The Monsters of Stephen Enchanter by D.J. Natelson Read Free Book Online

he had done.
     
    “Prepare your snake, Enchanter.  I have a surprise for you.”
     
    “You really needn’t.”
     
    “Don’t trifle with me, Enchanter.  Prove your worth.”  The Jolly Executioner’s gaze, through his hood, traveled on to Youngster, Tinkerfingers, and the rest of the company.  He had been speaking in a low voice, too low for them to have heard, but every face was turned his way and, surreptitiously, every member of the company felt for his weapon.  It was this, far more than the Jolly Executioner’s words, that showed Stephen what he meant.
     
    Stephen whistled.
     
    The serpent had not been idle.  While its master had talked, it had insinuated itself into the camp, curling itself on the far side of Stephen from the fire.  It waited there, indistinguishable from the snow around it, listening, spying, not tasting the air—it had no tongue—but ready to defend its master.  The moment Stephen whistled, it darted forward, wrapping its body around its master, resting its head on his shoulder.
     
    Youngster yelped and leapt away as the snowy snakeskin brushed past him.  His hands flashed to his belt and withdrew twin blades.  The serpent reared its head up, ready to strike if this person attacked its master.
     
    “Stop!” Stephen cried. 
     
    The serpent hesitated, twisting back questioningly.  Youngster took his opportunity and plunged forward, burying both blades in the serpent’s neck. 
     
    “I said stop!  You’re going to ruin my serpent.  I nearly froze my fingers off making it!”
     
    Youngster looked from Stephen to the serpent to the two short swords buried in the snowy neck.  “Sorry,” he said, sheepishly de-impaling the serpent.  “I wasn’t very effective, anyway.”
     
    “That’s because it’s made of snow,” Tinkerfingers said, and doubled over in laughter.
     
    “It isn’t funny,” Youngster said reproachfully.
     
    “Yes it is!”
     
    “It could have happened to anyone.”
     
    “But it—” Tinkerfingers’s laugh broke off and he shifted his stance, unfolding something click, click.  Youngster was scanning the camp outskirts.  Miss Ironfist had found an enormous morningstar somewhere, its iron head heavier than Stephen could have lifted.  Around the campsite, every other member of the company had armed himself and stood at the ready.
     
    The hairs on Stephen’s neck prickled, and his palms grew sweaty, but he still had no idea what had alerted the company.  He wanted to ask, but didn’t dare speak.  He ran his hands along his serpent, making sure it was sound.
     
    His one weapon, an enchanted bronze knife, had been confiscated in Crying.  He cleared his throat to ask for another—and saw movement between the trees.  Something was out there—no, more than one thing—a pack.
     
    Wolves.
     
    But wolves didn’t act this way.  They didn’t silently attack large companies of armed men, against the background of a bonfire.  Even starving wolves would have taken more care, and waited until the company was asleep—and then they would have picked off the look-out or, more likely, gone to the nearest town and waited for a child to wander away from its mother.
     
    Then firelight caught the face of the largest animal, and Stephen realized they were not ordinary wolves at all.  They were fairy creatures, come down from Faerie in the north, wearing the semblance of wolves—only, they hadn’t gotten their guise quite right.  Wolves did not have tusks and their eyes were not purple and they did not have claws like cats.
     
    This, Stephen thought fervently, was why it was stupid to travel through the Fairwoods, when everyone knew there were perfectly safe royal roads available.
     
    “You see, Enchanter?” the Jolly Executioner murmured to him.  “I said you would soon have a chance to prove your worth.”
     
    “Are you mad?” Stephen whispered back.  “I can’t kill these!  I’d need days to prepare—weeks!”
     
    “You