Among the Thistles part 1

King Corwin of the Oak Grove trod through the forest that was laden with fog. His son, Prince Thatch, was close behind him. Somewhere above the trees, Corwin's dragon guardian, Questnor, sailed the skies, keeping a sharp lookout. They sought the magician Valwyn and the answers he might provide to an ancient mystery.

Corwin saw ahead of him an opening in the forest.

"Come, Thatch," he said. "The Meadow of Purple Thistles is near."

They exited the forest and came upon the meadow. The fog hovered above the prickly purple flowers. Questnor had already landed and seemed preoccupied with something in the thistles.

"What ho, Questnor!" Corwin shouted. "Have you found anything of interest?"

Questnor looked up, his golden horns shimmering in what little sunshine there was.

"Of interest?" he repeated. He spoke in a low baritone whisper. To speak at normal dragon volume would have been too much for human ears. "It's hardly interesting at all. Yet I don't think we could leave it behind."

He unfurled his tail to reveal a tiny girl child with yellow silken hair and violet eyes. She could not have seen more than two summers. She was dressed from head to toe in ermine.

"Sibhreath! A Changeling!" gasped Prince Thatch.

"Now, now," said Questnor, "do not hasten so to judgement. Do you not know of your own father's history?"

Corwin stiffened. "I am of human blood."

"And yet, just like this wee lass, I found you all alone in the middle of the Oak Grove." Questnor turned to Thatch. "How do you think your father got his name? He's not royal born. Your grandfather, the late king, looked favorably on young Corwin for his valor in battle. Your mother Ophelia was the prize." He gave his great head a shake of impatience. "How were you not taught this in your studies? Do you know nothing of why you're on this journey?"

Thatch had been taught to be quiet when the mighty dragon spoke. Now, he took the opportunity to speak up for himself.

"Of course, I know. I know my father's story as well as my royal lineage. I know we seek Valwyn to uncover my father's bloodlines. Only the old magician can find the answers for us. In terms of this child, she must be fairy. She's too...perfect."

"Ah, then you know very little about the sibhreath. Changelings are far from perfect. They're sickly, colicky things. You've chosen the wrong word. What we have here is a beautiful...though somewhat dull...foundling.

While this conversation was taking place between prince and dragon, King Corwin studied the little girl. She was indeed perfectly beautiful. She must have been dull, though, for only a dullard would not be afraid of a dragon. On the other hand, she may have been scared stiff. She moved nary a muscle.

"What is thy name, child?" he asked her.

She looked at him, her eyes the same color as the thistles in the field. She said not a word, but bent down to grasp a grasshopper in her tiny, chubby hands. She held the insect up to the king. It hopped away.

"I think she's given her answer," said Questnor. "We shall call her Grasshopper."

Suddenly King Corwin, who was always so sure of himself, who always had a purpose, was unsure what to do next.

"So...ahem...er...shall we journey on?"

Grasshopper turned to the dragon and raised her arms. Questnor lowered his neck so that she could mount.

"I think our little one has a good idea," he said. "We are on the last leg of our travels. It might be best if we all fly from here on."

Questnor was right. Just beyond the Meadow of Purple Thistles lay the foot of Balskor Mountain where Valwyn was said to dwell. It would be easier to fly on the back of the dragon. Corwin was surprised at the offer, though. Questnor was usually a touch-me-not type of creature.

Corwin and Thatch climbed onto the dragon's neck and seated themselves behind Grasshopper. The red dragon took off.

In no time, they had reached Balskor. Questnor lit down. Corwin and Thatch dismounted. Grasshopper still clung to Questnor's neck. An ibex looked down on them from a rocky cliff. All they had to do now was search for the cave that Valwyn called home.

It wasn't long before Thatch came across the mouth of a cave that was hidden by dangling vines. Corwin ran to his son's side.

"Valwyn?" he called. "It is I, King Corwin of the Oak Grove. Prince Thatch and I have come to gather knowledge from your wise, almighty self. We are prepared to pay any price."

"Enter," came a feeble voice.

Corwin and Thatch knew that Valwyn was old, but they were not prepared to see a skeletal figure with brown parchment-thin skin and long, crooked teeth.

"I know why you are here. You want to know from whence you came. Did the fairies steal you? Did your parents abandon you? Did you grow from the earth? Are you an acorn that fell from the mighty oak after which you are named? I know the answer. All you need to do is pay the price."

"Which is?"

"Your little Grasshopper there."

For some reason, Corwin felt a tightening in his chest, but Thatch seemed relieved.

"Oh, is that all?" he said. He turned to grab the little girl.

Questnor raised his claws and swiped at Valwyn. No blood appeared. The magician crumpled. Just like that, he was dead.

Corwin gaped at the dragon.

"He knew her name," Questnor said. "There must be a reason why he wanted her. There must be more than we know to our little foundling. And more to your history."

To be continued...