by James Somers
A tiny pink paw scratched at a tiny pink ear in a high window of the castle. Lord Pipsqueak watched the progress of the Lonelys and their new candidate crossing the bridge the boy had just created. Anger burned within his albino’s eyes as they traversed the chasm, coming safely to the other side. The fog had failed. His Lycan had failed. The Chasm of Woe had failed. Unacceptable, he thought. Still, the Trial remained, and very few had ever survived the Trial.
As the white mouse turned on the stone window sill, a bone, twice the size of his body, fell at his feet. A large black dog barked at him, wagging its tail as Lord Pipsqueak picked up the bone and tossed it across the room. The dog followed playfully after it.
“Thurston!” Lord Pipsqueak shouted.
The ghostly apparition of a butler with thinning black hair and a beak-ish nose materialized in the air nearby. “You bellowed, sir?”
Lord Pipsqueak marched down a set of miniature stairs appearing beneath his feet as he descended from the high window sill to the floor. Each step faded away as he passed until all of them had disappeared completely. “Why did you let Rot in here, again?”
“Begging your pardon, sir, but your poochy has ways of getting to where he wants to go,” Thurston replied dryly.
Lord Pipsqueak looked up at the butler’s smoky figure hovering near the wall. “Thurston, remind me again why it is that I put up with your incompetence?”
“No doubt your desire to make my existence complete as I attend to your every whim,” he replied, yawning.
Lord Pipsqueak leered at his servant. “Thurston, if you weren’t already dead, I’d kill you.”
“Of course, sir,” Thurston said. “Shall I show the Master Caretaker and the boy to your throne room?”
Lord Pipsqueak waved him away as he crossed the floor. Thurston snorted then vanished with a puff of luminescent blue smoke. Rot, Pipsqueak’s dog, sat near the door drooling on the floor with his bone, waiting to play fetch. Lord Pipsqueak walked past him, grumbling to himself without noticing and entered a tiny gilded mouse hole in the wall. Rot moaned his disappointment.
LORD PIPSQUEAK
Percival watched cautiously as the great iron gates of Bloodmare Castle parted before his company. The gates were at least twenty feet tall—big enough for a giant to enter. He wondered if any ever had. Razors the size of axe blades decorated the fronts of the bars. “So much for that welcome feeling I was just beginning to get,” Percival said.
“Just remember where you are,” Mr. Lonely said. “Lord Pipsqueak certainly means to destroy you, but he won’t do it openly before the Council.”
“Okay, so what’s the deal with the mouse, anyway?” Violet said. “I just don’t understand why all of you are afraid of a little white mouse. Just squish him and be done with it.”
“That, my girl, is the voice of inexperience talking,” Mr. Lonely said. “I might look like just a little old man, but do you think you could destroy me so easily, Violet Charms?”
Violet’s eyes drifted to the ground. “Well no, but you’re the Master Caretaker.”
“And Lord Pipsqueak, despite his appearance, is an extremely powerful sorcerer. And sorcerer trumps a black belt any day, my dear.”
Percival wanted to come to her defense, but Mr. Lonely was right. Appearances could be very deceiving. He thought about how he must look—wielding this incredible power inside while on the outside he remained the nerdy guy who won science fair competitions and collected bugs for fun.
“I’m just worried about Percival,” Violet confessed. “Someone has already tried to kill us, and the Trial hasn’t even begun.”
“Well, at least you won’t be completely alone,” Mrs. Lonely said.
“What do you mean?” Violet asked.
Mr. Lonely grabbed a torch from a wall mount nearby as the great iron gates swung closed behind them. “Percival may take companions with him during the Trial,” he said, leading them down the expansive hallway ahead.
“So, you’ll be going with me?” Percival asked, feeling hopeful.
“Not I,” Mr. Lonely said. “I’m the Master Caretaker—the Council would never allow that. However, you can choose from among the denizens of our worlds—at least, anyone who volunteers to go with you.”
“That doesn’t sound very promising,” Percival said.
“What about me?” Violet asked. “Am I allowed to go with Percival?”
