An Army of Frogs

by Trevor Pryce

  Darel eyed his hunched, filthy friend. “You want to hop to the Turtle Coves? You’re too weak from that cage; you’ll never make it.”

  “I spent my entire childhood chasing my crazy friend around the Amphibilands.” Gee grinned suddenly, and his bulging eyes seemed to clear. “I’m tougher than I look.”

  “You look as tough as a wallaby’s sneeze. We should head home.”

  “Which way are the Coves?”

  Darel pointed. “Just north of here. Past the mangrove swamp, on the coast.”

  “Then that’s where we’re going.”

  Darel stared at Gee, impressed. “After five days in a prison cell, you want to leap across the desert and through the swamp?”

  “We have to.”

  “Wow.” Darel saw courage in his friend that he’d never noticed before. It made him feel suddenly uncertain about himself—he had always been the one who pushed for the more daring plan.

  Gee held his gaze, then smiled his old goofy smile. “Well, I also heard that fat, juicy caterpillars grow on trees in the Coves, and the beach is soft as a lily pad.”

  Darel snorted. “It’s too dangerous, Gee. You’ve gone through enough and … and I need to make sure you’re safe.”

  “This is bigger than me, Darel,” Gee said, his voice only a little shaky. “The whole Amphibilands is depending on us.”

  “Well, when we get back, we’ll tell the chief to send someone to the turtles.” Darel led Gee down another passageway. “The armor’s just around the next corner. We’ll—”

  Three scorpion warriors stepped from a tent flap directly in front of them, and the biggest scorp snarled, “What do you think you’re doing?”

  For a second, Darel’s mind blanked. Then he said, “Taking the prisoner to the laundry.”

  “Why?”

  Darel scowled. “What do you care?”

  “Because if I don’t like your answer, I’ll sting you in the eye.”

  “I’m going to scrub the grime off him.” Darel shoved Gee. “Lord Marmoo isn’t giving the spider queen a snack that smells like this.”

  The scorpion’s side eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Something doesn’t look right. Take that frog back to his cage.”

  Darel shrugged. “Sure. But what’s your name? So I can tell Lord Marmoo you said it’s okay if his gift stinks. He probably won’t mind.”

  The big scorpion’s middle legs shuffled uneasily. “Fine, scrub him, then. Just be quick about it.”

  Darel prodded Gee with the side of his spear. “Get moving, croaker.”

  He marched Gee along two narrow alleys and around a corner, where they slumped in relief.

  “That was close,” Gee said.

  “Yeah, and we can’t get the armor now.”

  “So what do we do?”

  Darel scratched his forehead thoughtfully. He wanted to race for the Turtle Coves to warn the king, but he’d promised his mother that he’d look after Gee. He’d promised Gee’s father that nothing would happen. He couldn’t endanger Gee, not after he’d just saved him.

  “We sneak out of camp,” Darel finally said. “Then we leap for the Outback Hills.”

  OMMANDER PIGO CRESTED THE hill, followed by dozens of Queen Jarrah’s spider troops—though the queen herself traveled more slowly, in her fancy silken litter. He saw the encampment, the mightiest scorpion army in generations, and clicked his mouthparts in satisfaction.

  Once in the camp, he mounted a platform in the central square to make an announcement. “Lord Marmoo and Queen Jarrah are mere hours behind me, and we’re going to give them a welcome fit for royalty! Get to work, you lazy scorplings!”

  Scorpions skittered away to do his bidding, and he marched among them. “Widen this path! Clear a place for the queen’s tent. Clean yourself up—are you scorpions or sand fleas?”

  Tent poles were straightened and pincers cleaned and black carapaces polished. The spider servants wove a silvery tent of fine webbing for Queen Jarrah.

  As the camp grew tidier, Pigo remembered the pudgy frog that Lord Marmoo was presenting to the queen. He crossed to the cages, then frowned. “Where’s the guard?”

  “Which guard, sir?” one of the soldiers nearby asked.

  “The one watching the prisoners.” He peered at the cage where the frog was kept. “Croaker! Show your face. Don’t make me come in there after you.”

  More silence. Pigo slammed the cage door with his pincer—and the chain unwrapped from the bars and coiled at his feet.

