How to Save a Kingdom

by Bill Allen

  “Yes, well, chalk one more up for your pal, Lucky.” Brandon chuckled. “It’s not the first time that boy has amazed me.”

  “Lucky’s not even with us,” said Priscilla.

  “He’s not?”

  “Not everything good that happens can be attributed to your friend,” Nathan reminded them. “Sometimes a coincidence is just that.”

  Priscilla rolled her eyes, as if Nathan were speaking foolishness.

  Gnash stepped through the portal, and Brandon’s eyes popped wide. Then Gnaw stepped through, and Brandon jumped back.

  “It’s okay,” Priscilla reassured him. “They’re traveling with us.”

  Brandon nodded, but he kept a wary eye on the two spirelings, not to mention the empty spot above the flower bed, where more spirelings could appear at any moment.

  “We should get going,” urged Nathan.

  “Going?” said Brandon. “But you’ve just arrived.”

  Nathan quickly explained about Ryder’s army and the missing amulet, and then about Marvin Greatheart and the trolls. Brandon listened to the last in horror, though it was difficult to tell if it was Nathan’s tale that upset him, or that the spirelings were starting to growl between themselves.

  “Hang on,” Greg begged Gnash and Gnaw, “I just need a minute.” He turned back to Brandon. “Maybe you can answer a question for us.”

  “Oh my, well, I’ll certainly do what I can.”

  “Do you know who General Bashar is?”

  Brandon thought a long moment. Suddenly his face brightened. “Of course. Yes, now I remember.”

  Greg’s pulse quickened. “You do?”

  “Absolutely. According to the prophecy, General Bashar is one of three generals who will be fighting by your side in the upcoming battle against the spirelings.”

  Greg’s hopes deflated. He noticed the two spireling guards had turned rather angry glares on him.

  “You intend to fight us?” said Gnash. He rolled his axe in his hand until it reflected the sunlight across Greg’s face, flashing a warning that was hard to misinterpret.

  “Kidding,” Greg said. “He was just kidding.” He fixed a pleading gaze into Brandon’s eyes and said, “Come on, Brandon, quit messing around.”

  “What?” said Brandon. “Oh, right. Quite the kidder, I am.” Greg remembered the man’s drinking problem and thanked the Fates Brandon hadn’t been drinking today.

  “What more can you tell us about General Bashar?” Priscilla asked.

  “Nothing,” said Brandon. “Aside from what Bart told me, I’ve never heard of him.”

  Priscilla groaned. “Then we’re no better off than before.”

  “Wait, what about the hero from the first prophecy?” Greg asked Brandon.

  Brandon shot him an odd look. “What about him?”

  Greg spotted a flash but didn’t realize Nathan had used his magic again until Gnash and Gnaw winced and slapped their hands over their ears. Nathan leaned forward as if about to speak in confidence. He glanced again at the spirelings, who still seemed to be listening, then pretended to scratch his nose, creating a larger spark that caused both Gnash and Gnaw to squeal. They took to shaking their heads and slapping their ears while Nathan whispered to the scribe.

  “You must not refer to Greg as Greghart or reveal that he had anything to do with the last prophecy,” he quickly explained. “The spirelings believe the Mighty Greghart took their amulet. If they figure out Greg is Greghart, they’re going to demand to know what he did with it. Now, recently you wrote about the Hero who slayed Ruuan. S-L-A-Y, not S-L-E-I-G-H.”

  “Of course,” said Brandon. “A sleigh is a type of wagon that slides on runners.”

  “I know what a sleigh is,” Nathan said. “It’s just that in the first prophecy you wrote that Greg would sleigh the dragon. S-L-E-I-G-H, not S-L-A-Y.”

  “I did? I misspelled slay in the first prophecy?”

  Nathan looked nearly as worried as Greg felt. “I don’t know. Perhaps. Then you’re saying you always meant it to be S-L-A-Y?”

  Brandon laughed out loud. “Of course. The other wouldn’t make sense at all, would it?”

  Nathan frowned. “No, I suppose not.”

