Kovak stepped into a large clearing surrounded by hawthorn trees where the late morning sun cast a brilliant pool of radiance onto the forest floor. It would soon be noon, and the dwindling fall canopy allowed much light into the clearing. The diameter of the illuminated, open area measured roughly fifty feet across.

  Amidst the golden light reflecting off the open ground before him, Kovak noted the groups of hellebores growing in various spots around the clearing: Shiny green leaves, shaped like fat-fingered hands, cupped the brown, spent blooms that nodded gently above them.

  In the approximate center of the clearing stood a nearly perfect ring of blueish-gray and purple-black mushrooms. Traditional toadstool forms, they had fat stalks nearly as wide as their caps. Kovak counted twenty-nine of the fungoid structures, both as part of his basic situational assessment and to check the status of the clan.

  There would be twenty-nine fairies present shortly. He could express his gladness of the group’s ongoing wellbeing rather than state condolences for any losses, necessary cordialities when dealing with these tiny, temperamental, and powerful creatures.

  His thoughts drifted back in time, several months prior, to the elderly human woman he had encountered on the road between Argentum and the Waywards. She had approached their fire and asked to join the frog and the wolf for the evening, expressing concern about recent incidents where goblin bandits had killed lone travelers.

  Kovak immediately sensed the old lady carried potent magic with her. The details of this never entered the conversation, as the duchy had no laws against witchcraft or magical practice in general.

  Puzzled by her lack of apprehension at meeting a nine-foot wolfman, he found her an astute conversationalist. She and Pidwermin exchanged old tales of monsters that crept in the shadows and recounted some of the local myths.

  The frog had fallen asleep uncharacteristically early that night. Presumably from an excess of booze, as he otherwise did not require sleep.

  Kovak disclosed to the old woman a recent encounter, albeit brief, with a tiny fairy or wood sprite. The creature had entered his peripheral vision and darted away the instant he turned to look at it.

  Immediately the old woman started explaining the nature of the fairy kind in this region; where they could be found, how to contact them, and in particular how they had been known to aid others in the solving of great problems with their powerful magic. She had provided the wolf with a blueprint for proper conduct and correct methods for finding, reaching out to, and interacting with the fairies of this very clearing.

  He counted the toadstools once more to be certain; twenty-nine, confirmed. Quite honestly he had secretly hoped there would be fewer of them this time. He wished the creatures no harm, honestly, but he felt at a decided disadvantage in the midst of so many of them.

  The wolf opened a small pouch on his belt, not the magical pouch Pidwermin had given him that morning. From inside the very mundane, non-magical belt pouch Kovak retrieved a small square of rowan wood with a tin peg through the middle; the square was wrapped in red thread above and below the peg, and treated with a glaze made from salt, sage, and ash.

  Pidwermin called it an anti-fae trinket. The frog had constructed and enchanted the item and insisted the wolf carry it with him when dealing with the fairy folk. Although Kovak was naturally immune to charms and other magic that confused the mind, compelled obedience, or influenced one’s opinion of another, the trinket – according to the frog – would prevent a fairy from changing the wolf’s shape, levitating him, and doing various other unpleasant, magical things.

  The frog warned Kovak that the device would not form a barrier against direct magical attacks like fire or thrown objects. When Kovak had jokingly asked why Pidwermin had withheld such protections the frog became flustered and argued that he needed more notice than the wolf had provided him with.

  Kovak smiled at the thought of his easily flustered friend scolding him over the matter. Pidwermin had even attempted to coerce the wolf into delaying this meeting until a more suitable protective amulet could be fashioned. The wolf replaced the trinket and cinched the beltpouch.

  He stole a moment to close his eyes, clear his mind, and intone the sound ERRRR , which is a mantra the mystics of his folk use to clear mental clutter and attain clarity of mind. He certainly didn’t want the matron of the clan to discover his fleeting regret that all her children were well.

  Having cleared his head and attuned to the moment, the wolf reached into a pouch at his waist and brought out a handful of dried lavender, which he crushed and sprinkled about the interior of the fairy ring. He repeated the process once more and then produced from another pouch a small whistle made from hawthorn wood and blew a long, steady tone through it.

  The whistle made a pleasant sound, approximate to the note of middle C. Kovak held the note for thirteen seconds as he focused his intention on connecting to the fairy folk he knew lived in this area.

