by M. A. Torres
“How do you open this dung?” yelled Redek as he tugged on the sides of the zipper.
Brett was trying to tear the bag open with his teeth, the bright sky glaring off his bald head. “Blast this! Bring me a dagger!”
“Wait!” yelled Kevin. “I’ll show you how to open it, just promise you won’t touch the weapons inside!”
Brett looked up at Ivan. Ivan nodded and tossed him his dagger. Brett caught it and sliced Jake’s bag open.
“Look at this steel!” observed Brett. He pulled out Jake’s helm and tossed it to Ivan.
Ivan caught it and tried to don it, but it didn’t fit. “Good steel, but too small! We can melt it and make a larger one!”
Brett continued to pull the contents from Jake’s bag—a breastplate, chain mail, shin guards, and a stuffed toy tiger. Brett inspected it, confusion on his face.
Jake cleared his throat. “That’s not mine... I don’t know how that got in there,” he whispered.
“More of the same! Armor to fit a babbling toddler!” screamed Brett. He tossed the stuffed tiger into the forest.
Jake flinched, then composed himself.
“Are you still sleeping with Bobo the Tiger?” asked Matthew.
“Of course not, Matt Bratt! I said I don’t know how that got in there!”
Matt didn’t break his stare.
“Okay... maybe. He makes me feel safe,” whispered Jake.
“Check the others!” ordered Ivan.
Brett grabbed Kevin’s duffle bag and sliced it open. He looked inside and smiled, his eyes widening with astonishment. “Oh, look what we have here!” Brett reached into the bag.
“Don’t grab it! It might kill you!” hollered Kevin.
Brett paused and glanced at Ivan.
“What is it?” he asked.
“It’s the fiercest sword I’ve ever seen. Come!”
Ivan approached Kevin’s bag and peered inside. His eyes widened with excitement, and then he reached down.
“It’s going to kill you, I swear!” warned Kevin.
“It’s going to kill me, huh? I’m sure you’re going to say its name is Flameclaw, now, right?!”
Kevin nodded, confused.
The bandits burst into loud and exaggerated laughter. Brett was rolling on the floor, Ivan had his hands on his knees, drool dripping off his chin, and all you could see of Rob Silvertooth was the glare off his silver buckteeth.
Then, Redek Longstache rushed in, swaying Tombstone in the air. “Look at me! I suppose this here war hammer is Tombstone!”
“Yes! Yes it is! Don’t you see the skull on it? Put it down, you imbecile!” screamed Jake.
Ivan reached down and picked up Flameclaw. He pointed the sword at the others. “Bow before me, you bunch of brutes! Bow before Brealin, or I’ll burn you to a crisp with my farts of fire!”
The laughter intensified. Redek and Ivan began to play-fight, each swinging and dodging wildly.
“Fire is no match for the power of death! Brealin will crumble before me—for I am Grimm, the ruler of the afterlife!”
Kevin and Jake exchanged a quick and worried glance.
Suddenly, Ivan’s eyes widened. “Redek, that war hammer looks authentic...” Ivan glanced at his own hand on Flameclaw’s hilt and noticed it was glowing red. His smile turned into a frown. “It’s burning... it’s burning!” he hollered. The red glow ascended his forearm, and his furs caught fire. A look of terror overtook him. “IT’S BURNING! IT’S BURNING!”
He swung his hand desperately, trying to release Flameclaw, but the sword’s hilt was cemented to his grip. The red glow spread upward, the flames crawling towards his shoulder.
Redek froze with fear, staring at the unbelievable sight. He gazed at his own hand when he noticed—it was nothing but bones, ligaments, and tendons.
“Ah, ah!” Redek joined Ivan in his desperate dance, swinging his arm, but Tombstone remained fixed to his bony hand. The fur sleeve disintegrated. His skin and muscles seemed to wither off his forearm, leaving only the skeletal structures underneath.
“HELP!” they cried.
Ivan placed a foot on Flameclaw, attempting to pry it off, but then his boot glowed red. Unable to detach, he fell to his side, his hand and foot glued to the magic sword, and both burning red.
