How to Save a Kingdom

by Bill Allen

  “That was so much fun,” Lucky said once it was all over. They were miles away, resting in a clearing with darkness closing in, but he still couldn’t stop talking about his adventurous slide down the mountain.

  Greg was starting to be able to talk too, but for now was sticking to single syllables. “Are . . . you . . . nuts?”

  “Tell me you didn’t think that was the most incredible ride of your life,” Lucky said, laughing.

  “No . . . speed . . . ice . . . thought I would . . . crash . . . die,” said Greg.

  “What’s wrong with you?” asked Melvin. “You’re not making sense.”

  “Yeah, Greg, you look horrible,” Priscilla said, dabbing his face with a handkerchief in a way that made him feel even less comfortable. His cheeks and forehead were covered with scratches, a result of Rake’s attempts to return to the top of the cliff.

  “Maybe you should leave him alone for a while,” suggested Nathan. “You may have noticed his trip did not go nearly as smoothly as ours.” He glanced over at Greg. ”How did you manage to start spinning that fast, anyway?”

  Earlier the magician had melted some snow to dampen a small swath of cloth, which he used now to dab Ryder’s brow. The general had not been scratched, but he’d suffered quite an ordeal of his own, having been forced to relive the events that had once led to his daring leap across Bottomless Chasm.

  Once Ryder’s fear of heights was out in the open, it was there to stay. It had taken all of them to shove him off the mountain, and by the time he reached the bottom, the general had been nearly delirious with fear. Nathan had needed to help Ryder walk ever since, and now here he was, shaking too badly to hold the cloth for himself.

  Greg hated seeing Ryder this way, but he’d witnessed the view from the lip of the canyon himself and couldn’t imagine what it must have felt like to soar over that gap, not knowing if he would reach the other side.

  Melvin, on the other hand, didn’t seem to notice Ryder at all. He was focused solely on Greg. “Don’t tell me you were scared of a little slide down a mountain.” He snickered. “What kind of hero are you?”

  Priscilla scowled at the boy. “Now, don’t make fun. I thought it was scary too.”

  “Yeah, but you’re a girl.”

  Had Greg been feeling better, he might have enjoyed watching Priscilla bowl Melvin over. She was doing a fair job of rubbing his face in the snow when Nathan pulled her back.

  Melvin jumped to his feet and spun toward Priscilla, eyes wide with terror. “Grrrofffommee,” he mumbled, snow spurting from his mouth.

  “I suggest we get some sleep,” said Nathan. “We still have a long trip ahead of us.”

  “Yeah, a lot longer than it should have been,” accused Melvin. He dug a finger inside his cheek and withdrew a twig. “Gnaw gave you free rein on your magic. I still don’t see why you didn’t build a ramp to jump the canyon.”

  “I thought I explained that earlier.”

  “Not really,” said Priscilla. “All you said was some nonsense about wyverns. What did you mean by that anyway?”

  Nathan’s expression turned grim. “You’ll know all you want about wyverns soon enough . . . sooner than you care to, I’m sure. Now, let’s set up camp.”

  Greg still held a vivid picture of his last encounter with a wyvern, and the idea of meeting wyverns, in the plural, kept him wound tight as a dragon’s grip in spite of Rake’s best efforts to calm him. He looked about the clearing. “Wouldn’t it be better to camp in the forest? You know, where we’ll be sheltered from the . . . elements.”

  “No, this will be better,” Nathan said. “From here we’ll be able to see the . . . I mean, any . . . attacks coming.”

  Not feeling reassured, Greg lay awake for over an hour, jumping alert every time a frog croaked or an owl hooted. It looked as if the only rest he would get this day was the few minutes he’d spent passed out during his slide down the mountain. Then a horrible cry sounded from the north. It took Greg a moment to realize Gnash was screaming.

  Instantly the camp became a flurry of activity.

  “What’s going on?” Melvin asked.

