The Pitchfork of Destiny (22 page)

“Lady Rapunzel?” came Beo's harsh, clipped voice. “Are you there, little piggy?”

Elle barely managed to suppress the scream that tried to escape her throat.

The wolf took a few tentative steps into the room. “Come out, come out, little piggy,” he called in a mocking, singsong voice.

Elle knew that it was darker here, even dark for the wolf's night eyes. Perhaps he was only guessing that she would be here. He would have examined the other parts of the tower, and there were few other places she could be.

She heard his footsteps just on the other side of the bed now. He was sniffing at the bedding. He knew her smell from the time in the cave. He would smell her.

Elle's nerves nearly broke, but at the same moment that she would have sprinted for the door, Beo spit. “Bah! This isn't her scent. Where has that bloody dragon hidden her?”

In his frustration, he shredded the covers and the pillow and sent them flinging about the room. “No matter. I have what I came for, and soon enough, the Dracomancer will kill Mighty Volthraxus, and there will be no one left to protect the foolish girl.” He padded back to the door, chuckling cruelly. “To think that the key to his destruction was sitting under his nose this whole time. The Great and Powerful Volthraxus is not nearly as clever as he believes he is.”

There was the sound of something being dragged along the ground, then receding down the stairs to the lower level. For several minutes more, Elle dared not move. Only when she thought she heard movement in the rosebushes outside did she get up. Quietly, she made her way back to the balcony in a crouch. She peered over the edge of the balustrade and, in the light cast by the moon, saw Beo, with something long and glinting of metal clutched in his mouth, making for the trail down the side of the mountain. Although Elle knew the danger was gone, she still did not feel comfortable in the open. She crept back into the alcove to hide behind Princess Gwendolyn's bed.

W
hen Volthraxus returned a few hours later, he found her shivering from a combination of cold and fear.

The dragon's red-­gold eyes took in Elle and the tattered bedding. “What has happened here, Lady Rapunzel?”

“It . . . it was Beo.”

There was a rumble of anger from him, but it wasn't directed at her. “Come here, little princess. I will warm you up.”

She rose, shaking, and walked to him. He gathered her gently into a claw and carried her to a mound of carpets he had made in the center of the chamber for his own bed. Using the barest bits of his breath, Volthraxus ignited a wall sconce. Elle had never felt happier to see the light of a flame. She leaned against his warm body and sighed.

“Th . . . Thank you,” she said, as the shakes slowly subsided.

“You have no reason to thank me,” Volthraxus said. “Once again, through my negligence, I have put you in great danger. I should not have left you alone, but I thought the thorns would keep you safe. I forgot that Beo and his kind are part snake when it comes to sneaking into places. Tomorrow, I shall block the entrance. He will not get in again.”

“Where were you?”

Volthraxus looked embarrassed. “Arguing with you made me hungry. I found a few pigs down on the outskirts of Prosper.”

Now that he mentioned, she noticed an overwhelming smell of bacon. “Is that what you were doing? Eating?” she asked indignantly.

“Yes,” he said, then added at her glare, “I was also watching what is transpiring in Prosper. There is an army. They speak of the Dracomancer, and there's talk of something they call the Pitchfork of Destiny. It is supposedly the weapon used to kill Magdela.”

She gasped. Now she knew what Beo had been carrying. It had been a pitchfork; she could see the glint of the metal tines at the end of the long, wooden haft in her mind's eye. She got up and ran to the alcove. It was gone.

“That is why he came,” she said. “It was the pitchfork. I saw him carry it off. I didn't know what it was at first, but that must be it. He has the Pitchfork of Destiny.”

“You are overwrought and imaging things, Lady Rapunzel,” he said in a soothing tone. “Whatever might have been taken, it wasn't the Pitchfork of Destiny. Frankly, I have serious doubts about whether such a thing even exists. Besides, who would leave an item of such value, a weapon, pitchfork or not, that actually slew a dragon forgotten?”

Volthraxus curled up, much like a cat Elle thought, and his massive body filled the tapestry room. Nothing was going to get past him. She returned to his side and lay against his warm belly. His final question repeated itself in her mind. She finally whispered the answer. “Will Pickett.”