“AAAAAHHH!” he screamed in pain.
“Brett, let us out; we can help!” hollered Kevin.
Brett rushed to the jail cart and pulled out the key. A moment later, the gate swung open, and the boys spilled out. Kevin rushed towards Ivan, grabbed Flameclaw’s hilt, and pulled it from his hand. Flameclaw lit up, stunning the other bandits.
Jake reached Redek Longstache and took Tombstone’s hilt. He pulled it away, but Redek’s arm was now a skeletal mess.
Matthew and Sven rushed towards Kevin and Jake, and they assumed a back-to-back defensive stance. The other bandits stood in stunned silence, however, shocked to see their leader squirming in pain, his right arm and left leg turned to ash and crumbling away in the soft breeze.
Redek Longstache stared at his arm with a look of terror. Nothing but bones existed beneath the shoulder—bones and ligaments, with a few internal muscles still intact within the hand.
“My arm! My arm! What happened to my arm?!” he screamed.
Andrei Blackbeard, Rob Silvertooth, and Bill Half-Face, the brown-bearded bandit with the scar across his face, stared incredulously, their arrows aimed at the boys.
“Those are the legendary weapons!” said Brett from the jail cart.
“Drop your bows!” commanded Kevin, a burning Flameclaw in his hands.
Sven had retrieved his sword and Matthew his spear and shield. Brett the Hairless remained by the open cart, frozen in disbelief.
“Loose!” screamed Rob Silvertooth.
The bandits loosed their arrows. Rob’s arrow zoomed towards Kevin’s face, but he flicked it away with Flameclaw’s burning blade.
Wow that felt easy!
Matthew blocked another with his shield, and Jake ducked the third.
“Again!” Rob loosed another arrow at Kevin’s face, and again, he flicked it away. The others did not loose. They looked on with fear in their eyes.
“Again, you imbeciles!” Rob commanded. He loosed again, and again, Kevin dismissed it.
Kevin was surprised at his sudden quickness but didn’t let it show—he stood his ground, tall and confident, ready to defend against any further attack.
The bandits exchanged looks of uncertainty. Jake hurled Tombstone at Rob Silvertooth’s head. Rob dropped his bow and darted towards the forest. Bill Half-Face and Andrei Blackbeard followed his lead, leaving their bows behind. Tombstone flipped in the air and flew back towards Jake’s hand.
Redek Longstache ran off too, cradling his dead arm against his body. Only Brett the Hairless and Ivan Axeman remained behind. Ivan lay on the floor, his right arm and left leg gone. The large war axe was still strapped to his back, making it difficult for him to sit up.
“Help me, you brute!” he yelled at Brett.
Brett rushed towards him.
“Help me stand!”
Brett pulled him up by his left hand. Ivan stood on his right leg, holding onto Brett’s shoulder for balance. Then hopped on one foot for a few yards before collapsing on the ground.
“I’m done for. Go with the others, Brett. Leave me here to die.”
“Bugger that! You’re not dying this day, Ivan!” consoled Brett.
Kevin rushed to his belongings and took his canteen. He ran back to the jail cart and knelt beside Lord Frederick. He raised his canteen to the lord’s mouth and helped him drink.
“Lord Frederick, why is the princess in danger?”
Frederick turned to him, eyes barely open. “All the northern lords are allied with Raven. It wasn’t just I. They were traveling south to meet with a Raven ally before we battled at the Hill of the Dead Gods. They will play the faithful ally, but will betray her in the end.”
“Who were they meeting with? Was it someo
ne named Vengara?” asked Kevin.
“I don’t know. All I know is they traveled south to Warmliff.”
Warmliff?
“Raven said he was in league with the fallen gods. He promised us great things if we helped them find the mirror and fight their battles—castles in the clouds, gold... immortality.”
Lord Frederick trembled and shivered.
“I’m sorry I stabbed you,” Kevin told him.
Lord Frederick smiled. “We were in battle; you did what you had to.” He coughed a painful cough, bringing up bloody sputum. “I hope my words prove helpful. If you ever find yourself in Seville, tell my sons I didn’t die a traitor...”
