Margo lowered her head, but he could tell she was blushing.
“Yes, you were,” she said. “In fact, you’re close to finding it now.”
“What?”
“Think on it,” she said. “But hurry. I cannot hold this spell for long. Just trust me when I say you are close.”
“How can that be?” he said. “Back there by that tree you said I was close. Then near the campsite you said I was close and now standing in the middle of the—” His mouth hung open for a second, then he smiled. “It’s in your pocket, isn’t it?”
Without a word, Margo reached into her pocket and produced the ring, presenting it to Mongrel. He reached out and took it between his forefinger and thumb and held it up for inspection. The smile dropped from his face.
“That’s it?” he said, a little disappointed. “Up close, it’s not all that impressive.”
“Never mind that,” she said. “Just hurry and take it to the wizard.”
“Oh yeah, right.” Mongrel closed his fingers around it. The smile returned to his face. “I can’t believe it. I’ve finally won.”
“Not yet, you haven’t,” she said as the other competitors reanimated, most of them resuming their battle. Some of them, the ones they had moved, stumbled and fell. This time, Margo positioned herself in front of Mongrel, raising her hands in preparation. “You still have to present it to Wizard White Beard to officially win the competition.”
“But he said whoever finds it—”
“It’s in the rules if anyone cared to read them.”
“I did read the rules, and I don’t remember there being anything—”
“Mongrel.”
“What, Margo?”
“Run.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Clutching the ring between his fingers, Mongrel took off toward the castle at break-neck speed. Rather than dodge the other competitors, he pushed through them, leaving them to stare for a minute or two before they pursued him.
Over his shoulder, Mongrel watched Margo disappear behind the mob. Even the animals, by the tribesmen’s will, were chasing him.
An arrow whizzed over his head, followed by an ivory-tipped spear. Mongrel held back the urge to scream as more weapons came raining down on him. When he ducked under a low-lying branch, a shuriken sailed through the air where his head would have been. From the corner of his eye, he caught one of Eiko’s daughters, Etsuyo by the looks of it, produce another from her sleeve and toss it at him. She did not aim to miss.
“What are you doing, sister?” Etsuko cried. He was relieved to know one of the girls was still on his side. “We are a part of his team!”
“Maybe you are, but not me!”
The sisters fell back to fight amongst themselves, but there were still plenty of competitors in pursuit.
“Daen’t worry, Mongrel! Ah’ve got yer back!” Littlehammer called over the rabble. He was encouraged by her support until she fell behind the others as she stopped to catch her breath. “Keep goin’, laddie. Ah’ll catch up!”
So much for her help, Mongrel thought as she let the other competitors pass. He took it back several minutes later when she rode up beside him atop Walder’s horse.
“Tak’ mah hand, Mongrel!” She reached down to him, a gesture she’d unlikely use again.
He grasped for her hand, but the horse stumbled and rolled to the ground. Somewhere in the near distance, Walder bewailed the damage of his rental horse.
“Littlehammer!” Mongrel glanced over his shoulder as he ran past the wreck. He was certain he’d find her crushed beneath the horse. But to his relief, Littlehammer had been caught by Laerilas, who had somehow managed to pull himself down from the tree. It was nice to see those trust exercises had finally paid off.
“Keep running, Mongrel!” Laerilas waved him on.
“Yeah!” Littlehammer chimed in. “We’ve got yer back!”
Sure enough, with the help of Grrargh, Tikaani, and Ajani, they were able to hold the other competitors back. Fueled by their support, Mongrel pushed forward. Even with his muscles burning and his lungs about to burst, he kept running until he reached Whitestone Castle. He was never so relieved to see a wall.
Wizard White Beard waited in the throne room with Lindolyn, Warhammer, Buziba, and Chulyin. They watched the action unfold inside the gazing ball, all the while shouting at their champions to hurry and catch him. They willed him to stumble, but he didn’t, not even as he ran up the stairs to the throne room. Wizard White Beard set the ball down and braced himself as the competitors entered the throne room like a tidal wave.
