How to Save a Kingdom

by Bill Allen

  “We don’t know exactly,” admitted King Peter, “but I’m going to have to guess it will be at least a few weeks off, since that’s the soonest all the key players could possibly get here.”

  “So you do think Ryder and this General Talbout will make it back in time?”

  “If we can believe the prophecy, yes.”

  “If?” Greg felt sweat trickle down his back, all the way to his heels. He had been told that prophecies were fragile things, that if you stopped believing in them, even for a moment, they might not come true. Now here King Peter was, clearly having doubts, and well—even though Greg never really believed in prophecies, he’d at least feel better not believing in one that might be true rather than one guaranteed to get him killed.

  “It’s General Bashar who concerns me most,” King Peter said in a somber tone.

  “Why, where’s he?” Greg asked.

  “We don’t know,” said the king. “Truth is, I’ve never even heard of him.”

  “What?”

  “Now don’t worry, we’re still working on it. As I told you before, we’re having a bit of trouble deciphering Brandon’s writing. It might not have been ‘Bashar’ at all. Maybe ‘Dasher’ or ‘Bashire’ or something. It’s hard to tell.”

  “But don’t you have just one other general in your army?” asked Lucky.

  King Peter frowned. “Yes, General Stefanopolis. Brandon’s writing is bad, but, well . . . we’re just not sure what he was trying to say.”

  “So what are you going to do?” Greg asked.

  “I’m already doing it. First, as I’ve told you, I sent a runner for Brandon and Ryder. Hopefully Brandon will return in time to tell us who we’re dealing with. But in the meantime I’ve sent a tracker to find Bart, the bard, as well. He delivered the prophecy to us right before Brandon left on holiday, and if we can find him first, he should be able to shed some light on the situation for us. Maybe my magicians will need to open a portal to bring this General Bashar here from another world, as we did with you. I can’t say. The real question is: Will we find out soon enough to get him and his men to the battle on time?”

  “And if we don’t?” Greg asked hesitantly.

  The king wiped his palms on the rich cloth of his robe. “No need to bother ourselves with what ifs. Remember, we have the prophecy to back us up on this.”

  Greg caught himself rubbing his own palms on his jeans. He felt an overwhelming desire to run back to the courtyard, where he might find at least one person who had confidence he would survive the next few weeks.

  As if reading Greg’s thoughts, King Peter sighed and said, “Perhaps you boys should get back to the celebration. My wife is right. A lot of people have come to support you, Greghart, and you shouldn’t disappoint them.” He guided the boys to the door and opened it for them, but then paused and regarded them with a troubled expression.

  “What’s wrong?” Lucky asked.

  What isn’t? Greg wondered.

  “Nothing,” said the king, when he clearly meant everything. “I suggest you enjoy yourselves tonight while you can. Just put on a brave face and try not to worry too much about the prophecy. After all, there’ll be plenty of time for that in the weeks to follow.”

  Greg and Lucky found Rake cowering in the courtyard, trying to protect his long tail from thousands of boots and heels. The shadowcat quickly leapt up to Greg’s shoulders and hid under Greg’s shirt. Unable to hide themselves the same way, Greg and Lucky were forced to endure nearly an hour at the celebration, dodging questions and graciously accepting praise for things they’d never done, before Princess Priscilla finally arrived to save them.

  While all the ladies in attendance wore their most elegant gowns for the occasion, Priscilla wore a pair of torn pants over muddy boots. Her soiled tunic hung loosely off one shoulder, as if she’d recently survived a fight with a bobcat. Greg knew the princess well enough to know she might have done just that.

  Much like her father, Priscilla held little interest in acting like royalty, but while she might not look like a princess, the others recognized her station and kept their distance.

  “Are you listening to me?” she demanded.

  Greg smiled. In spite of the horror of his predicament, he felt it was nearly worth the hardship of facing another prophecy to see Priscilla again. He suddenly realized he was staring. “Oh, sorry. You were saying?”

  “I couldn’t find out much—Brandon’s writing is awful—but I did discover one thing.”

  “I would hope so,” said Lucky. “You’ve been gone for hours.”

  Priscilla frowned. She and Lucky had a habit of rubbing each other the wrong way.

  “Forget him,” Greg said. “What did you find out?”

  The princess glared at Lucky as she answered. “While everybody was busy struggling over this new prophecy, I got a peek at the last one.”

  “You’re kidding,” said Lucky.

  “Well, I had to do something in all that time.”

  “I meant, why bother?”

