Debra L. Rollins - Revenge For the Huntsman

The heavenly smell of freshly baked breads and morning meat set Cierce’s stomach to growling loudly. The meal from her cousins had been satisfying but small and she languished outside a shop window, staring in at hanging sausages and cinnamon rolls advertised for sale. Cinnamon rolls were her favorite. She had become accustomed to the sweet by Madam throwing her bits and pieces as a young cub. She felt herself salivating, swallowed, and then turned away. There was no possibility of buying any for she had no gold Wendells for purchase, if the denizens of this kingdom even used them in the first place.

They continued on, slowly becoming aware that they were being stared at and skirted by passers-by. She looked at their reflection in a storefront window, shocked at what she saw. As a wolf she had always stayed well groomed and even though she was clean (the honeysuckle still lingering strongly) and her hair combed through as best she could, she looked as if she were on the receiving end of a fairy prank. Her dress and shoes were sullied beyond repair, she walked with a limp and the grimace on her face looked downright wolfish even to herself.

Burly on the other hand, though still dripping water from his dunking and sporting bits of algae here and there, had a wide grin on his face. He had used her comb at her insistence and tied it back with the silver ribbon from her reticule into a tail. It looked rather good that way, she had to admit to herself. She sighed loudly. What a predicament this venture had become.

Her sigh drew Burly’s attention. He had been walking ahead by a few feet, still limping himself, but delighted at the sights and sounds of the Tenth Kingdom. He, Blabberwort and Bluebell had had little time available to explore their newly claimed Troll lands the last time they were here. That nasty, little witch had tricked them into a magic box for what seemed like hours before they'd freed themselves.

“What’s the matter with you?” he asked.

She shook her head; Trolls could be so dull-witted at times.

“Look at me will you?” She stopped and spread her gown to show him how soiled the dress had become.

“You look fine to me,” stated Burly, scratching his head and wondering at the female brain, then resumed walking.

“Fine?” She stood still for a moment, frozen by his sheer ignorance of the female psyche. No wonder he had yet to be married off. A prince was a fine catch for a husband she supposed, even in the Troll Kingdom. Who taught this young prince how to treat women? If it were his father, then the dead king deserved whatever death this Virginia gave him. She hurried to keep up with his longer strides.

“Now just a minute, Troll. My gown if filthy, my shoes are falling apart and I’m hung…”

“What’s that smell?” He stopped abruptly, Cierce nearly running into his backside.

“Which smell?” ahe asked, irritated at being interrupted. She sniffed the air. Many scents were present including their own. The special scent of cinnamon rose to her nostrils triggering a stomach growl again.

“Here!” Burly pointed to an open shop and entered excitedly. Cierce followed, clutching her stomach.

“Lookey-look, leather!”

Indeed, it was a leather shop. Fine quality leathers from around the world sewn into bags, saddles, hats, gloves, jackets and other sundry of clothing apparel which lined the small shop from top to bottom.

Cierce sniffed. The Troll was almost salivating at the treasure trove of fine leathers under one roof. He danced from one rack to another, caressing the soft cow skin and deeply inhaling its special fragrance, till she turned away in disgust. He certainly didn’t appear to be too interested in her now and that was just fine with her.

“May I help you, Sir?”

The proprietor appeared with his wife in tow, a cheerful-looking couple in their late fifties. Cierce sniffed their direction. They didn’t smell menacing, nor did they appear such. If fact, they seemed kindly.

“Nicey-nice leather,” stated Burly, not taking his eyes off a particularly handsome jacket.

“Thank you, Sir.” The shop owner beamed proudly. “We try to carry only the best. Would you like to try it on? There are even pants to go with that particular jacket.”

“Yes! But first, show me your shoes,” the Troll demanded. The shop had to have shoes, maybe even boots. His breathing became erratic. He was in Troll heaven.

Cierce hung back as Burly tried on the clothes and a multitude of shoes and boots, taking what seemed to her a very long time. Hound’s tooth! Why was he wasting their time? They had nothing in which to even barter for the leather goods, let alone pay in gold coin. Again she looked down at her gown and sighed miserably.

“What’s the matter, Dearie? Can’t you find anything you like?”

Cierce had been so wrapped up in self-pity; she failed to notice the proprietor’s wife walk up behind her.

“What?”

“Can I help you find some new clothes?” The woman offered kindly. “You look like you have been in some sort of accident. Did you fall into the harbor or something?”

Cierce grimaced, then smiled tentatively. She liked this human. She smelt…nice.

“Something like that,” she answered. “I would love some new clothes, but…”

“But, what, Dearie?”

“But I have no coin in which to pay you.”

“No coin… oh! You mean money?” The woman seemed confused. “But your husband has plenty of money. He had me hold his jacket and his wallet fell out. Do tell him to be careful of carrying that much money around. I’m afraid we have too many robberies in this city. I’d hate to see a nice young couple like you and your husband get held up.”

