How to Save a Kingdom

by Bill Allen

  Melvin screamed. He gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on the troll’s neck. General Bashar tried to scream as well but couldn’t find the air. He fought with a desperation found only in the face of death, and even with his spell-enhanced strength, Melvin finally lost his grip and fell.

  General Bashar howled and clasped his hands over his throat, drawing Greg’s attention to a glint of metal that slipped free and slid down the troll’s massive chest to the ground. The missing section of amulet! Greg realized too late. General Bashar was already bending to retrieve it.

  Nathan leapt forward with his staff again and landed a solid blow to the troll’s ear.

  Greg didn’t waste the opportunity. He lunged for the amulet.

  No sooner had his fingers clasped around the shape before Greg felt his world lurch. As if someone had flipped a switch, the deafening roar of battle disappeared and the light of day was extinguished. Greg was left in a murky darkness surrounded by unpleasant odors he’d smelled only once before. He didn’t know how it had happened, but proof that it did was lying just beyond the edge of recognition behind the shadows.

  Somehow he’d just hopped across the kingdom to the center of the Shrieking Scrub, and now here he was, alone on the rotted wood floor of Witch Hazel’s tiny shack.

  Trading Harts

  “So, you managed to survive,” came a familiar voice from the darkness.

  Greg squinted but could see nobody responsible for the sound. Then a small patch of black shifted, darker than the surrounding gloom, and a man’s face was revealed by a small bit of light cast by a nearby candle. “Mordred,” Greg gasped.

  “Quiet,” the dark magician told him. “It is most certainly not what you think.”

  “So,” came a grating voice from behind. Greg felt his blood run cold. “You’ve brought me my amulet. Give it to me.”

  Greg spun to find Hazel looking deceptively feeble, one arm stretched outward, her wrinkled palm turned up to receive her prize. He tightened his grip on the amulet General Bashar had dropped, but felt his arm reach forward against his will.

  “No,” Mordred commanded, and Greg’s arm stopped in midreach. “That is not the agreement we made.”

  Greg couldn’t move. He glanced helplessly between the two of them. As terrifying as the battle had been, he wished he could return there, where the threats, though more abundant, were at least predictable. Here he didn’t know what to expect. Mordred seemed to be helping, but to what end?

  “Fool,” Hazel hissed. “I made that agreement only to bring the boy to the Shrieking Scrub. You hold no power here in my home.” Sparks shot from her fingertips, and a bolt of energy launched toward the magician. The magic engulfed Mordred in an eerie blue glow that pulsated for a few seconds and dissipated.

  Mordred frowned. “Ah, Hazel. My magic may be weaker here, but it is still far stronger than you know. Remember, you invited me into your home. Besides, my spell of protection was cast before I ever entered your domain. I think you will find it quite sufficient to protect me from your treachery.”

  Hazel shrieked, the sound incredibly loud as it echoed about her eerie quarters. A large black crow cawed from the back of a nearby chair and took to the air, disappearing into the shadows. “Then I’ll kill the boy.” Again she raised her hands. The air crackled at her fingertips.

  Greg shot a pleading glance at Mordred.

  “Fine,” said the magician. “Kill him. But it won’t give you what you seek.”

  Rake popped his head out from under Greg’s tunic to see what was happening, screeched and disappeared again. Greg wished he could disappear as well. Then he looked again at Hazel and took back the wish.

  “Hmmph,” Hazel said. “We’ll see.” And an icy blue bolt of electricity shot from her splayed fingertips.

  Greg leapt to the side, barely dodging the blow.

  Hazel’s face darkened with rage. “What manner of magic is this?” she screamed, and sent another bolt soaring Greg’s way.

  Again he barely dodged the blow, but Queen Gnarla’s magic provided the speed he needed.

  Mordred, too, looked surprised by Greg’s ability to avoid the strikes. “Leave him be.” Slowly he raised his hand, and Greg was able to see the faintest glitter of metal through the gloom. “He does not have what you’re after.”

