“What’s this!” Goroth barked suddenly in the fell-tongue and then kicked Propitious so that she stumbled and fell. “Freg, you really are an idiot! Wroth’ll have your head if he finds out you’ve brought back this wench. His orders were plain enough: ‘Only bring back the heads and hearts of the big ones.’” He said this in a mimicking tone that made his brother sound like a fool, and then he continued in his own gruff voice. “It’s only the little ones you’re supposed to bring back alive! And, do you know why?!?”

Freg nodded and started to answer, but Goroth interrupted him. “Because, the Dragon-mother prefers the taste of the little ones, and she likes to hear them scream as she burns them with her fire.”

The band of warriors let out cruel laughs as they stood around their leaders listening.

Freg and his pack had marched for many nights until at last they came to Fangland. Upon their return, Goroth, the master of the hunting parties, was inspecting the returning packs. Wroth had made Goroth a chief over his hunters because he had killed a pig in their first hunt.

This was the same hunt in which the right side of his face had been terribly burned by the sun. The horrific scars from that incident were still visible and made that side of his face, along with his right ear, look as though they were made of melted wax. For this reason, Goroth hated beauty and sought any reason to abuse its owner.

The chief kicked Propitious again.

Freg flinched. “Don’t do that!” he gasped.

“And why not?!?” Goroth scoffed.

The captain of the pack gestured for his commander to come away from the young woman.

When the two were a few paces off, the smaller fell-man explained in a hushed voice. “She … She snuck into our camp and… And made the little ones…” he trailed off, glanced at her, and then began to pull Goroth a little further away.

“Just tell me, worm, before I gut you with my knife!” the taskmaster growled loudly.

The captain flinched again and then went on nervously. “She made the children vanish!”

Goroth growled with irritation, but Freg begged for his patience with an unspoken gesture.

“I’m tellin’ you, she’s a powerful witch!” Freg shuddered as he glanced over at Propitious. “And here’s the proof: One of my warriors stuck her with his spear. It was a nasty gash, but look, it’s almost healed, and only after three days!

Goroth grumbled and rolled his black eyes at the other gray man. Then, with complete disbelief, he took out his stone knife and stomped over to the young woman. With a quick jerk, he put a terrible gash across her arm. Propitious flinched with pain and silent tears filled her indigo-colored eyes.

The commander watched the wound closely, and at first, he scoffed and rolled his eyes at Freg again. However, when he looked a second time, his eyes bulged with amazement.

The deep gash had quickly stopped bleeding, and already, a scab was beginning to seal the wound.

Goroth felt a cold sliver of fear enter his black heart, but he fought to hide it from his underlings. Lifting his chin in a stubborn haughty expression, he barked his orders. “Take her to Wroth and pray to the Dragon-mother that he doesn’t have you flayed alive for this!”

With a start, Freg gave the customary salute by slapping his chest with his open hand, and then he marched his men and their captive toward the great stone-chair of the Grayling king.

Goroth watched Propitious closely with angry eyes that showed no fear, but when they were gone beyond his sight, he slumped and swallowed the lump of terror that he had been fighting desperately to hide.

When Freg came to stand before the great black throne, he found Wroth reclined with one of his legs thrown over an arm of the huge chair. It was the very same chair that Calamitous had assembled so many years before. The six enormous black stones formed a seat that, by its size alone, was clearly not made for the Grayling king.

Because he ate so often from the Tree of Deepshadows, Wroth now had dark-gray skin. Moreover, he had painted his ugly face with white clay so that it looked like a crude skull. His slanted brow was shaven, while he allowed his hair to grow out from the back of his head in black matted locks. His upper lip was burned hairless, but the rest of his coarse beard hung down in straight black clumps. His teeth, like the men at the camp, had been altered so that he had sharp fangs like those of his Dragon-mother. Coarse black hair grew upon his chest, shoulders, and upper arms giving him a beastly appearance.

Next to the stone-chair, Wroth’s mother laid upon a fur rug eating cooked flesh. She was now as gray as her children, and the beauty that she once possessed had faded into a haggard hateful expression. Her frame was little more than gray skin stretched over bones, and when she sneered at the approaching troop, she revealed that she had very few teeth left in her mouth.

