Macster - The Missing Links

The Dog Prince vacillated from one foot to the other, a look of frantic fear on his face, as one of the anonymous servants led him out of the ruined castle and down the path to a wide grassy area just above the roadway, where a dapple-gray gelding waited chomping at the bit. He had to be practically dragged close by the servant.

When at last he was only a few feet from the horse, he ducked down and sniffed warily under the horse's tail before shuffling backwards again. "Dogs don't like horses."

"But princes do," the servant said insistently. He gestured at the saddle. "Up you get, come on."

The Dog Prince fought him every step of the way, but the man was determined and managed to get his boot in the stirrup and his leg swung up over the horse's back. Shivering and crying, the Dog Prince wriggled awkwardly, ending up on his back with his head on the horse's rump, before the servant succeeded in straightening him out.

Once in the saddle, the Dog Prince clutched the horse's mane as if it were the only thing tying him to the ground.

"The horse isn't going to move unless you give him a command!" the servant cried. "Hit him!"

Shaking violently, the Dog Prince reached out and gave the horse a weak, hesitant slap on his arched neck, and then whimpered and ducked down, burying his face in the mane.

Nothing happened, to his relief.

Sighing in vexation, the servant slapped the horse smartly on the rump--a little too hard.

Neighing in fright, the horse reared and pawed the air with his hooves, and it was all the Dog Prince could do to hold on. Flailing with his hooves, the horse knocked the handlers aside and then dropped back down, bursting into motion as he galloped away, down the path and under the arch to the roadway. All the while the Dog Prince gripped the reins instinctively and wailed for help. "Somebody help me, please!"

In moments he was out of sight. The servant gulped, and turned slowly back toward the castle...to make his report.

The Queen was just turning away in frustration from another fruitless attempt to make the Troll King speak to her when the servant burst into her chamber. "Your Majesty!" He visibly shook. "The Prince has escaped!"

She stared at him incredulously, then dismissed him without a word. Face pale, he complied, rushing out to send off a search party, leaving her alone with her mirrors.

Slowly, very slowly, she sat down upon the bed and resisted the urge to bury her face in her hands and weep. Her heart ached with an emptiness she had never felt before. The emptiness of utter failure. It was over. She had pushed the Dog Prince too far, and now he was gone, and without him, she could do nothing. Never had she felt such despair, not even in prison. The hope engendered by her escape, now dashed, suddenly made her failure and despair even greater.

"It's gone wrong," the Queen said brokenly to herself. "It's all gone wrong. All my great plans..."

Her mirror remained before her, silent. But another mirror, one she had never used, started to hum and give off a faint rustling sound. It was older than the others, tall and narrow, fashioned of oak and carved with leafy vines, and she hadn't been certain of its powers, so she hadn't touched it. Little crackles, like distant thunder, made her sit up and stare at it.

The mirror slowly came to life. It turned green, and the dark room filled with a veridian glow as the glass shimmered and rippled. Vines emerged from the glass, reaching out for her, entwining with their wooden counterparts.

The Queen went to the mirror, from which a hissing whisper began to emanate. A wooden shack with a narrow peaked roof appeared in the surface of the glass, standing in the middle of a swamp. She recognized this place, although it had been a long time since she had seen it.

"Come to me," grated a terrible voice, just as familiar.

The Queen approached the mirror.

"Come to me, and your mind will clear."

The Queen stretched out her hand to touch the full-length mirror. The surface rippled, and then she put her hand through the glass.

In a blur of light and motion, she followed her hand inside. She was stepping into a memory, an old memory. She found herself within the swamp, her life force passing with darting movements through each of the dirty, stained mirrors rising from the muck around the shack, then through the window of the shack itself.

She emerged from a mirror identical to her own, dazed and unsteady from the rapid rush of the magic. When she looked around, she gasped in spite of herself. She stood in a dank underground room, dripping with trickling water and smelling of death and decay, and in front of her, set upon a massive stone bier, was a coffin, and in it lay the decrepit, mummified skeleton of Snow White's evil stepmother.

Recovering her composure, the Queen crossed to the bier and knelt in gravest respect, enfolding her hands as if a supplicant to some divine power. "Your Majesty." She bowed her head. "I crave your guidance."

Without warning the eyes set within the sockets of the decomposing skull opened, blazing with an inner fire so intense and filled with fury as to make them resemble hot coals.

Unfazed, the Queen found herself begging, something she had never done before. "The Troll King is out of control, the dog is still missing, and the prince has escaped. Please, I need your help."

The stepmother's corpse shifted, its eyes moving to track her face, and the bared teeth parted, allowing a hissing breath that stank of the grave to escape. "Kill the Troll King!"

Shuddering at the power still inherent in that grating voice, the Queen protested. "But how? He is so strong. He has an army to protect him."

A cracking sound filled the crypt, and then the rotted burial shroud slid aside as the corpse lifted one ragged arm to extend its claw-like hand toward her. Clutched in its rigid fingers was a beautiful, crimson apple. "How did I kill Snow White?"

The Queen stared in rising hope and utter amazement. Of course...poison! Against that, no one could withstand, not even the Troll King. Why had she not thought of that before?

She reached out and took hold of the putrid hand, not even flinching as she unbent the fingers and grasped the apple, lifting it free. At once the dark, foul poison within began welling up, in the form of a rich red blood that stained the skin and began coursing in thick rivulets over her own hand. It felt so good.

The stepmother chuckled, a dry, brittle sound like scraping sandpaper that echoed in the room. "The old ways are the best."

Tightening her fingers around the apple, the Queen arose, turning back toward the mirror that would lead her to her castle once more. Her eyes remained fixed only on the apple, which began to throb as the poison within it hissed and spat and burned with a fire still potent after all these years.

She didn't know how she would get the Troll King to eat this, or otherwise ingest the poison, nor how she would solve her other problems. But now she remembered everything, and what she had to do, and was galvanized by her renewed understanding of who truly held the upper hand.

Let the battle commence.

Upon a hillside overlooking the opposite side of the valley where Little Lamb Village rested, a quaint small house stood within the sheltering boughs of the apple trees. It looked like an old Swiss chalet, its windowboxes filled with flowers of brilliant hue, its thatched roof and smoking chimney lending it a rather cozy air. The sign before it along the road revealed this to be the home of the Merrypips Apple Orchard, and added that it was also the maker of the best cider in all the Nine Kingdoms. Some might debate this claim, but certainly not the Dog Prince. He was too busy clinging to the back of his horse.

As they galloped into the yard, the horse took it in his head to slide to a stop so as to cool down and get a much-needed drink. Unprepared, the Dog Prince flew wildly over the horse's head, yelling and kicking, until he landed with a massive splash in the horse trough.

Little Abigail Merrypips heard the splash and came dashing around the house. As soon as she saw the Dog Prince, she ran back to the door. "Mom! Mom! Come and see! There's a man with our Rover."

Mrs. Merrypips stood in the doorway, drying a supper dish, puzzled. "What? What is it?" Hurriedly she followed her daughter out into the late afternoon sunlight and around the corner. She slid to a stop in horror.

There, at the edge of the porch steps, crouched a man in a splendid uniform, or what had been a splendid uniform. It was now stained by meat juices and dirt, as the man buried his face with evident gusto in the dog dish. Beside him, Rover was trying to stick his own muzzle into the dish, growling. The man looked up to snarl at the dog, and Mrs. Merrypips gasped anew.

"Oh, my God! It's his Royal Highness!"

The Dog Prince snarled and bared his teeth ferally at the dog, then returned to his long-awaited repast.