by Bill Allen
The change in Ruuan was instantaneous. The dragon reared and pitched. Any magic he might have been using to hold Hazel in place, he was not wasting now.
Hazel let out a screech. As if in slow motion, she veered away from the dragon’s back, toppled end-over-end toward the ground, screamed words lost beneath the wind.
And then her screams cut off abruptly.
Ruuan didn’t pause to witness the witch’s fate. He took off toward his spire as if just now succumbing to a long elastic band that had been stretched tight between them.
With a roar, the proud wyvern arced around for a victory lap, making a show of rolling over as Ruuan had done. Greg held on for dear life, knowing his ordeal was not over until he touched safely down. The wyvern flew him directly over top of King Peter and Queen Pauline, and there were the two girls cheering and waving up at him.
“You did it!” screamed Priscilla.
“You’re a hero!” added Kristin. And then she said something he never would have expected. “I love you!”
Greg was so dumbfounded, he forgot to tighten his grip during the wyvern’s next roll. Launched off his perch, he barely managed to hang by one hand as the wyvern spun through the air, throwing him first one way, then the other. His fingers strained to their limits. And then, as if in slow motion, he watched them give way.
For a few brief seconds the world spun in front of Greg’s eyes. He witnessed the ground rush up to meet him, soaring faster and faster, and then, suddenly it struck with unbelievable force.
Greg’s vision cut off in an instant, as did the noise of the spirelings cheering, and the pungent smells of billowing smoke and charred grass.
And indeed, the very essence of life itself.
Just as Simon’s prophecy had predicted, the Mighty Greghart was dead.
Dark Magic
“No!” screamed Kristin. She rushed forward to where Greg’s body lay lifeless in the charred grass.
Priscilla pulled free of her mother’s grasp. She ran to Kristin and fell to her knees, and the two girls clutched each other, not daring to believe.
“It’s true,” Melvin cried, running up with his brother Marvin. Tears ran down his face as he announced to the crowd what all others feared. “The prophecy came true. The Mighty Greghart is dead!”
“Let me through, boy,” came a voice from behind. Mordred had broken free of the circle of magicians and had just now reached the spot where Greg lay. He pulled back his hood and stooped to place an ear over Greg’s heart, his greasy black hair hanging heavily across Greg’s chest.
“Well?” sobbed Priscilla.
“It’s true,” he said, and even his voice revealed a hint of remorse. “The boy didn’t make it.”
“No!” Priscilla screamed.
Kristin released an indistinguishable noise and threw her arms around Greg. She begged him to quit playing around, to get up and tell them this was all a joke, but Greg didn’t move. King Peter stepped up behind Kristin. He pulled her away and hugged her to him, and Queen Pauline did the same for their daughter.
As if the sight of Greg lying dead weren’t horrible enough, a sickening thump sounded to their right, and all turned to witness Lucky’s crumpled body bounce off the lawn. Above, the wyvern screeched and tore off toward the Enchanted Forest.
King Peter rushed over, followed closely by Marvin Greatheart, who looked down at the boy and said, “That doesn’t seem lucky at all.”
The king bent and checked on Lucky, and after a moment sat back to regard the others. Tears ran down his face as he shook his head and closed Lucky’s staring eyes.
“No!” screamed Priscilla. She dropped to Lucky’s side, but no matter how much she hugged the boy and told him she loved him, it was not enough to bring him back, and she could do nothing but weep.
The dozens of towers of spirelings melted like ice sculptures on a hot griddle. Within seconds Nathan came running up to join the others, fear in his eyes. “Quickly. We have but a moment. We need the two amulets. They should be in the grass.”
Not one of those who heard him knew what Nathan intended, yet throughout the yard, men and spirelings alike dropped to their knees and began combing the grass. There were enough spirelings present to require each to cover only a few square yards of lawn, but many others lay dead or wounded, hindering the search.
Suddenly a thunderous gasp sounded. Hundreds of thousands of spirelings all turned at once to stare at the very same spot. At the center of the focus, a lone spireling stooped and picked up a small object on a chain.