“Husband? He’s not my…” Cierce let it drop. It would be too complicated to explain to the woman smiling sweetly at her. What was important was the fact that Burly appeared to have something in which to purchase goods. Just like a Troll not to share his resources when times were bad. Every Troll for themselves and it seemed Burly was no exception. Well, she’d show him not to hold out on her again!

“Show me your best clothing, please…and spare no expense.”

“Don’t forget, my darlings…fittings for both of you tomorrow at twelve and don’t be late. I have both the tailor and seamstress coming at the same time so you won’t be late for your appointment with the Deeters at two. The hotel wishes to met with all of us on Thursday for the seating arrangements for the guests which by the way, is now up to three hundred and forty-two…” Marjorie glanced over at Tony, sighing dramatically. “Forty-three since your father decided to come back from his venture out of the country.”

Tony stole a look at Virginia, questioning the “venture” his mother-in-law mentioned. Virginia waved his silent gesture away, mouthing she would explain later. She was still in shock at the number of guests her grandmother had just stated were coming to the “small” wedding she and Wolf had agreed to. The thought of standing up and exchanging vows in front of that many people made her not a little queasy to her stomach. What on earth had she been thinking in letting her grandmother have full rein on her own wedding?

The oil painting of her mother in her younger years hanging above the old woman’s chair reminded her why. It was guilt…plain and simple. Her stomach wrenched even harder. Perhaps the excitement of the wedding would help keep the old woman busy once she was told the truth of her own daughter’s descent into madness and death. Unfortunately that meant she would have to tell her soon. Hardly a duty she looked forward to, she thought in dismay as she went to her bedroom to change for the day. Wolf tagged along, tongue lolling like a puppy.

“Cheer up, Virginia,” said Wolf, trying to bring a smile to her woebegone face. “I promise that marriage to me will not be that bad. In fact, I give you my solemn Wolf word that I will be your mate for life, to do what you will to…”

She pushed him away as if in irritation, but he spotted the smile before she could hide the expression by ducking her head. The smile disappeared as quickly as it came.

“What am I going to do, Wolf? How can I tell her I killed her only child? She’ll hate me for sure!” She chewed her bottom lip, drawing blood in her agony. Wolf could sense her despair as if it were his own.

He clasped her hands in his and sat her on the edge of the bed, gazing deeply into her worried, blue eyes affectionately. His own hazel eyes flared green but for a second. She blinked and shook her head as if to clear away a fog. She sat there for a moment, feeling as if a thought had come and gone in a blink of an eye, disappearing into thin air. She searched his face, so near to her own.

“What was I just saying?” she asked. “That’s so weird! I feel as if I just lost my train of thought.”

“You were telling me that you loved me with all your heart and wished for twelve more cubs in our lifetime together. Huff-puff, Virginia! We better hurry up and get married soon if you wish to accomplish that feat.”

Virginia stared in horror at the thought of thirteen children running amok in a tiny apartment somewhere in New York City until Wolf laughed at the expression on her face. Much, much better than the despair she'd worn moments before.

Cierce stepped out of the dressingroom, the proprietor’s wife beaming proudly at her customer’s transformation. Most customers were men, but she and her husband had a nice line of women’s leather goods also. Now it was her chance to “fit out” a customer for once. A good job, if she said so herself, and she did. The young woman transformed from a sodden wreck to a sensuous siren in a matter of a half an hour. Hopefully the woman would not be in too much trouble for spending the God-awful amount that the outfit cost. Served the husband right for letting the poor, little thing think he had no money for new clothes. The silver gown was a total loss, not fit for the rag bag even, so the older woman tossed it away along with the girl’s shoes and purse, but not before taking the few possessions she had, transferring them to a sturdy but feminine fanny pack.

“Take a look at yourself, Dearie.”

The woman positioned Cierce in front of a full-length mirror and stepped back. Cierce slowly opened her eyes, peeking out from under her lashes. The reflection in the mirror was vastly different than the last time she saw herself there. Soft, black leather clung to her body like a second skin, molding to her feminine curves perfectly. Wearing long pants seemed a strange concept to her. Even in the Nine Kingdoms, most females wore dresses, except for the more warrior-like female population of the Troll Kingdom. The jacket was short, accentuating her petite waistline and the knee-high boots had a small heel, adding to her height. Underneath the jacket was what the shopkeeper called a “bustier”. With her long, silver hair streaming down her back, complementing the black leather, she indeed felt beautiful…by human standards, of course. She walked in a small circle, testing the boots, appreciating the freedom of movement the pants afforded her.

“Perfect! This will do nicely.” She thanked the woman with a smile, then turned to find Burly.

“Wait a moment, Dearie. You need one more thing.”

The woman left, returning in a moment with her purse.

“No woman is complete without a touch of lipstick, my mother always said.” She applied the pink, glossy color to Cierce’s full lips and stood back, admiring her handiwork. “There, now you’re ready. You keep the lipstick, it suits your coloring well.”

