Mary-Cade Mandus - The Spell Bound

Four weeks later the threesome crossed the border into the Fifth Kingdom. The cat, its paw unbound and mending nicely, its belly a little rounder, fur a tad bit thicker [with a touch of sheen] rode perched upon Torin’s broad shoulder. Every now and then it would rise on hind legs and brace against his head, the better to scrutinize the mammoth ferns spread like feathered fans in dense, sensualistic profusion along the roadside.

Bordering the road on either side, delicate birches appeared to peek demurely over fluttering fronds as though veiling their unclad trunks. The ‘not too hot or humid but just right” climate created a lush and sumptuous kingdom that assaulted the senses with ambrosial breezes and bosomy hillocks that swelled promiscuously across the landscape in succulent mounds. Flowers and fruits of every imaginable shape, hue and variety trailed, climbed, twined and sprung from the moist, fertile soil in uninhibited, voluptuous abandon.

But all the bounty, beauty and hedonistic delights of the Naked Emperor’s kingdom passed before Torin unnoticed, his attention being focused inward, searching for a solution to the critical pecuniary plight that now threatened them.

He’d been forced to sell Fortenbrass’ saddle, for the jobs he’d managed to scrounge up had proved to be too few and far between: a hay bailing here, a field plowing there, a few tree choppings, several sheep herds to shear, an ailing blacksmith to fill in for. The bottom line: too many large families with healthy, hardy sons; and too few childless, helpless, inept, widows. His purse strings no longer needed to be drawn tight, for it was as empty as his prospects.

Glumly he considered how different things might have been if only their valiant attempt to conquer Cristalleria’s glass hill had impressed the princess enough to toss him one of the golden balls in tribute [as her great-grandmother was rumored to have done]. Ill fortune and abject poverty would be behind them - he’d be relaxing at the Crock o’ Gold Resort in Kissingtown and Fortenbrass' hooves would be silver shod. But, alas, princesses were no longer inflamed by feats of derring-do as they’d been once upon a time during Happy Ever After’s heyday.

Absently swatting at the cat as it attempted to use his ear as a stepladder to the top of his head, Torin told Fortenbrass to slow down. There was no need to rush, as they really had no destination to hurry to.