The Books of Rhyyne II:
by
Jeremy Slater
"Well, it has certainly been quite an adventure," the Bicker's left head mused.
"Shut up."
"I suppose it all started," the left head continued in a dreamy voice, "when that boy Jonah discovered that he had strange powers. He was living in a watchamacallit at the time. An orphy-ma-nige."
"Oh, please shut up," the right head begged. "This is off to a terrible start already."
The left head nodded. "The problems started when he discovered that he had strange powers. Blowing up doors and such. Oh, and monsters chased him. Also strange."
"I know all of this!" the right head exploded. "I was there! I heard the stories! You're boring me dreadfully and I hate you for it!"
"Yes," the left head said, utterly nonplused, "it was a very strange time for young Jonah and his loyal sidekick Sally. You know what else was strange?"
The right head went for his throat. Since it couldn't quite reach the other's neck, however, it merely frothed and snarled in mid-air for a bit.
"It was strange when Jonah was kidnapped." The left head paused for dramatic purposes, and maybe a smattering of applause. No applause was forthcoming. "He was kidnapped by the Red Knight, who was sent by the Sorceress for some reason or other. Can't quite remember why, but take my word for it, there were probably many good reasons. Terrifying reasons, one might say, if one were so inclined."
"I'll eat your eyeballs!" the right head howled.
"But hope was not lost! Well, to be honest, it was. For quite a while, if my memory serves. Our characters hoped that hope was not lost, but their hopes were hopeless. But then hope was found again! Gloriously!"
"You're telling this story badly!" the right head screamed. "The bullfrog is bored!"
The bullfrog stared at them, unblinking. "Rrrrurrp," it said.
"See? Bored out of its warty skull!"
"Quit complaining. I know what I'm doing, after all. I'm excellent at the irrational arts."
"Irrational? You mean orational, you fat lummox."
"You lummoxed. Not me. Never."
"This is the worst story you've ever told! I could tell it better! In fact, I think I will do just that!"
"Fine," the left head said, rather wounded. "Go ahead. Irrate."
The right head's eyes suddenly grew misty. "The orphanage sat at the end of a twisting, dirty little street on the outskirts of a winding, grimy little town..." he began.
"No, that'll take much too long."
"Right. Good point, stupid."
"Thanks. We must think of the bullfrog, after all."
"The wonderful bullfrog."
"The majestic bullfrog."
"The almighty bullfrog."
"He is handsome, isn't he?"
"Rrrrurrrmph?" the bullfrog asked.
"Right," the left head said, blushing a little. "Well, to make a long story short..."
"...which, to be perfectly honest, is what should have been done in the first place..."
"Exactly. To make a long story slightly less long and a trifle less boring, Jonah was kidnapped, and then he met me."
"Us."
"No, just me."
"I'll kill you for that!" Murderous rage flashed in the right head's beady little eyes.
"I'd like to see you try!"
The heads flew at each other, biting and slobbering.
This went on for several minutes.
The bullfrog watched intently. Unbeknownst to the wonderful, majestic and possibly almighty frog, the Bicker would never get around to finishing the story. And thus the bullfrog would never learn how Jonah was rescued from the clutches of certain death by his friends—Sally (human), Yap (gnome), Tom (Dwarf), Elsie (Princess), Aligore (dragon), Diggus Fleet (drunk) and the piglumps (piglumps). And the bullfrog would never learn of Jimjim the Grim, trapped by ghosts in a lonely mountain pass, or the traitorous Dain, blown clean off the side of an airship by a rusty, piglump-helmed cannon. The bullfrog would never learn of Regina Cull—also known as The Sorceress—and her devious plans for Jonah, and the bullfrog would never encounter the mystery of Abraham Roon and his mythical, world-altering Rune, or the Rune's strange connection to Jonah himself.
Of course, if the bullfrog had not been so fantastically lazy, it could have simply read the first novel in the Books of Rhyyne, which was called The Rune of Roon and had a few funny parts and one or two exciting scenes that helped to pass the time. That certainly would have been easier than trying to summarize a lot of rather complicated events in the space of just a few pages, but the bullfrog naturally knew none of this. Also, it was a frog. Frogs can't read.
The Bicker stopped trying to bite itself.
"I say, what were we talking about?" the left head asked, frowning.
"Dunno. Let's go eat some mud."
"That really is a splendid idea."
"Mud is healthy."
"And if it's not, it should be."
"We should talk to somebody about that. Maybe start a petition."
"Right. Petitions make the world go round."
"What are petitions, by the way?"
"They are birds," the left head said decisively.
"Ah."
The Bicker ambled off through the forest.
The bullfrog watched it go. "Rrrrmphhrrrurrr?" it asked sadly. It had a sneaking suspicion that its role in a series of fantastic adventures that would change the course of history was finally coming to an end. And, of course, the almighty bullfrog was never wrong.
Sometimes these stories begin with a fairy tale.
What many people forget is that not all fairy tales are happy and uplifting, full of enchanted kisses, magical talking puppets with low morals, or other such nonsense. Quite often, fairy tales are grim and sad and even a little bit horrible. But whether they are funny or frightening, romantic or repulsive, they all begin with the same four words.
Once upon a time...
***
Once upon a time, there was a boy.
He was never normal. The boy was young, but he listened. He paid attention to adult conversations, even the ones he didn't really understand, listening to the way the sentences seemed to flow together. Even before he understood the actual words being spoken, the boy instinctively understood their patterns, the rhythmic repetition of certain phrases, inflections and sounds. He understood language before he knew what it was.
He taught himself to speak before his first birthday.
He was debating philosophy before his fourth.
His mother rejoiced in her son's fearsome intelligence, believing it was a blessing from the gods. His father, a simple farmer who came from a long line of simple farmers, did not trust the boy. There was something cold in his son, something efficient and mechanical where emotion should have lived instead.
After spoken language came the written word, and the boy dove into literature with grim determination. He showed no interest in books written for children, skipping straight ahead to the classics of literature, dense tomes of epic poetry and grand, sweeping novels. Sometimes he read the books aloud to his mother, and although she didn't always understand the novels, she loved to hear her son read. He finished the classics by the age of eight, thoroughly unimpressed. Writing seemed to be a very easy thing, simply a matter of placing the proper words in the correct order. There was a mathematical precision behind even the most abstract poetry, a cadence and flow that seemed to dictate the next letter, the next word, the next thought. It all seemed very simple. He could have written any one of those books.
Worried, the father made an effort to teach the boy the rhythm of the land, the way a handful of soil could pulse with the promise of life, the warmth of the sun shining on your bare shoulders, the honest satisfaction derived from watching the first green bulbs nudge their way up through the dirt. The boy helped with the chores without complaining, but his eyes were dead and he took no pleasure when the fields shimmered with the first signs of life. So the father let the boy return to his books. Sometimes the father would pause outside the window, peering in at his wife and child as they read together. His wife's eyes would often be glazed over—she had no interest in the words themselves, only the sounds they made when her only son spoke them aloud. The father wondered why he could not feel the same love for the boy, why he could only feel cold confusion when he looked into his son's eyes.
By this time the boy had turned to politics, comparing and contrasting democracy against monarchy, the order of the crown versus the barely controlled chaos of independent government. Humans versus Dwarves. Dragons versus Giants. It was all very simple, and the boy jotted down a number of notes regarding ways the current political systems might be improved. His father later found these notes and burned them in secret, for many of the suggestions would have been considered treasonous by the authorities. The father spread the ashes in the furthest corner of his most distant field, unable to control his trembling hands. There had been great things in his son's notes—even a simple farmer is capable of recognizing wisdom—but there had been terrible things as well, ominous suggestions that ignored the sanctity of life.
So the father took the son aside and attempted to give him religion, to infuse a spirit and soul into the child who seemed equally capable of wonder and horror. By this point, however, the boy had already read the great spiritual classics of his age. He had dismissed them as nonsense. The boy refuted each of the father's arguments with smug logic and impeccable literary references. The father grew flustered. He was not a man of words. Although he felt concepts such as faith and purpose in his heart, he did not have the voice to express them out loud. In the end, the father had admitted defeat, humbled and heartbroken by his failure.
Now there was a wall between them, dense and impenetrable. The boy read the history of warfare and famous military strategies aloud while his mother perched in the chair behind him, drinking in the sound of his voice. The father listened from the bedroom, where he sat alone in darkness.
While religion and politics had been met with cool interest, the subject of warfare seemed to kindle a fire deep within the boy's chest. He became obsessed with studying the great wars of the past from all sides. He analyzed the strengths and weaknesses of individuals and armies, the tactical gambits that had won nations and lost empires. It seemed he had finally found his true calling. He had a talent for destruction.
He was eleven years old.
****
Jimjim the Grim was not in a good mood.
He was deep in the Gloaming Gulch, and there were ghosts all around him. It was not a good place to be. He spit on the ground and walked back and forth.
He was trapped. The ghosts had trapped him in the cave. They had stopped him when he tried to kill that stinking little brat, now they wouldn't let him leave. It wasn't fair. He hadn't done anything to them. Well...he might have killed a few of them in their former lives, but that had been probably been a very long time ago. It was ridiculous for them to still be holding grudges like this.
"Jimjim get outta here, he gon' keell you all," he muttered. "Again, I mean." The ghost guarding the mouth of the cave cocked its head and looked at him. It said nothing.
He had to get out of this cave. The ghosts brought him a little food every now and then, a little water when he needed it, but not much. Not enough, anyhow. He was fearsomely hungry. They gave him just enough to keep him alive. That wasn't enough.
He had been in the cave for what seemed like years now.
He was going crazy.
The ghosts wouldn't talk to him. There was nobody to talk to. It was cold. And wet. And he was hungry. Couldn't sleep. He was too afraid of the ghosts. He gnawed his fingernails until they were raw.
Thinking crazy thoughts. All the time. Mostly thoughts about Jonah.
"Ever see dat boyee again, Jimjim gon' cut his head off," he said. Talking to nobody again. "Cut his head off, use it for a ball. Gon' boot it into a swamp, see if I don't. Feed dat boyee's head to de munkleshivs. Yup." He licked the tip of his nose with his tongue, just once, quick-like.
The ghost at the door said nothing. Just stared at him. It was a big blob of blue, all wavy and shimmery. Like water with the sun shining on it, Jimjim thought. He couldn't look at those ghosts for too long. Seeing them made his brain hurt.
He sat down on a wet rock and dug in his nose. Crazy-hungry now, and thinking bad thoughts. Wondering what would happen if the ghosts never let him out. Thinking about what he would like to do to Jonah right now. Cold and scared and tired. Thinking killing thoughts.
"Gon' gut him like a fish," he whispered. "Cut him up real nice."
"That's a boring idea."
Jimjim jumped to his feet. It was the first voice he had heard in days. But there was nobody there, no humans. Just another ghost. A different one. It was looking at him. Smiling at him.
Jimjim felt the hairs on his neck standing up.
****
At thirteen the boy had taken everything that his village had to offer. He had read his way through the local library twice, influenced the selection of the village's governing council, and presided over legislature to shift crop irrigation patterns to a more efficient system based upon a harvesting calendar he had created.
He was bored, and his boredom was dangerous.
His father sensed this and was afraid. The father had become a shadow in his own house. He brought the roof over their heads and the food to their table, but he was no longer the master of his home. His son scorned him, believing him stupid. His wife ignored him, convinced that one day their son would be an emperor or a monarch, a poet or a saint. It was an opinion her husband could never share, and she hated him for it. The house had three bedrooms, and they all slept alone at night. The father was the only one who seemed to mind.
When his brother visited one summer, the father had an idea. His brother was a hunter, a man who lived off his wits and the land. Surely this was similar to the historical battles and conflicts that his son loved? It was the world of blood and stealth. It was the world of swords.
His brother was eager for an apprentice.
The boy was eager to hold a sword of his own, to fire his arrows at a moving target, to leave his claustrophobic little life far behind. He was ready to hunt.
They left early the next morning.
For the first time in fourteen years, the house was quiet.
The mother would not speak to him. She went to her room and locked the door. The father could hear her muffled sobs. He stood in the hallway in agonized silence. Couldn't she see that he had reclaimed his house, his pride, their lives together? Why wasn't she happy for him? He tried to explain these things to her, but she only cried harder.
She would not come out. Every morning before leaving for the fields, the father would leave a plate of food, a jug of water and a clean chamberpot outside her door. Sometime during the day the food and water were consumed and the chamberpot was used. But when he returned to the house, the door was always locked. He could hear her soft weeping and it broke him.
One day he picked up a heavy textbook from the floor. It dealt with political class systems in ancient Morovina and their impact on Northern cultures. The language was dense and unforgiving, and the father understood almost none of it. Nevertheless, he sat on the cold floor next to the locked door and began to read. He made many mistakes at first, and was often forced to stop and painfully spell out words letter-by-letter. At first his wife didn't seem to notice his voice. Then, later, she cried less and less.
He finished the book and chose another. He didn't understand the second book either, or the third or fourth, but he didn't mind. And while his wife eventually stopped crying, she still would not open the door, would not leave her room. And this, too, he didn't mind. He had found a way for them to live together.
When he finished a book, he chose another. The words themselves did not matter. The house was no longer quiet. That was all that mattered.
****
"Nother ghost. What you want, ghost? You de one dat's gon' try to keell ol Jimjim? Gon' keell me, make me ghost like you?" Jimjim spat on the floor. Have to let ghosts know you're not scared of them. Pretend nothing is wrong.
The ghost stepped into the cave, glancing around. "I picked up your trail near the Unicorn Glade," he said. "It's still a smoking hole in the ground, in case you're wondering. Whoever decided to flashburn that forest showed remarkable dedication. Very thorough job. Friends of yours?"
Jimjim licked his lips. "I ain't gotta tell you nothin."
The ghost shrugged. "Fair enough. You're not even the one I was tracking, if that makes you feel any better. I lost my trail on the outskirts of the Glade. I spent days wandering around, looking for a sign. I finally found two sets of tracks. They seemed to belong to a child and an adult. The group I was tracking had one of each. I took a chance, and it turned out to be the wrong one."
The ghost took a step forward. Jimjim took a step back. He didn't like this ghost, noway. Didn't like the crazy eyes, the spiky hair. Didn't like the voice—high and strong and crazy. And Jimjim knew crazy. He had gotten to know crazy real good these last few days. "Whazzat gotta do wit me?" he asked. He knew he sounded like a little baby, but he couldn't help it. He was scared.
The ghost raised an eyebrow. "For someone in such dire straits, Mr.—I'm sorry, Jimjim, was it?—you seem unusually argumentative. I'm here to offer you a chance out of this prison, out of these mountains. I'm also offering you a chance for revenge." His voice dropped, low and hard. "I think you should be a little more respectful." Eyes crazy.
Jimjim swallowed. "Sorry," he croaked.
The ghost waved his hand, suddenly not crazy anymore. "Forget it. You don't like ghosts. Perfectly understandable. I don't particularly like them either. Don't like being around them, don't like being one myself. It's amazing how much you miss the little things when you don't have a body, you know that? Stretching in the morning, for one thing. A nice, long stretch just gets your day off to a good start, doesn't it? Well, ghosts can stretch and stretch all they want and they never feel any better, not even a little bit. And eating—can't do that either. Sleeping. Fighting." He sighed. "All the things I miss the most are all the things I liked the best." He took another step forward.
Jimjim's heart was pounding. This ghost was crazy. Its eyes didn't match its voice. The voice was happy. The eyes were full of hate. It was gonna do something terrible to him, he just knew it. He licked his lips again. His forehead was all sweaty now. "What...what kin Jimjim do to help?" he asked.
The ghost smiled again. "I'm glad you asked, Jimjim. I can call you Jimjim, can't I? Good. Great."
He took another step closer.
"See, I need revenge. I don't want revenge, I need it. Understand? I need to kill the man who murdered me. And that poses a bit of a problem."
The ghost's hand darted out. It slammed into Jimjim's neck, then slammed into the wall behind his neck. The hand was inside his neck, like it was made out of nothing at all. Jimjim fell to the ground, gasping. His throat hurt.
The ghost laughed. "See my problem? I can manage a solid form for a second or two—it takes a lot of concentration, but I can do it—the same way these ghosts can become solid enough to hold you here, but nothing more. And I need quite a bit more than time than that, Jimjim. The pain I need to inflict is going to last much longer than a few seconds. I need two strong hands to wrap around his cowardly little neck and squeeze."
"Why...why you think I kin help?"
"Because the boy you kidnapped was from another world, according to the ghosts I just spent the last hour torturing." The ghost grinned again. "That's one of the perks of being ethereal, I suppose. Can't do much to humans, but it's pretty easy to tear other ghosts to pieces."
Jimjim looked around. Sure enough, there were no ghosts guarding the mouth of the cave. They were gone. "You...keelled 'em?" he asked slowly.
The ghost rolled his eyes. "Try to keep up, Jimjim. You can't kill something that's already dead. You can, however, disperse the fragments that make up its ethereal aiia, scattering it into a million pieces. Or to put it in layman's terms for the very stupid—and just so we're clear, that's you, Jimjim—ghosts can tear other ghosts to shreds. If they're violent enough, that is."
Jimjim groaned. This was not turning out to be a good day.
The ghost ignored him. "Anyway, if your boy is from another world, there's a good chance he's connected to the person I'm chasing. And if that's the case, we're going to find him and make him pay. I'll do the tracking and the thinking, and you'll do the choking and the killing. What do you say? Partners?" He flashed a smile at Jimjim.
"What if Jimjim say no?" He had to be crafty. Had to outsmart this crazy ghost.
The ghost sighed. He waved a hand in the air. The hand left little blue trails that melted away like they were nothing at all. "I'm already fading. Losing consistency. I really don't have time to argue. I need your body, and I'm going to take it from you whether you like it or not. I was hoping you would understand."
Jimjim tried to run.
The ghost was faster.
It was over quickly.
Jimjim stopped. He straightened up and adjusted his clothing. He felt his face, rubbing his cheeks and his nose. He opened and closed his mouth. He leaned back and stretched, arms splayed out, fingers pointing at the ceiling. It was quite a long stretch.
"It's good to be back," he muttered.
****
The boy was eighteen and no longer a boy at all when he finally returned home. This was after the monsters had roared through the kingdom, a buzzing black horde that razed the land in their wake. They had swarmed out of the darkness, out of the cracks in the ground, from the deep places that had been long forgotten. And when the soldiers and the representatives from the Wizard Council had finally arrived, it was already too late for the hundreds of tiny villages that had once dotted the landscape. The monsters gradually fell back, but the land they left behind was devoured.
The boy had been many hundreds of miles away when he first heard rumors of the monsters. His thoughts had instantly turned to his mother, completely alone with only her farmer husband to protect her. The boy had mounted his horse and left that same day. His uncle had tried to talk him out of making the journey. The boy had not listened.
It was all over by the time he returned home. Everything was dead. The land was bitter ash and salt. His horse died of fright on the first night. He left the beast by the side of the road and continued on foot. When a monster appeared, he would kill it. When he heard screams or sobs coming from the shattered husk of a building, he would ignore them. Only his mother mattered.
The house itself was rubble. As the boy dug through the shattered wreckage, he silently cursed his father's name. This—this was the fate of a pacifist, buried beneath a mountain of burnt embers. A soldier would not have let his wife die. A man would have saved her. But not this feeble farmer. Not this coward.
His hatred fueled his work, and he dug through the rubble for hours that blurred into days. His body was soon shaking from exhaustion, his muscles quivering. And when he finally found them at the bottom of the ruin, he let out a small cry and sank to his knees. The father had been a simple farmer who had despised violence, a man who had never owned a sword. And yet the father had thrown himself across his wife, shielding her with his own flesh and bone. His last thought had been to protect her, to save her from the world collapsing around them.
The boy sat there in the darkness for a long time. He was quite possibly the smartest boy on the entire planet, but on that cold night, his mind would not work. He could not think, could not reason.
