How to Save a Kingdom

by Bill Allen

  “Just now,” said the second spireling. “She not only will not allow it, but she has instructed us to prevent it by any means necessary.”

  “What are you talking about, just now?” Greg argued. “Queen Gnarla isn’t here.”

  The two spirelings gasped and ducked, as if expecting to be struck down from the sky. “Queen Gnarla does not need to be with us to know what goes on here,” explained the first spireling. “We of the Canarazas share a single mind. Each of us knows what the others are experiencing. We sense all the same sights and sounds and smells, and we all share each other’s feelings. It is just one of the many reasons you humans are wise to fear us.”

  His boastful tone at the last did hold a ring of familiarity. Greg could almost believe a piece of Queen Gnarla stood before him now.

  “Forgive the children,” said Nathan. “They know little of your race. But your queen must realize that without magic we have no way of knowing where to look. With a simple transcendental communication spell, I believe I can greatly reduce the odds. She must know it’s the fastest way she can hope to see her amulet again.”

  The spireling paused, staring blankly at midair, as if listening to an inaudible voice. He then looked back at Nathan. “Very well, she will permit it this once. But do not waste the opportunity.” He rolled his axe handle in his palm. “If you try to use your magic after this, we are to hand you your head.”

  “Let’s hope that won’t be necessary,” said Nathan.

  He winked at Greg and moved to a comfortable-looking spot, where he sat cross-legged with his hands folded over his lap and his staff rested across his knees. His eyes dropped closed, and Nathan did not move or speak again for a long while. The spirelings tightened their grips on their axes and moved closer, though they did follow a rather circuitous path to distance themselves from both Greg and Priscilla along the way.

  “Don’t bother him,” warned the princess, and the spirelings immediately backed up a step.

  Greg watched the guards with a wary eye while Nathan continued his meditations. Eventually a breeze stirred. The space directly in front of Nathan shimmered, and an apparition appeared before him, blocking out the spirelings behind. Greg could see a man in a black robe, one of King Peter’s magicians, but he couldn’t make out the face beneath the man’s hood.

  “What is the meaning of this?” the magician hissed, and Greg recognized the voice at once. Mordred lowered his hood and stared intently at the spot where Nathan rested. His greasy black hair hung limply to his shoulders, and he had not shaved in recent days.

  “Ah, Mordred,” Nathan sighed. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

  Mordred frowned. “Not long enough, I am thinking.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re still upset with me?”

  The dark magician laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. “I am much too busy running this kingdom to be upset with you.”

  “Really?” said Nathan. “I thought King Peter was running the kingdom.”

  “Under my guidance, yes. Now why is it you’re bothering me?”

  “I need to know what happened to the spirelings’ amulet.”

  The apparition shimmered, and Greg saw Mordred’s eyes narrow. “And what makes you think I would know anything about that?”

  “You and Hazel are the only two I know who would have the ability or the reason to take it. And though Hazel is bold, I doubt she would risk going into Ruuan’s spire . . . nor, do I imagine, would she need to.”

  Mordred’s eyes flashed. He stared defiantly back at Nathan, who smiled faintly. Greg wasn’t sure, but it looked as if Nathan had somehow gained the upper hand from the exchange. Finally Mordred spoke.

  “What makes you think I would risk taking it?”

  “Wouldn’t you?”

  Mordred raised one brow. “You always were a shrewd one, Nathan. Too bad we could not have worked together.”

  “We can always start now. After all, I still believe we share the same goal.”

  Mordred seemed to consider this for a long moment. Then to Greg’s surprise he replied, “Yes, I’d like to think we do. I am inclined to help . . . but I cannot. I do not know where the amulet is.”

  Greg felt his hopes drain away.

  “Then you did not take it from the Infinite Spire?” Nathan asked.

  “I didn’t say that. I just said I do not know where it is.”

  Nathan rolled the weathered staff along his knees. “Perhaps you may know how to help us locate it more quickly.”