Mr. Lonely considered her request. “Yes, I don’t suppose they could find any reason not to allow you to go. As far as anyone is concerned, you are both denizens of Fantastique anyway. However, I would be wary of accepting help from anyone here in Horrif-I. Very few of the denizens of this world desire to have a new Master Caretaker. They’ll kill you, given the chance.”
“Then I guess I had better not give them that chance,” Percival said.
A luminescent smoke puffed into existence in the corridor before them. The smoke then coalesced into the figure of a ghostly man. “Greetings, Master Caretaker and company from the Grand Master of Mayhem, the Duke of Destruction, the Marshal of Malevolence, the Commodore of Chaos, yada, yada, yada—Lord Pipsqueak,” the man said.
“Thurston, never a pleasure to see you, as always,” Mr. Lonely grumbled. “Where is he, and where are the other delegates?”
The ghostly butler gestured toward a set of large, wooden doors intersecting the corridor ahead. “Right this way.” He floated ahead of them, passing through the doors. Percival and the others paused while the doors opened before them.
A chamber of immense proportion spread out before them. Instruments of torture lined the walls, and cages of iron hung suspended from the ceiling by chains. Various creatures resided in the cages—their gaunt expressions pleading for relief from their misery. At the far end of the chamber, about fifty yards away, gold coins and jewels of every imaginable sort sat heaped into a great mound around a single marble pedestal rising up through the middle. A tiny throne sat perched atop the pedestal, and upon that sat Lord Pipsqueak.
“Welcome, Master Caretaker,” Lord Pipsqueak said. “I trust your journey was uneventful.”
“A bit much with the fog and Lycan guard, but we managed,” Mr. Lonely said.
“A pity.”
“Excuse me?”
“Oh, I mean the fog and the werewolf,” Lord Pipsqueak said. “The fog is so difficult to control. And the Lycan, well, good help is so hard to find these days.”
“Where are the other delegates?” Mr. Lonely asked, suspiciously. “Were they told to create their own portals, as well?”
“Funny thing that,” Lord Pipsqueak said. “My servants managed to clear up that earlier problem we discussed. The other delegates are already here. At least, everyone except Marlon. I do hope something terrible hasn’t befallen him.” Lord Pipsqueak smiled fiendishly. “Horrif-I is so unlike Fantastique.”
“I’m sure Marlon will have no trouble,” Mr. Lonely said. “He’ll be here. He wouldn’t dare miss Percival’s Trial.”
Lord Pipsqueak feigned a smile. “Yes, the boy. I’m looking forward to seeing how you fare during the Trial, boy. Your mentor seems to place a great deal of confidence in your abilities.”
Percival wasn’t sure if he should say anything, but did anyway. “I’m grateful for the opportunity to prove myself,” he said.
Lord Pipsqueak stood up from his throne, holding his tiny pink paws behind his back. “Yes, well, let’s not be overly dramatic shall we? He climbed onto a wire, which Percival could barely make out in the dim light, and skittered down it on all fours toward a mantle on the far wall. He paused before a hole in the wall saying, “Thurston will show you to the Great Hall where the delegates have assembled.” Then Lord Pipsqueak disappeared through the mouse hole.
The spectral butler floated by them. “Come with me,” he said.
Percival and his company followed Thurston out of the mouse’s throne room, down another long, torch-lit corridor. Besides being a ghost, Percival wondered why the butler would be in th
e company of Lord Pipsqueak.
“Thurston, I was wondering,” Percival started. Mr. Lonely gave him a sidelong glance. “Why do you work for Lord Pipsqueak. I mean it seems sort of beneath you to work for a little white mouse.”
Mr. Lonely rolled his eyes, shaking his head.
Thurston, on the other hand, stopped turned then looked down his long nose at Percival. He gave a little snort and said, “I suppose it must be because the position for wet-behind-the-ears-whelp had already been filled.” He turned, continuing to float down the hall.
