by Bill Allen
“You said Ruuan went to retrieve two artifacts. If the pieces were never supposed to be found on Myrth again, why did Ruuan go after them now?”
“Ah, very good, Greg,” said Nathan. “But that is where this conversation must end. It wouldn’t be wise for me to tell you too much about your future.”
“How is it you seem to know so much about my future?” Greg asked.
“Again, I cannot tell.” The three stood watching each other in uncomfortable silence. “Anything else you wanted to talk about?”
Greg and Priscilla shook their heads.
“How did this food get here?” came a deep voice to Greg’s right. The two spirelings had returned with astonishing stealth. One picked up the small piece of bollywomp meat Greg had set aside for Rake.
“Hey, that’s mine,” said Greg.
“Then what is it doing on the ground?” asked the spireling.
“I was saving it.”
The spireling’s eyes froze him in place. “Saving it for what?”
Greg debated whether to say or not. “If you must know, I was going to give it to Rake.”
Hearing his name, the shadowcat popped his head out from under Greg’s cloak and sniffed the air, his whiskers quivering in what could only be described as a cute manner. Even so, both spirelings screamed and lurched backward.
“It is loose,” one shouted, reaching for his axe.
“Watch out,” screamed the other.
“For goodness’ sake,” said Priscilla. “It’s just a shadowcat.”
The spirelings seemed no less upset in spite of her reassurances.
“I don’t get it,” said Greg. “Why are you so afraid of Rake?”
“You know why.”
“Actually, I don’t.”
The fire cracked, and Nathan stomped out an ember that landed near his foot. “Ah, the day the spirelings slept.”
“See, he knows,” said one.
“So you might as well tell me,” said Greg.
“It was nearly two months past. Our tribe had left the Infinite Spire to fulfill our part of a prophecy. We were supposed to block the cave mouth at the base of the spire, keep out the Army of the Crown. But unbeknownst to us, the humans sent one of those . . . shadowcats . . . into our midst.”
“It used its powerful magic to keep us from noticing as others of its kind moved in to join it,” said the second spireling. “Then, when they had us outnumbered, they worked together to cast a great spell against us. Our warriors were lulled into unconsciousness, and when we awoke again our amulet was gone.”
“The spell used against us was a horror of indescribable proportions,” said the first. “Two of our warriors fought the Mighty Greghart within the spire, yet the rest of us saw nothing. It was as if they had become . . . not part of us.”
“The shadowcats are evil creatures,” said the second. “You would be wise to stay clear of that one. I can only assume it is responsible for the disappearance of your human king’s amulet as well.”
“Rake didn’t steal Daddy’s amulet,” said Priscilla. “What would a shadowcat want with a magical artifact?”
“Daddy?” said the spireling. He adopted the same glazed-over look he’d displayed on the ridge outside the Infinite Spire. “You did not tell us you were the human king’s daughter. Queen Gnarla says if she had known, she would have held you for collateral until our amulet was returned.”
“You don’t have to coerce us into helping you,” said Nathan. “We have just as much interest in returning your amulet as you do.”
“How is that?” asked the second spireling.
“Long ago the amulet was given to your people because it was unlikely to ever be stolen while in your possession. It was believed that no one would likely ever find the Passageway of Shifted Dimensions, let alone fight off hundreds of thousands of Canarazas to take it from you.”
“As it turned out, they didn’t need to,” said the spireling. He pointed at Rake. “Because of that.”
“Rake didn’t do anything,” said Greg, pulling the shadowcat away. “And the shadowcats didn’t take your amulet either.”
“How do you know?”
“Because—”
“He doesn’t,” Nathan said quickly, “but the princess was right about the shadowcats having no use for your amulet. Remember our earlier lead? We must look to this Corporal Widget for answers. Now I suggest we get some sleep. We have a long day ahead of us.”
“We spirelings do not sleep, and even if we did, we could never do so with that . . . thing in our midst.”
