Suzerain of the Beast (Vision Dream Series Book 3), page 21
“But I thought I did—”
“No! There is a second part to your errand. And now you are tossing me aside without finishing it and stealing a poor woman’s horse to boot! Such an evil son!” spat Mother.
Her eyes narrowed, and there was nothing but anger on her face. Somehow the tears had disappeared. Valerdwin began to feel lightheaded, and his vision began to blur. In his dizziness he realized that he had indeed displeased her, and he needed to make amends.
“I did not know! I did not know! Please give me another chance, My Mother,” pleaded Valerdwin. He shook his head to fight off the dizziness.
“Now that warms an old woman’s heart when her only child shows his obedience,” said Lamieadela. She suddenly smiled warmly at him, and his dizziness left him.
The Palzintine archer remembered the Widow Barleydar’s reaction when she had realized that Valerdwin had already consumed the orange drink. He knew that if he asked her about it he risked angering her again.
“Mother, what is the other part of the errand?” asked Valerdwin.
“There will be time for that, First, we shall have some supper, my son,” said Mother.
She turned and started towards the hearth. He followed her for a bit then stopped.
“Mother, what…what was in that orange drink?”
It came out before Valerdwin realized he said it. He braced for Mother’s reaction.
Lamieadela slowly turned back to him. Instead of being angry, she smiled warmly at him.
“So many questions,” said Mother. “Just like my young Barleydar, rest-his-soul. But he never completed his errand.”
The hair on the back of his neck flared at the mention of Barleydar.
Was the widow right! Was Mother….
“What is it you wish me to do for you?” Valerdwin managed.
“A simple task really. Bring me the thief. Bring the one they call Half-mask so that I might teach the old fool some manners,” said Lamieadela sweetly. “That is all. Fetch him from the village known as Shady Dell and bring him here.”
“What will you do with him?”
“Why, he must be made to see the error of his thieving ways, silly boy,” said Mother, softly. “Now come eat.”
“And…and if I refuse?” just saying it took all the energy Valerdwin could muster.
Lamieadela flew at him like a vulture, grabbed the scruff of his tunic shirt and lifted him in the air with one hand. Her once-lovely old face scowled at him so horribly that it looked grotesque.
“You have no choice. You wish to know what the orange drink is, do you?” she growled. “It is a poison. A slow poison. You will not feel its effects right away. But it will kill you by the Vissy Yule. If you do not bring him here by then to get the antidote, you will not wake up on Vissy Yule morning.”
Valerdwin could hardly breathe, for her strangle hold upon his tunic shirt was like iron.
“All right, all right. I will do it,” Valerdwin huffed out.
Lamieadela let Valerdwin down gently. She put her hands together and suddenly appeared as frail as ever, her face once more looked placid and lovely.
“You really have no choice, my son,” replied Mother. “The drink also makes you more and more obedient to your mother as time goes on. Now, wait here, and I will get your things.”
Lamieadela disappeared into a back room of the cottage for a moment. After some rustling, she reemerged holding a leather sack.
“Since you now know your true fate, you need to be on your way this instant. And as any mother would, I have packed you a healthly portion of suppers and some instruction to tell you how to find Half-mask,” said Mother. “Now give us a kiss, and be on your way, My Son.”
“Yes, Mother.”
Valerdwin’s skin crawled as he took the sack and kissed the old river witch on the forehead. Outside, he climbed atop of Greddy and started on his new mission without saying another word. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop himself from turning back to the river witch and giving her a hearty wave.
❖ ❖ ❖
“You were a fool to come out of the bushes back there,” said Gazprmun. “You should have stayed hidden.”
Traydreal yanked at the ropes that bound his hands tightly together behind the large tent pole to which that both he and his former captor, Gazprmun, were lashed. They seemed to be in a large meeting tent, which was overstuffed with all sorts of grand and gaudy furnishings, all of which looked completely out of place in the middle of the forest. This lavish furniture would have been better suited in a lord’s manor home or a palace…from which they were probably stolen.
