by Caroline Noe
“I’ve never ridden before!” Elaine admitted, shouting in his ear and making him wince.
“Try holding tighter,” Harlin told her, with strangulated sarcasm.
A nut holding Grey Squirrel sat in a tree and watched them fly past.
* * *
Having opened all the cages in the spell room, Gwyneth and Myrrdinus - sporting a new frog epaulette - made their way back downstairs in the midst of an animal exodus. Goat, rabbit, deer, dog and frog were only a fraction of the paws, claws and hooves that tiptoed down stone steps on their way to freedom. The wild was a dangerous place where you could be hunted, but at least you could avoid being the guest of honour at a Harpy sacrifice.
As Myrrdinus passed the door to the Queen’s quarters, he again wondered whether it was possible to break it down and kill her before she could awaken and place a spell on him. Even if he succeeded in killing her, the priests would, no doubt, return the favour before he could escape. And what, then, would happen to Gwyneth? Noting the internal struggles playing across his features, Gwyneth reached out and took his hand. He didn’t shake her off, not immediately.
When the couple, plus frog, reached ground level, they were forced to shove their way through the bottleneck of animals, milling about at the bottom of the steps, too frightened to go through the door to the dreaded altar room. Peeping into the room, Gwyneth noticed that the sacrificial fires were still burning around the altar, but the awful smell had dissipated. The outer door was still ajar, allowing the first light of dawn to glimmer through. Their escape route lay open and clear.
Padding across the marble floor, Gwyneth headed for freedom. A queue followed, led by Myrrdinus, with a quivering goat bringing up the rear. Gwyneth had reached the middle of the room when the inner door suddenly opened and she found herself face to face with Gergan, High Priest of Magikers. With nowhere to go, a stranded Gwyneth simply stood, rooted to the spot, as what appeared to be the entire priesthood filed in behind him.
Having hung back a little, the rest of the animals were able to throw themselves into every nook, cranny and cover they could find. Not expecting to see animals loose on the premises, Gergan and colleagues didn’t notice the odd tail and claw sticking out from the shadows, but dawn was breaking, bringing greater light and definition. Time was running out for the desperate fugitives. Utterly terrified, Frog dived backwards off Myrrdinus’s shoulder and snuggled down into the folds of his clothing.
Although he might possibly have returned to cover, Myrrdinus didn’t even attempt it. Gwyneth was obviously caught and he would never desert her. She was annoying, irritating, short and dumpy, but he had not lived without her and wasn’t going to start now. Arriving at her side, his hand went to the hilt of his sword.
Gwyneth’s hand covered his as she whispered, “Wait.”
When Gergan approached the couple, Gwyneth delivered a huge, beaming smile. Unable to join her in play-acting, Myrrdinus looked exactly how he felt – apprehensive – and that fact made the High Priest doubly suspicious.
“How ye get in here?” Gergan snarled, drawing a huge, curved dagger.
Myrrdinus twitched. Gwyneth’s grip tightened over his hand.
“Through open door,” she said, injecting the happy excitement of a simpleton into her voice. “We knocked, but seen open already.”
What be she up to? thought Myrrdinus, his gaze oscillating between her and the malevolent priest. He soon found out.
Gwyneth beamed at Gergan and joyfully announced, “We here to marrying!”
Myrrdinus almost fainted.
Fortunately, his shocked expression convinced the High Priest of the genuineness of the situation. No doubt he was a nervous bridegroom, quaking in his boots at the thought of a lifetime’s commitment. The total enthusiasm of the fat, little woman amused Gergan. She was getting the better end of the deal, that was for certain, but the mismatch was touching.
Myrrdinus, meanwhile, was comforting himself with the fact that the marriage would not take place. It was well known that the High Priest never carried out ceremonies for the peasants. This safety net disappeared with Gergan’s next words.
“Come to altar.”
This took Gwyneth by surprise. She, too, had assumed that they would be thrown out, not invited to face a magik marriage ceremony. Although she had every expectation of one day landing the hulk of her dreams, she didn’t want to fulfil it by way of an evil ceremony. Still, there was no way out of it now.