The boy realized that he had never really known his father, had never shown him anything but open scorn. For the first time, the boy wondered if his father had hated him.
He had thrown himself over his wife. The scorched timbers had crushed him first.
The boy didn't understand. Ashes clung to damp trails on his cheeks.
He buried them in his father's field, side by side. There had been a book in one of his father's pockets, a dense scientific textbook that the old man could have never hoped to understand. Nevertheless, after they were in the ground, the boy opened the book and began to read the words aloud.
He started on the first page and finished on the last, hearing everything and listening to none of it. The words did not matter, merely the sounds. When he had finished, he dropped the book in the dirt between the two mounds of freshly uprooted soil.
Two years later and eight hundred miles away, the boy walked through the gates of the Great Castle.
At first they had given him a generic rank and number. In the war against Regina Cull's monsters, it did not pay to know the names of your fellow soldiers. After all, they would no doubt be cut down in battle and replaced before the week was over.
The boy was not cut down, however. His studies kept him alive. He seemed to possess an innate understanding of how to survive battles. After a while they realized this boy was surviving everything that was thrown at him, so they gave him a squadron of his own. Later they realized his men were also returning home alive, battle after battle. So they gave him more men, and he kept them alive too.
Finally they asked his name.
The name he gave was not his own. The boy took his father's name instead.
Paldawar.
Several years later, the man named Paldawar would die, bleeding out on the floor of a dirty hotel room in the middle of the night. The body was weak enough to fade. The spirit was not.
And so the ghost of Paldawar would make its way across the howling plains, through the deepest jungles, toward the highest mountain in the kingdom, where he would meet an imprisoned shell of a man who had once been called Jimjim the Grim, and one ghost would trap another.
And this is how the story begins.
SALLY
SIXTEEN MINUTES AGO:
"Yap is bored."
"Here," Tom said, "maybe this'll help." He kicked Yap as hard as he could, sending the little gnome flying over the side of the railing and screaming off into space. Yap fell for a few moments, arms pinwheeling madly, then he vanished. Second later the gnome reappeared on the deck of the airship in a flash of foul green smoke.
He glared at Tom. "Yap hopes that someday starving monkeys will eat fat Dwarf's face," he muttered.
Tom shrugged. "Sorry. Felt like kicking you." Laughing, he strolled away.
"Maybe someday delicious Yap will feel like stabbing fat Dwarf while he sleeps!" Yap screeched after him. "Yap already watches you sleep! Might as well do some stabbing, too!"
Tom turned, one eyebrow raised. "What's that? You watch me while I sleep?"
"Err...no. Not often."
Tom booted him over the railing again. Howling, Yap plunged toward the ground.
Sally sighed. The goodwill that Yap had earned during their last-minute rescue of Jonah had lasted approximately five hours. Yap had been the one to sneak aboard the Red Knight's airship and free Jonah, after all, and they had all agreed that this was a very heroic gesture. For the next several hours, the little gnome had earned everybody's undivided respect. Then, of course, things had gone wrong.
Yap had become convinced that he was indeed a hero. He made sure nobody could forget this fact by loudly and constantly proclaiming his own heroism. For example, he would occasionally scream, "Yap is a hero, mighty and powerful!" at the top of his lungs.
Or: "Worship Yap the Heroic!"
Or: "Bow down to Yap! He is braver and better-looking than all of you!"
"I think he's becoming a little dictator," Elsie had said, half-joking. Nobody had laughed.
It had only gotten worse. Yap had somehow gotten the notion into his head that since he was heroic, he was now allowed to heroically steal from the others while they slept. And to heroically trip them when they passed in the corridors. And to fly into fits of rage and start heroically biting their ankles when they ignored him.
Some creatures handle the pressures of fame and adoration well.
Gnomes do not.
Following Yap's meltdown, Tom had devoted most of his time during the last several days to tormenting Yap. This served the dual purpose of keeping Tom out of trouble while lowering Yap's ridiculous self-esteem by a peg or two. And since they were trapped on the same claustrophobic little airship twenty-four hours a day, Tom had plenty of time to plot elaborate new methods of torture. Today his abuse of choice seemed to be kicking Yap over the side of the airship. It was crude yet effective, and since gnomes have the power of teleportation, Yap was in no real danger. Tom seemed to be enjoying himself, at any rate.
Yap reappeared beside Sally in another puff of smoke. He glanced around, but Tom was nowhere to be seen. Grinning, Yap spread his arms and gave her a stately bow. "Yap has returned to grace you with his majestic presence! Love and monkeyfruit! Yap, yap, yap!"
Tom leaped out from behind one of the cannons and dropkicked Yap over the railing again, cackling. Yap let out a mournful scream as he vanished from sight.
"Oh, Tom, be nice," Sally said. "Kicking him once is fine. Three times is just mean."
"Sorry," Tom said, trying unsuccessfully to hide his grin.
"Morning, guys," Jonah said, emerging from trapdoor beside them. He yawned, blinking a bit in the sudden light. "What's going on?"
"Tom's kicking Yap over the railing again."
"Ah. Sounds like wholesome family entertainment."
Tom shrugged. "I aim to please."
Yap reappeared, trembling with rage. He stamped his foot and shook a clenched fist at them. "Listen, heroic little Yap does not want to be kicked over the railing anymore! You had better start treating heroic Yap with the proper respect, or else he might bite your entire—"
Tom kicked him over the railing again.
"Noooooooooo," Yap screamed, his voice trailing away into the distance.
"Nice form." Jonah nodded approval. "Looks like you've been practicing."
"Yeah, well, when you've got a hobby you love..."
Yap reappeared again. This time he didn't bother with bravado or grandiose threats—he merely dashed for safety, down the hatch and beneath the deck of the airship. Tom howled laughter.
"You really should be nicer to him," Jonah said, grinning a little.
Wiping his eyes, the Dwarf sat down on the cannon. "Listen, if we let that little beast scamper around treating us like peasants, it'll only get worse. We need to beat this little personality defect out of him before he gets out of control."
"Hmm. And the fact that you enjoy kicking him is just an added benefit, right?"
"Exactly. Doing the right thing just gives me that special tingly feeling."
"What a saint," Sally said, grinning.
Tom frowned. "Saint?"
"Oh, nothing," she said. "Never mind." Both Jonah and Sally were from another world—Earth, to be precise—and it was sometimes hard to remember that Rhyyne's inhabitants did not share many of their common expressions or words. To be perfectly honest, Sally was still puzzled why they spoke English in the first place...it seemed like a fairly fantastic coincidence that two parallel worlds would have developed such a similar language.
Not to mention the similarity between creatures. What were the odds that not only would both worlds invent the word unicorn, for example, but that the word would refer to the same creature on both worlds? She was no mathematician, but she guessed that the odds were probably hovering somewhere between unlikely and absolutely impossible. She had asked Aligore about it once, but the dragon hadn't understood her question.
Aligore. She glanced toward the front of the ship, where the large dragon sat in silence. He had seemed strange these last few days...irritable when he spoke, distant and moody when he did not. Maybe it was simply cabin fever from being cooped up on the small airship. Maybe.
Tom followed her line of sight. "There's something wrong with him, ain't there?" he said softly. "He ain't the same."
"MY EARS, HOWEVER, ARE AS SHARP AS EVER." Aligore didn't turn around.
Tom flushed. "Well, err...we're only trying to say that...well, I mean...is everything okay, mate? You don't seem like your normal dragony self. No stomping around, no terrorizing helpless villagers, no ravaging and pillaging the countryside..."
"I HAVE NEVER DONE ANY OF THOSE THINGS."
"Yeah, it was a joke," Tom muttered.
Aligore turned and stared at him for a long beat. The dragon's face was expressionless. "I AM FINE."
"Great," Tom said quickly. "Wonderful. Just checking, you know."
Aligore turned away.
An uncomfortable silence descended upon the group. Sally cleared her throat awkwardly. "So...do we have any idea where we're going yet?"
Everybody looked at Jonah.
He rolled his eyes. "Listen, I've never been in this world before, folks. I'm not exactly qualified for the navigator job."
"Well, what about that voice you told us about?" Tom pressed. "That Roon bloke? You talked to him lately?"
"No," Jonah said. He opened his mouth, hesitated, then looked away. "I don't know where he is," he said softly, "but he doesn't talk to me anymore. Not since the Red Knight's airship, anyway."
"Do you think he's okay?" Sally asked.
"You mean do I think he's still alive? Beats me." He sighed heavily. "I hope he's okay. But if he was still alive, I don't know why he wouldn't talk to me. I think...I think he's in trouble, and I don't know how I can possibly help him. I don't even know where he is right now."
"Don't worry, kid," Tom said with false cheer, slapping Jonah on the shoulder. "He's probably taking a vacation or something. Chasing girls on a beach, maybe. We'll find him sooner or later."
Jonah smiled, but there was no hope in his expression.
They were silent for a long moment.
"Yap has returned!" the gnome announced, striding out of the hatchway. He glared at them balefully. "And there are going to be some changes around here! Mighty Yap demands it!" He licked his lips and pulled a list out of his pocket. "First," he read, "none of you stinky human are allowed to make eye contact with the heroic and quite beautiful Yap. Punishment is death. Second..."
Tom booted him over the railing.
"Noooooooooo," Yap screamed again as he disappeared from sight.
Tom shrugged at them apologetically. "I couldn't help myself."
Aligore suddenly leaped to his feet. His muscular body had gone taut, and his nostrils flared at he inhaled deeply. "SOMETHING'S COMING," he announced in a flat voice.
"Something bad?"
He stared at Sally. "IT'S ALWAYS SOMETHING BAD."
***
ELSIE
NINE MINUTES AGO:
Diggus Fleet was drunk.
Again.
Despite his bravery and daring during Jonah's rescue, the fat little airship captain was quickly proving to be an irrepressible lush. Their first landing had been to refuel his dwindling ale supply. Their second landing had also been for more alcohol. And their third. And fourth. In fact, Elsie had soon realized that the only time the rickety airship ever touched down was to refuel the hooch supply. He was clearly a man with a drinking problem. Coupled with his swearing problem, his body odor problem, his clumsiness problem, his insensitivity problem, and his gross aviational negligence problem, it soon became apparent that Fleet wasn't exactly an ideal captain. He was currently bellowing out a very swarthy song about goblin sailors and the women who loved them. Come to think of it, he also had a singing problem.
"More ale, Master?" Winthrope offered politely.
"Skimpy tootin'!" Fleet roared, which, to be perfectly honest, didn't even make sense. He grabbed the proffered mug and downed it in several great gulps. Elsie braced herself for the inevitable belch, which turned out to be even worse than expected. "Better in than out!" Fleet cackled. He fell over. He seemed to find this very funny.
"Listen, Fleet, I need to speak with you about our destination," Elsie tried again.
"Whazzat? Destimination? What're yeh yabbering about now?" he barked from the floor. His stubby little legs kicked back and forth in the air idly.
"That's the problem, Fleet. We didn't have a destination. We were flying blind. So I talked to Lola and now..."
"More ale, Master?" Willoughby asked, appeared at Fleet's side. Fleet took the fresh mug greedily and went to work.
Elsie sighed and threw up her hands in disgust. It was hopeless. And the piglumps certainly weren't helping matters. Willoughby and Winthrope had apparently seized upon the idea that Diggus Fleet was a great explorer, that his airship was a marvelous opportunity to see the world. Terribly excited, they had promptly offered their undying loyalty to Fleet. Since he had been drunk at the time, he had gladly accepted their servitude. The sum total of their exploration duties over the last several days, however, had been exploring the liquor cabinets for fresh bottles of ale. They seemed very thrilled by this new station in life. Piglumps, after all, are very stupid creatures.
"Master is drooling!" Willoughby cried in alarm.
"Make way! Make way!" Winthrope shrieked, dashing out of the kitchen with a handkerchief clutched tightly in his tiny paws. The piglump quickly went to work cleaning the dribbles off Fleet's chin. Elsie found this vaguely repulsive.
"Anyway," she continued, trying desperately to control her temper, "since you obviously don't seem to care where we're going, I took the liberty of charting a new course for us. As long as we're wasting time, we might as well have a destination, right?"
Fleet sat up, blinking stupidly. "Ayuh?"
"Errm...yes. So I decided that we would travel to Aabundiai."
His eyes suddenly narrowed. "Aabundiai?" he repeated slowly. "The Dwarf city? That great big honkin' castle?"
She nodded. "I've never been there before, but my father used to tell me stories about Aabundiai. He said it was home to the wisest of all Dwarf scholars, that all of the knowledge from all of the lands eventually made its way inside their walls. Hundreds of bookwares, thousands of old scrolls and manuscripts..." She sighed. "He once promised to take me there one day, take me to meet the Dwarf Lords. To study the spells. Of course, that was before..."
She didn't need to finish the sentence. Before Regina Cull's monsters had poured across the land. Before the Royal Family had been destroyed, with only Elsie left to carry on their noble lineage. Before things had gone wrong.
Fleet hiccuped. "He said all that, did he?"
"Well, yes. He did." She suddenly felt defensive without quite knowing why. She didn't like to talk about her family, didn't like to even think about them if it could be avoided. There were too many painful memories. They were better left buried.
"All right," Fleet yawned. "We'll go to Aabundiwhatever. Piglumps!"
"Yes, Master?" They scampered over, twitching in anticipation.
"Set a course for...um, err...for that place she was talking about. Whatever it's called. I forget." He blinked sleepily.
"I already set our course," Elsie said, annoyed. "I talked to Lola about it yesterday."
He frowned. "But Lola is my ship," he said in a rather petulant voice.
"Yes, well, you were too drunk to fly your ship, so I had to do it for you. Honestly, Fleet, for a grown man, you're absolutely the most immature..."
The piglumps gasped.
"...slovenly..."
Willoughby hid her eyes.
"...ridiculous person I've ever had the misfortune of meeting!" She stamped her foot down for good measure, because a decent insult seemed to demand a certain amount of foot-stamping.
Fleet nodded, as if considering this. "Good point," he said at last. "We'll go to Aabundiwapper."
"But we're already going there! Haven't you been listening?"
He closed his eyes, then slowly tilted backwards and thumped to the floor. He began snoring.
Elsie felt like kicking the fat little man, but that would not have been proper Princess etiquette. Princesses were not allowed to kick people unless there was a very good reason, after all. Instead, Elsie took several deep breaths to compose herself, ran her fingers through her hair, and turned around.
Jonah was standing behind her. "They want you up on deck. Aligore says that something's wrong."
She groaned. "What now?"
"Fog," Jonah said simply.
***
JONAH
FIVE MINUTES AGO:
It came in thick and fast.
One moment the airship had been sailing through clear skies; seconds later they were engulfed in a great rolling bank of fog, wet and heavy. It blotted out the sun, made their clothing instantly cling damp to their bodies, coated the deck with a thin shimmer of condensation. It was piercingly cold.
Yap immediately leaped into Elsie's arms when she emerged from below deck. He clung to her tightly, trembling. "It's okay, Yap," she murmured, patting his back weakly.
Jonah privately disagreed. It certainly didn't feel okay, not in the slightest. The fog was too cold, too oppressive. It felt stifling. He had to struggle for each breath, and he was dimly aware that his heart was pounding faster than usual.
Aligore was instantly at Elsie's side, bounding out of the white darkness. "I WANT YOU BELOW DECK," he said simply. "THIS IS NOT SAFE."
"It's just fog, Aligore," she said. "It's not dangerous."
He stared at her, unblinking.
"Not dangerous?" Fleet snapped, staggering past them. "It bloody well is dangerous! Ever run into a mountain in a fogbank?"
"No," Jonah said. "Have you?"
"Nope. And I don't wanna start now. Oy, Lola!" he cried to the living figurehead perched on the airship's prow. "Slow down!"
The figurehead glared at him. "I already did," she intoned, obviously very bored by the entire situation.
"Well, slow down more. You, piglumps, get up there near the front, keep your eyes peeled."
"What are we looking for?" Winthrope asked nervously.
"Anything that ain't fog. Dragon, you take the back."
"I'M GUARDING THE PRINCESS," Aligore said. His nostrils were flaring regularly. His large eyes darted back and forth.
"Fine." Fleet hiccuped, swaying on his feet slightly. "The girl and the boy, then. You two take the back of the ship."
"We have names, you know," Jonah said, rather annoyed.
Fleet ignored him. "Dwarf, you help me load these cannons."
"Cannons? What are you gonna do, shoot the fog?" Jonah asked. "Because I hate to tell you, but you'll probably miss."
"Are you still here?" Fleet snapped.
Jonah sighed and headed for the back of the airship. Sally followed him. "I don't see what the big deal is," Jonah grumbled. "It's just fog." That was the right attitude. He needed to be confident. No sense in getting rattled. No sense in panicking. It was just fog. Nothing to worry about.
"Don't you feel it, though?" Sally asked. Wreathed in mist, she looked pale and ghostlike. She nervously brushed a lock of damp hair out of her face and hurried to keep up. "I mean, it just feels wrong. Like we're being watched or something."
"Don't say that. Whenever somebody says it feels like we're being watched, it means that we probably are. You might as well say how it's quiet, too quiet. You're practically begging something to jump out and eat us. It's a clish."
"Cliché," she corrected absently. "And you're only saying that because it happens in all the movies."
"Yeah, well, they don't have movies here. The monsters probably don't know about clichés yet. You can try to explain it to them when they jump out and eat me."
"Stop it." She suddenly grinned. "Besides, they probably won't eat you. Just a nice, healthy dose of kidnapping."
"Oh, very funny. Pick on the kid who always gets kidnapped. Real mature."
She shrugged. "You're an easy target."
A faint noise drifted back from the front of the ship. It sounded like one of the piglumps. Jonah listened intently, but he couldn't hear anything else. Stupid piglumps. They were always making too much noise. He turned back and leaned against the railing, peering out into the white. Sally came up beside him, shifting her weight from one foot to the other nervously.
So what are we supposed to be looking for?" she finally asked.
"Enny-ting dat ain't fo-o-o-g," Jonah slurred in a passable imitation of Fleet. Sally giggled and he grinned at her.
A blast of icy wind suddenly slapped their faces. Sally cried out in alarm. The white mist beside them suddenly flashed dark, then faded to white again. Sally grabbed Jonah's arm and pulled him back from the railing, her fingernails digging white furrows in his forearm. Jonah allowed himself to be pulled back, stumbling a little. His legs felt numb and useless. He couldn't have seen what he thought he had just seen. He simply couldn't have.
"It's too big," he murmured. His tongue felt hot and heavy, and he had trouble swallowing, had trouble thinking. His mind couldn't wrap itself around the shape he had just seen flashing through the fog, huge and awful. But he had caught pieces of the shadow, curves and edges, blades and flashing scales.
"Jonah, what's wrong?" Sally asked from beside him. Her voice sounded faint and distant. "What was that thing?"
It was too big, too fast...
"IS EVERYTHING OKAY BACK THERE?" Aligore's voice drifted back towards them.
And Jonah suddenly realized what he had seen speeding past the airship.
He spun around, head pounding. The others had no idea. He had to warn them. He turned to the front of the ship and screamed, "Everybody, get down! There's something in here with us! I think it's a—"
His voice was drowned out by the roar of wings as the shape thundered by above him, heading toward the others, its terrible jaws opened wide.
***
TOM
FOUR MINUTES AGO:
"Dwarf, you help me load these cannons," Fleet ordered.
"Cannons? What are you going to do, shoot the fog?" Jonah asked. "Because I hate to tell you, but you'll probably miss."
"Are you still here?" Fleet snapped at him. Looking mildly angry, Jonah turned and headed out of sight. Sally followed close behind him, throwing nervous glances out into the fog.
"What should I do?" Elsie asked Fleet.
"GET BELOW DECK," Aligore said.
"Protect beautiful Yap!" Yap suggested.
