A Letter Arrives
Tancred raised a bushy eyebrow when Platov and Tate told of the vanquishing of Wraith right outside the walls of the castle. Fidgeting with his tea cup he looked between the both of them with his gray eyes. With softness in his voice he finally spoke.
“There is only one was to appease a dragon,” Tancred lectured. “As you cannot relinquish the Stone of Cuore to Scorch, you must offer him something of far greater value.”
“What can I give Scorch?” Platov asked.
“You will have to search until finding something of great value,” Tancred said. “A dragon never forgets. He may not come for you for years to come, but rest assured, one day he will come. As for Wraith, his anger boils over as you dared thwart him with the Stone of Cuore. Your talents tantalize him with greed. He conspires with revenge. You must always be on your guard for his reach is long.”
…
Tancred was preparing to depart on business. Leaving the care of his estate in the hands of his able servants, Platov and Tate were allowed to explore the castle. Upon entry through the main door, a deep tunnel of stone led to a second sturdy door. Once through the second door reinforced with heavy iron straps, a staircase led to the great hall. A massive hall filled the entirety of the second floor. The painting with Platov and Tate under the wing of Tancred filled the space over the fireplace. Ancient black iron candle stands illuminated the gloom of the massive hall. Leather chairs and heavy blackened oak tables sat near the fireplace on a thick, ornately woven carpet. Symbols only important to a wizard decorated the carpet while the walls were covered in thick tapestries colored in shades of red, emerald green, and royal blue.
Beyond the sitting area was a massive oak beam dining table that filled up one end of the massive hall. The table was surrounded by heavy oak chairs upholstered with red wool seats. For the time being the table would remain unused. Quintus had set out a centerpiece of dried flowers in the center of the table, but still without purpose the table appeared severe.
A staircase led to the third floor and that was where the Queen had stayed in a grand suite of chambers. More chambers were to either side of a corridor with a thick red carpet runner covering the floor. Ancestral portraits covered the severe stone walls while another set of stairs led up to the fourth floor. Tancred’s chamber was on that floor as that was the only place were glazed windows let in any light into the dark castle. Thick draperies were drawn back over the deep window alcoves.
Along the side of the keep was the single tower with additional chambers built on each level. Climbing high up to the roof, that tower looked over the curtain walls into the forest beyond. The light through tiny glass panes was a novelty as the upper chamber had opening windows. Charged with the chore of cleaning out the hearths, Platov and Tate got to see nearly every chamber in the old dark castle. Only Tancred’s private office and sleeping room remained unvisited.
There was no end of the chores that required Platov and Tate’s attention, but in return, Klara fed them well. Treated with fresh bread, shavings of salted and smoked meats, fresh herbs, fruits sometimes pureed, and occasionally even desserts of cakes or puddings. With winter coming on, firewood needed gathering and storing in the woodhouse. Trips into the forest with a donkey cart were frequent as daily they gathered up fallen branches and piled them onto the cart. In a heaping pile outside the woodhouse the wood was stacked haphazardly. Soon the work of cutting, splitting and piling the firewood up neatly in the woodhouse would begin.
One night, while sitting on the roof watching the swirling Oorts and twinkling stars, the sight of shooting stars crossed the heavens.
“A moonstone,” Platov said thoughtfully. “Sabian said there is no greater magic than a moonstone. I could find one and give it to Scorch, and then he would no longer be my enemy.”
“Where do we find a moonstone?” Tate asked.
“I do not know,” Platov said. Then dismissing the notion as he only had seen one and that was in Pristina. Sabian had taken the moonstone so that Wraith would not be able to capture it. He thought about how it glowed with fire and wondered what powers it possessed. Then watching as another shooting star crossed through the night sky, he tried to imagine the distance when the meteorite would finally crash to the earth.
“A quest to find a moonstone,” Tate said. “We should cross the land in search of just such a thing.”
“An adventure,” Platov sighed wishfully.
“Maybe you could repay Scorch with gold,” Tate said as that sounded more practical.
“A fortune in gold is as elusive as a moonstone falling from the sky into our very hands,” Sage who was usually quiet laughed rancorously.
“How do we find a moonstone?” Platov asked still not abandoning that notion.
“Perhaps you should look in the forest,” Sage said. “They are not moonstones in the first place, but meteorites that have nothing to do with the moon. A meteorite shower rained down all around us. Sabian only rescued one, there may have been others.”
“Do they always glow red?” Tate asked.
“Only until they have cooled,” Sage replied. “Then they look like ordinary stones crusted in a gray shell. Inside, under the shell is a shiny metal like silver with dark veins.”
“Huh,” Platov sighed as he imagined all the gray stones in the world that might be a meteorite.
“We will look,” Tate announced. “Tomorrow when we gather firewood.”
“Find one and polish it to reveal the true stone,” Sage said. “A great magic inside that any dragon would desire. Far more valuable than mere gold, perhaps even more valuable than the Stone of Cuore.”
“A quest to find a moonstone,” Tate said dreamily.
“Tomorrow,” Platov agreed. “Then Scorch will be satisfied.”
The silent sensation of cymbals striking punctuated the great plan as the glows swirled around just beyond the tower. Twinkling and moving in all directions, the Oorts of many different colors danced away into the forest.