  Greg jumped to his feet. He heard something moving toward him and raised his walking stick, but before he could swing, Gnaw zoomed past, knocking him over from the wind. The second spireling may have been miles off patrolling the woods south of the field, but he had no trouble hearing Gnash’s call. And even if he hadn’t heard, his unusual bond to others of his race would have told him Gnash was in trouble.

  Priscilla and Lucky ran up from behind. Lucky helped Greg to his feet, and they all stared in the direction Gnaw had disappeared.

  “See anything?” Lucky asked.

  “No.” Greg strained so hard his eyes hurt, but the area ahead held only darkness. The surrounding forest, normally alive with noises, had fallen deathly quiet. “Wait, what’s that?”

  Several dark forms emerged from the woods at the northern edge of the meadow. Greg, Lucky and Priscilla all raised their walking sticks.

  Melvin stepped up behind them. “What’s wrong with you three?” he said, causing them all to jump. “It’s just Nathan and Ryder. And the spirelings. And two others. I can’t see from here.”

  They waited for the group to move closer. Even under the bright moonlight, Greg had trouble making out the features of the strangers until they were less than ten feet away.

  “Bart?” he said, finally recognizing one of the men as the traveling bard he’d met on his last visit to Myrth.

  Bart opened his mouth to speak, but before he could utter a sound, Nathan flung his arms forward and a bright light flashed. When Greg’s eyes once again adjusted to the gloom, Ryder and the two spirelings were frozen in midstride.

  “You must not refer to Greg as Greghart in front of the spirelings,” Nathan told the newcomers. “This is most important. Whether you are just speaking, or singing one of your ballads, Bart, you must avoid revealing any link between Greg and the first prophecy.”

  “I don’t know,” said Bart. “Every song I’ve written this year refers to Greghart. I can’t just change them all now.”

  “But you must,” said Nathan.

  Greg allowed his walking stick to droop. “You can just change any Gregharts in your new songs to Gregs,” he told Bart. “Apparently I don’t fit the spirelings’ image of a mighty dragonslayer, so they’ll never make the connection.”

  “Yes,” Bart decided. “I suppose that could work.”

  “You mustn’t use the Hero who slayed Ruuan in connection with Greg either,” said Nathan. “Remember, there are hundreds of thousands of spirelings listening. One slip-up could be disastrous for us all.”

  “I understand,” said Bart. “I will be most careful.”

  “What can you tell us about the second prophecy?” asked Greg.

  Bart relayed what he knew, which was exactly what they knew.

  “That’s it?” said Greg. “That’s all you can tell us?”

  “I didn’t come up with the prophecy, Greg. I’m a songwriter, remember?”

  “Who’re you?” Melvin asked the second stranger.

  “Name’s Daniel,” the man replied. “King Peter sent me to find Bart and bring him home.”

  “You’re a tracker,” said Greg.

  The man beamed proudly. “Yes. I caught up with the bard just as the sun started to set. We’re heading back to Pendegrass Castle now, so King Peter can learn all he needs for the upcoming battle.”

  “A little late for that,” said Melvin. “The battle will be decided within the week.”

  “Oh? Then why are you here instead of there?”

  “We’re trying to find General Talbout and his troops,” Greg said.

  “Oh, are they out here too?” Daniel dropped to his knees and began scanning the ground in the
darkness.

  “No, they’re clear on the northern end of the kingdom,” Nathan told him. He moved into line beside Ryder and the spirelings. “Now, we really shouldn’t leave our friends like that too long. Stand beside me, and get back into step.”

  Bart and Daniel did as they were told. When Nathan waved his arms again, everyone resumed walking as if nothing had happened. The spirelings stopped and stared at Bart curiously. Bart stared back.

  Suddenly Greg remembered he and Bart had been in the middle of introductions when Nathan froze the spirelings. He acted quickly to help the bard. “Greg, remember?”

  “Oh, of course,” said Bart. “It’s good to see you again. And look, it’s Princess Priscilla too, and Lucky Day.”

  “Ahem.”

  “And little Melvin Greatheart. Well, I’ll be.”

  “What are you doing out here, Bart?” asked Priscilla.

  “I have to be somewhere.”