  Greg sidled up to the two of them. “But it was never actually written down until you put it on paper. You just heard Bart say it, right? There’s no reason why it couldn’t have been S-L-E-I-G-H, right?”

  “Weren’t you listening to that bit about the runners?” Brandon asked, his expression one of great concern.

  Greg tried to match Nathan’s earlier scowl. “I know what a sleigh is, too.”

  “Okay,” said Brandon hesitantly, “then what’s the problem?”

  Greg gave up and returned to stand beside Priscilla. Nathan warned Brandon once more about speaking in front of Gnash and Gnaw. He waved his hand again, and the spirelings went back to acting normal, for spirelings.

  “What was that?” Gnash asked.

  “What?” said Nathan.

  “That high-pitched noise. For a second I couldn’t hear anything else.”

  “I, too,” said Gnaw.

  “Funny,” said Nathan, “I didn’t hear a thing.”

  The two spirelings stared back at him distrustfully, then turned suspicious glares on Greg.

  “Don’t look at me.”

  “I guess having such acute hearing isn’t always a plus,” said Nathan, smiling.

  “We better go,” said Greg.

  Nathan nodded. “Agreed.”

  “Can I come too?” asked Brandon.

  “Did you miss the part about the thousand trolls?” Greg asked, and even though he hadn’t intended to match the condescending tone Brandon had used when he asked Greg about the sleigh, it came through anyway.

  “No,” Brandon assured him, “but I still want to go. I just need to grab a few things and say good-bye to Mother. It’ll take but a minute.”

  Gnash and Gnaw clearly didn’t approve, but Brandon insisted he would hurry, and Nathan convinced the spirelings it could help to have the scribe along, explaining how Brandon might recall some lesser-known details of the prophecy that could mean the difference between success or failure.

  Greg might have pointed out that the prophecy said the king’s army was going to be victors in the upcoming battle, so the spirelings would be crazy to help them, or that Nathan was being hypocritical—the magician had always been the first to insist people shouldn’t know too much about their destinies—but Greg held his tongue. Brandon might not be much help in a fight against a thousand trolls, but Greg didn’t see how it could hurt to have one more ally by his side.

  “How’s your mom?” Priscilla asked Brandon as they hurried down the sidewalk toward Mrs. Alexander’s home.

  “Mother’s fine. Why she wants to live way down here in the Styx is beyond me, but . . . well, let’s just say she’s a bit stubborn. I’ve tried to get her to move back, but she won’t hear of it. Says all her friends live down here now, and she doesn’t want to leave them.”

  “How did she ever come here in the first place?” asked Priscilla.

  “Came down on holiday a few years back and stayed for the weather,” Brandon said. He turned down a narrow cobblestone walk toward a large building made of what looked like clay. “It’s warm here all year round, you see. Claims the moist air is easier to breathe.”

  Greg flapped his cloak. “It is a bit warm here, isn’t it? Odd. The kingdom was freezing.”

  Brandon reached the front door, pulled it open and called out to the empty room. “Mother. Visitors.”

  He slipped off the boots he was wearing and shuffled across the wood floor in his stocking feet as his mother entered the room. She studied Greg a moment before realization struck. Then she grabbed him by the sleeve and nearly pul
led him off balance.

  “My word, Brandy, do you know who this is?”

  The scribe looked quite embarrassed at being referred to as Brandy. He retrieved a small pack from a cupboard, opened it and removed a wine sack, which he began to fill with water from a basin in the kitchen. “Of course, Mother. I brought him here, remember?”

  “But he’s—”

  “Yes, Mum,” he said before his mother could reveal Greg’s identity, “I know.”

  “He’s no one,” said Nathan, but the old woman missed the magician’s commanding tone.

  “No, he’s a famous drag—”

  “Yep,” Brandon cut her off. He threw the wine sack in the pack along with a small loaf of bread, grabbed a pair of dusty boots from the corner and hopped across the floor as he struggled to pull them on while he made his way to the door.

  “Brandy, why are you acting so funny? Oh, and you,” she said, noticing Priscilla for the first time. “You’re King Peter’s youngest daughter, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said the princess. “Please, call me Priscilla.”