“Why have you brought this wench before the Lord of Fangland?!?” Rancorous screeched with a snarl.

“And where are the little ones?!?” Wroth added with an angry roar. “Our Dragon-mother is hungry!”

Freg quaked uncontrollably. “Oh, great king, please don’t be angry with your servant, but I feared to kill this wench, and yet I also feared to set her free!”

Wroth sat up with an irritated expression. “Why would you fear any of these bright-eyes?!?”

Freg swallowed and then announced, “To be sure, my lord, she’s a powerful witch not unlike yourself.”

Wroth let out a mocking laugh that made everyone near him cringe with fear. “As powerful as me!?! Have you lost your mind, worm?!?”

The captain was going to explain, but just then, Calamitous suddenly stumbled out of his cave. “What’s all this noise?!? Who wakes me from my slumber?”

Wroth quickly hopped out of the stone-chair. “Oh, my father, have you run out of mushrooms?!?”

Calamitous blinked his strange black and gray eyes as if he could not see clearly. “I have!”

The once-Ancient was now even more of a Grayling, and his former beauty was gone completely. His gray arms and legs seemed withered with age, and his hands and feet were still blackened by the frostbite he had suffered so many years before. His long matted hair and beard was now peppered with gray. However, unlike his wife and children, he had not eaten again from the Tree of Deepshadows, therefore, his eyes were not fully black, and his brow had not become slanted.

“Bring our father more mushrooms!” Wroth shouted at his wives who sat nearby. “We must keep our father comfortable, for he is not well.”

At his word, several ugly little women leapt to their feet and began to bear stone bowls full of the terrible smelling mushrooms. Like the gray men, these fell-women wore little more than loincloths, and their gray bodies were gaunt and emaciated. In truth, the only way one could tell them apart from the Grayling men was by their flat sagging breasts, but these were so covered with dried gray mud that it was as though they wore clothing.

“Where is Rancorous?!?” Calamitous groaned. “I need her comfort!”

“I’ll not comfort you ever again!” Wroth’s mother snarled.

Calamitous gazed at his wife and a look of disgust came to his gray face. “What happened to you?!?”

He had not come out of his stupor in years, and only now was he lucid enough to comprehend the changes that had taken away his wife’s beauty.

However, before she could curse him with foul words, the gray-Ancient’s black and gray eyes came to rest upon Propitious. Her beauty stood in stark contrast to everyone else around them. She was like a bright star amid so much darkness, and she reminded him of the people he had known so many years ago.

“Who is this?!?” Calamitous asked as he approached and lightly touched the young woman’s cheek.

The gray-Ancient stood over Propitious, and she came only to his chest.

Wroth thought quickly. “I’ve brought you a second wife who will better comfort you, Father.”

Calamitous gazed at the young woman and then glanced over at Wroth. “You’ve done well, my son.”

The gray king bowed, and though he would never admit it, the praise from his father made his heart flutter with some strange feeling he found very alien.

“I ever live to serve you, Father!” he said, but these words seemed to smash the warmth in his heart, and his low bow hid the look of loathing that grew upon his ugly face.

With a quick nod, the gray-Ancient quickly snatched up Propitious and took her deep within the shadows of his den.

When Calamitous was gone again, Freg cleared his voice.

Wroth glanced at the captain. “Why are you still here?!?”

“I’m afraid you’ve put our father in great danger!” Freg answered in a harsh whisper.

The gray king chuckled and looked over at his mother. “Oh, have I?”

“Oh yes, my master!” the captain replied with a shudder. “She made all the children I’d captured vanish into nothing, and she can heal her body by means of some powerful magic!”

Wroth laughed and then spoke toward his mother. “Perhaps she’ll make someone in Fangland vanish.” He said and then turned back to the quivering captain. “Now, get out of my sight, worm!”

With a flinch, Freg did as he was told.

When the captain and his pack were gone, Wroth turned to his mother. “Do you believe that fool’s story?”

Rancorous sneered, for the hatred of Calamitous ever smoldered within her black heart. “We can only hope he’s right!”