"Do whatever yeh wanna do," Fleet mumbled, "as long as yeh stay outta my way. Got work to do." He fumbled with the latch on a large wooden crate that was lashed to one of the railings. His fingers slipped and he cursed softly.
"Want some help?" Tom offered, holding out his hatchet.
Wiping his mouth, Fleet nodded absently.
Tom swung the hatchet down into the edge of the crate, sending the latch spinning away into the mist in a shower of splinters. A nice, solid hit. Tom was proud of himself. And it was a good hatchet. Not as good as the one he had lost beneath the mountains, but still a very decent hatchet. Heavy. Sturdy. Good for chopping things.
"Quit admiring that thing and give me a hand," Fleet grunted, leaning inside the crate and fishing out several large black orbs.
Tom sheathed the hatchet, feeling rather wounded. He took two of the orbs from Fleet, staggering a little under their unexpected weight. "New cannonballs, eh?" he huffed.
Fleet nodded, wiping sweat from his brow. "Bought 'em in that last town. Didn't figure I'd need 'em so soon, though." He grabbed one of the airship's rusty cannons and hauled it around to face him.
"Errr...right. Say, why do we need these cannons? After all, it's just fog, ain't it?"
Fleet ignored him. He poured a healthy dose of gunpowder down the maw of the nearest cannon, then he poured an even healthier dose of liquor down his throat. He repeated the process with the next gun. "Put the ball in there," he muttered.
Tom hefted the cannonball and slid it into the opening. It disappeared inside the cannon with a rattling thunk. Flecks of rusted metal drifted to the floor. The cannon trembled, as if deciding whether to fall apart now or later.
From the front of the airship, one of the piglumps—Tom couldn't tell which, both of the nasty little buggers looked the same to him—let out a shrill squeak. Tom froze. His heart was racing a little more than he would have cared to admit. He didn't like this, didn't like this one bit. He shot a glance at Aligore and saw that the dragon felt the same way.
"STAY HERE WITH THE PRINCESS," Aligore snarled. "I'LL SEE WHAT'S WRONG." He lunged forward, heading into the mist. His mighty tail flashed once and then he vanished into the white.
Tom handed the second cannonball to Fleet and moved toward Elsie. She gave Yap a reassuring squeeze and tried to smile at Tom. He nodded, then turned and began to scan the fog around them.
"Oh mighty Dwarf," Yap began, "heroic and delicious Yap has decided to forgive you for all of your hurtful and brutal kickings and abusings. In return, Yap feels it is only fair that you protect Yap from being eaten by fogbuggers. That is Yap's mighty decree. So shall it be done."
"Shut up, you," Tom said. His hatchet was in his hand. He didn't remember removing it from his belt, but it felt warm and reassuring nonetheless.
Fleet slid the second cannonball into place and stood back, panting. "Royal mess," he muttered to nobody in particular. Then, arms pinwheeling, he lost balance and toppled over backwards. Tom groaned. Of all the times for their captain to be soused, this was quite possibly the worst.
"Diggus," Elsie began, "why are you loading the cannons? Do you know something we don't?"
Fleet sat up, rubbing the back of his head. "There's a few things airship captains always steer clear from—lightstorms, wind tunnels, mountain ranges, and fogbanks like this one. Sometimes they're harmless, sometimes they ain't. Nothing wrong with fog itself, yeh know." He pulled a grimy handkerchief from his pocket and let fly with a wet honk into the rag, then he looked at them with bleary eyes. "But sometimes there are things in the fog. They follow the fogbank. They hunt in it."
Tom felt the hairs on the back of his neck rising. He swallowed hard. "And, err...what type of things are we talking about here? Nice, fluffy things, maybe? Flying bunnies?"
"If there are flying bunnies, Yap will eat their brains!" The gnome sounded excited.
"This ain't a time to be joking." Fleet got to his feet slowly, grunting from the effort.
"Yap isn't joking..."
"Quiet, gnome." Fleet bent over the first cannon and slowly rotated it to a firing position. Tom realized that the captain had never answered his question. He was about to press further when Aligore's voice suddenly drifted back from the front of the ship.
"IS EVERYTHING OKAY BACK THERE?"
Tom shrugged. "I'm fine." He glanced at Elsie. "You fine?"
She smiled weakly. "Never better."
Tom was about to answer Aligore when he suddenly realized that Jonah was yelling something from the back of the ship. His voice was muted—blanketed and swept away by the fog. What was he carrying on about? Something about getting down...
Tom turned to Elsie. His heart suddenly dropped out of his chest.
It came out of the darkness, out of the mist behind her. It was huge, ripped with flashing silver and bulging strands of muscle. A thousand teeth burned pale in the fog as the mouth dropped open behind the Princess.
Yap screamed.
Elsie never even had time to turn around.
***
WILLOUGHBY
THREE MINUTES AGO:
"I don't see anything," the piglump said. "Let's go back."
Winthrope frowned beside her. "Master told us to keep watch. And he is a very wise man. We had better stay here."
"But I don't like it here, Winthrope! It's wet, and cold, and I'm pretty sure there are demons out there!" She made a demon face, just to make sure he got the point.
Winthrope nodded solemnly. "Yes, well, I'd expect there are. Big, biting demons. They like the fog, you know."
She moaned. Yes, this made perfect sense. Of course demons would like the fog! Why wouldn't they? She ran a tiny paw through her damp fur and sighed mournfully. They would probably be eaten fairly soon. That was what demons did, after all. One could not expect demons to make exceptions.
"Are you sad?"
She stared at him. "Well, naturally! We're going to be eaten, aren't we?"
"I suspect so. Fog demons, you know."
"And that doesn't make you sad?"
He paused, lost deep in thought. "Actually, come to think of it, I suppose it does," he finally declared. A single tear trickled down his cheek, as if to illustrate the depths of his despair. Piglumps are very good at pretending to cry.
"Oh, don't cry, Winthrope!"
"Oh, right." He stopped crying instantly and beamed at her. "You know, if I had to pick somebody to be eaten with, I'd pick you."
She blushed. "And I would pick you!"
They waddled into a clumsy, squeaking embrace. It was a very emotional moment.
"This is the stupidest thing I've ever seen," Lola the Figurehead sneered.
"Demon!" Winthrope said, pointing excitedly.
"I'm not a demon, idiot. I'm the figurehead."
"Ah. Figurehead demon." He nodded, as if this made perfect sense.
"Maybe she'll eat us?" Willoughby asked hopefully.
Lola rolled her eyes. She yawned broadly, then, mustering up an utter lack of indifference, pointed straight ahead. "There's something out there, by the way."
Willoughby spun around. A huge shadow flickered past them, obscured in the mist. With it came a rush of cold air and a guttural, savage whisper.
"GIVE USSS THE HORNLESSSS..."
The shadow vanished.
The piglumps screamed in unison.
***
ALIGORE
ONE MINUTE AGO:
He made his way to the front of the airship quickly but carefully, his powerful body slung low to the deck. He was constantly alert. He didn't like this situation, not one bit. He especially didn't like leaving the Princess alone, even with Tom to protect her. Years of surviving brutal battles had enhanced Aligore's senses to a remarkable degree, and he was positive they were being watched. No, not watched. Hunted. He could hear the rustle of massive wings. He could catch the faint smell, some unspeakable aroma that was somehow strangely familiar. Most of all, he could sense the hatred. There was rage in this fog, anger and hunger. Aligore was not used to being considered prey. It wasn't a sensation that he particularly cared for.
The piglumps were frozen on the bow of the ship, clutching each other with desperate fear. The enchanted figurehead watched them curiously.
"WHAT IS IT?" Aligore barked. "WHY DID YOU SCREAM?"
Winthrope moaned, lost in terror. Willoughby glanced at him, then raised a trembling hand and pointed out into the mist.
"WHAT? WHAT DID YOU SEE?"
She let out a choked sob and buried her face in Winthrope's shoulder.
"You could ask me, you know," Lola said impatiently. "After all, I'm only the most intelligent creature on this ship. But no, nobody ever talks to the figurehead. Drive us here, Lola. Fly us there, Lola..."
"TELL ME WHAT YOU SAW," Aligore said, trying to control his impatience.
She stretched luxuriously—well, as luxuriously as a wooden figurehead is allowed to stretch—and nodded in the direction of the mist. "Big flying thing out there. Said something about giving him the hornless. Whatever that means."
Aligore took an involuntarily step back, his eyes growing wide. His stomach seemed to fall away in a sickening lurch. He suddenly recognized the peculiar rustling noises, the hideous drifting odor...
"NO," he said. "OH, NO..."
"Is it...is it demons?" Willoughby ventured.
"WORSE," he said, his voice low and toneless. "DRAGONS."
The piglumps shrieked again. Even Lola's bored demeanor suddenly vanished. She blinked at him. "Dragons? Real ones? You know, not like you?"
Aligore ignored her. "IS EVERYTHING OKAY BACK THERE?" he roared to the others.
For a few terrible seconds there was no reply. Then he heard Tom's voice, faint but distinct. Leaving the piglumps with Lola, Aligore raced back toward the Princess. He was dimly aware that Jonah was screaming about something, telling them to get down, and he realized that he was already too late.
The dragons were attacking.
***
NOW:
The first dragon swept in low and fast, gliding over Jonah and Sally and heading straight for the Princess. Its jaws dropped open and a rancid streamer of rapidly cooling drool splattered down on the deck below. It was a midsized Otarian, sixty feet from tongue to tail with a ninety foot wingspan. The Otarian had been hunting for four days and it was ferociously hungry. It raced toward Elsie.
Yap saw the dragon emerge from the mist. Reacting on blind instinct, he wrapped his arms around Elsie's neck and teleported. There was a crackling flash of light and the gnome disappeared, dragging Elsie with him. Less than a second after they vanished, the dragon's jaws slammed shut, catching nothing more than a foul cloud of brimstone. Snarling, the dragon veered easily and lunged at Tom. The Dwarf froze.
Aligore leaped out of the mist and hit Tom going full speed, slamming the Dwarf to the deck. Aligore instantly flatted himself, hearing a hissing snap as the dragon thundered above them. Its tail spasmed, shearing a jagged gash in one of the airship's sails. Then, roaring in anger, it vanished into the mist.
"Dragons," Fleet said numbly. The cannonball he was holding fell from his hands. It clunked off the deck, rolled to the side, and vanished into space soundlessly. Fleet didn't seem to notice. He slowly grinned. "Now we're in for a show, lads! Wahoo!" Incredibly excited, he began fumbling with the nearest cannon.
"YOU OKAY?" Aligore asked Tom.
Tom merely groaned beneath him.
"What's going on up there?" Sally sounded terrified. "Is everybody all right?"
"HOLD ON TO SOMETHING!" Aligore screamed. He couldn't see the second dragon, but he could smell it, hot and rank, blasting down from above them. "SHIP—DIVE!"
Lola obeyed his command instantly. The entire airship shuddered, then plunged straight down. The two piglumps, still clutching each other on the bow of the ship, were hurled off into space. Reacting with lightning reflexes, the figurehead reached out and deftly plucked them out of the air. She tucked a piglump under each arm and glanced over her shoulder. "Are they still after us?"
The second dragon, coal black with glinting yellow eyes, burst out of the mist next to them, impossibly large. Its segmented wings sliced through the thick air effortlessly. The dragon reared to the left, belching a blistering fifty-foot plume of fire. At the last second, the airship slammed to a near-stop, sending her passengers skittering helplessly across the deck. The blast of flames singed past the nose of the ship. Banking wildly, the ship pitched toward the ground again. The black dragon pounded away into the mist.
"I guess so," Lola said absently.
"Yeh cowardly lizard!" Fleet screamed. "Come back and fight! I'm a mighty man!" Clutching the railing with one hand, he pulled a flask of ale from his shirt and took a tremendous swig. His eyes were shining merrily.
Tom suddenly slid out from beneath Aligore, skimming on his back across the canted deck. The Dwarf clawed for a handhold wildly. Digging three of his paws into the wood, Aligore reached out and grabbed Tom. With a flick of his powerful wrist, Aligore tossed Tom toward one of the cannons. Tom clutched the cannon and nodded at Aligore gratefully.
"Now yeh'll taste blood!" Fleet was screaming to nobody in particular.
"I'm tasting breakfast," Tom muttered.
"Should I do a loop?" Lola asked them. "I've always wanted to do a loop."
"No!" everybody screamed in unison.
She sighed heavily.
Aligore whipped his head back and forth, looking around wildly, his nostrils flaring. The airship was moving too quickly for him to get a proper fix on the dragons. The creatures seemed to be all around them. The air was filled with hooting cries...one of the dragons was laughing. They were enjoying the hunt. Aligore tensed, waiting for the next attack.
Jonah and Sally suddenly appeared beside him, crawling their way down the length of the airship, clutching the railing tightly. Their faces were pale and terrified.
"GET BELOW DECK."
"Where's Elsie?" Jonah shouted.
Aligore shook his head miserably. "I DON'T KNOW. BUT YOU NEED TO—"
"They're coming back!" Tom suddenly cried.
A smaller dragon, perhaps forty feet long, raced past the airship, raking its lethal claws along the side. Wooden panels were torn away in a rending squeal. Lola cried out in pain and suddenly the airship lurched sideways, slamming into the smaller dragon. It squawked angrily and pinwheeled off into the mist. The Otarian suddenly dropped down from above them, its jaws wide, but the airship neatly leaped out of the way and it vanished into the fog.
"Lola, I can't use the cannons if you keep running!" Fleet sounded dismayed. He took another pull from the bottle.
The black dragon emerged from the gloom, barreling straight toward them, and this time there was no hope of avoiding the creature. It was simply going too fast.
"This is gonna hurt," Lola said simply.
There was a thunderous boom and the dragon suddenly jerked in mid-air, its neck crumpling sideways. The dragon blinked stupidly, flapped its mighty wings twice, and then dropped out of sight.
Tom peered over the top of his cannon. "Don't mess with a Dwarf," he muttered.
"Nice shot, lad!" Fleet roared in approval. "Now it's my turn!" He gave a mighty tug on his ignition cord and fired at absolutely nothing at all.
Aligore groaned. "THAT WAS OUR LAST CANNONBALL."
Fleet blinked, then grinned at him. "Who needs cannonballs anyway? I'm the lord of the skies!"
"I hate him," Lola mumbled to the piglumps. Petrified, they simply stared straight ahead, faces blank.
The smallest dragon dropped from the sky in front of them. It spread its wings wide, blotting out the entire sky. "HORNLESSS!" it roared. "COME TO USSS!"
Crouched against the deck, Aligore shivered.
"I've always wanted to try this," Lola said.
The airship blasted forward, doubling its speed in a matter of seconds. The small dragon's eyes suddenly went wide as it realized the ship was not stopping. The dragon began to beat its wings, backpedaling furiously, but it was too late. The airship slammed into the creature at full speed. There was a bonecrunching thud that sent Jonah and Sally rolling across the deck. The dragon had time for a single scream before it slid out of view and fluttered to the ground.
Trapped in the middle of the deck, Jonah and Sally had nothing to brace themselves. They slid back and forth with each screaming dip and dive of the airship. "Some help would be nice," Jonah said weakly. His face was quickly turning an unpleasant shade of green.
Aligore made his way toward the children, but it was slow going. He was forced to dig his claws into the wooden deck with each new step, which was even more painful than it sounds. Tom was also heading in the direction of the children, crawling hand-over-hand along the railing, reaching out for Jonah's arm.
"Where's that last dragon?" Fleet bellowed, waving his arms wildly. "I'll wrestle him outta the sky! I'll bite his face off! I'll..." He took a step backward and plunged down an open deck hatch, disappearing from sight with one last wahoo!
Sally reached toward Aligore, her fingers splayed out desperately. Aligore leaned forward, straining to catch her. There was a furious rush of air and suddenly she was gone. Aligore looked up. The Otarian was flapping away. Sally hung from one of its massive claws, her body limp.
Tom let out a scream of grief. Jonah finally grabbed the Dwarf's hand and pulled himself over to the railing. He looked around, blinking. "Where's Sally?" he asked.
"SHIP! FOLLOW THEM!" Aligore roared.
The airship banked sharply and blasted after the Otarian. The dragon glanced over its shoulder and let out a hiss, then it dived down through the clouds. The airship gave chase, its passengers hanging on for dear life.
Except for Aligore. Paying no heed to his own safety, he raced toward the front of the ship, his claws slipping and scrabbling for purchase on the wet deck. He careened from one bulkhead to the next.
"What should I do?" Lola asked when Aligore reached her side. The piglumps stared at him, their eyes glassy and dazed.
"GET ABOVE HIM."
"We already are," Lola said, motioning downwards.
Aligore glanced over the railing. Sure enough, the giant dragon was racing along some fifty feet beneath them, its wings flashing translucent in the pale mist. He could hear the creature laughing, a deep, throaty rumble.
"PULL FORWARD!" Aligore shouted.
Nodding, Lola bit her lip, concentrating deeply. The airship shuddered, then pulled forward. The dragon disappeared from view.
Aligore looked at the figurehead. His sides were heaving and his skin had drained to a molted pale green. "TRY TO CATCH HER," he said simply.
Lola frowned. "You're not going to do what I think you're going to do, are you?"
"NOBODY GETS LEFT BEHIND," was all he said.
Aligore jumped.
The wind hit him hard, driving the air from his lungs. As the airship flew by overhead, it kicked down a current that clutched him, twisting him in a tight, helpless spiral. For a terrifying moment he lost all sense of direction as he tumbled through the sky. Everything was white everywhere he looked. He had misjudged his jump. He had missed the dragon.
No! There it was, roaring up to meet him, a huge dark blur blasting through the mist. Aligore wrenched his body to the side and extended his claws, trying to brace for the inevitable collision. The Otarian sensed him at the last second and tried to veer away, but he smashed into the creature's head and it howled. Every bone in Aligore's body screamed in agony and his vision blurred, but he dug his claws into the creature's skin and held tight. The Otarian roared again and thrashed sideways through the air. It was helpless to attack him without dropping its prey. Aligore sunk his claws deep into the dragon's hide, then he began to slash. One of the creature's flaming eyes rolled back in its head, boring through him, intense with hatred. Relaxing his grip slightly, Aligore suddenly lunged forward, aiming directly for the Otarian's eye. The eye was four feet wide. It was an easy target.
The giant dragon screamed and its entire body spasmed in agony. In his peripheral vision, Aligore saw Sally flung through the air, tossed out into space. A second later the airship raced into view, swooping up beneath her. Did it catch her? He couldn't tell. His vision was suddenly blurred by an enormous set of claws reaching for him, slashing at him. He backpedaled as quickly as possible, his feet slipping and scraping against the dragon's pebbled skin. The Otarian plunged straight down, half-blind and lost in agony. The claws raked down his back and Aligore howled.
Then the fogbank was gone and the ground suddenly appeared, jagged shelves of rock speeding up toward them. They were racing face-first into oblivion.
So, again, Aligore jumped. He pushed away from the insane creature, dodging its thrashing wings, and went spinning off into space. And incredibly, the airship appeared beside him, matching his vertical dive, spiraling toward the ground. Yet it was coming in too fast, and it was angled wrong. He slammed into the underside of the ship hard enough to drive the air from his lungs in a blinding crunch. Acting on instinct, he dug his claws into the warped wooden panels on the bottom of the airship.
"PULL...UP!" he managed to scream.
With a groan, the airship fought against gravity, trying to right itself in time. Timbers creaked and shuddered. His grip grew taut, then unbearable. It felt as though his claws were being pulled off one by one.
The airship finally managed to shift its momentum, and their vertical dive suddenly became a horizontal scream. The ground raced by beneath them, impossibly fast. From the deafening crash behind them, it sounded as if the giant dragon had not been so lucky.
Aligore's head spun and his vision blurred. He was dimly aware that the airship was slowing down, but not soon enough. He could feel the wood beneath his claws peeling away. It was crumbling in his grip, dissolving into nothingness.
Some adventures start well.
This is not one of those adventures.
Aligore fell.