Percival stood there stunned, while Violet suppressed her laughter. He glared at her. Violet almost choked, but managed finally to compose herself. “Come on, killer, let’s not get left behind in this place. Percival broke into a smile, and they caught up with the Lonelys and their snobbish escort.
The next set of large doors opening before them revealed a massive space beyond. The floor consisted of cold gray concrete stained in ways that made Percival wonder about the gruesome circumstances causing its appearance. Thurston had diverted Mr. Lonely and his wife to a side stairway before leading Percival out onto the floor of what passed for a great arena.
As Percival and Violet walked out onto the floor he saw that a kind of coliseum surrounded them on all sides, roughly oval in shape, with many tiered levels rising beyond. Several thousand beings had been accommodated among the tiers of every sort Percival could imagine and many he never would have. They were all staring at him.
A wave of murmuring erupted as they surveyed the new candidate for the office of Master Caretaker. Most of what Percival could discern didn’t sound very encouraging. Clearly he wasn’t a favorite to complete this Trial, and many of these strange beings looked as though they might enjoy eliminating him personally.
The entire coliseum bore motifs inspired, possibly, by some Dark Ages torture chamber. It had rusted chains dangling from its ceiling, many tall blackened columns and gore encrusted weapons of destruction lining the walls, along with the occasional skeleton. Every room in Bloodmare Castle appeared to share darkness not only present in the wall coloring, but the kind that could be felt. The very air was thick with it almost to the point of inducing nausea.
Percival surveyed those seated around him and found Mister Lonely and his wife seated with the other delegates of the Council. Lord Pipsqueak managed to have the most prominent seat in the very middle of the delegates—really a throne more than a seat. Percival supposed it must be house rules for the hosting delegate to be the center of attention. Still, he was certain Lord Pipsqueak would have been the focus no matter where his Trial had been held. The mouse’s bodyguards, Dim Bones and Quill, stood on either side, as menacing as ever.
Percival’s hand began to ache. It was only at that moment that he realized Violet had been holding it and was now squeezing it absentmindedly. “Nervous?” he asked, looking at her with a pained smile.
Violet looked at him, puzzled, until she realized what she had been doing and let go—red rushing to her cheeks in the same instant. “Sorry,” she said, wiping her sweaty palms on her medieval warrior’s clothing.
Now that he thought about it, Percival was sorry he had made mention of Violet’s nervousness. What better excuse for her to hold his hand, and he’d bungled it. He frowned, sore at himself, and looked toward the white mouse now beginning to speak from his jagged throne. “Denizens of the imaginative worlds, I welcome you to Bloodmare Castle where we will begin the Trial of…”
“Percival Strange,” Thurston said, too loud for only Pipsqueak to hear.
“…Percival Strange, in order to find whether he is worthy of the office of Master Caretaker.”
A general murmur rose among the tiers again, until Lord Pipsqueak continued. “In times past, many have tried and died. Nevertheless, if this boy wishes to face the horrors of the Trial, who are we to prevent him?” Lord Pipsqueak smiled directly at Percival as he spoke. “Therefore, as is my right as part of the Council of Imaginative Worlds, I have graciously volunteered to host the event here in the realm of Horrif-I and determine the nature of his testing.”
Applause bloomed in the coliseum among the denizens of Horrif-I and its attendant allies, while it remained half-hearted at best from everyone else. Pipsqueak reveled in it for a moment, staring at Percival until the cheering died altogether. “The perilous path I have chosen begins in this arena and ends when you retrieve the crown of Queen Lilith.
A hush instantly fell over the entire coliseum. Even the beings from Horrif-I were stunned by what Lord Pipsqueak had said. Finally, Mr. Lonely spoke up, outrage clear in his voice. “No, you can’t—”
Lord Pipsqueak shut him down quickly. “I can! It is my right, old man.” He spoke to the entire assembly. “Anyone who wishes to join the boy on his quest is certainly welcome to do so. Nevertheless, Percival’s Trial has begun!”
