KISS OF DOOM
The
two giants forced the great and valiant knight Sir Tihm from the wagon and up
into the hulking, aged castle, their large insistent hands shoving him ahead,
thrusting him out into the great throne room alone. What little light had managed to spill into
the room from the corridor was blocked now by their massive bodies as they
stood guard in the door.
When
his eyes adjusted to the dim light, Tihm gulped down a sharp breath. Across the room, coiled up on the great
ornate upholstered throne, sat the ancient evil sorceress Ontsara, tense as a
rattlesnake and twice as poisonous. “Come
here,” she hissed, “and give us a kiss.”
Her toothless gums showed in a hideous grin.
Tihm stood without moving, fists clenched, his pulse
pounding in his ears, weaponless but for his wits. He longed for his companion Spaught,
imprisoned still in the wagon outside.
Worse, he even wished for a moment to have back the magic talisman,
Tehd'Ebayr, that he had given up some time ago to aid the Sisters of the Army
of Salvation – that thought he pushed from his mind, it was unworthy of a
knight.
The
giants reached out and prodded him forward.
He turned in silent appeal to the one called Mawmi, but the giant’s face
was dark, forbidding and unreachable.
The giants were completely in Ontsara's power.
With
neither sword nor spell, nor trusted companion by his side, Tihm took one
cautious step forward, then another. He
approached slowly, every muscle ready for flight. With calculating eyes he watched Ontsara. If
he waited for the right moment, his speed and agility just might catch them all
off-guard.
A
sudden fluttering on his left startled him.
He spun to face it, his hand grasping reflexively for a sword that
wasn't there. But it was only the
movement of a small yellowish winged creature that the old sorceress held
trapped in a cage. Tihm turned back to
Ontsara, his eyes narrowed with disgust.
“Come
on, dearie,” she rasped. “Just a little kiss for old Ontsara.” She held
out skeletal arms to grasp him to her sagging bosom. Blood seemed to drip from the long red
fingernails as she motioned him to come closer . . . closer.
Tihm knew he must not let those arms close around him. He would be doomed forever, one more mindless
puppet of her dark power. Slowly he
edged toward her. Soon he could smell
her, the sick sweet stench of the powders and potions she used in her dreadful
rejuvenation spells.
He
held his breath, gathered his strength, then rushed at her. His lips barely brushed her putrid, papery
flesh. He screamed as the bony hands
snatched at him. But with lightning
speed, Tihm spun free and ran. He
crashed into the giants and with brute strength forced himself through their
legs to freedom. “Spaught!”
he cried as he tore out the door.
But
he heard his father call, “Don't let the dog out of the car, Tim,” and his
mother say, “I'm sorry, Aunt Sarah. I
don't know what gets into that boy sometimes.
I’m afraid he reads too much fantasy.”
The End