The War of Odds (17 page)

The spirit of Muriel’s army was crushed under the weight of sorrow and disappointment. The dwarves did not speak, and Sara kept swallowing hard against the grief of losing her friend and mentor. The elves looked sullen and shaken. It was frightening to feel their power fading under the onslaught of dark magic, and they blamed themselves for walking into the troll’s trap.

William looked and acted, now, like the elderly man he really was. Bent over with fatigue and shaking with tremors, the minstrel leaned heavily on Nate’s left shoulder. The boy’s right shoulder was set
 
and healing from the sprite’s magic but that didn’t stop it from throbbing and burning like fire.

Martin suddenly hopped onto the path in front of them and croaked, “Come this way, it’s safe here.” Sara could not help but wonder where the toad had gone off to during the battle, but she was too tired and dispirited to care. She and the others stumbled off the path into a damp little dell. The trees were drooping with mist and rainwater, but they seemed healthy enough and the tiny brook that flowed nearby ran with clear, clean water.

The teens sat down after drinking their fill, and hunched together miserably. Rondel, apparently, did not trust Martin very much either, and barked, “So where were you when the trolls and goblins attacked, toad?”

Martin stared at the elf, balefully. “What did you expect me to do, elf? I have no magic. I am just a man in toads clothing. I did find this place for you to rest and recover in, did I not?”

“Humph,” Rondel snorted, and his sister fingered her bow thoughtfully.

Martin did not miss the veiled threat. “Elves…” he glanced at the group as a whole, “All of you, I am sorry for your loss, truly, I am. My mistress will not be pleased at the loss of the unicorn, especially. You must realize, though, that I have little power and even less voice in this matter. Muriel did not trust me either, you know. Had I suggested that going left seemed to be the wrong way, Muriel would have done it anyway just to spite me,” He sighed, looking up into the tree’s canopy of leaves. “I was a bad man once, filled with bitterness and bile. I drank too much and when I did, all of my anger spilled out of me and onto my family.”

“I have repented my evil ways… for centuries now,” he continued. “After I left, my wife re-married and raised my sons with the care and affection they deserved. Remember, though, that was over two hundred years ago. My wife and sons have been dead and buried for almost as long as I have been a toad!”

Martins green eyes drooped with sorrow. “I brought you here to rest, but I suggest you go back to the thicket as soon as you can. It is only a league away.
 
Look past the thorns and see the help that lies hidden there. You should find the way open to enter Timaron’s court.” He took a mighty leap out of the dell and up onto the path. Turning around, he said, “I was never meant to go into the Unseelie court, and so I bid you farewell. Now it falls on me to tell my queen that her steed has perished.” Then he jumped and was gone.

Sara and her friends exchanged a glance. Martin did seem guilty by association, if nothing else and an easy target to blame, but no one was at fault, really. This war, like so many other wars, would claim victims in a random, arbitrary fashion and despite the odds; no one was safe from harm.

They heard Fruman clear his throat… it sounded like boulders tumbling together. “My wife and I will accompany you to the entrance of the Unseelie court, and make sure you come to no more harm. Once there, however, we can go no further. We are too big, you see,” he shrugged apologetically. “We will stand guard, though, outside the entrance. That way you will not have enemies on your trail.”

Rondel bowed to the giant and his wife, “We thank you, mighty giants, and owe you a debt of gratitude.”

The giants bowed back and moved a little farther up the path, while the teens and their companions shouldered their packs and prepared to face the thorns that blocked the dark court’s entrance.

They walked for about an hour, and the familiar thorn bushes came into view. If anything, it looked like the poison shrubs had grown in their absence. The black shiny stickers oozed their blood colored venom, and the humans gulped in fear. The nymph was no longer able to help Sara heal the deadly scratches, and Sara worried that she was not strong enough to do it on her own.

The bushes made an impenetrable wall as far as the eye could see, and Sara grew more frightened by the minute, then she heard Fruman say, “My wife and I will stomp the weeds, and try to clear you a safe path.”

Rondel nodded and replied, “Yes, Fruman, that will help.” Turning to Nate, he continued, “Nate, you and my sister must each carry a dwarf. Their bodies are too small to absorb that much poison.” He eyed the girls, adding, “Sara and Chloe, you will walk on either side of the minstrel. His cloak should shield you and your bodies will help keep him safe. Sprites, you are with me.”

Finally, he turned to Hissaphat. “Cat, how do you want to proceed?”

Hiss eyed the thorns and said, “My soldiers will walk amongst you, but too many of us will hinder your progress.” He turned around and spoke to his army. “I need five of you to come with me, the rest will go back to guard the sprite’s village, or help guard Sylvan’s people while they move. Who volunteers?”

Sara did not know why she could hear Hiss’ words but not those of his fellows, but a chorus of high-pitched meows filled the air, as many of the cats argued and took position. After a minute, or two, most of the cats left and Hiss stood with the five cats that had chosen to accompany their leader down into the Unseelie court.

Sara and her companions turned to face the shrubs, and the greenery rustled ominously, as if sensing the intruder’s intent. William trembled, and whispered, “Girls, I’m afraid this old body is plum worn out. I’ll try to keep you safe, but…”

“Shh, William,” Chloe murmured. “Don’t worry about us, okay? We’ll keep each other safe.”

William nodded, and the three of them started walking toward the poisonous thorns.
 
Fruman took the lead and his mighty stone feet leveled the shrubs into a sort of alleyway. A subliminal scream filled the air as some of the greenery died under the giant’s assault. As soon as Fruman’s foot passed by, though, more shrubbery grew in its place.

