Without missing a step, the Dwarven King was there, kneeling down to help the maid pick up the fletched shafts and unstrung long bows from the ground.
“Here’s ya’ go lass,” he said. “I’m already closer to the ground than most of ya’ anyway,” the Dwarven King joked, offering the maid a smile. Snow White, Phillip and General Dendroba quickly helped to pick up the rest of the arrows. Phillip tried to get the attention of another busy castle worker to help the maid carry the arrows. The maid was crying, cursing herself under clenched teeth and stressed whispers. Barely able to mutter anything more than an apology she hurried off before anyone else could help.
“It’s like they are preparing their own graves around here,” the Dwarven King looked about.
“They chose to stay and fight for their home,” Dendroba said, “but they are not soldiers. A noble intention does not equate to bravery and prowess. Knowing to do the right thing is one thing, but being able to accomplish that takes a far greater mettle.”
“They are scared, worried about the approaching army and about what will happen; the pressure and stress on everyone, it’s understandable,” Snow White replied.
“And they should be scared,” Dendroba said grimly. “Even we don’t know what to expect. Everything indicates that army will try to take this castle. We are bunkering in, essentially trapping ourselves here. This is our last stand. The Bloodthorns are our best defense. Unless their army can counter them, and if they can then we are cornered.”
“An army when cornered has two options,” Phillip said. “Surrender or fight to the last man. And most of the time it’s that last man that surrenders, solider or otherwise.”
“Aye, our scouts have this Wonderland army arriving by mid morning, tomorrow. If they were interested in peace,” the Dwarven King said. “They would have showed up with just a couple of diplomats and a cake. But showing up with an army? They are lookin’ to pick a fight, and chances are… they didn’t bring cake.”
There was a flash of inspiration in Snow White’s ice blue eyes. She bent down and cupped her hand in front of her mouth quickly whispering into the Dwarven King’s ear.
“An excellent idea, my dear,” A broadly growing grin could be seen underneath the Dwarven King’s thick white beard. He pulled his golden sounding horn from his belt and blew upon it in three short bursts.
“Snow, what are you doing?” Phillip asked.
“We are about to have some cake,” Snow answered coyly.
Loud booming drums began to pound a lively rhythm as dwarves joined in, dancing and clapping, wide eyes and even wider smiles. Dwarven bagpipes started up and quickly the castle’s open square was filled with dancing dwarves keen on revelry. More dwarves flooded into the square and began setting up what looked like to Dendroba and Phillip to be an impromptu celebration.
Dendroba touched Snow White’s arm, trying to talk to her over the din of the dwarven music. “Won’t this noise alert the approaching army?” Dendroba asked with concern.
“Let them know!” The Dwarven King interrupted with his proud reply, “and our enemies are welcome to leave their swords and drink with us!” The king threw his thick arm casually around Snow White’s slender waist. “I’d guarantee by the night’s end we’d all be brothers!” He gave a deep hearty laugh. “I’d rather a battle at the bar armed with tankards of ale than on the field armed with swords!”
Snow White smiled at Dendroba’s perplexed look. Taking a second, she grabbed two mugs of dwarven ale as quickly as one of the king’s assistant could fill them. She shoved a mug in Dendroba’s hand and raised hers in the air. “I’ll drink to that!” she said.
“Isn’t this a tad premature?” Dendroba frowned.
“Let the stores of ale flow free!” The Dwarven King shouted to the cheers of his brethren and a few of the castle residents as well. “A dwarven tradition. Called Duin’ enuar feastdu’val!” The King spoke in dwarven. “It means one last celebration,” he said. “Because once you go into battle victory is never assured. So, why go into battle already miserable, lad? It’s a chance to make amends and air out any differences with the brothers you’ll be fighting with shoulder to shoulder. A reminder that there’s something more to fight for; friends, family, life…and beer!”
The King gave the prince a jovial punch in the arm. Then he turned to the gathering dwarves and castle workers attracted to the sounds of revelry. “They say dwarves are great fighters when they are drunk,” the king shouted to the crowd. “They should see us fight when we’re hung over.”