  Greg felt his heart drop. He eased open the fingers of his clenched fist, only to discover the spirelings’ amulet was no longer there. He patted his tunic and found the precious amulet Nathan had given him in the forest near Pendegrass Castle was gone too.

  Mordred waved his hand, and the spirelings’ amulet appeared in Hazel’s palm. He then held out his own palm, where the pentagon-shaped center of the Amulet of Tehrer lay ready for the taking.

  “So, you have it,” Hazel shrieked. “Give it to me.”

  “You must first fulfill your end of our bargain. Give us the amulets you hold, and I will release this one to you.”

  “No,” Hazel spat. “Why should I trust you? If I give up my amulets you will take them and run, just as this wretched boy did before.”

  Mordred shook his head, his face disappearing and reappearing as his black hood moved from side to side in the darkness. “As I understand, the boy did not break his agreement with you then. You asked him to trade two amulets he carried for two that you held, and that is what he did. It was you who tried to take all four for yourself.”

  “Trivialities. You seek to deceive me.”

  “No,” insisted Mordred. “Unlike you, I still stand for what is good and right. You need not worry about me breaking our bargain. Just take what I have offered, and do with it what you can. It is the best you will manage.”

  Hazel’s face filled with rage. She looked between Greg and Mordred, clearly uncertain what to do.

  “Be patient, Hazel,” Mordred told her. “Destiny may allow you to one day rule this kingdom, but that day is not today. Now, give us what you know is ours, and the boy and I will be gone from your home.”

  The witch’s face knotted with frustration, but Greg could tell she knew she had no choice. She shuffled toward Mordred, who stopped her with his commanding tone.

  “Not to me. Give them to the boy.”

  Hazel scowled and turned to Greg. It was all he could do to keep from darting away as she crept forward and reached out a withered hand. In it she held three tiny pie-shaped amulets. Greg reached out to her the way he might if feeding a shark, and Hazel dropped the treasures into his palm.

  “So much for the three we brought you,” said Mordred. “What about the last?”

  “That one’s mine!” said Hazel. “Nathan gave it to me.”

  “Maybe so,” said Mordred calmly, “but it was part of our bargain.”

  “I will see you die for this,” she hissed, but still she waved her hand, and a fourth amulet appeared upon her palm. Slowly she leaned toward Greg.

  He wondered if she would clamp her bony fingers around his wrist if he dared reach for the gift, but she did not. He snatched up the fourth amulet and quickly hid it beneath his cloak with the others. He now possessed all four inner sections of Ruuan’s amulet, and his skin prickled so much under his tunic, he wondered if Rake had mistaken him for his next meal.

  “Now give me mine,” Hazel shouted. “You promised. You promised.”

  Mordred hung his head sadly. “Ah, Hazel, you poor thing. You need not worry about me breaking my word to you. The piece I promised is yours.”

  The magician waved a nearly invisible hand through the darkness, and Greg once again felt the tingle of metal in his hand. Actually this was more of a jolt. Greg was so shocked he literally threw the amulet at Hazel. In a flash his world once again shifted, a sudden blinding light struck his eyes and a deafening roar met his ears. The damp smell of things best left unimagined was replaced by the pungent odor of t
rolls, also best left unimagined, and Greg found himself once again on the lawn outside Pendegrass Castle amidst a raging battle.

  “Greghart, there you are.” Ryder came running toward him. “We couldn’t figure out what happened to you.”

  Greg quickly took in the scene around him. General Hawkins’s troops must have followed Marvin’s secret route too, because they were spilling onto the grounds from the east. Surrounded and beaten, the trolls that remained were retreating into the Enchanted Forest, where a chorus of horrible shrieks indicated that the foe waiting there might be worse than the one they faced in the yard.

  Nearby, Melvin stood next to King Peter, who had a long tear in the fabric of his robe but appeared otherwise unharmed. General Talbout had not been as fortunate. He lay on the ground, blood rushing from his side even as Lucky pressed his fingers over the wound.

  Nathan crouched over him and busily recited some sort of incantation. A blue energy formed in the magician’s palms, and Lucky moved his hands out of the way so Nathan could cover the wound with his healing magic.

