. She was pale with stunned shock, then as he watched, her face underwent a transformation, and her teeth drew back into something like a snarl. He rose and retreated.

  “You . . . you . . . you dare!” she spit, barely able to form the words. “You, who are the author of EVERYTHING that happened to my sister, to me, to this kingdom . . . How could you think that you could come here and expect me to . . . to . . .” She lost her ability to speak but stood and advanced threateningly toward him.

  He fell back and found himself pinned against the settee. “I did it all for you. I am offering you everything that you wanted. I only wanted to give you what you deserved.”

  She raised back her palm to strike him, and he held up his hands to ward off the coming blow, but it never fell. Instead, she threw her arms around her body, and turning her back on him, she began rocking herself to and fro in front of the fire.

  “I know you did, Delbert,” she said, in a voice hoarse with emotion. “But I did not know what I was asking for.”

  The Dracomancer licked his lips nervously and cast his eyes about the room as though looking for an escape. How could he have known that she would maintain such an unreasoning grudge for so long?

  “I never knew what would happen. If I had—­”

  She spun and pointed a shaking finger at him. “You knew what the fairy was like, and still you led me to her!” she spit, the anger momentarily giving her voice the force it had lost. “You gave me the spells. You taught me the words to speak. I was an innocent. You knew, and still you . . .” Suddenly, her eyes were filled with tears. “How could you let me do it? I was so young . . . just a girl.”

  He stood silently, letting the question hang unanswered in the air. I was such an insipid, pathetic little fool playing with magic, he excoriated himself silently

  Gwendolyn said softly, “You said that you loved me.”

  And the memories of those days returned to him like a slap. He saw himself at the balls and the fetes, where she and her sister had been the center of the world, and he had been left to skulk about the edges of the crowd like a shadow. She had been so beautiful, and he had been a second-­rate sorcerer’s apprentice. He would have told her anything, given her anything for a moment’s attention. A wave of shame passed through him as he remembered the fawning, grasping, spotty young man he had been, and at how she had dangled him on the end of her little finger.

  Anger flared through him. How dare she judge me! I am the Dracomancer, and she is nothing now. She should be kissing my feet and begging me to return. I will not grovel to a fallen woman. I will not abase myself to a farmer’s wife.

  Shielded by his armor of self-­righ­teous anger, he drew himself up, and the cold smirk returned to his face. “Just a girl? Just a girl?” he mocked in a singsong voice. “What a conveniently selective memory you have. Don’t you remember who you were and who I was? You were Princess Gwendolyn Mostfair, and I was nothing to you, and yet you dare talk to ME of LOVE?”

  He laughed aloud at this.

  “You never even thought of me,” he hissed viciously. “I was just some peon, and you used me, just like you tried to use the fairy. The difference was that in the fairy you met someone even more cruel and unfeeling than yourself. You may believe that I am to blame for your fall, but it was your own stupidity that let the fairy trap you. You may have convinced yourself that you were an innocent, but the wishes that cursed your sister to death came from your own poisonous heart.”

  He straightened his black robes and stomped toward the door, treading the cream into the floor as he went. At the hall, he turned back and looked down his crooked nose at her, and the bile from long-­remembered slights and long-­smoldering resentments spilled out.

  “I see that you are incapable and undeserving of my attentions. You are where you should be, scrabbling in the dirt like the peasant hag that you are. Enjoy what remains of your life, Gwendolyn Mostfair. I wish you all the misery that you deserve.”

  An echo of his former longing rose in his breast, but he suppressed it ruthlessly, threw open the door, and stalked away into the night, slamming the cottage door behind him so hard that it rattled the teacups in their chipped saucers.

  As soon as he was gone, Gwendolyn fell to her knees sobbing, as a mix of emotions overwhelmed her. There was a rush of feet, and Monty and Elizabeth Pickett were beside her. Monty dropped to the ground and threw his arms about her, pulling her to him.

  “Are you alright, my darling?” Monty asked.

  Liz watched as Gwen nodded between sobs.

  Monty’s jaw clenched and unclenched with anger as he held Gwendolyn close. “I shouldn’t have let the swine speak to you like that. I should give him the thrashing he deserves.”

  His face was so tense and his eyes so dark with anger that Liz thought he would have done just that had Gwendolyn not held on to him so that he could not rise.

  “Stop, Monty,” she said firmly, and pulled away from him enough so that she could lock her eyes on his. “I will be fine, but I need you to be calm because I am not. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, darling,” he said softly. “I am sorry. It was harder than I knew to listen to those vile things.”

  They stared into each other’s eyes for several moments, and the look that passed between them was so personal and private that Liz felt it would be the worst sort of violation to remain. Coming here had been a mistake. Quietly, she began to withdraw.

  Gwendolyn stopped her with an outstretched hand. “Lady Elizabeth, please don’t leave. We need to talk.”

