Excerpt
Prologue

Deep in the heart of the mysterious and foreboding Black Mountains lies a cavern the size of a cathedral. Built by dwarves long ago, its grandeur was evident by the amount of gold and jewels that had been excavated from the miles of mineshafts connected to the cavern below.
The dwarves exhausted long hours cutting oak, maple, and birch trees from the forests that covered the mountains above to produce tables large enough to seat fifty dwarves—tables with gold inlays and high-backed chairs fit for kings. Fancy bookcases and shelves festooned the walls, along with shields, swords, and spears. Built from chunks of gold and the smooth stones from the river that flowed down the mountain, the massive fireplace took up nearly a whole wall and provided enough heat for the whole cavern. Bedecked with jewels, high above the cavern floor, were sparkling stalactites that formed from the limestone creeks which circulated and wound through the innermost parts of the mountains.
The cavern now lay surreptitiously in the ownership of a very old and malevolent woman named Mystic, who had long since lost her beauty. Her long, silver hair hung limply and cascaded down her hunched back. She wore faded, black robes of velvet, trimmed in the finest of silver thread. Around her neck dangled an amulet on a long, silver chain, which she hoped would protect her from her enemies. Her cold, dark eyes stared down the murky passageway that led off the cavern, hoping to catch a glimpse of the creature named Cobblefoot.
He had been gone for a week now, flying south toward the Yellow Woods on a griffin. Mystic knew it would be days before he returned, but it calmed the impatient stirrings within her to sit entranced by the darkness of the tunnel. As she pondered her actions over the last several weeks, clacking noises came from her long, yellowed fingernails, which were tapping on the silver handle of her cane.
She usually kept to herself, hardly ever bothering to go out in the fresh mountain air. Aside from the occasional visit from the Goblin King, visitors were rare. Long ago, when she was a girl, parties, dancing, and merriment were parts of her life. Now there was only the occasional board game in front of the fire on harsh, winter nights, with her servant Cobblefoot.
A few weeks ago, feeling rather bored with her mundane life, she had decided to venture toward the mouth of one of the tunnels that led out to the south side of her mountain. She was reminiscing about the days she had helped the Goblin King fight and rid the mountains of the dwarves. In return for her service to the king, he had granted her this mountain; the cavern had been the icing on the cake.
The brilliant golden sunlight filtered in at the end of the cave, giving her just enough light for her eyes to adjust before stepping out into the open. With her cane to steady her, she started to move forward but stopped at the sound of voices. Still in the cover of darkness, the trespassers had not seen her. There were three goblins and a woman, whom Mystic recognized immediately as Queen Noor, standing just beyond the cave entrance. Mystic examined the queen from a distance. She was beautiful, even with a torn dress and dirt on her face. The queen seemed to be weak and looked very pale, as if she were sick. Feeling that something was wrong, Mystic placed her hand on the wall of the cave and thought, Bind them.
All at once, roots protruded out of the ground around the goblins’ and the queen’s feet, wrapping themselves around so fast that the four of them did not have time to utter a sound. Frantically, their eyes searched for the source of this insanity and came to rest on the shadow of the old woman. Mystic stepped out into the open with her cane and walked slowly around the prisoners, carefully examining each one.
This is a strange situation, thought Mystic. Very strange indeed. Here, before her, was the Queen of Filligrim in one of the darkest parts of the land. She turned in front of Queen Noor and held out her hand over the rocky ground. With a loud CRACK! the ground split, and then rocks from beneath began pushing upward until they formed a large chair. Mystic gingerly lowered herself into the chair and then leisurely sat back. As if the roots knew what Mystic wanted, they receded just enough for the queen’s mouth to show. Queen Noor stared in amazement at the old woman. She had heard of Mystic, but only in stories. Mystic must have been older than the mountain on which they were sitting. Moreover, it was true that Mystic had the powers to commune with and control nature. Her father had told stories about Mystic opening a chasm large enough to swallow a whole tribe of giants; the giants had apparently caused Mystic some sort of grief. Also, before her husband died, he had confided in her about Mystic. Queen Noor did not know her fate yet, but maybe this old woman could help her with her problems.
“So, daughter of King Anasee, do you know who I am?” Mystic asked.
Queen Noor sat up as best she could against the roots, held her head up high, then answered, “I do.”
“Well, then you must know that I am not partial to any Misfits on my mountain, or anywhere else for that matter.”
“I wasn’t aware that this was your mountain. Last time I checked, it belonged to the dwarves,” said the queen calmly.
Mystic ignored the quip. She knew what the valley folk said about her, and she did not care. The facts were that she was an aid in a time of war, and behind her sat the spoils.
“So, Queen Noor, what brings you to my mountain?” she asked.
“As you can see, I’m in the company of these fine goblins. Now, if you will unbind us and offer us some nice, hot tea, I might be in a more suitable mood for chitchat.” Queen Noor spoke as though she were merely speaking to the court jester.
“I might remind you, your majesty, that I am not in your service, nor will I be looked down upon by you. I will offer you some tea, but you must promise to tell me everything. Is that agreeable to you?” Mystic said.
“I will tell a thrilling tale of intrigue,” said Queen Noor. “So thrilling that you might think yourself to be in the presence of a fine, traveling storyteller.”
This fascinated Mystic’s curiosity, as the queen knew it would. Queen Noor would have to be careful and calculating. She also realized that it would not be wise to provoke Mystic, and that the help she required from Mystic would cost a great price.
If what Queen Noor had told Mystic was true, it would still be days before she heard from Cobblefoot. Mystic knew she would just have to be patient.