Chapter Four
It didn't take long for them to fly away from High Roost, away from the grand, spiralling buildings and elegantly carved stone castles, to land in the Forest of Spells. The Wilderness held many places like this – magically enchanted areas which hosted a lot of artefacts, spells and witches, along with a fair share of monsters for Questers to defeat.
“This one is near to the Dark Clans,” Gerran informed her, as he plodded along in dragon form, preferring the protection of his scales in the dense woodland. His feet crunched into grass and soil, and Esmer preferred to walk alongside him, easily keeping up with her boots of speed.
“What are the Dark Clans?” Esmer asked. Everyone knew about them growing up, but little information came to her in the form of who ran the clans, and what purpose they held.”
“Usually rogue societies,” Gerran said. “Humans who live in the Wilderness, pilfering from the kingdoms and selling to monsters, or monsters who have decided to throw in their lot with the clans. I don't know a great deal about them myself, but it's a lawless place. Not somewhere where you want to be found in the territory of.”
Esmer nodded, taking in the information, whilst keeping her eyes peeled for danger in the terrain. She knew that enchanted places in the Wilderness tended to be dangerous and monsters existed everywhere, seeking opportunities to grab unsuspecting princesses and drag them to unpleasant fates. Gerran seemed unconcerned about this, though he warned Esmer off the path once when there was a nice old lady on the side selling cupcakes.
“Come to me to my house, I have more delicious cupcakes for you,” the lady in the black hood declared. A beautiful, golden house shimmered on the side, and the cupcakes looked delicious and filling.
“Don't,” Gerran advised. “This is a classic bait. You'll be in her oven and turned into a cupcake in moments.”
“Uh,” Esmer said, smiling at the hooded woman before shuffling past her. They passed one other woman selling red apples, which Gerran informed her were likely Eternal Sleep apples, and a small frog hopped up to her from a river they trekked past, asking to be kissed so she could break the curse. The little frog even puckered his lips, waiting for the princess kiss.
“It's not a prince. It's a reverse curse,” Gerran said, sounding rather bored as the frog spat curses at him, before sinking into the river.
How many more events am I going to encounter, here? The dragon hesitated once at a monster guarding a bridge, who demanded they stop and fight him in combat if they wanted to pass.
“I have wings,” Gerran said. “I could just fly over right now and you wouldn't be able to stop me.”
The troll guarding the bridge, with his huge head of hair and glowing orange eyes, brandished his club menacingly. “If you don't fight me, you'll be cursed forever!”
“Okay, then,” Gerran said, promptly eating the troll in one bite. He let out a burp. “I like to give them a chance. Don't worry, there'll be another troll guardian here before long... they breed like crazy.” He licked his scaly lips, before ambling over the bridge, and Esmer shrugged, following after him.
“You're so, well, casual about this. Why aren't you alarmed?”
“It's a normal part of living in the Wilderness, princess. Be careful, there's goblins to your left in the bushes. If you make eye contact with them, they'll be on you in moments. So just focus on the road.”
Esmer kept her eyes firmly fixed on the ground, beats of nervous sweat forming on her head, watching as her skirts and boots accumulated dirt. She wore casual fur robes today, and sometimes her breath unfurled in the cold air, adding to the mystery of the place.
“Why can't we just fly to the witch?”
“She has disorientation enchantments from the air. We have to reach her by foot. Don't worry. We'll be there soon. And oh, be careful, that may look like a harmless furball, but it has huge teeth.”
He indicated a small, fuzzy yellow creature. Esmer stared at it for a moment, before a mouse skittered in front of it. The furball split open to reveal a serrated mouth of teeth, and clamped down on the mouse.
“Wow,” Esmer said. “I'm starting to see why humans prefer living in the kingdoms.”
Gerran chuckled, his tail swishing. A few moments later, and several more perils averted, they finally arrived at a small hut in the middle of a boggy, putrid smelling swamp, and Gerran shifted into his human form at last. Straightening his collar, he then stepped gracefully to the decrepit thatch door and knocked.
They waited for one long, nerve-wracking moment, before the door swung open, and a bug-eyed witch in a pointy purple hat stood at the entrance, broomstick in hand.
