Fool’s Errand 

Dorothea hated horses. She hated their large size, their hooves’ monotonous clomp, clomp, clomp during a long trek, and their manure stench that she was sure she could smell in her neatly plaited white-blond hair. And when she shifted in the worn saddle, her legs protested, sending a jolt of agony up her body.

She. Hated. Horses. There was only one thing she hated more: being trussed up on top of one.

“This had better be worth the trouble, girl,” Gorman, her captor, said. He adjusted his grip on the reins of his nasty black warhorse and spat to the side, his new, polished armor plates scraping against each other. The sun glinted off the new shield strapped to his arm, the coat of arms depicting a bright red dragon curled around a bloody blade.

Nausea twisted her stomach at the sight of it, but she kept her thoughts to herself. 

“Aye, little wench, it had better be.” Mick, the more bloodthirsty of the two, yanked on Dorothea’s bindings and trailed a finger down her cheek. “Or it’s the axe for your pretty little head.”

“It is,” Dorothea snapped, jerking away from him and eyeing the sharp head of the battle axe strapped to his back. She gritted her teeth and averted her gaze, checking to be sure, for the umpteenth time, that her illusion was in place. If they found out that she was more than just a harmless peasant girl, then nothing would save her. “You’ll have all the gold and jewels you could ever want, once we reach the fairy ring.”

Then, with a little luck, she could take back what belonged to her.  

Mick swung a glare her way and she added, “Sir,” with more bite than she had intended. Still, he seemed satisfied enough, and his attention shifted back to Gorman.

Dorothea ground her teeth, then nearly gagged as a breeze blew his pig-slop stink toward her. She turned her head away, careful to breathe through her mouth. 

This was her own fault. She’d been careless, thinking that she wouldn’t get caught. But it had taken her a month to find the thieves and she couldn’t let the opportunity pass. They’d ruined her family’s livelihood and stolen everything her mother had worked so hard for. Then they’d bought shiny new things and wasted what was left on getting drunk at a nearby tavern. Everyone knew what they’d done—her family hadn’t been the first of their victims—but no one stopped them.

Even if someone tried to help—and because of her family’s low-born status, they wouldn’t—her parents were too proud to ask for it, and her elder sister too cautious.

Which left Dorothea. She’d made a vow; she would find them, and when she did, she’d steal back whatever they’d taken. And conjure the illusion of poisonous snakes in their beds. It was only fair.

But they were far better thieves than she, and they’d caught her red-handed. Mick had nearly beheaded her right there in their rooms, he’d been so furious. He’d lifted his axe, ready to end her. Her parents’ withering orchard had flashed before her eyes, her sister shouting, “It’s pointless, Dorothea. Come back. Don’t be a fool!” behind her as she stormed off…and then a desperate idea sprouted.    

“Wait!” she yelled. “I know where you can get more gold!”

At that Gorman grabbed Mick’s arm, stopping him. “Aye? And where would that be, little lady?” he asked.

His voice was snide, but greed and calculation spun in his dark eyes, and apprehension curled tight in her stomach. Mick might be hard-headed and bloodthirsty, but he was all bluster and threats. He would never defy an order from someone he deemed superior. Gorman, though...Gorman was truly dangerous.  

Dorothea licked her lips and replied, “The fairy ring.”

Gorman’s eyebrows rose. “A bloody fairy ring? That’s a piss poor lie if I ever heard one.”

“It’s not,” she protested, thoughts churning as she cobbled a plan together. “Fairies leave offerings to their goddess inside fairy rings. Gold and jewels and things.” Which actually was a lie, but she was betting these mud men didn’t know fairy lore like she did. The Fae were wary creatures—they didn’t spill their secrets to outsiders. Like most of their kind, these men wouldn’t know a pixie from a hobgoblin.   

 “And they just leave these things lying around?” Gorman asked, skeptical.

“They’re protected,” she quickly assured him. “But I know where one is. And I know how to break into it.”

“Fine,” Mick growled, shaking her. “Then tell us where it is and we won’t kill you.”

Not bloody likely. Dorothea stifled a snort. Being frightened hadn’t addled her wits.  

“It doesn’t work that way. You’ll have to take me with you if you want to get inside the fairy ring.” She swallowed hard, terror gripping her chest as she turned to Gorman. It wasn’t Mick she had to convince. “Don’t you want more money? The fairy ring has more gold and jewels than you’ve seen in your wildest dreams. You can have all of it. Just as long as you let me go.”

Gorman smiled, the expression lupine and malicious.

Now here they were, on an empty road riddled with broken cobblestones surrounded by dying grass and crushed hopes. Dorothea had endured a long night of Mick’s increasingly pointed jibes and of riding one of his horrible beasts with her wrists bound. And now she smelled like dirty barn and wet mutt.  