“Ow,” whispered Myrrdinus.
Looking down, Gwyneth realised that she was digging her nails into his hand. She slackened her grip, her smile fixed as if in concrete. Myrrdinus took her hand properly, playing the part of the loving bridegroom. They followed Gergan through the ring of fire and approached the altar.
Myrrdinus glanced inside, praying that the remains of the snake had been removed. Thankfully, the altar had been cleared, but the thought threatened to release a homicidal rage, lurking inside him. He buried the feeling. He had Melith’s daughter to worry about. There would be time for grief and vengeance later. Gwyneth peered up at him, her eyes revealing that bravado had evaporated. He squeezed her hand to reassure her and looked straight at Gergan with feigned confidence.
The ceremony was every bit as revolting as they had feared, involving incantation, oaths and litres of foul smelling glop which managed to end up smeared across their foreheads as a sign of their union. The one fortuitous outcome of this sordid event was the escape, en masse, of a horde of animals. With the priests all facing inward, their eyes tightly shut as part of their incantation, the newly freed furry and scaly friends were able to tip toe or hoof out of the open door, without so much as a single squeak.
When the ceremony suddenly ended, catching the goat pressed up against the wall in terror, Gwyneth promptly burst into copious tears of unrestrained joy. The goat was already deep into the forest before the priests finished comforting and congratulating her.
Gwyneth and Myrrdinus shook every priest’s sweaty palm, and endured the hugs, and promises to keep in touch. They strolled away, hand-in-hand, whilst fighting every instinct to run for their lives. Making their way to the forest, turning to wave goodbye to the tearful priests, Gwyneth and Myrrdinus finally reached safety and breathed an enormous sigh of relief.
A sudden croak made Myrrdinus search his clothes. He found a cowering frog, sporting an incongruous globule of altar glop on her head.
“Wondered where ye goed,” he said, wiping the offending muck on a large leaf and placing her on his shoulder.
“Rivet,” was the reply.
* * *
The troop of soldiers rode headlong through the trees, following the hooves of Harlin’s stolen horse. They thundered around a corner, only to find the abandoned stallion drinking at a stream.
A short distance away, Harlin, Elaine and Drevel hid behind a strategic mound of earth, squashed together in a mishmash of limbs and fur.
“Have they gone?” Elaine whispered, a little too loudly.
“Hope so or ye just telled them we here,” Harlin whispered back.
Elaine scowled at him. “Misery.”
“Be on me leg,” Harlin pointed out, cringing.
Elaine glanced down. She was, indeed, kneeling on his bad leg. She shuffled off, exposing her backside beyond the mound. Harlin yanked her back into cover so fiercely that they ended up cheek to cheek. Flustered, he pushed her away.
Delivering the canine version of a deep sigh, Drevel crept into the undergrowth, sniffing. Harlin grimaced again.
“You alright?” Elaine asked, against her better judgement.
“No. Hate riding. Be yer fault,” was the young man’s miserable response.
“I never asked you to come after me,” was Elaine’s somewhat ungrateful reply.
A mild woof announced Drevel’s return. It would appear that the way was clear. Harlin peered into the sky. The bird was still flying overhead, but no longer close.
“Not find us yet,” Harlin ob
served, “but we must go deeper in forest, to be safe.”
Unfortunately for the trio, the deeper into the forest that Harlin had in mind turned out to be safely dense and painfully thorny.
“Lovely. You take me to the nicest places,” Elaine had moaned, before shocking her companions by closing her eyes and swaying. A sudden splitting headache and blurring of her vision had taken her by surprise, accompanied by a wave of nausea. Harlin grasped her hand, preventing her getting a fistful of thorns when she tried to steady herself.
Although the attack faded as swiftly as it had struck, Harlin announced that they must soon find shelter to rest and eat. As they made their way onward, he insisted on continuing to hold her hand until sure that she had recovered. After a few more paces, they realised that they should let go of one another, or face something that neither was ready for. A few minutes of silent thought later and Elaine ground to a halt.
“Greening again?” Harlin asked, stationing himself at her side.
Elaine would never have admitted it to a living soul, including herself, but she found his presence comforting.