“That’s not what you told us earlier,” said Priscilla. “If the shadowcat was the big threat you seem to think he is, it wouldn’t matter what you did. He could knock you out any time he wanted.”
Greg couldn’t say he liked the growls that issued forth from both spirelings. Even Priscilla took a step backward.
“Calm down, everyone,” said Nathan. “Sleep or not, let’s get some rest. I, for one, found it a trying day. And I expect tomorrow will be no better.”
Nor could it be worse, Greg thought. But then he remembered his last trip to Myrth and realized how wrong he could be.
Shortcut
The spirelings prepared a hearty breakfast of basilisk eggs and woke the others shortly before morning, so they could eat and be ready to leave at first light.
Greg was relieved to find they had all survived the dangers of the night, and only hoped the same could be said for Marvin. But soon he began to wonder if they were any safer now than they’d been the previous evening. Already the group had been attacked by a small band of goblins, three griffins, a minotaur and the ugliest ogre Greg had ever seen, though in truth, he had seen only one other, and for much of that encounter his eyes had been closed.
With each new attack the spireling guards rose to the challenge, their axes soaring with deft precision to dispatch the threat—until a moment ago, when they had run across something truly horrible.
At first Greg mistook it to be a harmless garden gnome, but when the deranged gnome opened its mouth and charged, foam slathering from the corners of its mouth, Greg suspected it was a bigger threat than it had appeared. The guards, who Greg had learned this morning were named Gnash and Gnaw, took one look and threw down their weapons, freeing up their hands to weave a powerful magic that sent bolts of electricity zapping down from a cloudless sky. Any sane monster would have fled, but the determined gnome defiantly stared them down through four near misses. It was not until Rake peeked out from Greg’s cloak and shook his whiskers that the creature finally screamed and darted into the brush.
“This is ridiculous,” Greg said, his breath coming in erratic gasps. “What’s with all these monsters all of a sudden, anyway?”
“Welcome to the forests of Myrth,” said Nathan. “They can be a bit intimidating.”
“It wasn’t like this when we traveled here before,” Greg protested.
“Lucky was with us then,” Priscilla reminded him. “Today has been a lot more normal.”
“Yeah, right.”
“I think you give this Lucky friend of yours too much credit,” Nathan told the two of them. “Our relatively uneventful trip last time was probably no more than coincidence. Just a simple matter of good fortune.”
“Brought on by Lucky,” finished Priscilla. “That’s exactly what I was saying.”
Nathan frowned and returned his attention to the trail. The group narrowly survived two more griffin attacks before Greg shouted for everyone to stop.
“What is it?” Nathan asked.
“This is crazy. Even if we don’t get ourselves killed out here, this trip is taking way too long. Who knows what’s happened to Marvin by now? Or Lucky and Melvin, for that matter. And Queen Gnarla’s going to march on the castle in just two w
eeks. We can’t waste any more time. You need to use your magic.”
Gnash and Gnaw both shook their heads and raised their axes to indicate the option was, well, not an option. Before Greg could object, a chilling shriek once again broke the silence. Experienced at the drill, the two spirelings rushed forward and held their axes poised for a fight.
“What this time?” Greg moaned.
“Sounded like a wyvern,” said Nathan, “or maybe a wounded banshee. It’s hard to tell.”
A second screech split the air, shaking leaves from the surrounding trees, and all turned to witness a thirty-foot-long dragon soar over the ridge and drop from the sky with a boom.
“Nope, it’s a wyvern,” said Nathan.
The miniature—if that word could in any way apply here—dragon lumbered forward a step and bared its fangs at the two spirelings, but the guards’ resolve did not waver. They raised their axes higher and separated, moving off the trail in opposite directions, as if to surround the beast.
Under different circumstances, very different circumstances, Greg might have described the wyvern as pretty. Iridescent streaks ran along both sides of its brilliant teal scales, from its forearms to its tail, and glittering gold ovals surrounded each of its eyes, which stared first at one spireling, then at the other. It had only two legs, not four, but with its powerful wings for balance it was able to move with astounding quickness.