 

CHAPTER 14

UNEASY LIES THE HEAD

I
f one happens to find oneself a king someday, it would be advisable not to model one's rule after the kings of fairy tale. The kings of fairy tale seem for the most part to be ineffective, lazy, stupid, or just plain evil. We can all laugh at the emperor king who is convinced to walk naked through his kingdom by a pair of hucksters selling invisible cloth, but others are not so amusing. Take Snow White's kingly father. He is apparently perfectly willing to let his new queen plot the murder of his daughter, or at least raises no hand to stop it. And what of the poor weaver girl who is married to the king of the realm based on her purported ability to spin gold from straw? Far from being the devoted spouse a girl might hope for, the king threatens to kill her if she cannot produce bolts of golden cloth for him, and in the end she is forced to promise their firstborn child to the lonely manikin, Rumpelstiltskin, to give her betrothed what he wants.

As he rode toward Prosper, Will Pickett, King of Royaume, knew that he had not been a particularly good king lately. He had failed in his duty to the ­people of his land. He had let his selfish need to rescue Elle overwhelm all other considerations, and the evidence of his failure was to be seen all around. It was there in the burnt farms and ruined fields that marked the passage of the Dracomancer's army. These ­people had been depending on him to protect them, and he had failed them just as he had failed Elle. If he wished for one thing, it was to be given the chance to set things to right, to make Elle safe and his ­people whole. Fortunately, he now knew where he was going. He felt the calm confidence of the man who knows where the end of his journey lay.

Prosper.

It was in Prosper that he would find his sister, Liz, who could give him the practical guidance that he had always relied on. It was in Prosper that he could talk to Gwendolyn, the one person in Royaume who might have an insight on how to defeat the dragon. Perhaps most of all, it was in Prosper that he would come face-­to-­face with this Dracomancer. This is not to say that he was confident that he would be able to best the dragon and save Elle, or bring the Dracomancer and his Dracolytes to heel, but he at least knew where the ending chapter of this particular tale would be written. Whether alive or dead, king or prisoner, one way or another his fairy tale would end in the place it had started a year earlier.

Ahead, the roofs of the village became visible. It was as if the fairy-­tale story of Will's life had run backwards. He knew that all that had been done could be undone and that he had no one to blame but himself, and a part of him wondered if he would not be better off. He would never shirk his responsibility, nor would he willingly subject Elle to the hard life of a farmer's wife, but the smell of the earth and the animals, and the light of the sun in the South Valley felt like a comfortable pair of boots. He was coming back home, back to the familiar, and some of the tension he'd been holding for so long eased in him.

Unfortunately for Will, the calm only lasted until the road turned, and the whole of Prosper came into view. The quaint village he had known and grown up in had been transformed by the Dracomancer's army. Throngs of ­people and tents lined the road that led into town, and in the distance, he could see a crowd gathering around a wooden stage that had been erected on the green in the central square. Will had never imagined that the Dracomancer could gather so many ­people to him. He felt his shoulders tighten and his head begin to throb.

Without knowing it, Will had stopped in the middle of the road, too stunned to move. Charming rode on for a bit, then, realizing that Will was not with him, he turned and came back. He moved his horse close in, and said, “I would guess the stage is for the Dracomancer, Will. We need to get closer so we can be on hand to challenge the man when he appears.”

Will nodded dumbly. How had so many lost faith in him so quickly?

Charming turned his horse to ride on, and when Will still did not move, he came back again. “Is there a problem, Will?”

“All the ­people . . .” Will said stupidly. Had he been that bad a king?

Charming's brow wrinkled in puzzlement for a second, and a sudden, knowing gleam came into his eyes. “You're right, Will, there are far too many ­people to take the horses. We can leave them here and continue on foot.”