“No, I’m fine,” she told him. “But I can’t just run off with you. We should go back to Asher at the cabin. What about Melith?”
“Ye most annoying woman ever,” Harlin told her, shuffling to relieve the pain in his leg, and conscience. “Be trouble, no doubt.”
“You didn’t answer the question,” she astutely observed.
Harlin resumed limping through the thorns, not wishing to look her in the eye. “Ye really want get me killed,” he threw behind him.
“Still not an answer,” Elaine stated, jumping in front of him and forcing him to stop.
“Harpy has Firestone,” Harlin snapped, anger rising. “With Firestone she control Baal. Ye want come face with him?”
“Already have, thank you.” Elaine needed no reminding of that encounter. Still, for some reason, she couldn’t let this go. “Aren’t you son of a king or leader, or something? Isn’t it your duty to help these people?”
Drevel winced, waiting for the explosion.
“Ye no idea what ye ask!” shouted Harlin, not caring whether he gave their position away.
Neither did Elaine.
“Don’t you want to help them?” she hollered back.
“Course, but villagers never trust me. Been away too longly.”
“Trust has to be earned,” Elaine told him, standing her ground. “At least talk to them. Back in the village, they were warming to you.”
Harlin paced in a circle, torn in all directions.
“If you need this Key thing, ask them if they’ll help us look for it. We can do that, at least.”
“We?” asked Harlin, gazing into her eyes with such intensity that she involuntarily touched her facial scar.
“Where can I go?” she said, by way of an answer, of sorts. “I can’t go home. Can I?”
“No,” stated Harlin, rather too emphatically.
What is he not telling me? she thought, suddenly suspicious.
Seeing the change of expression on Elaine’s face, Harlin backpedalled furiously, spluttering, “Not know. Why ask me?”
Elaine looked from Harlin to Drevel, but was unable to make either meet her gaze. Whatever information they were withholding was probably not going to be forthcoming in this thorny environment, besides she was hungry and tired.
“Right,” she began. “We are going back to the cabin…Which way is it?”
Chapter 8
Frog balanced on Myrrdinus’s shoulder, a suffering witness to the never-ending argument between Myrrdinus and Gwyneth.
“Be no choice,” Gwyneth was insisting for the hundredth time. “Ye not thinking betterly.”
“Marriage. Marriage?” Myrrdinus asked, his pitch rather high for such a big man. “First thought in yer brain, marriage? In that place?”
“Better than dying,” Gwyneth snapped. She stole a glance at his face. “Maybes not.”
“Rather dying than marrying ye,” was Myrrdinus’s unkind retort.
“Leave ye here, so lost, ye starve.”
“Not real marriage. Not by Gergan.”
“Not nice, but lawly.”
“Not by laws of Gawain.”
“Gawain’s died. Hush, horses.”
Gwyneth swiftly ducked down in the undergrowth, leaving her adversary towering above her.
“Be not hearing…” The sound of horses’ hooves finally reached his higher ears. Pilt, she have goodly hearing he thought, whilst diving into cover.
Frog hunkered lower on Myrrdinus’s shoulder – a useless manoeuvre, but cute. The castle posse thundered through, still in pursuit of Harlin and Elaine. The trio watched them pass.
“Who they looking for?” Myrrdinus murmured, more to himself than in conversation, but Gwyneth answered him anyway.
“If guessing, Elaine. We need be back at cabin.”
In agreement with her assessment, Myrrdinus set off with Frog. The amphibian tapped him on the temple and pointed behind him. Myrrdinus turned. Gwyneth was walking in the opposite direction.
* * *
Oblivious to the imminent return of the younger generation, Asher and Bert still waited outside the mouldy cabin, as they had been doing all night. Bert glanced at Asher and crossed his arms. Neither was willing to be the first to blink. Clipper and his father kindly brought steaming cups of broth for their shivering friends.
“How long ye waiting?” the father asked, aware he was venturing into painful territory.
“Not going without me childlins,” Bert growled. Realising that he had been caught revealing tender feelings, he stuttered, “Er, Asher’s childlins. Be waiting to kill them, me.”
