Warlords, Witches and Wolves: A Fantasy Realms Anthology

by Michelle Diener

  So he accepted Rose's invitation, and luxuriated in the warmth from a blaze much bigger than the tiny campfires he kept burning in his cave.

  Until the imperious tap of footsteps that did not belong to Rose's hunter-trained feet entered the room. The woman who owned the footsteps, the feet and undoubtedly every stone in the floor beneath them made an irritable noise in her throat.

  Boris raised his head to meet her gaze.

  Ah, so this was the lady of the castle, Rose's mother. Though her hair was almost all white to Rose's dark curls, and wrinkles blurred the beauty that he didn't doubt had once rivalled Rose's own, the resemblance was too close to ignore.

  Boris rose to his full height, before offering the lady his best courtly bow, as befit a guest accepting her generous hospitality.

  If she chose to offer it. From the frown on her face, he wasn't sure whether she wanted to turn him out or summon guards to slaughter him.

  "Rossa!" she called, her tone promising dire consequences if her daughter didn't appear immediately.

  Rose…no, Rossa, he corrected himself…raced up the steps and bobbed a quick curtsy. "Yes, Mother?"

  The woman stabbed a finger in Boris's direction. "The servants tell me you brought a bear into the house. Is that your bear?"

  Rossa hunched her shoulders. "Um…yes? And no? He's…he's sort of his own bear. I brought him in here, but…"

  "He bowed to me." She made it sound like a crime.

  Rossa wrung her hands. "He's…well, he's not really a bear. All right, he is a bear, but…" She buried her face in her hands for moment, then met her mother's gaze again. She sighed. "Snow, this is my mother, Lady Sara of Mirroten, and we're in her home."

  Boris bowed once more. Crime or not, it was the courteous thing to do.

  "And Mother, this is…well, I don't know his real name, as bears can't really talk, but I call him Snow White, because his fur's white, and…he didn't like the other name I tried to call him."

  What had that been? Oh, she'd called him Sir Pompous Arse when they'd first met. Boris much preferred Snow.

  One sharp nod was all the acknowledgement he got from Lady Sara.

  "Why is he here?"

  Rossa stared at her feet. "He's…he came to see me, and I invited him to dinner, because we usually share dinner when I'm in the woods, and because I have to stay here, I wanted…"

  Understanding softened Lady Sara's gaze, though Rossa didn't see it. "Is he dangerous?" Lady Sara asked.

  Boris bowed his head. Yes, he was.

  When Rossa didn't answer, Sara added, "I mean, is he a danger to anyone here? Will he hurt the villagers, or the servants?"

  No mention of Rossa or herself. Interesting. Did that mean Sara was a witch, too, as powerful as her daughter?

  Sara continued, "I'm sure I don't need to remind you, but you are Lady Rossa, and you have a duty to protect your people as much as I do. So if this bear is a danger to them, a bear you brought into the castle among them, then it will be your responsibility to drive him out, or otherwise remove the danger to protect your people."

  Rossa stared at him, anguish in her eyes. "I can't kill Snow, Mother. He won't harm anyone here – will you give your word, Snow? Please?"

  If he'd been able to speak, Boris would have offered them both his heartfelt promise to respect the laws of hospitality, in thanks for allowing him into their home. Instead, he placed a hand on his heart and dropped to one knee, bowing his head.

  Lady Sara's mouth twitched, almost as if she were trying to hide a smile. "I've seen many things in my life, but that's the first time I've ever seen a bear swear fealty to someone, let alone me. Fine, your magic bear can stay for one night, as long as he confines himself to the great hall, but he must be gone in the morning. With the whole village coming for the feast…he cannot stay any longer than that. And as he's your guest, you'll have to come up with a Yule gift for him. I have enough to do." She marched off.

  Rossa blew out a relieved breath. "I can't believe she let you stay. If my father were here, he would not have permitted it."

  Boris nodded. He would have killed a bear that came within ten yards of Vica or Lida.

