Tails Will Tell

Once upon a time, in a village nestled between mountains and rivers, there lived a great and powerful wizard named Kentaff. His magic was renowned throughout the land, and his wisdom was often sought by kings and commoners alike.

Kentaff was famed for many kinds of magic, but none delighted him more than transforming into small, nimble creatures. No matter if it were birds, cats, even the occasional hare, he became them all. Yet the form he favored most was the fox: clever, swift, and sly. To save himself the trouble of lengthy incantations each time, he decided to commission a pendant that would let him slip into a fox’s shape at will.

The local silversmith, a humble man known for his skillful hands and eye for detail, was just the person for the job. The next day, on his way to a very important meeting with the king, Kentaff asked the smith to craft a delicate silver fox pendant, embedding in it a small ruby he’d enchanted.

However, in his haste to get to the palace, the wizard used a single-word incantation to bind the magic to the stone, a simple spell that could easily be activated if one knew it, instead of coming up with something more clever. He then gave the ruby to the smith, who promised to have the pendant ready the next day.

The following afternoon, Kentaff strode through the village to the silversmith’s shop, his heavy cloak sweeping the cobblestones. As he entered the shop, the familiar smell of molten silver and burning coals filled his nostrils. But something was amiss. The silversmith, a stout man with a clean apron and worry in his eyes, met Kentaff at the door.

“Master Kentaff,” the silversmith stammered, his voice tight with anxiety. “I was about to come find you.”

Kentaff raised an eyebrow, already sensing misfortune. “What’s happened?”

The silversmith wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “There was a break-in last night. Several of my pieces were stolen… including your pendant.”

The wizard’s heart sank. “The fox pendant with the ruby?”

The smith nodded solemnly. “I searched high and low this morning when I realized it was gone. The thief must have taken it, along with a few other things. I am truly sorry, please allow me to make you another.”

Kentaff’s face darkened. Though his anger swirled, he knew it was not the fault of the poor silversmith. “We must find it,” the wizard said, his voice low but determined. “The magic in that pendant—if anyone discovers the magic word, they could transform into a fox, and who knows what trouble that might bring?”

The silversmith paled, nodding vigorously. “I fear we may already be too late, but there’s been talk in the village of a man who spends his time loitering around the tavern. He’s known for his quick fingers and less-than-honorable reputation. It may be worth looking there first.”

Without wasting another moment, the two hurried to the tavern. Inside, the air was thick with smoke and the odor of stale drink. In the corner, hunched over a pile of leftover slop, sat the very man they sought.

He was a wiry figure, his eyes darting nervously from side to side as he shoved scraps of food into his mouth. He wore a tattered cloak and had a twitchy manner that made him seem all the more guilty.

Kentaff approached the man, but before he could speak, the thief looked up with a blank stare. His mouth moved, but only unintelligible sounds escaped his lips.

“What is this?” the wizard muttered, perplexed. “Has he been bewitched?”

The tavern keeper, wiping a tankard with a dirty cloth, overheard and leaned over the bar. “He’s been like that since he came in this morning. Silent, except for strange noises. Saw him meeting with the local Lord outside, just before he came in. Maybe he knows what happened.”

Kentaff frowned. “Which Lord?”

The tavern keeper hesitated before whispering. “Lord Mirandor, sir. Lives up in the manor. Word is, this fellow has sticky fingers, if you know what I mean. Perhaps the Lord took a fancy to the goods.”

Kentaff exchanged a glance with the silversmith, passing a shared understanding between them. They hurried from the tavern, making their way to a grand manor that loomed over the village like a watchful sentinel.

As they approached the doors, a piercing scream shattered the silence. A servant came dashing down the steps, her face white with terror. “Master’s legs!” she cried, her voice shaking. “His legs have turned into those of a fox! What curse has befallen him?”

The wizard’s face tightened. “Tell me, was your master in possession of a small silver fox pendant?”

The servant’s eyes widened. “Yes, he had it around his neck. I should never have let him—”

Kentaff waved a hand to silence her. “It is not your fault. But to avoid the same fate, you must devote yourself to good deeds. Now go!”

The servant, looking both relieved and terrified, scampered off. Kentaff and the silversmith continued on, entering the manor house. A stern housekeeper met them at the door.

“What business have you here?” she asked with a sour expression.

Kentaff spoke quickly. “I must see the Lord immediately. It is a matter of urgency.”

The housekeeper shook her head. “The Lord is…indisposed. And the Lady has already left for the palace, with a special gift for the King. She can’t see you, either.”

At this, Kentaff sighed. He knew where the pendant was headed. He turned to the silversmith. “Go back to your shop. I shall handle this from here.”

Reluctantly, the silversmith bowed and made his exit. The wizard, now alone, made his way toward the palace as dusk began to settle. By the time he arrived, the sky had turned deep purple, but the palace gates still stood open.

Just as Kentaff was about to step inside, he heard a commotion. A figure covered head to toe in red hair was being thrown off the palace grounds, pushed and kicked by a group of servants.

“Out with you!” they barked. “We don’t allow strange beasts in the palace.”

The red-haired figure scrambled to its feet and darted toward a carriage standing nearby. Kentaff’s eyes narrowed. The red hair… Could this be?

But there was no time to investigate further. Kentaff hurried inside the palace, knowing that the pendant must now be in the King’s possession.

He was led to the royal dining hall where the King sat in splendor, finishing his meal. Upon seeing the wizard, the King raised an eyebrow and smiled.

“Ah, the great wizard Kentaff,” the King greeted, wiping his mouth with a silk napkin. “What brings you to my humble court?”

Kentaff inclined his head. “Your Highness, I have come seeking a pendant that was stolen from me. A silver fox, with a ruby, enchanted by my own magic.”

The King feigned innocence. “A pendant, you say? I haven’t the faintest idea where it might be. Though I did see the strangest sight earlier—a wretch with long red hair running through the halls. Quite peculiar.”

Kentaff’s eyes gleamed as he caught a glimpse of the King’s cloak. Just beneath the royal robe, peeking out, was the unmistakable flash of a fox’s tail. The King noticed his gaze and chuckled nervously.

“You wouldn’t accuse your King of thievery now, would you?” the King asked, his voice low and dangerous.

Kentaff, knowing full well the peril of accusing royalty, shook his head. “Oh no, Your Highness,” he said calmly. “That is clearly the tail of an ermine, not a fox. I would never accuse you of such a thing.”

The King narrowed his eyes but said nothing, his fingers twitching as though ready to hide the tail.

“I’m sure,” Kentaff continued, “that the pendant will find its way back to me in due time. Until then, I bid you a pleasant evening.”

With that, the wizard turned and left the palace, leaving the King to stew in his silent discomfort. As Kentaff made his way down the palace steps, he smiled to himself. The King may have thought himself clever, but soon, he would learn the folly of toying with the magic of a wizard.

For that night, when the moon was high, the King would find himself not only with a fox’s tail, but with a pair of very large, very furry fox ears.

And as for the silver fox pendant, it was returned to Kentaff the very next day, carried discreetly by a palace servant who had been sent by the King himself—no questions asked.

From that day forth, Kentaff made certain to add more complex spells to his enchanted objects, lest anyone else find themselves living life on four legs. And so the tale of the silver fox pendant was remembered in the village, not as a lesson about magic, but as proof that it is men who make fools of themselves, with or without spells..