“I asked you a question,” Striker raised his voice in anger.
“Yes,” Prince Blake answered, touching his lip tenderly. When he pulled away he noted blood on his fingertips.
“And are you a sorcerer?” Striker demanded.
Blake looked up, cowering before the elf. “No,” he answered.
“We shall see,” the leader smiled eerily, and then turned to the other elves. “Clean him up and throw him in the dungeon for now.”
Turk and the other elf advanced quickly, jerking the Prince to his feet.
“Come on,” the other elf grumbled gruffly as he yanked Blake forward.
The Prince stumbled down the hallway. They led him down a dark and seemingly endless staircase. There was very little light and it smelled like filth. They dragged him past several doors with barred windows. A black tentacle shot through between two of the bars.
It brushed against Blake. He shuddered.
“Do that again, and I’ll slice it off,” Turk growled at the doorway.
After passing several cells, they stopped in front of one.
The second elf pulled out a ring of keys. He tried several until one finally unlocked the metal door. It creaked loudly as it swung open.
Turk sliced through the ropes that bound the Prince’s feet and wrists. Then he tossed him into the cell.
Blake stumbled forward and landed on his knees. The door slammed closed behind him, leaving him in a small prison that was barely big enough for him to lay down. He could stretch his arms out and touch the walls with his palms face down. He was surprised that the cell was clean and had a small window. There was a bucket in the corner. The Prince hoped it wasn’t for what he imagined. A fresh pile of straw adorned the corner and that was the grand total of his amenities.
Suddenly the door swung open. A small green creature with a dozen eyes brought in a bucket of water, a rag, and some soap. “Clean yourself up,” he commanded. He set a pile of clothing next to the bucket before slamming the door and disappearing.
Blake stared at the soap and rag. He was covered in dust and was dirtier than he had been in his entire life. However, the thought of just blindly obeying the elves seemed wrong. He pondered standing up to them and being the defiant Crown Prince, but his need for cleanliness won out. He scrubbed himself down the best he could with his limited resources, then pulled on the pants and shirt he had been left.
The material was thick and itchy. He squirmed around in his clothes, trying to get comfy. The Prince knew he always dressed in more expensive and colorful fabric, but he never realized how uncomfortable the dull-colored peasant material was.
He saw movement in the corner as something scurried by. Blake tossed the water in the corner and flipped the bucket over it.
“Hey, let me out of here!” squeaked the tiny little creature.
“Who are you?” the Prince asked.
“A captive, same as yourself,” he cried.
Blake lifted the bucket up a couple of inches. A fluffy brown mouse skittered out.
“I’m Stupid,” the mouse said.
“I beg your pardon?” The Prince was certain he had heard the rodent correctly.
“My name is Stupid,” he repeated.
Blake shook his head. “That can’t be your name.”
“It’s all I’ve ever been called. I used to be Striker’s cambriar.”
“That’s so mean. I can’t call you that,” the Prince insisted.
The mouse creeped forward. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Blake.” He tapped his index finger on his chin. “Hmmm. How about I call you Squeak?”
The mouse thought about it for a moment. “I believe I like it.”
The Prince sat down on the dungeon floor and Squeak scrambled up on his knee.
“So, you mentioned you were Striker’s cambriar. What’s that? Is that a job?”
“That’s what I am,” Squeak clarified. “I am a cambriar. I shift shapes.”
“Shift?”
“I can transform into any animal I see,” he explained. “But I can only do it once. So right now I am a mouse. If I change into another animal then I can never turn back into a mouse again. Striker made me shift all the time. He wanted me to be his personal slave. He finally settled on a langabeast. But after I changed it didn’t feel right, so one day I changed into a mouse, and he banished me here as a punishment. I am to remain here until he can imagine a new beast for me to transform into.”
The Prince sighed. “Wow, I’m sorry. That sounds terrible.”
“Why were you imprisoned?” the mouse asked.