  “Will he be okay?” Greg asked.

  Nathan did not respond but concentrated instead on his spell.

  General Talbout looked up at Greg under heavily lidded eyes and nearly smiled. “No, I’m afraid he won’t.” He started to chuckle, but the sound cut off with a gasp. “Don’t worry. I’m an old man, and I’ve been a soldier all my life. I always hoped I would die in battle.” His eyes dropped closed, and he coughed violently, blood spraying from his mouth. But then his eyelids rose again. “I’m just glad I got to see this one before I went.” He made as if to shift to a more comfortable position, grimaced and fell backward.

  Nathan stopped hovering his hands over the wound and pressed on the general’s chest to discourage his movements. From the looks of it, General Talbout wouldn’t have had the strength to rise anyway. Still the man sought out Greg with his eyes.

  “I’ve never seen men fight as heroically as you and the young dragonslayer fought here today. Perhaps the prophecies were a bit misleading, but there can be no doubt the world of Myrth has never known two greater heroes.” His eyes dropped closed then, and he fell silent, and Greg felt a terrible emptiness inside.

  “Is he . . . ?” he asked Nathan.

  “Dead?” Nathan responded. “No, just a bit melodramatic. He’s going to be fine.”

  The general’s eyes popped open again. “I am?”

  “Of course,” said Nathan. “You’re feeling weak because you’ve lost a lot of blood, but the wound has already healed. You’ll be as good as new in a couple of days.”

  Ryder bent over the man and smiled. “You kidding? He hasn’t been good as new for as long as I’ve known him.”

  The others laughed, and King Peter stepped forward, taking in both Greg and Melvin in a single glance. “I think General Talbout spoke for all of us when he commended you boys on your daring efforts here today. You two have acted above and beyond anything we could have expected.”

  Melvin puffed out his chest and grinned, but Greg felt too overwhelmed to appreciate the king’s words.

  “But tell us, Greghart,” King Peter said. “Where did you disappear to? We were all so worried.”

  Greg looked to Nathan, wondering if the magician already knew what had happened.

  Nathan was just rising from General Talbout’s side when he caught Greg’s eye. He gave no indication whether he knew or not, but he did nod as if wanting Greg to speak.

  “I went to Witch Hazel’s shack,” Greg said, his voice quavering as he recalled the ordeal.

  “You’re kidding?” said Lucky.

  “Does that sound like something I would kid about?”

  “Go on,” King Peter said. “Tell us what happened. How did you get there?”

  “Wait, wait.” Bart climbed over the body of a fallen troll and approached the others. He never missed an opportunity to gather lyrics for another song. “Okay, I’m ready,” he said, grinning widely. “Go on.”

  Greg looked again toward Nathan, but the man’s face revealed nothing of what he might be thinking. “I’m not sure how I got there. I think it may have had something to do with Mordred.”

  “My head magician, Mordred?” said King Peter.

  Nathan looked on with interest, and Greg thought for once it was possible the man didn’t know in advance what had happened.

  “Yes,” Greg said. “He was in Hazel’s shack when I got there. He seemed to be expecting me. I think he may have cast some sort of spell on the amulet, because it took me away as soon as I touched it.”

  Nathan raised one eyebrow, as if contemplating the possibility.

  Bart began snapping his fingers, talking to himself. “Whisked away to the witch’s shack, Greg found a magician, dressed in black . . .”

  “Quiet,” said Ryder. “Greghart’s trying to talk. What happened with Hazel, Greghart? How did you get away?”

  “Well, I think Mordred had something to do with that, too.”

  Greg explained everything that happened inside Hazel’s shack, afraid of what Nathan would say about Hazel ending up with the most powerful section of the Amulet of Tehrer.

  But Nathan did not look upset. “That’s exactly what I wanted you to do, remember?”

  Of course. Greg had been so terrified, he’d completely forgotten Nathan asked him to trade the key piece of Tehrer’s amulet for the others. He was glad he hadn’t disappointed anyone, but still he was concerned. It didn’t seem wise for Hazel to possess such a powerful object.