  “Perhaps. You said us. Is the boy with you?”

  Greg felt his blood run cold. He prayed the magician wasn’t referring to him.

  “He is by my side,” said Nathan, “and we have two spireling warriors with us as well.” His voice turned grim when he added, “As you might imagine, they are quite anxious to see their amulet returned.”

  “I see,” said Mordred, and Greg wondered if the magician knew that having two spirelings with them meant the entire Canaraza race was listening. “Perhaps I can help. There is a soldier in King Peter’s army—I believe his name is Corporal Widget. You may know him. He was with you not long ago, when you camped outside the Infinite Spire. I’m not saying I know anything about the amulet, you understand, but if I were you, I believe I would want to speak with him above all others.”

  Nathan smiled faintly. “Thank you, Mordred. You’ve done the right thing.”

  “Of course. Someone has to look out for this kingdom.”

  Already Mordred’s scowling face was beginning to fade, only to be replaced by the scowling faces of the spireling guards behind.

  “This was a horrendous waste of time,” one of them said before the image was fully gone.

  “Yes,” said the other. “We already know the thief was the Mighty Greghart.”

  “No,” said Nathan, “we must listen to Mordred’s advice. Corporal Widget will hold the answer, I can assure you.”

  “I don’t understand,” said the first. “Who is this human, and what does he have to do with the disappearance of our amulet?”

  “If he was at the spire last month, then he must be a soldier under Ryder’s command,” said Priscilla.

  “And Ryder’s troops are supposed to be patrolling the southern border of the kingdom,” Greg added, “somewhere near the spot we left Marvin. Looks like our course is clear. Nathan needs to take us to the southern border.”

  One of the spirelings rushed toward Nathan and raised his axe. “We allowed you to use magic to gather your information because Queen Gnarla permitted it, but we will not allow you to use it again.”

  The other stepped forward to back up his partner. “Please understand that we will escort you wherever you must go and provide whatever assistance you need, but do not try another spell, or we will teach you the full power of the Canaraza race.”

  “I understand,” said Nathan.

  “Well, I don’t,” Priscilla huffed. “Why can’t he use his magic?”

  The two spirelings looked to be arguing with each other, though neither spoke. Finally one of them addressed the princess. “Because we said so.”

  Priscilla took on the same look she got when Marvin Greatheart referred to her as maiden.

  “Do not worry, Princess,” Nathan said to calm her. “We won’t need my magic to take us there. We can go on foot.”

  “What?” said Greg. He lowered his voice so the spirelings wouldn’t hear. “We don’t have time to hike all the way across the kingdom.”

  Nathan nodded. “We’ll see.” He hoisted his staff and strode away before Greg could argue.

  Greg scrambled to catch up. “But Nathan, the border is weeks from here.”

  “Months, actually.”

  “Can’t you get us there quicker?”

  “Sure, with m
agic, but you heard the spirelings. They won’t allow it.”

  “I don’t understand,” Greg said, lowering his voice again. “What can the spirelings do against your magic?”

  Nathan didn’t bother to lower his own voice. “You’d be surprised what they can do. Oh, and there’s no point whispering. The Canarazas have exceptional hearing.”

  “Nathan, you don’t understand. If we don’t reach Marvin right away he’ll be dead.”

  Nathan came to a sudden stop. “No, you don’t understand, Greg. I want to save Marvin as much as you do, but he is just one man. There is much more at stake here. The spirelings have agreed not to attack the castle, for now, but we must abide by Queen Gnarla’s rules. If we can retrieve her amulet for her, we can count on her to honor her agreement and stop this fight, but if she feels we have betrayed her in any way, there will be no stopping her, amulet or not. The lives of all those we love are at stake, and Marvin Greatheart knows that. His entire life has been spent in service to this kingdom. Every time he leaves his home on assignment for his king, he knows he may not return. It is a risk he chooses to accept.”

