The Pitchfork of Destiny (24 page)

Once again, jeers rained down on Will. He stood looking out at them with a flat, steely expression. In time, the very lack of reaction from Will seemed to sap the energy of the crowd, and they grew quiet.

“This you have also been told,” Will said, and he could not keep the anger from his voice. “That I am a coward. This man has told you that you were abandoned by your King, and that I care not for you. It is a monstrous falsehood. I have never rested in my hunt for the dragon. I have never abandoned you. This dragon has ravaged the homes and flocks of my ­people. This dragon has stolen my beloved. I . . . I hate it.”

This last he spit so viciously that he had to pause before he could continue. He happened to glance down and saw that there were tears in Gretel's eyes, and in the eyes of many in the crowd.

Will steadied himself and felt his face turn to stone with his resolve. “All I ask is that you delay your march and give me a chance to go to the Dragon's Tower. Stay here in safety, my ­people, and let me prove myself again to you. Let me prove that I am worthy of your trust. Let me, once and for all, earn the title dragonslayer.”

The ­people were silent. A tension filled the air, as though everyone gathered was collectively holding their breath. For the first time, the Dracomancer looked nervous, and he licked his lips and raised his hand. “Your Majesty makes a stirring speech, but how can we trust you with such a mission? Your sister, Lady Elizabeth, has shown herself to be corrupted by the dragon, your beloved is in the dragon's clutches, and, by your own admission, you have no faith that any man can face a dragon attack. Should you falter and be seduced by the dragon, then your ­people would be under even greater threat.”

Had Will not restrained his arm when the Dracomancer mentioned Liz, Charming might have run the man through right there. “I will not let him speak of Liz like that,” Charming hissed.

“Patience, Charming,” he said, and gave his friend a knowing look. “I am determined.” Charming nodded and lowered his sword.

Will looked down at the Dracomancer, who, even in his bulky cloak and tall boots was still shorter than the King. “I understand that you profess to believe in letting the ­people have a say in the course of their own destinies.” He gave the Dracomancer no time to answer but turned back to the crowd. “I am your King. This fight should fall on my shoulders and not anyone else's, and certainly not women and children. If you will send me on this quest, I promise I will fight the monster to my dying breath, and I will not return save with the dragon's defeat. What say you?”

There was a profound silence that stretched until Will was certain he had failed, but then a single voice that could have only been Gretel's said, “Let's give Will . . . the King . . . a chance.”

There was a general murmur of agreement from the crowd. The Dracomancer held up his hands for silence and eyed Will with a shrewd expression. “You would undertake this quest alone?”

“Yes,” Will said sternly.

The Dracomancer nodded, and said, “Give me a moment to confer with the dragon spirits.” He gestured, and the handful of men in robes who had shared the stage came to huddle about him.

Charming came and whispered in Will's ear. “What about me, Your Majesty? Surely I will join you.”

Will shook his head. “No, Charming. Not this time.”

“But—­”

“No,” Will said, clasping the man's shoulder in his hand. “You must stay here and find Liz and Tomas. You must make sure no harm comes to them or to Gwendolyn or to any of these ­people. It is my last wish as your King. Do you understand?”

Charming nodded and, with his own hand, clutched Will's shoulder. “It will be as you command, Your Majesty, my King.”

The huddle between the Dracomancer and Dracoviziers broke apart. The Dracomancer stepped to the edge of the stage. With a sweeping gesture, he announced, “William is our true King. Yes, he may have vanished from the land when we needed him most, but he has sought me out, a sure sign of wisdom on his part. His quest may well end in failure, but I put it to you that he deserves the chance to redeem himself for his failures. Do you agree?”

The ­people roared their assent.

“It is decided,” he said, and to forestall any cheering, he raised a finger to the sky. ”But, to further prove my loyalty to His Majesty, the King, I also say that we, the ­people of the Dragon Spirit, should give him our greatest boon. I say that we render unto him the Pitchfork of Destiny, that with it, guided by his mighty arm and our prayers, he might strike down the ravening beast of the sky, the Great Dragon of the North. What say you to this?”

He thrust the pitchfork high, and an even louder roar erupted from the crowd.

“It is decided. Let no one say that we did not send him forth with every chance to slay the dragon. And now, in the eyes of all assembled, I, the Dracomancer, grant thee, King William, the Pitchfork of Destiny! Take this pitchfork with my blessing, and should you prove worthy of it, surely you will come back triumphant. But remember, should your courage waver, should your heart weaken, should your fortitude fail, the Pitchfork of Destiny will deny you and leave you naked against the beast's wrath!”

The Dracomancer thrust the pitchfork into Will's hands. Will leaned in close to the Dracomancer, and even as he wrapped his hand around the pitchfork's handle, he whispered, “This isn't my pitchfork.”

“Yes, I know,” the Dracomancer whispered back, “but your pitchfork simply doesn't look heroic enough.”

“But this one will have no special power against the dragon,” Will hissed.

“I know that, and you know that, but they don't know that, King William,” the Dracomancer said in a mocking, singsong voice. “Will you still take on this quest, or will you turn away now and prove once and for all your title, Yellow King William?”

A mad malevolence shone in the Dracomancer's eyes. He meant for Will to fail, and Will knew if he failed, that nothing would stand in his way of the Dracomancer's climb to the throne. “Still I will go,” replied Will. “But be warned, Dracomancer, should we meet again—­”

“We will not,” the Dracomancer hissed, then he grasped Will's arm and raised it to the sky. “Rejoice! The Dracomancer has blessed the King!”

Prosper erupted into cheers. Will turned to face the ­people, his ­people. They were rapturous, and Will resolved to give them the one thing that he could: hope. He raised the pitchfork in the air.