“The night before battle, I’m not sure we should be celebrating anything,” Phillip shook his head, “I must agree with General Dendroba. We should be preparing for tomorrow’s battle,” he said but Snow was not listening.
“Tomorrow we die!” Shouted the Dwarven King as he took the stairs of the make shift platform in the center of the Castle square. Six other Dwarven Kings joined him on the platform. Thrusting his mug of ale into the air, the Dwarven King shouted again, much louder, “Tomorrow we die!”
“Tonight we drink!” The dwarves in the crowd suddenly shouted in unison at their king. And much to the surprise of Phillip and Dendroba, Snow White shouted along with them.
“Tomorrow we die!” shouted another dwarven monarch and raised his drinking horn.
“Tonight we sing!” the dwarves shouted back louder as other dwarves in the crowd spontaneously broke into old dwarven songs, drawing cheers from others dwarves scattered throughout the growing crowd of onlookers and castle folk.
“Tomorrow we die!” the third king shouted with a joyous growl.
“Tonight we dance!” they shouted back. At that the kings did a quick little jig that drew laughter and applause from the crowd.
“Tomorrow we die!” the last king shouted to the crowd, thrusting his blocky fist at the end of his stubby arm above his head.
“Tonight we live!” the dwarves yelled back, and then great cheers and shouts erupted from the dwarves as they began sing and play their instruments. Now the rest of the crowd and castle staff quickly joined in the celebration. Tomorrow would be a different story but for tonight, those trapped within the walls of the Castle of Marchenton would celebrate life.
***
As the celebrations continued, a great weight seem to lift off everyone’s shoulders, dwarf and castle worker, solider and servant alike. Fires roared, music played and, over mugs of ale and stores of wine, everyone talked; some told jokes, while other told of their fears, stories, advice and reassurance flowed like dwarven ale. During the lull, one of the seven dwarven kings with a fiery red beard pulled Philip to the side.
”You’re the Marchenton lad?” The red bearded dwarven king said. “Damn shame what happened to yer father. Not a way for any king to die.”
“They found my father’s remains entangled high in a tree, discarded like trash from the cloud realm of the giants. I was not there when it happened, but that’s what I was told,” Phillip replied, politely obliging the conversation.
“Sorry about that, boy. You’ve some big shoes to fill.” The red bearded dwarf king gave the prince a supportive pat on the back.
“If we survive, but I’m not sure how long these walls, or the people that will be defending them, can hold,” Phillip said.
“Take a look at your stone walls, whelp,” the king stroked his flame red beard as he looked around with narrow eyes. Then he waved his stubby finger about the castle’s main square, towering walls and tall spires. “I can tell by the cut of the stone which clan carved that rock. I can tell from the taste of a stone chip what quarry it was dug from. Who do you think built your majestic castle?”
Phillip was about to answer, but the king didn’t wait.
“Dwarves, m’lad!” The king shouted. “Dwarven markings are etched, hidden in code all around the castle. Any dwarf here knows this castle inside and out, better than you do, I'd wager.”
“I’ve never seen any markings,” Phillip shook his head, disbelieving the k
ing’s boast.
“Of course not, boy. You’re too tall to see them properly and you don't know where to look,” the dwarf king gulped another swallow of ale, studying the young prince with sharp eyes from behind the rim of his cup. His beard wet from drink the king continued. “You have to be dwarf height with dwarf eyes, lad. This castle was built as a gift when your grandfather’s grandfather sought to establish a kingdom here. Our clans had hoped to foster new relations with your people. But once the castle was finished it did not take long for your kings to forget dwarven generosity. Oh, our gifts of gold from our mines were graciously accepted but it did not take long for us to realize that for all of our generosity, it would not be reciprocated. For whenever a gala or festival was thrown by our new neighbors, and that was done so with great frequency, our kingdom was never invited,” the king paused to take a drink from his tankard, leaving his revelation to hang in the cool night air. “Seemed that dwarves are needed only to build and mine, but otherwise conveniently overlooked in social circles. So after a while, we just turned our backs. Shame, because dwarves throw quite a party.”
