A black wolf angrily contributed, “It is likely they would consume us for their own nourishment. Their powers are nearly undefeatable.”
Pierre tentatively asked, “What are our queen’s thoughts on the Night dwellers? I will abide by her decision.”
Serese’s nurse maid had told her stories of an immortal race which thrived upon human blood but she had not believed them. She knew Greta had exaggerated to get her to abide to the timeliness of bedtime. Of course, Serese had never minded her nurse maid.
Now she was sorry she had given the poor woman such difficulties. It was possible her nurse maid had been telling the truth. Serese shivered because Greta had told her truly terrible things.
Serese asked, “If I am to unite these lands eventually—why not now? Serpentine may not expect us to join together with such feared creatures; the element of surprise could prove useful.”
Sir Roan grinned, “Well said. Jonathan and Serese and I will endeavor to enlist the Night dwellers’ aid. The rest of you—gather what reinforcements you can. Pierre, try to persuade the faerie queens to lend their assistance. There was a time when they sought to alleviate the troubles of men. Perhaps they can be persuaded to assist us again. We will meet three days hence, at the black gate near the cave. If we do not arrive, consider your own safety.”
They went their respective ways, after saying somber goodbyes; it was very likely they would not all meet again. War was like that—it eliminated friendships quicker than any argument ever could.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The sun hovered at the edge of the horizon when Sir Roan led Jonathan and Serese into the dark forest bordering the Balzac peak. It would be dark soon and they would have to hurry.
Serese breathed shallowly through her nose for the air was fetid with the smell of decay. The withered leaves of the forest floor were blackened silver things—quite unlike natural leaves at all. The dark tree trunks twisted in knots, as if the Almighty himself had restrained them.
The trees reached out with grasping branches, snagging her cloak which Serese pulled free. They held no birds’ nests. No squirrels foraged for nuts among their roots. No succulent fruit dropped from their dead canopies. No deer leaped over their fallen logs. No rabbits burrowed in their underbrush.
The dense air chilled Serese’s blood. She shivered, even as her tucked-away opal sent her a warm spark. Serese grasped the stone but it went suddenly cold.
Jonathan clutched his knife in his hand. He ignored the fierce impulse which told him to run, to leave these haunted woods far behind. He trudged forward, grudgingly, unable to shake the sensation that he was being watched.
Serese peered at her eerie surroundings, “There was no other way?” she inquired.
Sir Roan replied, “No, princess. I trust your opal to enable us to pass safely. It is elfin made and dark magic hates their handiwork.”
Jonathan said, “I have been told ghouls have a rotten odor you never forget. If you loose an arrow into the hole where their hearts should be, you only stun them. They cannot be killed.”
“It is said they suck your sanity right out of you, with their cavernous mouths,” Serese glanced around her. “My nurse maid, Greta, lost a cousin to a ghoul. She said he was never in his right mind after he had been recovered. If only I had my bow and had not left it with my mare. I shudder to think I should have to use my dagger as that would put me too near them.”
“I have seen your skill with a dagger. You would manage well. Are you as capable with your bow?” Jonathan asked.
“Even more so, shepherd.” Serese answered.
“My name is Jonathan, your highness. I would be most grateful if you called me by it.”
Jonathan knew that every eligible prince within ten kingdoms would be seeking her hand. He understood she might be his ruler someday. But she could call him by his given name. He hoped he was more than a shepherd to her; he regarded her as a friend.
Sir Roan chided them, “Quiet,” he stopped before a cluster of trees ahead. Was that a shadow moving behind them?
The wolf’s hackles rose as he planted himself in front of Serese and commenced growling. The princess withdrew her dagger as she knelt next to the shepherd, who had readied his bow. They stared ahead of them into the dense brush, waiting with heavy hearts.
Sir Roan nodded at the tree on the right. At first, it seemed as if a branch stuck out from behind it. But a second examination revealed a robed shadow peeking from behind the trunk. Then a bony hand reached around the tree.
