Wyrmsong

[Paxiosolange]

Beyond the northerly mountains, a country stands
Before tranquil shores and west of Arkian lands
Called the Shrumland it is, this earth fruitful and rife
Ruled by Godfrey of Wormfyre and Queen Wynifred, his wife.

The fair Shrummish wood is fair, black, and plain
Yet upon deeper journeys, thou shalt find these so strange
Taller than trees are the great gleaming domes
Mushrooms from which men make into their homes.

And deeper yet will thou findest wee faerie folk
Who when lone in the marsh may jape thee a poke
Yet beware the wirwyn upon whom thy gaze may fall
Who shan't stifle thee should thou sayest nothing at all.

And amidst these talking beasts are the kind Shrummish men
Who toil humbly as do mortals in their Earl's demesne
In thee might they confide the bane of Shrumland's accord
The creatures of pure evil, the serpents, and their lord.

Wormkynge the dragon, many Knights could not best
They return with his head yet the beast does not rest
Thou may ponderest how headless he returns to his trouble
For when severed are his heads, will they simply redouble.

From Wyrmsong by Stanwig the Poet​

 

[Paxiosolange]

In Midhafen born, a child is hence
The midwives did best to conceal the offence
The son of his Lady, cursed and abhorred
Sir Heardred would kill should he know her a whore.

The lady-in-waiting did fly with the child
Past gates of the keep and into the wild
In mushroomy meadows at the black hour of night
Boy lay upon toadstool, no mercy, nor light.

On babe fell the eyes which beamed wildly with glee
Of two wirwyn grown starving, and so they agreed
One raised up her talons to tear at his flesh
And ruthlessly feast upon meat which was fresh.

Yet as fine claws were brazenly raised up on high
A sparkle of starlight raged forward from nigh
A faerie so true to the babe in white cloth
Who conjured a swarm of bloodthirsty moths.

Away flew the Wirwyn in fright of the flock
And took shape did the fae with fair hair and white frock
The high Lady Elwynne, so childless and smitten
She swaddled the boy and by love, she was bitten.

Around came the fauns and all manner of beast
To gaze at the prince saved this night from the feast
And to baptize his son came the Faelaird so plucky
Son of Oberon and Elwynne, hail Wodric the Lucky!

From Wyrmsong, by Stanwig the Poet​

 

[Paxiosolange]

And Wodric the Lucky, in his eighteenth year
Would embark on a quest that many should fear
For terror would ravage his birthplace, Elfame
As stewards of Wormkynge set country aflame.

From Wyrmsong, by Stanwig the Poet​

​

---

Wodric awoke at the brink of dawn to a miniature creaking in the hall before his bedchamber. His hollowed mushrump-walls were fitted with windowsills, floors, and fixtures carved from thick country wood and all croaked at once when feet pressed upon the boards. The muffled sounds came right up to the door, and Wodric steadily slipped from his linens and fell behind the bed frame. The door drifted across the floor and Wodric peered in silence, fingering the stiletto his father Oberon had given him for his comfort in the wild province.

Two little feet snuck up to the bedsheets and grunted, before Wodric jumped out with the cutter firmly in his palm. The woman, his mother, was startled and nearly dropped the items in her own palms. Wodric sputtered and smirked, emitting the faintest giggle.

"Young prince, you certainly did not believe I was an intruder?" Lady Elwynne demanded.
"I am eighteen years of age, mother. All the Fae tell me that it is when boys get into trouble." Wodric said, pocketing the stiletto in its scabbard.
"If you must know, they tease, as all Fae do. Upon eighteen years of age, the duties of a man fall upon boys." Elwynne replied. "Duties that strip the boy of his innocence, such that it may delight our kind to play many tricks to liven their spirits."
"Or pester them needlessly." Wodric said.
"Aye, son. Not all men find us fae-folk so pretty."

Elwynne frowned for a moment and Wodric came around the bedside to inspect the things in her hand, all the while placing a hand on his mother's shoulder. A human without a doubt, Wodric was a whole two feet higher than his mother the radiant Lady of the Faeries. In her hands was a smooth tray holding pearlescent silverware. Upon it a loaf of fresh bread, a draught of honey, tea, milk, and a wedge of golden butter.

"You would treat me so kindly? Wodric asked.
"For my son, the lucky one. Sweetmeat for supper."

She laid the tray well on the linens and Wodric sat to scrape some of the butter and honey onto a thick, warm slice of bread. Elwynne was doing something very quietly with her hands, and suddenly, a shimmering gust appeared in the air and enchanted the food as Wodric ate of it. The simple delight of bread and honey was enhanced and made devilishly good. So good, in fact, that Wodric coveted more after he swallowed his last bite. But as he knew wisely, being raised around magic his whole adopted life, the temptations of good magic were never to be exploited. There were stories of lost magicians, gone mad in pursuit of greater and greater pleasures, never able to satisfy.

"I remember so fondly, eighteen years ago. You came like a gift from the heavens. You were... are... a gift from the heavens in my mind." Elwynne started.
"Left in the woods, not a clue where I'd been born. And two wirwyn came, hungering jealously over my flesh." Wodric smirked.
"Oh how dreadful it was, son! That day I vowed, I would always protect you."

Wodric looked away for a moment, through the windowpanes and out into Elfame, the shrouded gorge that was capital to all the talking beasts and Fae.

"Ah-h-h, men cannot hide their feelings from Fae. Always I have known what you desire." Elwynne sighed.
"And always I have been a prince. Sheltered and well-fed and without a secret to myself, without a care for the outer world. I hear stories of brave knights errant from the others."
"My son is my gift. The knights of the land are arrogant men. They journey into danger for ignoble pursuits. You are blessed to not be such a creature."

Wodric pushed away his meal and made towards the windowsill. I am such a creature, he thought to himself. Elwynne was growing more and more aware of his unhappiness. As a child, living in Elfame was paradise. The greatest and thickest mushrooms dotted along the winding paths, protecting the dreamworld within with its wild ravines lush with wildrose and its glowing caverns where the fauns danced with and embraced one another. But this was all he knew. And as he grew older, he wondered what the world beyond Elfame held. Elwynne stood up from the bed and stirred towards the hall. In a brief shimmer of stardust, the boy's father, Oberon, appeared at the door.

Oberon was a thimble taller than Elwynne, and wore on his head the laurel wreath of the Faelaird, a crown to denote his status as ruler of the Faeries and liege to the knightly demesnes between Midhafen and Chantreigh. While Elwynne wore a pinafore, spotless and neat, Oberon wore instead a mucky vest, breeches, and longcoat with no shift to cover his hairy belly nor garters to cover his hairy legs. A long, wispy beard fell from his face to his midriff. He smiled at his son, and Wodric beamed in return.

"My son, the man, pouts on his birthday! But not for long, I reckon." He said.
"Father, have you been up to some trouble?" Wodric smirked.
"Eat the supper your mother has made you. And perhaps I'll show you."
"I say, Oberon, don't get Wodric mixed up in some dreadful business on his most special day!" Elwynne cautioned.

But Wodric was quickly stripping the bread loaf to shreds and laying the butter and honey on fast, taking quick bites and filling his mouth full. Oberon held out his hand to beckon his son. Wodric took a great gulp of tea and stacked his silverware clumsily on the platter before jumping to Oberon and clasping his hand, bringing their fists close to his breast as in an instant, the mushrump-house vanished and the father and son pair had been transported somewhere else within Elfame.

 

[Paxiosolange]

When the pair had reappeared, Wodric found himself crouched behind a large boulder that interrupted formed an upward palissade of craggy outcrop and wild grass. He was accompanied by two of Oberon's would-be vassals. These scumbags were named Buckbearde and Dunstan. Buckbearde wore nothing but a pair of sagging trousers and frayed riding boots which slumped over the faerie's ankles. Like Wodric's father, he was terribly hairy and sported a great beard, though Buckbearde was quite a dastardly, slender fellow, and a true imbecile at heart. Dunstan on the other hand, held a constant expression of both discomfort and absent-mindedness, like a helpless, moping drunk. He was a big-bellied faerie, even more so than Oberon, and stomped wherever he went.