  Broken.

  Snapped.

  For a moment, he simply stared. Then he flung open the door and lunged inside. Empty. The gift for Queen Jarrah had escaped.

  “Get me an elite squad!” he bellowed. “On the double!”

  His escort scattered, and Pigo questioned the soldiers who had been sitting at the table nearby. One of them said, “The lizards were guarding the cages, sir. Well, them and that frog.”

  “What frog?”

  “A sandpaper frog, I guess. He works for Captain Killara.”

  Pigo felt his stinger quiver with the urge to strike. “You’re telling me that a frog did this?”

  The soldier cowered. “I—I guess so, sir.”

  Pigo spun away, half-blind with fury. Some soft-skinned croaker had stolen the gift that Lord Marmoo promised to the spider queen? He paced, grinding his mouthparts, feeling his anger rise. Then he calmed himself with thoughts of tomorrow; after they invaded the Amphibilands, he’d kill dozens of frogs, hundreds.

  As he imagined the upcoming bloodbath, the crowd parted in a clattering of legs to reveal a squad of red-banded scorpions: the toughest fighters and trackers in the army.

  “Reporting for duty, sir,” one of them said, saluting with her pincer.

  “I captured a frog,” Pigo told them. “Threw him in that cage there.”

  “Yes, sir,” the red-banded squad leader said. “We saw him.”

  “Apparently, the lizards let a sandpaper frog guard him—and instead, he helped the prisoner escape.”

  “We saw him, too, sir.”

  Pigo narrowed his main eyes. “What does he look like? Big frog? Tough?”

  “Not particularly, sir. Small and quite young.”

  The anger returned in a red haze. “Take your squad, and find him. Find both of them.”

  “Easily done, sir. They’re green-bellied cowards; they must be running to the one place they think is safe—the Amphibilands. They’re hopping home.”

  “Yes,” Pigo said, his mouthparts shifting into a grin. “Of course. Catch them before they reach the Veil. Catch them and bring them to me.”

  WENTY MINUTES AFTER THEY left the scorpion encampment, Gee stumbled in the dunes and fell to his knees. The brutal yellow sun was shining down on the frogs, heating the sand and burning their skin.

  Darel dropped his spear and hefted Gee to his feet. “I got you, Gee.”

  “Sorry,” Gee said. “I’m still weak from the cage.”

  “Well, look on the bright side.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You lost some of your baby fat.”

  “Ha-ha.”

  But he smiled, and they struggled onward. Yet after hopping into the scouring wind for another hour, Darel realized they couldn’t outrun any pursuer. Once the scorps noticed Gee was gone and sent trackers after them, they were finished. No frog could beat a scorpion in the desert.

  That didn’t stop him, though. He struggled through the blinding light and bruising heat, his toe pads slipping in the sand and Gee’s weight numbing his shoulder.

  “We’ll be okay if they don’t realize we’re gone until tonight,” he mumbled.

  Gee didn’t answer. Too exhausted to even lift his head, he simply staggered on, inner eyelids closed and nostrils slitted against the sand.

  The scorching sun sank slowly in the sky. The endless dunes rose and fell and slowly smoothed into scrubland, with low thorny bushes and patches of rough weeds. When the hazy orange light of the setting su
n touched the wavy hills, Darel and Gee collapsed. Maybe Gee tripped, maybe Darel stumbled—either way, they found themselves suddenly splayed in the dirt.

  Unable to hop any farther, they crawled beside a spiny shrub, and Darel draped his mercenary’s cloak over it, forming a makeshift tent to give them a little shelter.

  Without even hiding their tracks, they fell into an exhausted sleep.

  HE SPIDER QUEEN’S WARRIORS carried her into the encampment on a silken litter that shone like silvery clouds.

  Marmoo scuttled alongside, hiding his disgust. He enjoyed a little elegance, but Jarrah was soft. She wouldn’t last two minutes in a battle. A good thing he didn’t need her in a battle. He needed her to destroy the Veil, and for that, she was perfect.

  Afterward, he’d sink his stinger in her neck. But at the moment, she was of key importance. So he kept his opinion to himself as her servants brought her to the elaborate silken tent that now rose beside his pavilion.