This is a terrible plan. Maybe Dorothea really was a fool. But these men hadn’t just stolen some pretty baubles. They’d taken something precious. Something her family needed. And she wanted it back.

She just needed a little help first.

Dorothea bent her right wrist a bit, the movement awkward with them bound, and twisted a gold band on her left thumb, hidden behind a simple illusion trick. Feeling the snap of a mental connection, she called out, Silver? Silver, come.

No response. Fear rushed through her in a cold wave as the horse whinnied in distress and tossed its head. “Whoa, beastie, easy,” she said, voice quavering. She snatched at the horse’s mane with both hands and held on tight, murmuring nonsense words to soothe it, but her mind had turned furiously elsewhere.  

 Her call hadn’t worked. Why hadn’t it worked? Her whole plan hinged on this.

Stay calm, she told herself, and forced a breath of fetid air into her lungs. You’re probably not close enough. Give it a few minutes and try again.  

Or maybe I shouldn’t, she thought, glancing at the white stallion as it settled into a more sedate walk. Mortal beasts were more sensitive to magic, especially this one. What if it had an even worse reaction and gave her away? If she was smart, she’d let it be and think of something else. But desperate times called for stupid measures.

After waiting for a miserable eternity, Dorothea eyed the horse warily. You’d better behave this time, she thought at it. Then she twisted the ring on her thumb and sent out her mental call again, louder this time.

Silver!

The horse screamed. Its front hooves lifted into the air. Gravity shifted and the saddle slid backward. Dorothea cried out and tightened her grip on the horse’s mane before she toppled off. Then gravity shifted forward again and they fell back to the earth with a jarring thud. The horse stamped its hooves in preparation to run.

Mick let out a curse and grabbed the reins before the horse could take off, yanking its head back at a brutal angle. He growled something unintelligible, but the horse seemed to respond. It sidestepped a pace or two, sides heaving and head held low, and stayed.

“Dumb beast,” Mick muttered, sounding befuddled by the horse’s behavior. “I still say we should kill her. Look at what she’s doing to my horse.”

Dorothea was shaking too badly to think of a good response to that.

“No,” Gorman said mildly, his watchful gaze scanning the flat plane around them, taking in the dark mountains in the distance and the clusters of trees stuffed with crisp green leaves dotting the landscape, a light breeze interrupting the quiet. It should have been peaceful. Instead, a rush of helplessness rolled through her at the silence, leaving dread to take its place. 

“Why not?” Mick whined, fingering a blade at his hip. “You wouldn’t let me kill that priest when we stole his mule. Or that Elf bitch when we stole her jewels.”

Dorothea stifled a flinch and clenched her jaw.   

“You said I could kill something,” he went on. “When do I get to kill something?”

Gorman only grunted in reply.

Mick glared at her in clear accusation. Then his eyes traveled to her ears and they widened in shock. “Son of a whore. Gorman!”

Dorothea froze.

She felt for the familiar tingle of the illusion that she’d used to hide her Fae-likeness—pointed ears, willowy form, and bright green eyes—and didn’t find it. Her Fae appearance had manifested.

Troll piss.

“She tricked us!” Mick growled. “She’s like that Elf bitch!” He yanked on the reins of her horse with one hand and grabbed her ear in a rough grip with the other.  

Dorothea cried out, shoving his hand off.  “Don’t touch me!”

Stupid, she berated herself. Her sister would make it the epitaph on her headstone. ‘Here lies Dorothea. She died stupid.’

“I’ll kill you, you little wretch!” Mick reached for his axe, expression ugly. “That’ll teach you not to cross us.”  

Dorothea’s pulse jumped wildly and she jerked away.

Silver, she screeched, eyes glued to the axe. Where are you?

The stallion bucked with a squeal, its hooves rising and falling to stamp the ground so hard it rattled her bones, and she nearly missed Silver’s faint chirp in the back of her mind. 

Too late, she thought, clinging to the horse as Mick’s axe arced backward, the sun glinting off the sharp metal edge.

Gorman’s meaty hand grabbed the handle, stopping Mick’s strike. “Mick, don’t be daft. There could still be money at the end of this. We can’t kill her before then.”

Dorothea’s heart stopped. Then beat on as she slumped against the horse, uncaring of its nervous sidestepping, her limbs like limp noodles. Thank the goddess. She never thought that Gorman—and his greed—would come to her rescue. Or that she’d be so relieved that he did.  

“Gorman,” Mick protested, but the other man snapped at him to shut up.

“I don’t care if she’s a troll under a god-damn bridge, Mick. We traveled all bloody night to get here. I’m not leaving without the money.” He looked at Mick, who shut his mouth with a click, then swung his flat gaze at her. She saw nothing human in that gaze, only an alien, predatory alertness. Like a big hunting cat sighting prey. He gestured with his chin to keep moving.

