Briar Blackwood's Grimmest of Fairytales (18 page)

“Hey, watch it, buddy,” Leon said, feeling testy.

“Well, he's not really a frog. He's a friend of mine,” Briar said.

“A friend?” Valrune asked.

Briar reiterated. “A friend.”

“A friend?” Leon asked. The tone of his words almost sounded like Briar had slightly bruised his ego with her platonic definition of their relationship.

Briar held her breath a moment and felt mixed up. Leon had made it clear that he was interested in Megan. And now, if Briar read Valrune's intentions right, there was a prince on the horizon of her life. It made no sense to her that Leon should even care. She had already admitted her heart's secret to herself the same night Leon crushed it. No, there was no sense in fooling herself any longer. Leon should just stay a friend and nothing more.

“Yes Leon. A friend.”

Dax piped up. “Can we change the subject? I'm feeling a little
confused.”

Briar heard the sound of hooves clattering on stone and she knew Tarfeather had returned with the coach. “Here,” she said to Valrune. She reached into an inner pocket of her dress and produced the smooth stone given to her by Ash. “Take this and give it to your father. It's a powerful charm that can protect him.”

She placed the stone in his broad hand and closed her fingers around his. Her hand rested on his for a moment and she found it difficult to take it away. It was heartfelt and safe. Whatever was happening between them was palpable to everyone standing nearby.

Valrune leaned in close, as though to kiss Briar in thanks for the charm.

Leon spoke up. “Hey, buddy, back off.”

The prince glanced down at the smooth, glossy frog, so small and pathetic on the floor by her foot.

“Yeah, that's right. She doesn't want any part of your so called princely-charm, or your phony-baloney palace living…”

“—Or your sizzling good looks, or your wealth,” Dax added.

“You're not helping,” Leon said.

While looking at Leon, Valrune noticed Briar's bare toes protruding from beneath her gown. “Dame Titania,” he said. “You cannot journey in bare feet.” He reached down and slipped one then the other of his own long, black leather boots from his feet. Then he knelt down and helped Briar into one. It felt warm and slightly dewy. “They may not fit, but they can keep you from further injury,” he said. Then he fitted her other foot with the second boot.

“Aren't those supposed to be glass slippers?” Dax asked. The prince gave him a bemused look, cocking one eyebrow. “Always amusing, Lord Bottom,” he said.

“That's what they tell me,” Dax replied.

“Dame Titania? Lord Bottom? Who is he talking about?” Leon asked. This whole thing was clearly not settling well with him.

A familiar voice dolefully called from the shadows. “Your Majesty.” Then from behind a pillar stepped Damarius, a grave expression on his face. “I heard the sounds of battle in the great Halls of Murbra Faire. There was no protection for me, so I secreted away until all had quieted. There were murmurs of Cole going missing and of these, his guests in grave peril. And, by all the Legends, you have found them. A job well done.”

The prince arose and faced the king's advisor. “Damarius, the Lady Orpion has taken control of the palace. You were right to hide. But now you must flee.”

Damarius looked confused. “It is difficult to believe that with so many negotiations undertaken and sacrifices made that she would end things thusly—” Then he stood looking into the battle-worn faces of those before him. “Surely our own men can defeat the small number of troops she has in her retinue,” he said. He saw Sherman lying in Dax's arms, bleeding, unconscious. “What madness is this?” Briar noticed that his voice changed suddenly in seeing Sherman. His usual detachment seemed rattled—almost emotional. A royal advisor who must observe certain precepts and formalities cannot overtly display such feelings, she thought, and it seemed peculiar.

“Yes. Orpion's work to be sure,” Valrune shot back. “I have arranged to send these innocents to safety.”

“Indeed,” Damarius said. He established a firm, determined gaze upon Briar as though trusting her for the first time, and expecting that same trust in return. “And where in these Realms can these children hide? If Orpion has her eye fixed upon them as talebreakers, she will not stop until—” He cut his thoughts short and took in a short sharp breath. He bowed his head to the prince, but said no more.

“We journey south, to the Ink Sea,” Briar said. She gave Valrune's hand a short squeeze to cue his silence.

“A wise choice. The Ink Sea is a considerable journey south of the Black Waste, and the Lady would not risk the dangers of
night bandits she would surely encounter along the way,” Damarius said. Then he noticed the jeweled mirror tucked into Briar's bodice boning.

“Great Goose,” he said. His throttled emotions were now clearly on display. “Is that not—the Lady's mirror?”