Charming led the horses to the side of the road and tied them to a fence. Will dismounted in a haze. He wondered if even the ­people of Prosper had joined the Dracomancer, then remembered how he had basically accused the entire town of being no better than thieves when he left, and came to the conclusion that probably most of them were quite enthusiastic Dracolytes. With a start, he realized the danger that his presence here represented. Even if the average citizen of Royaume had never seen him, anyone from Prosper would recognize him in an instant. All it would take was one of his disgruntled former neighbors to spot him, and they would be captured before they ever had a chance to get to the Dracomancer.

He drew his cloak over his head and whispered to Charming, “I think we should try not to draw any attention to ourselves. Too many ­people here in Prosper could recognize me.”

Charming glanced down at his clothes and, frowning, also drew his own hood over his head. “Excellent suggestion, Your Majesty. I can't imagine the embarrassment if anyone saw us looking like this. I mean, the Royal Tailor would throw a fit. He might even refuse to work with me again.”

“This isn't about the clothes, Charming. It's about finding the Dracomancer without getting caught.”

Charming nodded knowingly to Will. “It's fine. I understand that you wish to spare me the harsh truth, but I'm quite aware that my appearance is tragic. The chafing is a constant reminder of my humiliation. As for being recognized, I would not concern yourself. No one sees a king when he's in commoner's clothes.”

Will's eyes darted about the crowd, looking for faces he knew. “The problem is that the ­people of Prosper remember me when I was a commoner.”

Charming cocked his head to one side as though considering this for the first time. “How inconvenient it is that you were once poor,” he said with a remarkable lack of self-­reflection.

Will wisely said nothing and instead focused on maneuvering them through the growing crowds. As they got closer to the central square, the press of ­people around them became overwhelming. They were jostled and pushed, and the tide of humanity caught them in its motion and seemed almost to carry them toward the stage ahead. Onstage, four men lit four different braziers positioned at the corners of the platform. Flames roared to life, rising high into the evening air. There was a roar of cheering. Someone at the very front of the crowd began shouting “Dracomancer,” and others joined in. As more ­people added their voices, the shouts changed from random cheers into a steady chant. A robed man with a long white beard and clutching a gnarled staff of blackened wood climbed up onto the stage. In an instant, the chant was transformed again into a frenzy of cheers, this time even louder.

The Dracomancer stood, smiling, basking in the adoration of the crowd, then swept up his hands. Immediately, a silence fell.

“What the hell is he doing up there?” Charming shouted in the sudden quiet.

The man beside Charming pushed him, and said, “Shut up, and show some respect.”

Charming started to say something, and Will put an arm around his shoulder and pulled him in tight. He whispered, “Are you mad? You are going to get us killed.”

“But, Will,” he said in a hushed voice matching Will's own. “I know, the Dracomancer. He was my tutor in dragon lore. He's a decent academic when it comes to dragons, although his theory about Agorak the Black, the ancient sleeping dragon, is poppycock and well, we both know about the prophecy. What I never liked about him was that when he didn't know an answer, he always made up some drivel like, ‘A wet dragon never flies at night.' Anyway, my point is he doesn't have any mystical powers. Why would anyone follow him?”

Before Will could utter a response, the Dracomancer spoke.

­“People of Royaume, once again, we are plagued by the most terrible of monsters, a dragon. But King William”—­there were derisive whistles from the crowd at the mention of Will's name—­“King William, the man who promised to protect us, has gone into hiding. He has shown us his true colors.” Someone yelled “yellow” and the Dracomancer smiled. “The King will not save us.”

There was a roar of agreement from the crowd.

“You should speak up,” Charming muttered.

“Not yet,” said Will. “We need to hear him out.”

“But will we be dismayed?” the Dracomancer continued his speech. “Will we to turn our backs on the ­people of this land as our King has?”

The crowd roared a lusty, “Nay!”

Beside him, Charming was quivering with outrage on his behalf, but Will kept a firm grip on his shoulder as a reminder of the need for patience.

“No! We choose to stand and fight the menace. We will not stand by idle while this new monster savages our brother and sisters. I call on all of you”—­he pointed his staff out over the crowd—­“my Dracolytes, to answer the call of the Dragon Spirit! The salvation of Royaume will depend on our actions in the coming days. On the deeds of each and every one of you assembled here will the fate of this land and its ­people depend. I can lead, but I need you, my army of believers, to answer my call. Will you do that? Will you pledge your hearts, minds, and bodies to serving the Dragon Spirit through me, his humble servant?”