Elsie hurt.
She hurt in places where she didn't even know she could hurt, like the skin between her toes and the back of her ears. Every muscle in her body was screaming in agony, and her forehead throbbed with a low thrumming pulse. It hurt to move, it hurt to breathe, and it hurt to think. And, unfortunately, these were all things she normally did quite often.
Something had gone wrong. They had been in danger, surrounded by fog. There had been shouting and screaming and then nothingness. The only small consolation was that she probably wasn't dead, since she doubted that death could possibly be this painful.
She should open her eyes, get up, investigate, make sure her friends were okay. And she would. In a moment. In just a little while. But first...first she would lie here. Try not to move, to breathe, to think. She would sink down deeper and further into a self-induced trance, finding serenity and peace with her inner being, blocking out the pain of the outside world, meditating until her body could heal.
For a moment, everything was quiet and soothing.
"The monkeyfruit makes your head explode!" Yap screamed in her ear.
She sat up, wincing as a fresh bolt of pain blasted through her body. She gingerly opened her eyes. A number of things immediately became apparent, such as:
She was no longer on the airship.
She was sitting in a swamp, or—at the very least—a forest with quite a bit of swamp-like tendencies.
And Yap had gone insane.
His body was coated with mud, and there was a large branch sticking out of his left ear. He was cross-eyed and drooling, and he appeared to be busy smashing a mossy stone against the side of his head. Thump, thump, thump. He was grinning.
"Yap is inside his own nose!" he told her proudly.
"Oh," she said softly. Her voice was thick and raspy, and it was painful to speak. She crawled over toward him and pulled the stick out of his ear. Yap grinned at her expectantly.
"Flebbergibbet," he announced. "Neeber who? Neeber wa! Wa neeber wa!"
"Where...where are we, Yap?"
In response, he raised the rock high above his head, then brought it crashing down again. It made a hollow thunk against his skull. She took the rock away.
"You have stolen Yap's soul!" he screamed, eyes widening in terror.
"Huh? It's a rock, Yap. What are you talking about?"
"Mighty soulless bug dribble!"
"What?"
The gnome stood on his head. He smiled again, then he opened his mouth and let out a piercing scream. It lasted for a good two minutes. When he had finished screaming, he smiled again.
"Got my soul back."
Feeling frightened, Elise reached out and tried to brush some of the mud from his face. Yap flinched away, chittering angrily. "You are the one who has bitten the mole's nose! For the shame of the lumber skunks!"
"Yap, are you...okay? What's wrong with you?"
The gnome ignored her. He had found a beetle crawling across the path, and he snatched up the bug and placed it atop his head. He crossed his arms and closed his eyes serenely. "Now Yap is mighty princess," he said in a solemn voice. "Princess of toads!"
"Cut it out right now," she said. She glanced around nervously. Her day had just taken a decided turn for the weird, and she suddenly felt very small and helpless. Where were the others? Or perhaps the better question was where was she? She had never seen trees like these before, all hunched and droopy, with streamers of dingy brown moss trailing off and dangling mournfully in the film-crusted swamp water. It would have taken a great deal of maintenance and aesthetic upgrading for the swamp to have even qualified as depressing.
Yap abruptly stood up and began dancing in a circle, clapping his hands rhythmically and singing at the top of his lungs:
"Who eats the monkeyfruit?
YAP eats the monkeyfruit!
Who eats the monkeyfruit?
YAP eats the monkeyfruit!
La-de-hoodie-wonka-da! Wonka hoonky donkey doo!"
It wasn't a very good song.
"Yap, stop that right now!" Elsie ordered. "Please?"
It's no use, a mournful voice whispered from behind her. He's got gnome dementia.
She spun around quickly and saw a Unicorn watching her from the shadows. It was a fat and rather ugly Unicorn, with loose, baggy skin and large watery eyes. It yawed widely, then waddled into the clearing.
"Who are you?" she asked.
The Unicorn's tail gave a quick swish, and the creature sighed heavily. My name is Vork. Not a very good name, I know. You don't have to tell me what a terrible name I have, because I already know. He paused and a crafty glint suddenly came into his eyes. I am the greatest of all Unicorns.
"No," Elsie said flatly, "I really doubt that."
He sighed again. Yes, you're right. I'm a miserable failure of a Unicorn. You should probably just cut my throat and leave me for dead.
"Sounds like a plan!" Yap suddenly screamed, lunging at Vork. He latched onto the Unicorn and began to gnaw on his leg furiously, laughing and slobbering all over the place. Vork sighed patiently and waited for the gnome to finish biting him.
"Yap, stop that!" Elsie cried, horrified.
No, it's okay, Vork said. I probably deserve it. Bite away, little gnome. Go for my jugular. I think it's somewhere in my neck. Vork craned his head to his side, exposing his neck. He waited patiently for the deathblow.
"No. Not a good idea." Elsie quickly stood up and grabbed Yap, who was just preparing to leap. The gnome squealed angrily, twisting and writhing in her arms, and then he promptly fell asleep. He began snoring loudly. A dribble of drool streamed down his cheek.
"Do you know what's wrong with him? I mean, he's normally bad, but not this bad. I think...I think he's gone crazy."
Hmm. Yeah. That seems about right.
"But why?"
It's gnome dementia, like I said. It's because he teleported you, didn't he? I saw you both appear together. There was smoke. It smelled bad.
Elsie frowned down at the tiny gnome in her arms. "I didn't think gnomes could teleport humans."
Well, they're certainly not supposed to do it. For obvious reasons, of course.
"Right. Um...what reasons are those, exactly?"
Vork sighed heavily, rolling his eyes. Dissecting yourself on a molecular level, hurling your atoms through time and space, recalculating your necessary reentry speed so that you are rotating in roughly the same orbit and at roughly the same speed as the planet itself, and then reassembling yourself perfectly...it's quite a chore. Teleporting themselves is hard enough, I'd imagine. Taking a human along for the ride, holding onto two distinct physical and mental states...well, that's just too much. It fries the mind.
She raised an eyebrow. "How do you know so much about gnome teleportation?"
Because I'm a magical creature, stupid.
Elsie blinked. As the last living member of the Dell Royal Family, she was not accustomed to being called stupid.
But the Unicorn was instantly apologetic. Fat tears of remorse welled up in his pale eyes, and his lower lip quivered. That was a horrible thing for me to say. You're probably filled with rage now. If you want to pick up a big rock and smash my head in, that would be okay. I won't mind. Really. As if to prove how much he wouldn't mind, Vork closed his eyes and lowered his forehead.
Elsie stared at him.
I'm waiting.
"I'm not going to smash your head in."
Oh. He sounded disappointed.
"Listen, I need your help...Vork, was it? I left my friends behind when we teleported, and I think they're in danger."
Then why did you leave them?
"I didn't ask to be teleported," she said crossly. "But I need to get back to them as soon as possible."
And where are they?
"Um...I'm not really sure. We were kind of flying through a fogbank at the time..."
Oh. Well, in that case, it should be easy to find them.
"There's no need to get sarcastic. And I'm not saying it will be easy, but I need to try. Do you at least know where we are now?"
Yes.
She waited. Vork smiled at her.
"Well, where are we?"
A swamp.
"Do you know the name of this swamp?"
No.
"Where this swamp is located?"
No.
"What kingdom we're in right now?"
No.
"You're not going to be much help, are you?"
I certainly hope not.
Vork smiled again.
"I hate you," she said before she could stop herself. And that was definitely not the type of thing that Princesses were allowed to say. But Vork merely nodded, as if he agreed with every word.
"And Yap will eat your brains!" the gnome suddenly screamed, leaping from her arms and lunging at Vork's forehead, his tiny teeth bared.
Yes, Vork said, that seems fair.
***
The Reddock Saloon was unusually busy that afternoon. The shipping week had just ended, and airship pilots from around the globe had descended upon the dingy little bar to drink away their worries and paychecks, not necessarily in that order. The room was noisy, smoky, vulgar and quite soppy, thanks in part to two Ladies of Questionable Reputation who had gotten into a fistfight earlier, knocking over chairs and tables and spilling drinks everywhere. It was going to be a long night. The bartender was already in a foul mood, which was why he ignored the man who walked through the batwing doors and stood in the center of the room, surveying the customers.
The saloon got quiet.
Then it got quieter.
Then the talking stopped. And this was something the bartender did notice, because when a crowd of drunks fall silent, there is never, ever a good reason behind it.
"It looks like most of you know who I am," the man in the center of the room said. He was idly twirling a wicked-looking hunting knife. "That's good. It will save me time. You already know that I don't ask for something twice."
"I heard you were dead," a drunk in the corner slurred, his face bloodless.
The man in the center of the room slowly turned to face the drunk. He stared at him for a long moment. The drunk looked away, trembling slightly. The man smiled.
"Now, if there are no more rude interruptions, we can get down to business. I'm tracking a motley little band of creatures. There is a former knight named Dain, a boy named Jonah, as well as a few more. A dragon, a gnome, a Dwarf—they're quite the eclectic little menagerie of losers. They took something from me. I intend to repay in kind." The man smiled again. It was a horrible thing to see. "Actually, they stole two things from me, the second being my wagon, which is currently parked right down the street. That means that at least one of them has been in this town recently, so please do not bother with any pathetic lies that would...upset me. Just tell me where I can find my friends and I'll be on my way."
The saloon was deathly quiet. Every drunk furiously concentrated on the task of shrinking out of existence.
The bartender cleared his throat. "Well, see, I think...well, that is, I might know who you're talking about."
The man took a step closer, his eyes flashing.
The bartender took an involuntary step back. "Boy named Jonah, you said? Stayed in the hotel upstairs, he did. Not more'n a few weeks ago. And I saw a dragon, too, although it was a baby one. Had a girl riding on its back and everything. Busted my doors down. I had to buy new ones. Weirdest thing. Didn't see none of them other ones you're looking for, though." Perhaps realizing that he was rambling, the bartender shut his mouth with an audible clack.
"And where could these fascinating characters currently be found?" the man asked, his voice dripping with mock politeness.
The bartender shrugged miserably. "I dunno, sir. The boy was captured by...well, you probably ain't going to believe this, but he was captured by the Red Knight. You know, the one from the stories. And his friends took off after him not long after that. Haven't seen any of 'em since, honest I haven't, but..." He cleared his throat. "Everybody's been saying that the Red Knight's airship crashed. Saying it just plain blew up. Some fifty miles north of here, I believe it was."
The man stared at him. "And...?" he finally prompted.
"Aw, have mercy on me, I don't know nothing else!" the bartender said in a rush of words. "Honest, I really don't, so please don't kill me!" He took another step backwards.
The man watched him intently for several excruciating seconds, then his face suddenly broke into another obscene grin. "Kill you? I barely know you!" He deftly pulled a coin from his pocket and flipped it onto the counter. "Thanks for the help." He threw the bartender a wink, and the bartender shuddered.
The man turned to the rest of the drunks. "Anybody else feel like contributing to this tale of bravery and cuddly little characters doing wretchedly heroic and inconvenient things? Nobody? What's the matter? Cull got your tongue?"
Several people flinched openly. He had said the C-word. Nobody said the C-word, not anymore. Not out loud.
The man shrugged. "Fair enough. Thank you for your time, if not your assistance." He gave them an exaggerated bow, then turned to leave.
"You ain't Jimjim."
The speaker was an old man, his face a tangle of wrinkles and rheumatism. He had been nursing beers since sunrise, and he was currently in the middle of a ferociously stupid bender. While discretion is certainly the better part of valor, it cannot hold a candle to Curiosity and Anger, the twin patron saints of drunks around the world.
The man stopped. Then he turned.
"You ain't Jimjim the Grim," the old man repeated. "You look like him, even smell like him, but you don't sound like him. Don't talk like him neither."
"Umley, be quiet!" the bartender hissed. His face was pinched with fear.
Umley wasn't quiet. Truly dangerous drunks rarely are. He pushed his chair away from the table and staggered to his feet, clawing at the table for balance.
"I was mugged by Jimjim three years ago. Tied me up, beat me, left me for dead on the side of the road. Took my horses, my wagon, everything I owned. He beat me for fun. I still got the marks. So I remember Jimjim. Yeah, I surely do. I remember the way he talks, the way he moves. The way he laughs when he's hurtin' you. And you ain't Jimjim. I don't know what you are, maybe something that's just wearing Jimjim like a man wears his clothes, but I know what you ain't."
"He doesn't mean no disrespect, Mr. Grim," the bartender said frantically, trying to head off the inevitable bloodbath. "He's just drunk, that's all."
"And stupid," the cleaning boy offered helpfully.
The bartender nodded. "Stupid. Drunk and stupid."
Jimjim simply stared at Umley, his face unreadable. A tic in the corner of his mouth twitched back and forth rhythmically. The hunting knife in his hand quavered.
Umley wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His fingers were trembling. "For months, I been waiting to meet you again. So I could kill you, see?" His voice was a wheezy whisper. "I been waiting so I could kill you for what you done to me. For hurting me, for taking away everything I got. And now I finally come face-t'-face with you, and it looks like something already beat me to it. Something got to you before I could." Umley spit on the floor, then looked away. "Guess I got nothing left to do now."
Jimjim licked his lips. He blinked rapidly. "I'm sorry," he finally said. "Sorry for what I did."
Umley's jaw dropped open. So did the bartender's. And the collective jaws of everybody else in the room.
Jimjim the Grim turned and ran out of the saloon.
***
Jimjim—the real Jimjim, not the Jimjim suit that was parading around like some non-killing idiot—had a window. That was the only good thing, the one thing that had gone right. The room was tiny and cold and dark, and there was no furniture, and there were no doors, and he was all alone, but at least he had a window. Looking out that window was the only thing he could do anymore, so that's what he did.
The only problem was that looking through the window was like looking through his eyes, his real eyes, and it always showed Jimjim's real hands and real feet doing things he couldn't control. He could hear his voice through the window, and it was his voice, but it didn't sound like him. This other Jimjim didn't do anything right. No killing. Hunting all the wrong ways. Terrible at following smells, at picking out trails in the forests, at noticing tracks and patterns in the dust.
The ghost had taken his body.
It had left him this one room, somewhere deep inside his mind. Or maybe inside his soul. He wasn't sure. Jimjim wasn't a spiritual man—most religions seemed to stress the fact that evil was bad, and since he was fairly sure this category included him, why bother?—so he was a little fuzzy on concepts such as reflexive metaphysical representations. He was trapped in a room, he knew that. The ghost had taken his body, he knew that also. Other than that, most of his thoughts were devoted to inventing especially horrific methods to torture the ghost at the soonest possible opportunity. Jimjim was nothing if not a realist.
Then:
There was a window and no doors, that much was obvious. But for just a second it seemed that the room blurred, that something shifted and there were suddenly two rooms, one laid on top of the other, and this second room did have a door, because it opened and the ghost walked through. Jimjim blinked. The second room was already gone, taking its precious door with it. Now he was left alone with four stone walls, one window, and the ghost.
This was his chance. He needed to play it cool. He needed to use the element of surprise to his advantage. He needed to catch the ghost off-guard and escape. Above all, he needed to be sneaky.
"I'm gonna keeeell you, ghost!" he screamed, lunging forward.
Paldawar sighed and waved his hand.
Jimjim froze. Every muscle in his body simultaneously locked up in a great twisting spasm of pain. It left him balancing helplessly on one foot, unable to move.
"Honestly, I don't have time for this," Paldawar said.
"Mmmphrfffrr."
"You should be grateful that I'm allowing you to exist at all. If I didn't need to borrow some of your memories occasionally, I would just wipe you away and have this body to myself. A little gratitude is in order, Jimjim, and gratitude does not include threats of physical harm. So sit down."
Jimjim sat down. He couldn't help it.
"I'm having trouble adapting," Paldawar said, pacing back and forth. He seemed to be talking to himself. "Things went wrong in that saloon. That old man knew. I thought I could coast on your reputation...after all, who's going to say no to the most infamous murderer in the entire land? And I can look like you and move like you and act like you, but I can't sound like you. I don't know you well enough...your speech patterns, your inflections, the way you form your thoughts. So let's just consider this visit a little getting-to-know-you session. How's that sound?"
Jimjim's jaw unlocked with an audible pop and he could speak again. "How bout you unfreeze de rest of me? You get to know ol' Jimjim real good den, ghostie. I teach you t'ings." He grinned wildly.
Paldawar looked bored. "I don't need your threats, Jimjim. I'm perfectly aware that you want to kill me. There's no need to be redundant."
"You redundant," Jimjim said. He had no idea what the word meant, but it was probably nothing good, so it seemed to suit his purposes just fine.
Paldawar sat down on the floor across from him. He spoke very slowly and carefully, as if he thought Jimjim was stupid. "I'm offering you a chance to leave this room every now and then. I think this is an opportunity you might want to consider. So let's try to pay attention, okay?"
Jimjim thought hard for a moment:
Getting out of de room would be mighty good.
But can't trust dat ghost.
But if I get outta de room, maybe I kin strangle dat ghost.
Strangling dat ghost would be mighty good.
"I'm listenin'," he said cautiously.
Paldawar leaned forward earnestly. "Great. See, here's my problem: I can control your body easily, make you do whatever I want you to do. It's more a matter of willpower than skill. But I can't be you. I can drive your body, but I can't be your body. Do you understand that? There's always a sense of control, but never a sense of self. And most of the time, that's fine. But when there is a problem, I'm having trouble reacting properly. I can't understand your body's emotions. Your senses. Your defenses and coping mechanisms. Are you following me?"
No. Not at all. Jimjim tried to shake his head, but his neck was still frozen. "I'm tryin' to shake my head no," he said helpfully.
"There's a surprise. Okay, listen. The closest analogy I can think of is piloting an airship. I can stand behind the rudder and make the airship perform simple maneuvers easily, correct? I can fly in a straight line, turn left, turn right, and stop. Well, I can do the same thing with your body. Go here, pick this up, sleep now, eat this. It's easy. Are you still with me?"
"I'm tryin' to nod my head yes."
"You can just say yes or no, Jimjim."
"Oh. Yes, den."
"Well, it's easy enough for a layman to fly an airship in a straight line, but what happens when something goes wrong? What happens when you run into bad weather, or something on the ship breaks, or you need to perform a complicated aerial maneuver? You need an experienced pilot for situations like that. That's what you are, Jimjim. You're my pilot. I'm going to fly this airship whenever I can, but if something goes wrong, I'll need your experience with this body to survive."
"What you mean, go wrong? Go wrong like how?"
"I don't know, and that's why I'm worried. I need to stay flexible. I need to be able to adapt to any situation. And if the need arises, I'm going to let you do the piloting for a bit. You won't be in total control—I'm not stupid, after all—but I'll give you enough control to do whatever you need to do."
"And why should I 'elp you?"
Paldawar sighed again. "I can make this experience much more comfortable for you, but I can also make it much more miserable. Do you want to lose your window?"
No. Not the window. Anything but the window.
Paldawar seemed to read his expression, because he nodded, satisfied. "I need this body because ghosts can't kill, and that's exactly what I need to do. After I have my revenge, I'll let you go. That's a promise. Believe it or not, I find this body fairly repulsive to inhabit. As soon as my work is done, I don't plan on sticking around any longer than necessary. The only question is whether you will still be around at that point. So let's try to get along, hmm?"
Jimjim licked his lips nervously. "What you want me to do?"
Paldawar smiled. "First, I need you to steal me an airship..."
***
The wooden structure was not very stable. Much of this instability could be attributed to the fact that it had already toppled over and collapsed into the dust. Splinters and jagged spikes of wood lanced into the air, and a faint coat of dust had comfortably settled over the wreckage. There were hundreds more of the tiny wooden structures here, stretching out until the forest swallowed them from sight. Each of the buildings had been destroyed.
