by Bill Allen
“Relax, you two. Greg’s ring will protect us.”
Very carefully, Priscilla released her hold on Greg. Nathan led the two of them away from the safety of Ruuan’s cold storage locker and into the Passageway of Shifted Dimensions, a magical corridor that provided the only possible means for a mortal to traverse the infinite distance down to the ground from the dragon’s lair.
“What about the spirelings?” said Greg.
“Won’t your ring protect us from them, too?” Priscilla asked. “I mean, it did last time, right?”
Greg knew she was referring to the trip the two of them had taken with Lucky after Greg’s last encounter with Ruuan, when the trio had passed right in front of two spirelings without them seeing. “I’m not sure. Ruuan may have been protecting us then, or maybe we were just plain lucky. We did have good fortune on our side.”
“If you’re referring to your friend Lucky,” said Nathan, “I’m sure he was not the source of your success. Besides, today we will need no magic. The spirelings have abandoned their home, remember? They no longer have the amulet that makes it possible for them to live within the spire.”
This made perfect sense to Greg, and he was willing to believe Nathan at first, but he lost confidence when they rounded a corner and bumped straight into a spireling, the closest of dozens that had gathered around the tiny alcove where the amulet had once been displayed.
“Humans,” yelled one of the warriors, and before Greg could shout a word of warning, rough hands clamped over his mouth and dragged him to the ground. Priscilla tried to fight but landed with a grunt at his side, and finally Nathan knelt in submission near Greg’s feet, apparently unwilling to take on so many of the dangerous creatures by himself.
“No, I’d say your ring won’t protect us,” the magician whispered helpfully.
“Do something,” urged Greg.
Nathan shot him a look of warning, but too late. Even though both the top and bottom rows of a spireling’s teeth always remain visible, even when its mouth is closed, one of the nearest warriors managed to make it look as if he’d just now bared his fangs.
“Silence. You will not speak without permission.”
Greg waited in silence as he was told, suffering the gazes of dozens more of the creatures, until finally those in front moved aside so another could pass. An ancient spireling, feeble in comparison to the rest, but still a formidable-looking warrior, stepped from the crowd. He was not dressed in the same tattered pants and chain mail as the others, but wore a simple cloth robe. Unlike all of the spirelings Greg had ever seen, he carried no axe, and he wore a clear, crystalline crown above his ridged forehead. The points were arranged haphazardly around the crown, like jagged icicles protruding upward, and looked nearly as sharp as the spireling king’s teeth.
The remaining warriors bowed, and Greg was immediately reminded of a similar scene minutes earlier on the southern border of the kingdom, when the huge troll with the thorn-pierced cheeks had waded through his army to confront his captive. Suddenly Greg recalled the sight of poor Marvin with his limbs being stretched to their limits. Unconsciously he squirmed backward, trying to escape the spireling king’s view.
The king paused when he spotted Nathan.
“You are a magician,” he stated, and Greg knew at once from the pitch of his voice that he was not a he at all, but a she. The queen’s tone was confident to the point of arrogance. She was not asking to confirm a suspicion. She was declaring the fact to illustrate she couldn’t be taken in.
Nathan nodded but said nothing. He looked up at the queen, but wisely remained on his knees.
“Why do you trespass in Our home?” the queen asked.
“We mean no disrespect, Your Majesty. We had business with the dragon, but he was not at home, so the passageway was our only hope of leaving the spire.”
“Have you not heard?” the queen said, laughing to the others as if to indicate she was dealing with a fool. “The dragon is dead. Killed by a slayer named Greghart not two months past.”
Greg tried to will himself smaller.
“We have heard rumors of the dragon’s demise,” said Nathan, “but we also have reason to doubt the validity of those claims.”
The queen’s smile faded. She studied Nathan long and hard before continuing. “And what business did you have with a dragon?”
“We, too, have trouble regarding one of Ruuan’s amulets. The one formerly in the possession of King Peter Pendegrass has recently gone lost.”
