Goldmayne: A Fairy Tale

by Kate Stradling

  “No.”

  Alberta was a logical girl. Whatever thoughts coursed through her mind did not show on her face. “Then I suppose it shouldn’t matter what you do—this is goodbye either way. Good luck, Goldilocks.”

  “I really don’t like that nickname,” Duncan told her flatly, and he fit his helmet into place. He glimpsed a ghost of a smile on her face, sure evidence that she already knew as much.

  “Mount up,” she ordered. “I’ll get the stall door for you, so you can run from the start.”

  Duncan already had one foot in the stirrup. “I’m not running away,” he said peevishly.

  “I know. You’re not the type to run away when there’s danger lurking.”

  As long as she understood that, he didn’t mind whatever else she might say about him. He swung one armored leg over the saddle as she pulled open the door. “Goodbye, Alberta,” he told her as Wildfire moved through the opening. Impulsively he added, “I really do love you, you know.”

  Before she could respond, he spurred his horse into a run and they were off like an arrow, straight out the stable door and through the gardens to the open back gate. With his visor down, he didn’t even attempt to look back over his shoulder. She probably hadn’t watched him go anyway.

  Still, he was glad she had come to see him off. He was glad he had come to Midd and glad he had met her. He could only hope that, even if he was unable to defeat Dame Groach this day, somehow she and her family would be protected.

  Chapter 30

  A great, black host sprawled across the horizon, dark banners held aloft in the growing wind. The army of Meridiana, small and mostly symbolic, lined up just beyond the city walls of Midd, ready to retreat into the gates at the first sign of defeat. It was customary in those days for one army to demand a champion of the other, to settle such conflicts in a preliminary confrontation. No such challenge had come yet, but the soldiers of Midd had no reason to think it wouldn’t.

  The champion of the great black host sat atop an enormous black stallion, perched there with all the finesse of a sack of flour. Even with such a diminutive stature, though, Dame Groach was terrible to behold.

  Across from her on the battlefield, King Edwin’s horse pawed the ground nervously. The monarch surveyed the enemy host with ever-increasing misgivings. The horde vastly outnumbered his own little army, but it had paused as though waiting.

  Unbeknownst to him, Dame Groach really was waiting. The counter-curse that had kept her out of Meridiana for a century was breaking piecemeal. She didn’t want to inch forward in her triumph. She wanted to swoop down in a cloud of destruction. She had waited patiently for a hundred years, so another half an hour wouldn’t kill her. In fact, it merely whet her appetite all the more.

  Upon this scene of unrest, from the woods on the east of the city came galloping a figure that brought soaring hope to the heart of King Edwin and festering wrath to the shriveled lump in Dame Groach’s chest. Both recognized the white knight. The minions on either side of the battlefield shouted in excitement.

  Sir Goldmayne, resplendent in blinding white armor, veered to one side to swipe a lance from a knight near the end of King Edwin’s column. Then he charged forward boldly, as though he faced a single opponent instead of an angry mob.

  Dame Groach refused to countenance such insolence. Counter-curse or no counter-curse, she had sworn to teach that treacherous lad a lesson. A champion for Meridiana had appeared. The counter-curse had receded almost to the king’s army. By the time she disposed of Goldmayne and his wicked horse, she would be free to lead her minions to victory.

  Duncan could barely breathe as Wildfire barreled forward at breakneck speed. He had enough time to position the lance properly and to hunch down in the saddle as Otis had drilled into him so many times. Dame Groach assumed much the same position, but her gnarled staff served as a lance instead.

  “Keep clear of her staff,” Wildfire warned him needlessly. If she struck either of them with that, it was all over.

  Goliath thundered forward with fire in his eyes and foam on his lips. Duncan aimed the lance to strike Dame Groach from the saddle. His weapon was longer than hers. It should have connected sooner. When the tip of his lance reached within a foot of her, though, her staff suddenly shot forward. Its magical length connected with his chest and pitched him off his horse into the grass.

