Fairy Godmother

Of all of the means of transportation Elena had used as a Godmother, this was by far the most unique. She'd had to do some quick cosmetic work on it, though, or it would have frightened three-quarters of the citizenry of Kohlstania into fits, and had the remaining quarter running for the spears and bows.

It appeared that there was a reason for the dragon-banners in the library. The traditional means of transport for the occupant of this castle was — formidable. An elaborate black war-chariot, apparently forged of blackened silver, drawn by two black dragonets — which were the much smaller, unintelligent subspecies of Draconis Sapiens. A third dragonet generally served as the mount for the chariot-driver's outrider. This was why the stableman was a troll. When the beasts were feeling fractious, nothing short of a troll could control them. These were not the beasts that Octavian usually had charge of, although he was familiar with them and they with him.

Elena didn't change much about the rig other than to make it far less menacing — she made the chariot and dragonets white, an opalescent rose and gold instead of black and silver, and she made a few cosmetic changes to the beasts' heads, giving them more a look of scaly horses than of man-eating carnivores. Octavian got armor to match, of course, and she herself had donned her most impressive costume as the Rose Fairy — complete with powdered wig and six-foot staff topped with a pink diamond in the shape of a star.

Octavian was in full armor — enameled in white and rose, with gilding. Luckily for him, it was magic in nature, which made it a great deal lighter than 'real' armor. He had gotten very carefully detailed instructions from Elena, but she was taking no chances; there was such a superabundance of magic available that Elena took the precaution of putting a tiny geas on him to obey those instructions. This time, at least, she was going to give The Tradition what it wanted; a full spectacle which would probably turn into a tale that traveled through the Kingdoms for generations. Maybe that would make it leave her alone for a bit.

And no more dreams! she told it fiercely. Not that she had any evidence that the dreams of Alexander — of which she had had another last night — were coming out of The Tradition. But she had no evidence to the contrary, either, and in absence of evidence...

So the whole outre procession went flying off into the morning sky, heading for Kohlstania and the Royal Palace; she driving the splendid chariot, Octavian riding beside her on his winged mount, the whole of it buoyed on swirling clouds of magic that would have enveloped them in a thick, pea-soup fog except that only she could see it. It was practically thick enough to cut; she had stored as much of it away in wand and staff, whatever talismans she had on her person and could put together last night, and in her own reserves, and still it was like this.

And that was after she insisted that Arachnia divide the power with her! The Tradition was making certain that the Kingdom of Kohlstania got its Godmother with a vengeance!

Or perhaps it was trying to bribe her into being more cooperative and conciliatory.

Well, it wasn't going to work. On the other hand, there was no harm in taking the bounty that was given.

Naturally — since she insisted on flying at a little above tree-height, to ensure being seen — they attracted a great deal of attention, and even with her cosmetic changes, they excited a good deal of fear. For every face upturned to watch them pass, there was someone running for concealment down below. So by the time they landed in the courtyard of the Royal Palace, all of the Royal Guard had turned out, armed to the teeth, and she suspected that most of the Army was on its way from the Royal Barracks on the outskirts of the city.

The dragons pulled the vehicle around to stand as near to the door as the Guards would allow. She remained in her chariot; Octavian, however, dismounted from his dragon, and took his place between her and the Guard; with his visor down, he looked very formidable indeed. She surveyed them all haughtily as the dragons tossed their heads.

'Is this any way to greet me?' she demanded 'One woman, with a single escort- knight? Where is your King?'

She suppressed a smile at her own words, though — Oh yes, one 'mere' woman, clearly some sort of extremely powerful magician, three dragons, and a fellow whose face no one can see! You're right to be nervous, my lads!

'He is here, lady,' said a weary, wary voice, and the Guard reluctantly parted to let King Henrick through. 'What is it you would have of me?'

The King was armed as well, though he'd only had time to buckle on a breastplate over his velvet doublet, and replace his crown with an open-face helm. Still, he was brave, she had to give him that. He wasn't hiding in his throne room, depending on his Guards to protect him; he had his sword in his hand, and he looked as if he was prepared to use it.

'You have three sons, King Henrick,' she said, sternly. 'Where are they? Answer me true, for I am a magician of no little power, and I will know falsehood if I hear it. And the cost of falsehood may be more than you can ever dream.'

Of course, the cost of falsehood would be that she would not allow Octavian to reveal himself. Not that she expected to hear anything but truth out of Henrick; if everything Randolf had shown her was true, he had spent a very long time learning a great deal about himself since his sons had vanished, and he did not much care for what he had learned.

He reeled as if she had struck him a blow, and yet, from the expression on his face, it was a blow he had, in part, expected. It did not break him — but in that moment, she saw him look at her and admit his own defeat and his own failures.

'I know only what has befallen my son Julian, lady,' he replied, bitterly. 'In my folly, in my greed, I sent them out, all three of them, to answer my neighbor's Quest and win his daughter, thinking to add his Kingdom to my own. And it is true that of the three, I sent Julian out expecting that he would fail and rid me of the one son I did not understand and could not care for. My cold-heartedness was well-repaid; it is Julian who has won the maid and the throne for himself, and not for me, and my other sons are lost. And in a sense, all three are lost to me, for I fear that Julian knew my heart only too well, and will never forgive me. So here I am — surrounded by wealth that I care nothing for, facing my own declining years with neither friend nor son at my side.' He straightened, then, and looked her in the eyes. 'So work your will on me, Witch. I am already living in the worst I can dream, and I brought it all upon myself!'

She caught Octavian's eye, and nodded slightly. He needed no further encouragement.

'Father!' he cried, pulling off his helm, and flinging himself to King Henrick's feet. 'Father, I am here! I am home again!'