  From the center of the fairy ring the wolf then said aloud: “High Morrigan, Your Sublime Radiance, I Kovak, have returned with the gift you asked I retrieve for you, and something more. Please come, that we may discuss our business.”

  Fearing the high matron would leave him waiting for hours, Kovak was very pleased a few moments later when the hair on the back of his neck bristled and his ears picked up a very faint squawk that changed to a very faint squeak before subsiding. Suddenly toad stools in the ring had diminutive figures atop them.

  At first the figures were vaguely humanoid forms about a foot in height and shrouded in a strange blur, as if they stood behind a pane of wet glass that obscured their appearance. A few seconds thereafter the creatures atop the mushrooms were clearly visible.

  In fact, Kovak’s eyes were almost strained by the remarkable clarity and extraordinary vividness of the fairies’ appearance. His experience had been the same on the first occasion of their meeting six months ago.

  Twenty-nine mysterious mushrooms of a blue-gray and purple-black disposition supported twenty-eight fairies. One mushroom in the center of the ring and directly in front of the wolf remained empty.

  The empty toadstool awaited the arrival of the queen herself. Gathered on the other mushroom caps stood this clan’s royal court, sprites ranging from seven to thirteen inches tall and presenting a wide range of weights, masses, shapes, and postures. Some were long and spindly, while others were compact and squarish. Still others appeared as perfectly proportioned humans in miniature form, and a few were even roundish and as wide as they were tall.

  The attire of these fairies would have confused even the most astute onlooker. Roughly speaking, they wore pants and vests and skirts and cloaks, some very poofy and balloon-like, others trim and tight, laden with bows and colored in every imaginable hue and combination, along with a few unimaginable examples of both.

  Most, not all the fairies had translucent wings like those of a butterfly. The two on either side of the empty toadstool had larger, feathery wings like birds. A handful of the small folk had wings like moths; these were not translucent, but very solid in appearance and deep tan or gray in color.

  The majority of the faces were much the same as the faces of human men and women, aside from the tone of the flesh, which ranged from white or pale peach to very light gray with blue or purple tinges. Some fairy visages more closely resembled elven features and these were pale beige or pale gray and had silvery flecks or freckles.

  A few of them had long snouts and oddly rodentlike facades. These fairies also had tails.

  The fairies’ eyes must have captivated all who encountered them. Glowing and twinkling like torches in all the colors of the rainbow plus a few more, the eyes grew brighter or dimmer in accordance with the volume or speed of the owner’s speech. A being’s eyes might diminish to a faint lavender when he whispered and then emanate a brilliant violet when he shouted or jabbered impetuously.

  All of them had hair on their heads but none had beards. Hair color was predictably varied among these little people whom Nature had so generously decorated in every way. They had hair of blonde, silver, red, black, blue, purple, pink, green, and brown all in various shades and arranged in every conceivable way.

  Some had braids, others pulled their hair back in tails. There were mohawks and spikes and bowl cuts and long locks freely hanging past the feet. Some of the sprites had hair that spiraled up far overhead and some even wore their hair in geometric shapes; squares, spheres, triangles and tetrahedrons

  The concert of forest sprites danced and fidgeted, hollered and giggled, and chirped and chattered for a moment or two after their appearance, completely ignoring the nine-foot tall, bipedal wolf-warrior who had summoned them. Kovak simply watched, making no effort to interrupt their initial excitement as they exchanged greetings and pleasantries. He understood this to be an important aspect of their social engagements, whether planned ceremonies or impromptu gatherings such as the one he had instigated.

  The jabbering and laughter and general cacophony of voices and movements trailed off to a murmur, then the conversation ended abruptly. The gathering of sprites spoke nary a word for several seconds.

  Silent, but not still, every last one of them moved busily about atop their toadstool, straightening articles of clothing, adjusting belts and bows, even giving their shoes a last-minute polish. Some flitted between mushrooms like brightly colored hummingbirds, their wings a blur of motion as they hovered a moment to help a neighbor primp and groom, then whisked off to another toadstool. The fairies preened and fussed over themselves and each other, brushing each other’s hair and correcting one another’s posture.

  A few fairies sprayed perfume from tiny crystal bottles, many wielded mirrors as they hastily groomed themselves, and one even gargled some kind of minty smelling liquid and then spat it out. Unlike the greetings phase where the fay totally ignored the wolf, throughout this grooming process there always seemed to be at least a few of the little creatures standing very still and watching Kovak with open curiosity, their large eyes reflecting the fall colors of the forest or glowing with their own unique luminosity.

