Ursidae Prince Chapter Ten

"Ursidae Prince Chapter Nine" 





CHAPTER 10

         

The coals glowed orange under the crust of white grey ash. Rosanna placed a few twigs over the embers. She pushed a walnut sized piece of lint between the twigs and gently blew on the coals. In only a few minutes she had a small fire burning; just the size to heat a pot of water for the barley beverage and to cook some oatmeal. Her mother and uncle slept head to head across the fire. Yesterday had been filled with explanations; Rosanna’s mind had reeled and rebelled as they tried to convince her of her birthrights both imperial and magical.

The childhood story she had begged her uncle to tell again and again now took on a sinister feel. Blessed with gifts that would put people in her power; a voice that would sing men into battle to gladly die for her, lips that would bind the heart of a man to her with a simple kiss, stories that would come to life as she shaped the words with her mouth. The only gift she could not regret was tears that would heal. If that was not enough somewhere out there was a Queen Sorceress who craved for these powers for herself and would use any of Rosanna’s family as pawns to bend her to the Queen’s will or see Rosanna, the rightful heir, dead.

Wrapped in her mother’s arms Rosanna had been rocked to sleep last night. Sarina singing children’s nonsense songs, her cheek pressed against Rosanna’s hair. One more day was all she had with her mother and uncle then they would turn back to find refuge on a distant mountain in a remote cottage. Rosanna would travel on alone to the camp of the rebel army that was gathering in anticipation of her eighteenth birthday in a few months when her powers would become fully manifest.

Kneeling by the fire Rosanna stirred the oatmeal. A whisper or sigh in the trees nudged at Rosanna’s awareness. It sounded like someone was whispering the syllables of her mother’s name.

“Sa,” a sigh.

“Ri,” a purr rolled off the tongue.

“Na,” a yawn.

Rosanna still crouched over the fire sidled over to her uncle as she darted glances at the trees. She shook his leg not taking her eyes off the forest’s edge. He yawned and stretched his arms above his head accidentally knocking Sarina.

“Hey,” she yelped.

“Shh,” Rosanna cautioned. “There’s something out there.”

“Sa…Ri…Na…” came from the woods.

         “They’re here.” Kenton smiled.

Sarina threw back the blanket that covered her and sprang to her feet. She stood with outstretched arms a smile lighting her face. A small mass of earthy green fur hopped out of the woods straight to Sarina’s waiting arms.

“Brink,” she laughed.

“You come.” He rubbed his face against her cheek.

“Yes, where are the others?”

Brink stretched himself to his full height perched on Sarina’s shoulder. A thrum reverberated from him and was echoed back from the surrounding woods.

“Here.” Brink said effusively.

Soon other shapes separated themselves from the surrounding trees. The outer coat of fur was dark like Brink’s but the under fur of each the Trymphs were the colors of forest flower, autumn leaf, fox coat or sunburst lichen.

“Oh, it so good to see you all,” Sarina declared falling to her knees.

She called them each by name as they came to rub their heads against her outstretched hands.

“Sebul, Troth, Clahm, Cawny, Ajia, but where is Argute?”

“Gone, dead,” Brink ran his tiny fingers through her hair. “Very old; his head full of the forest.”

“I will miss my wise friend,” Kenton said.

“Sebul now has his place,” Cawny chirped.

“Sadir,” Sebul called out.

A jet black trymph emerged from the shadow of a great tree. He moved slowly, timidly past the two adults and soon stood at the feet of Rosanna.

“Princess,” he bowed.

Rosanna gasped.

“Mother?”

“The forest guardians,” Sarina spoke as she rose and moved to put her arm around her daughter. “These are the trymphs who lead me out of the forest when I was just your age. They guarded, comforted and fed me when I was alone and afraid. The Queen, my stepmother, had commissioned my death but the assassin was a kind hearted woodsman. Instead of cutting out my heart he left me to fend for myself in this inhospitable wilderness. These benevolent creatures saved me and led me to your uncle.”

“Princess.” They each stepped forward and bowed at Rosanna’s feet.



He found the abandoned wagon by midday. The trail had narrowed just before it rounded a sizeable lake. Rupert galloped the horse along the shoreline the tracks he followed clear in the soft soil. He stopped to rest the horse when the tracks left the shoreline and headed back into the forest. Today he had traveled hard and fast and knew there was no chance the thief dwarf had been able to follow. A few more hours of daylight lay before him and he was travel weary. The lake looked clear and cool. A few minutes in its bracing waters would go along way to refresh him. He was stripped down to his britches in a trice and dove into to the cold mere. He broke the surface with a gasp as the air escaped his contracted lungs. He shook the water out of his hair pushing it away from his eyes with his hand. He turned to swim back to the shore and saw a familiar figure bent over with her arm thrust into his boot.

“Stop witch,” he yelled.

“Not witch, fool.” She twirled his dagger in her hand.

He thrust his arms and kicked his legs keeping his head above the surface until he could stand in the shallows.