  He hit the ground hard and bounced. His helmet dislodged and tumbled away from him. Stars swam before his eyes as he desperately tried to get up. Frantically he searched the area for Wildfire only to discover, to his horror, that the horse had run too close to some of Dame Groach’s minions. They had caught his bridle; he struggled against them as even more surged forward to hold him.

  The dark army jeered and heckled. On the other side of the field, the king’s soldiers watched in stricken dismay. Dame Groach had turned and was making a second pass. The ground beneath Duncan shook as Goliath thundered forward to trample him. Before she could reach him, though, two tiny yellow shapes swooped down like hawks upon her. The witch cried out in confusion and rage. She swung her staff at the little canaries, but her attempts to hit them were futile. In the chaos of that moment, Goliath veered off course and ran back toward the derisive minions.

  Duncan picked himself up from the ground, sore and bruised but fueled by adrenaline. His sword had dislodged along with his helmet during his tumble. As Dame Groach and Goliath circled around for yet another pass upon him, he turned to the one weapon he had left, the bottle of goldwater tucked within his armor.

  The two canaries fluttered to the ground nearby, seeming proud of their contribution to the skirmish. Duncan scrambled to break the wax seal on the little golden bottle. He tugged on the golden cork desperately. Next to him, the two canaries hopped and chirped in frantic warning.

  Hooves pounded across the grass. He looked up to see Dame Groach and Goliath barrel down upon him like a thundercloud. The witch’s staff extended ahead of her again and slammed into his chest. The impact sent him flying backward. He tumbled through the grass and rolled a second time. His hand let go of the bottle somewhere along the way.

  He shot up again from the ground and frantically looked around. Dame Groach and Goliath picked their way across the intervening space, in no hurry as they approached to finish him off. Duncan spotted a glimmer of gold to his left and lunged for it.

  The cork had come loose. The golden bottle sat amid a nest of golden grass. Duncan’s heart plummeted.

  Even so, he snatched up the bottle. He could feel a paltry amount of liquid still in its depths. The full bottle had promised a slim chance of overcoming Dame Groach. Now, at best, its remnants might give her a couple of pesky gold patches on her skin.

  It was over. He was done for.

  “And here we are, boy,” she said behind him. He turned to discover Goliath breathing down his neck. Dame Groach leered triumphantly from her perch. “You’ve been quite the troublesome little traitor.”

  Of all the things she might have said to him, this one struck a nerve. “I’m a traitor?” Duncan cried. “You entrapped me, just as you entrapped dozens, maybe hundreds before me!”

  “Human pests are mine to entrap,” she retorted. “You’re filthy little insects—treacherous beasts, all of you! After I’m through with you, I’m going to eradicate the whole nest in Meridiana! They’ll rue the day they made a fool of me!”

  She was still a fairy at heart, still caught up in the misery of an era long past, still ignorant of the intransience of death, as though she could yet avenge herself against the long-departed prince who had first offended her. Under other circumstances, Duncan might have felt sorry for her.

  “You crazy old hag!” he declared, perhaps unwisely.

  “You’d be better served to grovel for your life,” Dame Groach sneered. “Not that it would do you any good. It’s all over now.”

  She raised her staff high for the final blow. Goliath reared up on his hind legs for added power. In that moment, Duncan didn’t
care whether the goldwater would only give her a couple pesky gold patches. It was his only recourse, and he whipped the bottle in his hand to fling as much of the water as he possibly could.

  Wildfire’s voice boomed from his right. “Iec-thu!” shouted the horse. The droplets of goldwater in the air between Duncan and Dame Groach suddenly became a deluge, a deadly wave that engulfed the witch and her evil black horse just as she started to swing her staff downward. Beyond, it splattered across the ground in a wide, golden swath toward the host of enemies.

  Duncan staggered backward and fell down hard on the ground. Dame Groach’s wrinkly old face was frozen in that hideous leer. Goliath, too, wore a ferocious expression, his eyes rolling and his teeth bared. Neither had seen their doom as it swept across them.

  From above, two glittering, childlike figures suddenly dropped and bounced across the grass.

  “So pretty!” the first cried, and it launched toward the huge golden statue in sheer glee.

  “So pretty!” the second echoed, and it threw its arms around one of Goliath’s legs.

  Duncan watched, dazed, as the pair of canary-fairies cooed and rubbed their pointed little faces against the sparkling gold.

  “Fairies are obsessed with gold,” said Wildfire next to him. “Crazy little bugs.”

  He started and turned. “You broke free?” he asked, and then he looked around in confusion. The enemy host was already fleeing. A section of men had been caught in the wave of goldwater, and the rest had deemed it a fool’s errand to remain against such a powerful weapon. King Edwin’s army thundered in pursuit, ready to thrash their opponents into the ground.

  Duncan did not consider what this meant for him. Before Wildfire could respond, almost before he had time to think, bodies swarmed around them. Eager hands caught the white horse’s reins. Others wrenched Duncan from the ground and tugged him back toward the gates of Midd.

  “We have him!” the soldiers shouted ahead in triumph. “We have Sir Goldmayne!”

  Escape was impossible with such a crush of people around him. Wildfire might have made a break for it but attempted no such thing. In light of the horse’s seeming resignation, Duncan reluctantly allowed his captors to lead him forward. He thought they would take him straight to King Edwin. Instead, the king, upon seeing his quarry properly detained, turned his horse and cantered back through the gates into the city. The soldiers fell into a column behind him. Duncan and his captors brought up the rear of the march.

  Duncan ducked his golden head as they paraded him through the city toward the castle. Citizens lined the streets and peered out the windows. The soldier directly in front of Duncan hollered at the onlookers to cheer for the hero Sir Goldmayne as he went, and many responded in kind. The tumult was overwhelming. The pace, too, was excruciatingly slow and far too quick at the same time. Duncan was both grateful and terrified when they passed between the gates of the castle yard and the noise died down.

  Here, soldiers lined the way. Their demeanor was much more solemn, but they stared in open curiosity and wonder as Duncan’s captors led him through their ranks to the castle’s great hall.

  King Edwin had dismounted and proceeded inside to his throne. He seemed to be making a thorough ceremony of the occasion, Duncan thought bitterly. From the corner of his eyes he saw a couple of soldiers pull Wildfire off to the side. He looked in alarm to the horse, who wordlessly tipped his head toward the waiting doorway.

  They were supposed to have escaped together. Now, instead, Wildfire was telling him to face his fate inside the castle alone. He felt abandoned and unsure of what he was meant to do.

  Up the stairs he went and into the great hall. King Edwin regally sank onto his throne and watched, poised, as two soldiers led Duncan forward.

  “You’d best kneel before the king,” one of them whispered helpfully when they released their grasp.

  Duncan didn’t really need the cue. He sank to one knee the moment they let go of his arms. His head remained downcast, and he silently prayed that King Edwin would not recognize his face. He did not wish to discover how the monarch would react upon learning that the man he had sought all these weeks had been under his very nose the whole time.

  King Edwin took a deep breath, and the murmurs of the court died down. Before he could say a word, though, the side door swung open. All eyes snapped that direction to see the three princesses of Meridiana enter: Bellinda first, breathlessly, then Alberta, and finally, with utmost decorum, Margaret.

  Duncan had looked up on instinct, and his eyes met Bellinda’s.

  “Why, it’s Scurvyhead!” she cried with fake surprise, loud enough for the whole court to hear. “Alberta, look! It’s our little under-gardener, Scurvyhead! No wonder he knew so many stories about Sir Goldmayne, for they’re one and the same!”

  A stricken hush fell over the crowd. Alberta looked like she wanted to wring her sister’s pretty neck. Duncan shifted wary eyes from the trio of princesses to their father upon his throne. King Edwin was scrutinizing him with a narrow, piercing stare. Duncan self-consciously looked down at the floor again.

  “Is this true?” asked the king after a tense moment’s silence. “Are you the same? I will admit I did not look closely at that under-gardener’s face. His wig was always too distracting.”

  “Of course they’re the same, Father,” said Bellinda. “He has such a nice face. I wouldn’t mistake it anywhere.”