  “Oh my,” Mrs. Alexander tittered. “Brandon, did you hear? Princess Priscilla’s here too.”

  “Yes, Mum, I know Priscilla. Remember, I work for her father.”

  “Royalty, right here in my home. Wait till I tell the girls.” Unable to stop smiling, Mrs. Alexander introduced herself to Nathan, but then she spotted Gnash and Gnaw and her expression melted. “What are those?” she asked, grimacing.

  Brandon opened a second cupboard near the front door and removed a heavy cloak. “Spirelings, Mother. They’re helping the others fulfill a prophecy.”

  “Really?” she said, apparently working hard to overcome her revulsion. “Are they housebroken?”

  With a scowl, Gnash pulled Gnaw outside. Mrs. Alexander watched them go with a raised eyebrow. “Really, Brandy, you should pick your friends more carefully.”

  “Ahem.”

  “Oh, I didn’t mean you, Highness,” she said, her face reddening, “or you, Gregh—”

  “We really need to get going,” Greg said quickly, drowning out the last.

  “Yes, of course,” agreed Brandon. “We’ll leave at once.”

  “Nonsense,” said Mrs. Alexander. “You’ve barely just arrived. Sit and we’ll talk.”

  “We don’t have time,” Brandon told her.

  “Well, at least stay for a bite to eat. Your friends must be famished.”

  Greg was, but he knew they couldn’t afford the delay. “We really need to go.”

  Once they were outside the village, following the trail leading between Pillsbury and the kingdom, Brandon thanked Greg.

  “For what?” Greg asked.

  “Mother can be quite demanding. She would have never let us leave so easily had you not insisted we hurry. But she’s heard all the stories. She would never argue with someone of your preeminence.”

  “My what?”

  “Oh my, they said you were modest.”

  Greg picked up his pace, leaving Brandon behind. He had mixed emotions about resuming the journey. Sure, Brandon’s mom was a bit domineering, but her pampering reminded him of Marvin Greatheart’s mother, especially when they were headed down the walk and she yelled after them from her doorway, insisting they come back for a nourishing meal. If only they could have afforded the time. But it was Mrs. Alexander’s similarity to Marvin’s mother that forced Greg to go on. Mrs. Greatheart’s son was in trouble, and he owed it to her to reach him as soon as possible.

  The weather remained unseasonably warm until they reached and crossed a rickety old bridge spanning a wide, blue river. The instant they stepped over the border into the kingdom the temperature dropped fifty degrees. Greg cinched his tunic tight and slipped his cloak back over his shoulders. “Whoa, why so cold?”

  “It’s winter,” said Nathan.

  “Of course,” muttered Greg. “What was I thinking?”

  “It’s been forever since we left,” said Priscilla. “They could be anywhere by now. Which way should we go?”

  “The trolls are this way,” said Gnash, pointing to the west.

  “Absolutely,” agreed Gnaw. He set off in that direction without waiting to see if the others would follow.

  “Don’t tell me you can hear them?” Greg asked, amazed.

  “Of course not,” said Gnash. He pointed to his nose. “We smell them.”

  At first Greg was astonished, but then he recalled the horrible stench surrounding the large group of trolls and was surprised he couldn’t pick up the scent himself, no matter how far off the beasts might be.

  They followed the familiar wide river that separated the kingdom from the Styx, traveling west for a few miles. The beautiful golden cliffs with their scattered waterfalls now sat off to Greg’s left instead of his right, but Greg hardly noticed them. It was already late afternoon. He grew hungrier with every step, yet he and the others pressed on.

  The ground grew more treacherous the farther they walked, until finally the group was forced to angle into the woods that lined the ridge to the north. This area seemed familiar to Greg, but it wasn’t until he entered a large clearing where the grass had been trampled beneath thousands of heavy feet, that he recognized the spot where Marvin had been captured. It wasn’t the trampled grass that gave it away so much as the stench.

  Priscilla gulped. “They’re gone.”

