Puss in Boots (Timeless Fairy Tales Book 6) (21 page)

“Thanks, Puss, for making me learn how to ride a horse in Lech,” Gabrielle breathed, unhitching the horse. Mounting it was difficult—the horse was wide-eyed and snorting from Gabrielle’s fright and hurried movements, and she needed one hand to keep hold of Puss.

When she thought she heard the ominous thundering of ogre steps, Gabrielle had the strength of ten soldiers, and threw herself onboard.

She heeled the horse so it took off down the dirt path in spite of being nearly blind in the darkness. Gabrielle clung to the saddle and Puss with the reins improperly clenched in one fist. When they reached the base of the hill, she pulled the horse to a stop long enough to check over her shoulder.

She could still hear the ogre roaring over her heavy breathing and the horse’s snorts and squeals, but his voice seemed to echo from behind the walls, and Gabrielle couldn’t see him thundering after her in the murky darkness.

Gabrielle took a moment to slide Puss’s limp body into a saddle pack. Her mind stilled, and her ears rang with shock when Puss didn’t wake up to complain about the treatment.
Is he…
? She held her shaking hand to him and choked in relief when she felt his small chest heave, taking in air.

Gabrielle slid the saddlebag off the horse and rested it on the saddle in front of her, tying it to her body with fumbling fingers so Puss would not be bounced and rattled. She then directed the horse through the village—where people were starting to rouse—and trotted from the city limits after several windswept moments. When they reached the city road that led west, the horizon behind them—covered in water and ocean—started to turn dusty orange with the promise of dawn.

It was then that Gabrielle saw the giant, rust-colored golden eagle circling overhead.

The ogre!

Gabrielle clutched Puss’s saddlebag close and leaned down. She kicked her horse, urging it into a canter.

The golden eagle released a shrill hiss and folded its wings, dropping from the sky in a steep dive. It was fixed upon Gabrielle with pin-point precision, its dagger-like talons extended.

She waited until it was so close she could feel the wind it raised before she pulled on her horse’s reins. The underfed animal twitched to the side, squealing in fright when the transformed ogre-eagle hit the ground and rolled.

While the eagle tried to right itself, Gabrielle spurred her horse on, still holding tight to Puss’s bag.

They had covered a field length when the eerie howl of a wolf sliced the air. Gabrielle clung to the saddle and peered over her shoulder. The ogre—in the body of a red wolf—sniffed the air, snarling when it caught her scent.

“Faster,” she gasped, pushing on her horse—which was already slick with sweat.

The wolf chased Gabrielle through the pitiful fields, snarling as it closed in on her. Fear ripped through her like a scythe, and her horse shrieked; its nostrils wide from the exertion and terror. Once the ogre-wolf loped close enough, it launched itself at Gabrielle, ravaging the stirrup leather with a savage growl.

Grateful the ogre hadn’t gone for her horse, she kicked it several times in the gut as it tried to scrabble upwards. It started to slip and was thrown clear when the horse bucked—nearly dislodging Gabrielle and Puss.

When the sun crept all the way out of the ocean, Gabrielle and her tiring mount fled the dying farmland, entering the forest.

The ogre howled before transforming into a war elephant and trumpeting, but it did not enter the forest. The deeper Gabrielle’s horse ventured, the fainter the ogre’s bellows grew.

Gabrielle risked looking back several times, confirming the ogre wasn’t there, before she slowed her horse to a trot—which the animal could keep for a much more significant length of time without tiring. Even with the slower pace, branches ripped at her clothes and skin, but she didn’t feel the pain as she held Puss close.

Her mind a gaping void, Gabrielle directed her horse southwest, barely noting when she almost trampled a goblin. Time stretched into forever as the image of Puss being tossed into the wall like a rag replayed in her mind again and again.

She was crying, and every muscle of her body ached when they picked up the road that ran from the coast to Jagst. At the edge of the village, Gabrielle pulled her horse to a halt, narrowly avoiding a fancy carriage that was probably more expensive than King Henrik’s with its snow white horses and deep purple walls. “Is there an apothecary or a healer?” Gabrielle shouted. She tried to dismount, but her weak limbs gave out, and she crashed to the ground, rolling midair so Puss landed on top of her instead of the reverse.

“Lady Gabrielle?” The woodcutter took the reins of her horse, stroking his neck and trying to calm the creature.

“What happened?” One of Michi’s daughters asked, crouching next to her. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine; it’s Puss,” Gabrielle said, unbuckling the saddlebag from her waist.

“The Master Cat is injured?” the woodcutter asked. “It cannot be!” So much for calming the horse.

“Not Puss in Boots!” a child yelled.

Gabrielle’s shoulders slumped, and she cried as she lifted Puss’s unresponsive body from the pack. His eyes were still closed. He breathed, but it was raspy, and his chest moved too much.

“What happened?” the dressmaker asked.

“Never mind that—someone call Edna with her herbs,” Michi’s daughter said.

“Excuse me, did you say a cat is injured?” asked a dazzling and musical voice.

Gabrielle, with her tear-streaked, dirt-spattered face, glanced up and met the eyes of a young lady so beautiful, she eclipsed Gabrielle with the strength of the sun compared to the moon.

She looked eighteen or twenty, and she wore a white layered dress with pink trim and a circlet of gold coins on the crown of her head. She extended a hand with genuine—not trained—elegance, and a small smile budded on her lips—increasing her beauty a thousand fold.

Only a magic user could be so spectacularly beautiful. A
strong
magic user.

“Please,” Gabrielle hiccupped. “Save my magic cat.”

As Gabrielle held Puss out, the beautiful lady gasped. “Roland?” She cupped the cat’s head.

“You know him?” Gabrielle asked.

“Yes,” the lady said, the lines of her face growing stiff with determination as she took the limp cat from Gabrielle’s arms, gently probing and prodding his body. “What happened?”

“He was flung into a wall by an ogre.”

The beautiful lady made a hissing noise. “He has internal injuries—and some broken bones, I think.”

“Will he make it?” Gabrielle asked.

“Not if I don’t use healing magic on him.”

“Then use it!” Gabrielle said. “Please, I’ll pay any price.”

“I’m afraid I can’t,” the lady said.

“But you must! Please, Lady Enchantress,” Michi’s daughter said. “We will offer you whatever price you desire. Master Puss has done so much!”

“Not just for us, but for all the northern villages of Arcainia,” the woodcutter rumbled.

“He’s routed bandits and killed man-eating snakes,” the dressmaker said.

“And fought goblins and vanquished witches,” the cheese maker’s son shouted.

“He and Lady Gabrielle got rid of the Lech river pirates.”

“And they single-handedly stopped a fire from spreading to a hay barn in Muarg!”

“Dear people,” the beautiful lady said, holding up a hand. “You misunderstood me. I am not unwilling, but as most kinds of magic are outlawed in Arcainia—healing magic among them—I am unable.”

“The border—it isn’t far from here,” Gabrielle said, her heart pounding.
Puss has to make it. He
must
!

“Ride straight north, and you’ll find yourself at the foot of Mullberg’s Mountain Range,” the woodcutter said. “You’ll have to go through Carabas lands, though.”

“Carabas is long from east to west. North to south it’s quite stubby; the lady can reach the border in under an hour on a swift horse,” the tanner said.

“Please,” Gabrielle begged.

The lady nodded. “Of course,” she said. She looked down at Roland—who lay in her arms—the way one looks at an old friend, before casting Gabrielle a look dusted with curiosity.

“You can use my horse, Lady Enchantress,” the tanner said. “Gaffer is one of the fastest in the village.”

The lady shook her head. “My coach will be faster.” She started for the beautiful carriage but paused at the door and spoke softly. “But not faster than
his
steed.” She lifted her gaze to the sky.

Gabrielle saw a moment of fear and uncertainty color the lady’s beautiful eyes. “Please, Lady Enchantress,” she asked.

“For Roland, I will dare to attempt it,” the enchantress said. She shifted Puss to one arm and thrust her hand into the sky. “Pegasus! It is I—Enchantress-in-Training Angelique, student of Lord Enchanter Evariste of Fire Gates. I summon you from the skies to carry me across the lands. Come!” she shouted.

There was a boom—like a cosmic battle raged overhead. The lady stared up at the skies, her expression grim.

“There—what’s that?” a villager shouted.

A black body charged from the sky—a celestial equine that sported a mane and tail of dark blue flames. Its black body seemed insubstantial, like a night sky wrapped in a bundle. Its glorious black wings shone in the in the morning light. When the hooves of its forelegs touched the ground, a mighty thunder-crash—like lightning striking a tree—shook the ground. The ground shook, and the animal’s black wings exploded into a thousand black feathers that spiraled upwards. The steed—it was too foreign and menacing be called a horse—reared, uttering a glass-breaking shriek.

“Where’s the saddlebag?” the lady—the enchantress-in-training—asked.

“Here,” Gabrielle said, scrambling closer to give it to her, even as the villagers backed away in fright and fear.

“Thank you,” the lady said. She slid Puss into the pack and approached the animal.

The steed struck the ground with its front right leg—eliciting another thunder-crack.

“I know I’m not Master Enchanter Evariste,” the enchantress said, her voice grim. “But I’m desperate enough that I’ll try to make you yield as you do for him. Now will you test me, or shall we fly?”

The ethereal animal lunged at the enchantress. She thrust up an arm and made a backhanding motion—shouting something in the language of magic.

The horse whuffed and danced backwards. It flicked its fiery tail and jutted its head towards the enchantress, who showed him the pack. “It’s for Roland.”

The celestial equine snorted—its nostrils flaring red—and looked away. After a moment, it hefted the front of its large body down, making it easy for the enchantress to clamber on.

“I will find you again when this is over,” she said to Gabrielle.

“Thank you,” Gabrielle whispered. She saw fear in the lady’s eyes—whether it was fear of the beast she was riding, or fear for Puss’s life, she didn’t know.

Like a comet, the horse took off, bolting from the village in a flare of light. Gabrielle watched it fade and fell to her knees, exhausted and defeated. In her peripheral vision, she saw the door of The Turtle & Doves open.

“Gabrielle?” Steffen said, his boots crunching on tiny pebbles as he approached her. He placed a hand on her shoulder, and she turned to look at him.

The prince had a bandage wrapped around his head—ruining his perfect hair. He was favoring one of his legs, and someone must have swiped all his weapons, for he wore none. Obviously, since parting with him, someone had attacked the prince. A sob churned in Gabrielle’s chest. “Y-you’re hurt,” she stammered.

Steffen offered her a wan smile and tried to brush some of the dirt off her cheek. “I’ll survive.”

His pronouncement made it hard to breathe. “I don’t know if Puss will,” she said as she started crying. Her tears were a steady trickle, and although breathing was difficult, not a single sound escaped Gabrielle. She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself.

With a bit of maneuvering, Steffen hunkered down next to her. Prince or not—believer in love or not—when Steffen slid his arms around Gabrielle, she leaned into him and cried silently, her shoulders shaking from the force of her feelings.