In that moment, before Percival and Violet could even find out who Queen Lilith was or what else might be involved, six gates located around the arena opened. Six ferocious beasts came from the darkness beyond the gates, entering the arena with bloodlust in their eyes for the boy and girl caught between them.
One of the beasts was a troll with pale gray skin—a giant man-like figure with tusks protruding from its bottom lip almost to the point of touching its yellow eyes. Two others bore resemblance to crabs or spiders. Percival couldn’t tell exactly which. Two more looked like giant iguanas, while the last was a large wolf, possibly another of Lord Pipsqueak’s Lycans.
Percival and Violet backed toward the middle of the arena. He could hear Mr. Lonely hurling fervent protests toward Lord Pipsqueak, but beyond that there seemed to be nothing the Master Caretaker could do. After all, he had divested himself of power in order to equip Percival for this Trial.
“Percival, think of something quick!” Violet shouted. She wasn’t clinging to him now, but appeared to be spying out the various weapons located around the perimeter of the arena.
He got an idea. They at least needed a diversion—something to take the focus off of him and Violet. Percival conjured the idea in his mind then forced it out into the arena. A dozen Percivals, and many more Violets, materialized within the coliseum. The Percival clones ran around screaming, once they saw the monsters arrayed against them. The Violet clones did exactly the opposite, rushing to the attack, several assailing each beast at once so that the creatures had no idea who their real targets were.
Percival had kept an eye on the real Violet the whole time, which wasn’t difficult seeing she had stopped short of a sword on one of the walls, bewildered by a clone of herself appearing before her. Percival ran across the arena floor and snatched her away by the arm. “Hey!” She started to struggle against him.
“It’s the real me, Violet,” Percival said, whisking her out of the fray toward the edge of the arena. Behind them, Percival and Violet clones were being destroyed left and right. Soon there were only half as many as Percival had conjured left to divert the monsters’ attention.
They reached one of the six gates, but found a guard keeping it. Percival imagined a carnivorous vine into existence, springing from the ground, coiling around the guard, squeezing the orc-like creature until his eyes bugged. “The gate, how do we get it open?” Violet asked.
Both of their feet were knocked out from under them in an instant. One of the giant iguanas had whipped its tail at them to prevent their escape. The scaly green monster loomed over Percival and Violet—a dark forked tongue sampling the air around its next meal.
Percival rolled over, covering Violet. “When it takes me, you run!” No sooner had he said this than the lizard’s jaw snapped him up by his clothing, yanking him away from Violet. But instead of running away, she leaped to her feet and ran after Percival. As the beast tried to position him better for a bite, she wailed against its leathery head with all her might, screaming for it to let him go.
Seeing Violet doing exactly what he had hoped she wouldn’t do frustrated Percival’s hopes for
her safety. But instead of shouting at her uselessly, he imagined a sword in her hand like the one he’d summoned when the Lycan had attacked them in the fog. Violet looked surprised when it suddenly materialized in her hands, but not for long. She slashed the lizard across the throat repeatedly until Percival fell free from its jaws.
The creature turned, smashing Violet with its tail. The blade fell from her hands, landing a few yards away. Violet hit the ground dazed from the blow. Percival scrambled across the ground toward her, trying to protect her from the giant lizard. The creature came at them again, hissing fiercely as blood poured from its wounds.
A bar of fluorescent green caught Percival’s eye right before it dissected the lizard’s head from its body. As the body crumpled to the ground, he saw that the orangutan with the mystical sword had joined the battle, helping them. “Thanks!” Percival yelled, but the orangutan had leaped away, unbelievably high, and come down on top of one of the trolls charging toward them. He dispatched the troll within moments then moved on.
Percival looked around the arena to find that almost all of his imagined clones had perished already. They lay strewn around the concrete floor of the coliseum like discarded rag dolls, cotton and straw innards hanging from their torn bodies. The Lycan leaped toward them as Percival tried to reach Violet. He dropped and rolled as the werewolf sailed over him. Percival called on more of his thorny carnivorous vines which erupted through the concrete, ensnaring the Lycan like a fly in a flytrap. Its furious howls were silenced quickly as the vines squeezed the life out of the beast like a massive tangle of boa constrictors.
