by Trevor Pryce
Across the battlefield, Coorah grabbed Arabanoo’s hand. “We are!”
Arabanoo’s tree frogs shouted, “And us!”
A great croaking arose from the hunters and trackers, from the farmers and merchants and crafters. “We are!”
Ponto roared his approval and tossed his tree into a snarl of scorpions. Frogs hopped through a break in the scorpion line, following Burnu and Dingo. With the Kulipari in front, the frog army drove the scorpions and spiders slowly uphill …
Until the spider queen’s nightcasters started weaving their foul magic.
Spider silk fell in thick strands from the evening sky, spooling around the frogs, as strong as corded vine and as sticky as tree sap. The Kulipari sliced through the strands, but Darel noticed the warriors weren’t glowing so brightly anymore. They were losing power.
He dodged an attacking spider and turned to Gee. “The Kulipari are going to burn out if they don’t stop soon.”
“Duck!” Gee croaked, and Darel dropped, narrowly avoiding a slashing pincer, then lashed out with one of his legs.
As the sticky silk continued to fall, the frog advance slowed, then stopped. The Kulipari still blazed—but not as brilliantly—and the endless scorpion armies continued to pour into the Amphibilands.
With Gee at his side, Darel fought closer and closer to the lizard troops. He was finally in the thick of battle, but it wasn’t like his daydreams. Real war was ugly, with pincers slashing and screams of pain. The stink of blood and terror filled his nostrils, and his body ached while his mind throbbed with worry.
Was his mom okay? How about Coorah and Old Jir and the triplets?
He swallowed his fear and pressed onward until a cry sounded from the frogs on the other side of the battlefield.
“What’s that?” he asked.
Gee risked a glance in the direction of the sound. “King Sergu and Yabber are here! And their crocs.”
Darel parried a scorpion tail, his dagger ringing against the stinger. He staggered, and the scorpion lunged—directly into a rock-trap the frogs had built earlier.
“Yabber’s protecting the king,” Gee reported, as they skirted a mass of spider warriors. “Oh, no. Commander Pigo’s after them. He’s going to—I can’t look.”
“What’s the king doing?” Darel asked, slashing a battle net with his dagger.
“He’s dreamcasting, I think. Either that or napping.”
“He’d better stop this falling silk soon. Look at the Kulipari. They don’t have much time left; they’re exhausting their poison.”
“The king’s got more worries than that. Pigo’s surrounding him with those red-banded scorps.”
“And we,” a voice said, “are surrounding you.”
Captain Killara and two dozen of his lizard mercenaries formed a ragged circle around Darel and Gee.
“You’ve got no chance against all of us,” Killara said, his tongue tasting the air. “Sheathe your weapon.”
Darel sheathed his dagger, and Gee tossed his stick aside. Then Killara snapped manacles around their wrists and dragged them away. Toward the scorpion command post.
Toward Lord Marmoo.
OORAH GASPED WHEN THE FIRST strands of silk fell from the sky. She’d heard of nightcasting but never imagined she’d actually see such a terrible thing. In minutes, the tide of the battle turned. With every frog struggling under the sticky silk, the scorpions and spiders regained the upper hand.
Even the Kulipari, who had seemed invincible, were starting to slow down.
She remembered something Darel had told her: that Old Jir had been a Kulipari once, but he’d exhausted his powers and lost all his strength. Looking with the eyes of a healer, she could tell that these three—or four, she wasn’t sure—new Kulipari were close to that point.
The arrival of the turtle king and his helper gave her hope. Except they didn’t seem to join the battle so much as just … sit there.
Then the scariest of the scorpions cut through the frog army, directly toward the turtles. Exhausted from the battle and the nightcast silk, the frogs fell back.
But not Coorah. She was treating a patient; she wouldn’t retreat. And not Arabanoo and his tree frogs, either, forming a guard around her.
That’s why they were close when it happened.
