by Bill Allen
Not really, Greg thought to himself, but aloud he said, “It doesn’t matter anyway. I can’t get us to Ruuan’s lair. I gave away my ring.”
“You what?” Priscilla said.
“I had to. It was the only way I knew for Nathan to come to this world as a boy.”
“Very resourceful,” said Mordred, and for a change Greg believed the magician actually approved of something he’d done. “This prophecy business is more complex than I ever imagined. I must say, I’m not really sure how best to proceed. I didn’t tell you before, because I didn’t want to worry you, but I have reason to believe it is too late to save your friend Nathan.”
“Stop calling him our friend,” Priscilla insisted. “What do you mean, too late?” She gripped Kristin’s hand tightly in her own and didn’t even object when Melvin tried to slip his in too.
“I’ve never been to the Netherworld myself, of course,” Mordred started, “because only the Dark Arts are practiced there . . .”
“Nathan said when you were kids you did all sorts of stuff with the Dark Arts,” Priscilla interrupted.
The look on Mordred’s face suggested Priscilla was lucky to be King Peter’s daughter. “They say,” he continued quite slowly, “time does not pass there.”
“Say what?” asked Lucky.
“Well, that’s not completely accurate. It passes there. It’s just, from our point of view, no time passes here. No matter what sort of delay Nathan experienced inside the Netherworld, he should have been back the moment he left.” He paused to let the others come to their own conclusions about what he’d said. “I can’t say he didn’t deserve his fate, but still I am sorry this has happened.”
“Are you really?” Priscilla asked, a tear in her eye.
“Most certainly. If something has indeed happened to Nathan, then he won’t be here to fulfill his role in the battle.”
Greg frowned at the man’s callousness. “The prophecy says Nathan has a role in the battle?”
“Did I not mention that?” said Mordred. “To be exact, it says both he and you will take to the skies to fight atop the backs of magnificent flying beasts.”
“You mean dragons?” said Melvin. “Nice.”
“But wait, that’s impossible,” said Marvin. “Hazel has control of Ruuan now, and he’s the only dragon left. There might have been a couple dozen around when I was born, but between me and Dad we’ve taken out every last one of them.”
Norman Greatheart coughed suddenly. He avoided the others’ eyes, busily stretching out the fabric of his tights, which, after being carried a thousand miles through the Enchanted Forest, looked to be riding up in an uncomfortable way.
“Did you have something to say, Mr. Greatheart?” Priscilla asked. “Um, maybe not every one.”
“How’s that, Dad?” said Marvin.
“Er…it’s possible one or two dragons may have slipped through the cracks.”
“What?”
“Well, one for sure.”
Marvin’s face reddened as he pulled his father off to one side. “What are you talking about, Dad?”
“I should’ve told you sooner, son. That mean-spirited offspring of Tehrer . . . you know the one . . . when I, er, slayed him, he ended up . . . well, less dead than we might have hoped.”
“Are you saying he got away?”
“Not exactly. More like he let me get away. Truth is, he agreed to let me live if I would just go back and tell everybody I’d slayed him. That way folks would quit coming looking for him, and he could finally get some peace.”
“I can’t believe you would trick everybody like that,” Kristin scolded, and now it was Greg who avoided the others’ eyes, as he’d made a similar deal with Ruuan and knew better than anyone how to mislead a kingdom full of people.
Norman fidgeted uncomfortably. “It seemed a pretty good deal at the time, considering it was that or be incinerated. See, Tehrer was actually born in the Netherworld. He lived just a couple hundred miles from the Styx border most his life. Before I met him he’d been harvesting stray cattle for years, scooping up anything foolish enough to step across the border. But—and this seemed a bit odd for a dragon of Tehrer’s disposition—he still respected the monster-free zone that had been agreed upon centuries earlier with the people of the Styx. Least until his one slip up, shortly before I was called upon to help.”
“Tehrer crossed the line?” said Marvin.