Eyes darting away, she shuddered and pushed herself upright. The road was littered with cracked paving stones and—as was the way of man-made things that dared get close to Fae magic—shifted from a straight line to an aimless curving back and forth until it curled up at the base of a hill only a mile ahead. She urged the horse forward, starting the end of her journey.   

It wouldn’t be long now.

Mick grumbled the rest of the way like a petulant child, throwing murderous looks at her as the horses trotted down the path. Dorothea hunched and tried to look small and unassuming as she began to spin a little of her illusion magic.

A little more.

Then a little more.

Slowly, so as not to startle the horse or raise any more suspicions. She’d have to use every last drop of it if she was going to pull this off. Failure wasn’t an option.   

The mile disappeared quickly as she worked, and after passing a small group of trees, they reached the hill. At the base, a thick circle of mushrooms pushed between the short blades of grass, glowing a faint, misty white. In the middle stood a small mound of gold coins stacked haphazardly against each other, with sharp-edged rubies and emeralds carelessly scattered around the edges.  

Dorothea frowned in concentration, a headache pounding at her temples. She couldn’t lose control of the illusion this time. It didn’t have to hold up to close scrutiny; she just needed it to last long enough.

Mick’s eyes grew bigger than the mushroom heads and he whooped. Wrapping both their reins around one hand, he kicked his horse’s sides and the two beasts hurtled the last several paces toward the hill. Dorothea screamed and grabbed a fistful of her horse’s coarse mane in a death grip.

I hate horses, she chanted to herself. I hate bloody horses.

The illusion she’d crafted beat against her skull but she held it tight, adding a second painful tempo that twined with the stomping of hooves against the grass and packed earth. Then Mick yanked back on the reins, pulling both horses to an abrupt stop, their neighs of outrage slicing the air.

Dorothea jolted backward in the saddle, her pulse galloping and her hands shaking as she speared Mick with a glare. If her illusion magic hadn’t been spread so thin, she’d have conjured a snake in his trousers. He wouldn’t be so excited then.

Gorman followed behind them at a more sedate pace, sighing with resignation. He pulled his horse to a stop beside Mick’s and turned to her. “No more lies, girl. This your fairy ring?”

Of a sort. Still, it wasn’t a lie, and she nodded to him, a bitter twist to her lips.

Gorman’s impenetrable dark eyes searched her face as he reined his horse in. The fairy ring emanated a thick layer of magic, and the beasts fidgeted, making unhappy sounds. Only the mud men’s air of authority and strength kept them from bolting.

“I believe you,” he said, “but I won’t fall for the same trick twice, you hear?” When Dorothea nodded, he thrust his chin at the ring. “Bring me something so I can test it.”

Troll piss. The mud man was too smart for his own good.

Silver? She asked as Mick reluctantly removed her bindings. She’d kept the connection open just in case. Sure enough, Silver trilled excitedly in the back of her mind, louder now that they were so close to the portal.

A few minutes longer. She could do this.

“Well?” Mick barked when she hadn’t moved. “Get on with it, Fae bitch.”

He shoved her and she gasped as her body slid right off the saddle and crumpled to the ground with a bone-jarring thud. Dorothea rolled, pain biting into her shoulder and hip. She’d definitely landed wrong. But nothing felt broken, and she climbed carefully to her feet, scowling up at Mick.  

Bastard. You’ll be first.  

Massaging her hip, Dorothea limped slowly toward the fairy ring, squeezing a few extra seconds tight in her fist, only to watch them slip through her fingers one by one until the tips of her boots brushed the fairy ring. Silver should have been here by now. Instead, she stood alone, the threat of death creeping steadily closer. 

Unable to delay any longer, she bent down—no reason now to pretend the fairy ring was shielded—plucked a gold coin from the top of the pile and tossed it to Gorman, who’d shifted closer on his horse. Then she waited, clenching her fingers behind her back so hard she thought they’d snap off.  

Gorman tapped the coin with a ragged nail. He gave a noncommittal grunt and lifted it to his face. First he sniffed it, then bit it, his teeth clicking against the metal. His eyebrows rose and he hummed, satisfied.

Hope soared. This was it. She was in the clear. “Well?” she asked, forcing the words out past her pounding heart. “Are we of accord?”

“Not just yet, little Fae.” Unbuckling a pouch on the belt hidden beneath his ample waist, he reached in and pulled out something pinched between two fingers.

Nausea roiled in her gut and she knew.

Iron.

Oh no.

Gorman sprinkled the fine gray powder over the coin.

One touch and her magic melted into his palm, the remains shifting into dust particles that fluttered away on a stray breeze.

Her nausea shifted to dread.

Gorman lifted his hunter’s gaze to her, but his words were aimed at Mick when he said, “Well, it appears you’ll get your wish after all.”

