Alfred and the Prince of Wode
When twilight came,
man turned away with hardened eye
and magic fell
and falling,
died beneath the snow and stone
for forever and a day.
Summer had turned quickly into autumn, the leaves falling fast from the trees. Those that remained, the red and gold, rustled in the breeze that grew cooler with the rising of the stars and the rapid setting of the sun. Within the hour, the shadows would overtake the wood and all would be lost, the path, his direction, his heart. Alfred stood steady beside his horse, waiting for Horace to appear between the trees. He knew he would come as they had arranged. Alfred knew that there would be no further misunderstandings between them. His time had come.
“Hiding behind the animal, are you, Alfred?”
There had been no footstep through the woods. Horace had simply appeared between the trees where Alfred had expected him. He’d blinked perhaps, or turned to look at the sun at his back, and missed the apparition.
“Waiting for you, Horace,” Alfred said with a tremulous smile. “Always waiting.”
Horace wasted no time in shifting to Alfred’s side, sliding his gloved hand over the powerful flank of Alfred’s horse.
“I can see why you prefer to ride. She’s a beautiful animal.”
“She is that,” Alfred said and reached out to pat Distral, calming her as she flinched at Horace’s touch.
“Skittish for a war horse,” Horace said. “But then, she hasn’t been to war as yet.”
“Nor will she ever be,” Alfred said confidently. “We’re leaving tonight, taking to the road again, as you please, Horace.”
“And if it doesn’t please me?” Horace asked.
“We’ll take no part in the games afoot,” Alfred said. “I have no desire to see this world ripped apart, lives destroyed over a selfish quest for power. I’ve given up my training.” Alfred’s hands shook as he clutched the reins rightly. He raised his chin and stared defiantly into Horace’s eyes. “I’ve said my good-byes to the prince and his sisters. They’ve given me their blessings so I have only to settle with you and then I’ll be off.”
The sun had sunk into the depths of the woods leaving only shards of light that flickered in Horace’s eyes. “Then be off with you, Alfred. You’ve outlasted my need of you. Our compact is complete; your training is ended—at your request. You’re free to go.”
Alfred let out the breath that he had been holding in, relieved that Horace was releasing him without inquiry or resistance. Alfred had expected a battle, of words, at least if nothing else. Alfred flinched as Horace smiled.
“There is, however, the matter of the money you owe me.” Horace stepped closer to Alfred, the coldness that surrounded him penetrating Alfred’s fur mantle. “I asked for information and paid Derik handsomely to get it, trusting that you would comply with my wishes. Derik reports that you turned him away, that you refused to cooperate with him.”
“Your arrangement with Derik does not concern me,” Alfred said, moving closer to Distral who had begun to stamp and snort. “You know I would never turn against the prince. I would never offer information that could bring harm to him or to his sisters.” Alfred tightened his grip on Distral. “And you know I have no money.”
“Then I’ll take this animal in trade,” Horace said turning to reach for the reins. Distral, however, was not a horse to be underestimated. Pivoting, she butted Horace in the chest and snapped at his hand, forcing him to leap backward.
“She doesn’t take kindly to being threatened.” Alfred moved closer to Distral who lowered her head, flaring her nostrils toward Horace.
“Then we’ll settle this matter another way.” Horace reached under his doublet and pulled out the amulet that hung around his neck, its heavy gold chain warm against his skin. The sapphire in the center flashed at his touch, pulsating in his hand like a beating heart. “I have no need of you, Alfred, nor do the prince and his sisters. You’ve become a liability, a nuisance to us all.” Horace turned slightly, holding the amulet toward the last rays of the dying sun. “Besides, you’ve been nothing more to me than an ornament in my library, a story teller to the prince, an extravagance that can no longer be afforded.”
The blue stone hummed as Horace closed his eyes, concentrating on the words that would force the stone to do his bidding. An errant golden ray struck the stone and Alfred shielded his eyes as a light brighter than the sun enveloped him, pinning him to the ground. Distral lurched, shoving Horace as he chanted but she was too late. Alfred fell.
Distral, mad with rage, reared onto her hind legs, lashing out with deadly hooves. It was true, she had not seen battle, but she had been trained. She knew how and where to strike to kill her enemy. Horace fell, his amulet still in his hand, his final words slurred and broken. Distral stood looking down at Alfred, her friend and master, her sides heaving, her heart breaking.