“I will. I promise.” Kevin gave him one last drink, then placed the canteen down beside him.
Brett helped Ivan Axeman stand once more.
Ivan’s left arm hung around Brett’s shoulders like a crutch, then he hopped away on his only foot. “Look at me! I’m Ivan Lopside now!”
“Well, it still has a ring to it,” said Brett.
“Shut your trap!”
The two disappeared into the forest.
“You think there are more of them?” asked Matthew.
Sven shook his head. “I don’t know. But if there are, we need to be ready. We need to be wearing our armor from now on. These are dangerous times. We must be prepared from this point forward.”
“I agree,” said Jake. “We got lucky today. I don’t want to rely on luck.”
Matthew turned to Kevin. “Dude... you blocked those arrows like they were toothpicks! It was awesome!”
“I saw them coming in slow-mo! I could have picked my nose and blocked them at the same time!”
Jake nodded. “I know how you feel. When I hold Tombstone, I feel like I move and think at a whole other level. It’s amazing!”
After donning their armor, they gathered the rest of their belongings and walked to their horses. Kevin checked on Lord Frederick one last time. Minutes later, he returned.
“Lord Frederick won’t wake up. I think he’s gone.”
No one said a word.
“Guys, we need to wait for Princess Hayla’s party. Lord Fredrick told me the northern lords are all in league with Raven. They will all betray her.”
Sven turned to him, shocked. “They’re all in league with him?”
Kevin nodded.
“Oh no.”
The lead of Princess Hayla’s party was visible in the distance a few hours later. The boys could not wait and rode up to meet them. Her party comprised fifty—twenty royal guards leading Princess Hayla and her handmaidens, with twenty others at their rear.
Captain Cris, who led the party, met them first.
“My friends, is something amiss?”
“Captain Cris, where’s the princess? We must speak with her immediately,” announced Sven.
“Mid-column,” said Captain Cris.
Sven and the boys continued down and found her midway.
“Sven!” said the princess when she caught sight of them.
“My princess, you must turn back,” said Sven.
“Why? What’s going on?”
Sven turned to Kevin. “Tell her.”
“My princess, all the northern lords are working with Raven. They are looking to retrieve Maviel’s mirror. They will play your friend until they find it, at which point they will betray you, just as Lord Frederick did.”
“How do you know all this?” she asked.
“Lord Frederick confessed it, just before he died.”
“Lord Frederick? I thought he had perished in the battle.”
“We all did too,” said Sven, “but he escaped. Was probably trying to return to Seville, but bandits captured him.
“How did he die?”
“He died of his festered wound. His body is back there, in the woods,” said Sven, pointing to the forest.
“Did he say anything else?”
“The northern lords are not in their lands. They’re south, meeting with a Raven ally,” informed Kevin. “Raven is allied with the fallen gods. I don’t know what their purpose is, but hopefully, Brealin will give us answers.”
Princess Hayla nodded. “Thank you, my friends.” She trotted her horse from the column and gestured the boys to follow. They rode to the head of the column.
“Captain Cris, pick out your five best men and have them step forward,” she commanded.
Captain Cris signaled out five of his men. One was Bruce, son of James, of Seville.
“I’m sending the rest of the party back to Castle Randall. We will travel with the Crimson Knights north to Whitestaff, not as a royal procession, but as common folk.”
Sven frowned. “My lady, if someone recognizes you as Princess Hayla...”
“No one from Whitestaff has seen me in years. I wouldn’t be recognized. Besides, Lord Whitefield and his army are in the south.”
Sven was unconvinced. “I’m sure he’s riding north as we speak. He’ll be at Castle Randall sooner than later.”
“Ana knows what to do.”
“What if someone notices your eyes?”
Her eyes? What about her eyes? Kevin thought to himself.
“Sven, trust me, please. I still have allies in Whitestaff. We won’t be gone but a few days.”
Sven sighed and stared up at the sky. He looked at the princess and nodded. “Yes, my lady.”
Chapter Twelve:
The Mental Patient
“Jenny, I’m risking my job! I can’t believe I’m letting you talk me into this!” complained Deputy Fred as he ran his hand through his spiky black hair.