Percival took a deep breath, realizing how close the Lycan’s teeth and claws had been to him. He reached Violet where she sat dazed on the ground. “Are you all right?” he asked, trying to discern whether she had actually been injured, or just knocked senseless.
Violet shook her head. “I’m fine, thanks.” She got to her feet with Percival’s assistance, picking up the sword he had imagined for her.
“We’ve got some help,” Percival informed her. Indeed, the orangutan had already destroyed three of the creatures that had emerged from the gates.
They started off together, into the battle rather than away from it. As they passed the strangled Lycan’s body, being consumed by the carnivorous vines, she gave Percival a startled look. “You must be getting good at this.”
Percival shrugged his shoulders. “Desperate measures for a desperate time,” he muttered. They stopped a short distance from the two creatures that remained. The last of the Percival clones ran too close to the giant crab creature and was snapped up in its largest claw, deposited near its mouth parts and devoured.
“I think I’m gonna hurl,” Violet said as she watched the Percival look-a-like’s kicking feet disappear into the crab’s clicking jaws.
“Don’t worry, they’re not really alive, Violet,” Percival said as the orangutan somersaulted toward them, landing with his mystic sword flaring. The weapon’s energies dissipated. The strange warrior said nothing, but gave Percival a wide orangutan grin like he’d seen in movie comedies. Then the ape pointed a long fur-covered arm toward two approaching monsters.
“I think he wants you to take care of those things yourself,” Violet said.
The lizard hissed as it approached, while the crab tried to flank them with its delicate sidestepping walk. The orangutan clapped his big hands, pointing again. “Me?” Percival asked.
The orangutan nodded his head, flapping his flabby chin skin.
Ideas formed in Percival’s mind then he pushed them out into existence. The lizard found itself sinking into a miry quicksand where the concrete floor had been a moment before. The leathery green monster thrashed against gravity and the vacuum pull of the muck drawing it in. Within moments, it had succumbed, its head sinking at last beneath the mush. The floor returned to concrete again.
The orangutan pointed toward the crab-like creature sauntering to their left, hoping to avoid notice until it could spring. Percival threw his hands up as though scooping something into his arms. Spikes of jagged rock sprang from the arena floor, pulled up by his will into existence. They shattered the crab’s shell, impaling its body, suspending it in the air several feet from the ground—its spidery legs still walking a few moments as life lingered.
Percival and Violet beamed happily at one another. “You did it,” she said. The orangutan warrior flashed his toothy smile, nodding vigorously.
“That’s the second time you’ve saved my life,” Percival said to the orangutan.
“Mrs. Lonely told me his name is Master Baanna,” Violet offered. The orangutan nodded once.
“Thank you, Master Baanna,” Percival said. “I really do appreciate it.”
The arena had grown silent after the last of Lord Pipsqueak’s monsters had been destroyed. But it didn’t stay that way. Lord Pipsqueak erupted from his throne. “ATTACK!” he bellowed, so that the entire coliseum heard him.
Percival, Violet and Baanna turned at his voice. The gates had opened again. Out of every recess of the coliseum came forth hundreds of orcs and goblins armed with rusted swords and other jagged implements fashioned to rend flesh in the most unpleasant ways possible. These surged into the arena from the shadows and bore down upon the trio standing in their midst. Baanna’s weapon hissed, becoming a pulsating blade enveloped in killing energy. Violet raised her sword ready to strike while Percival focused his thoughts on the best way to defend against so many attackers at once.
As the orcs and goblins shouted their war cries, coming within fifty feet of striking, an explosion rocked the entire coliseum. Bright white smoke mushroomed from the middle of the arena floor. The shock wave bypassed Percival and his companions but knocked the entire army of orcs and goblins to the ground.
As the smoke dissipated, it left Marlon the Wizard standing in its wake. “Enough!” he cried.
ALLIES & ADVERSARIES
Lord Pipsqueak leered at the Wizard from atop his miniature throne among the other delegates of the Council. “Marlon, oh goody,” he said sarcastically, “I was wondering when you would arrive.”