Darkness fell and the mists of the wood arose to conceal the three fallen figures: a wizard, a small stone gargoyle, and a figurine horse of pure gold.
man turned away with hardened eye
and magic fell
and falling,
died beneath the snow and stone
for forever and a day.
Summer had turned quickly into autumn, the leaves falling fast from the trees. Those that remained, the red and gold, rustled in the breeze that grew cooler with the rising of the stars and the rapid setting of the sun. Within the hour, the shadows would overtake the wood and all would be lost, the path, his direction, his heart. Alfred stood steady beside his horse, waiting for Horace to appear between the trees. He knew he would come as they had arranged. Alfred knew that there would be no further misunderstandings between them. His time had come.
“Hiding behind the animal, are you, Alfred?”
There had been no footstep through the woods. Horace had simply appeared between the trees where Alfred had expected him. He’d blinked perhaps, or turned to look at the sun at his back, and missed the apparition.
“Waiting for you, Horace,” Alfred said with a tremulous smile. “Always waiting.”
Horace wasted no time in shifting to Alfred’s side, sliding his gloved hand over the powerful flank of Alfred’s horse.
“I can see why you prefer to ride. She’s a beautiful animal.”
“She is that,” Alfred said and reached out to pat Distral, calming her as she flinched at Horace’s touch.
“Skittish for a war horse,” Horace said. “But then, she hasn’t been to war as yet.”
“Nor will she ever be,” Alfred said confidently. “We’re leaving tonight, taking to the road again, as you please, Horace.”
“And if it doesn’t please me?” Horace asked.
“We’ll take no part in the games afoot,” Alfred said. “I have no desire to see this world ripped apart, lives destroyed over a selfish quest for power. I’ve given up my training.” Alfred’s hands shook as he clutched the reins rightly. He raised his chin and stared defiantly into Horace’s eyes. “I’ve said my good-byes to the prince and his sisters. They’ve given me their blessings so I have only to settle with you and then I’ll be off.”
The sun had sunk into the depths of the woods leaving only shards of light that flickered in Horace’s eyes. “Then be off with you, Alfred. You’ve outlasted my need of you. Our compact is complete; your training is ended—at your request. You’re free to go.”
Alfred let out the breath that he had been holding in, relieved that Horace was releasing him without inquiry or resistance. Alfred had expected a battle, of words, at least if nothing else. Alfred flinched as Horace smiled.
“There is, however, the matter of the money you owe me.” Horace stepped closer to Alfred, the coldness that surrounded him penetrating Alfred’s fur mantle. “I asked for information and paid Derik handsomely to get it, trusting that you would comply with my wishes. Derik reports that you turned him away, that you refused to cooperate with him.”
“Your arrangement with Derik does not concern me,” Alfred said, moving closer to Distral who had begun to stamp and snort. “You know I would never turn against the prince. I would never offer information that could bring harm to him or to his sisters.” Alfred tightened his grip on Distral. “And you know I have no money.”
“Then I’ll take this animal in trade,” Horace said turning to reach for the reins. Distral, however, was not a horse to be underestimated. Pivoting, she butted Horace in the chest and snapped at his hand, forcing him to leap backward.
“She doesn’t take kindly to being threatened.” Alfred moved closer to Distral who lowered her head, flaring her nostrils toward Horace.
“Then we’ll settle this matter another way.” Horace reached under his doublet and pulled out the amulet that hung around his neck, its heavy gold chain warm against his skin. The sapphire in the center flashed at his touch, pulsating in his hand like a beating heart. “I have no need of you, Alfred, nor do the prince and his sisters. You’ve become a liability, a nuisance to us all.” Horace turned slightly, holding the amulet toward the last rays of the dying sun. “Besides, you’ve been nothing more to me than an ornament in my library, a story teller to the prince, an extravagance that can no longer be afforded.”
The blue stone hummed as Horace closed his eyes, concentrating on the words that would force the stone to do his bidding. An errant golden ray struck the stone and Alfred shielded his eyes as a light brighter than the sun enveloped him, pinning him to the ground. Distral lurched, shoving Horace as he chanted but she was too late. Alfred fell.
Distral, mad with rage, reared onto her hind legs, lashing out with deadly hooves. It was true, she had not seen battle, but she had been trained. She knew how and where to strike to kill her enemy. Horace fell, his amulet still in his hand, his final words slurred and broken. Distral stood looking down at Alfred, her friend and master, her sides heaving, her heart breaking.
Darkness fell and the mists of the wood arose to conceal the three fallen figures: a wizard, a small stone gargoyle, and a figurine horse of pure gold.