"What have we gotten ourselves into, this time?" Wodric exclaimed.

Dunstan was peering over the boulder and shot a glance back at the boy, "Quiet, kid!"

"Jolly good to see you, Wodric!" Buckbearde smiled, feigning several rapid strikes to the gut. "We'd some revellers out near the highway over the week. Dunstan and I were watching them one week ago. Yet still today their camp stands."
"Knights?"
"Nay, lad. Your typical rabble. Tinkers and travellers." Buckbearde replied.
"Bloody paupers and braggarts, they are! Feats of juggling, games by the pint! hoisting down toadstools and tearing apart the wood to build a circus of drunks!"
"Calm thee, Dunstan. They're simply doing what men do. No offence, lad." He said to Wodric. "But indeed it's a mighty nuisance and its about time they get their move on."
"All this romping and feasting. And yet I've never even had a sip of spirit in my life." Wodric sighed.
"And better you never sip at all!" Dunstan said. "Lest you forget the honour we faeries have."

Oberon, who was standing very silently, watched his son as he chatted with his friends. He felt the grief which slowly picked at his son. The boy's a man, he thought. Even in the grandeur of the game, he's so agog with his kind. My son, the mortal. Not a troublemaker by any means, but so jealously he wishes to be. Wodric, at this moment, was peering over the boulder where Dunstan had been. The encampment by the highway was harsh and barbaric. A haphazard binding of mushrump-stalks and timber in twine, a hutment about the size of his home in Elfame. A billowing of smoke charged out from centre of the roofs, their fires withering with age. Some of the drunkards laid around the huts in thick animal robes to waylay the cold. The idea of the animal hunt was very controversial to Wodric, for all animals were granted protection in Elfame, even the vicious wirwyns. But the way a leg of lamb or a great pork loin crisped over a hot fire had alone tempted him to trap a squirrel or a hare for a taste.

Suddenly, Buckbearde addressed the lot of them. "Well here's the plan, lads. While they lay sleeping amongst themselves, I shall subtly jerk a man's wrist. A spank of the bum here, a strike of the eye there." He began to giggle devilishly. "Soon it'll be madness through and through. There'll not be a scoundrel in that hutment that'd have the gut to stick around after such a scrap!"

"They'll go fell toadstools elsewhere, those bastards." Dunstan muttered.

They gathered shoulder-to-shoulder with their eyes peering over at the encampment. Wodric, being taller than the three faerie men, slouched semi-uncomfortably. Buckbearde began to skip around the boulder and sprinkled a dusting of golden magic powder about his person like perfume. Suddenly, he vanished. Although he was still visible to the other faeries who tracked him all the way up the palissade, across the highway, and into the hutment. They all waited a moment, and waited, and waited. Watching for Buckbearde's return, almost everyone was beginning to wonder if something had impeded the execution of the plan.

"I will go see what has happened." Dunstan said, hopping forcefully over the rock.

His great belly rolled down the outcrop and he jumped to his legs, sprinkling some of the magic dust upon himself as he trotted towards Buckbearde. Again, there was no disturbance. Dunstan and Buckbearde had both vanished into the encampment and must've been beholden to something. Oberon looked up to his son, both he and Wodric wore furrowed brows. He longs to come and see what trouble we've encountered. Must I continue to compel him to sit it out? My son of eighteen years? Oberon scratched his head in the space between the leaves of his laurel crown.

"I'm not sure what to make of it, son." Oberon muttered.
"You can't make them out?"
"The others stepped into the crooked hall they've built on the mud. Perhaps they've been roused by some trinkets in somebody's valises."
"Dunstan is only obsessed with gold. I doubt these vagrants have much of that."

Wodric crept down from the boulder and faced his father. "I have a bad feeling about this, father, I think we should go up to the encampment and make sure no one has been caught."

Oberon scratched his beard. "Yes, yes, you're right. But do well to stay close and behind your father!"

The father and son finally scaled the outcrop, this time making no effort to conceal themselves other than the simple brown hoods they both kept around their necks. As they made their way across the gravelly highway, the smell of the place began to waft in the air. It was a foul and rotten stink, one that surpassed even the worst muck that was produced from a nightly drunkard. Oberon was not sensitive to this, but Wodric could hardly compel himself to move forward at one point. Has some carcass been left near the pass? He wondered.

As they reached the foot of the hutment, trouble soon gave way to tragedy. For the bodies which were scattered among the huts were not of those who had overindulged. Rather, these poor souls were dead. Oberon readied his knife and in tandem with his son, and the two crept across the area. Wodric stopped at the foot of a corpse and looked into one's eyes.

"Blind." Wodric said, shuddering at the dead man's gaze.
"What says ye?" Oberon asked.
"These men were blinded. See how their eyes are pearly and colourless."
"I see what you mean, their faces are also covered with some kind of oil." said Oberon.

At once he took Wodric's arm and tucked the hood over his brow. Wodric complained that he could not see so well, but Oberon insisted for his own safety. As they encountered the crooked hall, Oberon flung open the croaking door with his hand gripped tightly around the stiletto.

"Buckbearde?" Oberon called out. "Dunstan?" But there was no reply.

Wodric and Oberon crept in, looking about the hall. Although it looked only slightly crooked from afar, one could tell how poorly the foundation had been erected upon closer inspection. The whole east face of the hall was sinking into the mud which spewed out into the straw floor and caused the mushroom-roof to pitch slightly toward the ground. The central fireplace at the heart of the hall was glowing red with embers, but a fire had not been burning for some time now, filling the room full of grey smoke and flickering white ash. A few bodies were accumulated at the far end of the hall. Wodric let go of Oberon's grip to rush over and inspect them, leading Oberon to make after him with cautious steps.

"You must be careful, Wodric. These are a mighty lot of bodies here." He said, hacking away at the smoke.
"Father, some of these bodies have been half-devoured."

Wodric began to quiver. Oberon quickly sheathed his knife and produced a tinderbox from his purse. Once he had fiddled with the match and lit his candlestick, he shone the light over the trauma. Some men had their upper halves severed from their legs and their bones spread out around them. Some men had no arms or legs and simply slumped over each other like impotent sacks of flour. Wodric trembled even more as he caught a glimpse of another corpse, this one was a boy, about the same age as he, blinded like the others, and his jaw totally severed at one end, so that it hung about over his neck, and a great splashing of blood across his tunic, his britches, and his sleeves.

"We should fly at once, Oberon." Wodric whispered.

Oberon knew there was more than simple trouble ahead of them, there was a darkness here. This kind of a massacre was beyond what Oberon had ever seen in recent years. Not since he was a wayfaring young swashbuckler himself had he encountered such collections of evil in nature. He regretted that he had involved his son, a mortal no less, in such terrible peril. He regretted even more what Elwynne should do once they returned to Elfame and would have to tell her what they had seen.

"Yes, let us fly. Back to Elfame. This problem merits a conscription of arms. We must return here with more faeries." Oberon said.
"Put out your candle and make haste." Wodric replied.

As Oberon blew out the flame and restored it to the tinderbox. Wodric had his eyes fixed on the ceiling, which swirled and spun nebulously in the thickness of the smoke. When Oberon finally began to stir towards the door, Wodric jumped.

"Father, watch out!"

All of a sudden, a great shadow struck out from the ceiling and began tumbling towards Oberon. His son's agility had saved him dearly though, for as the creature stomped into the ground, Oberon had jumped back into Wodric's grasp. Both of them kept their daggers pointed towards the danger as they grappled towards the end of the hall. The creature slowly began to unfurl itself. It was a colossal serpent, wielding two great legs and sharp silvery talons in the folds of its scales. Its basilisk-face peered out across at them with glowing red eyes and jaw wide open, revealing its swordlike teeth which glimmered spotlessly like its talons.