  “Come on, you guys,” said Greg. “Tell us what you learned, Prissy.”

  “Priscilla,” the princess snapped.

  “Sorry.”

  “Oh, no, I’m sorry,” she said, taking Greg’s hand in her own. Greg had to admit, he liked her touch nearly as much as Kristin’s, back home. “I didn’t mean to snap. But this is really important. Everything Brandon wrote about Simon’s last prophecy came true—the Molten Moor, and the stampede in Fey Field and the whole trip across the Smoky Mountains—all of it.”

  “Big deal,” said Lucky. “We never doubted the prophecy was true.”

  “Speak for yourself,” said Greg. “Remember, it said I was going to slay Ruuan.”

  “No, it didn’t,” said Priscilla. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. It said you were going to sleigh Ruuan.”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “No, not slay, spelled S-L-A-Y,” she explained. “Sleigh, spelled S-L-E-I-G-H. Simon knew the whole time that you weren’t going to kill Ruuan.”

  “Or maybe Brandon just doesn’t know how to spell,” Lucky said, stifling a laugh.

  “Oh, like you do?” Priscilla snapped.

  Greg groaned. “Would you two stop? What are you trying to say, Priscilla?”

  “Don’t you see? Simon’s last prophecy was exactly right. And now that he’s made another, we should expect it will be right, too.”

  “I never expected it wouldn’t be,” Lucky replied smugly.

  “No, you still don’t understand,” Priscilla said, effectively wiping the grin off Lucky’s face. “It should be right, but it isn’t.”

  “How’s that?” both Lucky and Greg asked in unison.

  “This new prophecy is about ‘the Hero who slayed Ruuan.’ That’s slayed, S-L-A-Y-E-D, not sleighed, S-L-E-I-G-H-E-D.”

  “Shouldn’t it be slew?” asked Lucky.

  “But nobody slayed Ruuan,” Greg argued.

  Priscilla offered him her most exasperated look. “Exactly. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. Simon’s latest prophecy can’t possibly be true.”

  Priscilla’s Dis-Hart-ening Plan

  Lucky’s jaw fell slack. “This is horrible.”

  “No,” said Greg, “this is great. If the prophecy is wrong, maybe now we won’t need to fight the spirelings.”

  Priscilla shook her head. “Nobody except us knows it’s wrong, and we can’t say a word to anyone.”

  “Absolutely,” said Lucky. “We can’t have people thinking one of Simon’s prophecies isn’t true.”

  “But it isn’t,” Greg nearly shouted.

  Priscilla and Lucky both looked up sharply to find several of the guests staring their way. The two smiled and chuckled as if Greg had just finished telling a good jo
ke. Then each grabbed one of his arms and pulled him off to an isolated corner of the yard.

  Priscilla had just started to scold him for his loose lips when Greg noticed a movement over her shoulder. It would have been hard to miss. It looked a lot like a fifty-foot-wide dragon trying to hide behind a twenty-foot-wide pillar.

  Greg blinked, but the image didn’t change. The dragon, an enormous beast that easily stood as tall as a football field was long, scampered on tiptoes to a closer column and peered out at the three of them.

  Unless he was mistaken, Greg recognized this as Ruuan, the dragon he was supposed to have slain on his last visit to Myrth. Of course, Greg had never seen another dragon to make a decent comparison, but he had an idea he was probably right, especially since Ruuan had claimed to be the last of his kind, and because this dragon wasn’t torching everything in sight.

  The dragon leaned his ridged head above the gathered crowd and placed one heavily clawed finger over his enormous lips. “PSSST,” he whispered, rattling the courtyard enough to cause several punch glasses to topple over.

  “Uh—ah—” Greg said, pointing at Ruuan.

  Priscilla looked over her shoulder and then back again, puzzled. “What is it, Greg?”

  “Yeah, what’s wrong?” said Lucky. “You look like you’ve seen an ogre.”

  “But, the dragon—”

  “What are you talking about?” asked Priscilla. She reached for Greg’s forehead. “Are you feeling okay?”

  Greg ducked her hand and stretched up to stare over Priscilla’s shoulder, only to witness Ruuan peering out from behind the pillar again. The enormous dragon jumped into the open with a boom, waved his arms desperately to capture Greg’s attention and then jumped back in behind the pillar.

  What is Ruuan doing? He was supposed to be dead. If anyone saw him jumping about . . . well, even these people might get suspicious. The results could be disastrous. At least that’s what everyone had said when Greg was on Myrth the first time. “Uh, could you excuse me a minute?”