“I don’t really understand,” Blake shrugged. “I came through some sort of portal. I’m not from this world. Apparently, I am in high demand over here.”
“Ah yes,” the mouse nodded. “Striker has an ancient relic from long ago. It changes color when the portal is breached. Someone is posted night and day to watch it. About a decade ago was the last time that I knew someone entered.”
The Prince leaned forward. “That cannot be. Who came through?”
The mouse shook his head. “No one knows. Striker sent out forces of elves, but the jumper was never found. They assumed he succumbed to one of the many perils of this world. I heard whispers from the guards that the portal had been breached twice recently.”
“Twice?” the Prince asked enthusiastically. “Maybe my father sent people after me. But one person wouldn’t be much assistance,” he added sullenly.
“Are you a sorcerer?” Squeak asked.
The Prince rubbed his wrists. “No. There is no magic where I am from…well aside from the portal itself.”
“There has to be,” he squeaked.
“What do you mean?”
“Do you know about the prophecy?” the mouse asked.
“I’m not sure if it’s the same thing you are talking about.” He rubbed his aching throat. What he wouldn’t give for a glass of water. “I only heard it once, but I have a pretty good ear. I believe it went…” he paused, attempting to recall the words, “when the blood of the first returns to his home, the battle for power will begin to unfold. Search for the dragon or all will be lost, as the monster escapes to wreak havoc untold. Or death covers the realms and forever takes hold.”
The mouse snorted. “Yes, but you got the ending wrong. ‘And balance restored by the sorcerer’s hand or death covers the realms and forever takes hold.’
“The elves want power, and they know the sorcerer can reopen the portal from this side. Currently you can only enter from your side of the portal. The elves want to seize control of your world. They have hunted down and killed all the sorcerers on this side, torturing them, hoping to force one into fixing the portal, but none were ever able to repair it. Now they are trying to find the sorcerer from your world who can repair it, since none of the ones in our world could manage it.”
“But I don’t have any magic,” the Prince replied.
The mouse lowered his voice to a whisper. “Don’t let them find out. You will be worthless to them, and therefore disposable in their eyes.”
“I need to get out of here.” Blake stood and began feeling the walls, looking for some hidden way out.
“It’s no use, I’ve looked. Besides, where would you go if you escaped? Every elf would be searching for you.”
The Prince paused. “Maybe. But what if the person who entered the portal ten years ago didn’t really die? Perhaps he’s out there hiding. What if I can find him, or at the very least, disappear as he did?”
“I have a brother,” the mouse began. “He was gifted to Striker’s son, Leif. He told me once that Leif was helping someone he oughtn’t.”
The Prince leaned down. “And you assume it is the portal jumper?”
“I’m not certain but the timing fits, so I suppose it’s possible. It would be totally crazy and dangerous if Leif had really done that, knowing his father was searching for the jumper.”
“So maybe Leif can assist us?”
/> “No.” The mouse shook his head. “He ran away with my brother. I don’t know where they went.”
“Well, at least we have a plan,” the Prince smiled.
“Plan?” Squeak asked, surprised.
“Yes. Escape, find Leif, and then find the portal jumper.”
The mouse laughed. “That’s insane. Do you know the odds of doing even one of those? Not to mention all three.”
“What have we got to lose?” Blake shrugged.
The mouse sighed. “Find us a way out and then I’ll answer.”
The Prince checked every nook and cranny of the room and found nothing. They had one window. In time it might be possible to chisel around the entire frame and knock it out, but then they would be in a courtyard with nothing but walls stretching possibly fifty feet up on each side.
Squeak told him it used to be used for entertainment. A hundred years ago prisoners fought each other to the death.
If only Squeak were bigger, stronger, Blake thought.
“So, can you transform into something else?” Blake asked.
“If I haven’t changed into that animal before. Why?” The mouse asked, looking at him curiously.