"Oh, bloody hell." Oberon whispered. "That thing, it's swallowed Buckbearde and Dunstan whole!"

 

[Paxiosolange]

The wicked creature lunged at father and son and emitted a spray of that clear oil from its front teeth. Both jumped in opposing directions to avoid the venom. Wodric crouched behind a wooden pillar as Oberon began to strafe around his corner. The serpent began to track him, watching the Faelaird move left and right like a pendulum, all the while preparing to pounce. Oberon shot a glance at his son, although Wodric could not discern if it was intended to be a signal to strike or a signal to flee. But Oberon was only thinking of how brave his son had been, and looked to recognize his courage.

Suddenly, the creature began talking. "Ye faeries don't taste so nice" said it, then turned to Wodric and hissed. "A man is in our midst. Good flesh I've not had in days!"

Wodric saw the thing stir. He threw himself out of the way again as the next strike came. The creature bashed into the pillar and shattered it. As the rest of the column toppled into the ground, the crooked ceiling began to groan and creak, tilting another few degrees forward. Oberon suddenly appeared at the neck of the serpent, his little body scaling its back with the dagger in hand. The beast began to writhe and shake, scampering around the middle of the hall and bending as Oberon struggled to pierce its scaly head with his stiletto.

Again, Wodric cried "Father, watch out!"

Oberon proved nimble once again, and slid down the neck of the serpent just before its sharp talons could swat him away. Oberon stuck the blade deep into one of the creature's legs before making himself scarce. It hollered and shook its talons.

"Ugly imp, Wormkynge shall punish thee for that one!" The creature cursed.

The snake-tail came whipping around where Oberon ran and tackled him across the room toward Wodric. The young man grabbed his father by the waistcoat and pulled him up behind the pillar as the serpent beckoned the tail again. Faeries were mighty tough, but a good flinging such as the one inflicted upon Oberon would certainly give him something to remember over the coming week. At this point, Wodric and Oberon were eyeing the path towards the open door, monitored by the serpent.

"Can't you make yourself invisible?" Wodric whispered.
"That manner of beast would be able to see me. Look what good it did for the others." Oberon gestured to the bulge in the serpent's belly. "We should distract him with magic and make for the door." He continued, and began to conjure some twinkling stars about his palms.
"Nay, nay!" Wodric muttered, clasping his father's hands. "That's what a beast should want us to do. It's certainly expecting us to make for the entrance. I have a better idea."

Wodric pointed at the ceiling with a hushed expression now. Although it was quite dark and ever-brimming with smoke, the slight change in the roof's position let in a few rays of sun, exposing a deep crack in the architecture. As Wodric pressed against the pillar, flakes of wood and dust began to drift downwards upon them. Oberon smiled as he recognized them.

"Come out, ye!" The serpent bellowed, "Men and faeries living together. Could there not be anything more pathetic?"

Wodric let out a hand from behind the column and cast his dagger at the beast, which knocked into its face and tumbled upon the ground. The creature laughed softly. "Perhaps that could be more."

And then both Oberon and Wodric began throwing all sorts of things back at the snake. Stones, tin mugs, shards of glass, and cakes of mud came flying around the pillar. As each trinket bounced off of the serpent's body, it began to look more and more annoyed. Once Oberon had cast a particularly wet ball of dirt upon the snake's face, it finally gave a loud hiss and flashed its great silvery teeth again. It began to slither behind the pillar, although Oberon and Wodric moved in tandem with the beast, never facing it directly. It flung its tail back and forth around them, but both were able to skip past the thrashing limb like a jumprope. Then, as the serpent got impatient, it beckoned its head and struck at the pillar. wrestling Oberon to the ground and thrusting Wodric toward the wall. Oberon did his best to keep the beast's basilisk-face from biting his head off, but at last it made no difference.

The crack in the ceiling splintered and the crooked mushrump-roof began to level out, causing a massive beam of wood to break away from the wall and pummel the serpent. Then, as the snake began to squeal, Wodric grabbed his stiletto from across the hall, jumped upon the beam and drove the dagger straight into its head. The creature's red eyes faded into darkness and its jaws contracted as it died. Oberon thrust himself away from its face and stood up, observing the mayhem which had marked every corner of the hall.

"Quick, take a dagger to its belly!" He said.

Wodric removed the head-sunk blade and slid down the beam towards the bulging stomach. After some careful slashes at its scales, the beast's innards spat out upon the straw-floor and with them came Buckbearde and Dunstan wrapped around one another, both in a state of absolute exhaustion. Wodric tended to them immediately, and pulled off his hood in order to clean their hands and faces with something as they moaned in their weariness.

"I believe I know this creature." Oberon sighed, "Methinks its a Lindwyrm, a serpent of the land."
"Worms." Wodric repeated. "It was hissing about something called Wormkynge."
"A serpent of the sea he is, one who is said to be unbeatable. King of all the serpents is Wormkynge and these beasts are his spawn. I haven't seen one so close to Midhafen though. In my swashbuckling days there were smaller ones mostly out west near Wormfyre. Where one goes, you can count on dozens to follow. Strange is this indeed."
"What will we do now?" Wodric inquired.
"We will go back to Elfame and gather the races. The Faunlaird and Wirwynlaird must know of this trouble. Then we must go to Midhafen and see old Sir Heardred to whom I am liegeman."
"We? You mean the both of us, then?"

Oberon smiled sheepishly. He came around the dead lindwyrm to his son's side and plucked his dagger from the creature's leg as he spoke. "Alas, you are a cunning fellow, I've seen it today. When at first I regretted bringing my own son into this danger, now do I thank the stars above that you were here to save me and my stewards from a good ass-whipping! You and I shall both go to Midhafen."

 

[Paxiosolange]

At once came the wirwyn, the fae, and the faun
To rectify ends and plan how to move on
As serpent stormed wood did the homeland fall back
Village crushed, magic hushed and no way to attack.

Wodric so brave only could serve now as squire
As Elfame turned cold he swore vengeance in fire
To Sir Heardred's castle, was Faelaird dispatched
With wife and son, supper, and plans to be hatched.

From Wyrmsong, by Stanwig the Poet​

---

Wodric stood at the familiar wooden windowsill in his bedchamber, overlooking the treacherous night. For a long time, Wodric simply stood there looking at shimmers of lightning and jolting with each clap of thunder. Never have I longed so little to go out into the night, he thought to himself. As each flash of light illuminated the outer wood, Wodric could figure all manner of creatures. Serpents slithered among tree-trunks and mushrump-stalks, spitting poison, fire, pitch, and blood. Wirwyn landed in the flowerbeds and chattered like mad birds, picking away at rats and other vermin while beating the bone and other rotten bits for every scrap. Wodric saw dragons and wild Arkian folk, fanged-sirens swimming in the ravines, wereboar about the fences, and tarantulas webbing the voids betwixt mushrooms.

Enough! Wodric thought, drawing the blinds in an anxious rage. I fall prey to my own imagination. All these things are out and about, aye. All these things I could slay, aye. But why should I fear them at night? As he plopped himself down upon the side of his bed, he could see the shimmering of golden light disturb the shadows cast by the candlelight. Lady Elwynne emerged from the air with a frown to match her knotted hair and dark green travelling robe. Both souls could scarcely look upon each other but upon gazing at her disapproval, Wodric finally shook his head.

"You'd best not waste magic when in Elfame anymore, Mother. And Oberon, he is wistful."
"I am upset and unwell." She replied. "And you know I wish not to see your father."

Wodric came frustratedly around the bed. "Faeries and their impish squabbles! Both of you were complicit in what happened a week ago! And none could've done any more than they had!"

"Impish!" Elwynne cursed, "You cry in this imp's arms, then learn all you know in this walls of this imp's house, and yet I am host to such cruel words!"
"Why are you gone? Why are you here?" Wodric asked.
"The sadness which overcomes a faerie is consummate, and cannot be mended without journeying to the pool of her birth. This you will take care to remember from now on, for the next time you frighten me so ghoulishly." Elwynne said. "And here I come to delay my healing for your own sake."
"What sake is that? Perhaps I need time by my lonesome, too." Wodric scoffed.