“But my father and his father had tried many times to establish trade agreements with your kingdom,” Phillip replied. “Every time our representatives were turned away, until we just stopped trying.”
“We’ve no need to trade with the kingdom that took such advantage of us. And quite frankly, you've really nothing you could offer us that we haven't already been able to provide for ourselves. There’s a dwarven saying that goes ‘Honor flows from the wounds of battle, indignation flows from the wounds of honor’.”
“Well then how did my sister convince your kingdom to give her your army, if you would not even trade with us?” asked Phillip as he took a tepid sip of the sweet thick stout in his mug.
“Well, for starters she did not try to come to trade with us. She came to fight for us. When she came to us she did not represent the interests of some king. She spoke with passion and desperation and inspiration. Actually, she sought asylum I believe- at the time she was being hunted down by Queen Cinder’s forces as a rebellious outlaw. But she cares more for her kingdom than any of your trade diplomats.”
“Really?” Phillip replied. “I suppose it’s not that surprising, she even cared about the treatment of the pigs and the livestock of the castle when we were children.”
“Oh yes, that girl has more heart, spitfire and passion for her cause and the welfare of her kingdom than most kings for their crown,” the king said. Then with a serious look on his gruff, bearded face. “Plus she slept with all seven of the clan kings to get her way.”
“Excuse me? You are talking about my sister!” Prince Phillip was taken back at the idea that Snow White had used sex to coerce the dwarves.
Then the dwarf broke into a boisterous laugh. “I'm kidding, lad! You are far too serious. Relax; Snow never did such a thing. But the deal was sealed at the drinking table. She drank us under the table, and that's no small feat against a dwarf.”
“I'm sure,” replied the prince not sure if that news was any better. Phillip looked across the square; Snow White was talking casually to a group of dwarves. Seeing his sister, now an accomplished woman who has grown up in a far different world, with vastly different experiences than he had. Phillip wondered, almost to the point of envy, how little he really knew his little sister.
***
“So I said… A dwarf may be smaller in stature but he has three times the ferocity of any man. Tell a dwarf he's out numbered three to one and he'll say it's an even fight!” Snow White said proudly, ending the story she was telling to the group of dwarves gathered around her. The group broke out in cheers at the end of White’s tale and raised their mugs amidst warm laughter.
One of the castle’s handmaidens pushed nervously through the crowd, nervous and impatience as she stood nearby General White, waiting for a break in her conversation to interrupt.
“M’lady,” the handmaiden finally interrupted. Her voice was soft but urgent. Enough so that Snow White knew that whatever the handmaiden had to say, it was important.
The Handmaiden presented her with a folded paper.
“From Rapunzel” was all the handmaiden had said and instantly Snow White’s stomach tightened. Perhaps it was the way the Handmaiden said who the letter was from, or the look in her eyes as she handed to her, but it gave Snow White a dreadful feeling. Placing her cup on the top of an empty barrel, she excused herself from the group. Snow snatched the letter from the handmaiden with an absent “Thank you” as she stepped toward a lantern to read it better.
“This is not Rapunzel’s handwriting,” Snow White was quick to observe.
“No Ma’am,” the handmaiden replied nervously. “Ms. Rapunzel asked me to write it down for her as she spoke.” The young servant wrung her hands together as if she expected to be punished for even helping to write the letter.
Snow White was understanding, and gave the handmaiden a nod. In the pale orange light of the lantern, Snow White began to read in earnest.
“ Dear Snow,
I can’t believe you relieved me from duty. I’ve been nothing but loyal to you and my reward is a constant stream of dismissive duties. If there’s any doubt or confusion, to be clear, I’m resigning.
But none of that matters anymore. I’ve been stricken blind and the visions I saw under enchantment from that wicked mirror will haunt me forever. It’s a feeling that I will never be able to shake. Even if you’d let me fight for you I am unable. I am unable to do anything now. I do not wish to burden you further, or worse be the cause of compromise.
So I’m leaving.
By the time you are reading this letter, I will have already left the castle among the rest of the refugees of castle servants; a few have pitied me enough to help me along in my travels. Others have revered me as a prophet. They say my tears have magic in them because of my encounter with the mirror.
