Tamlane – Prisoner of the Queen of the Fairies – 2. Release. Natalie Yacobson

took the narrow forest path. The knights had to ride alone.

      «The woods are dangerous!» Some hag that had met them at the edge of the forest warned them, he believe some of the locals called her Belladonna. «There are beings there, they’ll make a beast of you, winners.»

      Tamlane merely grinned, but his warriors were grimly silent. Many believe in the lore of the forest dwellers and the existence of magic in the thicket.

      «The fairies’ queen will not forgive you for using magic on her lands,» the old woman shouted after Tamlane, who had already passed.

      «Was it magic?» He turned back in surprise as he held his steed.

      «It is a dragon magic,» she pointed to his armor. «And you emptied the field of its leprechauns during the battle. Now they can steal only corpses, and if you had not intervened, they would have taken all this land for themselves. Like the land of that kingdom you were now fighting against.»

      «Is she out of her mind?» Tamlane said to his knights when the old woman could no longer hear him. But it felt as if she could hear, even despite the distance that separated them, and condemned him for his carelessness.

      He was tired. He held the helmet in his hands, and it felt as if the dragon-head that now merely slept in his hands was about to come to life and demanded from him some payment that he owed it for his grand victory over his foe.

      Tamlane even had the compulsive urge to throw the helmet away. It seemed to move in his hands, and flames glittered in the narrow eyeholes.

      «It is a danger!»

      Was that voice coming from the armor? Is it from the helmet or from the trees? Tamlane looked around. His troop was moving slowly through the forest. The path was narrow. The knights had to go one at a time. They were pulled forward in a line. Everyone was tired. Tamlein thought it selfish of him not to let them rest after the battle, but he was in such a hurry to tell his father of his first great victory that he could not wait long. Would the old duke praise him? Or would he reprimand him for taking the wonderful armor without asking?

      High above the woods there was a measured clapping, as if a huge bird were flying by. That must be how a dragon’s wings flapped in flight.

      «There’s the one with hair that shines like the sun!» A voice said in the air. It felt as if someone had pointed a finger at Tamlane.

      The young man froze! The dragon-head helmet really came to life in his hands. The horns and spurs of the steel snout were moving, the dragon ears of metal strongly resembled wings that were now moving, orange fire running through the scales. Tamlane almost dropped his helmet, and at that moment they were attacked.

      «It is ambush!» It shouted one of his warriors. Tamlane had not even had time to draw his sword before they dragged him off his horse. They were clawing at him with agonizing force, as if they were going to rip him apart. He looked up and saw a hideous snout in front of him. It was neither beast nor devil. He had heard that this was what the creatures of the fae nation looked like. Trolls, goblins, harpies, whatever else they were called. They were winged, clawed, with horns and tails and fangs and tentacles and spiky growths on their backs. They swooped down on his warriors as if they were devils from hell. They stung with venom and fire. Yet he managed to draw his sword and cut off the hand of the one who had grabbed it. The creature howled and recoiled. Black blood gushed from its severed limb. Black, not red! Tamlane couldn’t believe it. He thought the mangled creature would have crawled away into the thicket, but it didn’t. The arm itself suddenly crawled back to him, like a living snake, it glued itself to the stump and reattached itself to his shoulder in an instant. All of his other enemies were just as easily restored. Their severed tails, hooves, spines, and even heads immediately crawled back. Tamlane himself was already holding the severed goblin’s head in his hands, the goblin screaming and making faces as it struggled back toward its decapitated body, which flailed about blindly bumping into trees in search of its lost body part.

      Other warriors tried to carve out fire and burn the ghastly foes, but nothing worked. They also rose from their own ashes. No matter how many you chop them down, there are more and more of them. The dead come back to life, and new enemies jump out from everywhere: from behind bushes, from the tops of trees, from shallow forest creeks, and even from holes in the ground. There’s a whole army of them, and his warriors are few. The dragon’s armor had somehow lost its power in an instant. Tamlane could no longer feel the fire in him. Either magic had no effect against the foul folk, or the dragon armor had no desire to mess with them for some reason. That reason floated in the clouds. Tamlane could hear the armor on him whispering something about a woman against whom their fire was powerless. But it was just the woman that Tamlane did not see here. There were only monsters. They had already killed most of his warriors and were now tearing at their corpses with their fangs, like a wolf’s prey. Toward the end of the battle, beautiful creatures also appeared. They were elves with white hair and unusual weapons. They fired not arrows from their crossbows, but live snakes. Tamlane barely had time to fight them off with his sword, cutting the snake bodies on the fly. Someone wounded the young man with a claw in a place on his neck that was not protected by armor. The young man’s helmet was gone before the battle, and now he was reeling like a dragon’s head in the grass, seemingly devoid of magic.

      Tamlane was losing his strength. A claw smeared with venom must have run down his neck, but the young man continued to stand up for himself. He noticed that the creepy creatures were beginning to fear him and were in no hurry to lunge at him again. He struck them too often and too hard with his sword, and they cooled their ardor. And so he was the last of the mortal knights left alive. And all around him the fiends were gathering. They surrounded him on all sides. The most beautiful elf moved toward him, grinning crookedly. He looked as if he wanted to seduce rather than kill, but the stiletto in his hand suddenly hissed in a human voice.

      «I want his blood! His blood is sweet! Not exactly human blood! It is blood with the flame of a dragon!»

      Tamlane couldn’t even believe it. Could it be that the blade itself spoke. It reflected some face that was not there, as if it existed inside the stiletto itself.

      «You are the finest knight I will ever kill,» said the beautiful white-haired elf the others called Thierry. «You are a most worthy opponent.»

      They fought a duel. The others watched. They believed in Thierry’s victory. But it was Tamlane who won. He threw his opponent to the ground, grabbed his white hair, and prepared to cut off his head. It might grow back, but how nice it would be to chop it off. This elf, by all appearances, is in charge here. If he could be overpowered, he could terrify them all.

      «Halt!» the imperious voice came again from the heavens. «A mortal knight cannot do in my woods what I do not, nor can a dead dragon.»

      She descended from the heavens, just slipped from the black dragon’s wing, and floated forward through the air, supported by a scarlet cloud. Her long curls resembled a train of black snakes, her dress itself was like a scarlet cloud with a black web of lace.

      «Your Majesty!» The elves knelt before her, but Tamlane was not impressed by her beauty. The gloom emanated from the lady. The young man was disgusted to be near her.

      She instantly understood and frowned, whispering something to a black bird that had landed on her shoulder. Tamlane did not take his sword away from Thierry’s throat, and the dark-haired beauty looked at the helmet lying in the grass with a sneer.

      «You can’t throw a dragon’s head like that, or its power will leave you,» she scolded, and then she put her empty palm forward and blew on it, turning the air above her hand into a handful of glowing charms. The queen blew them right into Tamlane’s face. He was suddenly out of control. Darkness fell over his head.

      He awoke in the queen’s chambers, gloomy and luxurious. In the magical fireplace danced multicolored spirits, from a distance seemed like a blaze of colored flames. Black flowers were singing from the ceiling, and their voices were whispering and alive.

      «He