“Right on time,” Marlon countered. “Certainly in time to spoil your usual nefarious plans.” He looked around the arena where orcs and goblins were just beginning to get back to their feet. “A bit on the overkill side, wouldn’t you say?”
Lord Pipsqueak grinned. “The boy is simply beginning his Trial…”
“That being a quest to fetch the crown of Queen Lilith, not fighting your army of miscreants in this arena for everyone’s amusement.”
“His quest began here with six monsters,” Lord Pipsqueak argued.
“And they have been slain,” Marlon countered again. “The boy has passed this first part. Now it is time he be on his way to Queen Lilith’s, else why bother with naming such a quest if you never intended he get on with it?”
The delegates, by now, had taken up murmuring against the uncalled-for attack by the orcs and goblins, much to Lord Pipqueak’s chagrin.
Mr. Lonely eyed him suspiciously. “I believe Marlon is quite correct,” Mr. Lonely said. “The Council seems to be in agreement that the first part of the Trial is over. It is time for the boy to move on with his quest, Lord Pipsqueak.”
The white mouse glared at Mr. Lonely, then observed the expressions of his fellow delegates seated to either side. He wouldn’t be able to destroy the boy so easily. Queen Lilith it would be. “Very well,” Lord Pipsqueak said.
Mr. Lonely took over from there. “Now, who will join our candidate on his journey?”
Violet became the first to volunteer, raising her sword high in the air. “I’ll go with Percival,” she said confidently.
The orangutan quickly followed, mimicking Violet’s bravado with a raised sword of his own. “Ah, very good,” Mr. Lonely said. “We have Master Baanna from Neo joining the quest. Who else is brave enough to join this courageous band.”
Marlon began to speak, but Lord Pipsqueak interrupted h
im. “As the boy’s sponsor, you cannot go!”
Marlon smiled sheepishly. “I just wanted to see if you were paying attention, Pipsqueak.”
“We will join the boy on his quest!” The strong baritone voice bellowed from among the crowd. A knight in shining silver armor stood with his sword drawn, sparkling despite the lack of available light in Bloodmare Castle.
The knight moved through the crowd of imagined beings with a band of knights similarly outfitted until they reached a stair coming down behind the coliseum seating. The knight led his band through one of the six gates, parading proudly across the gore filled arena toward Percival.
“I am Sir Bane,” the knight said, “and these are my Knights of the Griffin Order.” Indeed, Percival now noticed that each of the knights had a crimson colored griffin emblazoned upon the breastplate of their polished silver armor. “We humbly offer our services to you, Percival, as you quest for the crown of Queen Lilith.”
The knight, who was nearly two feet taller than Percival, kneeled before him—his hands leaning upon the pommel of his sword hilt with the tip planted straight down upon the concrete floor. Each of Sir Bane’s eleven knights followed his example, kneeling with their heads bowed before Percival.
For his part, Percival wasn’t quite sure how to respond. He looked at Violet, who seemed as befuddled as he was then to Marlon. The Wizard gave him a rising gesture with his hand, which Percival took as his cue. “Arise, Sir Bane…and noble Knights of the Griffin Order. I gratefully accept your pledge of assistance.”
Violet rolled her eyes at this formality, but Percival let it pass. They were in the imagined worlds, and this was apparently proper for the denizens of a fantasy realm like Fantastique. Besides, he found it sort of fun. Percival had always enjoyed fantasy stories and now he was living one. Despite the danger and the fear hanging over him like a cloud, he also felt excitement welling up within him. No matter what happened, they were going on an adventure.
Sir Bane and his knights rose to stand with Percival and his other companions. Percival could see that Mr. Lonely was smiling—no doubt happy to see that someone, besides Master Baanna, had decided to join the quest. “Is there anyone else with the courage to join Percival Strange?” he asked the crowd.
No one else appeared to be so eager as Sir Bane and the Knights of the Griffin Order, though much looking about and murmuring had followed. Then someone else finally spoke up from the crowd. “I will join Percival Strange on his quest!”