Elsie got on her hands and knees and peered inside the rubble, half-dreading what she might find. Fortunately, the ruined house was deserted. Recently deserted from the looks of things, because scraps of cloth and various odds and ends dotted the ruin. Whoever had abandoned this home had not taken much time to pack. A blanket was strewn here, a strange knick-knack or toy discarded there. A shattered closet, still full of very tiny suits of clothing. A cupboard still filled with spoiled food. A bed too small to fit anything other than...
...a gnome?
She suddenly realized what she was seeing. It was a gnome village, abandoned and then destroyed, or possibly the other way around. She wondered if this was where Yap had once lived. Was that why he had teleported them to this desolate swamp? Was this his home? She made her way from one house to the next, searching for survivors or— at the very least—bodies. But it was no good. The place was deserted.
If you're looking for the gnomes, they're already gone. Vork was sitting in the shade, watching her with a bored expression. Yap was currently busy attacking the Unicorn's tail. Vork didn't seem to mind.
"Where did they go?"
I don't know.
Elsie sighed and turned away. The Unicorn was simply trying to infuriate her with maddeningly vague answers, she knew that. The fact that his plan was working splendidly was even more irritating. "Well, do you know why they left?"
Yes.
A pause.
"Are you going to tell me?"
No.
"Why not?"
You're rude.
"I'm not."
You said you hated me.
"In some cultures, honesty is very respected."
I don't see why I should try to help somebody who hates me.
She picked up a shattered clay teapot and examined it, deliberately avoiding eye contact with the Unicorn. "It seems to me," she said casually, "that you hate yourself too. So at least we have something in common."
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Vork shrug. He was watching her intently.
"Plus," she continued, "you're bored. That's why you're following me around, isn't it? You're tired of not having anybody to talk to."
"And you are nutritious, fat gopherlungs!" Yap screamed through a mouthful of tail. He tore out a chunk of tailhair and chewed it noisily.
Vork shrugged again. So you're saying that I'll tell you what you want to know just because I'm bored? Huh. Try again.
"No, I'm not saying that at all." She turned to face him. "I think you'll tell me what I need to know because you like to feel superior to other creatures. It probably makes you feel less pathetic or something. And showing me how smart you are will give you another chance to feel superior, not to mention another chance to make me feel stupid. And I think you'd like that."
Vork suddenly broke down crying. Big blobby tears dribbled from his eyes. Instead of the normal golden hue of most Unicorn tears, however, they were a weak and watery yellow. Oh, it's true! he wailed. I'm a lowly, horrible Unicorn!
"Yes!" Yap screamed.
I'm a failure to my race!
"You are!" Yap pumped his fist in the air excitedly.
I don't deserve to live!
"And Yap will eat your sweet brains! Humble munkle doop!" Yap grabbed a nearby tree branch and began doing the Forbidden Dance of Gnome Love with it. He got most of the steps wrong, especially the twirling parts.
"Are you finished?" Elsie asked Vork coldly.
The Unicorn peered at her, his eyes pale and swimmy.
"It seems to me that you're more interested in feeling sorry for yourself than you are in changing yourself."
"And Yap is interested in PASSION!" the gnome screamed, breaking the stick over one knee and flinging the pieces into the woods. "The passion that comes from a piglump in the moonlight! Ahoy!"
They ignored him.
"If you're such a worthless Unicorn, now would be a pretty good time to start making some amends," Elsie said. And then, lower and softer: "I do need help, after all."
Vork seemed to consider this. He blew a wheezy snot bubble, then popped it with his tongue. Elsie winced.
Finally he nodded and stood up. Right. Point taken. I'll help you figure out where you need to go. Nothing more, nothing less. Just don't get any stupid ideas about us being friends or anything. I'm helping you because I'm bored. That's all.
"Um...thanks. I guess."
"Help US pick THE monkeyFRUIT and SHOVE it IN my NOSE!" Yap chanted, beating his forehead against the ground with an alarming lack of rhythm.
Vork motioned toward Yap. But could you maybe keep him from biting me?
"Um...probably not. He won't listen to me."
"I will chew on your soul!"
"Yap, please cut that out."
"CHEW. CHEW. CHEW."
"Yeah, see, there he goes again. Sorry. I really am."
Well, I suppose it can't be helped.
Vork made his way to the middle of the clearing, dragging Yap behind him. Well, to start at the beginning, which is generally how one starts these sort of things... He gave a theatrical sigh. We left the Unicorn Glade when the banshees and the Dark Shadow attacked.
She had already heard parts of this story from Jonah. Despite the warm summer air, Elsie suddenly felt cold. "The Dark Shadow," she repeated. "One of the Triad..."
Vork blinked. Don't know anything about any Triad. Big, dark bugger. Fast. Hungry. Completely insane. That the same one you're talking about?
She shuddered. "I hope so. Otherwise there are two of them."
Well, one is more than enough, from what I saw. He killed Droo, our Omniwrurenkel. Finest Unicorn I've ever known...just snuffed him out like he was nothing at all. We didn't see it, but we all felt him go. Like losing part of myself, only the part that went was better than anything that stayed behind.
She nodded. "He died saving my friend Jonah. From what I heard, he must have been a very brave creature."
Vork's eyes widened. You...you know Jonah?
"I am Jonah!" Yap bellowed, sinking his teeth into Vork's knee. "Feel my mighty wrath!"
"Yes," Elsie said quickly. "He's one of my friends. The ones who are in danger right now, remember? Why?"
Vork pawed the ground nervously. It's too much of a coincidence, that's why. Us meeting here, hundreds of miles away from the Glade? No, it's definitely too big of a coincidence, and you know what that means, don't you?
"Um...we're...lucky?" she guessed.
Wrong. It means that Fate has stuck her big, fat, meddling nose back into the business of Unicorns again. I thought we were done with her.
"Fate?"
Fate. Destiny. Kousaneea. Fortune. Whatever you want to call her. Anytime unlucky coincidences converge upon the world of magic, it means that Fate is stirring things up. Getting ready to give the world a kick in the rear end because she's bored. He shook his head quickly. I don't hold much stock with Fate. Seems to me that she enjoys jerking on the puppet strings just a little too much, just to see what happens. If Fate's involved, nothing good will come out of this, mark my words.
"I think you're probably overreacting."
"I think you're probably delicious!" Yap roared.
Nothing good will come out of this, Vork repeated stubbornly.
Elsie sighed. "Fine. It's Fate. The planets have aligned and mystical powers are converging just to plot something nasty about you, Vork."
He nodded. Now you're talking sense.
"Soon we're talking DINNER! Unicorn in my rubber belly!"
"Yap, please be quiet." She turned to Vork. "Could you please just finish the story?"
So he did.
The Unicorns had left the ruined Glade, fleeing from the onslaught of banshees. They had flown low and fast over the ground, heartbroken and afraid. Their original destination had been the White Place—Vork refused to be more specific than that—but several days later, the plan had abruptly been changed by Qurt, who as Droo's mate was now their leader by default.
They had gone to the gnomes instead.
The other Unicorns had been confused. In this time of danger, why waste time dealing with scatterbrained little gnomes who, quite frankly, were rather unpleasant in large quantities? But Qurt had been adamant. The gnomes were in danger, she said.
They had finally convinced the gnomes to leave with them, although it had been a close call. The banshees had arrived soon after, descending upon the gnome village, buzzing and chittering in the language of the viciously insane. They had destroyed everything in sight. But the gnomes were already gone.
"But not you," Elsie said, frowning. "You stayed behind."
Vork looked away.
"Why?" she pressed. "Why didn't you go with them?"
I was scared, Vork said softly. Not all Unicorns are beautiful and strong and heroic, you know. Some of us are quite worthless. I was off alone when the banshees came, feeling sorry for myself. When I heard them arrive, I suppose I panicked. I hid in the forest. By the time I came out, the village was destroyed and everybody was gone. I don't think the other Unicorns even noticed that I wasn't with them.
In spite of herself, Elsie suddenly felt sorry for the fat little Unicorn. When you are the daughter of the High King, and later you are considered to be one of the free world's last chances for survival, you don't get many opportunities to feel unwanted. She couldn't imagine what it would be like, but she suspected it would be fairly unpleasant.
Then Vork blew another lazy snot bubble and popped it with his tongue. She suddenly felt less sympathetic. Sometimes people are lonely and unpopular for no particular reason. Other times there are very good reasons indeed. Vork probably fell into this latter category.
"Pull yourself together," she said, perhaps a little more gruffly than necessary. "We need to think."
What is there to think about? You'll take off pretty soon and leave me all alone again. And then I'll probably die. Not a moment too soon, mind you...
"How am I going to leave you? I don't even know where we are right now."
"And you shall accompany us! Ha-ha, in Yap's stomach, that is! Yum, yum, smells like rum!"
Huh. Vork didn't sound convinced.
Elsie decided that it was time to change the subject. "What I'm wondering is whether the banshees followed you here or..."
Nothing can track a Unicorn. We're too fast and clever. Well, except for me, because I'm a worthless hunk of smelly blubber, but I was following the others. Comprehension slowly dawned on his face. Wait...so you're saying that the banshees were...what? That they were after the gnomes all along? And that Qurt somehow knew that?
She shrugged. "I have no idea. I'm just thinking out loud."
Vork frowned. But how would Qurt have known that the gnomes were in danger? The banshees were after Jonah, and he wouldn't have been here, right?
Elsie suddenly slapped her forehead, feeling foolish. "Ahhhh...it's so obvious! I can't believe I didn't realize it earlier!"
What?
"The banshees came from the castle of the Sorceress, right?"
Hmm...I suppose so.
"Which is thousands of miles away from the Unicorn Glade, right?"
Vork's eyes widened. But Jonah was only in the Glade for...well, it couldn't have been more than a day, could it?
"...And there is no way they could have traveled that far in just one day, so they must have already been on their way when he arrived..."
...Which means that Jonah was never their target in the first place!
She grinned. "Exactly. His appearance at the Glade at that moment was a nasty coincidence. Fate, as you'd probably say. And that would explain why the Dark Shadow didn't chase Jonah after it had caught Droo. Because it wasn't after Jonah at all. That's what Qurt must have realized."
So they were after us? The Unicorns? He frowned. And the gnomes too? That doesn't make sense. What do Unicorns and gnomes have in common?
"Delicious and magical!" Yap screeched. He was currently attempting to pluck Vork's tail hairs one by one.
Elsie nodded slowly. "He's right. Not on purpose, of course, but he's still right. You're both magical creatures. That's the only real connection."
But why would the Sorceress want to destroy magical creatures? That doesn't make sense.
"No, but it's the only explanation I can think of right now. And Qurt must have realized that too, because she managed to save the gnomes before the banshees showed up."
"Show up for my tea party and bring your strumpets!" Yap shoved a handful of hair into his left nostril.
Vork stood up and began to waddle back and forth excitedly. His crippling depression was apparently forgotten for the moment. Maybe she's trying to destroy all the magical creatures in the land! And if so, maybe we could guess where the Unicorns are headed next...maybe I could find them again!
Elsie shrugged. "Makes sense to me. What other magical creatures are there?"
Oh, dragons, grimlocks, herrions, spectres, banshees, Oves, sparrows, giants, moregats, phoenixes, trolls, sitpeppers, Less Deads, satyrs, chipmunks, leffgnats, rymae, Ice Elves, lashers, traverons, knitwhalers, squad, fallbiters, lurks, delvags, ums...the list goes on and on. And then there are wizards and witches, of course. Not strictly magical creatures, but they do use magic. He frowned. If she plans on wiping out all the magical creatures, she's got a lot of killing to do.
"Somehow I don't think that will be a problem for her," Elsie said dryly.
Oh, right. I suppose not.
Elsie sat down on a nearby stump and massaged her temples. "Well, at least Dwarves aren't magical," she mumbled. "That's one bright spot."
Why do you say that?
"Oh, because my friends are—were, maybe—on their way to Aabundiai. You know, the Dwarf city? I was worried they might run into the banshees again before I could warn them."
Vork suddenly looked alarmed. But they won't be safe there! he cried.
Uh-oh.
"Why not?" she asked cautiously.
Well, because of the dragons, of course!
Her stomach slowly rolled over.
"What, dragons took over the city?"
You haven't heard of the dragons of Aabundiai?
"No," she said, getting annoyed. "What are they?"
You haven't heard of the Hornless?
"What are they?" she repeated.
Vork told her.
The blood drained from Elsie's face.
"Aligore," she whispered.
"I can't see him!" Tom cried. "Did we land on him?"
"I hope not," Jonah said. He felt sick to his stomach.
Sally lay on the deck, dazed and barely conscious. She was mumbling under her breath in a dreamy sing-song voice. The melody sounded suspiciously like a Show Tune.
The crash had not been pleasant. The airship had dug a deep screeching gash across the landscape, leaving a trail of splintered wreckage skewing out behind them. The air was thick with dirt and smoke. Jonah was vaguely aware that his forehead was bleeding. And Elsie and Yap were gone...
Tom leaped over the railing, disappearing from sight. There was a dull thump and they heard him groan. "Watch out," he mumbled. "Drop's farther than it looks..."
"Are you okay?" Jonah asked Sally.
"Whut h'ppened?" she slurred, rubbing her eyes. She appeared more dazed than hurt.
"Just stay here for a second," he said quickly. "We'll be right back."
Jonah found the ladder and rolled it over the side. He quickly climbed to the ground. The crash had thrown hundreds of pounds of dirt and ash into the air, and breathing was difficult. Tom had already disappeared over the next ridge, but Jonah could hear his voice, calling out Aligore's name. Jonah hurried in his direction.
Tom suddenly fell silent.
Jonah crested the ridge and found the tiny Dwarf kneeling next to the dragon. Aligore lay sprawled in the ash, his sleek body coated with dark muck. There were a number of jagged slashes running down his back.
"Is he...?"
Tom glanced up at him. "Alive." There was no mistaking the relief on his face.
Jonah knelt next to them and touched Aligore's forehead. The dragon's leathery skin was hot to the touch. "He's hurt, though."
Tom nodded. "I know some basic healing. I'll see what I can do. But I'll need my bag from the ship. The green one."
It wasn't a request. Jonah got up and hurried back to the airship. It was slow going. The black ground seemed to reach up and snag his feet at every possible opportunity. There was also a smell that he couldn't quite recognize. It was faint but distinctly nasty. For some reason it reminded him of a barbecue gone horribly wrong.
The crash had thrown the storage room into disarray, and it took several minutes of frantic searching to find Tom's bag. By the time he returned to the others, Aligore was awake.
"SO YAP...HE TELEPORTED BOTH OF THEM?" Aligore murmured.
Tom took the healing bag from Jonah and began to rummage through its contents. He pulled out a tiny blue vial, poured its contents onto a handkerchief, then began to daub at the dragon's wounds. "Aye," he said absently. "One second they were there, then the gnome made that stupid popping noise he makes, then they were gone. Both of 'em."
"I DIDN'T...URMM...DIDN'T THINK GNOMES COULD TELEPORT ANOTHER PERSON."
"Yeah, well, apparently they can. Here, hold still a second. This is gonna sting."
"FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTH."
"Sting?"
"YES."
"Thought so. Should numb the pain a bit, though."
"THANK YOU. HOW....OUCH...HOW IS SALLY?"
"I'm fine."
Jonah turned. Sally stood behind them, looking pale and rather unsteady. Ashes hung damp on two silver trails running down her cheeks. She bit her lower lip. "The piglumps told me. Told me what you did."
She knelt beside Aligore and gently wrapped her arms around his broad neck. "You saved me," she said simply. Then she burst into tears and buried her face against his pebbled skin. Her shoulders trembled. Aligore closed his eyes, then he slowly lifted a giant paw and rested it on her back.
Jonah and Tom turned away, embarrassed.
"Think we...err...should go take a look at that airship?" Tom asked casually.
"Yeah, let's do that."
"Right."
They made their way back to the ship, where Fleet was currently halfway through an incredibly foul and quite inspired stream of profanity. The piglumps stared at him, their jaws agape. They were obviously humbled by such an impressive display of some of the foulest words ever known to mankind, as well as a few new curses Fleet seemed to be inventing on the spot.
"Morning, Fleet," Tom said cheerfully. "How's the ship?"
Fleet broke off in mid-curse, rubbing the welt on his forehead and glowering at them. "Ruined, that's how it is. Don't know if it'll ever fly again."
"Ah." Tom nodded. "So not good, then?"
"Worse than not good; it's bad. We've got at least seven major hull breaches running along the flanks, one half-busted wing, a torn sail, damage to the rudder, and a crushed bow. And that's not even counting the fire damage. It'll never fly again."
"I'm fine," Lola snapped irritably from the bow. "Just a little sore."
"No," Fleet said, "yeh're dead."
"Dead," the piglumps echoed mournfully.
"I'm not dead."
"Yeh are."
"I'm not." They could practically hear her eyes roll. "Tighten my rudder and fix my wing and I'll be airborne again. Not in any great shape, mind you, but I can get us to the nearest air station."
"Dead," Fleet repeated stubbornly.
Jonah frowned. "She sounds like she knows what she's talking about."
Fleet glared at him. "Shut up, kid."
"We'll have to dump some weight to make it, though," Lola continued. "The spare parts, everything in the storage room, the luggage, all of those stupid stones you make me carry around..."
"Not me rock collection!" Fleet exclaimed, horrified.
"...oh, and the rest of the passengers."
"What?"
She stared at Jonah as if he were stupid. "Listen, every extra pound makes me one pound closer to crashing into a mountain. I said I can get airborne, but I didn't say anything about doing it well. Any and all unnecessary weight has to go, and that most definitely includes all of you fleshbags."
"So...what, you're just going to leave us here?" Jonah glanced around at the scorched landscape. He didn't much care for this new plan.
Lola sighed. "Listen, the Princess told me to take you to Aabundiai, and I almost did. If my calculations are right—and they always are—Aabundiai should be no more than fifteen or twenty miles in that direction." She motioned with one wooden hand. "You can either go it on foot and be there in a day, or you can tag along with us and greatly increase our chances of flaming, crashing death."
"SHE'S RIGHT." Aligore materialized out of the mist, limping heavily. He was still very pale. Sally followed a few steps behind, absently wiping her eyes.
"But...out here in the middle of nowhere..." Tom frowned. "What if we run into more dragons?"
"IF WE RUN INTO MORE DRAGONS, IT WON'T MATTER WHETHER WE'RE ON FOOT OR IN THAT AIRSHIP. EITHER WAY, WE STAND NO CHANCE OF OUTRUNNING THEM."
"Thanks for that pleasant thought," Fleet mumbled.
"BESIDES, WE NEED TO FIND THE PRINCESS. WHEREVER SHE IS, I WOULD IMAGINE THAT SHE IS ALSO MAKING HER WAY TO THE DWARF CITY. IT IS OUR BEST CHANCE FOR FINDING HER."
Tom shrugged. "Sure, why not? I could do with some marching anyway. Might be fun."
"I DOUBT THAT." Aligore glanced at Jonah. "DO YOU AGREE WITH THIS COURSE OF ACTION?"
Even after several weeks, these type of questions still made Jonah feel uncomfortable. His friends were so convinced he was important that they consulted him on every little decision. The only problem was that Jonah wasn't very important at all, at least in his humble opinion, and he was terrible at making plans of any sort. He much preferred to spend his life in random chunks of unplanned accidents and mistakes. But Aligore and the others were still waiting expectantly, so he followed his time-tested tradition of agreeing with whatever was suggested. "Sounds like a good plan."
"YOU?" Aligore asked Sally.
"Of course. I can't see any other option."
Aligore nodded. "THEN IT'S SETTLED. WE WILL HELP FLEET REPAIR HIS AIRSHIP, THEN LEAVE IMMEDIATELY."
"Don't need help," Fleet said instantly. "Nobody works on my ship 'cept me. I'll do it m' self."
"You sure about that?" Tom asked skeptically. "There's a lot of work to be done..."
"THE PIGLUMPS CAN HELP HIM," Aligore said.
"Wait a moment!" Winthrope sounded indignant. "We're coming with you! This is prime exploring territory, old chum!"
