The Pitchfork of Destiny

by Jack Heckel

  How long the wolves stalked her she did not know, it could not have been more than an hour, but she gradually noticed that the forest was thinning. The rising sun had begun to fill in the colors around her, and the ever-­present browns and greens of the woods were interposed here and there with slashes and pools of blue as the sky became visible through the branches. The path was climbing above the tree line, and the thought that she would soon be leaving the forest behind filled Liz with hope.

  As if they sensed her change in mood, the wolves closed in. A bold black wolf stepped first onto the path behind her, flanked by a gray one, which bared its teeth. Four more emerged from the forest, two on either side, so that she could hear their deep panting as they padded alongside. Liz could feel her horse shaking, and she held fast to the reins to keep it from ­bolting.

  They began to yip and bark to each other, and Liz realized it was speech and that she could understand it in parts.

  “I don’t like this, Rem,” one whined to the other. “Beo said we were to bother nobody till he gave the word. Beo said a whole army would be on the march soon, and there would stragglers aplenty to feast on if we were patient.”

  “Beo said, Beo said,” growled the wolf Liz assumed must be Rem. “I don’t see Beo here now, Rom, do you? And what if Beo’s army does not come?”

  “Yeah,” yipped a third, who was weaving in and out of some trees on her left. “Beo promises and promises, but since we helped him sneak into Dragon Tower, he’s been in town with the men, feasting at their table, and we haven’t had so much as a scrap.”

  “I am hungry,” Rem said with a bark. “And who will miss one woman?”

  The other wolves yipped their agreement and began to close in even tighter on either side. If she was going to do something, it would have to be soon.

  She studied the path ahead. In a few dozen yards, it narrowed as it passed between a large, rocky outcropping on one side and a fairly steep drop-­off on the other. The wolves would have to fall back rather than run alongside her.

  Hoping to surprise the wolves, Liz reined back and slowed her reluctant horse to a walk. The poor creature was not happy, and its nostrils were flaring and eyes rolling with fear. As she had hoped, the wolves also slowed, and the four on her flanks fell back. Liz took a strong grip on the reins, tensed her body, and as she drew even with the outcropping, she let out a sharp cry and drove her heels hard into the flanks of her horse.

  Her mount, already anxious to run, sprang forward with a great leap. She felt the wind catch her hair and send it streaming back behind her. The wolves, momentarily surprised, were slow to react, but then, with a collective, bloodcurdling howl, they gave chase. Answering howls echoed from ahead and Liz saw two more wolves blocking the path in front of her. Beyond them, a horizon of blue sky beckoned.

  She slapped the reins hard against her horse’s side, trying to urge the last measure of speed out of the animal and leaned forward in her saddle. The waiting wolves, teeth bared, lunged. At the last moment Liz rose in her stirrups, and the horse leapt. Liz felt one of her mount’s hind legs connect with the body of one of the wolves, and she heard the snap of jaws, but then they were past, and ahead lay a straight stretch of open ground as the trail traced a high, rocky ridge.

  A wild and terrible cacophony of howls erupted from behind her. Liz took one quick glance back as they raced along the rising path and saw a dozen wolves, eyes blazing with anger, sprinting behind her. The horse needed no urging now. It laid its ears back and galloped as fast as it could. Liz barely stayed in the saddle.

  A desperate race ensued in those high mountains, with Liz only vaguely in control of her plunging mount. On the rare portions of the road that were mostly straight, she would leave the wolves behind, but often the road would twist and turn back on itself like a writhing snake, and the wolves would close. At these times, their howls, echoing off the rock faces of the cliffs, seemed to surround them.

  Finally, they rounded a bend, and Liz sighted Dragon Tower. It sat on a high ridge overlooking the trail at the top of a steep, winding footpath. Liz realized that it would be impossible to take her horse up to the tower. She needed to put as much distance between her and the wolves as she could and leave the horse to see to its own safety.

  Leaning into the creature’s neck, she slapped the reins hard against its blowing sides. The horse must have been exhausted; foam blew from its muzzle, but still, at her urging, it put on a last burst of speed. The howls of the wolves fell back.

  As they neared the narrow stair that marked the entrance to the path, she pulled hard on the reins, and her horse slid to a stop. Leaping off, she unbuckled the straps that held the saddle and bridle in place and slapped the horse on the side. With the wolves’ howls growing louder behind them, the mount launched itself along the road and, a second later, had rounded a curve and was gone.

  Liz sent one brief prayer to the heavens that her horse would escape as she turned her own feet to the winding footpath and began climbing as fast as her legs could manage. Unfortunately, whether it was the mountain air or the general lethargy and lack of energy that had afflicted her lately, Liz found herself slowing and stumbling after only a few twists of the trail.

  About halfway up, her head spinning from exertion, Liz’s legs almost gave way, but at that moment, the wolves, their tongues hanging from their muzzles, came into view. She held her breath and hoped that they would miss her scent and continue their pursuit of the horse, but it was not to be. They sniffed about at her discarded tackle, then one caught her scent at the stair and let loose a bloodcurdling howl. The wolves all began to climb after her. Ignoring her shaking legs and the burning pain of her body, Liz resumed her own climb.