  Gathering herself, she stood and went to a divan to sit. Liz crossed the room and took the settee opposite her. Gwendolyn clutched Monty’s hand in hers. Liz could see the white marks that her nails were leaving on the back of his hand, but Monty said nothing, nor made any move to pull away. He was entirely fixated on her, his face lined with deepest concern.

  They remained frozen in this tableau until finally Liz could stand the silence no longer. “You have done a marvelous job fixing up the place. I love the rose trellises.”

  “What?” Gwendolyn said as if she had just woken.

  More brightly, Monty said, “That
ill-­tempered man interrupted your tea, ladies. Let me freshen it.”

  He gathered the remnants of the tea and left.

  The two women sat staring at their hands and saying nothing for a time. Finally, Liz took a deep breath. “Thank you for hiding me, Lady Mostfair. I have only just escaped from the Dracomancer, and when I heard you call out that he was at the door, I thought I was done for. I can’t tell you how much I owe you and Monsieur Montague for taking me in.”

  “Lady Elizabeth, please call me Gwen. I have been trying to leave my old titles where they belong, in the past. As for taking you in, this is still your family’s estate. Monty and I owe you and King William everything. We have a home, food, and an occupation because of your generosity.”

  “Thank you, Gwen, and please return the favor by calling me Liz. I find it difficult to wear a title in this place. And, thank you for your welcome, but this is your home now. My brother and I agreed, and I am glad it is being put to good use. And what you did today goes far beyond any thanks you owe us. If the Dracomancer were to return or find me here, my presence would put you and Monsieur Montague in terrible danger.”

  “It’s Monty to you, Lady Elizabeth, and you are welcome any time, Dracomancer or no Dracomancer,” Monty said from the door, a tea tray laden with steaming pots and new cups and jars of jam and fresh scones in his hands.

  “And, don’t worry about us, Liz,” Gwen said as she arranged the cups in front of her. “Delbert was quite honest when he wished me every misery I deserved, but he won’t harm me.” She gestured around the little room with a weathered teacup. “I am quite certain that he believes that leaving me here is the greatest punishment he could possibly mete out. I am content that he believes that.”

  Gwen and Liz engaged in the wonderfully familiar ritual of pouring and spooning and stirring until they were both settled with a scone and a cup of tea. Monty withdrew again with a smile, and said from the door, “I will be across the way if you need anything.”

  “He is wonderfully attentive,” Liz said, taking a large bite of her scone. “I wish that Edward could learn to be as thoughtful.”

  “Yes, I am very lucky,” Gwen said with a smile that did not reach her eyes.

  Liz wasn’t sure but felt that there was something in the other woman’s answer—­something bitter. Liz thought she understood and nodded her assent as she took another bite of her scone. “I am sorry if my being here has brought the past back to haunt you.”

  Gwen laughed, and this time, the bitterness was obvious. “After everything I did to your brother, to Prince Charming, to Rupert, but especially to you, I wouldn’t have thought that you would ever be sorry for anything that’s happened to me. I could have killed you and nearly killed your love. I’m not sure that if our positions had been reversed, I would have allowed you any kindness at all.”

  They were the very thoughts and feelings Liz felt herself struggling with. She wanted to hate Gwen, but seeing her now and sharing tea with her, she was finding it hard to do. Not knowing how to respond, she took another bite of the scone to fill the silence and was surprised to realize she had finished it. Suddenly, she was famished. She picked up another one and spread cream and butter and jam on it.

  They sat in silence for a time, Liz eating and Gwendolyn staring at nothing, then one of the candles sputtered, causing shadows to move around the room. Gwen’s eyes went wide, and she pulled her knees up to her chest.

  Liz could see that Gwen was struggling. The Dracomancer and she herself had reawakened memories in the woman that would have been better left buried. Though Liz had no love for her, she would not wish Gwen’s suffering on anyone. She needed to bring this visit to a close, so they could both go back to forgetting the past.

  “Gwen,” she said, putting her now-­empty teacup and crumb-­filled plate back down on the tray. “Soon, the Dracomancer will discover I’m missing. My companion, Tomas, will be captured, and I have made him promise that he will not play the hero, but will tell the Dracomancer everything he knows. I don’t know if he will keep that promise, but I must assume that the Dracomancer will know that I have gone, and perhaps he will guess where I have gone.”

  “I don’t have a horse, if that’s what you want. We have a mule and two milk cows, but they won’t get you very far.”

  Liz smiled at the woman’s joke. It was a shame that they’d had such a troubled past because she thought she might be able to be friends with this version of Gwen. She cleared her throat. “I don’t need a horse, but thanks. I need information.”

  “What sort of information?” Gwen said, raising her head but very carefully averting her gaze from a little patch of shadow that clung to the far edge of the room.