“And can someone simply describe the animal to you?” he probed, raising an eyebrow.
Squeak shook his head. “I have to see it, either in person or a drawing if it’s good.”
“I believe I may have a way to get us out of here,” the Prince pondered, looking around. He picked up a piece of straw and tried to draw in the dirt but the straw kept breaking. He took the bucket and broke off the handle. It was metal, but he could bend it. He didn’t tell Squeak, but the Prince wondered if the animal had to be real, or if he could draw anything. It took Blake a few times to get the sketch accurate to what he was picturing in his mind. He drew an elephant, but instead of a trunk, the Prince drew a big thick block on the front of his nose, like a battering ram. Blake pointed to his sketch.
“Do you think you can change into this?”
Squeak ambled around the image, examining it from every angle. “I can give it a shot. What’s it called?”
“Umm…” he hesitated. “It’s an elephant.”
“Elephant,” the mouse repeated. “It looks strong.”
“It is. But don’t shift into it yet,” he cautioned.
Squeak looked confused. “Why? I think it could knock down this wall.”
The Prince nodded in agreement. “That’s what I believe, but then how do we get out of the courtyard? We might be able to plow through more walls, but eventually the elves would advance on us with weapons.”
“Ah,” the mouse said. “So maybe something that flies.”
“And preferably something I can ride, or that can transport me,” the Prince added.
He kept trying to rack his brain for something big enough, but he couldn’t think of anything. Even if he did make something up like he had with the elephant, it wouldn’t necessarily mean it could fly. Sure, he could add wings to anything, but the Prince didn’t know enough about the mechanics to be certain it would fly. Perhaps the body would be too heavy for the wings, or would not be able to support his added weight.
“What about a dragon?” Squeak suggested.
“Dragons are real?” the Prince asked in awe.
“Of course. They’re mentioned in the prophecy, aren’t they?” He laughed.
Blake rubbed his eyes tiredly. “I just thought it was a metaphor or something.”
“So, I could change into an elephant and then a dragon,” the mouse squeaked excitedly. “I always wanted to be a dragon, but I assumed Striker was afraid. He never wanted me to transform into one. I think because of the whole blowing fire thing and how hard their scales are, almost impenetrable…it frightened him.”
“Okay,” the Prince nodded. “This might actually work.” He looked outside and it was still light out. He had lost all sense of time in this new world. “How soon until it’s dark out?”
The mouse grinned. “Good idea. Dragons have excellent night vision.” He ran over to the window. “Lift me up so I can see.”
There was no sun. The Prince wondered how the mouse would be able to tell the time without any light source, but he obeyed. He bent down and laid his hand flat. Squeak crawled on and he carefully raised his hand so that the mouse could look outside.
“It will be soon,” the mouse noted.
They discussed their plan once more, looking for any holes in it.
As the light began to fade, Squeak told the Prince it was time.
He skittered to the middle of the room. “Blake, get in the corner and try to take up as little room as you can.”
“Right.” He flattened himself against the wall.
Squeak turned once more. “Ready?” he confirmed.
“Yes,” the Prince said uncertainly. He had butterflies in his stomach. He was about to jump on a dragon and try to outrun some scary-looking elves.
“Ok. Here goes,” Squeak warned.
The little mouse started to glisten as his body began to grow. The whole process was astonishing. Within a minute he had shifted from a small brown mouse to a giant elephant with a huge square ram for a nose.
Blake’s face was painfully smashed into the wall. The cell was too small for him and this big animal. He tried to tell him to hurry but couldn’t move his mouth.
Squeak bumped into the wall. “I don’t imagine we thought this through. Maybe if I had room to run, but I have no room to move, let alone build up any momentum. And did I mention I’m claustrophobic?”
Blake tried to respond but was unable.
“I am starting to freak out here,” Squeak cried. He started frantically tossing his head back and forth. The cell began to shake. “This might work after all,” Squeak called. He continued moving his head side to side and when the momentum built up he slammed his nose into the wall.