“Oh. It's you,” she said. Her voice came out strangely pleasant and mellow, where Esmer expected a screechy, old woman noise. “Come on in, then.” The witch then peered at Esmer, pursing her lips. “Don't see princesses here often. If at all. One of yours, Gerran, or a Quester?”
“One of mine. A volunteer.”
The witch grinned. “I like you already. Come in, princess.”
Nervous, because Esmer had heard a lot of things about witches in the kingdoms, and none of them nice, she went into the home, and found that on the inside, it looked orderly and clean, compared to the shack on the outside. Several cats were sprawled around the furniture as well, one of them licking its paw.
“I take it you're not here for a cup of tea,” the witch said.
“No, sorry,” Gerran answered. “Esmer, this is Hattie. Hattie, this is Esmer. Hattie, my princess here wants to learn magic. Would you be willing to help her out?”
“Hmm,” Hattie said, adjusting her broomstick. Esmer's heart gave a peculiar lurch when Gerran announced her as my princess. That sort of thing could go to a woman's head. “I suppose I can teach. It does mean you'll be learning witch enchantments, though. Your kingdoms don't like witches. You prefer mages.”
Esmer shrugged, trying to hide her glee. “I don't mind. Any magic at this point would be a blessing.”
Hattie gave a gap-toothed smile. Frizzy blonde hair tufted out from her hat, loosened by her bobbing motion. “It will be nice to have a new apprentice. You seem like you have a good head on those shoulders. I'm not catching that typical empty brain manner.”
“Thanks,” Esmer said. “Though honestly, I'm feeling a little overwhelmed right now.”
“That'll change.” Hattie turned to Gerran, who sat with a fond expression. One of the cats sauntered over to him and puddled into his lap, purring. He stroked the ginger fur. “Gerran. State your purpose.”
The prince licked his lips. “I'm looking around for a better weapon to fight with. I heard that recently you ensnared Gold Goblins, and they're notorious for having ancient and powerful artefacts.”
“Hmm.” Hattie grinned coldly. “I might have a few trinkets. They don't come cheap, mind.”
“I'm willing to trade.”
“Hmm.” Hattie folded her robed arms, regarding the prince for a moment. Then she got up, headed to another room in the surprisingly spacious house (Esmer suspected it was actually bigger on the inside) and returned with a bulging sack. She took out objects from the sack, and Esmer held her breath as she saw the artefacts. A glittering silver skull, three types of swords, a shield, several pendants, a fur helmet and a small bull statue. Again, the sack she tugged them out of appeared to accommodate a lot more than the size it resembled on the outside.
Gerran rubbed his hands in glee, and Esmer liked the look on his face – pure, boyish excitement. Hattie began explaining to Gerran what each object did, her face animated, clearly proud of her collection.
The skull killed anyone who touched it with their bare hands, unless you were a witch. The helmet enhanced your intelligence, the bull summoned a guardian spirit to protect you in battle, and the shield could withstand any kind of attack, magic or physical.
“Questers would love to get their hands on some of these things,” Hattie said, whilst Gerran nodded, now eyeing the swords. One sword severed the soul upon contact but left no wound upon the skin. The other spat out rock projectiles, and the last gave the bearer a partial dragon form – wings and hard scales upon contact.
“Wait,” Esmer said, holding up a finger. “This sword spits out rocks?”
“Yes,” Hattie said, before examining Esmer in interest. Esmer's attention was fixated upon the tiny etched symbol on the sheath. The symbol of her kingdom, Naterus.
“By the Gods,” Esmer breathed. “This is the Sword of the Mountain. That was stolen from our kingdom years ago!” Her fingers twitched towards it, before she stopped herself. “Would you trade for this? I... wish to have it.”
Gerran scowled slightly. “I can, though it will limit the total amount of objects I do want to obtain. May I ask why you need it?”
“Something to do with my fairy Godmother's prophecy,” Esmer replied. Hattie clicked her tongue.
“Prophecies, eh? Godmothers are so vague, most of the time. Alright, so you want this one.” She nudged the sword towards them. “Anything else?”