Serese gasped as her nostrils were introduced to the burnt rotten odor. Her eyes watered as her courage wavered.
Jonathan aimed his arrow at the tree while maintaining his position, ignoring the drop of sweat trailing down his temple.
Serese fidgeted against the olfactory bombardment. God’s teeth! It was ten times worse than the smell of the lake. Her vision blurred as she tried to blink tears away. She could not see anything.
Serese did not even sense its’ coming; suddenly it was behind her, hiding in her own shadow.
A dark tattered robe could not hide the decomposing creature which had a skull for a face and two black holes where its eyes should have been. In the center of the eye holes, two red irises glared at the princess. Slowly the rotten thing reached out a hand, covered with bits of moldy flesh. The creature clutched Serese’s shoulder.
There was not even time for Serese to scream. The ghoul filled her mind with horrifying images as she fell into its embrace.
The ghoul leaned its skeletal face nearer as it breathed her essence. A grey shriveled tongue licked the princess on her cheek. A dry sigh escaped from the ghoul’s mouth as it grinned.
Jonathan aimed his arrow at the ghoul’s chest but the cloaked creature kept twisting away from his line of sight. Serese was in the way. Jonathan could not risk an arrow mistakenly hitting her. The young man circled the ghoul and its prey, waiting for an opportune moment.
Meanwhile, Serese squirmed restlessly in the ghoul’s embrace but could not free herself. The creature had ensnared her.
Serese saw her family stabbed by Serpentine and her mare’s throat cut by a goblin. She saw Lord Forn as King, wearing a crown of skeletal fingers and she, seated next to him, wearing a thorn necklace which made her neck bleed. A bleeding infant was in her lap. It was her son, with his little throat cut.
The skeletal creature placed false memories in Serese’s mind as it remembered what it was like to be mortal, before it had been cursed. It paused as it savored the beauty of the girl’s soul. It would exact its revenge upon the living as its own punishment.
The ghouls had defied the sorceress and had been condemned for all eternity—only Serpentine’s destruction would release them into death. While they roamed in their cursed state, they twisted the thoughts of the living. They paid no mind to the damage their meddling wrought on their human prey.
Jonathan aimed his arrow at the creature. It struck true, landing in the center of the creature’s chest cavity.
The ghoul screamed a rasping cry, releasing Serese from its grasp. It withered slowly into dust on the hardened earth. The princess lay still on the dark soil, her face as pale as bones. Her opal charm glowed against her neck and little tendrils of pink mist emanated from it.
The ghoul would resume its form after drawing strength from the cursed soil. Since they were neither fully alive nor completely dead, they could not be permanently killed.
Jonathan wrinkled his nose at the stench emanating from the momentarily defeated ghoul. He knelt beside Serese, feeling for the heartbeat at her throat. “She is alive but I fear her mind may be gone,” Jonathan said. “I do not understand why her opal did not save her.”
Jonathan picked up Serese’s dagger and placed it back into the sheath in her boot.
Sir Roan said, “I believe it has. She should by rights be dead and she is not.”
Jonathan shouldered the senseless princess. Sir Roan said, “There is an abandoned cottage past these wood
s. We must hurry. The ghouls will return in greater number.”
The shepherd tried not to trip as Serese was heavier than her slight form suggested. God’s Teeth! She must have been raised as a knight to be as heavy as two cords of timber. But the softness of her bosom pressed against him reminded him of the tender feelings he had for her. She must recover; a world without her would be too bleak.
The groans of a great number of ghouls could be heard behind them. The cloying smell of rotten eggs lingered and Jonathan breathed in the violet scent of Serese’s hair as he hurried with his precious burden.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Lord Forn sat up in his stately bed and scowled at the frustrated goblin who tried to spoon gruel into his mouth. The uncooperative lord refused to be fed. Lord Forn pushed the goblin’s crooked hand away, muttering, “I can do it myself.” The wary goblin passed the spoon to him.