The queen’s eyes narrowed as she examined Nathan closer still. “You know of the loss of Our amulet?”
Greg noticed that while clearly angry, she sounded a lot less sure of herself than she had a moment ago.
“There’s been a new prophecy,” Nathan said. “Everyone knows.”
The queen frowned. Apparently some knew less than others. “We see.” She paused to consult with one of her warriors, though Greg never heard either spireling speak. Afterward she regarded Nathan once more. “Do you then know the whereabouts of Our amulet?”
“Not as of yet,” said Nathan, “but I believe I can remedy that if I can put some distance between myself and Ruuan’s lair. As I am sure you understand, the dragon’s magic interferes with my own.”
The queen nodded. “Of course We understand such things, but still We are reluctant to let you simply leave unpunished. You were trespassing, after all.”
“Yes, and as I said before, for that I am deeply sorry. We really had no choice.”
The spireling queen was silent for a long moment. Finally she motioned, indicating Nathan was permitted to stand. “Allow Us to introduce Ourselves,” she said. “We are Queen Gnarla, Ruler of the Canarazas.”
Greg cringed at the mention of the word Canarazas, which he knew roughly translated meant razor-teeth. He stared up into Queen Gnarla’s eyes. True, the spireling queen had just introduced herself, but it was clear from her expression this had been a matter of protocol, not friendship.
“Perhaps We can find it within Our heart to let you go,” Queen Gnarla said, “if you promise to find Our amulet and return it to Us.” She pulled her jagged teeth into what might have been a grin. “Of course, We shall need to hold the boy until you return.”
Greg looked over his shoulder, desperately hoping to see another boy in the tunnel.
Nathan’s eyes narrowed. “I must have this young man with me,” he told the queen. “He plays a key role in the next prophecy.”
“Really? This child? He doesn’t look like someone who would play a key role in anything.”
“Are you kidding?” said Priscilla. “Greg’s—”
She stopped abruptly when several of the spirelings gasped and rushed forward, brandishing their double-edged axes. Queen Gnarla strode up to the spot where the princess knelt and glared down at her, then turned back to Greg and spoke as if Priscilla weren’t present. “Was this one not listening when you were told not to speak unless addressed directly?”
“She’s a little slow,” Greg explained.
“I am not,” said Priscilla, but when one of the closest spirelings knocked her flat on her back and poised his axe above her head, she reconsidered. “Perhaps I am.”
Without so much as a glance in Priscilla’s direction, the queen nodded to Greg, as if the matter had been settled. “Your magician friend would have Us believe a scrawny human like yourself could hold a key role in matters of prophecy. Well, We do not agree. You shall stay here as Our prisoner.”
Greg gasped and recoiled out of the queen’s reach, startling Rake, who wriggled out from under Greg’s cloak in protest. The moment Rake spotted the spireling queen he hissed and bared his fangs, which Greg equated to trying to scare away a dragon with a lit match. But the effect was nothing if not unexpected. Queen Gnarla’s eyes grew to the size of tennis balls, which is to say t
hey widened slightly. She let out a strangled gasp and jerked backward as several of the surrounding spirelings screamed and rushed up, thrusting out their axes to protect their queen.
“Get back,” Greg cried, and though he had directed the order at Rake, to his surprise the charging spirelings halted. Truth is, they seemed quite relieved to do so. He stared at the creatures, afraid to move for fear of breaking the spell he held over them.
“Rake,” he whispered, “get under my tunic before you get us all killed.”
Rake gave one last spine-chilling growl, then disappeared beneath the fabric of Greg’s tunic. Queen Gnarla hesitated a moment, as if to ensure the shadowcat was truly gone, before she approached again.
“What is the meaning of this? Bringing that . . . that thing . . . into Our home?”
“Rake? He’s just a shadowcat.”