“Found one,” he said.
With the speed of a spireling, he rushed to Nathan, who was bent over Lucky’s lifeless body. Nathan took the pentagram-shaped amulet that had been forged so many centuries earlier and laid it across Lucky’s chest while the others continued their search.
Even though they sensed how important it was to find the second amulet, Priscilla and Kristin watched to see what Nathan was about to do.
“Hold on,” said Mordred. He stepped over no less than a dozen spirelings as they searched on hands and knees through the grass. “What form of foolishness is this?”
“It is not foolishness,” Nathan said calmly. “It’s a spell I learned in the Void. I think it may save him.”
“The Void?” Mordred gasped. “Why on Myrth would you go there?”
Nathan scowled. “Perhaps to learn the type of spell I’m about to use now.” He brushed back Lucky’s hood, only mildly startled by the sight of Lucky’s bald head. Placing a hand on Lucky’s forehead, he closed his eyes and forced himself to the same state of relaxation he used to help him focus in chikan.
“But the boy is dead,” insisted Mordred. “Only evil magic can return him now.”
“Quiet. Evil is a word used only by those with limited understanding. Now, we’re wasting precious time.”
Mordred was about to object again when King Peter stepped up behind him, his robe wafting out behind, and placed a hand on the magician’s shoulder. “Leave him be, Mordred. He knows what he’s doing.”
Nathan took Lucky’s right hand and placed it over his own heart. “Princess Priscilla,” he called.
Priscilla quickly turned away and pretended to search the grass.
“No, come here, child, quickly.”
Priscilla hopped up and rushed to Nathan’s side. He beckoned her to kneel next to Lucky and instructed her to follow his example and hold Lucky’s left hand over her heart. She grabbed it, tears flowing down her cheeks, and pressed it against herself so fiercely, Nathan worried she might push it right through her own chest. He warned her to be careful and then closed his eyes again and began to chant.
The bright morning sky immediately began to darken. Ominous black clouds rolled in, as if poured from a giant cauldron, and thunder sounded as lightning danced between them, high in the sky.
“Dark Magic,” said Mordred. “This is—”
King Peter silenced him with a single wave of his hand, as if he held a magician’s power. Nathan continued chanting, and the thunder grew stronger. So much lightning streaked across the sky that the day grew bright again in spite of the heavy clouds blocking out the sun.
Kristin was patting the same spot of grass over and over, her eyes fixed on Nathan. “What’s happening?” she asked when Priscilla’s flowing hair began to lift away from her ears.
Priscilla’s hair rose until it stood fully on end—even the longer strands that had not been hacked off in the Netherworld. Her eyebrows raised, and her eyes somehow gave the impression they were wide with fear, even though they were closed. The turmoil of lightning above rivaled any fireworks Kristin had ever seen. She suppressed a scream as her own hair began to rise as well.
Throughout the yard everyone paused in the search to see what was happening. Suddenly the sky burst open with a thunderous boom. A single bolt of lightning shot into and through the amulet resting on Lucky’s chest, lighting the boy up like a light filament. Electricity surged up his arms and into Nathan and Pri
scilla, lighting them up as well. Panicked screams and gasps of horror rang out through the yard, but the lightning remained, a steady stream flowing into Lucky’s chest like a roaring waterfall.
Kristin turned away and hid her eyes under her arm, as the image was just too bright, but even then the intensity of the light managed to pierce her flesh and bones. The incredible roar of thunder shook her to her very core, until she just knew she would collapse.
And then it stopped.
The intense roar cut off in an instant. Overhead, the thunderclouds began to dissipate. Within seconds they’d completely disappeared, letting back in the light.
With hope in her heart, Kristin whipped her head around, but all that had changed was that now there were two more dead bodies lying next to Lucky’s. The scream she released spoke for all of those present.
King Peter fell to his knees, his wife at his side, and dropped his head to his daughter’s chest. Mordred checked on Nathan, and Melvin and his father struggled to hold up Princess Penelope’s limp form.