Lord Forn said, “You may leave me. I promise to eat this watery excuse for a meal.”
The goblin was relieved to be released from his bedside nursing of the ill-tempered lord. He couldn’t walk away quickly enough on his stumpy legs. He knocked on the door and it was opened and quickly shut again, after his exit.
Lord Forn threw the wool coverlet off and stepped carefully out of his bed. He grabbed his throbbing head with both hands, hoping the pressure would release. He walked to the chamber window and looked out. Frowning at the extra attachments of goblin guards stationed outside, he cursed.
He saw the sun rising over the Balzac Mountains, like an orange crystal ball over the highest peak. He wished he could bask in its warm rays, free of Serpentine’s snare.
The cold air coming in through the open window soothed his itchy disposition as he painfully dressed himself. He flinched as he pulled his boots on. He nearly cried as he strapped on his leather sword belt, sliding his heirloom weapon into place. With every movement, a stampede of horses caterwauled inside his head. His witch of a stepmother meant to kill him slowly then. It would help if the pain in his temples would cease.
Lord Forn’s escape attempt must have roused Serpentine’s temper or else she would not have placed an enchanted bar across his door. The attachment of goblins in the hall made him smile ruefully. In normal circumstances, he would have overpowered them.
Besides causing an unholy headache, the poison his stepmother had given him had most likely dulled his flying ability. But his elfin blood counteracted dark magic—elves being pure-hearted beings. Of course, he was only part elf; was that pure enough? That was the question he now struggled with. What he was about to attempt was beyond risky; it was foolhardy and desperate.
Lord Forn shook his head at his own recklessness as he climbed onto the stone window ledge. He was thankful no bars had been placed on the window. If this did not work, he would plunge to his death on the rocks below. “It is still a better option than what Serpentine has in store for me,” Lord Forn thought as he exhaled his breath and hoisted himself on the window ledge.
Another onslaught of head pain nearly made him pass out. He gathered his last dregs of strength and braced himself for what would be the best or the worst decision of his life.
He swore as he scraped his right knuckles on the stone. He looked down below at the jagged rocks. It would be a fatal distance to fall, if he was too weak to fly.
A childhood memory came to him. He had been perhaps seven summers old and had hurt his hand on a sharp rock. He had made haste to reach his mother, who was tending to her rose bushes.
It astonished him to discover that he floated above the ground instead of running on it. He glided through the air as he looked at the grass beneath him.
A beautiful brown-eyed woman in a green gown held her arms open as he floated into them. She chided, “My darling, you have more than a fair share of your grandmother’s elfin blood. I do not want you to be cast aside as my own mother was—she never should have left her kind to marry my father. You must not let others see you fly like a hawk. They will hold it against you. Men are jealous creatures. Their desire for power knows no limit; they would use you for their selfish means.”
He remembered the softness of her cheek as she gathered him close and her eyes had comforted him.
Lord Forn had never seen kind eyes like hers, except for a pair of violet eyes which he found himself remembering often.
He thought about Serese constantly; she intrigued him. He wanted her for the power their union would bring. But he knew she deserved an honorable man. He thought of kissing her sweet mouth as he took a deep breath and jumped.
He wavered as the rocks grazed his face but at the last possible moment, he pulled himself up. He had almost spared his stepmother the pleasure of killing him. That had been entirely too close.
He did not crash into the rocks below, God’s eyes! Instead he found himself soaring over the stony ravine. His strength began to falter as he reached the meadow bordering the Forbidden Forest. He managed to shakily descend to a cottage which his ancestors had built years ago.
The log cottage remained remarkably intact, although dusty and cobwebbed from disuse.
Lord Forn opened the unlocked front door, as he stumbled, exhausted into the house. He hastily pulled the latch on the door but he did not complete the motion. He clung to the banister, dragging himself upstairs and collapsed into a bed. He fell into a sound sleep, his snores frightening a mouse family out of its den. He did not hear the agitated cries of the ghouls from the woods beside him.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Serese’s sister, Duchess Claudine, frowned as she watched the advisors crowding around her father, King Argot. She must find a moment to speak privately with him.