While Coorah splinted a broken bone, the turtle king suddenly opened his eyes. “It’s done, Yabber. The Veil will stand, and I narrowed the rip that the spider queen tore. The frogs will need to defend only the Outback Hills, not every single border.” His croc reared upward and slammed a few attacking scorpions. “Now I’ll stop this rain of webbing. Jarrah’s grown strong, it’s true, but—”
“I already took care of it!” Yabber blurted, arching his long neck. “Look around! I’m telling you, Your Exalted Shelliness, I’m finally getting the hang of this dreamcasting business.”
The old king peered upward. “Indeed you are. Jarrah’s silk is faltering already … There. Stopped. Well done, my star pupil.”
Coorah glanced at the sky: no more silken strands were falling from above. But now the scorpions had the turtles surrounded—not that they seemed very concerned.
“Oh, it’s nothing,” Yabber said, as his croc batted at the scorpions with his tail. “Not when you’ve learned from the best—which I have, of course. I mean you, Your Majestic Turtlehood, and I suppose that—”
“Yabber!” the king interrupted. “Pay attention. Is there anything we can do for the Kulipari? They’re weakening.”
“Well, I’m not sure if—”
At a signal from their commander, all of the red-banded scorpions sprang at the king’s crocodile, pincers snapping and stingers curved.
“Watch out!” Coorah shouted.
The king’s crocodile snapped and thrashed, but somehow the scorpion commander vaulted onto her back, directly behind Sergu.
And before Coorah could shout another warning, the scorpion commander drove his stinger into the king’s unprotected neck.
The king gasped and collapsed in his saddle.
Yabber turned at the sound, his eyes round and terrified—then furious. A wave of power poured from him, flinging the scorps fifty feet in all directions: a raw explosion of force completely unlike ordinary dreamcasting.
And then, with her head still dizzy from the blast of power, Coorah saw three things. She saw King Sergu slumped in his saddle—dying. She saw the Kulipari, their colors fading, facing battalions of fresh scorpion troops. And she saw Darel and Gee, manacled and defeated, being dragged by the lizards behind enemy lines.
ROM HIS COMMAND POST, MARMOO watched the lizard mercenaries dragging two young frogs closer. He hoped one of them was Darel, the croaker who’d infiltrated his camp. He clicked his mouthparts, savoring his victory over the young frog and his precious Amphibilands.
Temporarily allying himself with the spider queen had proved wise. Her nightcasting had drained the Kulipari.
He glanced at her, wondering if the time was right to strike.
“The turtle king!” she cried, her eyes shining.
“What?” he asked.
She laughed triumphantly. “Your Commander Pigo struck a killing blow. I can feel that King Sergu is dying. Look, there!”
In a clearing in the battle below them, two crocodiles snarled and snapped. And on the back of the larger croc, King Sergu slumped in a pathetic heap.
Marmoo scanned the battlefield for Pigo and raised his pincer to summon him, then told Jarrah, “Do you see what my promises are worth? I told you I’d give you the turtle, and here he is, dying at your feet. Now, then—what happened to your webs, the ones falling from the sky?”
“My ladies-in-waiting are handling that. They …” Jarrah frowned, confusion hardening her expression. “They stopped casting. Something’s wrong.”
Stepping out of the command post, Marmoo looked toward the ladies-in-waiting and for a moment didn’t understand what he was seeing. Seven big bundles of silk lay on the ground. The ladies-in-waiti
ng were nowhere to be seen.
Except … those bundles were the ladies-in-waiting. As if the magic had turned on them and consumed them.
“What is this?” Jarrah snarled beside him. “The turtle king! He did this.” She stalked toward the bundles. “No, not him. That bumbling apprentice—he killed my ladies. I’ll tear out his eyes and use his shell as a table, I’ll …”
Marmoo turned away, hiding a smirk. He was pleased with the results of his alliance with the spider queen but even more pleased to see the limits of her powers. Now that the Amphibilands had fallen, it was only a matter of time until he got rid of Jarrah.
ITH A HEAVY BACKPACK slung over one scaly shoulder, Captain Killara dragged Darel along the uneven ground.