Percival searched the crowd, as did everyone else, for the female voice which had spoken. All eyes eventually fell upon the voluptuous frame of a woman dressed in black, standing a quarter of the way around the coliseum from where the delegates were seated. Percival’s eyes nearly bugged. Not only had a woman joined him, but a very beautiful one at that.
Violet punched him in the arm. “Ow! What was that for?” Percival asked.
“Just keep your eyes in your head,” she warned.
He wasn’t quite sure what to make of Violet’s tone, but Percival knew enough not to argue with a black belt.
Lord Pipsqueak erupted from his throne. “Widow Black, how dare you join this whelp! You’re a denizen of Horrif-I!”
The woman, though dressed in black, didn’t remind Percival of anything he’d encountered in Horrif-I, so far. However, she did not back down from Lord Pipsqueak either. “For too long you have held power over the denizens of Horrif-I!” she shouted. “I, for one, welcome the possibility of a new young Master Caretaker who will do a better job of keeping you in your place!”
Lord Pipsqueak threw his pink paws out toward Widow Black, releasing bolts of red lightning from his tiny claws. Electricity danced across the crowd, sending many imagined creatures tumbling spastically to the ground on its way toward Widow Black.
However, she caught the fiery lightning with the elegant fingers of one hand and redirected the current through the fingers of her other hand. The charge surged into the ranks of goblins and orcs which had retreated to the edge of the arena, knocking most of them senseless.
“Enough!” Mr. Lonely shouted over the din. “As Master Caretaker, I forbid anymore of this nonsense!”
Pipsqueak ceased his attack. Widow Black stood still, a quiet smile of satisfaction on her blood red lips. Percival stared, awestruck, as much by the display of Lord Pipsqueak’s power as Widow Black’s ability to nullify it. Mr. Lonely stood firm. “If Widow Black, or anyone else, desires to join the candidate’s quest then it cannot be forbidden by you, or anyone, Lord Pipsqueak.”
Lord Pipsqueak gnashed his mousy teeth, but stood down. “Very well. Take her. And good riddance!”
Widow Black glided out of the crowd, down the dark stairs to the balustrade bordering the arena below. But instead of finding one of the stairs to take her down to the gates, she leaped over the balustrade like a cat, landing nimbly on the arena floor in her black stiletto boots.
“Whoa,” some of the knights whispered.
Violet’s head whipped around to see if Percival had been one of them. Her glare made him glad he hadn’t. He tried a weak smile, but dropped it as Violet turned back to watch the woman in black slinking toward them.
Widow Black’s outfit seemed to be made of darkness itself, as though shadows had been knit together to bind her curvaceous frame. Her hair seemed to move of its own accord like she was underwater, defying gravity. Percival noticed a mesmerizing quality to her eyes—pools of golden fire that beckoned one to leap in and be burned. He tried to look away from her—his desire to keep Violet from punching his lights out still greater than the strange attraction surrounding this dazzling new ally.
She walked past Sir Bane and the Knights of the Griffin Order right up to Percival. “Thank you for joining us, Widow Black,” Percival said. He was trying not to look directly into those hypnotic eyes. They actually seemed to glow with their own inner light. A thought—something Mr. Lonely had mentioned about not accepting help from anyone in Horrif-I—nagged at the back of his mind. But when she spoke, he couldn’t recall the advice.
“You’re very welcome, Percival,” she said.
Percival tried unsuccessfully to suppress his smile. Her voice sounded like music—foreign, almost ringing with a hint of Russian accent. She offered her hand to Percival in a way that summoned him to kiss the fingertips—the same which had caught lightning only moments before. In the back of his mind, he couldn’t help but wonder if they still held some of the charge.
Violet came between them. “Yeah, thanks a lot, Blacky. That’ll be all for now.”
Widow Black smiled insincerely, giving her a little humph.
