How to Save a Kingdom

by Bill Allen

  “I see,” she said, looking as if she didn’t know how to feel.

  “Yes, come along, dear,” said King Peter. “Your mother is waiting.”

  Reluctantly Priscilla allowed her father to drag her away. Greg watched her go, and as uncomfortable as she’d made him feel the past few days, he still hoped he would live long enough to see her again.

  “You okay?” It was Nathan’s voice this time. The magician laid a hand on Greg’s shoulder to try to comfort him, though it was a small hand for such a large task.

  “Why did you tell Priscilla I thought she was pretty?”

  “Don’t you?”

  “What—? That’s not important. I never said it.”

  “I don’t think you realize how long never is,” Nathan told him.

  “But now she thinks I like her.”

  “Again, don’t you?”

  “Well, sure, but I don’t want her knowing it.”

  Nathan smiled and steered the boy to face the forest to the east, where the trampled weeds everyone referred to as Pendegrass Highway met up with the immaculately groomed castle yard.

  “I wish that was the worst thing you had to worry about. Now, get ready. The battle will begin in just a moment.”

  “But why does there even need to be a battle?” Greg asked. “The trolls are only going to attack because they think we’ve been weakened. If they saw the Army of the Crown and the spirelings all waiting to fight, I’m sure they’d go away.”

  Nathan chuckled, though there was no humor behind the sound. “You don’t know trolls very well, do you?”

  “But they can’t possibly win.”

  “Winning is not overly important to a troll,” Nathan told him. “The fact they were timing their attack after we fought the spirelings was, frankly, nothing if not surprising. Trolls are always willing to battle, no matter what the circumstances, and now that they’re here, they’d never consider leaving without a fight. For that matter, it would be hard to get the spirelings to leave at this point. Their entire identity has been built upon their prowess in battle. Many have waited their entire lives for an opportunity like this.”

  “But can’t we reason with them?” Greg pleaded.

  Nathan shook his head sadly. “You’re not in Ruuan’s lair this time, Greg. You were able to reason with the dragon because you both wanted the same thing: peace. These two sides want nothing but to fight, and they shall have their war no matter what you do or say about it.”

  “Action, everyone,” shouted Queen Gnarla, and Nathan’s words were cut off when the entire yard full of spirelings and soldiers suddenly engaged in mock battle.

  Throughout the lawn swords clanged on axes. Spirelings moved about the grounds so quickly, Greg could barely focus on their blurred forms. The noise was deafening, yet Greg could still hear Queen Gnarla’s voice ring out above the din.

  “You humans need to fall sooner,” she advised, and Greg was suddenly very glad this was only a staged battle.

  Fortunately the trolls didn’t notice the warriors holding back. Or maybe they did notice and just didn’t care, anxious to at least start up a fight if they couldn’t join one.

  The first of the beasts reached the edge of the yard and dove straight into the fray. The closest spireling altered the course of his axe at the last instant, missing a bewildered soldier by scant inches, and struck the troll down. Two more trolls rushed to take its place, and the spireling dispatched them just as quickly. But when ten more rushed in to take their place, the spireling finally fell.

  Greg found himself backing away from the carnage as thousands more trolls pushed forward, slashing out with their axes at those unfortunate to be nearest the eastern edge of the yard.

  Nathan stopped him with a hand to his shoulder. “No, Greg. You have every right to be scared, but you must face this. The entire fate of the kingdom rests on your shoulders today.”

  Greg felt tears build in his eyes. He didn’t want to be responsible for this. He watched in horror as thousands upon thousands more trolls poured from the highway. The fighting raged mainly along the southeastern quarter of the yard, as those spirelings and soldiers not engaged in battle were blocked by their comrades from reaching the front. But the band of fighting slowly grew wider, seeping across the grounds like spreading wildfire, and fate of the kingdom or not, Greg never wanted to flee more.

  “This isn’t right,” said Melvin.

  Greg had been so caught up in his own horror, he didn’t notice the boy still standing by his side.