“Fool!” Mordred nearly spat. “He got what he deserved for messing with Dark Magic.” But Kristin could see there was a tear in his eye all the same.
The hundreds of thousands of spirelings looked on uncertainly. It seemed quite pointless to find the other amulet now. But then Melvin released his hold on Penelope to point at Lucky. Norman struggled alone against the princess’s limp form for a few seconds before toppling backwards with her on top of him.
“He moved,” said Melvin. “I saw him.”
All eyes turned toward Lucky. Smoke drifted up from the boy’s chest, where the Amulet of Tehrer, now gone, had rested. The material of his robe and the tunic he wore beneath had been dissolved away, and a black stain the size and shape of the amulet was burned into his chest.
He opened his eyes slowly and blinked against the bright sunlight. “Where am I?”
A cheer rose up throughout the yard, but neither King Peter nor Queen Pauline joined in. The queen hugged her daughter against her chest with the same ferocity Priscilla had hugged Lucky’s hand.
And then Priscilla began to stir as well. Queen Pauline gasped, and a second cheer rose up through the yard, even louder than the first.
Nathan opened his eyes and pushed himself up on trembling arms. “Did it work?”
Mordred, who had been holding his hand and doing his best not to weep, made a show of throwing it down. “Fool!” he spat. “You could have been killed.”
Nathan didn’t notice. Having spotted Lucky sitting upright, he rolled over and hugged the boy, stroking what should have been Lucky’s hair.
They’d have probably gone on this way for some time if Kristin hadn’t brought them back to reality. “What about Greg?” she cried.
“The other amulet,” said Nathan. “Has no one found the Amulet of Ruuan?”
The multitude of spirelings jumped back to the hunt, sifting through every blade of grass with a speed only one born to the Canaraza race could manage. But no one seemed capable of finding the second amulet.
Rake scurried through the crowd and crawled up onto Lucky’s legs. Lucky seemed somewhat shocked, as the shadowcat had never shown him much affection.
“It’s okay, Rake. I’m fine.”
Rake bared his fangs and shrieked with such intensity, Lucky scrambled backward, sending the shadowcat flying.
“There it is,” Priscilla moaned, as she was too exhausted to shout.
All turned to see the Amulet of Ruuan lying in the crumpled grass where Lucky had been lying. Queen Pauline grabbed it and extended it out by the chain toward Nathan, but stopped in mid reach, the smile on her face dissolving.
“Oh.”
Nathan stared weakly at the circular amulet in her hand. Comprised of five pieces, four identical pie-shaped wedges surrounded by a single ring, the amulet held more power than any artifact ever created in this world. But a triangle of light beamed through the amulet as it swung easily from its chain.
One of the inner sections was missing.
“No,” gasped Nathan. “This won’t do at all.”
A Love Shared
“We must . . . find . . . the other . . . piece,” Nathan gasped. He dropped back to the grass, too weary to speak.
Everyone, even King Peter and Queen Pauline, garbed in their elegant robes, dropped to their hands and knees, overturning every blade of grass, but try as they might, no one could find the missing wedge of metal.
King Peter paused when he noticed Mordred sitting upright and motionless, his eyes closed. “Mordred,” he scolded. “I know you and the boy have had your differences, but you must help in this.”
Mordred did not answer at first. Then his eyelids drifted open. “I think I see it.”
“What are you talking about?” King Peter asked.
“A spell, Sire. I began working on it when I was gathering the pieces of Ruuan’s amulet for Hazel a few months ago. It is not an easy task, as artifacts of this nature have a way of eluding magic, but I . . . well, let’s just say I called upon a bit of knowledge I learned before I came under your service.”
“You’ve used Dark Magic is what you’re saying,” King Peter said, hope lighting his eyes. “Well, it’s about time. Where is it?”
Mordred frowned. “I’m not sure. I need all these spirelings out of here.”
King Peter turned to the nearest spireling and commanded him to leave. The spireling paused, a distant look in his eyes as he consulted with Queen Gnarla through their silent bond, and suddenly every spireling capable of walking shot to the edge of the yard as if a huge spireling-filled bomb had exploded.