“I’ve got it! I’ve got it!” Mongrel shouted, coming toward him at full speed. Wizard White Beard stepped out of the way just before Mongrel barreled past. There was a loud ruckus as the boy crashed onto the dais, finally stopping at the throne—well, on it, more like. He staggered to his feet and hurried to Wizard White Beard. “Here. I believe this is the ring you requested.”
Mongrel placed it into his hand. Wizard White Beard breathed a sigh of relief. “It is,” he said. “And by the rules, you are the champion.”
There was a moment’s silence followed by a burst of cheers and jeers from the other competitors. Several quarrels broke out at the back of the crowd.
A scruffy elf fought her way to the front of the throng.
Wizard White Beard recognized Aerin, the last surviving member of the king’s guard. Her eyes were wild with rage.
“Are you mad, wizard?” she said. “Surely you can see that the competition is not yet won? There are many here, including myself, who would challenge him still. I say we fight to the death!”
A choir of yeahs rose up from the crowd.
Wizard White Beard raised his staff.
“The rules, despite everyone’s confusion, were quite clear,” he said. “Now it is Mongrel’s choice how this all ends.” He turned to Mongrel. “Tell me, champion, what will you have done?”
Mongrel stood for a few moments, catching his breath. When finally he spoke, his words were clear and rang with kingly confidence. “As champion, I choose to end the fighting. Let there be peace among the kingdoms. Instead of wars, there will peace forged in an alliance. And as King of Kingsbury, I’ll be the first to sign it.”
“Well spoken,” Wizard White Beard said, turning to the disgruntled leaders. “Well, you heard him. There is to be no more war. In fact, there is to be an alliance. I’ll write up the document at once.”
This, of course, was met with more opposition. Wizard White Beard tried to silence them, but they would not heed his words. He was about to use a silencing spell when Mongrel’s voice rose above the rabble.
“To those who think you have lost this competition, I say you are sorely mistaken. The victory belongs to everyone, for by the end of this competition, there were representatives from every kingdom in my group. By our combined efforts, the competition was won. I propose we take it a step further by uniting the kingdoms. By doing so we ensure our world will flourish.”
Silence followed as the crowd considered his words, though he doubted they were so much moved by his speech as they were wondering where their best interest lay. To Wizard White Beard’s relief, they decided it was with Mongrel’s alliance, at least for now.
“Very good,” he said, lowering his staff. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a contract to write.” Then he turned to Mongrel. “Beautifully spoken, young man. If wizards were allowed to gamble, I’d wager that you’ll make a fine king.”
“You think so?”
“Wizards don’t think; they know,” said Wizard White Beard, returning the ring to his pocket. He placed his other hand on Mongrel’s shoulder and steered him toward the exit, thinking it best to not leave him alone with the others.
“What happens next?” Mongrel asked him.
“There’s only one thing left to do: throw a party to celebrate!” He scrunched his nose. “After you’ve all bathed of course.”
Several hours later, Mongrel stood in front o
f a full-length mirror, considering his appearance. After a hot bath and a change of clothes, he didn’t even recognize himself anymore. Never had his hair been so tame, and he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d worn such soft material. He ran his hand down the velvet sleeve of his tunic. Now that was fancy.
“That’s better, isn’t it, lad?” His uncle, Walder, stood by the window, staring at him with his one good eye. He crossed the room to adjust Mongrel’s collar. “Of course, there’ll be finer garments than this old thing waiting for you back at the castle in Kingsbury. Lucky for you, I brought a spare outfit.”
More so, he was lucky Laerilas knew how to sew. None of the girls did. He offered his uncle a grateful smile. “Thanks again . . . for the outfit, I mean.”
“Anything for you, my king,” Walder said, bowing his head. “Of course, it’d look better with a crown, but that’s back at the castle with the nice outfits. And you can’t have it until your coronation.”
“Crown. Coronation.” Mongrel gasped. This was all becoming a bit overwhelming. His head was spinning. “I still can’t believe this is happening.”
“Me either,” his uncle said less happily. “I’m still in denial that you, of all people, turned out to be the missing prince.”