Rondel and the sprites walked in Fruman’s footprints. The elves long gray cloak covered the bodies under it, but Sara gasped as the shrubs grew to twice their original size. A soft hissing arose from the plants and, much like the enchanted forest back in the troll’s lair, the poisonous thorns clutched and grasped Rondel’s cloak, plucking his hood back and caressing his ears, hair and cheeks. Wherever the thorns touched, bloody welts raised up on the elves skin. Tears of pain dripped from Rondel’s eyes and Sara heard muffled cries of agony from the sprites.

Shura came next, her footsteps sliding back and forth in an effort to keep the shrubs thorny branches at bay. Rowena and Nate, with their dwarven companions walked on either side of the girls and the elderly minstrel. Their swords hacked and beat at the encroaching thorns, but still the insidious stickers found their mark.

Every time one of the thorns pricked, its poison traced a line of fire on their victim’s skin. In addition to the pain, the venom enveloped their minds, causing hallucinations and fever.

Sara glanced up from her hood and saw the thicket was now a forest. The shrubs thrashing branches suddenly stood at least thirty feet tall, even taller than Shura, who was struggling within the grasping tendrils. She heard a bellow of rage and frustration as Shura fell down under the clinging vines and disappeared into the seething mass.

None of Sara’s friends escaped the thorny attack and the poison dulled their senses and made everything that was happening to them seem far, far away. Looking down, Sara saw that some of the cats had fallen and were being pulled into the underbrush. Then she thought she heard a shout. Peering through swollen eyelids, she saw a small tree. Its bark was so dark she thought it might be dead.

Looking closer, however, Sara saw that it was covered in tiny white flowers and heavy with berries.
 
Rondel was weeping with relief and anguish as he knelt by the tree and picked the sloes. He put a handful of berries in his mouth and quickly handed some over to the passengers inside his cloak. Pollo and Peat fell to the ground eating the berries, and then bent over and vomited the juice and the poison out onto the earth.

There was a wide ring around the Blackthorn tree where the shrubbery did not grow, as if it sensed the tree’s good magic and feared its power. Sara and her companions huddled close to the tree and ate the berries, weeping, even as Fruman charged over to where his wife lay on the ground, snarling at the greens that held her captive.

Hiss limped toward them and Sara saw that he was grievously injured. His golden eyes were swollen shut and his whole body was welted and oozing poison and blood alike. With a cry of dismay, Pollo ran to where his friend lay, collapsed on the ground.

The little sprite wailed with grief, but Sara got to her feet and wobbled over to where the cat lay dying. She put both hands on Hissaphat’s body and prayed for his recovery. He was a strong and valiant champion, and Sara willed him to live and fight another day. A warm, golden light flowed from her gentle hands into the cat’s body and after a moment, Hiss opened his eyes and growled, “Where are my soldiers?”

Looking back from where they came, Sara and her friends saw that the shrubbery was a seething, snarling mass of giant stickers, and red, steaming poison. Nothing left there could have survived, and Hiss closed his eyes in sorrow.

Chapter 19

“This dark magic is too powerful to hold at bay,” Rondel muttered. “We must find our way into the gates of Unseelie before all is lost.”

The companions watched as the circle of safety around the Blackthorn tree grew smaller and smaller. The poisonous vines were writhing their way towards them, and the tree itself seemed to be dying. Nate stood up and looked toward the base of the mountain. A rainbow culminated about a hundred feet ahead of where they stood, and he turned around to face Rondel.

“Could that be it?” He asked the elf, and Rondel grinned.

“Yes, probably,” he said. “Leprechauns are guarding the entrance, but leprechauns can be bought. Let us see…”
 
He turned around and yelled, “Fruman…Shura, can you help us again, please?”

The giants stomped their way toward them. Shura looked furious, even as her husband grinned, picking the poking, clinging vines from his wife’s arms and back.
 
“Yes elf, we come to help now.”

“Stop it, Fruman! I’ve got it.” Shura growled and shooed her husband’s fingers away. Then, the two giants began to move forward as one, sweeping their hands, arms and feet side to side to clear the shrubs away from the area in front of the under-court’s entrance.
 

Sara and her friends followed cautiously, swords at the ready. The closer they came to the rainbow, the fewer plants they saw, and the ones they did see were either dead, or dying. A few moments later, they came to a clearing and saw a number of tiny men and women standing and sitting in front of a huge opening that was gated with wrought iron fencing.

The leprechauns eyed them indolently, and the largest of them, a mean-looking fellow with hair like dandelion fluff drawled, “What have we got here?” The little people giggled, tauntingly.

Another one, smaller but remarkably similar in visage to the first answered, “This must be Sylvan’s bunch, Pa.”

“I say we kill ‘em,” dandelion growled, and Sara heard the two pixies yell out threats about what could happen to impertinent leprechauns, if they tried such a thing, but a female voice piped, “Oh, leave off, the both of you!”

Although still a little sick from the poisonous vines, Hiss grinned with amusement as a leprechaun female strolled out from behind a large boulder. She carried a cast-iron pot, and all the colors of the aforementioned rainbow bubbled and spilled from its depths. She grinned up at them and said, “So, you go to the Unseelie court, eh?”

“Yes, mistress,” Rondel replied politely. “Will you let us pass?” Rowena was not as friendly… she pulled an arrow from her quiver, and licked its feathers appraisingly.