  The collective movement of the group diminished suddenly and substantially, though it didn’t cease altogether. A few final adjustments could be observed here and there, perhaps the alignment of a stray wing or smoothing out of a tunic or cloak with the hands. Then stillness.

  At last, all twenty-nine of them seemed satisfied in unison with their individual and collective appearance. Compliments were tendered and exchanged, received and reciprocated.

  The bustle of restless energy then halted as quickly as it had erupted. The whole party snapped to a kind of attention, heads high and backs straight as if anticipating an inspection of military standards.

  The clearing of a tiny throat could be heard, followed by the hoarse tooting of some sort of very small trumpet. The tooter was a rotund, wingless fairy near to the center of the far arc of the mushroom ring. Dressed in a gold and metallic green costume quite similar to a human gentleman’s suit that culminated in a glittering purple bowtie, the small creature announced with palpable pride: “Her Sublime Radiance, the High Morrígan, Matron of the Clan, Mother of Thorns and Mistress of the Anemone, Claercholybus Domina!”

  As if on cue, perhaps ceremoniously and maybe to aid their large guest in acquiring the proper focal point, the two fairies with feathered wings flapped and beat their wings importantly, ending the affair with a deliberate double flip. On the previously empty mushroom between these two standouts, with the posture of a stone, garden statuary and the countenance of a porcelain doll, beamed the aforementioned High Morrigan herself.

  She stood all of twelve inches, making her among the tallest of her clan. Her golden hair flowed loosely over her shoulders and down her back, bouncing and waving like a stream along its course. Her eyes were often a clear, emerald green, but they shifted between dazzling orange, baby blue, and pale lavender as well.

  If a master painter could perfectly capture the likeness of Claercholybus with his oils and canvas, sans the glittering wings, such an artist could easily sell the piece as one of the most beautiful women to ever be painted. Her presence cast a stunning allure into even the hardened eyes of the Faolchu warrior as he beheld her. Kovak subtly and discreetly averted his eyes to avoid looking directly at the tiny queen, unsettling as her beauty was.

  Behind the queen stood another female fay, clothed in a multi-colored robe with the cowl low over most of her face. The slender chin and full lips, along with the creature’s sultry form and posture conveyed the feminine gender to the wolf.

  This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  He knew it was his turn to speak. With a deep bow he said “Your Sublime Radiance, it is good to see your clan has remained healthy and full since last we spoke. I hope I have not disrupted your schedule with this visit.”

  The High Morrigan said nothing, at least not with words. She turned her head sharply to the right and cast her nose up at an angle away from the centerline as if looking over her own shoulder to spy something very high in the air.

  Understanding the prompt, Kovak tossed a large iron ring with four small, scaly hands bound to it into the center of the fairy ring. “As you requested, a score of kobold fingers High Morrigan – the first of two gifts I bring you.”

  The tiny queen forgot her aloof pose and squealed with delight, her eyes flashing a brilliant pink. She quickly motioned the bird-winged herald to her right to retrieve the gift.

  As the winged creature swept the ring with kobold hands from the mossy earth, the assembly of fairies erupted with chatter. A scolding toot from the rotund fairy’s trumpet silenced the crowd once more.

  “Oh Persibal,” the queen consoled the flustered trumpeter; her voice sweet and songlike. “They’re just excited. It’s been what, gosh, two hundred and seventeen years since we last had kobold fingers.”

  The winged fairy, flapping rapidly to maintain elevation under the weight of his load, presented the hands and fingers to his matron. In a flash of savagery, the tiny beauty opened her mouth wider than should have been possible; with two rows of needle-like fangs she tore a chunk of flesh from one of the fingers.

  Both her eyes became pools of solid white fog. She made the kind of noise Kovak had only heard outside of the human brothels in Carrerius or Maer Mael.

  “Take them to the feast hall!” she ordered gloriously. Her eyes shifted to a sapphire blue that matched the fall sky above.

  The herald forthwith darted out of the clearing, then zipped right back to hover before his queen again. “The new feast hall or the old?”

  “They would make a wonderful course for the inaugural feast at the new hall.” said the matron. “Oh… but I don’t want to wait! To the old hall for tonight’s meal!”