"NO, YOU'RE NOT COMING WITH US. THESE ARE THE SCORCHED LANDS, IN CASE YOU HAVEN'T NOTICED. DRAGON TERRITORY. AND DRAGONS ARE ATTRACTED TO LOUD NOISES, WHICH YOU BOTH SEEM VERY FOND OF MAKING AT EVERY POSSIBLE OPPORTUNITY. YOU'RE GOING WITH FLEET." He turned to Fleet. "IS THAT ACCEPTABLE?"
"Eh. Why not? Little rats are pretty good at fetchin' ale and stuff, I guess."
The piglumps blushed, beaming at this compliment.
Aligore turned to the others. "GATHER WHATEVER YOU WILL NEED. AND HURRY." He sniffed the air, his nostrils flaring. "THEY ARE OUT THERE."
"Listen, mate, are you gonna be okay to travel?" Tom asked hesitantly.
Aligore stared back at him. "DO I HAVE A CHOICE?"
***
Jimjim was stupid. He was also hairy, gangly, and smelly. His bathing habits were atrocious, and his body seemed to possess a number of autonomous bad habits that its new host couldn't quite control, such as nose-picking and chronic intestinal distress.
But, Paldawar had to admit, Jimjim certainly had fine tastes when it came to stealing airships.
He had let Jimjim take over when they had reached the skyport, relaxing his control and letting Jimjim's self creep forward. Jimjim came hesitantly at first, then he took over the body in a greedy rush. Paldawar had not been worried. Let Jimjim think that he was in control. It would give him confidence.
And so Jimjim had slunk through the shadows of the skyport, eyeing each new airship with a fair dose of skepticism. When he had finally found a good ship—midnight black, with a sleek metal hull and glimmering blue wings—Jimjim had effortlessly shimmied up the side and over the railing. Before Paldawar had quite realized what was happening, Jimjim had killed the ship's owner and dumped him overboard.
Paldawar found this distasteful. He wasn't a monster after all...simply a ghost. He considered himself a man of strong principles, and one of those principles was that you did not kill people without a good reason. It was...unseemly. So he had risen back up, wrestling control of the body away from Jimjim, shoving him back into the mental prison he had created. Jimjim had howled miserably, but he had ignored the man's cries. There were rules, after all. And they had already discussed this. If you kill a man for no reason, you go to Time Out.
While the murder had been an unplanned event, Paldawar was nonetheless quite pleased with his airship. It was fast, responsive, and best of all, it had style. He was a great believer in style. It was a character trait shared by the great and powerful throughout history. Well, except for Uglunk the Unsightly, but there were exceptions to every rule. Besides, Uglunk tended to ruin most of the statistical averages throughout history. Best not to speak of Uglunk.
The airship tore through the sky, its cyan wings a thrumming blur of motion. As the wind whipped through his hair and pulled tears from the corners of his eyes, Paldawar reflected that it was terribly nice to be alive again.
"Kin I come out?"
It came from his mouth, but it wasn't his voice. Paldawar sighed.
"Please, meester ghost, lemme see what's happenin'. I wanna see."
Imprisoning Jimjim was easy. Silencing him was not.
"Just gimme my window, eh? Lemme see out my window."
Ignore him. Maybe he'll go away.
"Jimjim likes flyin', yes he does. Don' get to do it much, though." The voice tried to tremble in a thoroughly pathetic fashion. It didn't quite make it. Instead he merely sounded like a hiccup victim.
"You're being punished, Jimjim," Paldawar said in his own voice. "I want you to sit there and think about what you did."
There was a brief pause.
"Kay. I thought 'bout it."
"And?"
"It was...good?" Jimjim ventured. He had never been very good at grasping the obvious.
"No."
"Bad, den?"
"Yes. You're not allowed to kill unless I tell you that it's okay."
"Oh." Jimjim seemed to digest this. "Well, guess I learned my lesson. Err...kin Jimjim have 'is window, den?"
Paldawar sighed again. "If I give you the window, will you shut your flapping mouth? Or, more appropriately, my flapping mouth?"
"Sure I will. Sure I will."
"Fine."
Paldawar closed his eyes and reached inside himself, sinking down. The physical sensations of the body dropped away—the wind against his face, the roar of the airships wings, the firm deck beneath his feet—until he was left with nothing but dark and cold. This was deep on the inside, well past the point where the body ended and the other began.
Now, where had he left his Jimjim?
Ah, there he was. The stone box bobbed through the darkness, a pale rectangle silhouetted against the gloom. Paldawar ran a finger—except it wasn't really a finger, not here in the other—along the side of the wall, tracing a small square pattern. The stone crackled beneath his touch, then the square faded away.
Jimjim stared back at him from the other side of wall. "How you do that?" he asked, his voice strenuously casual. "How you make dem holes open up like dat?"
"None of your business."
"I'm not gonna do it," Jimjim insisted. "I jus' wanna know."
Paldawar shook his head. "Don't worry about it."
Jimjim opened his mouth to argue further, but then Paldawar pushed away from the wall, rushing back up through the darkness, back to the body. For a moment, everything was still. Then the wind hit his face and his senses roared back to life.
He opened his eyes. He was back on the airship.
"Thanks for de window," Jimjim said softly. "I...I like bein' able to see stuff."
Paldawar grunted acknowledgment.
Jimjim fell quiet.
The airship swept through the sky.
***
As any temporal penguin can attest to, when things happen, they tend to happen quickly. It's hard to appreciate things, because as soon as they begin, they are usually over. Time accelerates, terribly excited, rushing through the thing in order to get to the next thing as soon as possible. This is all well and good if there is a next thing.
So, naturally, when nothing happens, it happens very slowly. Minutes seep into hours, hours ooze into days, and the whole process takes an unbearably long time. Time gets just as bored as everything else, of course, and when this happens, it tends to lose track of itself. Everything crawls.
Jonah had no idea how long they had been marching. Years, maybe. The thick gray vapor that hung over the Scorched Lands swallowed away the sunlight and swatted back the night, leaving them trapped in a sort of eternal gloom that made it quite impossible to separate day from night. There was merely gray and slightly-less-gray. Neither of them were much fun.
They couldn't stop for dinner. They couldn't stop to sleep. They couldn't stop at all. It was too dangerous.
At first the march had been rather exciting in a something-is-probably-going-to-try-to-kill-us way. There were dragons out there, after all. Occasionally they would hear one of their loud, hooting cries echoing across the plain, muffled and distorted through the mist. But the group kept a low profile and never stopped moving, and the dragons fortunately never came near. While not being eaten alive was certainly a good thing, the possibility of dragons soon became rather boring. After all, nothing happened.
And so Jonah thought about Roon instead.
Abraham Roon, to be precise. During the adventures with the Red Knight, Roon had been a constant presence, providing Jonah with support and comfort during several of his darkest hours. Most importantly, perhaps, Roon held the key to Jonah's past. Jonah was sure of it. After all, Roon had been the creator of the Rune of Roon, a mystical device capable of altering reality, which Roon had named after himself in the typical humble fashion of geniuses. And the Rune was somehow tied to Jonah himself. There was a power hidden within his young body. He didn't understand it and couldn't control it, but the Red Knight had drawn the power out of him. He had shown Jonah how the power could be changed and altered so that it created a map.
A map to the Rune of Roon.
Jonah had spent several days trying to draw the map from memory. He could remember the first part of it, the first several squiggles and intersections, but after that point everything got fuzzy. For some reason, he had the strange sensation that the map had been big, bigger than he could ever hope to remember, stretching away into the distance. But that was ridiculous, of course. Maps were small. Folding one up and sticking it in your pocket for later was practically the entire point of a map, wasn't it?
Nevertheless, he had traced out as many of the first few patterns as he could remember. Then he had compared the patterns against Diggus Fleet's collections of maps and navigational charts, hoping to find some sort of connection. If this had been a movie, he was quite sure that the blue squiggles would have lined up perfectly with some sort of river or canyon. That was the way these things were supposed to work, after all. Sitting in Fleet's cramped and rather smelly airship cabin, however, he had finally been forced to admit that it was no use. Nothing on the maps matched up to the patterns he remembered. Jonah's map didn't seem to be related to any natural formation in Rhyyne.
Sure wish I could remember what the entire map looked like, he thought for roughly the thousandth time. I probably should have been paying more attention.
If he could create the map again, he could find the Rune. And if he found the Rune, he had a sneaking suspicion that he would find its creator as well.
And Roon knew who his parents were.
According to the Red Knight, Jonah wasn't born on Earth, but rather somewhere in Rhyyne. Something had gone wrong—Roon had gotten a little vague during this part—and Jonah had somehow ended up on Earth, where he had naturally been considered an orphan.
Were his parents still alive somewhere in this world? It was a hope he barely dared to consider. He had lived his entire life as an orphan; it was the only thing he knew how to be. He had no idea how to be a son. What would it be like having parents? What would they say if he could find them? Would they welcome him with open arms, or would they be frightened of him?
I am a freak, after all, he thought glumly. I blow things up because I can't control my power, I accidentally open up holes between worlds, and I'm also a living map to the most deadly weapon ever created. Not exactly the perfect son.
Nevertheless, he had to find Roon. He just had to.
The problem was that Roon had fallen silent shortly after Jonah's escape from the Red Knight. There had been one last mental communication: I'm very proud of wAAARK.
The wAAARK probably hadn't been intentional. It had sounded more like a scream that had been silenced as abruptly as it had began. It had sounded like a scream of pain.
Roon was in trouble. And worst of all, Jonah had no idea where the man was or how he could help him. Some hero he was turning out to be. He couldn't even save one—
"REST," Aligore suddenly announced, interrupting his thoughts.
Jonah gratefully flopped to the ground next to Sally. His bones and joints settled together with a rasping squeal. His entire body ached. Sally glanced over at him and gave him a halfhearted smile.
"Having fun yet?"
He nodded. "A blast. Remind me to thank Elsie for the lovely vacation tips."
He instantly regretted his words. The smile ran out of her face and she looked away. "I hope they're okay," she said softly.
"Yeah, me too..." Stupid, stupid—why was he always saying stupid things? "I'm sure Elsie and Yap are fine," he added quickly. "Wherever they are."
"Probably better'n us," Tom mumbled. He was sprawled on his back, eyes closed. His forehead was slick with sweat. "I feel like a gumbeast patty."
"I thought Dwarves liked to march?" Jonah said, grinning a little.
"Nah. We like to drink. And sleep. And ride in airships. That's about it."
"Somebody once told me that marching builds character."
Tom opened one eye and peered at him. "Yeah? Who told you that?"
"You did. About eight hours ago."
Tom closed his eye and sighed heavily. "Well, I wouldn't take that person's advice. Don't sound like he knows what he's talking about."
"That's what I figured."
"Smart boy."
"QUIET."
Jonah glanced over at Aligore. The dragon was staring off into the distance, his head cocked to one side, listening intently. He had been unusually gruff with the others during the last grueling hours, driving them relentlessly across the plains. Of course, considering his recent injuries, maybe his temper could be excused. Still, Jonah thought, he could say "please." Wouldn't kill him.
"Hear anything, mate?" Tom asked the dragon.
"YES. BUT THEY'RE NOT CLOSE. NOT YET." He glanced around. "ARE YOU RESTED YET?"
Tom groaned, clambering to his feet. "Why not? Some kid once told me that marching builds character. Reckon I could do with some o' that stuff."
Jonah.
Jonah froze. A voice. Roon? No, the voice was soft, feminine.
Elsie.
I'm here, he thought, trying to focus the words, trying to broadcast them loud and clear. He wasn't quite sure which mental muscles to flex.
There was no response.
Sally was staring at him, her eyebrow raised skeptically. "You okay? You look like you just swallowed a bug."
"It's Elsie. I think she's trying to contact us."
The sighs of relief were unmistakable.
Jonah glanced around. "Well, should we...I dunno, stop? Try to fall asleep so we can talk to her?"
Aligore shook his head. "IF YOU GO TO SLEEP HERE, YOU'LL WAKE UP IN A DRAGON'S BELLY. BESIDES, WE'RE CLOSE TO THE CASTLE, I'M SURE OF IT. WE CAN SLEEP THERE."
"But Elsie..."
"ELSIE IS ALIVE, AND WHEREVER SHE IS RIGHT NOW, SHE'S SAFER THAN WE ARE. THAT RIGHT THERE IS GOOD ENOUGH FOR ME."
Tom nodded. "He's right. We've gotta keep going."
So they did.
And three hours later, the dragons found them.
***
Jimjim touched the wall. It was hard and smooth. It felt real. Probably wasn't, though. Nothing was real, not here. Not in the prison.
The ghost was sleeping. Jimjim could hear him, snoring away in the distance. Didn' know I snored like dat, he thought absently, tracing a finger along the wall. When the ghost closed his eyes, Jimjim's window went away. He missed it. He liked that window.
"Gon' keel you, meester ghost," he muttered under his breath.
That was the problem, though...he didn't know how to kill the ghost. Couldn't stab him—nothing to stab with. Couldn't choke him—fingers went right through his neck. Stabbing and choking were Jimjim's normal way of dealing with problems. He couldn't think of a plan that didn't involve at least one of 'em.
If only he had a knife. A nice, big, shiny knife, with a good handle and a sharp blade, perfect for sticking into the necks of—
Something flickered.
Just a little flicker, right there in the middle of the room. One second everything was the same, then everything wobbled. And when it wobbled, he saw his knife, just the knife he had been thinking about. It was sitting right there.
Then it was gone.
Jimjim frowned. All this weird ghost stuff was just too hard to figure out. Had that knife been real? And where had it gone? He ran his fingers along the spot on the floor where the knife had been. Nothing. Just floor.
He cursed under his breath. And that knife had been good, too, just the kind he had been wanting, with the curvy blade and the black handle and—
wobble
There it was again.
It flickered.
He blinked.
It disappeared.
Was this another trick from that ghost? Playing with Jimjim's head? No, the ghost was sleeping. He could still hear him snoring away somewhere high above him.
So who was making that knife?
Something clicked in Jimjim's brain. The knife showed up when he was thinking about it. And suddenly it made sense, or at least a weird sort of half-sense. This prison wasn't real, Jimjim knew that. It was something the ghost had made to hold him. And the ghost had made the prison with his brain.
Maybe he had just figured that Jimjim was too stupid to realize what was going on. Here in this other place, things were the way they were because someone was thinking about them...was that the answer? The ghost was thinking about Jimjim's prison, so there it was. Jimjim was thinking about a nice, fat stabbing knife, so—
wobble wobble
He concentrated as hard as he could. His tongue stuck out of the corner of his mouth, and his face scrunched up from the effort. Thinking about knifes. Black handle. Curvy blade. Silver, maybe. Sharp. Dangerous.
Everything stopped wobbling.
He picked up the knife. It was solid and heavy in his hand. It felt good.
Jimjim grinned.
***
Aligore was exhausted. The wounds on his back refused to heal, and he was still losing blood, although now it was only a trickle at a time. Every step he took made his body scream out in agony. He felt dizzy and weak. And the moult was drawing closer. He could feel it. Should he tell the others? No. There was nothing they could do to prevent it. All dragons moulted; it was a fact of nature. Perhaps his luck would hold and the moult would wait. Perhaps.
He showed no sign of weakness. Somebody had to be strong. Somebody had to be a leader now that Elsie was gone. Tom was brave, he knew that, but Jonah and Sally were still children. If they saw his fear and exhaustion, they might lose hope. So he was strong because he had to be.
They were close, he knew that. Every now and then the fog would break for a moment, exposing the mountain range looming in the distance. He knew that Aabundiai was carved into the side of a mountain, so it couldn't be much further.
It couldn't.
Any minute now.
He almost didn't smell the dragon until it was too late. The smell came in hot and heavy, the ripe stench of goat's blood blasted forward by heavy leather wings.
"GET DOWN!" he cried.
They dropped as one. The dragon screamed out of the mist, jaws wide. It swooped overhead, its claws passing over his back close enough for him to feel the slapping hiss of wind. Then the creature whirled up and away, disappearing into the gray.
"HORNLESSSSS!"
Aligore froze. He couldn't help himself. It was the older dragon's voice that did it. Its was strong and hard, like freezing rain hammering against cold stone. This dragon even pronounced its S's correctly, unlike Aligore and his embarrassing speech impediment. How could he possibly stand up to a voice like that?
Then Tom's hands were on his shoulders, pulling him to his feet. "Get up, mate. We gotta go."
Aligore stood, his entire body trembling. The dragon's mighty wings had kicked up a cloud of salty ash around them. He couldn't get a fix on the creature. Where was it? Then he smelled it, off to the left. He whirled around.
"YOU HAVE A DWARF WITH YOU." The voice drifted out of the mist behind them, low and base. The creature sounded amused. Aligore spun around again. How had it moved so quickly?
"Err...that's right," Tom said weakly. "A mighty dragon hunter, that's me."
"I'M SSSSURE. I HAVE A DEAL FOR YOU, DWARF. GIVE ME THE HORNLESSSS TO EAT AND I'LL LET YOU GO. WE WILL SSSHOW HIM MORE MERCY THAN YOUR KIND."
Wait...now the smell was back, stronger than ever, but it was behind them again...
"Sure," Tom said. "Sounds like a deal. Come and get him." He held his hatchet at the ready, peering into the gloom. Sally and Jonah crouched behind him. They looked pale and terrified.
"DO YOU THINK I CAN'T SSSSEE THAT HATCHET, DWARF? I HAVE VERY GOOD EYESSS."
He could see them? How close was this creature? And why was the dragon's smell coming from the wrong direction? Unless...
Aligore suddenly realized what was happening. There were two of them.
Aligore dove forward, throwing his bulk against Tom and the children, bowling them to the ground. A giant pair of jaws snapped shut where the Dwarf had stood a moment ago. The dragon withdrew its head into the mist, eyes flashing.
"Umph..." Tom said up, rubbing his head. "How'd it get behind us?"
The second dragon struck, coming in low and fast from the opposite direction. Spiderwebs of drool danced in the pale light. It lowered its head and slammed into Aligore, driving him to the ground and knocking the wind from his lungs in a single glancing blow. He felt one of the creature's mighty horns tear a gash in his side. He tried to regain his footing, but his right leg gave out and he tumbled back into the dirt, crying out in pain.
"LEAVE ME! RUN FOR THE HILLS!" he bellowed, then the dragon hit him again. He curled up in a helpless ball, gasping for breath. The dragon stared down at him, its lips curling in what might have been a cruel smile. Then the second dragon materialized out of the mist, glaring down at him.
"YOU LET THEM RIDE YOU, DIDN'T YOU, HORNLESSS?"
Aligore merely wheezed. He couldn't move. It hurt too badly.
"BETTER TO BE DEAD THAN HORNLESSS. WE ARE DOING THISSS FOR YOUR OWN GOOD, YOUNG ONE." Still grinning, the dragon's jaws swung open as it leaned in for the kill.
I HOPE THE OTHERS GOT AWAY, Aligore thought. He closed his eyes, trying to brace himself for the unbraceable. I HOPE THEY MAKE IT.
The dragon roared above him. It wasn't a happy roar.
Aligore managed to open his eyes.
The dragons were no longer watching him. Instead they were staring off into the distance. They looked furious.
A second rock flew out of the mist, catching one of the dragons squarely on the nose. It howled in anger. The dragons lumbered away, snapping and snarling.
I TOLD THEM TO LEAVE, Aligore thought. Then his eyes closed and everything went dark.
***
Jonah grabbed another rock and whizzed it at the dragon's skull. With casual ease, the dragon batted the rock from the air. They slithered towards him, huge and furious. Their eyes glimmered bright with hatred.
Beside him, Sally chucked a nice, sharp stone as hard as she could. It dinged off one of the dragon's forehead. The creature blinked, looking rather surprised. "I think we got their attention," she remarked.