  As Greg edged past the princess and rushed toward the pillar, Ruuan turned and scampered out of the courtyard, creating a minor earthquake. It bothered Greg that no one else seemed to notice.

  Outside the courtyard, the temperature dropped a full forty degrees. When Greg had left Myrth before, the cold weather was just settling in. Now two weeks had passed. While everything looked just as green as before, winter was clearly coming into its own. No doubt King Peter had asked his magicians to regulate the heat in the area of the celebration, but out here on the lawn, Greg needed to wrap his arms about his chest and jog to stay warm. Trembling footsteps echoed from the south. He set out in that direction.

  Softer footsteps could be heard rushing up from behind.

  “Where are you going?” Priscilla called out.

  “Yeah, what’s up, Greg?” Lucky said. “It’s freezing out here.”

  Greg didn’t bother answering. He suspected they would understand once they saw Ruuan for themselves. He found the dragon hiding unsuccessfully behind a tall tree near the edge of the Enchanted Forest.

  “Ruuan, what are you doing? Someone will see you.”

  “SHHH.” The dragon’s head towered above the trees as he strained to see if anyone had heard. Then his neck swung downward, until his enormous face blocked Greg’s view of the entire forest behind him.

  “Ruuan,” Lucky and Priscilla both shouted. “Where did you come from?”

  “KEEP IT DOWN. IF I USE TOO MUCH MAGIC, THE KING’S MAGICIANS MAY SENSE MY PRESENCE.”

  “But what are you doing here?” Greg asked again.

  “I CAME TO WARN YOU ABOUT THE SPIRELINGS. THEY’VE BEEN AMASSING OUTSIDE MY SPIRE FOR WEEKS. I FEAR THEY WILL SOON MARCH UPON THE CASTLE.”

  “We already know,” Priscilla told him. “Simon’s come out with another prophecy.”

  “I KNOW ABOUT SIMON,” said Ruuan, “BUT YOU MUST KNOW . . .” The dragon hesitated. His head surged above the trees to scan for eavesdroppers, then sank again. Greg’s stomach heaved. He wished Ruuan would quit doing that. “THE PROPHECY IS . . . WELL, IT’S . . . WRONG,” the dragon finished. “SHHHH.”

  “We didn’t say anything,” Priscilla argued. “You did.”

  “We already know about the prophecy being wrong, too,” Greg informed Ruuan. “It’s supposed to be about the one who slayed you, but obviously that can’t be right . . .”

  “YES, THAT WOULD BE SLEW.”

  “No, I mean because you’re still alive.”

  “Unless Greg’s supposed to . . .” began Lucky, but Ruuan stifled him with a jet of scalding steam strategically aimed inches above the boy’s head. “Uh, never mind.”

  “WE SHOULDN’T BE DISCUSSING THIS HERE. I ONLY CAME SO I COULD TELL YOU TO ASK YOUR KING TO LEND YOU HIS AMULET. IF YOU GIVE IT TO THE SPIRELINGS TONIGHT, THAT SHOULD STOP THEM FROM ATTACKING UNTIL WE CAN LOCATE THEIRS.”

  “What are you talking about?” Greg asked. “What happened to the spirelings’ amulet?”

  “IT DISAPPEARED THE DAY YOU CAME TO MY LAIR. THEY’VE BEEN UNABLE TO LIVE IN THE SPIRE SINCE, BUT NOT UNTIL RECENTLY DID THEY DISCOVER EVIDENCE SUGGESTING WHAT HAPPENED TO IT. SOON THEY WILL COME FOR RETRIBUTION.”

  “What evidence?” Greg asked.

  “IT SEEMS THEY FOUND A BOOK INSIDE THEIR TUNNELS . . . SOMETHING OF YOURS, AS I UNDERSTAND IT.”

  “My journal,” said Greg, remembering the book of fabricated adventures he’d lost on his last visit to this world.

  “AT FIRST THEY THOUGHT THE BOOK PROVED THAT THE SMALL BOY THEY’D SEEN IN THEIR TUNNEL WAS JUST A VERY TALENTED THIEF WHO HAD MANAGED TO SEPARATE THE MIGHTY GREGHART FROM HIS JOURNAL.

  “BUT THEN, WHEN THEY CONSIDERED THE THIEF’S MIRACULOUS DEFEAT OF TWO OF THEIR WARRIORS, THEY COULD COME TO ONLY ONE POSSIBLE CONCLUSION. THE SMALL BOY COULD BE NONE OTHER THAN THE MIGHTY GREGHART HIMSELF—DISGUISED BY POWERFUL MAGIC, OF COURSE.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” said Lucky.