It took a good, hard hour of haggling from Gerran, who needed to abandon two of the objects he'd been interested in with a rather mournful sigh, to get Esmer's weapon. He selected in the end the Shadow Sword, Esmer's legacy weapon, and the bull statue. “I really wanted the dragon sword,” he sighed.
“Why?” Esmer said. “You're basically a dragon anyway. Why on earth would you want it?”
He shrugged, not deigning to give her a response. Esmer noticed that in trade, Gerran was giving far more than what he took – a dozen or so magical objects for just three. “They're powerful enchantments,” he responded to her. “It's not often you come by a Gold Goblin collection.”
Esmer admired the Sword of the Mountain, a lump in her throat. Her fingers trembled as she stroked the sheath, holding the legendary weapon of her kingdom, supposedly the most powerful artefact they'd ever held.
All hers.
Gerran inspected the Shadow Sword and tested the bull statue, which summoned a ghostly minotaur, wielding a battleaxe by his side.
“The minotaur can't be targeted. Only by destroying the statue do you destroy the spirit. A useful weapon in battle.” Hattie nodded towards the transparent guardian, with red glowing eyes.
After the trade, Hattie served them both cups of tea, and helped Esmer learn how to enchant tea so that it tasted better.
“A simple, minor enchantment, but we have to start somewhere.” Hattie coaxed Esmer patiently, until her tea took on a more minty flavor. “We'll make a witch of you, yet.”
Esmer smiled shyly, proud of her effort. She felt strangely bereft when they departed Hattie's residence, though the witch told them they were welcome at any time, and she'd make an effort to visit High Roost once a week to impart lessons to Esmer.
Esmer left, positive, loaded up with Gerran's trinkets and her new weapon. Which she didn't quite intend to hand back to her father just yet.
They made it halfway through the forest towards Gerran's launch point, as he didn't want to waste the teleport when they could make it back safety, when they bumped into five people wending the path before them.
The knights and mages regarded Gerran for a moment, who was in his human form, before their eyes slid over Esmer.
“A princess!” A knight declared, snapping up the visor over his face, revealing wispy, handsome cheekbones. “Why... it's princess Esmer!”
The Questers appeared to get enormously excited over the revelation. “We're Questing for you,” the knight declared, his white teeth gleaming brilliantly. “Did you escape the dragon? Did another Quester save you?”
Awkward. “Actually, I'm just heading back to the dragon's home now. With my fine travelling companion,” Esmer said. “You don't have to come and rescue me. Really. I'm quite happy there.”
She didn't really expect them to listen, but when one of the mages announced, “She's under a mind spell, clearly!” They started bristling up.
“Well. Uh, princess, if you come with us, we'll take you to your dragon. That will be good with you... yes?” The knight then examined the two swords she had tucked on either side of her waist. “Those look like mighty rare swords you have there. Do you know how to use them?”
In response, Esmer withdrew the Sword of the Mountain from its sheath, and rested her hand upon the Slayer, hoping that maybe it would help her know how to use this particular weapon. Power hummed inside the sword, and she sensed a foreign intrusion in her mind at the contact. Curious, she touched the presence in her mind, and suddenly, hundreds of rocky spikes spewed out of the sword at once. It killed two of the Questers instantly, before one of the mages put up a barrier to protect his other two companions.
“Oops,” Esmer said. She waved the Sword of the Mountain haphazardly, and a miniature sized mountain popped up lightning fast underneath the remaining Questers, sending them catapulting off into the distance.
“Amateurs,” Gerran said, shaking his head as the two dead Questers dissolved, leaving their gear behind. “But at least they had extra lives. Probably the only thing they did do right.”
Esmer blinked at the tiny mountain she'd just created, before stowing away the Sword of the Mountain. “Maybe I shouldn't be swinging this thing around.”
“Maybe,” Gerran agreed. “Want to race me to the launch? Let's see how fast your boots are.”
Shaking her head, Esmer darted after the sprinting prince, elated, surprised she'd managed to defeat five Questers so easily, even though the artefacts she wielded were so powerful. She just... she'd never seen something like that happen before. Not from her hands. Not from objects under her control.
I really have been missing out all these years.
Letting out a roar of delight, she raced after Gerran, treading on a poor, unfortunate frog upon the way.
“Really!” The frog exclaimed, his voice rather muffled.