Rocks scraped at the frog as he struggled weakly against his manacles. He turned his face away from the jeering crowds of scorpion warriors, his heart beating fast.
Beside him, Gee squirmed. “Let go, snakeface!”
Nogo the rock lizard smacked Gee with a scaly paw, then hauled him closer to Lord Marmoo’s command post.
Finally, Killara tossed Darel to the ground.
Darel grunted at the impact and rose into a crouch, his manacled hands in front of him. He took a look at Marmoo. There was no question why he was the scorpion lord. With his carapace gleaming and his jointed tail swiveling above him, he was so commanding that he made even the brutal Pigo, who stood next to him, look harmless.
“This is the frog who defied me?” Marmoo said as he eyed Darel disdainfully. “This little nothing of a mud-belly?”
“That’s right,” Darel said, swallowing his nervousness. “I guess that means you’re pretty easy to defy.”
Marmoo leaned closer, his tail curving overhead. “The Amphibilands is mine. I’ll crush your burrows and eat your tadpoles. You have brothers and sisters? Commander Pigo likes them raw. Isn’t that right, Pigo?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“I prefer them roasted on a skewer, myself.” Marmoo’s mouthparts shifted in anticipation. “There’s no accounting for taste.”
Darel gulped. “You’ll never take the Amphibilands.”
“I already have.”
“You haven’t even gotten past me.”
“Past you, little frogling?” Marmoo sneered. “You’re not an obstacle—you’re a snack. After I sting you, I’ll use your hide to polish my tail.”
Darel almost smiled at the word “sting.” Instead, he puffed his throat. “You’re not fast enough to sting me.”
Marmoo’s side eyes narrowed, and he leaned closer, looming above the crouching, manacled Darel. “The turtle king’s dying,” he snarled. “The Kulipari are tapped out. I’m going to kill everything you love, croaker—every pond, every tree, every friend and family member.”
“You’ll try,” Darel said.
Marmoo reared back to strike. He was so close that Darel saw his pale underbelly stretched above him, saw his tail quiver and his stinger flash downward.
A moment before impact, Darel slipped his hands from the unlocked manacles. At the same moment, Gee shot his tongue out, even faster than a scorpion’s sting, and snagged Marmoo’s tail.
That was all the time Darel needed.
He dove forward, under Marmoo. The scorpion lord’s tail whipped forward again, but Darel was quicker. He plunged his dagger deep into Marmoo’s unprotected belly.
Marmoo bellowed in anger and pain, then toppled to his side—and all the scorpions nearby froze, staring in confusion and disbelief at their fallen lord.
By the time Pigo remembered himself and started screaming orders, Darel and Gee had sprung into the air, leaping into the thick of the lizard mercenaries. They raced past Killara, who blocked the scorpions’ pursuit. The lizard captain still wore Darel’s backpack—which was full of the turtle king’s sand dollars.
Darel heard Pigo behind him, shouting, “Betrayed! We’ve been betrayed by the lizards!”
“You only paid us to enter the Amphibilands,” Killara answered. “We accepted a new client for the rest of the day. Happy to serve you again tomorrow, though, Commander Pigo.”
Darel laughed as he bounded away.
That had been his plan: Quoba had ghosted across enemy lines and offered Killara the turtle king’s money to pretend to capture Darel and Gee … and to leave their manacles unlocked. Killara resented the scorpions for underpaying him and was willing to work for Darel instead.
After all of his dreams of battlefield triumph, Darel had used old-fashioned wood-frog cunning to win.
“Now what?” Gee asked, as they landed in the branches of an acacia tree.
“Now Pigo will retreat,” Darel said. “Scorpions don’t fight once their leader’s down.”
Gee puffed out his throat. “That’s the only good thing about scorps.”
“That and their soft underbelly.”
“I can’t believe you killed Marmoo,” Gee said, his eyes bulging. “That’s just … wow! I mean—Darel, you killed Marmoo!”
“Well, I had a little help from a friend.”