“Yep. In more ways than one. One day on a whim he soared into the Styx, scorched a couple of villages, and flew off with a half dozen maidens. Oh, you can imagine the people were furious. All this screamin’ and hollerin’. But do you think one of them would step up to do a thing about it themselves? No. As always, they called upon me to clean up their mess for them.
“But I didn’t mind,” he said, and for a moment Greg thought he sounded a lot like his son Marvin. “No, I did what I always do. I came to their rescue and headed out after that bloody dragon with no thought for my own safety. Only this time was different. I’d never been to the Netherworld before. Lot of strange things down there, by the way. Never been back since. Kinda sorry I went the once.
“Anyway, when I finally tracked Tehrer down and cornered him in his lair, he seemed quite apologetic. Said he’d just been feeling a bit giddy that day and how I could rest assured it would never happen again. I tended to believe him, what with him having me pinned to the floor of his cave under one of his talons, so we quickly scratched out an agreement instead of my entrails, and well, you know the rest.”
“Oh my,” said Priscilla. “We have to get Nathan out of there.”
“I already told you, it’s too late for Nathan,” Mordred said, “and if Tehrer’s still flying about snatching up anything that steps foot into the Styx, I’m certainly not going to let you go wandering about down there foolishly trying to save anyone.”
For a second Greg thought he sensed a note of compassion. Then he realized Mordred was just concerned about the prophecy.
“Wait,” said Kristin, “maybe it’s like when Greg went to that Gyrth place. Maybe the reason Nathan didn’t come back on time is because Greg hasn’t gone to get him.”
“That’s preposterous,” said Mordred. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“No,” Priscilla insisted. “She may be right. Don’t you see? If something did happen to him down there, then your precious prophecy can’t work out. Nathan must still be alive. Now we have to go more than ever.”
“She’s right,” said Greg. “Nathan always knew I’d do whatever it took to make Simon’s prophecies work out. Maybe the only reason he’s not back is because I haven’t put forth my best effort.”
“I agree,” said Kristin.
“That’s because he was agreeing with you,” Mordred noted.
“Me too,” said Lucky. “Agree with both of them, I mean.”
“I agree with Kristin,” Melvin admitted.
Marvin was keeping quiet. Perhaps he was contemplating the matter, but Greg had an idea he was still struggling over the truth about his father never slaying Tehrer.
“Then it’s settled,” said Priscilla. “Mordred, you need to use your magic to send us all to the Netherworld.”
“Nonsense,” said Mordred. “This settles nothing.”
Priscilla crossed her arms over her chest and shot the magician a challenging glare. “Do we really need to go discuss this with Daddy?”
Even after receiving a direct order from King Peter to send the children wherever Greg wanted to go, Mordred was still reluctant to cooperate. Time was of the essence, yet he insisted on filling the children in on what they could expect to find in the mysterious depths of the Netherworld.
“They like children there,” he told them, which might have eased Greg’s mind if Mordred hadn’t added, “They use them for spare parts.”
Greg gulped. “You’re joking, right?”
“Have you ever known me to flaunt my sense of humor?”
Priscilla squeezed Kristin’s ha
nd. “What do you mean, spare parts?”
“Dark Magic is not for the weak of heart, or stomach,” Mordred told her. “Nearly all spells require ingredients from living things. Even ordinary, everyday magic usually involves some aspect of life: a certain plant, a hair of bat, eye of newt, or some such thing. But for the darker spells . . . well, eye of child might be a better place to start . . . though a worthwhile spell might take a kidney, or a few feet of intestines, or worse.”
Not until Greg bumped into something squishy did he realize he’d been unconsciously backing away. To his surprise he found he’d run into Lucky, who had backed into the same corner, along with Melvin and the two girls.
“Our best bet is to get you some magicians’ robes,” said Mordred. “The more powerful you look, the bigger you will seem. Not that an adult would be safe in the Netherworld either, but parts from an adult are not as valuable as those from a child. I suggest you tighten that hood up around your face, Highness.”