  She stepped nimbly from the platform and inspected her new quarters. “An adequate job,” she observed. “I will be almost comfortable here.”

  “We won’t inconvenience you for too long,” Marmoo assured her. “After you tear down the Veil tomorrow, you can return to your castle.”

  “Not until the turtle king is dead.”

  “I’ll deliver him to you, if you wish. We can’t attack the Coves directly, because the mangrove swamp’s in the way. But when he hears the Amphibilands has fallen, he’ll venture into the open—and I’ll be waiting. Happy to drag him to your castle for you.”

  “Perhaps. Or perhaps I will dispose of him here. We shall see.”

  “As you wish.” Marmoo gestured with a pincer toward her silken tent. “Well, you must be tired after our journey …”

  Queen Jarrah inclined her head. “I’ll admit I’m in the mood for a snack.”

  “Pigo!” Marmoo barked. “Fetch the frog.”

  “I’m sorry, my lord,” Pigo said, scuttling forward. “The lizards have managed to misplace the frog.”

  “The frog is gone?” Marmoo snapped.

  “Yes, my lord. Apparently, a croaker from the Amphibilands masqueraded as a sandpaper frog and infiltrated the lizard camp.”

  Marmoo’s mouthparts chewed angrily. “A frog did this?”

  “A frog named Darel.”

  “A croaker?” Marmoo snarled. “A croaker snuck into my camp? He stole my prisoner, my gift to the queen?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Marmoo’s tail swayed dangerously above him. “Somebody must pay for this, Pigo.”

  Pigo bowed his head, standing still and silent.

  With a sudden flick, Marmoo’s stinger blurred toward Pigo—then stopped a fraction of an inch from his neck. “Find me that frog, commander. Bring him to me.”

  “I’ve sent the elite squad to catch him, my lord.”

  “Very good.” Marmoo slitted his side eyes at Pigo. “They won’t fail me.”

  “I’m sure you’re right, Lord Marmoo,” Jarrah said, in her whispery voice. “However, I’m also disappointed. You promised me a taste of frog. Is this how you keep your word?”

  Marmoo felt a cold rage rising inside him. To be embarrassed like this in front of a loathsome spider. He hated all frogs on principle—but for the first time in a long time, he had reason to hate one personally. When the red-banded squad returned, he would make this Darel pay dearly.

  “I thought, my lord,” Pigo said, his voice deeply respectful, “that by way of apology we might offer the queen her choice of … morsels.”

  Marmoo watched as Pigo’s men shoved five struggling lizards toward the queen—including the lizard captain; Nogo, the rock lizard; and the three-toed skink.

  “I like the way you think, Pigo,” Marmoo said. “The lizards made the error, so let them pay for it. If that will suit you, Queen Jarrah?”

  She prowled along the line of lizards, stroking the one-eyed captain’s cheek, then squeezing the skink’s arm with her long fingers, as if she were checking fruit for ripeness. The skink twitched with panic, and she slowed down, clearly enjoying his fear.

  “So tomorrow morning …” Jarrah swiped a long, fuzzy leg across the rock lizard’s chest. “You will escort me to the Outback Hills, Lord Marmoo?”

  “Indeed, Queen Jarrah. In fact—” He turned to Pigo. “Position the army tonight. Surround the Amphibilands as completely as possible with the Veil still in place. We will not let a single frog escape.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  A terrified squeal sounded from the three-toed skink as the spider queen began draping him in her webbing.

  “If you’ll excuse me, Queen Jarrah,” Marmoo said. “I should oversee the placement of the troops.”

  “Of course, Lord Marmoo,” she said, licking her fangs.

  He spun on his mid-legs and crossed to the command tent. He consulted the maps, issuing orders and barking commands until the elite squad of red-banded soldiers returned.

  “Where are the escaped frogs?” he asked them.

  “They have vanished, my lord,” the leader said. “We found no trace of them between here and the Amphibilands.”

  “You lost them.”

  “I beg your pardon, my lord, but either they sprouted wings or—”

  Marmoo lowered his stinger until the sharp point hovered an inch from the squad leader’s face. “Or what?”

  “Or they headed in the opposite direction.”