“That pickpocket stole my property, and if I had my full magic, he would have paid dearly for his crime,” replied Traydreal.
“So your magic is not what it once was?” asked Gazprmun.
“Do not fear, Captain. It is still powerful enough to take down you and several of your friends,” said Traydreal.
“But you cannot get us loose?”
“When the time is right, and we can slip away unseen,” said the Prelandidarian wizard. “Listen. What do you hear?”
“A lot of commotion,” said Gazprmun.
“Exactly. Too much commotion, if you ask me,” noted Traydreal.
“They…they sound as it they are packing up. And in a hurry,” said Gazprmun.
“Yes, something has them running scared,” agreed Traydreal.
Then suddenly the commotion outside the lavish tent grew quiet.
“Well? Is now the right time?” wondered Gazprmun.
“Well now, what have we here?” blasted a loud, deep voice. “The thieving wizard himself!”
Traydreal looked up to see the burly king of the thieves and five of his men standing at the entrance flap to the tent.
“Not just yet,” Traydreal whispered to Gazprmun. And then to the new arrivals he said, “Well, well, if it is not the king of the brutes, cutthroats and thieves. I would give you a proper bow, but I seem to be tied up at the moment.”
“I have no time to amuse myself by listening to your pathetic attempts at wit,” growled the king. “But I do have a moment or two for a bit of torture if you do not give me what I require.”
The king looked in no mood for banter, thought Traydreal. And there were six of them.
It was possible he could stun them all with a spell. But a spell that large could deplete most of his energy, and he would have to be carried out. Traydreal couldn’t trust Gazprmun to do that for him. Besides, he was missing his bone dragon staff. And he hated to leave it behind.
“What could you possibly want from me?” replied Traydreal. “The stone perhaps?”
“Give it to me before I rip you to pieces looking for it,” growled the king.
“I do not have it. Your man, Dradivel, saw to that,” said the wizard. “Then he traded it off to some Venordaladian sorcerer…in Relendale for some gold I suspect. It must be half way around the world by now.”
Traydreal was not lying about that fact. He remembered hurling his precious cooking stone into the mouth of the sea dragon. It would have been a waste of a perfectly good cooking stone if it were not for the fact that the serpent was ready to eat him, Angel and the crew of the Daravinian ship as an afternoon snack.
That stone, I am afraid, is gone forever now. A pity.
“You are lying,” said Kazzbeird with a lot less conviction. “Cut off the wizard’s hand.”
One of the five men with the king drew his sword, while the others positioned themselves to hold down Traydreal’s arms and legs, though they all looked very nervous.
“This is a waste of time…and a perfectly good hand, Kazzbeird. You know that I do not have it, don’t you,” said Traydreal. “You are just checking out Dradivel’s story.”
Kazzbeird glared at Traydreal as if he was outraged and then began to chuckle a deep sinister chuckle. His men stopped short and began to laugh their relief along with their cruel sovereign.
“Tis true,” chuckled the king of the thieves. “I had to be sure of Dradivel’s tale. Besides, I do not have my executioner here to do a proper torture. This bunch would just make ground meat of you. Messy, messy business if it not be done just right.”
“Then what is it you really want from me?” said Traydreal pointedly.
“Magic,” replied Kazzbeird. “I need you to make me something with magic in it. Since you took my stone of —”
“My stone,” corrected Traydreal.
“Since you stole my stone from me, I think it only fair that you now owe me some kind of charm or talisman or magical thing,” said the king.
“But Dradivel stole the stone back for you,” pointed out the wizard. “It is not my fault that he then sold it to a sorcerer. He should be here, not me.”
“He has paid for his part. But that still leaves me without a treasure of magic. So I might as well take another one from you,” growled Kazzbeird. “Reithdar, bring it here. Now!”
One of Kazzbeird’s men scurried off out of the tent and returned a moment later carrying Traydreal’s bone dragon staff.
