How to Save a Kingdom

by Bill Allen

  “I don’t know.”

  “‘I don’t know,’ you’re not telling us, or ‘I don’t know,’ you don’t know?” asked Lucky.

  Nathan smiled sadly. “No, I really don’t know. Look, I realize you think I hold all the answers, but in truth, I know little more about your fate than you do.”

  “But you do know more,” said Lucky.

  “Just what I’ve been told. A few scattered facts, that’s all. Not how they fit together, and certainly not enough to formulate a plan.”

  Melvin’s voice drifted up from behind his brother’s shield of dragon scales, where he was cowering for warmth. “How could you have been told anything about our future? It hasn’t even happened yet.”

  “Yes, well, I can see where from your point of view it may seem impossible,” said Nathan, “but you must realize that your point of view is severely limited.”

  Melvin lowered his shield long enough for the others to observe his scowl. Greg risked suffering the same humiliation himself when he asked, “Who told you these facts about the future, Nathan?”

  “Now, that I can’t tell you.”

  “Was it Mordred? He seemed to know a lot more than he should when you did that summoning thing the other day.”

  “I just told you I can’t say,” Nathan replied. “I wish I could.”

  But Greg wasn’t ready to give up. “Can you at least tell me if it was Mordred?”

  “Very well, it wasn’t Mordred. Most of what he knows about the future he’s only heard from me.”

  “You?” said Lucky.

  Greg looked to the guards, who had once again jumped to attention. The glares they offered suggested this had better be the last outburst.

  “You told Mordred what you know about the future?” Priscilla asked in a shrill whisper.

  “Some, yes,” said Nathan.

  “But Mordred is evil. He has something to do with Daddy’s missing amulet, I just know it.”

  “He is not evil,” Nathan insisted a little louder than he’d intended. He, too, glanced over at the spirelings and mouthed an apology.

  “How can you be so sure?” Greg asked.

  “Because at one time Mordred and I were good friends,” Nathan said.

  “Friends,” Priscilla said. “You and Mordred?”

  “Oh, yes indeed. He and Hazel were the first two friends I made when I came to this world as a young boy.”

  “Not the witch Hazel?”

  “Well, back then she wasn’t a witch. Just a girl, about the same age as you are now.”

  “But that would make you and Hazel about the same age,” said Greg.

  “That’s right,” admitted Nathan.

  “But Hazel’s an old hag,” Melvin said, the concept of tact still foreign to him.

  “Yes, well, admittedly she hasn’t aged well since she turned to the Dark Arts.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Priscilla.

  “A question for another time,” Nathan told her. “You were asking about Mordred. He can be a bit ambitious, I’ll admit, but basically he’s a good man. His actions may seem questionable, but I can assure you he’s done only what he thought is best for the kingdom.”

  “Wait, how did you get here?” Priscilla asked. “To Myrth, I mean.”

  “That I cannot say.”

  “Just what kind of actions do you think Mordred has taken?” Lucky asked in a voice that was nearly as disapproving as the one Princess Priscilla had used earlier. Obviously not wanting to be left out, Melvin repeated the question, his tone not quite as disapproving, but still quite skillful for one so young.

  “I’m afraid it’s a bit premature for me to answer that,” Nathan said, leaving no room for argument. “Anything else you’d like to ask?”

  “As if it would do any good,” said Melvin, who must have felt comfortable with the irked tone he had used before, because he was sticking with it now.

  “Nothing then?”

  “Why would you tell Mordred things about the future when you won’t tell us?” Priscilla asked.

  “Good question,” admitted Nathan.

  Greg thought it was an excellent question, and he asked it again, just to be sure the magician wouldn’t try to evade it. But Nathan surprised him by answering.

  “Everything I told Mordred about the future I told him years ago, when we were kids and I didn’t know any better.”

  “Wow, how long have you known about this prophecy?” asked Lucky.

  “Since before I came to this world,” admitted Nathan.

