The commission came from the highest court; no less than that of the king himself. This naturally should have and would have impressed nearly everyone, and been obeyed without question. The warlock Aghnman, however, was not an average citizen. Little known, but highly respected (and feared), it was generally agreed that the man answered to powers other than the political.
Rather than have the dark magician summoned to the castle, a court appointed clerk was sent to the imposing stone mansion in which he resided. The warlock himself was no less imposing, and one could easily believe he too was built out of stone, such was his physical aspect. Perhaps it was only because he was unused to dealing with Moors that made the clerk additionally uneasy.
"The king has yet to recieve an heir," the court clerk explained, hiding his nervousness behind well practiced rhetoric. "There is no question that his new wife can bear a child when the time comes; that is not where the problem lies. Rather, the king, being of a certain age, appears to lack the necessary vital force to carry out the act of procreation."
Aghnman raised an eyebrow, but kept his remarks to himself. Amusing that even here, in private chambers, the poor sod was too afraid to state what was blindingly obvious; the king was impotent. All the more the shame, since, from what he'd seen, the new Queen was more than an ordinary beauty. Even those gifted with the divine right of rule are just as subject to the afflictions of everyday mortals.
"It has been charged that you, having access to arcane arts, should be able to concoct a ..."
"Enough," Aghnman said, cutting off the young man with a curt gesture. "I understand."
Here the warlock paused, his expression suggesting mild annoyance.
"What you ask can be done, but to create such a potion is not as easy as generally believed. It will take time, and considerable effort on my part. Return here after the passing of a fortnight, and I will have what you've asked for."
This, from the clerk's point of view, had to be considered good news. If he refused, that would have been extremely awkward to report to the court. But, as in all things, Aghnman warned, there would be a price. At least the clerk could console himself that he wouldn't have to pay it.
* * *
The glade was secluded and largely untravelled by the likes of man. There were still plenty of such places, despite the growing prosperity and population of the kingdom. Here, on the outskirts of a landowners crop farm, the edge of the forest had yet to be beaten into submission.
He brought out a small lantern that he had concealed under his cloak. At first glance, it appeared to be a very ordinary metal lantern, of the kind used on ships to protect the inner flame from wind and weather. Opening the shutters, Aghnman let loose a cold, pale blue light that most certainly was not from an ordinary flame. He played it against the hedge rows and grass, across the tops of flowers, their colours washed out by the dark and the blue light.
Then the eerie illumination picked out something very different, something previously invisible to the naked eye. The figure of a young woman, not much taller than the length of someone's hand, stood huddled under the cover of Dog Rose. She had a lean pale body, covered in a thin diaphanous white gown that just covered her knees. Her hair was dark, as were her hunted eyes. No doubt she was hugely surprised to be spotted this way. Unless they will themselves to appear, faeries usually can only be spotted by the genuinely innocent and young, or those with a special link to nature.
What surprised her even more was the realization that the same beam that had picked her out, also held her in thrall, unable to move. Her heart raced as the dark skinned human bent closer, peering at her from behind small round spectacles. He nodded to himself, then dug into his cloak. What he produced was nothing so dramatic as a common burlap bag, which he opened up with his free hand. Incredulous, the small faerie watched in powerless horror as the human neatly folded her up within the cloth container. A simple pull of the drawstring sealed her fate.
* * *
The faerie's secret name was Lill -mortals almost never discover a faerie's identity. Names are foisted upon them in the rare cases they are ever captured and kept. She had elegant blue-black butterfly wings, and sleek black hair. She had never known life outside of the glen of her home, and had no conception of what must lay beyond. She was deathly afraid to be sealed up in the dark as she was, and could only huddle into a ball in protection as she was carried into her captivity.
Lill found herself with at least a dozen of her own kind, all packed together in a glass terrarium not much larger than a clothes chest. The floor was covered with soft dirt, with a few sparse plants situated here and there in some attempt at recreating their natural environment. Naturally, faeries would never be packed so closely together in tight quarters. The lack of freedom they now faced was anathema to their nature. All of them looked at Lill with sad and haunted expressions.
It is a little known fact, that the faerie kind do not communicate in the way humans do, with spoken language. Instead, they are aware of themselves and their environment in the manner of the animals they live with; through scent, expression, and movement. Lill could tell right away the state of her fellow captives; their fear, despair and something else Lill couldn't immediately identify.