Tom took aim and beamed a rock at the other dragon. It let out a bellow of rage and shook its large head back and forth, throwing a fine spray of slobber through the musty air. "Huh. Got that one in the eye." He glanced at Jonah. "So what's next?"
Jonah threw another rock. "What'd you mean?"
"Well, what's the next part of your plan?"
"There is no next part. Just this part."
"What, we're just supposed to chuck rocks at 'em?"
"Yeah, pretty much." Jonah fired off another stone. "I didn't say it was a good plan."
"Should we maybe run now?" Sally suggested.
"I like her plan better," Tom said.
They turned and ran.
It was too late, though. As fast as they were, the dragons were faster. They closed the distance between them with horrible speed, slinking forward with serpentine grace. Hunger blazed in their eyes. Their stench was suffocating at close range, and the ground trembled beneath each thunderous footstep. The monsters were panting with excitement.
Jonah tried to think, tried to come up with a plan. But it was too late, they were too slow, and the dragons were too big. We're not gonna make it, he realized. This is the end.
Then something was whistling past his ear, close enough to ruffle his hair. One of the dragons shrieked behind him.
Another zwip.
Then a thwip.
Then a whole screaming volley of zings, twits, and thwms filled the air around them. "Get down!" Tom yelled, dragging the children to their knees.
"What is it?" Jonah cried out, covering his head and pressing himself flat against the ground.
"Arrows," Tom muttered.
The dragons screamed for a while. Jonah could hear a rush of wings as they attempted to take off. The arrows kept flying.
There was a thud.
Then another thud.
The arrows stopped.
Jonah tentatively stole a glance behind him. The dragons were dead, sprawled out in the dust, hundreds of tiny arrows dotting their massive bodies. It was a terrible sight. He turned away.
Little men began to emerge from the mist, all clothed in the same strange gray armor, bows held at the ready. Even though the dragons were obviously dead, the men made no sign of lowering their weapons. Dwarves, Jonah suddenly realized. They're Dwarves.
Tom breathed a sigh of relief beside him. "Bout time you blokes showed up," he said, springing to his feet and stepping forward. "Listen, thanks for the—"
There was an audible groaning noise as fifty bowstrings were drawn taut. Every arrow was pointed directly at Tom's forehead.
He froze, one foot hovering in the air. "Is...uh, is there a problem here?"
"You're trespassing," the nearest Dwarf said. It didn't seem to be a question.
Slowly, carefully, Tom held his hands up, palms facing out in the universal sign of please don't kill me. "We didn't mean any harm. See, we were attacking by these—"
"Shut up."
"Right." Tom threw a helpless glance over his shoulder at Jonah and Sally.
The Dwarf captain turned to his men. "Chain them."
"But we didn't do anything!" Sally cried out.
The Dwarf never turned around. "If one of them says another word, shoot the person standing next to him. Or her."
Sally shut her mouth. Her face had flushed bright red.
Tom bit his lip. Sweat ran down his face. He stared at Jonah, then his eyes darted to the side, in the direction where Aligore lay in the distance. His gaze returned to Jonah. The unspoken message was clear: Don't tell them about Aligore.
Jonah frowned. But Aligore was hurt, maybe dying! They couldn't just leave him out here, could they? Then he remembered what the band of Dwarves had done to the adult dragons, and he realized that Tom was right. Aligore's best chance for survival was to stay as far away from these arrow-happy little savages as possible.
A Dwarf stepped forward, holding several pairs of manacles.
Jonah swallowed hard.
"Do not accept the badger's proposal!" Yap screamed in her ear. "He will make a terrible husband!"
Elsie woke up slowly, blinking her sleep away and thinking nasty thoughts about kicking Yap in the head. Sometime during the night, the gnome had apparently coated himself with even mud, and he had also stuck feathers in his nose. He grinned at her through a mouthful of pebbles. "So I guess you're still crazy, huh?" she muttered crossly.
"Crazy lazy hazy mazy razy."
"Yeah, good point. Thanks, Yap."
"Sluggerflickermonkey."
"Right."
Took you long enough to wake up. Vork sat on the other side of the clearing, trying very hard to look miserable and pathetic. He sighed dramatically. I've been awake for hours. It's been dreadfully boring. Most Unicorns don't need to sleep for very long, after all. Of course, most Unicorns aren't fat and stupid like me, so I suppose there are exceptions to every rule.
"Good morning to you, too." She stood up, and gingerly stretched. Her muscles were still obnoxiously sore. The swamp was quiet around her. Apparently the birds and animals who lived here were too depressed to make much noise. Elsie couldn't blame them. And she still hadn't found anything remotely edible, and this was quickly becoming a pressing concern. She hadn't eaten anything in almost a day, and her stomach seemed on the verge of going on strike. "I don't suppose you have anything to eat?" she asked the Unicorn.
"Sweet, delicious goatflesh!" Yap howled. He launched himself at Vork and began his daily ritual of chewing on the Unicorn's leg. Vork sighed heavily.
Well, I could always make imaginary food for you, I suppose. I should warn you, though—I'm a lousy cook. I'll probably poison you, or feed you something so foul that you'll choke and die. No, you're probably better off killing me and eating my flesh, like the gnome is trying to do. It's your only chance for survival. I suggest you start with my haunches. They look nice and tender. If I were going to eat myself, that's where I'd start. He stared at her hopefully.
She rolled her eyes. "I'm not going to kill you."
Please? I'm sure I'm very delicious underneath this ugly skin.
Yap hooted agreement.
"Sorry. But I will try some of that imaginary food, if you don't mind. I'm sure it's very good."
He shrugged, then ambled over to her. Think of your favorite food, and then prepare to have it ruined. He touched his horn to her forehead and Elsie instantly tasted freshly-roasted fish, coated with warm butter, hot and sweet. Her jaw chewed instinctively, and she could feel the food slide down her throat and into her belly. Best of all, she felt full. Finally Vork stepped away. She grinned at him. "That was absolutely delicious. Thank you."
Vork grunted. Thank me when the stomach cramps hit you. They'll probably be along any minute now. He glanced down at Yap, who was gnawing on the Unicorn's ankle. Want me to feed him, too?
"Sure, if you don't mind."
Okay, gnome, think of your favorite food.
Yap smiled broadly.
Vork frowned, then glanced at Elsie. He's thinking about Unicorns.
"On second thought, maybe you don't need to feed him after all," she said quickly. "He doesn't eat much anyway."
"Feed me your flesh, chubby beast of victory!" Yap attacked the ankle again.
To his slight credit, Vork attempted to ignore the gnome. He stared at Elsie. So did you find your friends during your whole dream-thingie? Or are they dead?
"They're not dead," she said crossly. "I could feel all their signatures...well, I didn't feel Fleet or the piglumps, but I've never actually looked for them in the dream world. But I did sense my friends. I think they're all okay."
So where are they?
"I'm not sure. They never went to bed—at least not that I could tell—so I couldn't speak with them. I hope they're not still on their way to Aabundiai. I need to get to them soon."
She stared at him.
He stared back at her. He was apparently very bad at taking hints.
She cleared her throat. "I said I need to get to them soon."
That's fantastic.
"Mmm. Probably a long way from here, though."
Probably. Don't let me keep you.
"I'll probably never make it on foot."
Probably not.
"I really wish there was some way of getting there faster."
He yawned broadly. That would be helpful, wouldn't it?
Elsie sighed. It was hopeless. "To be honest, I was hoping you would help me..."
Vork took a step back, looking vaguely alarmed. Oh no. Not me. You've got the wrong Unicorn, kid.
"I'm not a kid. I'm Elsie Ortower, High Princess of Dell, for your information."
How wonderful for you. I'm sure that's very exciting. Especially when you're sitting around in swamps all day long. He slowly stood up and shambled away from her, humming under his breath.
"Lick the moon with a giant baboon!" Yap announced, creeping along after the Unicorn.
Elsie stamped her foot down. It was a bad habit that popped up whenever she got cross, but she was never able to break it. Stamping just felt right sometimes. "Listen, don't help me because I'm a Princess; help me because I'm another living creature who needs help! Isn't that enough reason?"
No, he said flatly.
"You really are unpleasant sometimes, do you know that?"
He turned back to her. Know it? I cultivate it. And trying to play the sympathy game with me won't help matters. Nobody cares about me, so I don't care about anybody else. You have problems, and so do I. I don't ask you to solve my problems, so don't ask me to solve yours.
"Well, what are your problems? Maybe I can help."
Can't think of any at the moment. But that's not the point.
"I thought you wanted to find the other Unicorns again...maybe I can help you find them!"
That was last night, he said scornfully. Right now it sounds like a stupid plan. A lot of work, a lot of danger, and probably some unfortunate weather along the way. No, I'll just stay here.
"So we're supposed to sit here and stare at each other until we die, is that it?"
Works for me.
"I work for no man, slugs of the morning!" Yap screamed. He leaped to his feet and dashed headfirst into the nearest tree, promptly knocking himself out.
Elsie threw up her hands and turned away, disgusted. She was lost in an abandoned swamp in some forgotten corner of some dismal little kingdom, her only companions an insane gnome and an obnoxious Unicorn, and she was powerless to help her friends. She decided that things couldn't possibly be worse.
Couldn't Possibly Be Worse is always a bad thing to think or say, of course. The gods of dramatic irony often reward statements like this with gifts of huge, chomping danger or screaming death.
Today was no exception.
***
The man on the hill was annoyed. The sun was shining, the grass was green, and the birds were chirping, and these were three things that generally annoyed him. He was a firm believer that nature had its place, and that place was on the other side of a window. In his experience, nature tended to make one dirty, smelly and tired. Not coincidentally, the man himself was currently dirty, smelly and tired, which annoyed him further.
He was also annoyed by the hole in his chest.
It was a large hole, almost a foot across and perfectly rounded. It went all the way through his body, so that he could have reached his arm through to pat himself on the back if he had been so inclined, which he was not. It wasn't a messy, bloody hole, since his skin had instantly reformed and sealed off after the cannonball had torn through him.
A small woodmouse scurried by. Dain kicked it as hard as he could.
Just on general principles, being shot by a cannon and then falling several thousand feet often tends to kill a person. If the person in question, however, has made a deal for immortality with an evil Sorceress, it changes the equation quite a bit. So while the cannonball might leave a large, grinning hole in your chest, and while plummeting thousands of feet will certainly squash you down and made you quite a bit shorter and grumpier, neither of these things will kill you. They will simply hurt.
When signing an unholy pact with an evil creature spawned in the dank depths of the deep dark, it's usually a good idea to pay attention to the fine print. There are a lot of way to interpret the word invincible. Not all of them are comfortable.
She would come for him. He was sure of it.
In a technical sense, he hadn't really failed. Yes, the Princess and that brat Jonah had escaped, and he had been shot in the chest by two small creatures who shared the combined intelligence of a developmentally-challenged eggplant, and he had plunged several thousand feet to the ground, but that could hardly be considered a failure. If anybody was to blame, it was the Red Knight, who had allowed himself to be beaten by a worthless child. No, Dain had done his part, integrating himself into the Princess's inner circle, becoming her bodyguard, guiding the clueless group toward the Sorceress's outstretched arms. Things had simply gone wrong.
She had to know that it hadn't been Dain's fault. She would send for him soon. She wouldn't leave him sitting on this hill forever. He had done his job. He would be rewarded for his loyalty.
Any minute now.
And he wasn't a terrible person, no matter what the others might think. Yes, he had betrayed their trust. Yes, he had tried to kill them all. Yes, he had gone a little crazy. But everybody has their bad days.
When given the choice between being nothing and being something, Dain would always choose to be something. Even if that something turned out to be a rather nasty traitor who betrayed his companions, that was still better than being nothing at all. The Sorceress had plucked him away from death's door, which hadn't been a door or a glowing ray of light at all, but rather a crowded and smelly room that had been filled with a lot of bored people waiting in very long lines. She had taken him and brought him back, made him real again, given him a body that could crumple and bend and apparently function relatively well even after losing quite a few vital organs, and the only price had been his soul. This had seemed like a very reasonable trade. He had never used the soul much anyway. Dain thought of souls like toenails—nice to have around, but nobody was really sure what they were good for.
The morning light glinted off the wreckage of the Red Knight's mighty airship, which was currently strewn about in several mighty chunks of shattered steel and wood. He had spent a few days exploring the wreck, hoping to find Jonah's mangled corpse. No such luck. He had, however, found a new shirt amidst the rubble, which he used to cover the massive hole in his chest. The shirt was a bright, cheerful blue. Dain still wasn't sure if it was an improvement or not.
He spat on the ground. He hated Jonah, even though he had never actually met him. Still, he was fairly confident that if he ever did meet the boy, he would probably hate him. This was a safe bet, since Dain hated all children. They tended to be noisy and stupid and enjoyed making goofy faces, and they were absolutely no good in a battle. Dain couldn't remember ever being a child himself, but he had a sneaking suspicion that he hadn't been a very good one. He made a much better adult.
Even now, the Sorceress was no doubt sending an airship to pick him up. She wouldn't just leave him out here to rot. He was valuable.
His sword had shattered when he hit the ground, and every sword he had found in the airship had been twisted and gnarled from the fiery crash. This was unfortunate, because Dain was in the mood to stab something.
A shadow fell across him. He glanced up just in time to see the man leap out of the airship, sword held at the ready.
***
"Yap, I need you to listen to me very carefully."
"Call the slug. He is wise in the ways of cheese-making."
"Yap!"
"Who eats the western toadstool? The metal baby, that's who!"
"Yap, I need your help."
"Did the Unicorn tell you to talk to the fish? He can't be trusted. Swarthy, that is."
"We're stuck here, Yap. You need to teleport us back. Back to the others, I mean."
"Crafty tea party interrupted by ungunkgunkgunk! Oh slippery day!"
"Can you do that, Yap? Can you teleport us back?"
"Eat the fat ones first. They are slow and beautiful. For sooth!"
You're trusting your life to that thing? She didn't even have to turn around to hear the sneer on Vork's face. You'd be lucky to make it five yards before he turned you inside out.
She whirled around. "Do you have any better ideas? I don't see you being much help!"
Vork smiled at her pleasantly. I just said that the gnome will probably kill you both. I didn't say you shouldn't give it a shot.
"Thanks for your concern," she said bitterly.
"He's awake, you know," Yap suddenly said, his voice low and serious. For just a moment, his eyes were clear. "Yap can feel him down there. He's moving around."
"What?" She blinked. "What did you say?"
"Fluggermonkeys fly by the light of the moon! Sweet gnome soup for all!" It was no use. Whatever had briefly flickered across the gnome's face had already been trampled down by a thundering herd of Stupid. He stuck a long finger in his noise and dug rapturously.
"Who's awake, Yap?" she persisted.
"You cannot have Yap's pebbles. Do not ask, or Yap will kill you at first dawn."
"Oh, Yap, quit saying those things."
"Perhaps the ooomohapawhapazump will have words with you. Must show respect to delicious beasts of yore! Yap, yap!"
Make him shut up. Vork's voice was hollow. In the next instant the Unicorn was on his feet, peering about wildly. Can you smell it? he asked. Can you smell them?
Great, Elsie thought. Now he's gone crazy too. It must be contagious. "What are you talking about?" she snapped.
The Wolfen.
She froze. She had heard stories of the Wolfen, of course. Every small child in Rhyyne had heard of the Wolfen. The stories were usually passed on by malicious older children after the lights had been turned down for the night, and they usually ended the same way: And the little girl was Never Seen Again. But the Wolfen weren't real. Everybody knew that.
Of course they're real, Vork murmured. At times like this, his telepathy was more than a little unsettling. They're just very good at pretending to not be real.
She jogged over to his side, looking around nervously. "And they're here?"
He sniffed the morning air. Sure feels like it. Vork shuddered, then glanced at her. Well, see you later. Good luck and all of that nonsense. He rose into the air.
"Wait!" she cried frantically. "You're not going to just leave us here, are you?"
Sorry. He looked vaguely embarrassed. I've got to go.
"But you can't just leave us behind to die! We're your friends!"
I don't have friends, he said simply. Then he was gone.
Elsie gathered Yap up into her arms. The gnome began jabbering cheerfully, and she quickly clapped a hand over his mouth. He squirmed in her arms, terribly annoyed.
The clearing was silent.
She smelled them before she saw them. The smell drifted out of the swamp, sharp and bitter, tinged with blood and hair and the rank stink of old dead things. She slowly took a step back and ducked behind a moss-covered stump, sinking down into the shadows.
Something crunched in the underbrush.
She held her breath.
And then Yap gleefully bit down on her fingers. Without thinking, she jerked her hand away.
"Yap demands an offering of monkeyfruit!" he announced at the top of his tiny lungs.
And from deep down in the shadows of the swamp, something growled.
***
Although he would have never admitted it, Paldawar did feel sorry for Jimjim. The man was cowardly, stupid, and at times he seemed purposely smelly, but Paldawar still felt sorry for him. After all, Paldawar knew what it was like to be captured.
He had been taken on a routine sweep. One moment the day had been bright and calm, the silence broken only by the occasional birdcall or a joke from one of his men. Then the sprites had appeared, swarming out of the forest from all sides in a filthy hail of flying arrows and screaming swords. Several of Paldawar's men had broken rank and fled. They were the lucky ones.
The sprites had captured six survivors, including Paldawar. They had taken the prisoners to their camp far beneath the ground, a sunless gloam at the end of a winding labyrinth of jagged vertical corridors. When one is planning on using extreme brutality to interrogate prisoners, it pays to do so in a secluded place. The five men who had been captured beside him were loyal, kind men, and Paldawar loved them like brothers. But they were also weak. They knew the secrets of the Great Castle—the hidden entrances, the disarming spells, the quickest route to the Royal Chamber—and Paldawar had known that it was only a matter of time before one of them crumbled during torture.
So he had killed them himself.
It had been a mercy killing, that was what he had told himself. He had done it quickly and painlessly while they slept that first night, and quickly and painlessly were two things the sprites could have never promised. They were already dead men; he was simply trying to minimize the overall casualties. The crown came before his men. It was simply a matter of loyalty.
If that was true, however, then why hadn't he killed himself? Was it because he knew he was strong, or because he was simply afraid?
The days had blurred into weeks. Even in sunlight, sprites are pale, colorless creatures whose only real emotions are bitter sadism and a love of sticking pointy objects into soft creatures. Deep beneath the surface of the ground, however, they were merely ghostlike blobs of darkness that materialized out of the gloom to slash, to prod, to twist, to bend. The only sounds were their gleeful giggles. He refused to dignify them with a scream. That was what they wanted, after all.
And he had never talked. He had never told them what they wanted to know.
There was no way of guessing how long he remained imprisoned. Long enough for the Great Castle to crumble and fall beneath Regina Cull's army. Long enough for evil to stretch out its slinking tendrils and poison and corrupt every corner of his world. Long enough for the world to become so bad that nothing could ever be the same again.
And then one day a sprite had made a mistake. It had crept too close in the dark. One snap later and he was free, climbing upwards and outwards, the sprite's dagger clutched between his teeth. He barely remembered his desperate rush for the surface. The memories were murky. There had been a lot of stabbing involved, he knew that much.
So he had little trouble empathizing with Jimjim. He knew what it was like to no longer be in control of your own body, to be thrown at the mercy of a faceless and unstoppable enemy. He knew what it was like to be trapped in the darkness. So while Paldawar allowed himself to feel pity, he didn't allow that pity to stop him.
Dain had to die.
There was simply nothing worse than taking a man's body. Taking away his ability to feel the warmth of the sun's rays, his ability to feel a light summer breeze ruffling through his clothes, his ability to take a nice, long stretch in the morning. Eating. Sleeping. Loving. Laughing. Being. Taking a man's body was taking everything he ever was and everything he ever could have been. A ghost might live on, but it never lives.
Dain had to die.