Plaster and small chunks of wall began to fall.
The sight of the debris gave Squeak hope. He became more frantic, tossing his head sideways and then slamming it into the wall.
A huge chunk of the outside wall broke off. Some of the other prisoners started cheering. Squeak could almost stick his head through. He rammed his face into the wall a final time, bringing half the wall down with him.
He strutted out into the courtyard. “Come on,” he called to Blake.
The Prince hurried behind him, rubbing his jaw. “I hear guards coming! Hurry!” Blake called.
Squeak began to shimmer again as he shifted forms. This time the transformation was even faster. The Prince attributed it to the fact that Squeak was already in a much larger body.
The elephant transformed into a gigantic black dragon. He had red tips on his wings and his belly was a matching color. “Get on,” he shouted as a few elves began to file into the courtyard.
Blake climbed onto the back of the dragon awkwardly. He placed his legs in front of the wings, hoping they would hold him on so he wouldn’t fall, and then wrapped his arms around Squeak’s neck.
“Stop them!” an elf yelled.
Arrows began whizzing past them.
Squeak started flapping his wings and slowly began to rise. A few arrows hit Squeak but ricocheted off his tough scales.
“Keep going,” Blake hollered. “We’re almost out.”
Another arrow soared by Squeak’s head.
“Ahh!” the Prince screamed, squeezing tighter around the dragon’s neck.
Squeak flapped faster, until he finally crested the walls. He spread out his wings and glided over the town, leaving Striker’s estate in the distance.
“Are you alright?” Squeak asked, not being able to see what had happened.
“Just find us somewhere safe to land. I’ll be okay.”
Elves and creatures of all kind stopped what they were doing and stared, pointing up at the sky as the dragon swooped over.
The light was fading fast. Soon it would be dark and they wouldn’t be so obvious.
Squeak fle
w a while after the darkness had set in. He landed by a large pool of water on the outskirts of the Lonely Sands.
Blake fell to the ground. “Ohh,” he whined.
There was an arrow penetrating straight through his arm.
“It looks bad. I’ll have to pull it out and then close the wound,” Squeak informed him.
“Do you have physicians here? Someone that can stitch me up?” he enquired as he tried to sit up.
The dragon leaned forward. “I think I can stop the bleeding, but it will be painful.”
The Prince grimaced. “Please do it.”
Squeak found a small stick and handed it to the Prince. “Bite down on this.”
Blake obeyed.
Squeak grabbed the arrow with his teeth and pulled quickly.
The Prince screamed.
The dragon tossed the arrow to the side. “Sorry,” he apologized. Squeak looked around and picked up a stone. Arching his head back he blew fire and heated the rock.
Blake’s eyes widened; he took the stick out of his mouth. “I don’t like where this is going.”
Squeak picked up the glowing red stone. “It’s the only way.” He reached forward with it.
Blake put the stick back in between his teeth and closed his eyes.
Agonizing pain shot through his arm as the rock seared his skin shut.
“AHHH!” he yelled.
“Ok, halfway there, now I just have to do the other side.”
The Prince’s eyes widened. He was about to protest when Squeak pressed the hot stone to the other side of his arm.
“UGHHH!” he cried until blackness overtook him.
Chapter XIII
Sweat ran down Ajax’s cheeks, jogging him out of a deep slumber. The heat of the day was already intense. He rubbed his eyes and turned to where he heard Neely murmuring. A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth as he saw Niko sitting up and complaining about Neely fussing over him.
“I’m fine,” the rhino grunted. “Takes more than a whack with a tail to do me in.”
Ajax shook off his cloak, knocking the sand off of it. He strolled over to Niko. “I’m glad to see you’re okay.”
The rhinoceros stood up. “Alright, now that the human is finally awake we can get started.”
The Portal Keeper (The Keeper Chronicles Book 1) Page 13