“Thank you.” Cierce whispered, tears starting in her eyes. The woman, even though human, reminded her of her own mother by her caring attitude. She turned from the shopkeeper abruptly, blinking her tears away.

Burly turned as he heard their approach, he himself encased in full leather garb. He felt almost like his old, handsome Troll self again in his new leathers. He loved the smell, the feel, the…the…

The vision before him brought his thought pattern to a screeching halt.

Cierce stood there, turned around once for his benefit, curtsied and asked, “Will I do, Your Lordship?”

“Good leather! Much better than cloth.” He sniffed her jacket in appreciation, the smells of new leather, honeysuckle and her own special scent teasing his senses.

He backed off hastily, every nerve in his body tingling. She was far too dangerous for her own good. He found himself itching to be off, to find the witch and Wolf and return to his old self posthaste.

“That will be two-thousand, four-hundred fifty-five dollars and thirteen cents. Cash or charge?”

Burly edged over to the counter away from the intoxicating wolf, his breathing returning to a semblance of normal.

What did the man say?

“Charge?”

“Oh, here, sir,” the proprietress handed Burly Mr. Murray’s wallet. “It fell out of your jacket pocket while you were trying on clothes. We take any number of charge cards you know, just pick one.”

Burly selected a gold colored card from one of the little slots in the leather piece of scrap he had been carrying. The shopkeeper and his wife happily rang up their leather purchases. The card was the Tenth Kingdom’s form of gold Wendells he supposed.

By the time they left the shop, Cierce was desperately hungry, determined to eat something, anything…someone if need be! She stole a look at the tall, slender Troll beside her. He didn’t appear hungry at all. The smell of leather must be keeping him going, she growled to herself irritably. An open-air cafe down the street drew her. A portly couple, preparing to sit down at a tiny table to eat their morning meal brought Cierce to the point of insanity from the aroma of cinnamon rolls, fresh milk and ham and eggs mingling together.

Her eyes glazed over and flashed silver-blue as she honed in on the feast not six feet away. She covered her mouth with her hand, as her canines elongated against her will.

“What’s wrong with you?” Burly asked, noticing Cierce looked decidedly more wolfish than usual.

“I’m hungry,” she mumbled through her hand. “I have to eat soon or kill to do so.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so?”

Burly looked around, noticing the plump couple about ready to dig into their smorgasbord of food. Now there was a pair that needed help on a diet, he smiled wickedly to himself. He walked over to the two, sprinkled the smallest pinch of Trolldust over their heads and watched with satisfaction as they both lolled back in their chairs fast asleep. Swiftly he absconded with their plates and sat the bounty on the table in front of Cierce.

Other patrons watched in amazed disgust as she ate with gusto, wolfing down her meal in a matter of minutes. Burly too, ate swiftly, throwing a bone over his shoulder to land in another customer’s plate setting directly behind him. The man, an immense brute, looked down at the obtrusive bone now soaking in his eggs, sunny-side-up, and turned to Burly, bellowing in rage. The Troll was taller, but the man was huge for a human, standing nearly as tall and twice Burly’s bulk. He lifted Burly out of his chair before the Troll knew what was going on.

“You threw your bone in my eggs,” he yelled to Burly’s face. “Who do you think you are?”

“I am Burly the Troll, feared among the Nine Kingdoms…”

The man cut him off.

“Well fear this!” He held up his free fist. “I’m going to give you a ride into next week!”

Cierce’s sharp ears pricked up. Where had she heard that voice before? She eyed the massive male manhandling, or should she say Trollhandling Burly before she realized who he was. The obnoxious human who'd tried to attack her the first night she'd arrived in this dimension. Her eyes flared icy blue. Leisurely she licked the last of the crumbs from her plate and fingers before sauntering up behind him and the flailing Troll. Burly was beginning to look a bit desperate.

“Oh, lover boy.” She tapped him on the back.

The red-faced man looked over his shoulder, then down at the petite woman behind him. His face went deathly white.

“You!” He dropped Burly like a sack of rocks. The Troll fell to the ground, howling as his sore ankle hit the hard cement of the sidewalk.

Cierce, hackles raised, grabbed the man by his shirt with both hands, lifted him off the ground a few inches and smiled wolfishly, eyes flashing silver ice, staring directly into his eyes.

“I’m still hungry, Mister.” She bared her canines. “What’s for dessert?”

The man screamed, wrestled from her hold, tearing his shirt to do so, and ran without looking back once. Other patrons and passersby stood for a moment as if struck by lightning, dumbfounded by the sight.

“Oh, my God!”

“Look at her…it’s a werewolf!”

“Help! It’s a monster!”

“Run for your life!”

People scattered in every direction except one…hers. Cierce stood where she was. She could barely see beyond the crowd of fleeing humans, not sure what to do, until a hand from the crowd grabbed her arm, pulling her back and away from the pandemonium. Caught off guard, she struggled a moment until she looked up and saw Burly, sporting a large grin and a look of respect, lead her from the crowd of confused humans.

They made use of the chaos, running swiftly down a side alley and back towards Central Park.