The language of sprites is a mix of guttural, gibbering nonsense and shrieking howls. It had taken Paldawar six days to learn it. He had never let on that he understood, of course, and that was how he learned that the Rune of Roon was real. It was out there somewhere, and the Sorceress was looking for it. The Rune was capable of bending reality, shifting the course of history, molding the world in the image of its master. It was, in short, capable of doing anything.
Paldawar had decided that this would be a very useful thing to have around the house. His world was in desperate need of some molding.
Something flickered on the horizon, a husk of shattered scarlet metal.
After the Great Castle had fallen, his choices had been rather limited. One option involved fighting wave after endless wave of bloodthirsty, unholy monsters from the underworld until one of them finally struck him down. His other option involved finding the Rune of Roon and fixing things. He chose this latter option, as it didn't seem to involve a bloody, futile death.
But he had been proven wrong by Dain.
He peered into the distance. He had found it. The Red Knight's wrecked airship.
Worst of all, it had been a stupid death. No dramatic showdown, no clashing swords or daring maneuvers. Merely opening the door to Dain's room and taking a step forward. The words had already been forming on his lips: Wake up, Dain, we need to talk. They needed to talk about the Rune, about the Sorceress, about joining forces instead of squabbling like children.
He never got a chance to say those words. Dain had come out of the shadows—he was waiting for me, Paldawar had had time to realize—and then he was stabbing forward, his fist a blur of concealed steel. Paldawar's last memories had involved bleeding out on the dusty floor of a worthless little inn in the corner of nowhere. There had been a rushing sensation, a feeling of being tugged away, an urgent sense that he was supposed to leave, to go somewhere else. Paldawar had ignored this sensation. He had just been murdered. This was no time for an eternity of bliss and peace. It was time for revenge.
Dain had to die.
He swept over the Red Knight's airship, peering down at the wreckage. When it had crashed down to Rhyyne, it had apparently hit hard. The splash-pattern of rubble extended across the horizon, steel teeth dotting the landscape. The ground was scorched and dead for a two mile radius. Paldawar continued flying, pulling the airship in a tight circle, surveying the damage.
History is full of moments when the sands of time fall the wrong way, when the twisting fabric of reality zigs instead of zags, when the higher powers momentarily step away from their desk to get a bit of fresh air, and it is during these times that coincidences happen. Not merely little coincidences, such as randomly grabbing an umbrella right before it suddenly starts to rain, but major coincidences, such as randomly grabbing a sturdy iron helmet right before it starts to rain elephants. It is during these moments of fantastic coincidence that history is often made, or, at the very least, abused.
When Paldawar glanced over the side of the airship, he found himself having one of these moments.
Dain was staring back up at him.
He threw the airship down in a tight roaring circle. As the ground rushed up to meet him, he leaped over the railing, his sword already drawn. Then panic hit.
He had misjudged the jump.
He was much too high, falling too fast. His body twisted sideways, badly off-balance, and he couldn't right himself, couldn't compensate for the weight of his weapon. He was going to hit the ground hard, which is never a good strategy when you are holding a broadsword capable of dissecting boulders.
Jimjim, I need help! he cried out desperately. It only took a moment's concentration to dissolve Jimjim's prison, and then he felt the man break free, rising up to meet him. Jimjim took control of the body. Paldawar slid back gratefully. He didn't mind letting Jimjim experience the upcoming landing firsthand.
But the man's cat-like reflexes surprised him once again. Jimjim's body suddenly jackknifed, wrenching his figure to the side. He struck the ground hard, but his knees instantly buckled and he threw himself forward, effortlessly shifting his momentum into a forward roll.
Nice, Paldawar said, vaguely impressed.
Thanks, Jimjim whispered back.
He stood up and dusted himself off.
Dain was staring at him. "Who in blazes are you?" he spat.
I'll take it from here, Paldawar said grimly.
***
The Wolfan stepped into the clearing.
Despite running on all fours, the monster still stood over six feet tall. Its front legs were almost twice as long as its hind legs, which gave it a vaguely humanoid appearance. That was where all similarities ended, however. Its body was matted with thick gray wisps of fur, and two glowing white eyes peered out through a mesh of hair. Its teeth clacked with insane chittering rhythm.
"Humangirl smell you." It spat the words out in a jerky singsong, as if it disliked the taste of language. "Come outout, come play humangirl. Smell you hear you see you breathe right there overthere. Come play play with Chomp Chomp." It laughed, a dry rattling husk of a wheeze.
Elsie stepped out from behind the stump, still holding Yap in her arms. Her heart was hammering a hole through her chest. She said nothing. Merely concentrated.
"Sweet delicious furbeast!" Yap cried, apparently very pleased to see the Wolfan. "Welcome to Yap's rumbly biteworld!"
The Wolfan who called itself Chomp Chomp hissed. Its long gray tongue flickered out, snake-like. "Got gnome got holding hold gnome," it murmured. "Chomp Chomp eat gnome eat humangirl come play with Wolfen play now."
She stared at the beast. Concentrating. Letting it build.
"Yes! Play!" Yap wriggled furiously, trying to escape her iron grip. "Let's play feed Yap your brains, shaggy buddy! All tender birds flop and flubber!"
The Wolfan took a loping step forward, its head cocked to one side. "Not speak not talk humangirl? Not talk Chomp Chomp? Not want play run eat eat?" It seemed to be grinning beneath its stained fur.
Letting it build.
Chomp Chomp took another tentative step forward.
And then a rustling came from the bushes behind her, and Elsie realized the trap. While Chomp Chomp had distracted her, the other Wolfen had crept up behind her. She whirled around.
Two Wolfen burst through the underbrush, snarling. She caught a quick glimpse of snapping, drool-flecked jaws and beady eyes flushed with murderous rage, felt the rank odor of the creatures sweep over her in a thick, heavy stench, heard Chomp Chomp huffing laughter behind her. Then she opened her mouth.
"Oralo Infernus Deiun."
The power she had been collecting leaped up and out, soaring from her body in an electric rush, solidifying and intensifying in a blinding gout of flame that crackled and singed the air around them. A wall of fire screamed into existence, a dancing ring of heat.
Yap either fainted or fell asleep against her shoulder. It was hard to tell.
One of the problems with leaping at prey is that it leaves a creature with relatively few options until its feet touch the ground again. It's difficult to change directions in mid-air. The two Wolfen learned this lesson the hard way. The first one plunged headfirst into the flame barrier. The second barely had time to comically scrabble backwards in mid-leap, its enormous paws backpedaling through the empty air, then it also landed squarely in the blaze. The creatures shrieked in unison as they ignited. They flopped to the ground, thrashing wildly. Elsie took a step back, waiting for them to stop moving. It didn't take long. When one's body is ninety-five percent hair, one tends to burn quickly.
"Funnygirl smartgirl maken burn burn." Chomp Chomp's voice was low and deadly. It circled the flame barrier slowly, staring daggers at her. The heat rippled and distorted its lupine face, but it still seemed to be grinning through the shimmer. And unfortunately, the creature seemed intelligent enough to keep a safe distance from the flames.
"I think you had better leave," she said, trying to control her trembling voice. "Unless you want to join your friends here."
Chomp Chomp hissed. "Don' thinkee no. Don' thinkee hothot fire burn for evers. Thinkee humangirl stop fire now let Chomp Chomp eat bite humangirl."
And it was right, that was the terrible part. The fire wouldn't last forever. Even now she could feel it dissipating, fading away. The heat was already less intense. She desperately tried to summon more power, but she simply couldn't concentrate. The combination of the unbearable heat and the Wolfan's taunts made it hard to focus. And the spell had taken more out of her than she would have liked to admit. She felt weak and helpless.
"Hothot fire go away go away," Chomp Chomp whispered. It sounded pleased.
The flame barrier flickered.
No, she thought. Oh, please, no. Why couldn't she be stronger? Her father would have had no problem maintaining a simple flame barrier; he probably could have done it in his sleep, although sleeping and fire generally do not go well together. Still, he would have found a way. He would have been strong.
Another flicker.
Chomp Chomp took a step closer. "No long time now nohuh? Soon bite bite bite now soon." It wheezed laughter again. Its eyes flashed pale orange in the reflected light.
She slowly bent to her knees and set Yap down. The gnome was heroically snoring loudly. She rested her palms on the dry soil, never taking her eyes off the Wolfan. She balled her hands into fists. Then, slowly and carefully, she stood back up.
With a final awkward splutter, the flame barrier vanished.
Chomp Chomp lunged.
In one smooth motion, she flung both handfuls of dirt directly into the creature's eyes. It howled, jerking its head to the side. Elsie darted out of the way as it plowed into the ground beside her, hacking and coughing. It took a lurching step forward, temporarily blinded.
She grabbed Yap and ran.
***
Paldawar shoved Jimjim aside and took control of the body once more. He stepped forward, hoisting the sword he had found on the airship. Dain was still staring at him, looking rather lost and confused. Good. Paldawar had never meant for this to be a fair fight. Dain was obviously a man who enjoyed playing dirty. Well, Paldawar thought, let's see how he feels about ambushing unsuspecting people after I ram this sword through his belly. Then I'll choke the life out of him while...
And then things suddenly went wrong, because Jimjim was back, and he was holding a knife. A knife. Where in the blazes had that come from? Maybe the filthy little man was slightly more resourceful than Paldawar had given him credit for. Jimjim stabbed desperately.
Paldawar caught him around the wrist. The blade trembled, inches from his chest.
In the physical world, Jimjim's body jerked to an abrupt halt while its twin pilots wrestled for control deep inside Jimjim's mind. A blank expression crept over his face.
Comprehension suddenly broke across Dain's sunburned face. "Wait, I know you! You're Jimjim, aren't you? She told me about you. I saw you through my spyball."
Paldawar brought his knee up, driving it into Jimjim's stomach.
Dain took a step forward. "Well, it's about time she sent somebody to get me. I've been waiting out here forever."
In the other place, one cannot actually break a person's arm by twisting it backwards. After all, it is not really an arm, merely a mental representation of what an arm should be. If the person in question is Jimjim, however, and blissfully ignorant of how mental representations are supposed to work, it is quite easy to convince them that twisting an arm backwards really, really hurts.
Jimjim yelped and dropped the knife.
"You can put down that sword," Dain said, his voice rather cross. He stared at Jimjim's blank expression, raising his eyebrow slightly. "How much has she told you, anyway?"
Paldawar swung out again, connecting squarely with the side of Jimjim's jaw. The man crumpled without a word. Acting quickly, Paldawar spun around and leaped back into control of the body. He had to hurry. Had to kill Dain before he realized what was happening. Had to make him suffer. The hands on Jimjim's body clenched as the body became his own once again. He took a step forward.
"Has she told you about the Rune?" Dain asked.
And Paldawar froze.
Dain stared at him for a moment. "Well, are you going to say anything, bounty hunter, or are you just going to stand there looking stupid?"
Jimjim licked his lips. In a passable imitation of Jimjim's voice, he said, "What...err...what Rune you talkin' bout?"
"The Rune of Roon," Dain said impatiently. "Didn't she tell you anything?"
After a moment of pure agony, Paldawar made a decision.
"No. But let's git on my ship an' we kin talk bout it."
And he grinned.
***
The problem with gnome villages is that they are simply not built with good hiding spots in mind. Elsie glanced around frantically. She knew she had no chance of outrunning the creature, but considering the Wolfan's advanced sense of smell, she doubted that she could hide for very long. The only remaining option seemed to be getting eaten.
The creature loped toward her, still hacking. Its eyes blazed rage.
She grabbed a nearby rock and threw it at the Wolfan's head. It dodged easily and kept coming.
A spell. She needed a spell. Fire. She had to concentrate. Summon the power. What were the words? Couldn't think. No time. Too weak.
It lunged...
...and was instantly batted out of the air by a blinding beam of light.
Chomp Chomp smashed to the ground in a sprawling heap of limbs. A second burst of light struck its flank, lifting it in the air and twisting it in a tight half-spiral. The Wolfan howled.
I hate those things, Vork muttered from behind her.
The Unicorn fired again, but the Wolfan was faster. It lunged forward, barely avoiding the blast, and it bolted away into the underbrush, still bleating with pain and fury.
Elsie turned to Vork. "I thought...you were...leaving..." she panted.
I... He didn't make eye contact with her. I felt bad.
"You left us to die."
I know. I'm sorry. He hung his head and turned away. I'm a terrible Unicorn, you know. Complete coward. Probably should have let those things kill me.
She reached out and touched his side. "You also saved my life."
It was nothing. He pawed the ground, clearly uncomfortable.
"Well, it means quite a lot to me," she said softly. "Thank you."
He blushed, looking away. Was nothing.
There was a moment of silence.
Vork cleared his throat, a rather endearing gesture, considering that he didn't actually speak out loud. Err... he began.
She waited.
That thing you said...about us being...friends...? That wasn't serious, right? Because I know that you weren't serious and...
"Yes," she said firmly. "You're my friend."
Huh. He glanced at her, then looked away. She could have sworn that his eyes seemed even damper than usual.
"Is that okay?"
It's just... He sighed. I never had a friend before. Because I'm a terrible Unicorn and all of that nonsense. Did I mention that part?
She grinned a little. "A few times. But you've got at least one friend now. Probably two as soon as Yap wakes up and gets hungry again."
Huh, he repeated. He stared up at the sky, lost in thought. She left him have this moment. Sometimes the most important part of being a friend is knowing when to be quiet.
He glanced at her again. Where did you say you needed to go?
Bebbens sighed as he hurried down the winding stairs. There were some days when it seemed as if the world was conspiring to dump every conceivable problem squarely on his head, and then there were days that were even worse. This was turning out to be one of the latter. Every day was Abuse Bebbens Day, they only varied by a matter of degree.
Ah, here it was, Subsection 14. Prison level.
There were quite a few cells in Subsection 14, because lately Aabundiai had become a city that firmly believed in making room for creatures of every culture, and those rooms had nice, sturdy bars. Most of the cells were currently empty, though. When the only reward for a traveler navigating the Scorched Lands was a prison cell and maybe the threat of imminent death, it doesn't take long for your city to be hastily scribbled out of the tourism pamphlets.
He hurried past the empty cells, muttering under his breath. Bebbens operated each day under the sort of frantic primal terror that comes from hating your job because you suspect that you are doing it very poorly. It hadn't always been this bad, he could still remember that much at least. Back in the old days, when Lord Coalbrick was still right in the head, Bebbens had been the Royal Attaché for Diplomatic Things Of All Sorts, which he had been very good at. Talk to a few visiting dignitaries once or twice a year, give them a tour of the gardens, then send them on their merry way. Nothing to it.
After Aurella had taken control of the city, however, Bebbens had been reassigned as the Chief Diplomat for Murderous Interlopers, which basically involved telling prisoners that they could either scram or face a nice, hearty execution. Bebbens was a miserable failure at this new job, since being short (even for a Dwarf), fat, and constantly perplexed is hardly the best way to strike fear into the hearts of Murderous Interlopers. Or, as was usually the case, Murderous Interlopers Cleverly Disguised As Traveling Salesmen.
He reached the final cell and stopped. The three Murderous Interlopers stared back at them. One of them was a Dwarf, the other two were human children. None of them looked particularly Murderous.
"Errr...ah, yes," Bebbens began, peering at his clipboard owlishly. "Three of you. Yes. That seems right. Names?"
"What's going on here?" the other Dwarf asked quietly.
When in doubt, Bebbens stammered. "Umm...well...you're prisoners, of course...and...erm...names, please?"
"Tom," the Dwarf said, his voice cold. "And this is Jonah, and she's Sally. And I'd like to know what's going on here."
Bebbens fumbled with a pencil. "Tom, you say? And how is that spelled?"
Tom stared at him. "There's only one way to spell it."
"Err...T-O-M, then?"
"Why are we prisoners?"
"Right, well, I'll just put T-O-M." He made a great show of carefully writing down the letters on the clipboard. Protocol must be followed, after all.
"Let us out of here!" the girl named Sally snapped.
Bebbens jumped back away from the bars. Sweat was running down his round face. "Well...yes...that's certainly a possibility...but...ermm..."
"Why are we prisoners?" Tom repeated quietly.
"Well..." Bebbens cleared his throat and peered at the clipboard again. At the moment, it was his only hope of salvation. He had a sneaking suspicion that he would probably be better at his job if it didn't terrify him quite so much. "Ah, yes...says here that you're...um...being held on the charges of being...err...mfff imfffuf."
Tom blinked. "What was that?"
"Murderous Interlopers...?" Bebbens repeated helplessly.
There was a long pause.
"What's an interloper?" the boy named Jonah finally asked.
"Who are we accused of murderin'?" Tom asked. His voice was infuriatingly calm.
"Well...nobody yet, of course...right...that is, I mean to say..."
"So we're being held just in case we decide to murder someone?"
Bebbens grasped at this straw with desperate enthusiasm. "Right! Safety precautions, must be followed...erm...you know how it goes..." He wiped his brow.
"What's an interloper?" Jonah repeated.
Bebbens ignored him, mainly because that was a question that had been nagging the little Dwarf for quite some time. Nobody had ever bothered to tell Bebbens what an Interloper was. At first he had assumed that it must have been some type of fruit, but then Aurella had thrown several heavy objects at his head and screamed quite a bit, so he had stopped asking questions. "According to proper procedure...well, that is to say..."
"And what might your name be?" Tom asked.
"Bebbens." He spat out the name miserably, then a wave of sudden paranoia crashed over him. "Err...why do you want to know?"
Still a picture of composure, Tom took a step forward. "Because, Mr. Bebbens, I have a feeling that when this rubbish is over, you're going to be in a lot of trouble."
Bebbens quailed. "But...I...err...just doing my job...um...why am I going to be in trouble?" He licked his lips nervously.
"Because we're the bodyguards of Elsie Ortower, the High Princess of Dell, and imprisoning us might—and I'm just saying might here—be taken as an act of war." Tom smiled broadly. "Might, mind you."
"Oh. Err...and where...where is the Princess?"
Tom's smile flickered. "She's on her way here right now."
"I see..."
"What's an interloper?"
"It's someone who interlopes," Bebbens snapped. "Don't interrupt."
"That was rude," Tom said. His smile was pure ice. "Don't be rude, Mr. Bebbens."
Bebbens trembled and made fish-noises helplessly.
Sally took a step forward. "Listen, I still don't understand why we're being held here! We haven't done anything!"
The clipboard. It would save him. Nothing else would. He fumbled through the protocol doctrine, which was currently ninety-eight pages of very dense language that Bebbens would never hope to understand. "Well, you see...I mean, according to Protocol 18-B, Subclause 3...umm, that's on page 61...ah, yes..."Murderous Interlopers and Their Love of Unholy Chaos"...right, well..."
"Does that say what interlopers are?" Jonah persisted.
"I want to speak to your king," Tom said softly.
Bebbens melted. "You...you can't!" he wailed. "Lord Coalbrick is a very...erm...very..."
Don't say crazy.
"...very busy Dwarf! He has no time to...well...to spend talking to..."
"Murderous interlopers?" Jonah offered.
"Exactly."
The creepy little half-smile was still twitching in the corner of Tom's mouth. "I think he has enough time to speak with us, Mr. Bebbens. This is important."
"You...erm...well, you obviously have no idea how...oh...how complicated it can be to...hmm...to run a government, things like that...and...err...yes," he finished weakly. He stared down at the clipboard furiously. If there wasn't already a protocol for dealing with difficult questions from Murderous Interlopers, there would be soon.
"I think you had better get your king," Tom said softly.
"No, you see...well, Lord Coalbrick is...well, Lord Coalbrick is..."
"I'm what?" a rusty voice said from behind him.
Bebbens' heart sank. He slowly turned around.
Sure enough, Lord Coalbrick was standing there, beaming at him with his usual vacant expression. Bits of Peanut Crackle Surprise were caught in the king's bushy beard. And, to his horror, Bebbens saw that...
There was an unbearable silence.
Lord Coalbrick stared at them pleasantly.
"Um, so that's your king?" Jonah asked quietly.
"Yes," