The Pitchfork of Destiny (23 page)

After several minutes of sustained chanting, the Dracomancer raised his hands again for silence, and the crowd settled. He placed a hand to his heart and bowed his head. “I humbly accept the duty that you have thrust upon me. I pledge the power and knowledge of the Dracomancer to the cause. I pledge my life for you, the ­people of Royaume! And I bring you hope. For through my studies and communications with the Dragon Spirit, I have recovered the one weapon in all the land that can be used to slay the Dread Dragon! Dracoviziers, attend me!”

The Dracomancer clapped his hands. Two men in dark robes appeared, carrying between them something long and heavy, covered by a black wrap. The crowd murmured to each other, and the Dracomancer let the tension build.

“There are those,” he began quietly, “who have questioned my commitment to facing the dragon.” There were many protests from the crowd at the suggestion, but the Dracomancer held up his hands for quiet. “Who have said that I didn't immediately go to face the dragon because I lacked the courage and fortitude.” More denials erupted at this, and, again, the Dracomancer had to silence the crowd. “There are some who have even said that I am no better than that human peacock, the former Prince Charming.” Outraged shouts erupted at this notion. The Dracomancer smiled patiently and waited till they'd settled. “The reason I have delayed my meeting with the dragon is that I know the truth of how to defeat the dragon. Only one weapon in the all the world has the power to slay a dragon like the one we face now. A weapon forged in the very heart-­flames of a dragon. I give you . . .” he paused dramatically, “the Pitchfork of Destiny!”

The Dracomancer attempted to remove the covering in a dramatic flourish, but the cloth got caught on the tines of the pitchfork, and it would not come. The Dracoviziers stepped in and began tugging and pulling. Audible grunts and curses could be heard from the group as they fumbled with the draping.

As they waited, Charming leaned over to Will, and whispered, “You didn't tell me that your pitchfork was forged in the heart-­flames of a dragon. If you had, I wouldn't have thought that you were so much of a fraud when we first met. I mean, that's actually pretty amazing.”

“It wasn't,” Will said irritably. “It just sort of melted after the dragon impaled itself.”

“Oh. Fair enough,” Charming said, disappointed. “Some advice for you, though, Will. It sounds more impressive if you go with the story the Dracomancer is telling. Use that one for posterity.”

Will almost replied, “To hell with posterity,” but just at that moment the Dracoviziers managed to pull the cloth away with a great tearing noise.

Panting from the effort, the Dracomancer said in triumph. “I give you the Pitchfork of Destiny!”

A gasp spread through the crowd as the Dracomancer held a pitchfork high in the air. Everyone fell to their knees with the exception of Will, who was too shocked to move, and Charming, who Will noted was shaking his head in disgust.

Will stared at the pitchfork, and without thinking, stepped closer to the stage. The first thing that he noticed was that the haft wasn't blackened and burned, and that his name wasn't visible where he had whittled it on that summer afternoon in the field so many years ago. The tines were also much sharper than he could ever recall their being, and not a point was bent. The metal practically gleamed in the firelight.

The Dracomancer gestured widely with his free hand toward the kneeling crowd. “Tomorrow, I march to Dragon Tower to face the dragon and end his reign of terror. Who among you will join me in my righ­teous quest? Rise if you will march with me to Dragon Tower to rid our land once and for all of our enemy. Rise if you stand with the Dracomancer!”

As one, the crowd jumped to its feet and roared their assent. The Dracomancer let the ­people cheer, and when they had calmed, said, “Not all of us will make it back. Many may fall, but our quest is righ­teous, and we shall prevail. With the Dragon Spirit on our side, and the Pitchfork of Destiny in our hands, nothing can stand before us!”

The crowd erupted once more, and chants of “Dracomancer” began echoing again through the streets of Prosper. Onstage, the Dracomancer urged them to higher states of frenzy by stalking back and forth across the stage, waving and thrusting the pitchfork into the air.

Will's face grew pale. He had thought the Dracomancer would take only trained troops up to face the Dragon, but the maniac meant to take anyone who would follow, men and women, possibly even children, whether they could hold a weapon or no. How many would die? Would anyone survive?

“Charming,” he said firmly, pulling his hood away from his face, “It is time we made our appearance. Clear a path.”

“With pleasure, Your Majesty.”

Charming lowered his hood and, projecting his voice as only he could, shouted, “Make way for Lord Protector of the Realm, His Majesty, King William! Make way! Make way!”

The crowd fell quiet and turned to stare at Charming and Will, but no one moved.

“I said,” Charming shouted again, “Make way for His Majesty, King William, or face his swift and sure judgment!”

For emphasis, Charming drew his blade, and the light from the fires around the stage caught on the edge of his sword so that it gleamed as though aflame. A circle of space grew around them. Will squared his shoulders and marched toward the stage with Charming at his side, the crowd parting like wheat before him.

The Dracomancer watched them approach with a smirk as he leaned on the pitchfork. When Charming and Will finally climbed atop the stage, the Dracomancer gestured at them, and said in a lazy, sarcastic drawl, ­“People of Prosper, brothers and sisters, we welcome King William who has finally revealed himself after his long sojourn in parts unknown. Pray, dread King, to what do
we
, your
­people
, owe this
great
honor? We so rarely see you outside of Castle White or in places where the need is greatest. Have you run out of amusements in the court or simply grown tired of running?”

He punctuated his speech with many exaggerated facial expressions and rolls of his eyes. The ­people laughed. Out of the crowd came derisive shouts. “Down with Cowardly King William!” “We don't want the Yellow King!” “Go back to Castle White, we don't need a false dragonslayer!”

One of the Dracoviziers behind the Dracomancer yelled, “Ding Dong the King is gone! We want the Dracomancer!” The crowd suddenly burst into a chorus of “Ding Dong the King is gone.”

Someone threw a tomato at Will, and it hit him in the side of the face. He did not flinch but wiped the remains away with his sleeve. An apple followed, but it never reached its intended target as Charming's sword smoothly speared it from the air. He stepped in front of Will, his face white with anger, his eyes flashing a challenge. The song faltered, and the chants stopped.

With deliberate slowness, Charming pulled the apple from his blade and took a bite. His face grimaced and he spit out the fruit. “Rotten!” he shouted. “Like this town. Like this Dracomancer.” He threw the apple back into the crowd. “So, you, ­people of Prosper, and you . . .” he sneered, “Dracolytes, would choose to follow this . . .” he sneered again, and this time, it was even more pronounced, “Dracomancer? Let me tell you what I know of him.” He moved to the side and gestured at the Dracomancer with his sword, letting the tip dance up and down in the air as he spoke. “You call him Dracomancer, but his real name is Delbert Thistlemont, and when I was a child, he would put on puppet shows for the children. That is the man in whom you have chosen to place your faith. An entertainer. A fraud. He pulls your strings, and you dance for him.”

Shouts of defiance rang out from the crowd, and behind him, several of the black-­robed Dracoviziers stepped forward, their own blades drawn and at the ready.

Charming spun in a circle around the still-­unmoving Will, slashing his sword back and forth, the firelight still somehow catching on the edge of his blade so that it shone and danced in the night air. “Let any who call me a liar say it within reach of my sword. Let any who dare insult King William come and face me!”

Several Dracolytes, men with sewn-­on dragon patches of various designs on their tunics, robes, and cloaks, all started shouting and pushing their way through the crowd toward Charming. However, while the more distant Dracolytes were pushing forward, the Dracolytes and Dracoviziers on the stage and in the immediate vicinity, those who could see the eagerness in Charming's eyes, all began to back away.

The Dracomancer, his own face flashing with anger, suddenly produced a dragon sock puppet from beneath his robes and began screaming in a high-­pitched voice, “He hasss been corrupted by the dragon. Dessstroy Prince, I mean, the Charming who wasss Prince. DESSSTROY HIM! THE DRAGON SSSPIRIT COMMANDSSS IT!”

Tremendous gasps and screams came from the crowd. The mass of ­people surged forward. Beside him, Charming was laughing and slashing his sword and challenging the world to come at him if they would.

Will stood, aghast, looking out over the jeering crowd. He recognized faces among the ­people gathered. There was Tuck, the blacksmith's son, and Hans Pickle, the pig farmer. He saw the Old Geezer who told stories for a drink and Merle, the self-­declared one true beggar of Prosper. Agnes the shepherdess was standing to one side of the stage waving her large, hooked staff about. Closer up, he could see Gretel holding her arms up to the Dracomancer as though enraptured. And those were only the ones he could identify in the torchlight. How many other faces did he know?

The ­people of Prosper may never been have good to Liz and him, but they were still his ­people. It was his selfishness that had brought them all to this place. He had run off, thinking only of Elle and himself, and not of the kingdom. He knew what he must do.

Will grasped Charming by the arm and, pulling him toward him, said in a low voice, “Charming, you cannot fight them.”

“Never fear, Your Majesty. There are several moves that only work when fighting armies of men that I have been waiting a chance to try,” Charming said in a voice that matched the eagerness of his eyes as he continued to whirl his sword back and forth, letting the steel whistle.

“No, Charming, I mean that I will not let you hurt them.”

Charming's face fell. “My King, I can put an end to this.”

Will studied the man at his side. Charming would do what he thought was right and continue to believe that somehow he would succeed right up to the point that the mob overwhelmed him, and he would not stop fighting until they had killed him. He might slaughter half of Prosper before they eventually dragged him down, but Will knew that they could not win. Not this fight. Not even with Charming's sword. And Will was certain that he would not want to. How could he live with himself if he allowed such a slaughter? Will knew that he would kneel before the Dracomancer and surrender himself before he allowed that.

“No, Charming. Do what you can to give me time to speak, but harm no one,” Will ordered.

“As you command, Your Majesty,” Charming said grimly, and, with a flourish of steel, he took a defensive position at Will's back.

Will straightened to his full height and spread his shoulders. He stepped to the very front of the stage, and, holding up his hands, shouted, ­“People of Royaume and citizens of Prosper, your King speaks.”

This made the crowd only shout louder, trying to drown him out with their chants of “DING DONG” and “DRACOMANCER,” but Will was implacable. He felt his face flush, but as to whether it was from anger or resolve, he wasn't sure.

“ENOUGH!” he roared. “I WILL BE HEARD!”

A hush fell across Prosper. The only sound was the crackle of the torches. The sock puppet vanished inside the Dracomancer's cloak.

Will stared about at the gathered ­people. His eye fell on Gretel's face. Memories of their time together flooded through his mind. He reminded himself that it was her and all the others like her that depended on what he did next. They were, for the most part, good ­people. They might be fools for believing what they'd been told, but they did not deserve the death that would await them if he did not succeed here. He took a deep breath and began.

“You have been told many things by this man whom you call the Dracomancer. He has told you that only he can defeat the dragon, and he has convinced you that with his power at your side, the dragon cannot stand before you.”

“And he's right!' shouted a tall, thin young man with straw-­colored hair at the foot of the stage. Agreement was echoed all around.

Will fixed his eyes on the young man and addressed him directly. “I have seen a dragon. I have run for my life as it fell upon me. I have felt the unearthly heat of its breath and the hurricane wind of its wings. I have prayed in the darkness of the night that when the end came, it would be swift.”

A silence had fallen on the ­people. They stared at him, spellbound. He felt the tears rise in his eyes and raised his gaze to take in the larger crowd. “I have also borne witness to the attack that this new dragon made on Castle White, when he took . . . took my Lady Rapunzel. I can barely describe the power of the creature. How it tore away the side of the castle. How the steel arrows of our archers bounced from his hide like rain from a stone.”

“If this man”—­he pointed at the Dracomancer—­“tells you that he can keep you safe from the dragon, and that you will return unharmed from the Dragon's Tower to your homes and fields, either he lies, or he is mad. Dragons are not monsters to be faced and fought. They are forces of nature, and going to battle with one is like going to battle with a raging storm. You may scream to the wind, but the wind will still blow. You may shake your fist at the heavens, but the lightning will not be denied.”

“This, then, is the courage of the King,” the Dracomancer said, stepping forward and giving a mock bow to Will. “His judgment is that we should once again submit ourselves to the ravages of the beast. Rather than face the creature, he would have us hide ourselves in our homes and in our cellars like rats and let another dragon ravage our land for generations. Your name is well earned, Yellow King William.”