  "Especially if he found out you were once a knight. Father does not like knights," Rossa explained.

  What manner of man did not like knights? They fought for the king, or their liege lord, and as Rossa's father and Lady Sara's husband, the man was surely a nobleman himself.

  "Don't worry about Father. He's…off doing something for the Emperor. He won't be home before spring," Rossa said, patting his arm. "Now, the food should be ready, so I'll just go down to the kitchen to fetch it, because none of the maids will dare come in here while there's a bear in the hall."

  And again she departed, but this time Boris took a seat at one of the tables. He might have the strength and appearance of a bear, but he had the heart and soul of a prince, and he owed these ladies his best behaviour.

  And a Yule gift, he realised, his heart sinking. That would present a problem.

  Chapter 29

  Even after spending half the night in the great hall with Snow, talking and drinking far more mead than was good for her, Rossa woke at dawn. Only to discover she'd never left the great hall – she'd slept on the hearth, wrapped in her cloak and a blanket someone must have brought from somewhere.

  But Snow…was nowhere to be seen.

  She raced outside, hoping to catch him before he departed, but the bailey was empty. Cursing, she headed back inside for some warmer clothes, so she might follow him back to the forest.

  Only to run into Mother at the bottom of the stairs. Whose grave gaze told her she wasn't going anywhere until the feast was over.

  "Is your magical bear gone?" Mother asked.

  He wasn't hers. He was…tears threatened to spill from her eyes. Tears Rossa blinked ruthlessly away as she nodded, not trusting her voice.

  "He left you a gift."

  It took Rossa a moment before she followed her mother's pointing finger to the table where they'd eaten dinner yesterday. The plates, cups and jugs were gone, replaced by four fat fish, each as long as her arm, arranged in a square on the tabletop. All bearing the unmistakeable marks of a bear's claws about their gills.

  He'd hooked them out of the water with his bare hands, Rossa realised.

  "And is that…mistletoe?"

  Rossa blinked. Sure enough, her mother was right – a sprig of mistletoe sat at the head of each fish, marking the corners of the square. And inside it were charcoal scratchings, almost like writing, as if done by a child, or…

  A bear's claw.

  Rossa turned her head this way and that, trying to make sense of the words, if indeed they were words. Then she rounded the table, and they became clear.

  "My thanks," she read. "A blessed Yule to you and yours from Prince Boris, the Snow White Bear."

  Her legs wouldn't hold her anymore, so Rossa sat down heavily on the nearest bench. His name was Boris, and he'd given her fish for Christmas. And, best of all…

  "Thank all the angels and saints, he's not a knight," she breathed.

  "No matter what that bear may be, it doesn't change what day it is. You're needed here, at the Christmas feast, not haring off after some bear in the woods," Mother said.

  Rossa nodded. She wanted to run off after him, to ask a thousand, nay, a million questions, but her thoughts whirled too fast for even her to follow right now. It would be better to wait, until she'd had time to reflect. She'd make more sense then.

  "And you need to be at your best. You are their lady, and they expect you to look your part. Go upstairs and bathe – your feast day gown is in my chamber, and you're not to come down until you're dressed and your hair is properly arranged," Mother said.

  Yes. Rossa had seen the silk gown her mother had laid out, and she'd never dare venture into the woods wearing that. The dress was a death trap, with lace and ruffles and the neckline was so low every time she looked down, she could see her own breasts.

/>   She didn't want to go into the forest wearing it. She didn't want to step into the great hall wearing it. Every man in the room would stare at her, thinking lustful thoughts, and, when they'd drunk enough of her mother's ale, some of them would talk about them, loud enough for her to hear. And her mother would not let her throw even a single fireball at them for it. Most unfair.

  Men and their urges were the bane of her existence. No wonder she preferred the company of a bear.

  "Yes, Mother," Rossa said.

  But Mother wasn't finished yet. "When the winter is over and your father returns, I'll insist he take you to court. Whichever one suits you best, though I'll leave the choice up to him. When I was your age, I had a town to take care of, an estate to manage, and then a young son to raise. You have…nothing to hold you here. You should see some of the world, and find your place in it, for you're so much like your father. He was not content in the town where he grew up, either. There is a place in the world for you, Rossa. I don't know if it involves bears or princes or…things I've never seen, but can only dream of, but your father will be the one who can show you some of the world's wonders while you find it." She managed a smile. "Consider it my Yule gift to you. When your father comes home from the Emperor's court, he will take you, or we shall have words."

  And while the world feared her father, Rossa knew her mother ruled his heart, so it would be as she decreed.

  "Thank you, Mother," she said, her heart much lighter as she raced up the stairs. The gown was there, as impractical as she remembered, but she'd have to get used to such things if she was to go with her father to court. She'd have to learn to fight despite what she was forced to wear, or use weapons that did not depend on her agility or speed.

  Like magic…

  Chapter 30

  When all the feasting and celebration was over, and Rossa was free to venture into the forest again, she still hadn't decided what to give Snow…or Boris…for his Yule gift. He'd given her fish, so food seemed fitting, but she brought provisions from the castle every day. What she should get him was fresh meat.

  A deer, like the one she'd shot that first day she saw him, or a brace of those pilfering pigeons that had managed to elude her.

  Though she'd love to bring him venison, once she'd remembered the pigeons, her ire rekindled at justice not yet served. Those pigeons needed to die.

  Therefore, she resolved to go hunting first, so she might bring her kill to Boris in the afternoon. She checked the roost where she'd first found them, but the birds had not returned, likely frightened away by the beggar boy. So, she ventured deeper into the forest, sending her magic out before her, seeking them out.

  After a couple of hours of searching and finding nothing, she began to suspect they'd been preyed upon by some of the mountain eagles and hawks that circled high above, looking for their next meal. Time to head back by a different route, and hope she encountered something that would make a better Yule gift than those pestilential pigeons.

  But it seemed her new path was cursed, too, for she had not gone halfway before she began to hear loud cursing, which had clearly driven away the wildlife for miles around. What manner of idiot was out in the woods today? She definitely intended to give them a stern talking-to when she found them. Why, she wasn't even sure what some of those curse words meant…

  The swearing seemed to come from the centre of a snow-covered bramble bush which alternated between shaking violently and staying unnaturally still. Someone had evidently become trapped inside the brambles and couldn't get out.

  "Hello, do you need some help there?" Rossa asked.

  "No!" came the angry response, followed by a few seconds where the bush moved as though caught in a high wind, before the swearing resumed, louder and more vociferous than before.

  She longed to leave whoever it was to their fate, but her mother would have waded in with an axe to cut them free, before lecturing them on their use of foul language, and Rossa would do no less.

  Sighing, she didn't need an axe, for she used magic to gently part the branches of the bramble bush until she'd formed a path to the centre of the patch so that the bush's captive might walk free.

  Of course, it couldn't be that simple. The parted branches revealed a familiar snarling face over the same stained tunic – it was the beggar boy, whose matted hair was now hopelessly entangled in the brambles. Several bloody hanks of hair had already been claimed by the bush as trophies of their battle, and it didn't look like the beggar boy would win, even with her holding the branches back.

  She'd have to go in after him.

  Rossa drew her dagger and waded into the bush.

  The boy didn't even seem to notice her until she started hacking at his hair, freeing him from the bush. He flailed at her, hitting her once more out of luck than any skill, and she saw red.

  "Be still, idiot, or I'll leave you here for the carrion birds!" she hissed, then bit down on her lip and spelled him into stillness, rather than risk being hit again for helping this wretch.

  Finally, she'd freed his hair from the brambles, though she'd shorn off a considerable amount in the process. She backed out of the bush, then a few yards more, before she released the spell paralysing him in place.

  "You horrible, butchering witch! Look what you've done to my hair! Now I look like a fever victim, or a monk! How dare you lay hands on me, and cut my hair! Why, I should have you whipped for assaulting me so!" he howled.