  “It sure is,” said Priscilla, “and it doesn’t explain why they want to attack Daddy’s castle.”

  “BECAUSE THEY KNOW FROM THE LAST PROPHECY THAT KING PETER WAS THE ONE RESPONSIBLE FOR BRINGING YOUNG GREGHART HERE. THEY CAN ONLY ASSUME HE DID SO WITH THE INTENTION OF STEALING THEIR AMULET.”

  “I can’t believe this,” said Priscilla. “It’s not our fault. Greg put the amulet back.”

  “Yeah,” said Lucky. “I saw him place it in the alcove with my own eyes.”

  “I DO NOT QUESTION THE FACT THAT GREGHART RETURNED THE AMULET. BUT STILL IT SEEMS IT DISAPPEARED AGAIN SHORTLY THEREAFTER. THAT IS WHY WE NEED TO GET THE OTHER AMULET FROM YOUR KING. IT IS THE ONLY WAY TO APPEASE THE SPIRELINGS.”

  “Then we’re in real trouble,” said Lucky. The dragon shot him a displeased look—never a good look on a dragon.

  “He’s right,” said Priscilla. “Because Daddy’s amulet is missing, too.”

  “THIS DOES NOT PLEASE ME,” Ruuan said, stroking his chin with a claw twice as long as Greg. “NOW WE MUST HUNT UP ONE OF THE OTHER TWO.”

  Greg knew from his last visit to Myrth that there were four identical amulets in all. He had held each in his hand at one time or another. If the spirelings’ amulet was gone, and so was King Peter’s, that left only two: one belonging to Marvin Greatheart, the most popular dragonslayer on Myrth, and one owned by Witch Hazel, a horrible hag with dark powers who lived at the center of the Shrieking Scrub. “I recommend we get Marvin Greatheart’s,” he quickly suggested.

  “A WISE CHOICE,” said Ruuan. “HOP ON MY SHOULDERS. I WILL FLY US THERE AT ONCE.”

  Greg strained to catch a glimpse of the dragon’s shoulders amidst the dark silhouette of trees. “Um . . .”

  “We can’t go to Marvin’s now,” said Lucky.

  “He’s right,” Priscilla said. �
��They’re throwing a party in the courtyard for Greg this very moment. Mom would be mad if she knew we’d been gone even this long.”

  “And the king is expecting to see us off on our journey in the morning,” said Lucky. “He told me that according to the prophecy we’d leave by the same route as before. That means we’ll need to start off through the Enchanted Forest.”

  “Maybe we should go now,” Greg blurted. The last time he’d ventured into the Enchanted Forest, he’d barely escaped with his life. “I mean, we know the prophecy is wrong anyway.”

  “NO, YOUR LITTLE FRIENDS ARE RIGHT,” said Ruuan. “EVEN THOUGH IT SEEMS THE PROPHECY IS WRONG, YOU MUST FOLLOW IT TO THE LETTER. UNFORTUNATELY, I WON’T BE ABLE TO HELP. THE FOREST PATHS ARE TOO NARROW FOR ME.”

  “Wait, I have an idea,” said Priscilla. “Ruuan, go back to your lair for tonight, then come back and wait for us at the arena in the morning, okay? We’ll meet you as soon as we can.”

  At first Ruuan didn’t look as if he appreciated a human telling him what to do, but once Priscilla shared her plan, the dragon did as she suggested and took to the air, bending some of the closer trees under the buffeting wind stirred beneath his wings.

  Greg struggled to keep his feet. Then he thought of returning to the castle, and his legs finally failed him. How was he supposed to smile and nod for the crowd when they all expected him to champion their army in the upcoming battle against the entire spireling race?

  “Well, here we are again,” said King Peter.

  He stood before Greg and Lucky on the manicured castle lawn at the edge of the Enchanted Forest, where a large crowd watched from a polite distance. Greg shifted his weight from foot to foot. The morning air hung colder than yesterday, even though he now wore a heavy gray cloak draped over a drab tunic and tights that Lucky had provided for him.

  Lucky, too, wore a heavy cloak over his usual bright orange tunic and tights, although his cloak was an even brighter orange, suitable for scaring away monsters. Underneath he carried a pack slung over one shoulder, putting Greg in mind of a flamboyant hunchback.