  The narrow, winding path slowed the wolves considerably, but even still, they were much faster than she was. When they had started their desperate race, she had been halfway up the cliff and the wolves two turnings of the trail behind. A third of the way from the top, they were only one twist of the trail behind her. When at last she reached the top of the ridge and drew even with the thorn-­encased tower, they made the last turn. Only a few hundred feet separated them from her and about as much distance separated her from the tower door.

  Gritting her teeth against the blazing pain in her side, Liz stumbled forward, but when she lifted her eyes to the tower door, all hope left her. Huge boulders stacked in a haphazard mound completely blocked the entry.

  “No!” she wailed.

  The strength of will that had kept her moving left her body. Her legs collapsed beneath her, pitching her forward onto her hands and knees. A breath later, the wolves had surrounded her. Liz closed her eyes.

  “I’m sorry, Elle . . . Will,” she gasped, and clutching her ringed hand to her breast, sobbed, “I love you, Edward.”

  She felt teeth pulling and ripping at the skirt of her dress. She flailed about with her feet and hands, refusing to die without a last struggle, then a blast of heat like a thousand forges passed over her in a wave, taking her breath away. The stench of burning hair filled the air, followed by wild yelps and howls of pain and panic from the wolves.

  Liz opened her eyes and saw a vast shadow descending on her from above. It brought back memories of the night at the farm in Prosper.

  “Run, Will,” she said in a hoarse whisper. “The dragon has come.”

  She felt herself being lifted into the air and had enough time to remember vaguely that Will was not here and that she was not in Prosper before she passed quite willingly into the arms of unconsciousness.

  As she slept, Liz dreamed that she was sitting on the old wagon from the Prosper farm, the reins to their old nag, Grey, in her hands. Will was standing beside the wagon, looking at her sternly.

  “How do you plan on sneaking up on the dragon, Liz?” he was asking.

  She said nothing, not having a ready answer at hand.

  “How are you going to get i
nto the tower?” he asked in follow-­up.

  Again, she had no answer, but this time bit the side of her thumb nervously.

  “Where did you leave the pitchfork? What are you going to do if you get it? How are you going to rescue Elle?”

  He asked these questions one after the other, giving her no time to answer, which was just as well because she seemed to have been struck dumb.

  “Liz, what if she is already dead?” he asked earnestly.

  She replied with her own question. “Why would you ask that?”

  “See,” Will answered, but in the voice of Elle, “I told you she wasn’t dead. Now would you please hand me that bucket of water.”

  “Fine,” came another voice, refined and very deep. “And I didn’t say she was dead only that she should be dead. There is a very great distinction between the two, as anyone in the fields of dragon slaying or tightrope walking will tell you.”

  The scene dissolved. Something cool was being held to her forehead. Liz blinked open her eyes, and there was Elle, her golden hair framing her smiling face. Behind her, also peering down, were the flame-­colored eyes and enormous gray head of the dragon.

  Liz gave a gasp of alarm and tried to scramble backwards away from the monster.

  Elle held up her hands in a gesture of peace. “It’s okay, Liz, he’s a . . . well . . . he’s not going to hurt you.” She turned back to the dragon, and, putting her hands on her hips, said, “What are you doing hovering over her like that? Are you trying to scare her to death?”

  “I was concerned,” the dragon said in an injured tone. “I have no confidence at all that you know what you’re doing, Lady Rapunzel. It seems to me that all young ladies are taught these days is how to do needlework and look elegant.”

  “Oh, and you’ve had so much practice nursing the wounded?” she replied tartly with a shake of her finger. “Your response to every problem seems to be to try crisping it. I thought I told you be careful, and yet the next thing you’re doing is breathing flame all over her.”

  The dragon drew himself up with what Liz could only describe as an affronted expression. “She was perfectly safe, Lady Rapunzel. I have absolute control over my flames.”

  “Absolute control? Absolute control?” Elle said in a rising voice of disbelief. “Look at the hem of her dress, it’s still smoldering.”

  Liz followed the dragon’s eyes down to the bottom of her gown, which she saw had been scorched in a number of places. The dragon humphed at this, blowing out a cloud of noxious vapor from his nostrils in the process.

  “I see you have no intention of thanking me for saving your friend, Lady Rapunzel,” the dragon said with a flip of his head. “Will you at least do me the pleasure of introducing us?”

  Elle look uncertainly back and forth between Liz and the dragon. She sighed. “Volthraxus, this is Lady Elizabeth Charming. Liz, this is Volthraxus, the Dragon of the North.”

  “I see,” Volthraxus said with a hiss. “So, this is the sister of the dragonslayer, King William.”

  Liz drew herself up into a seated position, her back against a tapestry-­covered wall, and said weakly, “I will offer you my thanks, Lord Volthraxus, and then I will ask why you bothered.”

  “Why I bothered?” the dragon asked with an arch of the ridge of gray plates above one eye.

  “Yes,” she said, and her voice grew stronger as her wits returned and her anger at the pain, destruction, and chaos the dragon had caused flared to life. “Do you also intend to hold me hostage?”