Elwynne stomped towards her son.

"Then you will have it!" She barked. "But mend your tongue and at that, your woes. In six further nights we are summoned to Huscradol, the estate of Sir Heardred in Midhafen. In time we shall solve the troubles of Elfame, beginning with those which graze our own family's bonds! So if this mother's desire to soothe is refused, then leastwise will I impart upon ye some sense! We will require all the wisdom and strength this family can muster to please the old Knight, so finished are you with these wild games and distractions. You have been made a squire, just as you desired. But now you must carry the responsibilities of a squire, which are not merely to slay beasts and adventure like in the old tales! You are a vassal, and to your father, liegeman. Do you understand this?"

Although this tongue-lashing was quite sincere, both mother and son looked upon each other with inordinate shame. The friction was a novel feeling for each and the way it had sprung from the terrible affairs of the past week had led each to bow their heads wistfully. Wodric began to recall the entire turn of events.

Once Wodric had returned from the hutment with his father, things hastily began to deteriorate. The two explained what had come over the morning of Wodric's birthday to Elwynne. They spoke of the drunkards' slaughter, the serpent, and the great struggle that ensued. As Wodric eventually revealed his bloodied dagger to Elwynne, she nearly dropped in shock. That day, she had become so cross with her husband, and so distraught with her son that she began to shed tears, and she wept for hours. Faeries seldom do this and those who do must return to the pool of her birth to replenish their power, as she would explain to Wodric. So without so much as a farewell, she journeyed off at once to her birth-pond in the groves of Gatweigh, which was northeast from Midhafen town and the hidden gorge of Elfame.

Hardened, yet resilient, Oberon sent for a council of the races and without a moment's delay, the Wirwynlaird and the Faunlaird arrived from their lands, whose names were Skanleth and Haerlegge respectively. In their entourage were many other faun and wirwyn, each bearing many different colours and patterns of fur, feather, and donned in their local regalia. Some came from as far as the forests of Heighkeepe, which straddled the mountains where serpents could never reach at all.

In the blackening of twilight, Wodric found himself sleepless and trembling. So fearful was Wodric that he could not look away from the roaring fire at the heart of the clearing where the council stood in session, even in the company of his fellow countrymen. If he looked to the trees, he was positive he would see beasts of the night. Skanleth could sense Wodric's dismay. At every chance she could, she glared into his eyes with a terrific smile to mock the lad.

"Wodric the Lucky? Slaying a lindwyrm by his own wit?" Skanleth was saying. "Why he cannot even turn to face me!"

The other wirwyn of the council cackled along with her, though Oberon and the others remained still-faced and impatient. The wirwyn were known after all for their cruelty.

"Skanleth, hear me now. A lindwyrm near Elfame is unusual. Do you not agree?" Oberon asked.
"It is unusual." Haerlegge interjected. "And though I do not doubt the certainty of your claim, I must ask why the lieutenants of Wormkynge would target Elfame rather than settlements of men."
"Well, I know the answer, perhaps." Skanleth scoffed. "Have you given any thought to the man's role in this regard?"

Wodric looked up from the fire with a miserable expression, this time more vexed than affright.

"You speak of Wodric, my son, Skanleth." Oberon grumbled.
"I speak of the man, indeed." Skanleth canted. "Does not he know who Wormkynge detests the most? The race of men! The slayers of serpents! Wormkynge's spawn are a cancer to us magic-blooded folk. They set our magic groves aflame and burrow in the enchanted earth. All to encircle the bastions of mankind and strike! At the expense of the magic races. That is what serpents are best at, indeed. Oberon, I protest your man is the source of your woes!"
"I won't have your vicious demagoguery in this council!" Oberon stomped. "You've reported trouble with serpents in your demesne as well, Skanleth. Are you perchance harbouring a man, too?"
"Only the ones we feast upon." Skanleth grinned, nodding to Wodric. "Fine, Faelaird. Ignore my good reason. But only one other possibility remains instead."
"Go on, Skanleth." Haerlegge said.
"Wormkynge grows stronger with each feeble attempt man makes to subdue him. That is all my Knight begrudgingly reports. I suspect there are plans in motion. War, against all of the Shrumland!"

The entire assembled gasped and began murmuring amongst each other. Oberon sighed as he endured the stirring of the crowd. The dramatics of the Wirwyn are a corruption in times of need. I doubt they will make good allies. He thought. But indeed I've come to shiver at the mere idea of it... War with Wormkynge himself.

"We wouldn't be able to fight it ourselves." Oberon sighed.
"Why?" Wodric finally spoke, prompting many to turn to face him.

Oberon shook his head. "Our magic is no good, and yet it is our only weapon. We have not the constitution to take arms nor finesse to match the serpent. Remember once more what happened to Buckbearde and Dunstan, who yet sleep by the waters of their birth-pools. And to field an army requires discipline, that which we also regrettably have not."
"So a man is what you will need to fight him." Said Wodric, reflexively.

Skanleth came around the firepit, leaving Oberon and Haerlegge to take a closer look at Wodric. The wirwyn's hideous human face was reminiscent of a witch and her ferocious wing-feathers and lion-fur stood on edge like a tiger in fury. She bellowed suddenly, and although Wodric wished so badly to run, he knew he would only be making a fool of himself. As Skanleth flashed her jealous teeth which appeared quite similar to the lindwyrm's, his eyes widened and he thought, is she going to eat me?

"Enough, Skanleth. You'd dare not torment my son. You know very well that he now is our best chance."
"Best chance!" Skanleth and Haerlegge uttered simultaneously.
"Best chance?" Wodric repeated. "Against whom? Against Wormkynge?"

Wodric's curiosity had the better of him now. He stood up from his place and looked on from the fire at Oberon. Thought, what does he mean to say, here?

"This boy-child wouldn't last a single moment against him. Wormkynge has over a dozen heads now with which to swallow him and still, all he requires is one!" Skanleth protested.
"But who will fight for the magic-folk? Who will fight for Elfame, Gotgrafa, and Manignyst? No human knight beyond the gorge will take care to fend for magic races. And if we cannot champion ourselves, then I suggest..."

Oberon turned to face Wodric across the fire, stroking nervously at his beard.

"I suggest we appoint the man squire."
"Now hold your tongue a minute, Oberon." Haerlegge said. "You say this man will fight for us, but will he truly fight for all? Behold his contempt for Skanleth, he would not fight for the wirwyn."
"His contempt lies sensibly in this Wirwyn's ill favour. If only she held favour for others, we'd need not prolong this matter." Oberon countered.
"And yet, Oberon, my point still stands." Skanleth flouted, shaking her wings. How could a squire of ours do any better than the other human champions?"

Wodric finally loosened his lips to stand for himself. Yet as he spoke, he could see the eyes of Oberon, Skanleth, and Haerlegge start to wander over his head. Wodric turned to find five fauns storming the fireside and calling for their leader. Haerlegge came bounding around to see that each had sustained injuries. Either burns had blackened their leg-fur or brazened their skin. One was even maimed in the legs and braced on the shoulders by two others in order to move. Each one looked patchy and exhausted. Even Skanleth's proud smirk had quivered slightly upon seeing the group arrive.

Then, as Haerlegge was consulting with his folk, a group of three wirwyn flew in from the stars above and made a landing near the fire, aggravating the blaze with the flapping of their magnificent feathery wings. Skanleth's half-smile had faded completely once she saw that the third wirwyn, a juvenile, which straddled one of the creatures' backs was stiff and still, dead by all accounts.

The relative silence up until this point now began to break away into pockets of conversation as the new arrivals stirred the peace.

"What devilry is this, Eterheafd?" Skanleth demanded, trembling in fury.
"Another lindwyrm, Your Excellency. The wicked creature burrowed below a nest of seven! In the night, the creature came above to find flesh. Neither parent nor kinsman made it out living. And loveless, the offspring hath died." Heafdeter cursed.