Jenny sat on the passenger seat of his police car, voice recorder in hand. They were parked before the Colorado Behavioral Health Center.
“Fred, you guys have been investigating the missing Mendez boy. No one will think twice about seeing the police here again,” she assured him.
“They asked all the questions they could possibly ask yesterday. They spoke to everyone who knew him. How will I explain this to your father?”
“Don’t worry about my father—I’ll deal with him!”
Deputy Fred shook his head. “You’ll owe me after this! You’ll owe me big!”
“Yeah, yeah! Don’t worry; I’ll keep telling my dad how smart you are and how much I learned during my internship.”
“I need that promotion, Jenny. It will not help if I’m here wasting my time.” Deputy Fred stared ahead, lost in fantasy. “Lieutenant Fred... I love the sound of that.”
“Fred, let’s go!”
They exited the police car and ascended the concrete steps towards the center doors. Colorado Behavioral Health Center was a broad, one-story building. It served as an out-patient and in-patient treatment facility, and a permanent residence for those most affected. Tales sometimes leaked of escaped mental patients running into town and causing chaos—both destructive and amusing.
Jenny followed Deputy Fred to the front counter.
“Hello, officer,” said the receptionist.
“Hello, Ma’am. We’re still investigating Edgar Mendez’s disappearance. I need to speak with Quentin Mallory. He’s a resident here.”
“Yes, sir.” The receptionist worked her computer for a few seconds, then wrote a number down on a sticky note. “This is his room. It’s in the residential wing to your left. Follow the signs.”
“Thank you.”
They proceeded towards the west wing where security increased, requiring them to be buzzed through multiple doors.
Finally, they were met by the residential wing security, who led them down another corridor. “He’s a bit of a quack, that man. He thinks he’s a king or something,” he informed.
Deputy Fred looked around. “We are in a mental hospital.”
“Right... sorry.”
“Is he dangerous? Does he get physical?”
“Ol’ Quentin? Not that I’ve seen. He likes to talk about other worlds, though, gets real excited.”
They continued to
a wooden door with a decorative arched window.
“This is his room. I’ll find a nurse for you. They deal with him more often.” The guard walked away.
Deputy Fred cracked open the door and peeked inside. Inside was a man sitting on a sofa chair facing a large window, staring out into the falling snow, the vast frosted forest looming in the distance. He was rocking himself and humming a gentle tune.
“Mr. Mallory, I’m Deputy Fred. I was wondering if I could ask you some questions about the missing employee?”
Mr. Mallory turned. He was middle-aged, with light brown hair and light green eyes. He had a fair complexion, but wrinkles had engulfed him. Large drooping bags had taken residence beneath his eyes—eyes that exuded both fear and insecurity.
“I told him not to go messin’ around with my crystal plant!” His voice was deep, assertive, and powerful.
Deputy Fred approached him with an extended hand.
“What? You think you’re some queen wanting me to kiss your hand?”
Deputy Fred looked back at Jenny with confusion. “No sir, just trying to shake your hand.”
“Fred, can I speak with him alone?” whispered Jenny.
“What? No. Sorry, but that’s where I draw the line, Jenny.”
“Okay, okay.”
Deputy Fred turned back to Mr. Mallory. “Sir, can we please sit?”
“If you please.”
They grabbed chairs from his table and sat near him.
Jenny clicked her voice recorder. “Mr. Mallory, would it be okay if I recorded our conversation?”
He looked at the device with confusion. “Will it hurt me?”
“No, sir.”
Mr. Mallory shrugged. “Go ahead. So many magical machines you people have!”
Deputy Fred frowned.
“Sir, what do you think...”
“Ser... people here call every decrepit fool, Ser. They call that skinny worm living next door, Ser. He wets his pants and throws feces on the wall, and they call him Ser!”
“What should they call him then?” asked Jenny.
“Definitely not a title reserved for those most brave, valiant, and courageous. That blabbering fool thinks there are people living inside his shoe!”
Jenny and Fred exchanged an amused glance.
“Mr. Mallory, do you know what happened to Edgar Mendez?” she asked him.