  Nathan looked concerned over Melvin’s statement. “What is it, son?”

  “According to the prophecy, we’re supposed to be out here fighting with the strength of ten men. Remember, we’re supposed to make the difference that leads our side to victory.”

  “You keep saying we,” Greg noted.

  “Well, we both have the strength of ten men, don’t we? Let’s go use it.”

  “Be patient,” said Nathan. “The battle will come to you.”

  Truer words had never been spoken. In the few seconds Greg had taken his eyes off the battle, the trolls had managed to push their way to the center of the yard. The line of fighting was spreading at an alarming pace.

  “Don’t worry, Greghart, Melvin,” said Ryder behind the two boys. “General Talbout and I are right here with you, just as it says in the prophecy.”

  Greg appreciated the thought, but he’d have felt better supported if the third general from the prophecy, General Bashar, were here too. The fact that no General Bashar even existed was proof that the prophecy was wrong, and that meant there was no guarantee Greg would even survive the battle, let alone make any difference in its outcome.

  “They’re getting close,” warned Nathan. “Take this time to acquire your center. Remember, from sensen comes peace, and only from peace can you overcome violence.”

  “Yeah, Greg,” said Lucky, “we can’t forget what Nathan has taught us.”

  “Lucky?” Greg said. “What are you doing out here? You’re not mentioned in the prophecy. There’s no reason for you to risk your life.”

  “Are you kidding? Without General Bashar here, you’re going to need all the luck you can get. Besides, I stuck with you when you went looking for Ruuan’s lair. I figure I ought to stick with you now.”

  “Here they come,” said Melvin, and accompanied by Lucky or not, Greg felt his panic rise. He tried to meditate like Nathan advised, but it was hard to concentrate with so many thousands screaming all around him.

  “Got any more of those dragonslayer jokes, Melvin?” Lucky asked, forcing a nervous chuckle, and Greg had to admit, even Melvin’s grating humor would be a welcome distraction from the approaching horrors.

  But if Melvin did tell one of his jokes, Greg never heard. The first of the trolls broke through the crowd and made a beeline for Greg, and even though trolls move with a slow, lumbering gait, Greg felt as if he were standing in the path of a speeding locomotive.

  His chikan training took over in an instant. His sword sprang upward, so light he barely noticed the weight in his hands. The troll swept a heavy wooden club through a slashing arc that should have cut Greg in half, but amazingly Greg’s sword met the strike and diverted it away.

  Whether a trait of the magic sword or of the spell Queen Gnarla had bestowed upon him, Greg barely noticed the blow. With a quick flick of his wrist, he slapped the troll across the forehead with the flat of his blade. The troll’s eyes rolled up into its head, and it dropped like a felled tree. Greg stood dumbfounded, gawking at the fallen beast.

  “Watch out!” Lucky screamed, and Greg looked up just in time to see a second troll’s club rounding toward his head.

  Greg barely saw the blow coming, yet he managed to dodge out of the way as if the club had been wielded with a tenth the speed. And then he kne
w it was indeed Queen Gnarla’s magic helping him. His reactions, agility and strength had all been improved tenfold. He never felt so capable in his life.

  Lucky called out again, and Greg spun, lashing out with his sword to knock away not one, but two crushing blows. In spite of his fear, he smiled. The prophecy was right. He actually could make a difference in this battle.

  A nearby soldier screamed, this time not in warning but in pain.

  Greg snapped out of his thoughts and watched the man fall. All around him men and spirelings were being hurt or worse. He had to do something. To his left he saw a soldier fighting desperately, pinned between two trolls. The man didn’t stand a chance without help. Greg lunged forward and batted one of the beasts in the head, again with the flat of his blade.

  The troll dropped as if the blow had been dealt by one of its brethren rather than a mere boy, but Greg didn’t take the time to watch. He dispatched the second attacker as swiftly as the first.

  The soldier stood, mouth agape, as he watched the troll fall. He grinned and raised his sword high into the air. “Fear not, men. We have the Mighty Greghart by our side.”