  The assembly cheered and the herald with the kobold hands once again shot out of the clearing. The fluttering of his wings gradually faded into the forest.

  “Good Kovak.” Spoke the fairy queen, her voice trilling slightly as if she sang the words.

  For an instant her face shone as if the sun were behind it pouring its golden rays out through her cheeks. The wolf took care not to stare directly at the glowing countenance.

  Although he was immune to charm magic and spells of mind control, the queen’s beauty undeniably disrupted his cognitive faculties to a degree, despite the protective trinket he carried. He could not quite articulate the effect of her comeliness on his mind, but his instincts prodded him to remain diligent on the matter. A brief lapse in his train of thought, a repeated word, the slight queasiness - commonplace when one lays eyes on the object of his affection but inappropriate here - these were tell-tale indications of an unnatural reaction to the High Morrigan’s unnatural allure.

  She had just called him “Good Kovak.”

  Was “good” a formal prefix in her culture, the way “sir” is in the human courts, or was she praising him the way a man does when training a canine? Kovak wondered.

  “It’s a title, silly.” Came the queen’s explanation. “Of course I don’t think of you like some brute of the forest. Why, you nearly harm my feelings with such presumptions, Good Kovak.”

  “Forgive my ignorance, I pray Sublime Radiance. I am slow to learn your ways.” Kovak’s humility was accentuated by the scolding murmurs and mumbled half-reprimands of the fairy assembly.

  “You’re forgiven.” The queen drug the last word out the way a teenage girl sometimes does. “As I was saying, Good Kovak,” she heavily emphasized the word “good”, “You mentioned another gift?” She lowered her face so she had to really exaggerate her upward gaze, then blinked several times very quickly.

  “Indeed.” Kovak took a pouch from a pocket inside his cloak and held it in his palm, gently bouncing it to suggest it had some density and weight to it. “Root of Hekelius Spire, harvested under the daytime daughter moon. I am told this may be of benefit to your magical workings.”

  The root had of course been a last-minute acquisition inspired by one of Pidwermin’s “teaching moments”. The constable had noted a number of magical operations that called for or were enhanced by the root and pointed out that fairies loved surprise gifts.

  Just then the fairy who had taken the kobold hands to the feast hall returned, and with a flutter of feathery wings, lowered himself onto the toadstool to the right of the matron of the clan.

  “You are right, Good Kovak. The purple frog has advised you wisely!” The High Morrigan again motioned the fairy to her right, who had just stopped moving his wings.

  The fairy gasped and opened his emerald green eyes wide, following the expression with a couple of puzzled blinks. His queen made an “mmpf” sound and waved her hand forward with the palm down, ending the motion with the rapid wiggling of her dainty fingers. Presumably this gesture meant the same in fairy language as it meant in every other language, for the bird-winged fairy, eyes now a dull blue, took off with a scowl, and zipped by the wolf, grabbing the pouch containing the root with both hands as it passed.

  Emphasizing the laboriousness of the task with sighs, grunts, and continual adjustment of his grip, the disgruntled fairy presented the pouch to the clan matron.

  Kovak asserted a meaningful amount of willpower to suppress his irritation with the queen’s incessant probing of his mind. “The purple frog is a wise mentor, and a powerful mage. Perhaps the two of you will meet someday.”

  Claercholybus now had her arm buried to the elbow in the pouch containing Kovak’s second gift. She pulled out what resembled a fat potato with many fibrous roots shooting out of it; the tubular root was nearly as big as the fairy queen.

  She examined her prize carefully, turning it over in her hands, even smelling it. Her faced glowed with excitement; she looked and acted the way a lady does when she is surprised with a piece of expensive jewelry or other exquisite gift.

  “I took care not to damage it Your Radiance.” Kovak added. “I hope it is in good order.”

  “Oh it’s wonderful!” she proclaimed. “I’ve been meaning to make the journey up to the mountains and harvest some for myself but – well, who has the time these days? I’ve been so busy-busy preparing for an important ceremony and a special guest. This is amazing Kovak and I thank you very much!”

  The wolf bowed humbly.

  Looking to her hovering herald, the High Morrigan said, “Take it to the apothecary, Zimb.”

  The fairy who had taken the kobold hands to the feast hall and then retrieved the root from Kovak glared at his counterpart on the toadstool to the left of the queen with deep gray eyes, mumbled something under his breath, and sailed out of the clearing once more, grunting at his cumbersome load until he passed out of earshot.