  “But how is that possible?” said Greg. Then he thought about it. Was it any more impossible for Nathan to know the future before he arrived on Myrth than it was for him to know it at all?

  “I was told much of what would happen in the last prophecy, and in Simon’s latest, before I ever left my world,” said Nathan. “In fact, it was the excitement of those stories that peaked my interest in coming here in the first place.”

  “But who could have told you about the prophecies back then?” asked Priscilla. “Even Simon didn’t know about them yet. Who else knows about the future, Nathan?”

  The magician offered a devilish smile. “Everyone knows about the future. It’s just that most know only the future of those who’ve passed before them.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Melvin. Greg was glad he wasn’t the only one who didn’t understand.

  “Ah, now you’re into an area I feel we should not discuss. In fact, we really ought to get some sleep. We have a long day ahead of us, as usual.”

  Greg recognized that tone. Nathan was through revealing secrets. Lucky gave Greg a nudge, and the pair followed Priscilla back to their bedding. A moment later Greg heard a grunt as Melvin squirmed his way between bedrolls and pulled his shield over top of himself. Then all was quiet, aside from Ryder’s snoring and the occasional scream drifting upon the wind.

  For a while the stench of trolls assaulted Greg’s nostrils. He fought hard to breathe through his mouth until at last he began to drift off. What seemed a moment later, he awakened to the more pleasant smell of meat cooking on an open fire, though a quick glance around the area revealed the source of the scent to be nothing more than Lucky rummaging through his magic pack. Unbelievably the others were scurrying around in the gloom just prior to dawn, and Greg was last to rise.

  He sat up slowly. Rake screeched and hopped down from his chest, and only then did Greg understand how he’d finally managed to fall asleep. The shadowcat’s purr was a more potent sedative than any tranquilizer sold on Earth.

  They rushed to finish breakfast, knowing a few minutes saved might make the difference in them reaching their goal in time, and then set out again with the eternal torch to guide them until the sun peeked over the horizon. All day they hurried, and by nightfall Ryder announced that they had managed to cut some time off the trip.

  “An hour?” Greg said. “That’s all?”

  Ryder shook his head. “We’ve only been gone a day and a half.”

  “At least we have Lucky with us,” Melvin pointed out the next morning. “It’s great to be able to travel without having to worry about running into monsters everywhere.”

  A terrifying screech broke the silence at that moment, proof that Fate never really cares much for boasters. Greg looked to the sky. Dozens of dark silhouettes streaked past the rising sun. A nauseating stench, like that of decaying flesh, wafted down on the wind.

  “Harpies!” Ryder shouted.

  Greg had seen only one other harpy in his life, on his first trip to Myrth. The creature that had shared Priscilla’s cell was part human, part vulture. All parts were equally disgusting. That harpy had been too busy eating to cause Greg trouble, but these seemed to have a completely different idea of how human-to-harpy relationshi
ps should go.

  “Look out!” Priscilla screamed.

  One of the bird-women swooped down at Greg, her gnarled claws splayed, her sharp beak pulled into a nasty grin. Nathan’s staff flashed through the air and caught the harpy midway up her torso. Her wailing shriek echoed throughout the mountains long after she plummeted to the ground.

  Greg thrust out his own walking stick in time to fend off a second attack. Lucky followed his lead, striking out at a third, and Ryder wielded his sword at a fourth. Even Melvin, who didn’t know the first thing about chikan, held his own, thanks to his natural agility and dragonslayer heritage.

  Priscilla, however, remained glued in place, a scream frozen on her face.

  “Watch out!” Greg yelled as one of the harpies soared straight at her. He raced forward, stabbed out his walking stick and barely managed to divert the attack.

  Priscilla never moved. Instead she started to cry.

  Greg didn’t have time to ask why. For each attacker he knocked aside, another flew in to take its place. So far he’d been lucky, but each time the harpies regrouped and came back as strong as before, and if it came down to a question of which side held the most stamina, even Greg would have bet on the harpies.

