The Knight walked through the cavernous hall, his spurs echoing from the vaulted ceiling. The Evil Queen sat on her throne, her face impossibly perfect but her eyes cold as ice. Before her, a young girl lay on a slab, covered head to toe in a thin linen shroud pulled taut over her body, in a sleep as complete as death. The Knight looked down at her, and then to the Queen.
“Name the price that must be paid so that the Princess might live.” He said.
The Queen grinned, a smile that gave just the slightest hint of fangs, and said, “You must bring me the eye of a Cyclopes, the egg of a Griffin, and the heart of a Dragon. Only then shall the Princess live again.”
And so the Knight set off, armed with his legendary sword and his heart.
In the mountains known as The Last Rampart, he bested the ogre king, Tul Duro, in a game of wits, earning himself safe passage and costing the Cyclopes his sight.
On the Shattered Coast, he faced off against the brindled Arch Griffin, which savagely protected its clutch of eggs. The Knight took a wound from its enormous talons, but managed to plunge his blade into the beast’s heart.
The Black Forest of Ag’nag val Ronig was where he faced his final and greatest challenge, against the dread and ancient Dragon, Valryothrax. For a day and a night they battled, until the Knight was able to cast the dragon down by piercing a weak scale on its breast.
Then, exhausted and wounded, he began the long trek home.
The Evil Queen’s hall was colder and darker than he remembered, and smelled fouler. The Knight presented her trophies, and then demanded she honor her end of the contract.
“So be it.” She said.
The Queen moved to a large circle inscribed with runes carved into the floor that the Knight had not noticed before. She placed the trophies at each point of a triangle, and then spoke words in a dead language. Her voice multiplied on itself.
“It is done.” She said finally.
The body on the slab did not stir. When the Knight approached and removed the shroud, he staggered back in horror. The putrefied remains of a girl lay before him. Her cloudy eyes were sunk deep into black sockets, and her lips pulled back over her teeth, giving her a skeletal grimace. Sallow flesh that had begun to blacken hung loosely from the bones beneath, and a brownish stain had seeped from beneath the corpse onto the slab.
“What trickery is this?” The Knight demanded, one hand moving to his mouth, the other to his sword.
The Queen smiled her beautiful, terrible smile. “But good Sir,” she said, all hurt innocence, “I never said that she was the Princess.” With a strange wave of her hand and an even stranger word, the Knight found himself fixed to the ground, unable to move. “That is some peasant’s whelp I bought for a sack of pennies. Famine!” Her titter was musical. "A child is worth less than a pair of good boots these days."
The room grew darker, and then something foul rose from a black ichor that appeared in the center of the circle, a shadow within a shadow, its yodeling voice echoing through the hall.
“Go now my daughter,” The Queen’s disembodied voice purred, “Go now to the brave Knight. He has been through so much to meet you.” The Knight heard something scuttling towards him. “And besides,” he heard wet, rasping breaths coming closer and closer, “you don’t want your dinner to get cold.”
“Name the price that must be paid so that the Princess might live.” He said.
The Queen grinned, a smile that gave just the slightest hint of fangs, and said, “You must bring me the eye of a Cyclopes, the egg of a Griffin, and the heart of a Dragon. Only then shall the Princess live again.”
And so the Knight set off, armed with his legendary sword and his heart.
In the mountains known as The Last Rampart, he bested the ogre king, Tul Duro, in a game of wits, earning himself safe passage and costing the Cyclopes his sight.
On the Shattered Coast, he faced off against the brindled Arch Griffin, which savagely protected its clutch of eggs. The Knight took a wound from its enormous talons, but managed to plunge his blade into the beast’s heart.
The Black Forest of Ag’nag val Ronig was where he faced his final and greatest challenge, against the dread and ancient Dragon, Valryothrax. For a day and a night they battled, until the Knight was able to cast the dragon down by piercing a weak scale on its breast.
Then, exhausted and wounded, he began the long trek home.
The Evil Queen’s hall was colder and darker than he remembered, and smelled fouler. The Knight presented her trophies, and then demanded she honor her end of the contract.
“So be it.” She said.
The Queen moved to a large circle inscribed with runes carved into the floor that the Knight had not noticed before. She placed the trophies at each point of a triangle, and then spoke words in a dead language. Her voice multiplied on itself.
“It is done.” She said finally.
The body on the slab did not stir. When the Knight approached and removed the shroud, he staggered back in horror. The putrefied remains of a girl lay before him. Her cloudy eyes were sunk deep into black sockets, and her lips pulled back over her teeth, giving her a skeletal grimace. Sallow flesh that had begun to blacken hung loosely from the bones beneath, and a brownish stain had seeped from beneath the corpse onto the slab.
“What trickery is this?” The Knight demanded, one hand moving to his mouth, the other to his sword.
The Queen smiled her beautiful, terrible smile. “But good Sir,” she said, all hurt innocence, “I never said that she was the Princess.” With a strange wave of her hand and an even stranger word, the Knight found himself fixed to the ground, unable to move. “That is some peasant’s whelp I bought for a sack of pennies. Famine!” Her titter was musical. "A child is worth less than a pair of good boots these days."
The room grew darker, and then something foul rose from a black ichor that appeared in the center of the circle, a shadow within a shadow, its yodeling voice echoing through the hall.
“Go now my daughter,” The Queen’s disembodied voice purred, “Go now to the brave Knight. He has been through so much to meet you.” The Knight heard something scuttling towards him. “And besides,” he heard wet, rasping breaths coming closer and closer, “you don’t want your dinner to get cold.”