  Her Sublime Radiance returned her gaze to Kovak. “Your trade is accepted in full and I will gladly reciprocate with the information you requested when last we spoke.”

  “Your gratitude and generosity humble me, High Morrigan, Matron of this Clan, Mother of Thorns and Mistress of the Anemone. Let all who hear of Your Sublime Radiance know you are a fair trader and a queen who keeps her word.” Fairy etiquette is a complicated matter with many details and nuances. Kovak was painfully aware of his faux pas in calling the matron a queen in this context; he should have used the word “ruler”, a less formal term indicating objectivity and shrewdness in matters of trade and law.

  The High Morrigan saw the remorse in the wolf’s mind and raised a hand to shush her protocol officer’s forthcoming complaint. Kovak had done exceptionally well thus far. One tiny mistake can be ignored. She made sure to share the thought directly with Kovak before continuing verbally.

  “I consulted with our wisest oracle on your behalf. She gave much information regarding your… situation. I will explain to you as best I can, Kovak, but I fear what I have to say may unsettle you, if indeed you can understand it at all.”

  “Your Sublime Radiance is kind as ever, but please do not worry about vexing me. I am forever grateful for any information you can provide.”

  “Very well.” The matron took a deep breath. “You were right in fearing your home is far from this region, but you cannot imagine how truly long the way home is. The reason so much seemed foreign to you when you stepped through the portal and arrived here eight years ago is simple, but at the same time complicated.” She let the wolf take in all she had said.

  “I see, Sublime Radiance. Please tell me how long this way is. You have found it?”

  “Kovak, there are but two ways I know of to make such a journey. One way is by special craft, similar in some ways to a boat, and used by ancient beings to move between the worlds.”

  “Boats. So I must cross the sea to return home?” Realizing he’d lost his formal bearing he quickly added “Oh Mistress of the Anemone?” unsure in the moment if the title was even appropriate to the context.

  “No. I said the craft are like boats, in a way. They are not seacraft but are used to cross through empty space and time.”

  Kovak nearly asked the queen what she meant by this, but held his tongue and remained composed, awaiting further explanation.

  “The other method is through portals like the one that brought you here. These portals were built by a very ancient race that died out thousands of years ago, yet still their creations remain. They were called by those who built them ‘star gates, for they allow travel across the stars.”

  “The stars? Your Radiance, what do you mean?” Kovak had never heard of this kind of travel.

  “Your home is not on this world Kovak. It is on a different world, a different planet to be precise.” The fairy queen gestured towards the heavens.

  “Planet? You were right, High Morrigan.” Kovak opened his palms and shrugged. “I do not understand, but I am confident I will if you continue.”

  “This land that you travel about, the mountains and plains, forests, even the great oceans and the sky above them all, are part of this planet.” The High Morrigan stretched out her arms to indicate all of their surroundings. “There are many other lands and waters beyond those mapped by the kings and queens of the north, beyond even the southern grasslands and desert nations further south. All of these regions are part of the same planet, which is a great sphere moving through the emptiness beyond our sky.” She paused again, knowing this was a lot for the wolf or anyone else to take in.

  Kovak pondered and scrutinized these words, struggling to make good sense of them.

  The fairy queen turned and whispered something to the fairy behind her. The other fairy whispered a reply from under her hood. The queen nodded, then turned her attention back to Kovak.

  “I can show you, but it is a work that will take more time than I have in this moment.” the Domina informed him.

  “I would be most grateful, High Morrigan.”

  “I must attend an important ceremony. Dignitaries of our people are coming to visit us soon and we must undertake certain formalities.” Claercholybus rolled her eyes like a young girl. “I will return to this spot in two hours time, if you agree to be present.”

  “I will be here.” Kovak assured the fairy queen.

  “Very well. Until then.” The High Morrigan waved her hand and the entire assembly of fairies began to blur and shift, shortly thereafter vanishing completely.

  The warrior wolf once again stood alone in the clearing with the fairy ring. A cursory check of his pouches and pockets revealed nothing had been stolen by nimble fairies or their magic during the meeting.

  He now had two hours on his hands with little to do but wait. A nap was out of the question, for he had slept well and long last night. He slid his blade from its scabbard without making a sound and assumed a fighting posture. What better to do with idle time, he reasoned, than practice his basic sword forms.?