“Stranger things have happened.”
“Aye, that they have,” Walder conceded and turned as Littlehammer entered the room. She was still wearing her breastplate, but it had been finely polished for the occasion. Her hair had been let down except for a single braid that wrapped around her head like a crown.
“Am Ah interruptin’ anythin’?” she asked.
“Nothing that important.” He opened his arms for a hug, which she quickly returned with double the strength.
Eventually, she released him and held him at arm’s length—well, her arm’s length anyway. “Lit me gie a look at ye,” she said and frowned. “Whaur’s yer breastplate? Yer helmet? Yoo’re a kin’ noo, arn’t ye?”
“A king of Kingsbury,” Walder corrected her.
Littlehammer narrowed her eyes at him while Mongrel placed his hand on her shoulder and turned to his uncle. “Will you excuse us for just a moment?”
“Of course, my king,” Walder bowed and left the room. Alone with Littlehammer, Mongrel sighed.
“It’s something, isn’t it?”
“Aye, it’s somethin’ aw reit.”
“This entire time I’ve been without a home and a sense of belonging; then I come to find out I’m a king. What are the odds?”
“Pretty slim, Ah’d wager.”
“Only I’ve just figured out my place is here with all of you,” he said. “How can I go back to Kingsbury when I’m needed here?”
“Ach, c’mon, lad. Nae one needs ye haur,” she consoled him. “In a few days we’ll aw clear oot, an’ thes place’ll be naethin’ but a deserted rock pile ance again. But in Kingsbury, yoo’ll hae th’ authority tae maintain yer end ay th’ peace treaty. Lit Wizard White Beard worry abit th’ rest ay us.”
“I guess you’re right,” he said, even though his mind reeled. “So what about you, Littlehammer? Are you going to keep your mother in line?”
“Abit ’at . . . Ah’m nae sae sure mah mum’ll want me back efter th’ way Ah betrayed mah brother an’ everythin’ . . . micht be best if Ah keep mah distance, if ye knoo whit Ah mean.”
“Come on, Littlehammer, they’re your family. They’ll understand.”
“Efter aw thes time, ye still don’t knoo much abit dwarves.” She laughed. “I blam th’ elf. Spikin’ ay whom, hae ye seen heem aroond?”
“Not since he hemmed my shirt,” Mongrel said. “I imagine he’s with his fiancé.”
Littlehammer shook her head. “Lest Ah heard, th’ weddin’ was aff.”
“After everything he’s done, I’m sure they’ll lift his banishment.”
“Ah wooldnae bit oan it,” she said. “Nae efter they jist banished th’ other one.”
“Aerin? Why?”
She shrugged. “Mebbe ’er kin’ didne like ’er usin’ forbidden magic. Dunno. Daen’t caur, really.”
“Well, surely the king can see there’s a difference between Laerilas and her.”
“If ye say sae,” said Littlehamer, heading for the door. “Ah’ll be seein’ ye aroond.”
“So, you forgive me?”
She paused in the doorway. After a few minutes, she nodded and said, “Micht as well. Efter aw, ye micht be aw th’ family Ah hae left.”
“Well, thank you, I guess,” he said, smiling. It felt good to be in her favor again.
Without another word, Littlehammer stepped out into the hall, leaving Mongrel alone to fuss over his outfit. There was not a wrinkle or loose thread to be found, but it kept his mind from wandering to darker thoughts, namely the alliance. In the back of his mind, he knew the alliance contract was nothing more than a flimsy document that could be broken . . . if they even signed it to begin with.
Wizard White Beard entered the room.
“Are you ready?”
“Almost,” Mongrel said as he fiddled with the collar some more. It was already straight, but he wasn’t ready to join the party.
“It’s fine.” Wizard White Beard crossed the room to give Mongrel a proper nudge—or rather a quick shove out the door. Together, they made their way to the ballroom, where the others had gathered.
It was a simple setup. Not as elaborate as the first reception had been; though Mongrel figured Wizard White Beard was tired of wasting his magic—and budget—on party decorations and buffets.