A white horse was brought into the square, and the crowd parted to let Will make his way over to it. There were a tremendous number of shouts. Once he was in the saddle, Will felt his course, whether due to chance or fate, was set. He was going to ride to the Dragon's Tower, and once he was there, he would confront the dragon. And he would sacrifice himself to save the kingdom. And to save Elle.

A
s soon as Will was out of sight, the crowd began to disperse. Charming was still standing on the stage, watching the road up into the mountains, wondering how, once again, he had been left behind.

The Dracomancer's voice in his ear shook him from his reverie. “I suppose, Lord Charming, that you would like to find your good wife, Lady Charming?”

“What?” asked Charming, raising an eyebrow. “I thought you said she'd left.”

“Well, that is what I told the crowd,” the Dracomancer said. ”The truth is that many among my followers did not like the way she spoke to me or of her skepticism of the Dragon Spirit.”

“I have no doubt,” Charming said with a grin at how much irritation Liz's sharp tongue must have caused the Dracomancer.

“I was obliged to keep her out of sight. For her own safety, you understand,” the Dracomancer said earnestly. “Let me bring you to her.”

Charming sheathed his sword. “Thank you, Delbert, I appreciate it.”

He put an arm around Charming's shoulder and led him from the stage. With a gesture, a number of his Dracoviziers fell in behind them.

“It is nothing, Lord Charming,” the Dracomancer said with a deprecating shrug and directed their steps toward a low building set against the tavern. “How could I do anything less for my best pupil? It is a shame it has been so long since last we met to discourse on dragon lore.”

“Until recently, I had thought the need for such studies on my part to be at an end,” Charming said. They had reached a door set low into the wall of a stone building. It almost looked like a root cellar. Charming turned to the Dracomancer. “You have put her in here?”

“It is perhaps not what I might have wished for her,” the Dracomancer said apologetically, “but I assure you it is very secure.”

Two of the Dracoviziers opened the door, and a rush of cold air, on which came the smell of wet and stone and wine, issued forth. A low light flickered from within. “Liz?” Charming called into the room beyond and made his way down two low steps to the door. “Liz, are you there?”

A deep groan came back to him. He had heard that groan before. “Tomas?” He leaned forward.

From the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of movement from behind, but before he could react, a sharp blow landed on his head, and someone pushed him forward. He stumbled into the room, his head spinning and eyes dancing. The doors slammed closed, and the sound of a bolt's being thrown shut rang out. He staggered and spun. The room began to tip sideways. He saw Tomas sitting against one wall, a long chain about one ankle and dozens of empty wine bottles surrounding him, against a second wall was chained a mangy wolf, which was gnawing on the end of a bone.

The wolf looked up and growled, “Oh, blessed moon, not another one.”

“Shut up you flea-­bitten mongrel,” Tomas slurred, then raised a bottle to his lips, and said, “To your health, Lord Charming. I see you have also become a guest of the Dracomancer. I hope you had as much fun as I had getting the invitation.” With this Tomas smiled broadly and poked his tongue through a gap where one of his teeth had been knocked out.

It's unclear whether Charming's mind fully registered Beo's presence because his last conscious thought was,
What's that wretched hobgoblin doing here?
before the world rolled over and went dark.

 

CHAPTER 15

UP IN FLAMES REDUX

T
he road that led through the Dark Wood and up into the highlands of the Southern Mountains where Dragon Tower stood was exactly where Will had described. Unfortunately, Liz's trip up the mountains was nowhere near as uneventful as her brother's. To begin with, it was spring, which meant constant rain, which meant roads that were more quagmire than road. Also, while slipping out of town was essential to her not getting stopped either by the Dracomancer or Tomas, she hadn't planned or packed for the trip. When she went through her saddlebags, Liz discovered that she had with her one spare cloak and only the most meager of rations.

Liz would have gladly accepted being cold and wet, but the food was a problem. She was ravenous and felt that even the ­couple of days she had been without good food had left her weaker than usual. Still, this was not the greatest of her concerns. That honor was reserved for the inhabitants of the Dark Wood. In the year since the death of the dragon, many creatures that had formerly avoided the Black Road out of sheer good sense had begun to return. This is not to say that the road had become so mind-­bendingly dangerous that it lived up to its reputation—­frankly, there weren't enough monsters and evil witches in all of Royaume to do that—­but it was no longer the walk in the dragon-­patrolled park that it had formerly been.

Among the Dark Wood's new denizens were a pack of particularly mangy and desperate wolves, who liked the woods because the King's hunters still believed the old tales about dragons, and, despite repeated Royal edicts to the contrary, wouldn't enter the place. Liz began to hear the pack's distant howls on the first night of her trip as she huddled in her sodden cloak beneath a dense stand of pines. On the second night, it became clear that either they were getting closer to her or she was getting closer to them. Her sleep, cold and miserable and fitful as it was, was filled with dark and primitive dreams of tooth and claw. By the third night, the air around her seemed alive with their howls, and she did not sleep at all. In fact, she did not even stop to rest but, feeling safer on the move, pressed on into the night, walking her horse when it became too dark to see the path.

Liz first caught sight of the wolves at dawn the next morning. The sun had come up and was just beginning to paint everything around her in its soft light when Liz saw a pair of yellow eyes staring at her from between two trees. Despite her desire to turn and look, some instinct told Liz to keep her eyes fixed on the trail ahead. Unfortunately, ignoring the wolves did not stop them from gathering. One pair of eyes became two, then four, then eight. The wolves were careful never to come directly into her sight, but Liz could sense them soundlessly pacing her on either side of the trail; like ghosts, they slipped into and out of view behind the trees. It took every ounce of her willpower not to spur her jittery and extremely eager horse into a gallop. Somehow, she knew that the moment she ran, they would be on her.

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.

A
s 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 into 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.”