The Kiss: An Anthology About Love and Other Close Encounters
C. A. Newsome
True Love’s Kiss
Ben Cassidy
The tower stairs were dark, and thick with dust and cobwebs. Dirt and grime covered the stone walls on either side. Something small and fast scurried away into the shadows.
Sir Giles climbed the stairs, his face set with grim determination. In his right hand was a deadly longsword, ready to spill the blood of the wicked. In his left was a blazing torch which scattered the shadows of the stairwell as he ascended. On his back was strapped a large kite shield, battered from the blows of many foes and beasts.
Giles stopped and frowned. He turned to the two people that followed behind him. “I fear some foul magic blocks our path,” he said in a low tone. “Some ancient evil that may deny our passage.”
“Really, Sir Giles?” A beautiful Elf woman in gleaming white and gold armor stepped up behind the knight. She tossed back her flaming red hair. “What was your first clue, that shimmering blue force field of magic energy right in front of you?”
Sir Giles looked back up the tower steps at the wall of blazing blue light. “Please, Ella, watch your sarcasm. It does not befit a servant of your fair and benevolent goddess.”
Ella looked carefully over her armor and plucked off a stray spiderweb. “Whatever.”
Another woman, a human girl of about sixteen summers in a long purple robe, glanced around Ella at the shimmering field of energy. “So,” she said hesitantly, “what exactly do we do now?”
Sir Giles took a step back. “It will need a strong counterspell to break the field, Lily. We will have need of your powerful magic.”
There was a beat of silence.
“My…magic?” Lily said uncertainly. “Right. My magic. Got it.” She fumbled at her belt, unclasping the leather book holder there. “Right on it, Sir Giles.”
Ella hooked her mace onto her belt and crossed her arms. “Oh, this should be good.”
“Shut up,” Lily hissed. She balanced her long wooden staff against the stairwell wall, and opened the book in front of her.
“Hurry, Lily,” Sir Giles urged. “We don’t have much time.”
Ella looked up at Giles with a cocked eyebrow. “What in the name of the Forest Spirit are you talking about? We have all the time in the world.”
“Well,” said Sir Giles uncomfortably. “There is Torval. I believe he is still down below, fighting that demon-beast from the fourth plane of fire.”
Ella gave a disinterested nod. “Oh, right. I thought it was the third plane of fire.”
Lily almost dropped her book. She stared at Sir Giles. “Wait. You left Torval down there? All by himself?”
Giles hefted his sword. “His rage will give him strength to defeat his enemy.”
“But…” Lily glanced down the dark stairwell behind them. “Couldn’t he use our help? Some assistance, or something?”
“He has Nedric,” Sir Giles said with a certain degree of impatience.
“No he doesn’t,” Lily said quickly. “Nedric is outside with the baggage. You told him to stay put, remember?”
“Your fear is unfounded, Lily,” Sir Giles said confidently. “Torval is a barbarian of the North. He has wrestled vicious beasts since his youth and torn them apart with his bare hands.”
“Ew,” Ella said with a shudder.
A roar echoed up from below, followed by what sounded like a scream.
Sir Giles scrunched his forehead in thought. “All the same, though, we should probably hurry. Lily, the counterspell, if you please.”
Ella gave a sweet smile. “No pressure.”
Lily flipped the pages of her spellbook. She looked up to see both Giles and Ella staring at her. “A…counterspell. Right. Totally got it.” She flipped another page and swallowed hard. “Any second here—”
“I would strike at it,” came a gravelly voice from the darkness, “but the field has no discernible anatomy.”
“Hey,” said Ella as she rubbed some dirt off her breastplate, “at least you might be able to actually sneak up on it, Dirk.”
A hollow, mirthless laugh came from all around them. “You mock me, Elf? You should fear me. For I am one with the shadows. The invisible hand of death. Darkness my shroud, terror my—”
“Oh, Talrilla’s Pearls, Dirk, we can all totally see you.” Ella tilted her head and glanced back down the stairwell. “You’re right there.”
There was a moment of uncomfortable silence.
“The unseen hand of fear,” came the voice again. “A living shadow of—”
“She is right, Dirk,” Sir Giles said. “We can all see you.”
A man in a black, hooded cloak stepped away from the wall. An evil-looking dagger was in his hand. “It’s not fair,” he mumbled. “There’s nowhere to bloody hide in this stairwell. Just look at it. Would it have killed these people to have put a few pillars in here, or some loose hanging tapestries, or…something?”
“It’s all right, Dirk,” said Sir Giles consolingly. “No one’s blaming you.”
Ella raised her hand. “For the record, I totally am.”