For the first time since the battle, it was possible to see all who had fallen. King Peter gasped as he took in the sight of the thousands of dead scattered throughout the yard.
A few of the injured tried crawling away, but with limited success. Mordred’s eyes had fallen closed again, and playing about his hood was an odd black light one witnesses would later describe as a hundred bats swarming to tear at Mordred’s face.
Mordred’s eyes popped open. He looked a few yards to the east, where a spireling warrior was dragging himself slowly toward the Enchanted Forest.
“There,” he said, pointing at the injured spireling.
The spireling’s eyes grew wide as several men swarmed on him to see why Mordred had singled him out. Marvin Greatheart helped him to his feet, oblivious of the fact that both his legs were broken, but the spireling didn’t cry out until Mordred ran toward him, his magician’s robe fluttering out behind, and reached toward his face.
Mordred’s hand extended past the rows of razor-sharp teeth to the spireling’s shoulder, where lodged in his chain mail, nearly hidden from view, was the tiny wedge of metal they sought.
The spireling’s eyes grew wider still. As he witnessed Mordred pry loose the tiny section of amulet, so did all of his kind. From the edge of the yard in all directions erupted a roar of approval, and the implosion of spirelings back to the center of the yard was a sight no human or spireling was likely to ever see again.
Mordred rushed to Nathan’s side and pressed the tiny wedge into the hole in the amulet Rake had helped them find. In an instant the metal flashed and fused together. Mordred helped Nathan to his feet and over to where Greg lay unmoving in the grass. The two of them knelt beside Greg’s body, and Nathan struggled to take Greg’s hand in his own.
Mordred reached out to stop him. “Nathan, are you sure you want to go through with this?”
Nathan nodded, clearly too drained to speak. No one voiced the fear, but all wondered how the magician could possibly survive a second experience like the first.
“You’ll be killed,” Mordred warned. “And what of the Amulet? The last was destroyed. Do we really want to lose an object of such power?”
Nathan’s eyes softened as he took Mordred’s hand in his own. “We . . . must. You and I.” He tightened his grip on Mordred’s hand and stared into his eyes, as if seeing into the man’s soul.
Mordred looked confused, but then their two hands began to glow, and Mordred’s lips separated in a silent gasp. The two magicians remained that way a long time while the others looked on, wondering if they should be doing something . . . anything.
Finally Nathan’s eyes rolled up into his head. Mordred pulled his hand back and shook it, staring wide-eyed at Nathan’s unconscious form. Obviously he didn’t know what to say at first, but then he placed one palm on Nathan’s heart and took up Greg’s hand in the other, pressing it against his own chest.
“I’ll do what I can, old friend,” he whispered to Nathan. His eyes darted around the yard. “I need someone who loves the boy.”
King Peter, Queen Pauline, Priscilla and Lucky all fought to be the first to Greg’s side, but Kristin won in the end. She knelt beside him and took his other hand in hers without being asked, pressing it firmly to her chest.
Mordred’s eyes dropped closed. He began to chant as Nathan had done. Nothing happened for a long while, but then the telltale clouds began to coalesce, and the day darkened. Thunder rolled in. Lightning flashed and darted across the sky.
Unconsciously those in the crowd edged away from the spot where Greg lay, figuring Mordred’s skills in the Dark Arts were likely not as polished as Nathan’s.
The intensity of thunder grew, just as before. Those in the crowd took another step backward. When the expected bolt shot from the sky to strike Greg in the chest, everyone screamed and dove to the ground. This time the electricity traveled up Greg’s arms into Kristin and Mordred, and on into Nathan, as Mordred still held one hand over his old friend’s heart.
The others cowered away from the sight and sounds for what seemed an eternity, and then just as before, the lightning cut off suddenly, and the thunderous echoes rang out through the kingdom for several long moments.
All looked to where Greg lay, his tunic and even the spireling chain mail burned away, his chest smoking from a circular hole etched into his skin. At his side, Kristin lay, unmoving. Priscilla scooped her up in her arms and tried to revive her, to no effect.