  Rossa folded her arms across her chest. "This horrible witch has just about had enough of you. I saved you from those brambles, and in about three heartbeats, I'm going to let go of the branches my magic is holding back, and you'll be trapped again, just like before, but I won't help you again, you ungrateful wretch!"

  The boy's mouth dropped open in horror, silent for a long moment, before he spotted something on the ground that had his eyes widening with greed. Whatever it was, he snatched it up, then bolted out of the bushes and away, faster than Rossa cared to follow him.

  Not a word of thanks, or an apology for his insults.

  Next time, she told herself, she'd leave the boy in the bushes, and to blazes with him.

  Chapter 31

  The nightmare came again, as it always did. Every time, the dream was the same, and yet every time it was different, because in his heart he knew it was no dream – it was his reality, one he couldn't wake up from. Boris raced through the woods, his former squire chasing him with all the unnatural energy of a berserker in battle. Over and over, Igor would shout at him to just hand over the crown jewels, so that he could go home, but Boris knew there was more to it than that. If Igor got close enough to him, he'd attack, and there was no predicting those frenzied blows.

  So far, Boris had been lucky, for his fur was thick and Igor's knife blade was short, so the boy hadn't wounded him anywhere that mattered yet. But he knew the boy wanted his head along with the jewels, for he'd said so often enough, and the stubborn squire would never stop. Couldn't stop.

  And now there was Rossa, his Rose Red witch. If Igor found her, he'd try to use her against him. Use her as bait, to draw him out…

  Because Boris would do anything to keep her from being hurt by the nightmares he'd run from, while vengeance for Vica and Lida's death slipped away from him, a little more each day, until he feared he didn't know the way back, would never find his treacherous brother, and his family's death would go unavenged.

  He could not save Vica or Lida, but he could keep Igor away from Rossa, who deserved the protected castle life she was born to, with gorgeous gowns, glowing jewels, and blazing fires to keep her warm at night in soft beds befitting such a high lady.

  Not life in a cave, or on the run, not knowing when Igor or Sviatopolk's soldiers might catch up to him, and kill him as well. Because he knew Igor could not survive out here on his own, so he must have help. At best, he was a clumsy scout, who reported back to better, more capable men, in such numbers that they could overwhelm a man on his own, like Boris was. He'd been huntin
g enough times to know claws were no match for well-forged steel held by well-trained hands.

  So Boris didn't stop, didn't pause, didn't dare even return to the cave where he'd stashed the crown jewels, lest they catch him, or her…

  The rush of a river ahead made him slow, then speed up again, bunching up his muscles so he might make the jump…

  For a brief moment, Boris flew, before landing heavily on the snowy bank. He clawed his way up and over, running before he knew where he was, or where he was going.

  Behind him, he heard Igor splash into the river, swearing at the chill in the icy waters, but Boris didn't dare stop. Not yet. Maybe not ever…

  Chapter 32

  It was with considerable pride and triumph that Rossa carried two brace of pigeons to Boris's cave. Yes, she was late bringing his Yule gift, but she'd been so preoccupied with hunting the pigeons to punish them for what they'd stolen, that she'd forgotten one of her father's most repeated tenets: that it was easier to make a mark come to you than chase it across the country.

  So she found the sack of wheat they'd already ransacked, scattered it on the snow outside the barn, and waited. Within hours, she'd had a whole flock of pigeons to choose from, fattened on lowland wheat. She'd picked them off, one by one, until Sal promised her pigeon pie for supper, and she still had enough left over to take to Boris.

  Yet the bear wasn't here, and hadn't been for some time. The ashes from his fire were cold, and there was no food left. The only thing remaining in his cave was a small pile of firewood and a lumpy sack she'd seen before, which she knew contained treasures like the brooch he'd given her on their first meeting, back in autumn. Old jewels she wished she could ask him about, for surely such treasures had a fascinating story behind them. As well as how they came to be here, in a cave in the mountains, guarded by a prince who'd been turned into a bear.