My staff!
“That is not yours either,” said Traydreal as he glared at the king. He was not going to let this oversized thug take his prized possession a second time.
“Tell me how it works, and I will let you and your friend live,” said the king, taking the staff and hefting it experimentally.
“I really have no choice, do I?”
“Now you are coming to your senses, wizard,” boomed Kazzbeird. “It is such a pretty, pretty thing. Is there a secret word or magic powder to activate its properties?”
“Well, there is always magic powder involved,” replied Traydreal, thinking of his pouch, which rested safely in a hidden pocket of his cloak. “But first you and I must close our eyes.”
The king did as the wizard suggested and closed his eyes as he held the staff out from his body.
“Now what?” asked Kazzbeird, impatiently.
“Shhh. You must empty your mind,” said Traydreal.
Some of Kazzbeird’s men began to snicker, but the king growled. All his men became instantly quiet.
“All right, I think my mind is clear enough, Wizard. What next?” asked the king, after a moment. Then there was a lot of shouts and a great commotion of horses and men running around outside the tent. “It seems my time is up. Let’s get this finished, Wizard!”
Traydreal began to concentrate on the bone dragon staff. He called to his staff. In his mind, he imagined a roaring forest fire. A huge fire racing through the trees, setting them all ablaze. He pictured himself gently blowing on the flames, causing them to leap higher and higher in the trees.
“Ahh!” screamed Kazzbeird at the top of his lungs in pure agony. “It burns! It burns!”
Traydreal opened his eyes and saw that his staff was now lying on the ground. It was glowing bright orange and flames were licking its sides. The king of the thieves was staring wide eyed at his blistering, peeling bright-red hands and screaming in agony. His men were glancing at one another trying to figure out what to do to stop their leader’s pain.
“What do we do! What do we do!” hollered some of his men, who were practically falling over each other.
“The soldiers are almost here!” yelled someone who dashed into the tent.
“Get me out of here! Get me to some water before we are all hanged, you fools!” screamed Kazzbeird.
So his men grabbed their leader and carried him out to find some water to soothe his pain. Soon the tent was completely empty.
“Now I think it is the right time,” said Traydreal.
And with a quick spell, the heavy ropes fell easily from his wrists. The wizard stood, stretched, and walked over to his staff. He picked it up, and it was cool to the touch.
“What about me? You cannot leave me here?” cried Gazprmun, as Traydreal was walking to the entrance flap. “Remember, Celwencia!”
The wizard stopped, muttered some spell words, and the ropes fell away from Gazprmun’s wrists.
“Remember what I did here with only a small portion of my magic,” warned Traydreal.
❖ CHAPTER 20 ❖
“I NEEDED SOMEONE to lead me north,” said the one once called Marelara. “I needed you.”
“I warned you not to follow me, Princess Swevladilia,” scolded Jeela. “I need to find Princess Angelterra and you know, I cannot guarantee your safety. You should have several of your father’s knights escorting you.”
“But that would mean my father would have to know,” replied the Rosverdarian Princess. “And so far, neither my mother nor my father know where I am or where I am going.”
“Princess!” exclaimed Jeela. “You cannot just….”
Was she out of her royal mind?
This stubborn girl was going to get herself killed out here on the road.
How was she, as Princess Angelterra’s sworn protector, going to do her job while playing nursemaid to Rosverdarian nobility?
“Look, Knight Jeela, after talking to my mother, I believe that my cousin is on her way to Swevladiliona to learn something about a charm my mother gave her. And that is exactly the same place where I am going,” said Swevladilia.
“Are you sure about that?” asked Jeela, skeptically.
“Yes, I am,” insisted the Rosverdarian Princess. “Mother was upset about it. I heard her say so right after Angel—Princess Angelterra—flew away on that scary beast. Besides, you are not shirking your duties to your princess by traveling with me. And I have the map that will take us there.”