  “But no one even lives out here,” said Melvin. “Who do you sing to?”

  “You’d be surprised. These woods are full of scattered cabins and hostels.”

  “Really?” Lucky said, looking about the meadow. “Of all the spots we’ve seen in this area, I’d think this would be an ideal place to build a cabin.”

  Bart laughed. “Sure, if you like being attacked by wyverns.”

  Greg shot a glance at Nathan. “Wyverns?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Bart. “Whole area’s loaded with them. But they especially love this field. Anyway, we were just talking about turning in.”

  “You’d sleep in a field where you knew wyverns liked to fly at night?” Greg asked.

  “Why not? You’ve got two spirelings and, now I find, Lucky Day with you. I don’t expect any problems.”

  “Well, I think we should be wary just the same,” said Nathan, and Greg had an idea the man knew what he was talking about.

  Greg thought he’d better ask Daniel who he was, so the spirelings wouldn’t think it odd everyone already knew. At first Daniel regarded him with a look that suggested the Mighty Greghart was a disappointment, but then he caught on and told them again.

  Afterward, the spirelings returned to their posts in the woods adjoining the meadow, and Greg and the others anxiously returned to their bedrolls. All except Melvin, who had only the shield of dragon scales to cover him and a muddy sheet to place between himself and the ground. They lay quietly for a time, but not one of them seemed capable of falling asleep.

  Ryder sat up and propped his back against Lucky’s pack. How about one of your songs to soothe our nerves, Bart?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” said the bard. He watched Gnash near the southern edge of the field and then glanced over at Nathan. After a brief, unspoken exchange, Nathan nodded his approval. Bart grinned and picked up his lute. “Well, I do have one I wrote about the upcoming battle.”

  Greg cringed. He’d heard Bart’s songs before and had never found them particularly soothing. Yet in spite of Greg’s silent wishes, Bart began to play.

  Across this land, a tall spire stands,

  And Canarazas gather.

  Woke up one dawn, their magic gone,

  Its loss no laughing matter.

  The massive clan formed up a band,

  To march upon the castle.

  Upon fine lawn they’d send their pawns

  To hack and chop and wrassle.

  “Here we go,” muttered Greg.

  Those for the king would feel the sting

  Of blades so deftly wielded.

  Skulls crushed, skin sliced, limbs chopped and diced

  And bones so cleanly yielded . . .

  “Okay, well, I think we get the drift,” Greg interrupted.

  “But I’m just getting started,” said Bart, his hand still poised over the strings of his lute. He looked at the others to see if they, too, wanted him to stop.

  “It’s late,” said Greg. “Nathan had a point. We really should be resting.”

  Priscilla studied Greg’s expression. “Maybe Greg’s right. We’re all kind of anxious.”

  “But if you just let me finish,” said Bart, “we do win in the end, you know.”

  “Yes, of course,” Priscilla said, “and I’m sure it’s a wonderful song, but . . . maybe after the battle would be better.”

  “But it won’t be the same then. Anyone can write a song about a battle that’s already been fought.”

  “I’d like to hear it,” said Melvin, but Bart didn’t hear, and Melvin wasn’t likely to say more after Priscilla kicked him.

  “We know we’re missing a great treat,” she said, “but Greg’s right. We really should get some sleep.”

  Bart lowered his lute. “I understand.”

  He stowed away the instrument while Greg offered Priscilla a secret look of thanks. She smiled and winked at him as if they shared a special bond, but Greg was pretty sure the bond he was offering was not the same one she was accepting.

  While the princess settled into her own plush bedding, Greg became more unsettled in his. Priscilla smiled over at him. He hid his head under Rake. By the time Greg finally drifted off, dawn was nearly upon them. He was able to enjoy only about ten minutes of uninterrupted slumber before his nightmare began.

  He was on a train winding through the mountains, climbing higher and higher toward a great peak. At first the engine was barely able to pull the hill, but then it crested the top and began to pick up speed.