  The dragon nodded. “Knowing who you are, I will certainly consider the possibility, yes.”

  “I will not be held hostage.”

  “Oh, will you not?” he said with a smirk and a derisive flick of his forked tongue. “And, if I choose to keep you, what can you do to prevent it?”

  “Stop it!” Elle said to the dragon sharply. “Why do you insist on being so cruel?”

  The dragon shrugged and, turning away, settled himself on a worn spot of carpet near a large, open balcony that looked out on blue sky and snowcapped mountains.

  Elle bent down to Liz and handed her a tin cup filled with cool water. “Drink this, Liz. You look exhausted. Are you not feeling well?”

  “I did just get chased through the woods by a pack of bloodthirsty wolves, Elle. Oh, and then got ‘rescued’ by a fire-­breathing dragon,” Liz said with a grimace, but she took the water and drank some greedily. She was suddenly very, very hungry and wished that Elle had offered her something to eat also.

  Elle cast a glance back at the dragon, which appeared to have fallen into a deep sleep. “Are Will and Charming with you?” she asked in a low voice.

  Liz shook her head. “I have no idea where they are, Elle.”

  Elle frowned at this. “You mean they are on their own? All this time, I had hoped that they would have you to keep an eye on them.”

  “They took off right after your capture,” Liz said, and took another deep drink of the water. “Will was . . . distraught.”

  “What do you mean?” Elle asked, her face lined with worry.

  Liz made a sort of half-­shrugging gesture with her hands. How could she possibly explain the state Will was in without throwing her friend into despair? “He is young, Elle,” she said delicately. “Apart from our parents, and he was too young to really remember them, he has never lost anyone he’s loved, and he has never loved anyone as he loves you. He . . .”

  “What, Liz,” Elle asked desperately, “whatever it is I must know.”

  “He is mad with despair,” she said. Behind them, the dragon shifted in its sleep, and Liz dropped her voice to the barest of whispers. “He will not stop until he finds you.”

  “And . . . Charming?” Elle asked, tears pooling in the corners of her eyes.

  Liz nodded. “He is with him, and you know that he will not abandon Will, wherever that takes him. Unless we can help them, they will both die trying to save you.”

  “What can we do?” Elle asked, and her voice was a little ragged. “I mean”—­she gestured around at the little, tapestry-­lined, round room and the sleeping dragon—­“we don’t have a lot of options.”

  Liz pulled her friend closer. “I spoke to Gwendolyn, and I think the answer is here. Have you seen a pitchfork somewhere in the tower? Its ends would have been melted and the handle blackened.”

  Elle’s eyes widened. “Yes, but it’s gone.”

  “What do you mean, gone?” Liz asked.

  “If it ever existed,” came the dragon’s deep voice.

  They both flinched and turned to see the dragon staring at them, its eyes the merest slits.

  Elle raised her chin defiantly. “It isn’t polite to eavesdrop.”

  “And it isn’t polite to plot against your host,” the dragon said sardonically.

  Anger flared anew in Liz, and she said sharply, “However polite your manner may be, you are not our host, Dragon, you are our jailer, and whatever gratitude I owe you for saving my life from the wolves I balance against the fact that you have kidnapped my friend and announced your intention to kill my brother.”

  “You have made your feelings toward me quite clear, Lady Elizabeth, and I hope to make mine just as clear to you,” the dragon said, rising so that his head loomed above them. “As you have no love for me, I have no love for your brother. He was responsible for Magdela’s death—­”

  “I have told you he did not raise a hand against Magdela.” Elle came forward, pleading. “It was an accident.”

  The dragon did not react to Elle’s plea but kept staring at Liz, eyes blazing with rage. “So you have said, but even if that is true, he fed off her death like a vulture.” He raised a long claw and pointed it at Liz accusingly. “Your brother, King William, dares call himself the ‘dragonslayer.’ Either he tells the truth, in which case he is guilty of her murder, or he is a liar,
in which case he trades on her death to his own gain. In either case, I will exact my measure of vengeance on him.”

  Liz pulled herself up from the ground. “Yes, he lied. We lied,” she said, breathing hard from the effort of standing. “You seem to be the only being within several kingdoms who was not aware of the fact. And you can say that he was responsible for her death, and I suppose in the twisted logic of your mind, that makes sense, but she is the one who was trying to murder us. If she had let us be that night, then we would likely still be farmers, and she might still be alive.”

  The dragon stared at her, seething malevolence, and she tried to meet his gaze, but her head was swimming again. She leaned back against wall to keep from falling, gulping air.

  “Your appeal is denied, Lady Elizabeth,” the dragon said, his voice iron.

  Her vision blurred, but she could see that he was withdrawing, turning away. She knew that antagonizing the dragon was foolish, but she would not remain a captive to serve as the same kind of mad distraction for Charming that Elle had become for Will. She would rather die now than become the reason for his death. Quietly, mostly because she could not work up the strength for anything louder, she said, “Of course, had you thought to rescue Magdela from her own fairy enslavement, perhaps she would still be alive today. I suppose you did not think enough of her then to come to her aid.”