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Alexander’s Quest
By Nicholas Alexander Hansen
Prince Alexander gazed over the wall through the crenels into the courtyard below. The now unseen orange-red cobblestones were covered with a thick rolling mist drifting in from the eastern bog. It was an odd wind, and evil too, and it dampened his spirit as well as the castle walls. He peered out, trying to catch a glimpse of the sun but it was hopeless. The gray clouds had covered it’s shining warmth for nearly a week now. The only twinkling was from the ruby eyes of Bill, the stone dragon that sat as silent sentry over his castle. These clouds had twirled across the sky just two days before princess Ateshea had been struck deathly ill. The healers had labored over her tirelessly but they had finally informed the prince that they were helpless as the sickness was not from within but was from without. She was being sucked dry of her essence, her beauty, her will to live by an unseen power.
A scream broke his melancholy as his hand instinctively grasped the sword at his side. This terror, deep within the bowels of the castle erupted again and Alexander raced for the stairs. He could hear, as he ran, the clatter of weapons and armor on the run from below and the bellowing of fearful uncertainty wrapped in courage. His knights greeted him in a seldom-used hallway leading to abandoned storage rooms. Alexander had to suppress a smile when he saw the hodge podge dress of the gathering. The scream had caught most of them either still sleeping or just getting dressed. Bits of armor were visible where they had been hastily strapped on. Some others wore only pants while others were attired only in their small clothes. Lord Brenson, all three hundred or so pounds of him, was clad only in his breastplate and loincloth, it was a sight Alexander could have lived without his whole life and not felt deprived.
The humor of the moment turned grim as the group of seasoned warriors parted to allow their prince a view. It was an awful sight, what used to be a man lay in a pool of his own gore, not cut from him by honest steel but melted as old candle wax. Even the skull was sagging and the fluid still steamed.
“Who was it?” Alexander choked.
“It was Bardoff,” Corporal Nim said, “I can tell from the ring. He’s carried it since his wife died. They say a witch killed her”
Alexander’s ears perked, “ I thought she died of an illness.”
“If you can call withering away in but two weeks and going from a young beauty to an old hag an illness.”
Alexander grabbed Nim and shoved him to the wall. “Why did you not inform me of this before now you fool! This same affliction is what plagues the princess.”
Nim’s eyes looked up with uncertainty. “It was common knowledge my liege and besides the princess’s condition was not known to me.”
Alexander’s mind was a blur as he considered the possibilities. A witch... Bardoff’s wife... but that was years... but what if she?... and didn’t she live here in the castle... yes and it was... but why was Bardoff here? Did he hear of the princess’s malady and go in search of?... Yes!!! With the certainty of truth the solid rock of the hallway quivered ever so slightly to reveal a door. A door that had never before been here. A door with a shining black pentagram held by a man with the head of a ram.
The smell of fear wafted through the hall as men who had faced death many times trembled. Here was evil, pure evil. The dread of every child’s nightmare stood before them. This was the lair of Hillary, the Witch, sent from Hell to destroy every child. It was she who had destroyed their religion. It was she who had stolen the knowledge of God from the land and from their schools. And now she was replenishing her body by sucking the life from his sister, the princess.
With a rage so deep that it nearly burst the prince’s soul he slammed into the door, shattering it from its hinges. A miasmic effluvium enveloped him and he spewed his breakfast in immediate response. A crone with snake-like limbs and a face of rotting flesh turned her startled eyes to glare at him. “Your sister is a strong one, she has fought hard but no one can resist me. And now I will bring down the full wrath of Hell upon you for disturbing my work.”
Alexander raised his sword and attacked, but Hillary slithered through a crevasse in the wall. Alexander looked up and saw the gray sky above. “To the courtyard! she flees!” he commanded.
As the warriors broke through to fresh air a fearful sight met them. The stone dragon that had always seemed a friend now circled in the cloudy sky above. Red-orange flame shot from its lips and broadsword like talons raked the air. Atop its neck rode Hillary, directing Bill’s every move.
Shields were raised in defense as Bill dove from the sky to rain fiery death upon its former friends. Men screamed as burning liquid stuck to skin and clothes alike. The prince turned and ran back to the tunnels, a faint glimmer of hope riding up in his memory. Alexander threw down his sword as he searched the witch’s den, until he found what his heart told him was his only chance. In his hands he held a mirror with his own face glaring back, but beneath his own eyes were the eyes of his sister and deeper were a hundred other eyes and below them all were the burning eyes of Hillary. Slamming his fist into the glass the screams of the captured souls fled to freedom. The screams were soon followed by shouts of victory above. His plan had worked. Hillary’s powers were but illusion and leaching off the lives of others.
Within a few days Princess Ateshea was better and the wind had changed, now coming from the west. The plague of the witch had ended and the books of God had been found. In truth they had never been lost, they were just covered by Illusion and Lies until the people no longer believed in them. Now that the truth was restored the people no longer believed the lies taught in the schools controlled by Hillary. Freedom reigned as God was once again worshiped, even in the schools.
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