Please don’t try and find me. I wish upon you all the best victories for your struggles. I know how hard you’ve fought but you’ve fought them alone despite me.
Yours truly,
Rapunzel Valerianella
Snow White looked desperately at the Handmaiden.
“How long ago did she leave?”
“I don’t know M’lady, maybe a couple of hours already? Well before nightfall, I think.”
Snow White slumped against the cold wall of stone in disbelief. Her heart pounded loudly in her chest. Rapunzel had left, not a chance to talk or even say goodbye. Not a chance for Snow White to apologize or even tell Rapunzel how much she was loved as a partner in their cause, and as a friend. The abrupt realization that she would not have Rapunzel in her life anymore caused quiet tears to fill Snow’s blue eyes, and for a moment she could not speak as her voice was lost and weak.
***
On The Outskirts Of The Encamped Wonderland Army.
“Thank you for coming. I’m sorry to trouble an Ace…“
“There are protocols and levels of command in place for a reason, soldier.”
“Yes sir, but the prisoners said they knew you, mentioned you by name, in fact. They wanted to speak with you about providing some information. I figured that might be worth something? They said they had met you while you were detained in the castle, sir.”
The conversation outside the tent ended and the canvas tent flap fluttered open. Two armed soldiers of Wonderland’s army stood by as the White Rabbit walked inside, ducking his tall ears as he walked through; his metal prosthetic foot giving him a crazed gait in his haste. He regarded the two prisoners with a furrowed brow of annoyance.
Wrapped strips of dirty cloth were tied tightly across their mouths and the prisoners’ hands were bound behind them. Hansel and Gretel were shackled to the heavy center pole of the round pavilion style tent. A single lantern cast a harsh light at shadows about the canvas walls.
Rabbit regarded them for a moment, His pink eyes darted about. “Ah, yes,” he said finally. “You two wer
e brought in by the Maldame; the cell across the way from me.”
Rabbit pulled the cloth gag out of Gretel’s mouth.
She immediately spat the taste of the dirt cloth from her mouth. “Thank you,” Gretel gasped.
“You are fools to come here,” Rabbit said sharply.
“I can provide you with a very easy way to get into the castle,” Gretel quickly offered. “My brother and I are not too foolish to know who will win this war, Rabbit. We heard your conversation with General White in the dungeon. You are a diplomat, and someone with a respectable intelligence. We only wish to appeal to your compassion. We can provide information about the castle, how we were able to leave, and thus how your army can get in. We offer ourselves to be your liaisons to your new conquered land. Hansel and I are quite familiar with the lay of the kingdom. I’m sure we can make an acceptable business arrangement.”
Hansel desperately pleaded with his eyes as he remained bound and gagged.
Rabbit’s sharp pink eyes darted back and forth again as he studied the two prisoners and thought a moment.
“Off with their heads,” Rabbit ordered with cold decisiveness.
Turning promptly on his metal heel, Rabbit exited the tent as the soldiers forced the gag back as Gretel struggled, trying to fight back. Rabbit could hear the muffled pleas and crying cut short by two silencing wet thuds in quick succession as his orders were dutifully carried out.
“I am nothing of a diplomat,” the White Rabbit sneered aloud.
ON THE EVE OF THE BEANSTALK WAR
(INTERLOGUE PART III OF IV)
Kingdom of Marchenton, 10 years prior.
Jack raced through the royal vineyards in the darkness, passing row after row of wattle fencing, lush with overripe bunches of grapes and their sweet smell on the howling winds. The rustling of the vine leaves in the heavy gusts of wind, the creaking of the fences and his own heavy breathing were all that he could hear on this chilly fall night. Thick clouds rolled across the night sky and obscured the moonlight as it had every night for many months now. Jack skidded to a stop at one particular post, well in the middle of the vineyard rows, one that had a small silken scarf tied to it, a scarf frayed and faded from exposure all summer. It was here Jack turned and ran down the row to the meeting spot. Perhaps for the last time, he thought.
Shards Of The Glass Slipper: Queen Alice Page 17