Suddenly it lashed out with a foot, missing Gnash by inches—or maybe it was Gnaw. Greg had a lot of trouble telling the two apart. Had the guard not possessed the inhuman speed of a spireling, surely he’d have been shredded. Instead he lunged forward and swung his axe.
With a beat of its wings the wyvern dodged nimbly aside too. An unexpected swat of its sinewy tail sent the attacking spireling reeling backward over the ridge.
Gnaw held out a hand, and a ball of blue fire burst to life in his palm. He hurled the fire at the wyvern, but the nimble beast lunged easily aside.
From over the ridge, Gnash shot back into the fray. He dove axe-first at his opponent, the attack so quick, the wyvern barely managed to duck the blow. Gnaw took advantage of the distraction and rushed in with an offensive of his own, but again the wyvern countered with a swing of its tail that nearly decapitated both spirelings in a single swipe.
“Somebody do something,” said Priscilla.
Greg weighed the stick in his hands. Luckily Nathan caught him by the shoulder and dragged him backward before he could do much else. Greg exhaled, secretly glad for the intervention, as Nathan stooped and picked up a rock.
Nathan waited until just the right moment, when the two spirelings had drawn away the wyvern’s attention, to unleash his throw, and hit his mark, striking the beast squarely in the neck. For an instant the wyvern was distracted, long enough for Gnaw to raise his axe as if to throw it.
“No,” Greg cried. He managed to startle Gnaw just before the spireling released the weapon, resulting in a glancing blow that caused little damage.
Gnash stepped in behind the wyvern and raised an axe of his own.
If Gnaw had been distracted by Greg’s cry, it was nothing compared to the surprise Gnash must have felt when Greg rushed forward and dove at the spireling’s legs. In fact, the disbelief on Gnash’s face was clear from the moment Greg left his feet until the instant Gnash stepped casually aside. Greg landed with a thud. Injured and furious, the wyvern snapped its head around to look him squarely in the eye.
Uh-oh.
To Greg’s surprise, instead of attacking, the creature let out an unnerving screech and leapt to the sky. The air caught beneath its leathery wings, and after one last shriek drifted down with the wind, all was silent. The wyvern had retreated.
“What did you do that for?” Priscilla screamed.
Gnash and Gnaw screamed something too, but Greg wasn’t sure they were using actual words. Still, the meaning was clear.
“Sorry. I just . . . well, I thought maybe we could reason with it. Fighting all these monsters is taking forever. That wyvern could have given us a ride to the southern border.”
Priscilla’s mouth dropped open. “You can’t ask a wyvern for a ride.”
Nathan tried his best to calm the angered spirelings, but they were furious. “The princess is right,” he told Greg. “Wyverns aren’t like dragons. They’re just animals. They survive purely on instinct, not wit. You’re lucky you weren’t killed.”
“I guess so,” said Greg, breathing heavily to try to stop his body from shaking. “It’s just that it looked hurt, and I thought if I helped it, it might return the favor . . .”
Nathan glanced over at the spirelings and back again. “Don’t worry. No harm done, and we’re all safe now.”
Priscilla shrugged to show she agreed, but the spirelings clearly needed more convincing. It was not in their nature to leave a battle unfinished. Greg cringed at the thought, recalling the prophecy and his true purpose for being here. He wanted nothing less than to have to fight an army of these creatures. Then a disturbing thought struck him.
“We may be safe from that wyvern, but without a ride we’re still stuck in the wrong part of the kingdom. Poor Marvin. What do you suppose will happen to him?”
“Don’t give up on him just yet,” said Nathan. “I still have one trick up my sleeve.”
Priscilla’s eyes jumped to Nathan’s arm, as if she expected to see something odd happen there. Greg noticed the two spirelings staring with similar puzzled expressions.
“What is it?” he asked Nathan.