The quest soon fell from their imagination after days of searching through the forest for one magical moonstone. Every gray stone found turned out to be just a stone and nothing valuable at all. Cracking open one stone after another, all they had to show for their efforts was just a pile of broken stones. But the heap of firewood had grown beyond even Kaspar’s expectations and soon the excursions into the forest were ended. Now began the work of cutting the firewood to length, splitting, and stacking it up neatly in the woodhouse. The idyllic days of wandering through the forest but just a fanciful memory as the work of stocking the woodshed were hard and tedious. Platov was beginning to think of another way to appease Scorch.
…
The firewood had finally been stored up to the rafters of the woodshed. On a crisp early autumn morning under a colorful canopy of turning leaves, Klara gave them baskets after breakfast. The boys went to the orchard and plucked all the apples and pears off the twisted ancient trees. Filling up baskets with fruit, they lugged them into a dark root cellar where they would stay cool for the winter. The garden needed a final harvesting too and days were spent finding every root, herb, and vegetable under every leaf. Leaving the spoilage for the birds and mice, the root cellar was now filled with a fine harvest. Then the heavy door was closed and the narrow sliver under the door was packed with dirt to keep the rodents away.
Ever shortening crisp autumn days were passing and still Tancred had not returned from his journey. Frost covered the courtyard grasses one morning and the boys found the duck pond glazed over with a thin layer of ice. Klara worried of Tancred and examined tea leaves floating in a cup of boiling water.
To keep busy, Kaspar accompanied them on a short trip to the village where Alexander lived. With the plan of purchasing hay to put in for the winter, they brought the donkey cart along to carry the load. The forest was ablaze in the final days of color while squirrels were racing madly from tree to tree gathering nuts. In gusts of wind, leaves swirled through the air blanketing
the forest floor in a thick layer of fading colors.
The village looked just as it did the last time they laid eyes on it with gray walls that stood on top of a mound of earth. Turrets covered in red roofs dotted the walls while the pastureland around the village was bathed in golden grains. Fires were burning where the pastures had been cut, scorching the grasslands back to the ground for the next year’s growth. Hay bales, rolled up and tied speckled the land.
A visit with Alexander did not seem out of order so as Kaspar went about his business, the boys went calling on the great artist. As could be expected, Alexander was immersed in his latest masterpiece. Holding his brush he looked over the two visitors.
“Tancred is away,” Platov said. “But he spoke of your painting. It was admired by the Queen.”
“The Queen?” Alexander glared doubtfully.
“Yea, she visited,” Platov said.
“And what did she say?” Alexander asked with piqued interest.
“I do not know,” Platov shrugged.
“We were not allowed to be seen,” Tate said.
“I canst imagine why,” Alexander scoffed. “The Queen would not take kindly to urchins within her sight. And what has the great Lord Tancred taught you?”
“Not very much,” Platov replied while Tate smirked.
“Just as I imagined,” Alexander said. “Tancred has already lost interest in the likes of you. Well don’t come crawling back to me.”
Platov smirked as that was surely one change of circumstances that was not likely to ever happen. Even though they were being worked to death, they had a nice chamber and Klara always fed them well.
“Tancred is good to us,” Tate said, perhaps only to rub in the point of the wizard being a far better master to serve.
Alexander roared with laughter and returned to his painting of a woman dressed severely with a lace shawl draped over her head.
The visit was short and had been hospitable. Alexander was gloating having had his head puffed up because his painting was approved by the Queen. The boys, bidding farewell, went off to find Kaspar and make their way back to the castle. The old donkey pulling the wagon loaded with hay took his time in making his way down the road. Nearing dusk by the time they finally made it into the gate, they parked the wagon near the stables for the night.
“This comes for you,” Klara pointed at a message tied up in a neat scroll with a blood red ribbon.
“It is wicked.” She said. Then she held a charm over the scroll and squeezing the charm in the palm of her hand, a green drop of thin liquid fell upon the message bathing it in a pale glow briefly. Then with a hiss, the ribbon untied itself and the scroll rolled out across the table. Written with neat handwriting, the letter was signed at the bottom with a flourish of black ink.
“What does it say?” Platov looked over the symbols and then examined the wicked face that was imprinted in the upper right corner. With sneering eyes, there was no mistaking who had sent the message. Platov untied the bag with the Sage then he moved the orb over the letter.
“It says that you are to turn over the Stone of Cuore and Sage of Cent Fois, which is me of course. Wraith has discovered that you have taken me from the cave and he is furious.” Sage said as he read over the letter. Then with magic that Platov did not conjure, the scroll vanished into a cloud of smoke. Klara opened the door and whisked the evil ashes out of her kitchen with a nasty remark.
“I am not turning anything over to Wraith,” Platov said as he watched the smoke disappear.
“I would not believe that you would have any intention,” Sage said. “No matter, Wraith says that he is gathering his forces. You must comply with his demands within a fortnight.”
“A siege,” Kaspar sighed. “Best we close the bridge and polish up our armor. A swift rain would replenish the moat nicely.”
Klara looked angry, but she agreed with Platov in his resolve.
“I wish that Tancred were here,” Klara said. “Sit now and eat. I will send word to the master.”
Chapter 13: The Castle Prepares