Gee grinned for a second, then looked nervous. “But the spider queen’s still alive. And you know she’s already planning on coming back.”
“Not today, though,” Darel told him. “Today, we won.”
And as he said the words, the scorpions sounded a retreat, then scuttled away.
AREL!” A FAMILIAR VOICE CALLED.
Darel looked away from the retreating scorpion hordes. “Coorah! You’re all right! I was—”
“Come quickly! King Sergu is asking for you. There’s not much time.”
Darel hopped with Coorah across the battlefield toward the two crocodiles. Standing nearby were Chief Olba and the Kulipari and Yabber.
The turtle king rested on a stretcher. Coorah’s father was treating him … but he looked pretty bad. Actually, he looked dead. His eyes were closed, and he didn’t seem to be breathing.
Then Coorah leaped into action. She pulled poultices from her pouch and croaked instructions to her father, telling him to mix three herbs into a paste. She inspected the king’s wounded neck, and her fingers were a blur as she started treating him.
A minute later, the turtle king took a shallow breath, and then his eyelids flickered.
“You did it, Coorah,” Gee said, his voice awed. “You saved him!”
Coorah shook her head. “No, the poison’s too deep. I—I’m sorry. He doesn’t have long.”
“You did well, healer,” King Sergu whispered. “You’ve given me a chance to say … one last thing.”
Darel felt his eyes moisten and blinked away his tears.
“Come closer, everyone,” King Sergu said, weakly. “You too, Darel.” He took a shallow breath. “Soon the battle will begin again. And the next time, I won’t be here to fight alongside you.”
“What shall we do?” Chief Olba asked.
“Protect yourselves,” the dying king said. “You have the Kulipari now, and Yabber.”
“I’m just an apprentice!” Yabber said. “I don’t know how to—”
The king raised his flipper, and Yabber fell silent. “And the Amphibilands has a secret weapon,” Sergu continued.
“So secret that even I don’t know what it is?” Chief Olba said.
“Not what,” the king answered, with a weak smile. “Who. There is more strength in ordinary frogs than anyone knows. You don’t need poison to become heroes. Darel proved that.”
“That’s our secret weapon?” Olba asked. “Frogs?”
“One of you must lead the defense,” the turtle king said. “One of you must teach these farmers and merchants how to fight for their homes. Must train warriors and—”
“Always willing to serve, my king,” Burnu said, with a crisp salute. “I will command the defense and train the frogs. I will—”
“He doesn’t mean you,” Quoba said, in her soft voice.
“No,” the king said. He pointed shakily at Darel. “I mean you.”
“Me?” Darel croa
ked. He’d always imagined that victory would mean applause and a big medal, not more responsibility. “But I don’t know the first thing about defending the Amphibilands.”
“You will learn,” Sergu whispered, a faint smile on his creased face. “The Kulipari aren’t the only frogs with power.”
“They’re the only ones with poison, though.”
“Ordinary frogs don’t need poison,” the king repeated, his golden eyes closing. “You will learn to tap the power that is already inside you. You will …”
The turtle king died with the rest of his words unspoken.
HEY BURIED KING SERGU AND the fallen soldiers with honors. A mournful chorus sang, and Chief Olba gave a speech of tribute. In the crowd, curious children clustered around Yabber and the Kulipari. Gee’s brother Miro perched on one of Ponto’s massive shoulders, and a young tree frog sat on the other.
Afterward, in the tradition of the Amphibilands, a feast was served between the meadow and the nursery pond.
Tadpoles splashed through the water, chasing Dingo and trying to mimic her impossible acrobatics. Coorah sat with a much-bandaged Arabanoo amid a profusion of flowers, gifts from the dozens of frogs she’d saved. Burnu stood behind Chief Olba, strong and fierce. Quoba was nowhere to be seen—as usual.
Darel and Gee sat at a round table with their parents, nibbling on sweetcakes and moss flowers.
“Get another plate, Gurnugan,” Gee’s dad said. “You’re all skin and bones.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” his mother said.