As if in response, a branch rattled above their heads, courtesy of another furry sentry, causing them all to scramble into hiding in the undergrowth. Through the foliage trotted Drevel, followed by Harlin and Elaine.
“Have they gone?” she asked.
“No, girlie,” replied Asher, but all she heard was his voice - It takes a while to struggle to your feet when you’ve recently been beaten to a pulp.
Clipper, having no such physical limitations, popped into view and announced, “Elaine! Twassock!”
The boy sprinted over to Elaine and flung his arms around her. This time, being slightly more prepared, she hugged him back.
Regaining his seat on the log, Asher waved a finger of admonition at Elaine. “Ye goed. Ye doing what I telled ye not. Ye goed to Harpy?”
“She tried,” Harlin told him. “Me and Drevel get there first.”
Bert was unable to disguise a glare of cynicism at that statement. Harlin looked away; convincing his people of his sincerity was not off to a good start.
“Baal got there first, to be accurate,” Elaine admitted. “Sorry Asher, I was too busy running to think about anyone.”
“Aye, girl,” Bert interjected, tapping his wooden leg. “Some not running fastly nough.”
Elaine was processing the horror of losing a leg to Baal’s flames when Asher broke into her thoughts by asking whether she had seen Gwyneth or Myrrdinus.
“I saw them leave,” she admitted, “but I lost them.”
Harlin took a deep breath. He was reluctant to tell them what he knew, particularly as he felt a stack of guilt in having chosen to follow Elaine and not his friends. “They go in direction of temple,” he announced, enduring the look of grief that swept the faces of both Asher and Bert.
Elaine was shocked. That was the first she had heard of it. “Why didn’t you say? We should have gone after them.”
“Bringing ye back safely first,” Harlin said, a maelstrom of confusion lurking beneath that simple statement.
Bert stared straight at Harlin, suspicion written across his face. “Why come back?” he asked.
By way of an answer, Harlin knelt in front of Clipper. “Be taking message to all village Elders from me?”
Clipper beamed his assent to his new idol, not caring how damaged or taint
ed the recipient.
Unseen by both, Bert turned his back.
* * *
Without his horse and nursing a savaged wrist, Sworder leaned up against a tree, lamenting his lot. The bird perched on a branch above him, offering the occasional comforting twitter. The sound of horses’ hooves announced the return of the troop of soldiers, empty handed, yet again.
“Let me guess. Losing her?” Sworder asked, snatching the reins of his riderless stallion from a crestfallen soldier. “Ye best decide who telling Queen. Not be me.”
The troop sat, satisfyingly terrified, as Sworder galloped away, a bird flying above his head.
* * *
Gwyneth hurried through the forest, homing in on the cabin with unerring instinct, whilst Myrrdinus and resident Frog trailed behind. An excited squeak was followed by a flying Grey Squirrel, launching himself into Gwyneth’s arms. The touching embrace had the unfortunate side effect of his brush sticking up her nose and making her sneeze. Being an ample woman, her sneezes were deafening and fairly disgusting, announcing their presence to the world, or at least to those still loitering outside the cabin.
Myrrdinus, with a Frog on his shoulder, and Gwyneth, carrying Grey Squirrel still pressed against her heart, were soon accosted by a livid Bert and relieved Asher. Drevel’s leaping and barking only added to the racket.
“Where ye been?” Bert hollered. “Asher sickly with fret. Myrrdinus? Myrrdinus, be talking to ye.” He spotted the horrible stains on the faces of Myrrdinus and Gwyneth, courtesy of their wedding. “What be green on yer face? And on yer shoulder?”
That observation made Frog frown.
“Stop barking!” Asher ordered the over-excited Drevel. “Not able hear Bert moan.”
Asher and Gwyneth embraced, with Grey Squirrel crushed between them, turning blue. Finally alerted to the predicament of her friend by frantic brush wriggling, Gwyneth released her grip. Endeavouring not to flood her father with tears, she told him, “Dad, Mam not in temple.”
“Then she be in castle,” Asher stated, “and living.” He wasn’t willing to consider any other possibility. His Melith was coming back to him and that was all there was to that.