  “At least they shouldn’t be hard to track,” said Nathan, pointing at the wide swath of trampled bushes extending to the north. “I don’t believe they’re far off.”

  Even without magical powers of his own, Greg agreed. He wouldn’t have been surprised to learn he was standing inside a troll now. He shook his head and blew his nose to expel the putrid odor.

  Starving, sore and tired, they resumed their search. Not long after, Greg heard a rustling in the brush, and two men jumped from the bushes lining each side of the narrow trail.

  “Halt, who goes th—” one soldier managed to shout before he landed hard on his back. The other landed more softly, as Gnash was kind enough to toss him neatly atop the first.

  Gnash held both men’s swords in his hand. He quickly decided the fallen humans were little threat and threw back their weapons, nearly skewering them in the process, and the two men, each clad in the royal blue uniform of the Army of the Crown, sat up looking dazed.

  “W—what happened?” one asked.

  “Meet Gnash,” Priscilla said. “He’s traveling with us.”

  “Princess Priscilla?” the guard said, clearly surprised to meet up with the king’s daughter so far from Pendegrass Castle. “Forgive us, Highness, we didn’t know it was you.”

  “It wasn’t. I told you, it was Gnash. And please, don’t call me Highness.”

  “Certainly, Your—er—certainly.”

  Nathan stepped forward and helped the man to his feet. “I assume you’re part of General Hawkins’s command.” Nathan lent a hand to the second guard as well.

  “Yes, sir,” said the first soldier. “We were ordered to watch for dangers from the south. General Hawkins’s troops are just up that trail about a mile from here.”

  “Is Marvin Greatheart with them?” Greg asked.

  “Or his brother Melvin, and Lucky Day?” Priscilla added.

  “The two boys are with the general, yes, but I’m afraid the dragonslayer has gotten himself into a bit of a quandary. There’s more trolls up that way than I’ve seen in all my life, let alone together in one spot, and when last I saw them, they had the Mighty Greatheart strung up on a pike planted in the ground at the center of their camp.”

  Priscilla breathed a nervous sigh. “Then he’s still alive.”

  “He was when I left. But that was hours ago. We’ve been expecting some relief anytime now, b
ut . . . I’m sure the general is very busy trying to figure out how to get Greatheart back without starting a full-scale war.”

  “Oh dear,” said Priscilla.

  Nathan thanked the men for the information and herded the others past. The two guards watched for a moment, their nerves calming, but then Gnaw came zooming up from behind, and they nearly dropped their swords. They needn’t have worried. Knowing from his secret bond with Gnash that the two soldiers posed no threat, Gnaw paid them little heed.

  The farther Greg and the others walked, the worse the stench grew. Luckily they didn’t walk far. When Ryder’s men came into view, Greg was taken by the unnatural silence. Hundreds of soldiers sat scattered about the ground, some eating, others simply resting while they had the chance, but all of them wide awake. Yet, aside from the chirping of birds and the occasional rustling of a monkeydog in the brush, not a sound could be heard.

  “Follow me,” one said when he noticed the group’s approach, and without another word he led them straight to General Hawkins. Gnash and Gnaw lagged behind, studying the area curiously. Greg wondered if they’d ever seen so many humans in one place.

  Ryder Hawkins looked about ten years older than he had when Greg saw him last. The lines around his eyes deepened when he squinted at the approaching group, and then the corners of his mouth turned up slightly, no doubt the closest he could come to a smile.

  “Shh,” he warned them. He pointed toward the trees ahead. “The trolls are camped in a clearing just on the other side of that bend. I’d have sworn there weren’t that many in all of Myrth, but I can now say for a fact there are. I’ve actually seen them with my own eyes.”

  “How many?” asked Brandon.

  “Twenty thousand, maybe more. We watched ten more groups join up with the others this afternoon alone. I don’t know where they’re coming from, but they all seem to have known to meet up here today. Spooky, if you ask me. I don’t know what they have in mind, but I don’t see any way it could be good.”

  “How did you get here so quickly?” Priscilla asked. “Dad expected you’d take at least a few more days.”