“Just a shadowcat.” A low-pitched growl broke out among all the surrounding spirelings and didn’t stop again until the queen raised a hand for silence. Greg noticed the hand was trembling. Queen Gnarla noticed him noticing. She quickly moved it behind her back. “Perhaps the magician is right,” she said with an equal tremor to her voice. “Maybe you are essential to this prophecy. Very well, you and the magician may go . . . We shall hold the girl instead.”
“No,” Greg shouted. The spireling guarding Priscilla whipped around and brandished his axe. “Ah . . . I mean . . . I could really use the girl with me.”
“Doesn’t anyone listen to Us?” Queen Gnarla muttered to herself. “Okay, boy . . . go ahead. You may speak.”
Greg stared blankly at the queen, his mouth opening and closing without a sound.
“Well?” said Queen Gnarla.
“I—I just don’t think I’ll be able to play my part in the prophecy without Priscilla.”
“Nonsense. Prophecies are always fulfilled. After all, what would be the value of predicting the future if the future didn’t turn out the way you predicted? Why, that would be like predicting nothing at all, wouldn’t it?”
Nathan cleared his throat, obviously reluctant to speak without first being addressed. Queen Gnarla scowled but turned to face him anyway. “Yes, what is it?”
“The boy clearly believes the girl will be essential to his success. Whether he’s right or wrong is of little importance, but I am sure you can understand how crucial his beliefs may be. Who are we to interfere with destiny?”
The queen considered this a moment. Rake shifted positions under Greg’s tunic, and Queen Gnarla’s gaze darted toward the movement. “Perhaps you are right,” she said quickly. “We shall let the girl go as well, but—and We shall not be swayed on this—We shall send two of Our own with you, as an assurance that you will complete the task We have dealt you.”
The surrounding spirelings looked quite disturbed by this statement. A shoving match ensued as they all vied to see who could stand farthest from their queen.
“Oh, and We do not recommend you test them, Magician. Theirs is an ancient power you are not likely to best.”
Greg wondered if this were true. After all, as he understood it, the only magic the spirelings possessed was contained within Ruuan’s amulet, an artifact they didn’t even hold at the moment. Nathan may have been thinking the same thing, but if so, he gave no indication. He bowed his head slightly. “Your warriors need not fear harm, Your Majesty, from me or my friends. It has been our intention to recover your amulet for you all along.”
Queen Gnarla appeared to relax slightly. “We are inclined to believe you, Magician. Still, We shall send along two of Our best, just in case. Be warned. If you have not returned Our amulet to Us within two weeks, We shall march upon your castle.”
“Two weeks?” said Greg, but he said little more, what with the wind knocked from his lungs. Odd. He never even saw the guard move, aside from the way the spireling’s jagged teeth pulled themselves into a smirk when Greg landed on his back on the stone.
“Did We not speak clearly?”
“Sorry,” Greg gasped. At least the castle was far from the spire. If they knew they weren’t going to make it back before the deadline, they would have three more weeks to beat Queen Gnarla to the castle. They just needed to hunt down the amulet and get home quickly.
But then Greg remembered Marvin Greatheart and the trolls. The southern border of the kingdom was so far away. What would the two spireling warriors think about postponing their search long enough to rescue the dragonslayer?
Unlikely Allies
“No.”
The spireling’s voice left no room for argument—or at least it would have, if he hadn’t been talking to Priscilla.
“But our friend’s in trouble,” the princess insisted.
“We shall not deviate from our course. Our sole purpose is to retrieve the sacred amulet.”
“Perhaps we can discuss this better outside,” suggested Nathan.
“There is nothing to discuss,” said the spireling, “but you are right in one thing. We should be on our way.”
No one dared say a word during the remaining trip through the Passageway of Shifted Dimensions and down the long tunnel to the mouth of the Infinite Spire. The spirelings did not so much as grunt the entire way, not even when one slipped and nearly fell on the glassy smooth tunnel floor.