  Greg wasn’t sure he agreed. While it was certainly true that the dragonslayer had spent his life in service to the king, he doubted it had ever occurred to Marvin he could be harmed in the process.

  Nathan started walking again, and Greg had to run to catch up. “Why does Queen Gnarla even care if you use your powers?”

  “By preventing me from using my magic, she looks more powerful in comparison. She wants her warriors to think she’s able to control me.”

  “But she is controlling you.”

  “To some extent, yes. But where I come from we have an expression. You have to choose your battles. In this case I’m choosing to go along with her to avoid a much larger battle.”

  “But it’s still going to take forever to get to the border and back. Queen Gnarla said she’s going to head for the castle in just two weeks.”

  “I heard,” said Nathan. “But if we can recover the spirelings’ amulet, perhaps she’ll give up this fight.”

  Greg’s step faltered. “What about the prophecy?”

  Nathan smiled. “I can remember a time not long ago when I would have been the one defending the prophecy while you insisted things would play out different from how they’d been foretold.”

  Nathan was right, but Greg also knew from his last adventure on Myrth that, as obvious as it seemed that the prophecy was wrong, it was just as likely to be true as not. He just didn’t see how they could possibly walk to the southern border and back in time to fulfill it.

  And one more thing he knew. Nathan was not about to tell him more. Poor Marvin. Close to two hours must have passed since they had left him struggling on that pike. But Greg could do nothing but hold his tongue for now as the group began their long trek along the ridge that, according to Priscilla, extended southwest hundreds of miles between the Smoky Mountains and the Styx border.

  To Greg’s right, the woods stood thick and foreboding. In other words, they looked exactly like the woods in any other part of the kingdom. But to his left, the trees dropped away to reveal an orange sun setting over a large expanse of barren desert, devoid of life—a desolate plain that somehow managed to scream of danger, even when there was really nothing there to be seen. Greg was about to ask Nathan about it when a horrifying screech rent the silence of the woods. “What was that?” he screamed instead, nearly matching the intensity of the sound.

  “My guess would be a banshee,” said Nathan. “Cover your ears and watch yourselves. They can be a bit dangerous.”

  The spirelings rushed to take the lead, and the group inched forward. They’d taken no more than a dozen steps before a woman shot from the woods directly at their party, screeching so loudly, Greg felt his head would split from the sound, even with his hands clamped viselike over his ears. Soaring out behind her as she came, her unnaturally brilliant red hair gave the impression her head was ablaze. Her complexion was a ghostly white, and from her eyes dripped tears of blood, nearly as bright as her hair.

  With lightning-quick reflexes, the two guards moved to intercept her path, slashing out with their axes. But the weapons swept through her form without resistance. She thrust her face in front of the closest guard and wailed so loudly, the spireling’s thick, leathery skin stretched backward.

  “That’s got to hurt,” Greg thought he heard Nathan say, but his ears ached too much to be sure. He desperately wanted to check his hands to see if his ears were bleeding, but knew he didn’t dare.

  The spireling’s mouth grew wide, a cavern rimmed with jagged teeth, and issued a roar of its own, causing the banshee’s hair to whip out straight behind her as before. But she was up to the challenge. Again she cried out, the sound nearly a laugh. Granted, it was a laugh that shook the leaves from the closest trees and dug into Greg’s skull like a knife, but it was a laugh all the same.

  But the spireling grinned back at her, and the banshee’s confidence was broken. With one final screech that sent shivers up Greg’s spine, she turned and fled back into the woods. Greg stood afterward, quivering in the boots Lucky had provided—a real accomplishment if you stopped to consider he’d very nearly jumped out of them at first sight of the banshee.

  Priscilla, too, was shaking. “Glad we’re being guarded,” was all she said.

  The group walked no more than a couple hundred yards farther before a second roar erupted from the brush.

  “What now?” Greg cried.

