| Fred and Astra, still trapped in the form of demifoxes, stood in the
small courtyard with their backs against the wall and their daggers raised.
The enemies that faced them were, ironically enough, a band of demifoxes.
They both had assumed that if they would be safe anywhere it would be with
their own "kind". But that obviously wasn't quite true. The crowd of two-legged
foxes glared at the knight and the princess with evil and angry eyes. If
a human had come along just then they might have laughed at the sight.
A small mob of gaily dressed, three foot tall, humanoid foxes looked almost
comical. But if a person had gotten close enough to see the look in those
fox peoples' eyes, any hint of laughter would have died on their lips and
they would have hastily fled from the scene.
But why had Shabot and his fox people turned upon Fred and Astra?
What did the demifoxes want?
"And are you any less a threat to us?" Fred asked them
in a fierce voice. "Or any harder to kill? In case you haven't noticed,
our
weapons are not silver either."
"And what does that matter?" Shabot cocked his head curiously, "We
are not were-beasts."
Fred and Astra glanced at each other wonderingly. Did the demifox named
Shabot seek to confuse them, or was there something else behind his wild
words. Of course Shabot and his friends were were-beasts, they were
demifoxes after all weren't they. That was as plain as the snouts on all
their faces. And demifoxes were lycanthropes, cursed humans twisted into
animal shapes and filled with blood lust when the moon was full. So why
in damnation was Shabot implying that Fred and Astra were the monsters
and that he and his kin were something else all together?
Suddenly there was a commotion in the crowd; it stirred and made way
for an old, gnarled fox-man who walked with the aid of a staff as bent
as he was. Shabot bowed to the old demifox and pointed at Fred and Astra.
"They are not of the Folke, I say they come from Moreau's thorny den,"
Shabot said. The old fox-man, an elder of Shabot's people and a skilled
shaman, eyed the two with a cold detachment. "My name is Boshwyn Ringroot,"
the elder introduced himself. "Why have you two come to this place?"
"We came here looking for others like us, others that have been cursed,"
Astra replied after a moment. Shabot gestured with excitement at Fred and
Astra, his tail wagging furiously, "You see, again they condemn themselves."
Fred glared at Shabot, his anger only matched by his rising bewilderment.
"And what makes us any different from you?" Fred asked with scorn,
"Your curse is no different from ours!" Ringroot stared at Fred and shook
his head, "I wonder, are the rumors of Moreau true or have they simply
twisted your minds. Perhaps once upon a time you were one of the
Folke."
"Until six days ago I was a knight of Allaria," Fred proudly corrected
the elder, "and I intend to reclaim my birthright!"
"I have heard enough," Ringroot sighed and raised his staff. "Know this,
whatever you are, the demifolke are not creatures cursed, but a Race that
holds her head high. As for what you are..." Fred saw both horror
and pity in the demifox's eyes. And then, without warning, a mighty thunderclap
sounded in Fred's ears and it shook him to his very bones. He dropped his
dagger and clutched at his head, falling to his knees. Astra too was felled
by the magical attack. And neither of them could move a muscle as the demifoxes
rushed forward and grabbed at them. Their hands were bound with heavy rope
and their mouths gagged. And then potato sacks were pulled over them and
cinched tight. After that was only darkness.
Fred and Astra slept peacefully on a soft bed that had been laid down
in a room within the den of the demifox Elders. They would not awake for
some time. They were sleeping off the affects of a brew that they had been
force fed, a brew made from herbs, roots and extracts of poisonous blossoms.
The brew was not intended to kill them, instead it was designed to open
up their minds and loosen their tongues so that they would speak freely
and answer all questions truthfully. What they had revealed to the Elders
was both frightening and reassuring. The initial assumption that Fred and
Astra were enemies sent by the dragons was proven to be false. But they
were
connected to the dragon they named Malachi and to Synizn, and that made
them pawns of the dragons, however unwitting. Most incredible of all though
was that the two demifoxes were once upon a time human. Looking at their
two sleeping forms, Ringroot was filled with revulsion. He had for some
time now suspected that the attacks against the demifolke and the many
abductions of his people over the past few years had been instigated by
the dragons, but no one had ever known the reason behind it. Now it seemed
clear. The dragons had needed living flesh with which to create and perfect
a new and dark magic, a magic intended to change one Race into another.
Such a magical feat had always been thought impossible, but the existence
of Fred and Astra proved beyond a doubt that the dragons had succeeded.
Ringroot shuddered, only the Spirits knew what kind of evil this act of
sacrilege would unleash. Or what kind of punishment would fall down upon
the heads of all the world's people for this terrible blasphemy.
Ringroot hoped that Fred and Astra would aid him and his brothers in
averting the divine retribution he was sure was coming. He hoped that in
them a key could be found with which to close and lock the dark door that
the dragons had somehow opened wide. He then looked down at his palm. In
it he held a five inch high glass figurine. He had taken it from Fred's
pouch. Fred had called it the Crystallic. Under the influence of the truth
drink, both he and Astra had claimed that with it Synizn would be able
to restore their humanity. Ringroot hoped that this was true. His only
problem was that Synizn was a minion of the dragons and as such Ringroot
would die before he ever let him lay his dirty hands on the arcane artifact.
-
 When
Fred and Astra awoke...
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