“Just the part of my shirt that covers my arm.”
“No, I mean what’s your trick?”
“A special place ahead,” Nathan said. He pointed along the ridge. “If I remember correctly, it should be right over that next rise.”
Gnash and Gnaw both took one cautious step backward, but Priscilla stayed put. Her eyes, like those of the spirelings, remained fixed on the magician’s sleeve. Nathan shook his head at the three of them, dropped his arm, and resumed his march along the path.
He led them over the next rise, scaring away two goblins and a basilisk, and then altered his course and followed a steep path descending from the ridge. They hiked east a short ways, straight toward the heart of the desolate landscape, before Nathan planted his staff in the dust at his feet.
“Well, here we are.”
Greg looked about the desert. Aside from the ridge they’d just left, standing tall to the west, and an infinitely taller spire still towering high above them to the north, there was nothing here to see. “Where?”
“At the portal,” said Nathan.
The others stared back at him. Nathan enlightened them by extending his arm to one side where, with a fizzle, his hand disappeared. Greg’s breath disappeared right along with it, and did not return again until Nathan drew back his arm, including, Greg noticed with relief, Nathan’s completely intact hand. The spirelings gasped.
“Quite a trick,” said Greg, “but I thought you weren’t supposed to use your magic.”
“It is not my magic,” Nathan pointed out. Gnash and Gnaw began arguing silently among themselves but soon nodded, indicating they would allow the use of the portal. “Then shall we go?”
Greg studied the spot from all angles but could see no sign of the portal. “Go where?”
“To Pillsbury, in the realm of the Styx, just a few miles from the kingdom border.”
“That’s great. We can be at the border in an hour or so. Maybe Marvin still has a chance.”
“Let’s hope so.”
Gnash stepped forward. “What about our amulet? That is our true mission, or have you forgotten?”
“Not at all,” said Nathan. “Our plans have not changed. Ryder Hawkins is leading a patrol of men in that area, and according to the magician Mordred, we should be able to find thi
s Corporal Widget among them.”
The spireling nodded his approval. “Very well. Then we shall follow your lead.”
Nathan nodded back. Without further ceremony, he stepped into the portal. The air shimmered and swallowed him up with a smack that left the others staring with apprehension. Greg and Priscilla stepped forward and surveyed the spot closely, but Greg could see no evidence that the portal even existed. He couldn’t imagine how Nathan ever knew it was there.
“Do you think it’s safe?” he asked Priscilla.
“Of course. You don’t see Nathan complaining, do you?”
Greg was reluctant to point out that Nathan’s sudden disappearance was most certainly the reason he wasn’t complaining. For all Greg knew, Nathan had just popped out of existence.
Priscilla seemed to be listening to his thoughts. “You go,” she said.
After much internal debate, Greg willed himself forward and stepped through the portal as if passing through a doorway, feeling nothing unusual as he left behind the desolate plain and walked into the flower bed of a quaint little hostel on the road just outside of what he quickly decided must be Pillsbury. He decided this partly because that’s where Nathan said the portal would lead, but also because he knew Pillsbury was where Brandon Alexander, the court scribe, had supposedly gone on holiday, and by all descriptions, it was Brandon who stood on the grass directly in front of him now.
“Brandon?”
“I’m sorry, have we met?”
“Not exactly. I’m Greg.”
“Greghart the dragonslayer, of course. Oh this is such an honor.”
Greg snapped his head around to see if the two spirelings had heard. Luckily neither had stepped through the portal yet. “Call me Greg. I insist.”
Brandon extended his hand to shake, but just as Greg reached out to return the gesture, Priscilla stepped out of midair and knocked him off his feet. Brandon reacted quickly to catch him, and gave him a long hug.
“Such a friendly greeting,” the scribe said, rather embarrassed. “I’m flattered.”
Greg struggled to break free of the man’s embrace, equally embarrassed, and cleared his throat awkwardly. “What a coincidence. I can’t believe we ran into you like this.”