  Throughout the crowd, men took up cheering Greg’s name.

  In spite of the danger all around him, Greg took a moment to search out Melvin. For once the boy was not wasting time being jealous. His brother Marvin fought nearby, thrashing about like a wounded grizzly in his enormous fur coat, but his skills paled in comparison to his brother’s. Melvin fought with a skill far exceeding Greg’s own heightened abilities, rushing through the crowd, dispatching troll after troll with a speed rivaling that of the spirelings. In his wake Ryder and General Talbout followed, finishing off any trolls that were stunned or injured, and Greg knew they were fighting by Melvin’s side not because Melvin needed their help, but because he was the Hero who slayed Ruuan, and they wanted to make sure the prophecy played out as predicted.

  And Melvin truly was a hero, Greg realized. The boy may not have possessed the experience slaying dragons that his brother Marvin had, but he certainly possessed the skill and the courage. He was born to be a hero, and today he would prove that he was ready to fulfill his destiny.

  Suddenly Rake dug his claws into Greg’s chest and shrieked. Greg shrieked too. He spun, expecting the shadowcat had been warning him of an attack, but not a single troll was within reach. Too many of their comrades lay in the grass surrounding Greg’s feet for any to get close.

  But then Greg spotted four trolls joined together to trap a soldier with his back against the castle wall. Even with heightened reactions it took Greg a moment to recognize the man did not wear the royal-blue uniform of the Army of the Crown. At first Greg thought this might be the infamous General Bashar who was supposed to fight at Greg’s side—or at least at Melvin’s side—but then Greg recognized the rich magenta fabric of the man’s robe.

  “King Peter.”

  With a speed and power he couldn’t believe he possessed, Greg used the back of one of the nearby trolls to launch himself up and over the rest. He landed at a dead run outside the circle of fallen trolls and raced toward King Peter so quickly, he passed two spirelings along the way. One of the trolls held its club out like a baseball bat. Greg was still a full twenty paces away when the beast began its swing. He watched the blow in slow motion, willed himself to run even faster, and surprisingly he did.

  The troll’s club swept through the air three feet from King Peter’s head . . . two . . . one . . .

  Greg dove forward, sword point extended, and thrust his blade deep into the troll’s side. He felt a crunch of bone as his sword lodged itself to the hilt. The troll’s club jerked back, and the troll fell hard, nearly tearing the sword from Greg’s grip.

  Greg didn’t dare let go for fear of being catapulted into the Enchanted Forest. He shook his head to clear it and found himself lying atop the fallen beast, his nostrils assaulted by a familiar rotten stench. Quickly he rolled away.

  Nathan and two spirelings came to King Peter’s aid to overpower the three remaining attackers, but Greg was too dazed to notice. He gripped the hilt of his sword and pulled, trying unsuccessfully to ignore the sickening vibration of metal against bone as the blade slipped free.

  Bile rose in Greg’s throat. When he took down the previous trolls he’d used the flat of his blade, and though each of the beasts had fallen quickly, he was willing to believe they’d just been knocked unconscious. But this troll was undoubtedly dead—and Greg had killed him. Sure, trolls were horrible mindless beasts who reeked badly and hated humans, but Greg felt horror-stricken. He finally understood why Priscilla had been so upset when they fought the harpies at the base of the Smoky Mountains. Surely King Peter was alive only because of Greg’s quick actions, but still Greg felt ashamed of what he’d done.

  “Get up, Greg,” King Peter shouted, and even though Greg knew more trolls were certainly attacking, he couldn’t convince himself to stand. Come to think of it, perhaps that was why he couldn’t convince himself to stand. Instead he knelt on all fours, cringing as the deafening cries of battle closed in around him.

  But then Greg heard something that caused him to raise his head and squint through his tears at the gruesome scene around him.

  “General Bashar, sir,” came the booming voice of one of the trolls.