  Soon the scenery melted into nothing more than a blur. Greg tried hard to focus on the track ahead, but the rails faded from view. In their place loomed a large swath of ice. To Greg’s horror the train picked up speed. Within seconds it could barely grip the slope. It swerved, first to one side, then the other, teetered further and further, until finally it tilted too far.

  Greg was thrown hard to the side. He felt his stomach lurch and clamped his hands over his ears. The horrid screech of metal on ice was deafening. He couldn’t be more frightened, or so he thought, until suddenly he realized he was no longer dreaming, and still the deafening screech roared on.

  Surprises from the Sky

  “Wyverns!” Ryder was up and drawing his sword as if he’d spent the entire night preparing for battle. Nathan, too, was already poised in sensen position awaiting the fight, not a surprise, given the man’s record for knowing the future and all his talk of wyverns.

  Greg jumped to his feet as another deafening screech split the air.

  “Get down,” said Nathan.

  As fast as he’d risen, Greg dropped, barely avoiding the huge talon that swooped down from the darkness to tear off his head.

  “Watch out,” both spirelings advised, and Nathan scrambled to dodge a second attacker.

  From the ground Greg watched the second wyvern sweep through their campsite. The creature moved so swiftly, Greg could almost convince himself it was never really there, but that was probably largely due to his wishing so strongly it wasn’t.

  “They’re coming back around,” warned Gnash. He and Gnaw were both standing with axes poised for a fight, their eyes fixed to the north.

  Greg couldn’t see a thing, but he knew better than to doubt the spirelings. Then he did spot something. Bart was stepping forward, lute in hand, and beginning to play. “What are you doing? You’ll get yourself killed.”

  “The music will subdue the creatures,” said Bart. “You’ll see.”

  “Here they come,” Gnaw warned, his voice rising in pitch to nearly human levels.

  Greg crawled to his knees. Through the moonlight, he could see Nathan facing the attack with his head not searching the sky but lowered in meditation, the muscles in his neck dancing lightly beneath his skin. When the first wyvern burst through the darkness, Nathan’s staff flew up to meet it, striking cleanly
and filling the woods with the loud crack of what Greg hoped to be wyvern bones breaking. But no. Nathan stared at the splintered wood in his hands as a second wyvern swooped down from the sky.

  “Watch out!” Greg screamed, though the wyvern’s piercing screech offered a far clearer warning. Before he knew what he was doing he was up and running, racing to Nathan’s rescue.

  If Nathan had waited on Greg, he’d have surely lost his head. Luckily he sensed the attack and spun even before the roar. He ducked and struck out, tearing at the creature’s flesh with the splintered end of his staff, a skillful display of chikan that couldn’t have been more impressive, except maybe if the magician hadn’t been launched across the campsite from the impact.

  “Nathan!” Priscilla ran toward him.

  Greg started that way too, but stopped when he remembered Bart standing helpless in the clearing.

  Fortunately the two spirelings knew better than to drop their defenses to check on a fallen comrade. On the other side of the campsite, Ryder and Daniel joined in the fight, and the next time the wyverns attacked they were met not by a staff, but by two axes, a hunting knife and a sword.

  But the four defenders fared little better than Nathan had. Greg dove to the ground again as a flurry of weapons sailed across the clearing, so close he was scratched in the shoulder by one of Gnash’s claws. It seems the spireling had never fully released his grip on his axe.

  Greg clamped a hand over his bleeding shoulder. To his left, both Gnaw and Ryder were down. To his right, Daniel was on his feet but mumbling to himself and walking in circles. Ahead, Nathan lay unmoving, his head resting in Priscilla’s lap. Lucky and Melvin were checking on Gnash, who was stirring somewhat but moving slowly, even by human terms.

  And then there was Bart, still standing defenseless in the open, playing his lute.

  Greg’s heart played an ambitious tune of its own. He may not have had the spirelings’ ability to see through the darkness, but he was sure another attack was near. Alone in the clearing, he jumped to his feet and held up his feeble walking stick. If Nathan, Daniel, Ryder and the two spirelings had been bested, what chance did he stand on his own?