As this cruel revelation stirred unthinkable hatred among the coven of wirwyn, Haerlegge and the five other faun returned to Oberon's side. "In the lower gorge, another lindwyrm, Oberon." Said Haerlegge.

A third! Wodric jolted. "In Elfame? What has it done?"

"The faun hutment there has been razed. We guaranteed each resident safe passage west to Gotgrafa before returning here. I must admit, the serpent spits fire so savagely one might think Wormkynge himself!" The crippled faun exclaimed.
"Skanleth, Haerlegge. We have no time to spare. If this is war, then we must mobilize at once." Said Oberon.

Then he turned to the five injured goat-men. "Hear me now, Haerlegge owes you all a bellyful of ale upon your return home. Ye five fauns truly are heroes."
"That we do." Haerlegge grinned. "Yet I can see the time is dire, Oberon. My bucklings are at your service. Do what you must, if need be I shall pledge to Wodric my support."

Skanleth trotted pompously towards the pair of elfin sprites wearing a renewed fury. "Yes, you imps will do what you must. But no Wirwyn shall remain in this savage rathole! Elfame to the wirwyn may just as well be lost! We shall fly to Manignyst and sort out our own difficulties. For your sake, I pray that your pageboy here is not killed too hastily. And if so, then I can only hope you've divined some alternative."

And with her final castigation, Skanleth galloped straight across the clearing and took flight, followed by the two other wirwyn and the dead cub at their back. Then, an entire squall of bird-flight overcame the fireside and the sky was brimming with flocks of wirwyn.

"Skanleth is proud, make no mistake, but she knows what we intend to do is right." Oberon gestured to Haerlegge. "Now son, come hither. I must make you a squire, and at once! This new lindwyrm cannot be allowed to spread its corruption here in Elfame. It must be dispatched before daybreak and if not, shall we all die in our effort!"

Wodric was still rather flustered by the new dangers, but with Skanleth gone there was less to meddle with his temper. I could have died this afternoon, I could die now this night. He thought. But I could also die tomorrow, and the next day, and the next. And although the mere thought of a fire-spitting snake set his heart battering about his chest, he understood now that there was a path before him which he certainly must take. If not, Elfame and the Shrumland all at once might fall into the hands of the vile Wormkynge. Like the stories of the brave knights errant. He approached his father, and bent a knee towards him.

"Go on." He muttered.

Now with all the sprites' gazes upon Oberon and Wodric, the Faelaird raised his hand on high. From nothing but the cold air, he conjured in his right hand a shortsword which glowed white like silver and shimmered like a still lake in the moonlight. The weapon was an illusion of course, conjured by magic. Yet it certainly mimicked many swords talked about in old tales of bravura. Magic was always useful in that regard.

"With this blade I brandish do I, Oberon of Elfame, Faelaird, under liege of King Godfrey of Wormfyre, investeth thee, Wodric the Lucky, squire, sword, and gallant. Dost thou accept?"

With his eyes fixed upon the enchanted sword, Wodric said "I do."

Then, like the talons of the wirwyn so many years ago, the sword came down about Wodric's shoulders. On tap at the left, one at the right, and suddenly, the sword disappeared in a haze of golden stardust. Wodric rose to see the crowd which had assembled around him. Oberon stepped forward to face them too. "Now, all you who are able shall fight with our champion! With courage we ride to the lower gorge, and death to the lindwyrm!"

As the council of the races came to boisterous conclusion, an armada of faun and faeries marched together towards the valley where they would soon meet their match. Wodric walked alongside his father who had his hand now at his shoulder. Wodric was bashful and his father uneasy, but all the while delighted with his son's investiture.

"I hope, Wodric, this is the gift you most desired for your birthday." Oberon whispered.

 

[Paxiosolange]

On the day of Sir Heardred's supper, Wodric and Oberon and Elwynne appeared at the gates of the estate known as Huscradol, the great castle near the quaint village of Midhafen. Wodric's long-journeying mother had finally returned from Gatweigh the morning of the feast, and had spent the previous evening soaking in the shrouded pond from which she had emerged at the beginning of her years. When, exactly, she had first surfaced was a mystery even to Elwynne. For each time she repeated the ritual of returning to Gatweigh, the knowledge of her former years was blanketed in fog more and more. Overall, she figured, she might have been several hundred years old. Her husband was likely older still.

And now, for the sake of securing Elfame's interests as a unified force, the family's bonds had been restored. On the palanquin-journey to Midhafen, Elwynne had finally said to her son, "For thy trespasses, I forgive thee."

And Wodric had replied, "I forgive thee also, mother."

Still, however, Elwynne found it difficult to honour the path Wodric had taken. Squiredom was a difficult, dangerous career. Some squires never lived long enough to become great knights at all, this Elwynne knew well. Nor, however, could she forget that her son had now helped to fell two of the dangerous lindwyrms, the agents of Wormkynge's evildoing. Perhaps the boy has some talent for purging evil, she considered.

The perimeter gates to Heardred's castle were opened by the Lord's pageboys once the palanquin had marched back down the street. The Faelaird's family proceeded across the craggy path towards the house, accompanied by lantern-bearers who in their orbs of luminescence attracted moths and other insects.

Oberon wore that night a suitable Shrummish costume: a clean, white chemise, knickers, green girdles and matching longcoat, and black boots. His beard had been linked by metal bands which tied the long tufts of hair neatly together, and atop his bald head, the thick green laurel leaves that marked his station as Faelaird. Elwynne wore a brilliant white evening dress with a trail, puff sleeves, fur slippers, garter-belt, and her hair had been brushed in the natural, elvish fashion. Wodric was adorned in the honest attire of a page-at-arms, which consisted of a great leather tunic with bunched sleeves, leather belt, green pantalon, red mantle, and black boots much like his father's.

Oberon ached in this new attire. He was the sort that enjoyed the lack of reserve that came with the dirt and filth of the woodland. Wodric detested his costume also, but instead longed to wear something noble and gallant like the great armour pieces they donned at knightly assemblies in the old tales. The leather, rather, was quite rough and frankly, boyish.

As the trio finally crossed the front doorway, they emerged into a great foyer, or entrance hall, brimming with energy and commotion. All about the floor, there were quaint gatherings of different sorts of people, each stirring and speaking, moving from passageway to passageway, and up and down the stairs. There were handmaids, dairymaids, court fools, attendants, butlers, gentlemen-in-waiting, patrols, apothecaries, astrologers, cooks, and peons of the estate. But there were also a few people who Oberon and Elwynne recognized as the landed nobles who were actually invited to the supper.

There was the fat old knight, Sir Heardred himself, and next to him, his charming wife, Lady Heardred. She wore almost the exact same thing as Elwynne but all in thick red fur. Within the old knight's entourage of guests there were four others, neither of whom the two could presently identify. Oberon and Elwynne nodded at one another and proceeded deeper into the foyer. Sir Heardred's face soon fell away from his own conversation and met the Faelaird's gaze. He excused himself gently, and stomped towards him, saying: "Oberon, Your Excellency. What a pleasure it is to see your gay little face once again."

What a swaggerer, this one, Oberon thought. Let's see his jests disappear once he beholds the lindwyrm!

"Your Excellency." Oberon began. "May you be pleased to know my wife, the Lady Elwynne, and my son, Wodric, the squire."
"Lady Elwynne." Heardred bowed deeply. "And yes... the squire."

He turned away from Wodric without much looking at him and pointed towards his circle of invited guests. "Come and join us, Oberon, and in a moment shall we break bread."

Before supper, Wodric, Elwynne, and Oberon finally met the four unfamiliar faces which had also been invited to dine with them that evening.

The first face was that of Cenrice, the Earl of Chantreigh's cofferer. That is to say, he was keeper of the Earl's exchequer, and lord treasurer of Chantreigh. A very honourable position, indeed. The presence of the cofferer in the stead of the Earl was evident there was much business being discussed at the moment, such that the Earl would prefer not to negotiate face-to-face with the old knight. Thus, clearly not the good kind.