This Princess was impossible sometimes, but if she was right, that map would save her from blindly heading north with no real destination. Perhaps traveling together would be safer for both of them.
“It will still be hard for me to ensure your safety or comfort if you insist on doing this,” replied Jeela.
“Lady Knight, you have done an excellent job of keeping me protected and comfortable so far,” the Rosverdarian Princess gestured to Vetta’s tiny home of which they were now guests. “We may have a hot meal and a warm cot this night if Vetta here would have us.”
“Your Highness, you must pardon my poor excuse for a home,” apologized Vetta. “I will go this minute and see if there is somewhere else in the village more suitable to you.”
The tavern maid got up to leave, but the princess put a hand on Vetta’s arm to stay her.
“No, you will give us away to our stalker, even after you just saved us from him,” the Rosverdarian Princess reminded her.
“What if he is one of your father’s knights?” Jeela put the question to the princess though she was sure the princess would want them to still slip out of the village undetected.
“And if he is not? Would you wish to explain that to my father?” was the princess’s reply.
“Point taken,” said Jeela. “If you will have us, Vetta, your home will be our palace this night.”
Then the boy, Kervonnel walked up to Princess Swevladilia and tugged on her cloak.
“Yes, young Master Kervonnel?” said Swevladilia.
“Do Princesses work at taverns, too?” asked the boy seriously.
The three women chuckled.
“No, young Kervonnel, they do not. Though they should, for they could learn a thing or two about meat pies and music and grabby men,” said the Rosverdarian Princess.
❖ ❖ ❖
The early morning light streamed in through a space between an old curtain and the weathered window frame. It fell upon the pink Jacker-hide grip of Jeela’s sword as she took the opportunity to perform maintenance on her blade while Vetta cooked breakfast. The knight glanced over to the cot on which the Rosverdarian Princess had slept. It was empty. Instinctively, she looked around for her new charge’s whereabouts. The little front door opened and Swevladilia entered.
“Tis too cold a morn for taking care of one’s necessities,” complained the princess.
Jeela and Vetta just nodded their agreement. No matter how many cold mornings in her life she would have to go out to take care of necessities, she would never get used to that first shock of cold.
“Your Highness, breakfast, as humble as it is, will be finished soon,” said Vetta.
“I am sure it will be wonderful, Vetta,” encouraged the princess.
Jeela was impressed that this royal girl was showing more and more the down-to-earth mannerisms of her cousin, Princess Angelterra. Perhaps Jeela had been wrong about this woman.
In a short time, Vetta called everyone to breakfast. The three women all sat at the small table and ate a piece of bread, a piece of cheese, and a hot meat pie.
“Father lets me take pies home for Kervonnel and I,” said Vetta. “But he guards his recipe with others.”
“Someday, when I get back, I shall have you come to the palace and make your father’s pies for my father,” said Swevladilia. “I know he will love them.”
“I would love to do that for you and your family. May I bring Kervonnel with me, Your Highness?” asked Vetta.
“I insist that you do,” replied the princess. “Where is your little man now?”
“He be still sleeping,” said Vetta. “He could not stop talking on and on about ye, Your Highness. It was hard to get him to go to sleep. He was very impressed by your…hiding hair as he calls it. I could only get to him to sleep if I let him touch it again.”
“I had wondered what happened to it,” said the princess.
“He is guarding it, because he believes you need to use it since you are a princess from the land of fairies,” said Vetta.
“From the land of fairies?” wondered Swevladilia.
“Yes, it be on account of your white hair, Your Highness,” explained Vetta. “He is convinced that you need the disguise to hide the fact that you are really a magical fairy.”
“Well, I am glad to have him looking out for me,” replied the princess.
Jeela noticed Princess Swevladilia smiling to herself and looking pleased by the idea of being a young boy’s hero.
❖ ❖ ❖
Jeela brought the horses around to the front of the tiny shack that was a cozy home to Vetta and her son. Vetta and the Rosverdarian princess were standing out front.