  Three of the beasts were thrown aside as a fourth sought to pass. Nearly half again as large as the others, this troll wore clothes that were slightly finer than the tattered rags worn by the others, but not until Greg spotted the three-inch-long thorns piercing both cheeks did he recognized this as the leader he’d seen in the clearing near the River Styx.

  The troll general spotted Greg and lumbered forward with a gait so determined, it might have been called a stride. Reluctant as he was to stand, Greg scrambled to his feet and swung his sword up in front of him, easing into the familiar sensen stance Nathan had ingrained in him so many evenings on the trail.

  Several of the king’s soldiers rushed to Greg’s protection, but the troll swept its arm to clear a path, and the men were thrown backward to a one. Three spirelings rushed forward as well, and even though they were quick enough to dodge the huge troll’s next blow, they were no more effective at slowing its progress than the soldiers had been.

  So, this was the General Bashar of Simon’s prophecy. When Brandon wrote that the general would be fighting at Greg’s side, he didn’t mean Greg would be receiving aid at all. If anything, Greg would be receiving blows from the general’s club.

  Greg marked the troll’s stride and wondered how to time his swing, given his newfound speed. He pictured himself striking too early and missing the troll completely, spinning his back to the beast just as it dealt a crushing blow. He didn’t have time to worry long. Bashar was just steps away and closing fast. The troll raised his club and slashed down like a falling tree.

  Greg struck out just as Nathan taught him, parrying the blow with his sword. The jolt rang through his shoulders and down his spine, clear to his toes. General Bashar had magic of his own.

  Greg fought back his panic. He might possess the strength of ten men, but what good did it do if Bashar had the strength of ten trolls?

  “Watch out!” screamed Melvin, and Greg watched in amazement as the boy launched himself onto the troll’s back.

  Bashar’s eyes widened in disbelief. He tried to pull his attacker away, but he was too muscle-bound to reach above his shoulders. Melvin circled his arms about the troll’s throat. He could barely clasp his two hands together around the beast’s neck, which rivaled a tree trunk in girth, but he had Queen Gnarla’s spell to help him. General Bashar’s eyes widened further still, and he swatted at Melvin with his club.

  Melvin saw the strike coming and ducked, leaving Bashar’s own head to stop the blow. The troll screamed hard enough to shake the castle walls. He thrashed about like a bucking bronco to toss the small boy
loose, but Melvin gripped with the strength of ten men, his legs flapping out behind him.

  “Hold on, Melvin,” Greg screamed, and in spite of the horror he felt when his sword point pierced the last troll, he tried to stab this one too.

  Even with the distraction of Melvin squeezing his neck, General Bashar saw the strike coming and parried it with his club. Greg was knocked off balance and nearly crushed by one of the troll’s feet as it stomped about the yard.

  Ryder and General Talbout had been sticking close to Melvin’s side throughout the battle. They weren’t about to follow the boy’s lead now, but they did at least lash out at the troll with their swords, and though neither blade connected, they provided enough of a distraction for Greg to scramble out of harm’s way. Now all three generals were fighting not only at Melvin’s side, but at Greg’s side as well, and if the battle ended right this instant, it wouldn’t matter whether Greg or Melvin was the true hero. The prophecy would be fulfilled.

  But the battle wasn’t ending. Bashar lashed out with his free hand and knocked Ryder backward. The kingdom soldier crashed hard into General Talbout, and the two of them disappeared into the crowd of fighting spirelings, soldiers and trolls.

  General Bashar grinned madly, took two determined steps toward Greg, and raised his club. Greg tried to back away but tripped over a fallen spireling and fell. Bashar closed the remaining distance between them. He launched a blow that could have easily shattered a boulder.

  In a flash, Nathan bounded out of the crowd and struck the troll in the hand with his staff. General Bashar groaned and dropped the weapon, which still nearly crushed Greg as it fell.

  Before Greg could bring himself to move, Lucky dove into the ruckus, risking his life to drag the club away. The troll stabbed out one leg but, whether a matter of good fortune or not, missed Lucky by no more than an inch. Greg watched in horror, unable to move, as the troll general hovered high above him.