  “Lady Rapunzel has been captured by this new dragon and has been brought to the same tower where you were held prisoner. We think the dragon has come to revenge himself on Will for having slain, or at least having claimed to have slain, the Wyrm of the South. Now, the Dracomancer has raised an army that is sweeping across the countryside. I need to know what we, and I guess I mean myself, Charming, and Will, assuming I ever see them again, can do to kill the dragon, and anything you can tell me about the Dracomancer and his powers that might allow us to beat back his growing influence.”

  Gwen frowned, then said, “You know I’m not a real witch? I have no power. The dragon—­Magdela—­taught me a ­couple of tricks to control fairies because she really, really hated that fairy. Other than that, I know very little.”

  “Please, Gwen, anything might help.” Liz clasped her hands in a sort of supplication.

  Gwen pursed her lips in thought. “Let’s start with the Dracomancer. To start with, stop calling him the bloody Dracomancer. His name is Delbert. When I was eighteen, he was the court sorcerer’s second apprentice. He has no more power, and probably a great deal less, than his mentor had, and that old man was a terrible bungler known mostly for his ability to make coins appear out of the oddest places. This might have been great fun at parties and balls but rather impractical.”

  Gwen leaned forward and picked up her scone with her long, delicate fingers. “Delbert’s greatest single act as a sorcerer was in teaching me to summon a fairy. We all know the result of that. I ended up killing my sister and destroying any chance of happiness for myself or King Rupert, oh, and I also managed to bring a rampaging dragon down on the kingdom and get myself imprisoned for several decades.”

  She elegantly bit off a corner of the pastry and put the remains back on the plate in front of her.

  “So he has no real power?” Liz asked, eyeing Gwendolyn’s half-­eaten scone hungrily.

  “Depends on what you mean by real power,” Gwen replied. “He can’t do real magic, but he has always been a crafty court operative. I held him in the same regard as I might a trained weasel. However, he was still the one that I went to when I wanted to win Rupert’s heart”—­she sighed—­“and his ambition has only grown. After my kidnapping, he wrote the prophecy that guided the kingdom for most of your life. If it weren’t for Will’s pitchfork, he’d probably still have his own tower in Castle White. And right now, he has a rather large and loyal army.”

  “Yes, an army at his back and a hand puppet in his cloak,” Liz snorted. “The man is ridiculous.”

  A suddenly serious Gwendolyn fixed her eyes on Liz’s. “It would be dangerous to underestimate him, Liz. He may not be able to cast spells, and he is certainly foolish, but he is ruthless. There is a reason a second apprentice and not the first inherited the title of court sorcerer. Besides, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s a little unbalanced at this point. For all those years that his prophecy held, he was on top of the world, then from one day to the next, he was a pariah. If you think I have had it tough with my exile, try being the magician that misread the tea leaves on the most important and well-­publicized prophecy in the history of the kingdom.”

  She looked about as though someone m
ight be listening and, dropping her voice, leaned in, which Liz reflected was probably a force of habit from her days in the court. “I heard he was reduced to tavern shows and children’s birthday parties.”

  “Alright, so he’s dangerous, foolish, and mad. What would you advise we do?” Liz asked.

  “Kill the dragon.”

  Liz rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Okay, yes, but—­”

  “No buts, Liz,” she said, and her blue eyes became hard as ice. “The ‘Dracomancer’ derives his power from the fear of the dragon. As long as the dragon remains, more and more ­people will flock to him, but remove the dragon, and there is only Delbert. ­People will follow the Dracomancer. No one will follow Delbert. However, if Delbert kills the dragon, then he will always be the Dracomancer, and you will never defeat him.”

  “So, how can we get rid of the dragon?” Liz said in exasperation, and putting propriety aside, picked up the remains of Gwendolyn’s scone. “There must be something that could help us fight the beast. Did the old dragon—­?”

  Gwen cut her off, then, speaking in a sudden heated flurry of words, said, “It is true that Magdela told me lots of things. I wasn’t truly awake, more like half-­asleep, but whenever I managed to stir, she talked to me. I believe she was incredibly bored. She told me when Rupert remarried. She announced the death of my parents and the birth of Prince Charming. She talked a lot about births and deaths as the years passed by, and she absolutely reveled in telling me of Delbert’s prophecy and in how dashing and handsome Charming was becoming. Gossiping to me gave her something to do. I don’t think she meant to be cruel, but the effect was the same.”

  Gwen rested her head on her knees and let out a long, ragged breath.

  “I . . . I’m sorry, Gwen,” Liz said, losing her appetite at the sudden awareness of how much it must be costing the woman to talk about her past.

  “It’s okay. I know the dragon that your brother and Edward have gone to fight. Apart from her diatribes against the fairy and her discussions of human affairs, Volthraxus was Magdela’s favorite topic.”