The second face belonged to Ingui, the royal magician. Ingui was a long-faced fellow with piercing green eyes, and was shrouded in a dark blue wizard's cloak. As royal magician, he was here in the stead of the Shrummish King. Though in reality, the office of royal magician was quite self-legislating, and Ingui had only come to share in the evening's delights (what another might call gossip).

The third person was Landbert, the royal fool. He was dressed in the court jester's most colourful apparel, and failed the whole evening to utter one solemn thing. Another representative of the royal court, it seemed to Oberon that his presence only longed to give the impression that Heardred was better connected than he actually was. The greatest fool in the Shrumland was probably not the best person to invite if one was trying to do that.

Finally, there was Wehha, the knight errant. Wodric initially admired his brilliant silvery armour, but found that the man ogled at him quite a lot with his piercing, dark eyes. Just before suppertime was finally announced, he had only the chance to quietly reveal that he had been knighted by the King himself, and sent to retrieve for him medicines from a leech in Wikkedwal.

"Might we make our way into the dining hall? My Lady and I will enter last among ye." Heardred grinned, licking his lips.

As the fussing and chattering in the foyer was finally silenced by the sealing of two great steel doors between there and the dining hall, the guests found themselves seated by ushers and awaiting the first service. The Faelaird's family sat at once side of the long-table. At the opposing side, the four other invited guests. And finally, at each opposing head sat Sir Heardred and his Lady. Attendants soon appeared with silver trays and, with the necessary flowing of wine, the feast commenced. The first course was a hearty soup of mutton, tomato, and barley.

"This is delicious." Uttered Elwynne, sipping the broth gently.
"Indeed. Very flavourful" Ingui added.

Oberon looked startled as the soup had been served to him. In very little time, he began to go very pale.

"Is there something wrong with the soup, Your Excellency?" Asked Sir Heardred.
"Well... I... not at all, Your Excellency. I simply haven't the fortitude to enjoy... goat."

Oberon could only reflect upon the faces of his faun friends and allies as the mutton swirled in the soup before him. And as his serving remained there, untouched, Oberon imagined what it would be like to taste one of their legs, the thought of which made him weary.

"It is of no concern, father. I will eat of your soup." Wodric said, pouring the rest of it into his bowl.

The second service arrived right as Wodric had slurped down the remaining mutton and barley. The food of men is unthinkably good! He thought to himself, rather. I wonder what treats they shall delight me with next!

Oberon could only bear to look upon his son with disgust as he saw him swallowing away at his food. He looked far away before he could get any sicker, trying desperately not to offend Sir Heardred before they had even begun to discuss the sensitive lindwyrm affair.

The next course was white fish, caught fresh from the bay, dressed in parsley, olive oil, shrumspice, pepper, and served on a salad of salted lemons.

"Lemons!" Cenrice, the Cofferer, erupted. "Where, in the Shrumland, were you able to procure lemons, Your Excellency?"
"Why, Your Grace." Heardred began. "They were an import of little cost. Little cost indeed! A simple treat for my guests."
"They are a perennial staple of House Heardred, Your Grace." Lady Heardred admitted.
"Quiet, witch!" Grumbled Sir Heardred. "Cenrice, I assure you, they are of no cost at all. You have inspected the food expenses, I trust. You needn't worry about a thing."
"Quite the contrary! I indeed have inspected your ledgers and have already found a great deal of money spent on these lavish feasts. But you must be a true gourmand, Your Excellency." Said Cenrice, staring quite blatantly at Heardred's belly. "When since before the righteous rule of His Majesty did a simple mushroom garnish go out of style? Lemons for a garnish are simply not worth the necessary expense, Sir!"

There followed a long and unpleasant silence after Cenrice had said this. Though the others eventually returned their attention to their plates, Wodric began to notice Wehha continuing to stare at him, like he had in the foyer. And when Wodric met the deathly gaze, he could only tremble and look away. What's the matter with that one? He wondered.

Elwynne was also beginning to look a little queer. The longer she pitied the Lady Heardred, who had just been denounced as a 'witch' by her husband, the more she felt there was something very hidden about her conscience. And the more she recognized this secret quality, the more she was compelled to figure it out with her magic. Though now was not the time.

"So." Oberon began again. "I believe we have much talking to do about the menace which has come over Elfame."
"Ah, yes." Heardred sighed. "Elfame and its worm troubles."

"The lasses I bring to my bed, they speak often of worm troubles!" Landbert grinned.

Elwynne and Lady Heardred stared self-effacingly at the royal fool as Oberon rumbled with laughter.

"Mostly they remark how little this short one spits!" Landbert continued.

As Oberon continued to bellow across the hall, Sir Heardred gave a polite chuckle before returning to the topic at hand.

"Well, I simply misunderstand this issue, it seems, Your Excellency." Said Heardred. "Enlighten me on these worm troubles."

Oberon finally managed to suppress his laughter. "You must understand that I've met ye at this table, Sir, to beseech you for assistance. The lindwyrms have appeared near Midhafen in greater numbers, with greater constitution, and with more wit than I can recall them ever having. The Faunlaird and the Wirwynlaird can confirm these reports should you request them. And I can only speculate here, Your Excellency, that Wormkynge makes solemn advances on the Shrumland."

The table grew wordless once again. The severity of the claim had certainly resonated quickly with the other guests. Only Sir Heardred remained self-assured. Even the Lady Heardred herself had stooped over the table out of interest.

"Wormkynge, himself?" She inquired.

Before another word could break the silence, the second service was promptly cleared and the third course brought in by the attendants. This next platter was the principal feast: a roast of pork on a bed of wildrice, roasted with onion and carrot, sauced, dressed in shrumspice, and crisping at the edges. The dish was accompanied by a side of scalloped oysters and another salad of lemons for garnish. Heardred began to smile sheepishly as the side dishes were revealed. And before Cenrice had the chance to produce yet another reproach against Sir Heardred's spending habits, Landbert interjected once again.

"Oyster? I hardly know 'er!"

Oberon resumed his overwhelming fit of laughter. Cenrice backed down in frustration. Lady Heardred also let a small smirk slip through her lips, although she looked away indignantly once her moping husband had caught her amusement.

"Let's get back to the point." Ingui started. "You say there are serpents in greater number now, attacking Elfame?"
"Yes." Oberon said, quelling the last of his chuckles.
"How could that be? The lindwyrms are usually primitive creatures, and are confined to the western parts of the country where the forests are large. Large enough to conceal their warrens." Said Ingui.
"I have no possible explanation other than a renewed attack against the Shrumland, Your Grace. These lindwyrms speak like men and have evil magic acting within them. They are no longer primitive, they intend to serve as Wormkynge's agents."

"I must protest!" Sir Heardred interjected. "It would be wise if the women were not present for such frightful talk. These are grave claims you make, after all, Oberon."

Once he had said this, Lady Heardred sighed and rose hastily from her seat, as though this were a habit. She tossed her cutlery aside, and began to make for a stairwell near the steel doors of the foyer without saying a single word. Elwynne, confused by this remark, looked around momentarily and observed the pressure of each staring face. Do they truly expect me to leave, halfway through my meal? She wondered. And recognizing the condescension in each man's face staring back at her, she realized they did. What a sorry lot of fools.

"Perhaps the ladies' supper can be brought to them elsewhere about the castle?" Cenrice suggested.
"Yes, indeed. Ladies, I shall have the attendants bring the rest of the dinner service to the chapel. There you may discuss whatever matters please you." Said Heardred.

Elwynne looked to Oberon who continued to indulge in his pork roast without much consideration for her circumstances. Oberon finally glanced at her and smiled quite innocently. She was not very reciprocal to this.

"If that is what the lords of this house wish." Elwynne said, pushing the pork dish away from her. "I will gladly accompany Lady Heardred wherever she would like to go."