Mr. Lonely took a moment to call for any other volunteers, but the well had run dry. No one else had any interest in losing their lives on what almost certainly was considered a suicide mission. Mr. Lonely turned to the white mouse, still fuming atop his throne, and smiled. Then he looked back at Percival. “The first portal will bring you to the beginning of your quest. You must journey into the forest and find the Renders’ Lair. Believe me the smell will make it easy for you to find it. Inside the lair, you must find the Queen Render and take a sample of her blood. It is poisonous. The second portal will appear, once you have the poison blood.
“The second portal will deposit you within the Necropolis. At the heart of this city, you will find the Asylum. Go to the basement level, where you will find the Well of Souls leading to the Netherworld. Only Percival, as the Caretaker Candidate, may retrieve the Mortal Dagger contained there. Remember the three Hebrew children and you will do fine. The well is the third portal, but you, Percival, must command the destination before you enter. You must command the Well of Souls to deliver you to Hallow Hill. Here you will find the home of Lilith, Queen of the Netherworld.
“In order to take the crown from her, you must fill the Mortal Dagger with the poisonous blood of the Render. The Mortal Dagger will dispel her power, but only the poison blood can kill her. Percival is the only one who can perform each specifi
c task. The rest of you may help him stay alive, but that is all. Once you have the crown, it will transport you back to the Lonely Manor. Do you understand, Percival?”
Percival nodded. “Yes, I understand.” He said the words, but in his heart he felt as though he’d just signed his death warrant.
“Lord Pipsqueak,” Mr. Lonely said, “You must establish the portal transporting them to the Lycan’s Forest.”
The mouse snapped his tiny fingers—a sound that rang with astonishing clarity coming from so small a paw. Then in the middle of the arena floor a swirling vortex of marble green energy burst into existence. Percival marveled, but remained leery of entering anything Lord Pipsqueak had created. He leaned toward Marlon. “Is it safe?”
Marlon gave him a slight nod. “Yes, the portal is true, as well as the danger beyond.” He grabbed Percival by the shoulders, looking deeply into his eyes. Remember this realm determines how your imagination may manifest. You can create food and water, but be sure you concentrate on its purity here in Horrif-I. Other than that, simply follow Mr. Lonely’s directions.”
Percival looked at Violet then the others. They made a strange band of travelers, but at least he had some allies to help him fulfill the quest. “Let’s go then,” he said. Percival took a deep breath then stepped through the portal. The others followed his lead.
AXIS OF EVEEL!
By the time Lord Pipsqueak arrived within the secret chamber, for the secret meeting, with the secretly divisive delegates, the mood had turned to a bubbling cauldron of malice. “It’s about time you got here,” bellowed Neptune, the honorable delegate of Wet. His tunic of scales shimmered between shades of sea green and violet while his crimson mane curled around his head like fire. “We expected the boy to be dead by now!”
Lord Pipsqueak narrowed his tiny albino eyes at the god of the sea. “Watch your temper, Neptune,” he warned. “You’re in my little pond, right now.”
“Nevertheless,” he started, although noticeably calmer, “you made promises to us—yet the boy lives. He’s shown himself courageous in your arena and by all accounts is gaining favor among the other delegates.”
Lord Pipsqueak sat upon his small throne, for he had one in nearly every room within Bloodmare Castle, waving away Neptune’s concerns. “All of that matters very little,” he began. “The boy has fallen into my trap. I have chosen the quest for him, and no one has ever undertaken such a task successfully. There is nothing to worry about. Queen Lilith will not surrender her crown so easily.”
Fayd Ra, a bounty hunter and one of the delegates from Neo, spoke up. “Still, he is powerful. We’ve all witnessed it. How can you be so confident that he will fail? After all, Master Baanna and the others are skilled as well. Baanna alone is worth his weight in gold during a fight.”
“Yes, and that woman, Widow Black,” Neptune said. “She certainly didn’t seem to have any problems holding off your attack.”
Lord Pipsqueak, rather than growing angry, reflected on the incident. A smile spread across his mousey face. Don’t worry about Widow Black, gentlemen. I’ve got her right where I want her.”