“What is it I have done to you, lady?” he pushed his legs through the water.

“Lady he calls me. Thinks I swoon at flattery.” She began to back toward the trees as he neared the shore. “My mistress commands and I obey.” She frowned.

“And who is your mistress?”

“Thinks to trick me, tell him secrets,” she danced and twirled as he reached the shore. “My mistress is pain.”  She snarled. The dwarf raised the dagger above her head. “With this simple winsome verse I weave a spell and lay this curse; dagger trim, bejeweled and fine, what once was yours shall now be mine.”

The rocks bruised his feet as he chased after the fleet footed midget. A tree root cut into his ankle and he fell. He lifted his head and she was gone.

“Shades of hell,” he cursed.

His temper raged as he limped back to his horse. He muttered curses under his breath as he threw on his clothes and boots. He buckled his sword around his waist realizing this was the last thing other than his horse that had any value. The horse shied as he tried to mount it. The words he used to soothe his horse tempered his anger.

“Rosanna,” he spoke her name aloud. Less than a day’s journey lay between them he believed. “Wait for me, love.” He prayed.

That night as he made camp he slept on his sword and tether the horse next to his bedroll.



Rosanna rolled onto her back and pulled the blanket up. She didn’t open her eyes; trying to hold on to the dream that filled her head with visions of sword play in the northern tower; the Prince’s face breaking into a grin as she tagged him on the shoulder with the tip of her practice sword. ‘Well played.’ He said in the language of her mother they had also been practicing. The dream slipped away as the sounds of the morning intruded.

Her eyes opened to the lush green of the forest. A warm body that had shifted with her movement curled up against her neck; fur tickled her cheek.

“Good morning, Brink,” Rosanna nudged the sleeping trymph with her shoulder.

“Morning,” he yawned and stretched resting his paws against her cheek. A flick of his tail and he was gone racing up the nearest tree.

Rosanna sat up and stretched her hands above her head; alone in the forest but not alone. Uncle Kenton and her mother had left yesterday to go into hiding. Kenton knew of a village in the distant hills beyond the boarders of King Reginald’s kingdom where they would be safe. Rosanna’s head had been dizzy with the story of her mother’s escape with the help of the trymphs and her own heritage as the heir to the throne of Magdeland. One day’s hike through the woods would bring her to the camp of the rebel army that had gathered in anticipation of Rosanna’s arrival to claim her throne.

Cawny stepped into view, her paws full of berries. She laid them on the pile of other nuts and fruits the trymphs had gathered for Rosanna’s breakfast.

Rosanna smiled at the offering. This fresh fare was much better than the gruel she had been eating the past few mornings. She finished the breakfast and drank from the water bladder she carried.

Her mother and uncle had taken the horses. She would proceed on foot. The trymphs would guide her to the rebel camp. She used a little of the water to wash her face and with the brush she carried in her satchel she brushed out her plait and then rebraided her hair. Refreshed she looked to her friends to lead the way.

Before they could gather a cry reverberated through the woods; a sound of human anguish ending in an inhuman growl. Rosanna clutched at her chest.

“What was that?” Tears sprang to her eyes; an ache filled her chest making her gasp for air.

“Mischief,” Ajia said.

“Magic,” Clahm reached up to touch Rosanna’s hand.

“Human pain,” Troth sighed.

“Animal anger,” Brink added looking out into the woods.

“We will help,” Sebul said touching Sadir and Cawny.

The three trymphs fell to all four paws and ran into the forest.

“Come,” Brink gathered the others. Clahm gently pulled on Rosanna’s hand. Their group headed in the opposite direction.



The pressure in his head caused a dull ache which competed with the pain in his side. Sleeping on your sword was not as judicious as one would think. The urgency of nature’s call finally forced Rupert to roll out of his blanket. The horse was near enough to nibble on the edge of Rupert’s bedroll. He only took one step away from the spot he slept. As soon as he relieved himself he turned the dwarf was reaching for his sword. He stepped down on the blade.

“Not this time,” he growled.

“Will be mine,” she shuffled back.

“Not while I breathe.”

“We shall see.” Grindle reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled out an acorn.

“Do you mean to scare me with that?”

She threw the seed at his face; he moved his hand to catch it. The acorn popped and a brilliant flash of white light blinded him. A tug and he stepped back off balance.

“Now is mine and you still breathe.”

“You little rodent.” He staggered toward her voice.

He heard the sword whistle through the air. He could imagine her swinging it above her head.

“With this simple winsome verse I weave a spell and lay this curse. Sword with fire forged and refined, what once was yours shall now be mine. Till treasures four you can restore and make them yours as was before, this curse on you I do declare what once was man is now a bear.”

Pain seared through Rupert; muscle groaned, sinew protested and bone screamed.  He felt agony as his body reknit itself. He fell to the ground a cry of anguish burst from his lips. The cry turned to a mighty growl. Blind and in torment he lay panting on the forest floor.





"Ursidae Prince Chapter Eleven"