“Gelid had it and used it to seal me in her chamber before she changed into a psycho-dragon that nearly ate me,” Briar said. “I figure that it's probably safer with me.”

Damarius swallowed and his face looked like fallen sacks of flour. “This is a foul artifact of blood magic; it's only purpose to harm. It should be destroyed at once. Give it to me…”

“Hold it right there,” Briar said. She said putting a stopping hand against the man's chest.

Damarius was unaccustomed to anyone questioning him, it seemed clear to Briar. He clenched his jaw and drew his hands into tight clamps.

“I beg your pardon—” Damarius said.

Valrune watched Briar carefully, and then said, “You have no need for it, Damarius. Whatever Dame Titania needs, she shall have. And her purpose will be questioned by none.”

Damarius' breathing became labored and his face was the color of stewed tomatoes. He withdrew his hand and bowed solemnly. Valrune spoke again. “Besides, without it, I trust, the Lady Orpion will have one less power at her disposal.”

“Yes. Of course,” Damarius said. He lowered his eyes in a practiced manner.

“Now please find my father and assure his safety,” Valrune said. “I shall be along presently.”

Damarius nodded his head gracefully, but he cast the rage in his eyes at Briar. Then he rushed away, his expression fevered.

Valrune steeled his voice like an officer giving a military command. “Take your leave, Dame Titania, Lord Bottom. You must not become embroiled in the contrivances of this palace.” With that, Briar nodded and they all piled into the king's carriage
that waited for them just outside the massive doors. “Be cautious along your journey, and stop for no one,” Valrune ordered. Then he slammed shut the carriage door and the driver sped them away, furious hooves beating into the blackness.

Chapter 22

The carriage bumped along the rolling plains of the Black Waste for what seemed like an eternity. There were few features to the landscape: a rise in the road here and there, a black tumbleweed, a dark, endless horizon.

Briar pressed an ear to Sherman's soft white chest for the umpteenth time listening to his withered heartbeat. “He's not going to make it,” she said. She reached down and ripped her dress from the hem up to her thighs, exposing the shiny black boots that went up past her knees. Then carefully she ripped the lower part of her gown in a straight horizontal line.

The mirror she had carefully tucked into her dress was not only in the way, it was jabbing her ribs. So she tucked it into one of her long boots where it could remain concealed and relatively safe. Carefully she took the fabric she had torn away and ripped it into a few manageable sections, which she then used to dress Sherman's wounds. “This will have to do,” she said, looking at her work.

“Wow, you really do like a certain look,” Dax said, admiring how the altered dress now seemed like another version of Briar's former cinched-up black Victorian and grunge boots.

Tarfeather, who sat on the tufted leather bench facing Sherman, had tears streaming from his tiny eyeholes. “I don't think he's gonna' make it. And then what'll I do without him?” he repeated from television.

“What is Tarfeather going on about?” Dax said.

“No, mister Dax not understandery. Magic flowers makery medicine for Sherman. But flowers at Towery Flowery Hill.”

Dax looked at Briar perplexed. “But that's good news, Tarfeather. All we have to do is get there and we can help Sherman.”

Tarfeather shook his head then buried it beneath Briar's
mounds of shredded petticoats. “It's such a long journey. I don't think we'll ever make it,” he impersonated. Then he began to bawl, though it was muffled beneath Briar's dress.

“Don't worry, Briar,” Dax said. “He'll be okay. My dog Mitzy was sick for a week before she…uh—”

“Wow Dax. Thanks for that message of sensitivity and hope,” Briar said.

Leon sat next to Tarfeather silently fuming. “You know, you shouldn't take this out on Dax,” he said. “The only reason we're here—the only reason why he's injured"—Leon pointed to Sherman with his small flipper—“is because of you,
Dame Titania!”

“What? We're here because of you, dumb-ass.” Briar said. She had had enough of Leon and his flip-flop loyalties.

“Me?” Leon asked. “I was handling things just fine, until you had to come and rile up Gelid. Oh, by the way, congratulations on killing Orpion's best friend. I'm sure we can all rest well tonight.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Briar began to raise her voice. “You are a frog. A
frog
. You were stuck in a cage that was woven into a tapestry. That was your idea of handling things?”

“Yeah, I was better off there. I didn't need you or Prince Boredom—the Pussy in Boots—to rescue me.”

“Oh, that's what this is about,” Briar replied. “Nice. You're jealous of a storybook price—who is so incredibly, unnaturally gorgeous that he probably doesn't even really exist. Meanwhile, you keep Megan as a girlfriend for your image, and me on the side because I entertain you. You're a real piece of work.”

Involuntarily Leon snapped his long pink tongue at an insect that had flown into the carriage and he sucked it into his mouth. “Oh crap, please tell me that I didn't just eat a bug.”

“Okay, everyone to neutral corners,” Dax said. “Leon, you'll be home soon and out of this mess. And Briar…this flirting with the prince is just off the charts, girl.” Dax slapped a high five with approval. “Now that's what I'm talkin' about!”

The carriage unexpectedly stopped, sending Dax, Leon, and Tarfeather to the floor. The horses chuffed and the reigns slapped.

“What was that? No—no! I said don't come any closer,” Tarfeather said like a movie scene. He cleared away Briar's layers of dress from his face.

“I don't know,” Briar said. She looked out the window and saw a dark figure, black mask covering its eyes, holding a sword toward the carriage driver. She gasped and silently indicated for everyone to get down on the floor.

“Bandits,” Briar whispered.

Then the carriage door flung open and Briar, who was cramped against it, fell to the dusty desert floor. At once she felt a cold knife at her throat. “Briar,” Dax shouted, but he could not see who it was that held Briar hostage in the darkness.

“Stand up real slow or I'll slice out your throat,” a resonant voice said. “The rest of you, get out.”

Dax piled out of the cab. Leon and Tarfeather sprang out after, leaving Sherman inside. “Hands where I can see them,” the bandit said. He shoved Briar toward Dax, where Leon stood on his hind flippers, his tiny green arms raised high. The carriage driver was forced down to stand with the others.

“Turn around,” said another tough-sounding man. He jabbed something sharp into Dax's back. “Put your hands on the carriage.”

The masked bandit, who seemed to be rather short in stature, called out. “Blessfang!”

“Yeah Boss?” Blessfang called from deeper in the shadows. He had a thicker, slower sounding voice.

“Check them for weapons. Vilesight, Thrash, check the carriage for valuables.” Two caped creatures swooped from above into the carriage, while another stomped, heavy footed, behind Briar and the others and began to frisk them roughly.

“They're clean,” Blessfang announced.

“What do you want?” Leon asked.

“I said hands on the carriage! Eyes down, everyone. Don't look up,” the masked one said. Then he held the tip of the sword to Leon's green skin and said, “Unless you want to be the main course at our dinner tonight.”

“Yeah Boss,” the dull-voiced Blessfang replied. “Frog's legs with a little butter sauce would be utterly delightful.”

“Shut up, Leon,” Briar whispered. “You're going to get us killed.”

“I'm not the one who got us into this mess in the first place,” Leon snapped back.

“Both of you, be quiet,” the masked bandit said. “I'll ask the questions. What are you doing here?”

“She's Briar Blackwood!” Dax shouted. “The redeemer of the Realms. The girl from the Three Omens.”

The masked bandit chuckled. “Really? The girl from the Omens?” He laughed some more and then Blessfang followed suit, laughing a bit too enthusiastically. “Shut up, you dope,” the masked one snapped. Blessfang went mute.

Vilesight and Thrash came out of the carriage but were too quick for Briar or the others to see who they were. “There's nothing in there but a sick fox,” Vilesight said.

“Yeah, we checked everything,” Thrash confirmed.

“Impossible!” the Boss said. “Is this not the king's coach?”

No one responded.

“Answer me!”

“Yes, it is,” Dax said. Briar elbowed him. “What?!” The king's crest is right on the door.”

“Then why is there no treasure?” the Boss asked.

“Prince Valrune sendery Briar Blackwood to safety from Murbra Faire,” Tarfeather replied. “Is under attackery by Orpion and bad wolves.”

“Boss,” Blessfang said. “That's all part of the Omens.”

“Oh, what do you know?” the masked bandit said. Blessfang
shut his mouth again and the masked bandit—the Boss—entered the carriage.

“Faywries and berries!” he exclaimed. “Sherman Herbclaw! It's Herbclaw come back.” The Boss popped his smallish masked face from the door. “How do you know Herbclaw? He left this place long ago. Went with those three dillywigs, didn't he? What were their names?”

“Uh…uh—” Blessfang tried. He wanted to have an answer for his Boss.

“Myrtle was one of them,” Thrash said from far away.

“That's right,” the masked bandit said. “And Poplar. What was the other one's name?”

“Ash,” Briar said.

“Hey, she knows them, Boss!” Blessfang sounded like a happy child.

The masked bandit hopped from the carriage and pressed the sword into the base of Briar's skull. “You'd best explain how you know them dillywigs.” One of the bandits plucked some dried weeds, struck flints together, and lit them to get a better look at Briar.

Briar began to tremble. She felt in danger and now they were near an open flame. Her palms tingled and her guts tossed. “My friend told you already. My name is Briar of the Black Woods. I came in search of my friend here.” She gestured to Leon. “I was sent by Myrtle, Poplar, and Ash. Sherman came as my teacher. But now he's hurt—badly.”

“A likely story,” the Boss said. “What do you think, boys? Shall we skin 'em and sell their bones to the ogres?”

With that, Briar's hands became fully engulfed with power. She tried to hide the flames, but it was no use. Out in the utter darkness of Waste, there was nowhere to hide such an obvious source of light.

Blessfang gasped. Then he recited aloud like an elementary school kid:

The others stopped talking—stopped moving altogether. Briar felt the sword fall from her neck and the blade landed in the soil with a little shushed dig. She turned around to face her attackers, glowing palms face out. And from their shifting gas-blue light, she could finally see the bandits' faces.

One was a deer, who stood on its hind legs, front hoofs to its mouth in a breath of horrified recognition. Two others were tiny dark-caped bluebirds that sat perched on the deer's antlers. Their shining black eyes and beaks were wide with amazement. Briar could finally see that the Boss was a white rabbit that stood perhaps as high as Briar's calves. Had he not just attempted to cut her throat out, she might have found him darling and tried to cuddle him a little.

“Boss, it's her,” said Blessfang, the deer. “Just like it says in the
Lores of the Bramble
. It's the Black Woods girl, come with her Dragon Powers.”

“Can it be?” the Boss asked. “The Black Woods girl, here?” He paused, as if to consider the question he posed. Then to the others he shouted, “Blessfang, bring Sherman out. Vilesight, Thrash, fly quickly and bring back the Dire Liquid.”

The flames in Briar's hands died down and she could only assume it was because whatever danger they were in had passed.

The bluebirds shot away and Blessfang, large and ungainly as he was, still managed to carry Sherman respectfully out of the carriage. He lay the fox on the ground and his head slackened to one side like one who had already died—or was about to die. The Boss hopped to Sherman and cradled his head with his paws. His tall ears flopped forward as he opened the bandage Briar had made from her gown and examined the puncture holes.

“Black dragon,” he said aloud. “One of Orpion's creatures.” He spat upon the ground, a magical custom against abominations. Blessfang tried to imitate his Boss, but instead he just dribbled down the front of his pelt and giggled with embarrassment.

Vilesight and Thrash arrived back with a bounce in their flight, carrying a small knapsack. They alighted in Blessfang's antlers. “There ain't much left, Boss,” Vilesight said.

Briar and Dax stood by watching in the darkness as the Boss opened the small knapsack and removed a silver container. He uncorked it and held it close to Sherman's wounds. He was careful to put no more than a single drip on each lesion. They sizzled, the smell was something foul—like garbage or rotting meat.

He covered the wound again with the bandage and looked up at Briar with his dewy bunny eyes. “Where were you headed so conspicuously?”

“Conspicuously?!” Dax asked. “It's the middle of the night in the Black Waste where you can't see anything unless it's pressed up against your face.”

“The Black Waste is journeyed by Orpion's troops. It is the only route to Scarlocke that they can travel in concealment,” the Boss replied.

“We are on our way to the Towery Flowery Hill,” Briar said. “We have less than two days to get there. Can you help us?”

“Sherman is in very bad condition. He will be lucky if he can heal. The wounds are very deep and he has lost much of his gray mist. He can't go further,” he said.

Then his ears stuck up and turned left and right like antennas picking up sounds unheard by others. “The road is not safe, Black Woods girl,” he said. “You'd best come with us for the night. Call me Boss, and these two tough birds here are Vilesight and Thrash.” He pointed then to the deer who was busy entertaining himself with the clip-clop noise he could make with his
hooves. “And that there's Blessfang. You'll be safe with us for the night. But a night is all we can offer.”

Blessfang charged up to the carriage and hopped inside like a puppy being taken for a car ride. He bounced up and down on the leather benches, slobbering and clapping his hooves. “Let's go in the pretty buggy,” he said.

Briar and Dax picked up Sherman and carried him aboard. The others filed into the carriage after them, except for the Boss, who climbed up and seated himself beside the coachman. Then with a whip crack, they galloped away.