  A cackle from behind caused him to duck and thrust out his stick. The hard wood struck one of the harpy’s extended claws and sent her cartwheeling into a shrub. Greg lingered a bit too long watching. He sensed another attack from behind, and while his mind warned him to dodge out of the way, something also told him he would be too late.

  He dropped anyway, in agonizing slow motion, heard the beating of her wings, gasped at the putrid stench . . . but no impact ever came. At least not for Greg. A tormented shriek exploded just above his head, and then . . . nothing but silence.

  Gnash wiped off the blade of his axe. Apparently he’d just vaulted over Greg and dispatched the harpy’s nearly fatal blow with a completely fatal blow of his own. Greg didn’t know what to say. “Thank you,” he mumbled, but the words seemed somewhat inadequate.

  The spireling swung his axe up to rest on his shoulder. “We Canarazas believe in prophecies too.”

  He turned then and headed down the trail as if nothing had happened. Only then did Greg take in the scene around him. With the exception of a lot of badly maimed harpies, no one was injured. Princess Priscilla stood nearby, her walking stick held loosely at her side, tears on her cheeks.

  Then Greg remembered the harpy from Ruuan’s lair. While Greg couldn’t have been happier to know the hideous creature for only a few minutes, Priscilla had spent three days with it. The two hadn’t exactly been friends, but Greg knew Priscilla had felt bad about that harpy’s fate. Clearly she wasn’t happy about the fate of these harpies either. He didn’t know what to say to comfort her, but he knew he should try something.

  “It was them or us,” he finally told her.

  “I know,” she said, sniffling, “but who’s to say our lives are any more important than theirs?”

  Greg didn’t have an answer, so Melvin answered for him. “Isn’t it obvious? No one ever wrote a prophecy about them.”

  Nathan’s Tale

  “Two hours?” moaned Greg. “That’s all?”

  “We’ve only been gone a few days,” Ryder reminded him.

  “Which means we only have about a week left,” Priscilla pointed out.

  She was right. It should have been far quicker for the eight of them to travel this route than it had been for the king’s army, but deep snow was stealing away any advantage they gained. At this rate they would never reach the northern border in time. Still Nathan refused to disobey the spirelings’ orders.

  “Aren’t your powers a match for theirs?” Greg whispered when everyone but Gnash and Gnaw had gathered around the campfire. The two spirelings were standing a good distance away, guarding the trail, but they snapped instantly to attention and snarled.

  “I could possibly overpower them, yes,” Nathan said, not bothering to lower his voice, “but not without harming them, which I refuse to do.” Fifty feet away, Gnash and Gnaw relaxed slightly, but still kept a wary eye on the humans.

  “Oh, it’s okay to kill a bunch of disgusting harpies,” Priscilla said with a huff, “but not your precious spirelings.”

  “Well, yeah,” said Melvin. “I like Gnash and Gnaw. Besides, have you ever gotten a good look at a harpy?”

  “So they’re not beautiful,” cried Priscilla. “They still have feelings.”

  Annoyed over the outburst, the guards marched to the campfire, axes poised for a fight. “Why are you shouting?” Gnash shouted himself.

  Melvin tossed a loose bit of bark at the fire. “The princess here is comparing you to a bunch of harpies.”

  “No, I would never think of insulting you like that,” Priscilla snapped. Everyone stared at her blankly. Finally she screamed and jumped to her feet, and no one knew what to say when she stormed off into the dark.

  After a moment, Nathan stood up too. “I better go talk to her.” He disappeared into the woods, and Gnash and Gnaw quickly returned to their posts.

  “Don’t those two ever sleep?” Greg said to no one in particular.

  “Not if you ask them,” answered Ryder.

  “My brother Marvin says spirelings sleep just as much as you and me,” Melvin told them both, “only instead of doing it all at once they do it all day long, alternating instants of sleep with instants awake.”

  “You’re kidding,” said Greg.

