Free The Monsters of Stephen Enchanter by D.J. Natelson Page A

to reinforce you.”  And, to another, “Not, mind, that I usually want monsters nearby.”  And to a third, “In fact, it would be fine with me if monsters didn’t exist at all.  Or fairies, for that matter.  Or Jolly Executioners.  Or mad villagers trying to kill me.”  The snowmen, enchanted but not yet brought to animation with a final word, made no response.
     
    The enchantments Stephen performed were all of the most rudimentary sort.  He spent no more than two minutes on any of the ones he himself hadn’t built, and barely five on those he had—his own elite guard, who would perform the most important task of guarding his person.  Even working steadily and linking the enchantments together into one massive enchantment—and a separate linked enchantment for his personal guard—he hadn’t finished by the time the Jolly Executioner announced that it was six o’clock and time to go, and wasn’t the Enchanter done yet?  The snowmen didn’t look lively to him.
     
    Stephen composed his face into an expression of benevolent mystery.  No one could see it under his scarf, but it made him feel better.  “Certainly I have finished,” he said, and placed the final magic in place to make it true.  “I have one hundred fifty snowmen at my command—all that remains is a single word, which I shall not speak until it we are actually leaving.
     
    “We are leaving,” said the Jolly Executioner. 
     
    Stephen nodded and spoke a single word that rattled branches but made no audible sound.  One hundred forty snowmen—he had been exaggerating slightly—turned to him.
     
    The companions, who had been expecting this, barely jumped; but the horses, at suddenly finding themselves surrounded by living snowmen, panicked.  Only Noble Steed, who had become used to the peculiar feel of her master’s magic, remained unflappable.  Several of the company hurried to calm their horses.
     
    “Listen up, snowmen,” said Stephen.  “Today we’re off to attack a vicious fire-breathing village-devouring beast out of folklore.  You are going to sacrifice your lives to protect me—and, of course, the rest of this company—from death.  You will go in waves, accosting the beast, drawing its fire.  You will present yourselves as targets and, when you get the chance, throw yourselves down the beast’s gullet.  Understood?”
     
    The snowmen rotated their round heads, exchanging wide-eyed glances.  One, a particularly dumpy specimen hopped a step forward to address its master.  “Nooooo,” it moaned.  “Please, noooooo.”
     
    “I did not ask your opinion,” snapped Stephen.  “Stand to attention.”
     
    “What a coward,” scoffed one of the snowmen.  “Whining to the Master.”
     
    But the vast majority of the snowmen agreed with the first.  They bowed and quavered with fear, and that fear infected all of their comrades who shared their magic.  “Noooo, Master!” they begged.  “Please, we are your faithful servants.  Don’t send us to our deaths!” And, mostly, “Nooooooo!”
     
    Only the snowmen Stephen himself had built, beady-eyed and mouthless, did not complain.  They stood alert and, when several of the snowmen tried to escape, herded them back.
     
    “You will not run away,” Stephen told the deserters sternly.  “You will accompany me and do as I say.”
     
    The snowmen struggled against his words, but in the end they had no choice but to obey.  They did, however, continue moaning.
     
    “What,” snarled the Jolly Executioner, “is going on?  Why are they making that infernal racket?”
     
    “They’re afraid,” Stephen said grimly, “and some people took it upon themselves to give their snowmen mouths.”
     
    “Noooo . . .” moaned the snowmen.  “Help us . . .”
     
    “Will they follow your orders?”
     
    “Of course.”
     
    “Then order them to be silent!”
     
    “Nooooo . . .” the snowmen moaned. 
     
    Stephen clapped his hands twice.