“What about the rest of us?” asked Greg.
“You do what you like. It’s what you seem best at, anyway.”
“Hey, I—”
“Just remember,” said Mordred, taking in all of the children in a single glance, “keep those robes cinched and your hoods snug, and maybe, just maybe, you’ll live to see your next birthday.” He glanced specifically at Greg. “Well, most of you, anyway. Hopefully, they’ll believe you are sorcerers and leave you alone—or at least be more hesitant to attack you.”
“They who?” asked Priscilla.
“They everyone,” Mordred answered. “There are few you will meet south of the Styx who will not try to cause you harm. And those who appear to want to help . . . well, they can be just as terrifying as any other.”
“Maybe we want to reconsider this rescue,” suggested Kristin, who was possibly just now coming to realize she didn’t know Nathan.
“But if this place is as bad as you say, then it’s even more essential we rescue Nathan,” said Priscilla. “Who knows what kind of trouble he might be in?”
“Who indeed?” said Mordred. “Oh, did I mention I can send you there, but I can’t bring you back? You’ll have to figure that out on your own.”
“Great,” Greg muttered. And he thought this was going to be a simple matter of rescuing Nathan from an evil sorcerer—Nathan, the powerful magician incapable of rescuing himself.
The six of them entered the Room of Shadows, where twenty of King Peter’s magicians had gathered to weave their magic—or perhaps they’d been there all along. Who could say?
Greg and the others waited in expectant silence, with Lucky in the center of the room, waiting to give the signal that would send them all through the rift and into the Netherworld. Greg’s hands were so sweaty he could barely hold his walking stick.
“What’s taking so long?” asked Kristin.
“Take your time,” said Melvin, who found himself pressed up against Kristin in the cramped surroundings.
“Would you back off?”
“Shh,” said the others.
Priscilla draped an arm over Kristin’s shoulder. “We don’t want to break their concentration.”
“I’m going to break this kid’s arm in a second.”
“Quiet,” insisted Lucky. He waved frantically at the surrounding magicians. “Not yet.”
Greg thought Lucky’s worry was a bit unfounded, considering the portal hadn’t even opened yet, but then he wondered what would happen if the magicians actually did try to send them through now, before the portal existed. He quickly turned his mind away from the thought, but his mind was not easily swayed.
A familiar buzzing formed in his ear and shot about inside his head like a trapped fly. Rake shifted uneasily and let out a low growl from within Greg’s knapsack, which Greg wore under his magician’s robe but above the chain mail Queen Gnarla had given him. Earlier Greg had argued about wearing the pack, claiming it made him look like some ridiculous hunchback, but the others had all assured him it helped him look more sinister. Lucky and Priscilla didn’t bother to wear theirs, since Mordred shocked them all by stating that the type of magic used in the packs wouldn’t work within the Netherworld, and without magic they were too small to carry anything worthwhile.
Soon Greg’s skin began to prickle. Suddenly the air before him split open to reveal a bright light behind. Lucky stared into the gap, but Greg could see nothing but spots before his own eyes.
“What’s happening?” asked Kristin.
“Shh,” said the others.
Greg blinked away the spots. Lucky’s face was a mask of concentration. Where before the portal had always revealed the blackness of space, today it was dominated by a slurry of colors, like objects close to the window of a speeding train. Greg watched for only a moment. The sight reminded him too much of his nearly-fatal slide down the Smoky Mountains last time he visited Myrth.
“Now!” shouted Lucky, and Greg was pulled from his feet in what might have been described as a tug in the same way getting flattened by a truck might be described as feeling under pressure. An instant later the ground rushed up to meet Greg’s feet. It then met his hands and knees, and finally his face. It was unpleasantly hot.
Greg jumped to his feet. Screams sounded all around him. Thick smoke hung suffocating in the air. Through it he could make out the licking flames of a raging fire. Scattered sparks swept up by a blistering wind rained down from the sky.
This really is the Netherworld!