Lady Heardred grinned at Elwynne, and beckoned her head towards the passageway. She scurried away at once to join Lady Heardred's company. Perhaps I can figure out what this dame is hiding from us, thought Elwynne. Both chuckled as they joined hands, and once the pair had disappeared into the hallway, the discussion among the men (and fae-men) promptly resumed.

"Oberon, I mean no offence to thee, but perhaps this is all some exaggeration? I mean, is your race not on amiable terms with the other hideous beasts of the wild?" Heardred gloated.
"If by beasts of the wild, you mean men, Your Excellency, I must agree. If you meant the serpents, I'm afraid I must not." Oberon smiled.

Heardred snarled. "So what have you done about these serpents then, if they've bothered thee so badly?"

"Wodric and I have put two to death, thus far. The first had burrowed dangerously close to the high road, and slaughtered an encampment of vagrants not too far from here. The second attacked Elfame itself. More specifically, the village of fauns which harbour therein."
"The boy has slain two lindwyrms?" Wehha finally spoke.
"Indeed, Sir, and it is for that reason I have invested him squire, sword, and gallant. His talent in this regard has been extraordinary, I must protest."
"Are you sure they were not simply regular serpents? You know, the measly kind that get into one's yard every so often?" Asked Heardred.

Wodric grew impatient. "You waste our time, Heardred! We know well what we saw, should you believe us or not."

Oberon kicked his son's foot under the table. "Apologies, Your Excellency, my son is not yet accustomed to the principles of fealty."

"Indeed he is not!" Heardred rumbled. "And he will know better than to call me by my name as though he were worthy to utter the name of House Heardred at all! In the future, it will be 'Sir' or 'Your Excellency,' as prescribed in the codes of honour."

Suddenly, Landbert cried out at each guest. "Good sirs! I must at once, squeeze the lemon! Of course, I mean no offence to thee, Cenrice. I myself have a frustration with the lemon of which I speak. I assure you, though, that this breed of citron is quite homegrown indeed! Not a silver talent spent in the slightest, Your Grace!"

As Oberon followed in his roaring laughter, Landbert began to grab at his secret parts like a child who very badly required the latrine. As he did so, he jumped around from foot to foot, limping about the table and making all sorts of vulgar noises.

"Someone, grab Landbert a pot to piss in." Sighed Heardred.

Oberon was now so overcome with hysterics, he began to pant: "Enough! I beg of you! Thou hast me too easily, Landbert!"

Wodric was not at all amused, and quickly turned back to Heardred as Landbert attended to the chamber pot an attendant had brought in. "Your Excellency, we confirm these are actual lindwyrms. We confirm two have been dispatched as of yet. What should happen if you take not our word? What if one of these creatures were to make its way into your own estate?"

"As long as the proper allotments have been spent on the outer bulwark's defences, there should be nothing to stop a giant serpent, as you report." Added Cenrice.
"I disagree, sir. The bulwark I have seen is quite old-fashioned, any modest lindwyrm could easily mount it and slither inside within a matter of seconds. Patrols would have no idea given the creature's slyness." Wodric added.
"And should the serpents render the guards sightless, why indeed, they would be powerless to fight back!" Ingui added, solemnly.
"Enough of these theoretics." Heardred barked. "Why should a serpent of the land try to encroach upon my own estate? Wouldn't it be better off attacking the village, instead?"
"To swallow a landed knight should cause a greater panic than to raze a small town. Each lord shall fear for their own life." Oberon suggested.
"And magic?" Asked Ingui.
"No good, speaking as a faerie of magic blood, myself. The lindwyrms are anchors for such power. They draw away the honest kind and use it to fuel their wickedness."
"Well perhaps that's just it." Heardred laughed. "Ye faeries are simply no good at fending off such threats. If your measly little mongrel son was able to slay the beast, my patrols should have no problem at all."

Wodric nearly snapped, but before he could retort, Oberon kicked his foot once again. Don't ridicule yourself for his sake, thought Oberon.

Wodric cursed his father's tolerance in that moment, but he would later come to realize that meeting beastly remarks with anger only fulfilled the desires of the offender. Faeries were very skilled at resisting men's tricks, after all, and other men were not.

"Your Excellency. The time to act is now. These lindwyrms are cunning, they seek the devastation of man, they will plow through my lands and ravage your own countryside in order to do it. I am the herald of a danger that lingers on the horizon, and you must face this danger as soon as possible." Oberon pushed.
"Sir." Interjected Cenrice. "Even if what you say is true, there is no amount of money we can spare now on bolstering defences, not when there is no immediate threat. I could only caution Sir Heardred to direct what little coffers he has managed to leave unopened in the interest of hiring, say, a dozen more watchmen-at-arms."
"So, you are saying we should appeal to the Earl of Chantreigh if we are unsuccessful here in Midhafen?" Wodric inquired.

Ah, now there's a witty remark, there is. Thought Oberon.

"Little imp-child!" Heardred cursed. "Cenrice simply means to say there is nothing to be done about the matter! We have little reserve to protect Elfame, which for all intents and purposes should need only little effort to fortify with your own primitive defences, and there simply is no evidence for the things you say. That is all!"
"Well... more or less. You'll require a much greater burden of proof." Cenrice admitted.

Finally, the dessert service came. A great, golden apple pie was laid at the centre of the table and cut into heaping slices before being served to each guest with a ladle of soft, white ice cream and a sprinkling of roasted nuts. Two portions of the dessert were sent up into the stairwell, so they could be served to the Ladies Heardred and Elwynne.

As each guest began to eat their confections in renewed silence, Wodric found the deathly knight errant, Wehha, gazing at him once more. There is something dreadfully wrong about with that one. He mused. What is his business here? Why does he speak so little? Why are his eyes so moonless and cold?

Suddenly, Oberon, who had been contemplating for a long time over his pie, finally spoke again. "I have the proof you desire, Your Grace."

Everyone stopped unexpectedly and returned their attention to Oberon, all except Wodric and Wehha, of course, who were engaged in their own private staring match. Cenrice raised an eager brow, while Heardred shot his first look of true, honest worry.

"What is it, then?" Heardred muttered.
"Well, I'm afraid your castle's bulwark has already been breached, Your Excellency." Sighed the Faelaird. "There is a servant of Wormkynge already in your midst."

And after this revelation, no one spoke another word.

 

[Paxiosolange]

Lord Wormkynge so well sent in Shrummish disguise
A lindwyrm to stir the Knight Heardred's surprise
Yet Wodric went boldly and bore his new blade
While all fled the hall where the serpent was slayed

Though champion of snakes, Wodric won still a squire
And travelled through wood, armed with sword of Wormfyre
With company now to partake in the fight
To seek out Wormkynge, who grows fiercer each night

From Wyrmsong, by Stanwig the Poet​

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Elwynne and the Lady Heardred held hands as they mounted the steps together towards the chapel. They exited into a hallway of flagstone walls mounting paintings framed in filigree and windows laid in grilles of wrought iron. Elwynne slowed momentary to observe these the fineries, for in Elfame, noble Fae were content with simple verdant cottages in imitation of the Shrummish fashion. Most avoided this standard all together and simply lived about the trees or mushrooms. The faun lived humbler in simple stables, and even grottos and caves! Obviously, these luxuries were something Elwynne had pretended not to covet childishly. She admired most a great black portrait of Huscradol at night. Something about the painting seemed rather haunting. The strokes of paint that dotted the stars, the shadowy greys of darkened mushrumps and woodlands. Where was I, methinks, when this great painting was drawn?

She reflected for a moment upon her son, then turned to the Lady Heardred. "Tell me, who was it that built this house?" She asked.

"That would be my husband's great-great-great-grandfather. First of House Heardred, and chevalier royal." The lady smiled. "In those days, knighthood meant more than many believe. These old houses are a testament to the honour once held for them. It was something never to be taken for granted."

How she slanders him. Here I must provoke something, she thought.

"I confess that your husband was beastly towards my family tonight. And if truly you worry for your husband's honour, let me reassure you." Grinned Elwynne. "He is far too fat to be able to ride a horse anymore."