  “It does appear to be the same person,” Margaret spoke up quietly. “What say you, Alberta? You knew Scurvyhead the best of any of us.”

  The middle princess pressed her lips together in a firm line and spoke not a word.

  Her father looked to her with dawning realization. “Alberta! Did you know who this young knight was?” he asked suspiciously. “Did you conceal it from me, even when you knew I was searching for him?”

  “Who am I to divulge someone else’s secrets, Father?” Alberta replied with haughty disdain.

  King Edwin huffed, grossly affronted. Duncan thought it best to intervene on his own behalf.

  “Please, Sire,” he spoke at last. “Please, I did not wish to be known. The witch Dame Groach has sought my head for two long years. I did not wish to bring that trouble upon others.”

  “Dame Groach is a monument of gold now,” the king replied. “You have delivered our kingdom from great ruin at her hands.”

  Duncan could feel a blush rising to his cheeks. He lowered his head again in embarrassment. “It was only luck on my part,” he murmured. It would do him no good to bring up the canary-fairies who had aided him or the talking horse that had uttered the final spell, for no one would believe him. He could take very little credit for the outcome, though. All things considered, he had done next to nothing.

  “Nonsense,” said King Edwin. “You behaved heroically! You have rooted out a plague from our very midst, and you shall have a just reward for your gallant deeds!” He beckoned his daughters to join him. “Margaret, Alb—no, not Alberta, that’s right. Bellinda. Margaret and Bellinda, step forward, please. Sir Goldmayne, in light of your great heroism, I hereby grant you your choice between these two of my lovely daughters. Which would you desire to wife?”

  Silence blanketed the room. Duncan kept his eyes downcast and said not a word. He could feel a hundred stares upon him, could feel the deepening blush upon his cheeks as each second passed. Inwardly he prayed for something—anything—to interfere and prevent him from having to make such a decision as this, and before such a crowd.

  “Father,” said a quiet voice, and everyone in the room, Duncan included, trained upon the speaker, Princess Margaret. “He made his choice several weeks ago, Father,” she said, and she spared a solemn glance in Duncan’s direction as though to confirm her suspicions.

  “What do you mean?” King Edwin asked in confusion.

  “Your spear point—he gave it to Alberta. Does that not indicate his choice from among the three of us?”

  “Mae!” Alberta protested in alarm.

>   “Don’t try to tell us you saw someone throw it over the garden wall,” her sister replied. “You’ve already admitted you knew he was Sir Goldmayne. It only stands to reason that you received the spear point directly from him. Did you not?”

  “So what if I did?” asked Alberta in response. Her voice had a dangerous edge to it.

  “Obviously that means he chose you,” Margaret replied. “Furthermore, you accepted the point from him knowing what it signified, which means you accepted him. If he marries any of us, it must be you.”

  “Is this true?” asked King Edwin, and he pinned Duncan with an accusing gaze. “Did you give my spear point directly to Alberta?”

  Duncan fidgeted. “Yes,” he said with an apologetic glance in her direction. She averted her eyes, not at all happy about this turn in the conversation.

  “Then that settles it,” said King Edwin.

  “Father!” cried Alberta in protest.

  “He chose you from among your sisters, didn’t he?”

  She fought a rising blush, but in lieu of responding to this query, she coldly replied, “I have no intention of marrying before Mae does.”

  “Then I shall marry,” said Margaret.

  “Mae, no!”

  Margaret ignored this outburst. “I have no intention of being a roadblock to my sisters’ happiness, either of them. I’m certain that our father can arrange me a suitable marriage. I trust his choice.”

  “What about Prince Perceval of Austrina?” Bellinda suddenly spoke up. “You liked him well enough, didn’t you, Mae?”

  “Bella!” Alberta cried in growing horror.

  “I liked Prince Perceval quite a lot,” said King Edwin thoughtfully. “He would make a fine consort for Margaret.”

  “Father!” cried Alberta.

  “And then Bertie can marry Sir Goldmayne without any qualms,” Bellinda concluded with a forced smile, “and everyone can live happily ever after.”