  “No,” Lucky said, “I’ve heard the same thing. They’re actually sleeping most of the time. They only fully wake up when they need to move really fast.”

  Greg studied their faces. “You’re putting me on, right?”

  A rustling erupted from the brush, but Greg was not alarmed, since neither spireling deemed it necessary to investigate. Nathan and Priscilla emerged from the woods. Their conversation must have gone well, because Priscilla was actually smiling.

  “Look at you,” Lucky said when he saw Priscilla’s face. “What did he say to you?”

  “Oh, nothing.” Her voice could only be described as lilting. She offered Nathan a wink, glanced at Greg and giggled.

  “What are you laughing about?” Greg asked.

  “Not a thing,” she said, then blushed and giggled again.

  Greg had never felt less at ease in his life, a powerful statement when you stopped to consider the events of the past couple of weeks. “Oh, for Pete’s sake, I’m going to sleep.”

  “I’m tired,” Priscilla announced the next day.

  “Me too,” said Melvin. “Hey, maybe this would be easier if we made up some sort of game to pass the time.”

  Ahead lay a narrow rock-strewn path descending the face of a treacherously steep cliff. As if the landscape weren’t bad enough, the sun beat down, unusually intense, melting the snow and leaving behind a mixture of slush and mud that was nearly impossible to negotiate. In spite of the sunshine, the air felt just as cold as always.

  Lucky sighed. “How about sliding down a mountain? That sounds fun.”

  “You go first,” Greg said with a grunt. The flat rock he picked for a stepping-stone shifted and slid downhill while he flailed madly to keep his balance. He needn’t have bothered. Gnaw raced forward and caught him before he made it halfway to the ground.

  “Uh, thanks,” Greg mumbled.

  Gnaw merely nodded and returned to his post at the back of the group. While Greg was grateful for the protection, it did little to ease his fears. Just the fact the spirelings felt they needed to guard him so closely was a constant reminder that the world of Myrth was fraught with danger, even with Lucky in their midst.

  “Anyone want to hear a joke?” asked Melvin.

  “No,” the others shouted in unison.

  “But look at Greg. He’s so
tense you could bounce a boulder off his chest.”

  Greg winced, remembering a day not long ago when the boy might have done just that.

  “You are a bit tense, Greg,” Lucky observed.

  “See,” said Melvin. “How about this one? Did you hear about the dragonslayer who made the same mistake twice?”

  The others ignored him, but Melvin didn’t seem to care.

  “Trick question,” he chortled, as if they were actually stumped. “There’s no such thing as a dragonslayer who ever made a mistake.”

  “How is that funny?” asked Greg.

  Melvin gave him an odd look. “Don’t you get it? Maybe I told it wrong. Dragonslayers who make one mistake don’t live to make another.”

  Greg frowned. “There’s nothing funny about that.”

  “Oh yeah, well then why didn’t the dragonslayer make the same mistake twice?”

  Greg groaned. “You just asked that.”

  “No, this is different. Come on. Why didn’t the dragonslayer make the same mistake twice?”

  Greg closed his eyes, hoping the boy would go away.

  “Because he got burned the last time.” Melvin nearly doubled over, cackling at his own joke. Several seconds passed before he noticed no one else was laughing. “Oh, like you could do better.”

  “Well, we sure couldn’t do worse,” Greg muttered under his breath.

  “Oh, yeah?” said Melvin. “Then let’s hear it. Let’s hear one of your Earth jokes.”

  Greg went back to pretending he wasn’t listening.

  “What are you, scared?” Melvin challenged.

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Greg said, realizing he would have to cooperate if he wanted any peace. He thought a moment. “Okay, how many dragonslayers does it take to change a light bulb?”

  Melvin looked at him with a blank expression, as did Lucky and Priscilla.

  “What’s a light bulb?” Melvin asked.

  “Oh, right. Okay, how about this instead? Knock, knock . . .” Again the others just stared. “Oh, forget it.”