Lady Heardred glanced to Elwynne and scowled. "Ye fae may be blest to speak freely, but here, thou shalt hold thy tongue should thou hast no good to tell."

"We have become sisters in exile, I wish to hear your truth. I tell you these things in honesty." Said Elwynne.
"Honesty so cruel?"
"What is it you hide, M'lady?."

Hearing this, Heardred turned and scoffed. "And to think I'd at least be joined by a friend when I was sent away from my supper! Instead, some prying pixie!"

Elwynne's began to see into the Lady's eye. There was disdain, there was dishonour, and Elwynne sensed there was something far worse still. How she is stirred so easily. How she cowers at her own hatred. She hides something so great it frightens her beyond belief. Dare I not say infidelity? Once the Lady had disappeared behind the doors at the end of the hall, an attendant arrived from without the stairwell and marched towards Elwynne with two platters of apple pie, nut roast, and vanilla sherbet.

"I was instructed to attend to ye ladies with the last services of the eve. Dessert, pudding, and cordials shall be brought to the chapel. Here I have here the dessert course."
"Thank you, steward. I shall first bring these desserts to the chapel, and the rest I leave in your hands."

The attendant smiled and handed the plates to Elwynne. "Of course, M'lady. Please enjoy the rest of your meals."

Once the attendant had disappeared into the stairwell, Elwynne bound towards a nearby credenza and set the plates upon them. Taking two subtle nods across both ends of the hall, she conjured a magical dust in her hands and sprinkled it like a very fine sugar upon one of the two pies. The golden powder twinkled as it fell upon the dessert and subsequently vanished as it landed. The result of this was still two slices of pie, similar as could be. However, the one which Elwynne now carried in front of her towards the chapel was imbued with magic. And as was her nature, her cunning had brought her a great deal of rejuvenation which in turn brought her strength. I've had not the opportunity to do this for some time, she mused.

Elwynne used her foot to open the chapel door and saw the Lady Heardred sitting at the front bench before a great stain-glass window. Before Elwynne could enter, she froze at the likeness of the great god Pilzer cast by the glasswork. The four-armed vulture was a champion venerated by men. It was he who first sowed and nurtured the hardy magic toadstool in ancient days, yet still he was a dreaded god from a deep world beneath the earth, Pilzerheim. His figure was to be expected in any shrine in the Shrumland, yet still, his image prompted painful blood-memories. It was the knowledge of Pilzer's conquest of old Elfenland. His infestation drew out her ancestors, a scourge marked in the blood of each magic race. And the elves who were driven out returned to the Shrumland reborn in the wilds. As the legend foretold, those who mated with the woodland beasts bore fauns, and with fowl bore wirwyn, and those who mated with men bore the faeries. There is much more to be said about why Pilzer was venerated among men, what happened to the elves, and where Pilzerheim truly is, but it is a matter best left to the imagination for now.

Elwynne's blood-memories passed and she sighed in a restored tranquility as she approached Lady Heardred with her dessert.

"Eat." Said Elwynne.

Heardred said nothing as she swiped the plate from Elwynne. The faerie sat in the pew just behind her as she ate. The Lady appeared as though she had been thinking of something to say, but gave up as the savour of the pie began to take over. Once Heardred had been through with the pie and the ice cream, she tremblingly placed the plate to her right, and Elwynne could see that she was crying.

"What terrible enchantment is this?" She muttered, tears trailing her cheeks.

Elwynne rose from her seat and now took her place at the Lady's side, at the foot of the dais where the great likeness of Pilzer in the glasswork glowed green and red in the moonlight. She took her hands and caressed them gently, smiling upon her with such compassion that Heardred could barely turn to look.

"How cruel is his Excellency, M'lady?" Asked Elwynne.

Heardred found in horror she could not silence her truth any longer.

"His words only mask his true cruelty." Heardred began. "He will not hold me, and he will not see me in the evening. I grow more loveless each day, Elwynne. His mind is forever plagued by matters of prestige, and of appearance. Each day he is absorbed by the failure of his own courage. What is more pitiful than a man who cannot stand himself? I know such a man, it is a man all the same who feigns love."
"And how have you dealt with this?"

Lady Heardred gasped, then bowed her head in shame. "Thou knowest already. I could hear it in each word you spoke and in each gesture you took. Faeries have such a way of hinting their yearnings if thou payest close attention."

"You have sought the company of another?"
"Another, yes. He is kind and loving. He is gentle and brave. He is a true knight, Elwynne."
"He is a knight, too?" Asked Elwynne.
"The man is Wehha. I confess you broke bread with the offender. And even still he cares for me. He has convinced my poor husband to appoint him my chaperone. I am free every so often to accompany him alone. And I do."
"And yet there is more you hide. What dost thou permit to fester in thy heart, but not breach thy lips, M'lady?"

Lady Heardred threw herself from the pew and pounded her fist into the ground as she wrestled with the truthmaking magic. She wept so hard Elwynne grew worried one might hear her, screaming in agony as all grief passed through her eyelids and into the smooth stone of the chapel. Then she looked up.

"A child of his I have borne! A bastard who I allowed to die alone!"

Elwynne rose in shock.

Lady Heardred continued. "Eighteen years ago, I bore the child of Wehha. He was soft and gorgeous as I held him in my arms. But my husband would not know me anymore, and so feign his own fatherhood I could not. As the night blackened, I sent the child away to die."

Elwynne fell to Heardred's side and lifted her chin as the tears continued to spill. "Your lady-in-waiting left the child upon a toadstool!"

"You can truly see so well into my past, faerie?" Asked Heardred.
"Nay, M'lady. I tremble at this revelation. For eighteen years and a week ago I took a babe for my keeping, a boy! A child left on the cap of a small mushrump and wrapped in fine, white cloth."
"Then you mean to say..." Began Heardred. "Could it truly be?"
"M'lady, thou art the mother of my child, Wodric, the Lucky."

Heardred rose from the ground with Elwynne's assistance and suddenly looked deep into her eyes and cried, "You must forgive me for my wickedness!"

"Nay!" Elwynne hissed. "You are strong. You need never apologize for what thou hast done! For in leaving Wodric to my keeping, you have spared him the cruel and treacherous life of a natural son. I am bound to protest, M'lady, that you are the only woman I truly honour."

Heardred's tears began to fade as Elwynne's compassion flowed through her. Both began to smile once more. The faerie's hands felt warm and forgiving, and the agony of her lies having suddenly come out had overcome any bitterness or melancholy.

"If that is so, then you must permit me a deed I had always dreamed of fulfilling should this moment ever come." Heardred spoke. "A sword rests in my chambers, an heirloom never endowed. Steel forged in Wormfyre, where the smiths have cast their blades with the marrow of the lindwyrm, and fashioned them into a bane of serpents. I believe in your reports and I believe Wormkynge has indeed grown stronger. It is only right then that your son, of my blood and flesh, take possession of the blade and brandish it in his errand."
"Aye, he will have it, M'lady." Elwynne dropped the Lady's hands. "But I'm afraid there is more to bury yet. For never can the boy know who his kinsmen are. There is too much at stake and this news shall only delay him. You must swear this unto me."

Elwynne extended her hand once again, and around her right palm, summoned a ribbon of golden light. Heardred was afraid to meet her grasp, but knew that she had little choice otherwise. This was for the better. She shook Elwynne's hand and the promise had been made. The ribbon of golden starlight tightened around each lady's wrist before vanishing. As the two let go, the walls of the castle began to tremble and stir. Heardred feared the room had been haunted by their magic, yet Elwynne, too, appeared confused by this disturbance.

"What was that?" Asked Lady Heardred.

The quiet chandelier at the roof of the chapel began to jingle faintly as a hideous groveling and roaring began to pass through the floor. The sound was unmistakable, like the slithering of a great dragon's tail. Elwynne went white with panic.

"It cannot be!" Elwynne jumped. "M'lady, fetch Wodric's sword at once! Death roams the halls of your castle!"