A roar of assent echoed through the crowd.

Will had to admit that the Dracomancer was a compelling figure, and he began to wonder if he would be able to turn the tide of passion the man had stirred in the ­people.

“Our course ahead will not be easy. All around us the agents of the dragon will conspire and plot against us. Some will be obvious to our eyes, as was the monster we faced and vanquished on our hard road to Prosper. But some will be subtle. This day, my Dracoviziers tracked down and imprisoned the witch formerly known as Princess Gwendolyn Mostfair for the crime of draconic conspiracy.”

There was a hiss of anger from the crowd and even calls that to “burn the witch.”

Will's heart sunk. He couldn't consult Gwendolyn if she was under guard of the Dracomancer. His plan, which had seemed so hopeful before, appeared to be crumbling before him. It was beginning to sink in that he might very easily lose everything.

The Dracomancer spread his arms. “No, my friends, we do not slay the nonbelievers, but treat them with compassion. The minds of these apostates have been twisted by the dragon. It is our charge and duty to try to guide them back to the light of the Dragon Spirit. As I myself have been doing for Lady Elizabeth Charming, who has been my guest and patient for some time now.”

Charming's head snapped toward the stage, and his eyes blazed. Will felt a cold fear in his heart.
The Dracomancer has Liz?

“Although I had made great progress in reforming Lady Charming, as we have moved closer to the dragon, its pull on her mind has become too great for her will to resist. For her own safety, I have had to send her away!” The Dracomancer's body wilted, and he sadly shook his head. “Perhaps I failed her . . .”

“No! No!” came shouts from the assembled masses. “It was her! She's a fool like her brother! The Picketts are all mad!”

The Dracomancer pulled himself back upright. His face set with determination. “This should be a reminder to us all that the power of the dragon is great. Its evil lurks everywhere, and any doubt in our cause or in the power and wisdom of the Dragon Spirit may give that evil a foothold on our souls.” He raised his arms high in the air. “Gird your belief. Arm yourself in the surety of knowledge that only through the Dragon Spirit shall we be delivered!”

Cheers erupted from the crowd. Will felt anger boil up inside him, not at the Dracomancer, but at the jeers directed at Liz. He was reminded again of how she, how they, had been treated by the ­people of Prosper when they had lived here.

He was about to speak, when Charming gave voice to his thoughts. “How dare they speak of the Lady Elizabeth in such a fashion?” He pulled away from Will's arm and began forcing his way forward through the crowd, a hand on the hilt of his sword.

Will's own anger turned to fear as he realized that, unless he stopped him, Charming would likely call out the Dracomancer and maybe the entire mob in order to defend Liz's honor. Now was not the time to let their passions rule. There was too much at stake. He grabbed Charming's sword arm.

“Please, not now, Charming,” whispered Will. “We must first find Liz. Perhaps he will tell us something of where she is.”

Charming nodded and steadied himself, dropping his hand from his sword. “I will agree to a delay, but mark my words, Your Majesty, he will face my wrath, and, when the time comes, let no man stand between me and my retribution.”

Will swallowed at the anger he saw boiling in Charming's eyes. Part of him actually pitied the Dracomancer—­a very, very small part of him.

The Dracomancer spoke again. “We turn to the task at hand. The Great Dragon of the North now lairs in the Dragon's Tower. The nightmare has returned! A time of suffering and fear is at hand if we do not act. I leave it to you, my brother and sisters, my Dracolytes, who would you have come to your aid? Who would you have come to save you?”

Someone, who to Will's ear sounded a bit like his former girlfriend, Gretel, screamed, “You, Dracomancer!”

Chants of “Dracomancer, Dracomancer” filled Prosper. The Dracomancer held his hand up to his ear, and the volume increased. He pointed to one side of the stage, then the other, with the chants increasing with his attention.