  But when the bushes parted and a huge tigerlike creature bounded out onto the trail, baring its razor-sharp fangs, Nathan simply smiled. “Nothing to worry about. Just a bollywomp.”

  Greg knew better than to lower his guard. The last time he’d run across a bollywomp, he’d been attacked and nearly killed. Of course, the others had assured him the incident was a fluke, that bollywomps were gentle creatures. Perhaps that’s why this one didn’t put up a fight when a pair of griffins exploded from the brush and seized it around the throat. In a flash it was gone, carried off into the darkening sky amidst a chorus of panicked shrieks and the flurry of beating wings.

  “Now, that’s a shame,” said Nathan. “Anyway, we might want to think about camping for the night. It’s not safe to travel these woods after dark.”

  The only thing more dangerous Greg could think of would be to camp in these woods after dark. “What about Marvin?” he asked.

  “He’ll have to wait,” Nathan said with a finality that couldn’t be questioned.

  Greg tried his best to put the dragonslayer out of his mind as he and Priscilla helped seek out a relatively secure spot to spend the night. The spirelings gathered wood for a fire, and soon the darkening sky was lit up nearly as bright as day.

  One spireling disappeared for no more than thirty seconds and returned with dinner. Greg couldn’t tell exactly what sort of dinner it was, just that it was large and bloody and had probably been alive moments before encountering the spireling. The thought sickened Greg, but once Nathan threw the carcass over the fire and the scent of roasted . . . well, roasted meat . . . drifted across the air, Greg’s hunger won out.

  “This is delicious,” said Priscilla. “What is it?”

  “Bollywomp,” one of the spirelings told her.

  She paused in midbite. “Not the bollywomp we just saw a minute ago?”

  “One and the same.”

  “But those griffins carried it away.”

  “Yes,” the spireling muttered between bites, “but they dropped it a mile or so south of here.”

  “A mile? You were only gone a few seconds.”

  “Yes. Sorry for the delay, but the griffins did not want to give her up.”

  “Her?” said Priscilla.

  “Never even hit the ground,” said the other guard.

  Everyone loo
ked to the first of the spirelings.

  “She was soaked in blood,” he said. “I didn’t want the meat to get dirty. Sorry I took so long, but those griffins seemed quite intent on getting her back. We very nearly had griffin meat instead.”

  Priscilla tossed down her fork, grimacing, but even this small morsel never reached the ground. One of the spirelings snatched it out of midair and ate it before it made it halfway. Greg was tempted to toss his food down as well, but instead he set it aside so he’d have something to feed Rake once the two of them were alone.

  After dinner Nathan moved to the campfire to meditate. He stood with his staff held vertically before him, arms outstretched in what Greg knew from his chikan training to be sensen position. Nathan’s breathing slowed, and then suddenly he was moving, dancing about the clearing and guiding his staff through the air.

  Greg watched in awe. He’d forgotten how fluid the man’s movements could be. After a time he nodded to Priscilla, and the two joined Nathan in front of the fire. The spirelings looked on curiously but said nothing at first. Then one stepped forward and addressed Nathan.

  “Those gyrations of yours look familiar. Shortly before the disappearance of our amulet, a small human child was discovered skulking about inside our tunnels.”

  Greg nearly dropped his walking stick. He hoped the spireling had as much difficulty telling humans apart as Greg did distinguishing between spirelings.

  “Or so we thought,” said the other guard. “But when he overpowered two of our warriors, we knew he must be none other than the Mighty Greghart himself. Apparently Greghart is some sort of magician, capable of deceiving others by transforming his appearance.”

  Greg felt a bead of perspiration run down his forehead in spite of the chill. He forced himself to return to his practice, and was glad when Nathan steered the conversation away from the Mighty Greghart and to the art form of chikan. Both spirelings appeared moderately impressed, but neither could understand how the skill could possibly be used to overpower two of their brethren.

  “We should check the forest,” said one of the spirelings, and he and his partner disappeared into the darkness before his voice had died away.