Even if Greg had been talking, he’d have quieted the moment they reached the base of the spire. He had forgotten that the valley outside was still blanketed beneath hundreds of thousands of spireling warriors.
“I don’t get it,” Priscilla said to the two guards. “You say you can’t live in the spire, but that’s where you were when we found you . . . er, when you found us.”
The spirelings seemed hesitant to answer, so Nathan answered for them. “Those you saw inside possess powers the rest of the Canarazas do not.”
The spirelings’ faces somehow took on a more threatening look. “How do you know this?” one asked.
“There is little you could tell me about your race I do not already know. As to your mages, I hold them in the highest regard, I assure you. As I do those warriors we see here.”
The spirelings seemed to calm. One even lowered his axe. “It is true. Over the past month we mages have maintained regular patrols through the passage. But the others have been camped here all week, ever since your king sent the Mighty Greghart to steal our amulet.”
Greg and Priscilla exchanged wide-eyed looks.
“Fortunately they will not have to stay much longer,” the guard finished.
Priscilla nodded. “So you’re confident we’ll find your amulet.”
“That is not what I meant. Soon they will march upon your castle to exact their revenge.”
“But we didn’t do anything,” Priscilla said.
“Except steal our amulet,” said the other guard.
“We didn’t steal it.”
The spirelings began a low rumbling growl that gave Greg the impression of a volcano about to erupt. Nathan put a finger to his lips, and in spite of her usual inclination to speak her mind, Priscilla took the hint.
Greg held his breath as he followed the two spirelings through the mass of resting warriors. He kept expecting the others to question what three humans were doing in their midst, but to his surprise not one looked up as they passed. The air was nearly freezing, yet each spireling to the last sat peacefully on the cold ground, shoeless, wearing only pants torn high on the calves and light chain mail draped over an otherwise bare chest.
The five hiked without incident across the deep valley and up a steep incline to the top of a ridge where Greg once camped with the Army of the Crown. There Nathan brought the group to a halt.
One of the guards rushed forward and raised his axe. “Why are we stopping?”
“This is far enough,” said Nathan. “Before we proceed we need to gather more
information about where this amulet of yours may be found.”
“How are you going to do that?” asked Priscilla.
The spireling spun toward her. “Silence.”
“You be quiet. We’re not around that queen of yours now. I won’t be putting up with anyone ordering me to ‘speak only when spoken to.’ Oh, and put that axe down before you hurt someone.”
Greg hadn’t heard Priscilla use that tone since the time Lucky knocked her down and stuffed her into his magical backpack. Even with his razor-sharp teeth and his double-bladed axe, the spireling thought to take a quick step backward. The other guard rushed to his aid, but stopped rather abruptly when the princess spun his way.
“And that goes for you, too. We are helping you get back your amulet, after all.”
The second spireling studied her carefully, as if sizing her up, but when the princess placed her balled fists on her hips and strengthened her glare, he lowered his axe, not to mention his huge, bulbous eyes, to the ground.
“That’s better,” Priscilla said with a huff. “Now, Nathan, I asked how you planned to find out more about their amulet.”
Nathan stared at the princess, speechless. Then his expression turned grim. “From what you’ve told me about Marvin Greatheart’s situation, we have little time to devote to a rescue. I don’t believe we’ll have the luxury of proceeding using conventional means.”
Greg suddenly realized two weeks would be plenty of time with Nathan on their side. “You’re going to use magic.”
“No.” One of the spirelings rushed forward, but stopped abruptly when he spotted Priscilla in his way. Even after sidestepping successfully around her, he faltered again when he drew too near to Greg. Rake wiggled under Greg’s tunic, and at once Greg understood. Hard to believe such a fierce creature could fear any of them, yet the spireling wouldn’t take a single step closer.
“You cannot use magic,” the guard yelled from his current spot. “Queen Gnarla will not allow it.”
“What do you mean, Queen Gnarla won’t allow it?” said Greg. “When did she say that?”