The Argot Great Hall burst its seams with guests, partaking of the hearty feast King Argot had provided. The troubadours entertained, the minstrels sang and the lords flirted with the serving maids while their wives looked on disapprovingly.
But Duchess Claudine ignored the festivities. She must persuade her father to send men-at-arms in pursuit of Serese. Of course, gaining a moment of the king’s attention proved more difficult than she had anticipated.
This night found Claudine troubled. Last night’s dream lingered in her mind. It was no simple thing to know the hour of one’s demise. Truly, it would be wise to visit the chapel after speaking with her father.
But how could she make peace with her Maker when she was irked with Him for cursing her with this terrible gift in the first place?
There were too many members of the counsel pestering King Argot. Whenever he was alone for a moment, some harried man arrived at his side, before Claudine could.
Her gaze lingered on her favorite tapestry which hung behind her father’s chair.
It depicted the battle of Blackworth where her great Grandfather had defeated the invading Turks. The victorious king sat astride his large black stallion, an arm raised in victory, an expression of glee on his face. The soldiers around him cheered and Claudine wondered if such a tapestry would be woven for her. In light of her upcoming death, she rather hoped for some sort of token. It would take some of the sting away.
“I should have mentioned my dreams long ago—it is too late,” Claudine said.
The duchess saw her mother across the crowded room. Queen Argot smiled and wove her way through the colorful guests like a slender thread passing back and forth through embroidery. Her regal mother merely nodded at the fawning aristocrats who greeted her warmly.
The Queen touched her daughter on her sleeve, leading her to a secluded bench against the wall. “What troubles you? You have not mingled with our guests.”
“Mother, my dreams bring portent. I cannot remain silent any longer. Serpentine will slay me this night.”
Queen Argot gathered Claudine into her arms, “Oh, my child, are you certain they are the same dreams which plague your Aunt Serafine?”
Claudine blinked away tears, “Yes. I have never been able to stop them from being fulfilled.”
“Are you certain it is
not merely nerves because of the attack? I understand you are concerned for your sister.” The queen stroked her daughter’s hair.
“I recovered from Lord Forn’s harassment. Why have you not asked father to send troops to aid Serese?”
“Your father is meeting with his counsel as we speak. It seems an elfin wolf has paid him a visit. He did not think it wise to interfere with the ancients’ predictions. Even now, the seers resent meddling monarchs. You know this, my daughter. You have too little faith in him, Claudine.”
“I always knew father favored her. I was not jealous because Serese bore the mark of the prophets. Truly, I was thankful it was not me.” Claudine said, as she twisted her hands in her lap.
“Tis true, a great burden surrounds Serese. The love she bears for Forn will destroy the sorceress. I still cannot fathom that this witch is my sister. Were you aware that Forn’s mother, an elfin princess, left her people to marry a mortal?”
Claudine’s eyes widened at this revelation. “No, I had not known of Forn’s lineage. There have been rumors bandied about, of course. What if Serese cannot cure him?”
All of the elves’ powers were not fully known to mankind. Serese would be receiving the best husband of them all, if he could be cured. Her sister would have her hands full with a powerful mate like Lord Forn. It disappointed Claudine that she would not be alive to see her sister taken down a notch by her future master.
“Claudine, I believe your sister will accomplish her task. I cannot think what will happen to us all if she does not. I will ask your father to place a guard outside your chamber tonight. I would not trouble him with your prophetic visions just yet. Now we had best mingle with our guests before they think something is amiss. I advise you to cling to your husband’s side. Whatever Serpentine attempts will certainly be underhanded.”
The elegant queen and her anxious daughter made merry with their guests. A few discerning attendees noticed a black shadow hovering in the rafters of the great hall. They attributed it to the effects of the fine wine of which they had heartily partaken. No one believed it signified anything evil.
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