  “Away from their home? They’re pathetic little frogs, you fool. They’d never brave the outback. You must’ve lost them.”

  “Yes, my lord. I take full responsibility for our failure.”

  “Good,” Marmoo said, and stung her.

  The body collapsed, and the other red-banded scorpions shifted uneasily. They didn’t like not having someone to obey.

  “You,” Marmoo said, pointing at another member of the squad. “You’re the leader now.”

  N THE MOONLIGHT, COORAH FOLLOWED the trail toward the first peak of the Outback Hills.

  She’d been camping in the hills for days, digging ditches and building barricades to slow the inevitable scorpion invasion. Well, that and healing injuries.

  With all the earthmoving and tree felling, a half dozen frogs had been hurt before they ever saw a scorpion warrior. Plus, she and her father had had to work through the night to save the two injured frogs who’d survived the attempt to warn the turtle king.

  She’d never seen such wounds before. The cuts and slashes were bad enough, but the scorpion poison made the injuries ten times worse.

  Her father had cleaned a puncture wound on the unconscious bullfrog’s shoulder, then just stopped.

  “What’s wrong?” Coorah had asked him.

  “I can’t stitch the wound closed,” he said. “Not while there’s still scorpion venom inside the cut.”

  “I think—” Coorah inflated her throat. “I think we need to draw the poison out.”

  “How?”

  “With an infusion of billygoat plum tree.”

  He eyed her dubiously. “Are you sure?”

  “That’s what Grandmother’s books say.”

  “But we don’t have an infusion like that.”

  “Actually, Dad, um …” Coorah took a little earthen jar from a shelf, one of the many concoctions she’d prepared but never used. “It’s right here.”

  She’d poured the medicine on the wound, and the bullfrog had groaned in pain. But a short time later the poison bubbled out of the wound. When they dabbed it away, the cut looked clean and healthy, and Coorah’s father was able to stitch it closed.

  “I was wrong about your studies,” he’d said when he finished. “Your grandmother told you to follow your heart—and she was right. Your heart just saved a life.”

  And now, as she climbed into the moonlit hills, he was frantically reading the old books himself, trying to learn a little about battlefield medicine before the attack.

  When she reached the top of the trail, Coorah s
ighed and patted her pouch of bandages and healing herbs. She’d finally had the chance to test her new medicines, and she wished she hadn’t. Still, she knew she’d see far worse before this was over.

  “Can’t sleep?” Arabanoo asked, hopping into step beside her.

  “I need more lemon-bark leaves. And”—she gave a weak croak—“I’ll sleep when this is over.”

  “Yeah.” He snapped a twig from a bush. “I keep thinking about Darel and Gee …”

  “You don’t even like them.”

  “Maybe not,” Arabanoo said. “But they’re the only frogs in the Amphibilands who aren’t boring.”

  “The only frogs?” she asked. “What about me? I’m fascinating.”

  Arabanoo kicked a dirt clod. “Well, other than you.”

  “I’m also modest,” she informed him.

  He flicked his inner eyelids. “And apparently bull-headed. I heard your father say you weren’t allowed to be up here alone.”

  “He says it’s too dangerous.” She glanced at the white-lipped tree frog. “Just like your mom told you.”

  “She says we’re too young. Like the scorpions will care about that.”

  Coorah nodded. “Yeah. And I think about Darel and Gee, out there somewhere. They’re our age and … well, I hope they’re okay.”

  “Darel’s too stubborn to die,” Arabanoo said, “and Gee’s too hungry.”

  She almost smiled. “You’d like each other if you ever—”

  An alarm whistle cut through the night.

  “Scorpions in the hills!” Arabanoo gasped, and sprang toward the sound.

  Coorah started to follow. Then she remembered the drills and hopped back down the slope. She had to make sure other frogs had heard the alarm. At the bottom of the hill, on the edge of the eucalyptus forest, dozens of frogs stood at the makeshift barricades and in the tunnels and pits. In the branches above, half-hidden tree frogs crouched beside piles of rocks and eyed the gloom. They had heard the alarm and were alert and waiting.

  In the quiet of the evening, a shout echoed from the hills—then the scuffle of fighting, and a scream.