Then, through the smoke, he spotted the source of the fire. The sky was black as night, but the silhouette that soared his way was blacker still. A terrifying screech rent the air, like the sound of a car being pushed along steel tracks by a braking freight train. Ahead, the three-hundred-foot-long dragon spotted movement and prepared to launch another searing jet of flames.
The Netherworld
“Watch out!”
Garbed in the black robe Mordred gave her, Priscilla was nearly invisible within the gloom, but Greg didn’t need to see her to recognize her voice, and he didn’t need to hear her words to know to watch out. He dove face first into the dirt. Hot as the soil was, he far preferred the feel of it to the scorching jet of fire that soared above his head.
Again the dragon screeched. Banking hard to the left, it began the lazy mile-long circle that would bring it back to this spot.
“Let’s get out of here,” said Melvin.
Greg snugged up his hood to protect his face from the sparks. Toward the sound of Melvin’s voice, a dark mass was sprinting away. Two more figures followed, so Greg ran that way too. His eyes burned as he struggled to keep the others in sight. The smoke bit his throat and lungs, and he coughed without relief.
“This way,” someone shouted.
Greg was so terrified as he veered in that direction, he didn’t even realize the voice was not familiar. He emerged from the smoke into a hazy clearing, blinked the tears from his eyes and spotted three hooded figures before him. A fourth rushed up from behind.
“You okay, Greg?” It was Lucky’s voice.
“Yeah, you?”
“Of course. Where are the girls?”
“There,” Greg said, pointing, “and Melvin too.” Then he noticed the taller silhouette of a man with the others, and his heart jumped.
“Who’s that?” asked Lucky.
Melvin jumped between the girls and the newcomer, as if to protect them, but Kristin shoved him aside.
“You’re blocking my view.”
“Don’t be alarmed,” said the stranger. “I won’t hurt you.” Oddly, he carried a briefcase and wore a crumpled jacket and tie. He extended one hand. “Kellerman’s the name. Insurance is my game.”
“What?” said Greg. “Who are you?”
“I just told you. Name’s Kellerman.” He smiled widely. “You can call me Bob, if you like. Now, you folks just relax. I’d be happy to handle all your insurance needs here in the Netherworld. Oh, you don’t have an agent yet, do you?” His hand was still t
hrust out as if he expected Greg to shake. Greg and Lucky stared back blankly.
“What’s going on here?” Greg demanded. “What do you want?”
“It’s not what I want that matters, it’s what you need. Like have you considered what’s going to happen once that dragon swings back this way? Oh, look, here he comes now. No reason for you to concern yourselves with it, though. If you just let me lop off a few of your fingers, I believe I can help.”
“What?” said Greg. “Get away.”
The salesman’s eyes diverted to a point above Greg’s shoulder and grew disturbingly wide. “Perhaps we should discuss payment later,” he said rather hurriedly, and with that he pushed Greg aside and stepped boldly into the path of the approaching dragon.
To Greg’s horror, the beast released a scorching jet of fire that singed the ground in a wide swath that soared straight toward the helpless man. When the flames reached their target, they exploded with a fury beyond what even the dragon could deliver. The entire area flashed with blinding light. Greg felt himself lurched off his feet. For a moment he was completely disoriented, just as he had been when the magicians used their magic to send him here. The next thing he knew, he was lying on the ground with his cheek resting in the dirt. The field he had stood in moments before had been replaced by a lightly wooded area. The day was clear and bright, and there was no sign of the dragon or the flames and smoke that marked its passage.
Greg pushed himself up on one elbow. The strange man was lying face-down nearby, unmoving. The others were there as well, just now regaining their feet.
“What happened?” asked Kristin. “Where are we?”
“I don’t know,” said Greg. “Is everyone okay?”
All nodded to indicate they were. All, that is, except the odd man who had introduced himself as Bob, who continued to lie motionless in the dirt. Greg scurried over to check on him.
“Is he d-dead?” asked Kristin.
Greg studied the man’s chest for any sign of movement. “I don’t know.”