Everyone was there, dressed in their finest. On the outside they were ready to party, but on the inside they were brooding. Mongrel couldn’t help but notice their narrowed eyes and tight jaws as he and Wizard White Beard crossed the room to a table whereon the alliance papers waited to be signed.
Wizard White Beard handed Mongrel the pen.
“You said you’d be the first to sign.”
“I did.” Mongrel stared, dumbfounded, at the document.
“Go on.”
He put the pen to the paper and wrote out his name. When he was done, he stood back and admired it proudly.
Wizard White Beard frowned. “You signed it ‘Mongrel.’”
“Yes.”
“Isn’t your name Jeffrey now?”
“Oh . . . should I resign it?”
“No. Just add the word ‘king’ in front of it and it should be fine.”
“All right. There we go.”
“Just to be safe, put ‘Mongrel’ in parentheses and write ‘Jeffrey’ out to the side.”
“Is that better?”
“Much better.”
“Now what?”
“Now the others sign.”
One by one, the kings and queens of the other kingdoms stepped up to add their names to the document. As always, Lindolyn went first, and he signed his name right in the center of the document. When Warhammer saw his signature, she wrote hers right above his in giant letters. Buziba complained when Kavik’s signature ran into his. Both Etsuko and Etsuyo signed the document since it was not yet determined who would succeed their mother. Grrargh was the last to sign. Even though he wasn’t a king and his kind had no kingdom, it seemed fitting that his name be placed on the document.
Before anyone could change their minds, Wizard White Beard rolled up the document and placed it inside his robe for safekeeping. With the deed done, there was nothing left to do but celebrate, not that the other leaders were in a celebratory mood.
Mongrel’s companions, at least, were enjoying the celebration. Those he could find anyway. Ajani was wearing a proud face, as well as a new garment, one that showed off her feminine features. Without the mask, she was free to express her opinions, which she did loudly by the punch bowl. Mongrel thought she’d make a fine ambassador. In fact, he’d suggest it to Buziba once he got the chance.
Reunited with her family—and her wolves—Tikaani was quite at ease. When she spotted Mongrel, she abandoned them brief
ly to give him a hug. To his surprise, her hand was nowhere near her amulet. Seemed she’d gained some courage after all.
“Take care of my wolves,” she told him when she pulled away.
“I will,” he said. “But won’t they be going with you?”
She shook her head. “They are free to go where they please.” She patted Old Boy’s head as he came to Mongrel’s side. “They want to stay with you.”
“Come visit them anytime,” he said, and Tikaani nodded before running off to find Grrargh, who was admiring the ice sculpture shaped like a swan. Looking at him, Mongrel knew the perfect place for him back at Kingsbury. Jared once said they were hurting for guardsmen. Not anymore.
Lindolyn stood between his wife and daughter. Laerilas was nowhere to be seen. Come to think of it, neither was Littlehammer. Mongrel wondered where the two of them had gone off to. Surely they didn’t plan on missing the party.
Littlehammer had no intention of attending the party, not with her mother and brother there. Finding the elf was excuse enough not to go. After almost an hour of searching, she found him outside the gate.
“Didne ye gie th’ invitation?” She laughed, startling him. “Th’ party’s in th’ ballroom, nae oot thaur.”
“I’m not going to the party,” he said.
“Funay. Neither am Ah. Ironic, eh?”
He gave her a long, freezing stare. “What are you doing out here?”
“Ah was gonnae ask ye th’ sam hin’.”
He sighed. “It’s really none of your business, Lil.”
“Lil?” She stifled a laugh. “Soonds kin’ aye flowery, daen’t ye hink?”
He blushed. “Might I call you Lil?”
“If it makes ye happy,” she said. Deep down, the name sort of tickled her. “Thocht Ah daen’t suspect yoo’ll hae much opportunity tae say it, whit wi’ us aw goin’ uir separate ways.”
“I suppose you’re right,” he said. “Then I guess this is goodbye.”
“Goodbye?” She searched his face for some hint that he was joking. Not so much as a smile. She frowned. “An’ whaur micht ye be headed?”
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