Mick perked up, like a hound scenting game. “I can kill her?”

Dorothea paled and backed up a hasty step. No, no, no. This was not part of the plan.

Gorman nodded. “But be quick about it. We’ve wasted enough time on this trip as it is.”

Mick turned a wolfish grin on her, hopped down off his horse and prowled toward her. Dorothea scrambled away, tripping over one of the mushrooms and falling onto her illusion, which dissolved underneath her, and into the fairy ring. If only she could use it to disappear. But only creatures and high-born Fae were strong enough for that.

Too bad an accident of birth would kill her.

Dorothea crab-walked backward straight into a wall of earth with a gasp as Mick removed his battle axe from its sheath behind his shoulders.

“I’m gonna enjoy this,” he growled, lifting the axe with both hands. Then it fell in a vicious downward swing. Dorothea threw her hands over her head and waited for the end.

Cheep. Cheep cheep.

Dorothea expected pain and darkness, but it didn’t come. She looked up. Mick stood over her, holding the axe with rigid control above her head. The blade’s edge kissed the back of her hand. Blood welled.  

Fear lurched inside her chest, and she swallowed. She dared a glance at Mick, who wore a perplexed expression, then down. 

A white dragon the size of a female cat sat inside the ring, blinking her large black eyes at them. She rubbed her snout with her tiny paws, then hopped over to rub against Dorothea, her tiny body rumbling in contentment.

“Silver!” Relief hit Dorothea so hard her hands shook. She sidled away from Mick’s axe, then picked up the little dragon and placed her on her shoulder. Silver wrapped her tail, surprisingly warm to the touch, lightly around her neck.

Better late than never, you little rascal, she told Silver. The little dragon trilled in happiness and settled more firmly on Dorothea’s shoulder as she stood, Silver’s wings flaring out behind her for balance.

Mick lowered his blade to the grass, fists white-knuckled over the wooden handle as curiosity and frustration replaced his perplexity. “What in the bloody hells is that thing?”

“My salvation,” Dorothea said, her tone as sharp as Mick’s blade. “And your end.”

Finally. She should have had Silver with her from the beginning. Her sister had been right. She’d been stupid. Rash. And because of that she’d almost lost the one thing that would save her family’s orchard. But now she had a chance to fix everything.

Gorman climbed down from his horse and marched over, his expression thunderous. “What’s the meaning of this, girl?”

Chest burning with fury, Dorothea lifted her chin, more confident now that backup had arrived. “You’ve stolen something that doesn’t belong to you. I want it back.”

Mick laughed. “Foolish wench. You have no power here.” He hefted his axe to emphasize his point.

But Dorothea smiled. “Mick, do you remember the ‘Elf bitch’ you robbed?”

Mick’s expression went blank in confusion, as if he couldn’t figure out the connection.

Gorman was quicker. He searched her face, his eyes widening with sudden recognition. “She’s your mother,” he spat.

“Yes.” Dorothea held out her hand. “You know what you took. Give it back and I will let you live.”

Gorman bared his teeth and yanked his sword free of its scabbard. He knew what was about to happen. But Mick laughed again, oblivious, and readied his axe. “I’m going to make you wish you’d never been born.”

“So be it.” Dorothea clicked her tongue and Silver climbed onto her forearm, wings spread and claws digging into the sleeve of Dorothea’s tunic. Silver’s jaw worked, unhinging like a snake’s, growing large enough to fit a human male.

Her black eyes landed on Mick. She lunged for her prey.  

***

Dorothea stepped out of the fairy ring and kicked the blood-spattered axe out of her path, picking her way through the bits of clothing and armor Silver had refused to eat. Something gold sparkled in the morning sun and she bent to pick it up.

Her mother’s amulet. A large sapphire rested at its center, surrounded by swoops and whirls of gold filigree, with the sign of prosperity shimmering beneath the stone’s surface. Magic emanated from the amulet in a low, gentle hum against her senses. Her family had suffered for months because of these two humans’ greed. Their orchard had died, taking their food source and income with it. Now, with the amulet returned, it would thrive once again. 

Standing, she tucked the amulet into a pocket. “Silver,” she called. The little dragon, finished cleaning herself after her meal, swooped to land on her shoulder and chirped in her ear.

Dorothea smiled and stepped into the fairy ring. Silver’s magic clutched them both in its grip. They sidestepped between mortal planes and vanished.  

Author’s Biography

Kasidy Manisco works in the mortgage industry by day and writes fantasy fiction by night. She has been published in a few magazines and anthologies, including the Big Bad 2 anthology from Dark Oak Press, and she received an honorable mention in L. Ron Hubbard’s Writers of the Future contest. In her spare time, she writes as much as she can, reads everything she can get her hands on, and spends time with friends and family.