  “What if she finds the other pieces?” he asked Nathan.

  Nathan’s expression was grim, yet hopeful. “Much like with Ruuan’s amulet, those pieces have been scattered throughout the kingdom. It is not likely she will ever find them all.”

  “She found the pieces to Ruuan’s amulet,” Greg pointed out.

  Nathan smiled faintly. “Yes, I suppose she did. Well, in any event, you’re forgetting that we hold Ruuan’s entire amulet now. It could mean a battle far worse than we have seen here today, but it is a battle we won years ago, and if need be, we have strong hopes of winning it again.”

  General Talbout sat up. Already his color was beginning to return. “You’re talking about the Dragon Wars, aren’t you? I’ve heard of them, but I always thought they were nothing more than myth.”

  “If only that were true,” sighed Nathan.

  General Talbout’s expression turned sad. “A lot of brave men died in those wars, didn’t they?”

  “Very many indeed,” Nathan said. He stood and turned away, avoiding their eyes.

  Greg watched him go, thinking of all the questions he wanted to ask. Did Nathan know more about the future? Would Hazel ever find all six pieces of Tehrer’s amulet? Would Myrth be faced with another battle of Good versus Evil like nothing they’d witnessed since the Dragon Wars? Most importantly, was Greg prophesied to return? He wanted to ask all of these things, but he never got the chance.

  “Greg!” a girl’s voice shouted, and Greg barely had time to turn before Priscilla banged into him, nearly bowling him over. She hugged him more fiercely than Melvin had squeezed General Bashar’s neck during the recent battle. “I was so worried.”

  Embarrassed, Greg struggled to break free. “I’m okay,” he insisted. “Really, I am.”

  “Do you have our amulet?” a commanding voice called out from behind.

  Greg spun to face Queen Gnarla, whose expression was hard to interpret, even for a spireling.

  “Oh, right,” he stammered. He reached into his tunic and pulled out the one amulet tied to a leather cord instead of a chain, the one worn by General Bashar of the troll’s army. “Here,” he said, extending his hand toward the queen.

  Her eyes brightened, and her face broke into what Greg knew must be a grin, though it looked much l
ike the same ferocious expression she used whenever she was angry. As one, every spireling that remained standing after the day’s battle cheered to the Mighty Greghart for the safe return of their amulet. Queen Gnarla thanked him and took her prize, but Nathan stepped forward and forced the queen to meet his eye.

  “What do you want, Magician?”

  “This one section of amulet was originally given to you to guard, and it is being returned to you now for that purpose. But if the time comes when Ruuan’s amulet must be rejoined, you must be willing to give it up freely for the good of the greater whole.”

  “We do not appreciate you telling Us what We must or must not do,” said Queen Gnarla. “But We do understand the significance of the artifact Ruuan has given Us. If the dragon asks for it back, he has every right to receive it.”

  “It may not be the dragon who asks,” Nathan told her.

  She stared into his eyes a long moment before responding. “If and when the return of the amulet is requested, We shall determine the need. Should the future of Myrth be in peril, you can count on Us to do what is right.”

  “That is all I ask,” Nathan said, bowing.

  Queen Gnarla waited until he raised his head again. “Good. Because that is all We are offering.”

  Without another word she turned and took up the march for home. Every spireling standing bent to pick up a fallen comrade and fell into step behind her. Within seconds all evidence of the Canarazas was gone.

  But plenty of soldiers remained strewn across the lawn to remind Greg of the horrors they’d faced here. And even more trolls. Greg shuddered as he remembered the feel of his sword piercing that first troll’s body. He struggled to push back his shame. He was no hero. He was a murderer. Others rejoiced over the victory, but Greg could not find it within himself to join them. Hero or not, he wanted nothing more than to curl up into a tiny ball and cry.

  Second Chances

  “Come,” said King Peter. “You’ve been through a great ordeal.”

  “Wait,” shouted Bart. “There’s still so much I don’t know about the confrontation in Hazel’s shack.”