The King and the Witch

     The Werelupe King burst through the thick fog with a howl. Crokabeks—massive, ugly, noisy, green ones—scattered and took flight with displeased squawking as he loped across the damp grass. A Spyder—massive and ugly—screeched at him from a distance. The accursed beasts around here refused to migrate somewhere else, but they had at least learned to stay out of his way.

     He slowed. The fog was unusually heavy tonight, and it obscured everything. Fortunately, the familiar scent of the burrows could be sniffed out even from miles away. He didn’t need his eyes to navigate. Still… something about the fog felt off, and he didn’t like it.

     Dozens of distant howls answered him then, confirmation that his pack, his underlings, had heard the call. Good. They would be ready for his arrival.

     The king skidded to a complete stop as a different sound reached his ears a moment later: a soft thud, followed by a grunt. Ears erect, he whirled around and peered into the fog, into the cluster of creaky, dead trees off to his right where the sound had come from. He crouched and slunk toward the trees, his glowing red eyes scanning the area. As he crept along, the Werelupe King sneered at the fog. He couldn’t see... well, much of anything. It almost seemed to be... playing with him. Conscious of its choice to impede his sight. As if it were alive. Or as if it were—

     Magic!

     He leapt backwards, narrowly avoiding a clout from the staff that came whipping through the fog. He bared his fangs and retrieved the boomerang sheathed at his back, a weapon nearly as long as he was tall, and brandished it as he asked with a snarl, “Who dares attack the king of the Werelupes in his domain?”

     “Your domain?” a female voice asked, its source still hidden by the dense fog. “Why, dearie, I’ve been visiting these woods since well before you and your pups moved in. This happens to be one of the only places I can find Wartroot, and I’m not going to stop coming here any time soon.”

     “Show yourself, you fangless intruder!” the Werelupe King shouted. “Only cowards hide behind pathetic magic spells.”

     Someone giggled behind him. Spinning around, he wielded his boomerang like a sword and swung it in a horizontal slice, but he struck nothing tangible. His eyes darted left and right, searching for his opponent. “Enough tricks!” he snapped. He took a deep breath, prepared to howl and summon reinforcements, when a figure finally emerged from the fog.

     “There’s no need to be so angry, pup,” she said. She clutched the staff in one hand. A pointed hat rested lopsided on her head, brown except for stitched-on patches of fabric in a multitude of other colours. Long green hair—green like the hideous Crokabeks—spilt out from under her strange headpiece, framing her face. She also sported a tattered brown and green robe held together by more unsightly patches.

     The king snorted. Such a pitiful creature should not have been brave enough to confront him, but magic transformed the otherwise mundane and weak into something dangerous. He kept his boomerang close. “You’re not welcome here,” he said, growling softly. “You have this one chance to leave. And if I catch you trespassing again, I’ll—“

     “You only caught me because I let you, because I willingly gave my hiding spot away to lure you into my fog,” she said with a halfhearted wave of her free hand. “Had I approached your burrow, when you were surrounded by your beasts, we wouldn’t have had the chance to chat. But I’m hardly trespassing, pup. This is merely the first time you’ve seen me. I keep myself hidden well enough, considering you didn’t even know I existed before tonight!” Here she snickered for a moment before composing herself again. She pushed her hat upright with her staff. “Listen, pup. The fog will only lift when I command it to. I have cast a spell on this place. If you wish me to remove it, then we will strike a deal. A mutually beneficial deal. I am looking for a tome that was buried with a sorcerer, and his resting place is somewhere in the graveyard not far from your burrows. I require a few bodyguards to accompany me to watch out for ghouls, ghosts, spirits—the usual inhabitants of graveyards. I’d only need four, maybe five of your followers, for a full night at the most. I’ll remove the fog spell once I have my book in hand.” She paused, then grinned. “So do we have a deal?”

     “You call that a deal?” he asked, eyes narrowing. “You come to my woods and curse them with your magic, then offer me the solution in return for endangering my Werelupes by leading them to that haunted graveyard to prance around looking for a book?”

     “As I said, a mutually beneficial deal.” The Ixi flashed her teeth again and winked at him.

     “What is your name, fog trickster?” the Werelupe King asked.

     The Ixi twirled her staff around. “Sophie will do just fine. And yours?”

     The king growled again. None referred to him by his name, not for many years. It was always titles. Titles of reverence. King, mostly…

     “I am the Werelupe King,” he said, “and I go by no other name.”

     Sophie shrugged. “Oh, suit yourself. I still like ‘pup.’“

      “Do not address me as ‘pup’!”

     She sighed. “So tell me, your majesty”—and here her tone was clearly mocking—“do we have a deal... or not?”

     He scrutinized her face. Wisdom and cunning were apparent in those eyes. If it came to a true fight, the king wasn’t sure he could fend her off alone. Not if she used more of that detestable magic.

     So he agreed, knowing what he would do later.

     He stared hard at her as he proffered a hefty, scarred paw, with claws longer than Sophie’s entire hand. She extended a hand to him in turn, unperturbed, and they shook.

     “Excellent,” Sophie said, nodding. “Tell five of your followers to meet me up on that hill at midnight. Do make sure they’re the sort not to whimper and scatter at the sight of a few undead things. We’ll set off from there.”

     The king grunted. “Very well. But none of your tricks, Ixi,” he said, knowing full well whose tricks would prevail tonight. His upper lip curled, revealing fangs once more. “You can’t defeat five of my best warriors by yourself, so don’t play any games.”

     “I need their willing cooperation. I have no reason to harm them. Now, off with you!” She made a shooing motion. “I’m on my way to the hilltop. We shall see each other again soon, I’m sure.”

     Sophie spun around and tramped off toward the knoll without a glance back. The King lifted his boomerang, but he did not throw it at the retreating Ixi. She was probably expecting a sneak attack and would retaliate, and he was still alone. So instead he did nothing. He only watched her form diminish as she ventured farther away. The fog roiled, still clouding his vision.

     With a snort, the King dropped to four paws again and darted off. He had a message to deliver to his underlings: At midnight, Sophie the Ixi was to be sent scurrying from the woods with such fright that she’d never consider returning, not for Wartroot, not for secret books, not for anything. And with her departure, one of his own sages would find a way to lift the fog. Enchantments needn’t be dispelled by the same one who cast them, after all. It would be simple enough to solve.

     The Werelupe King howled.

     The End.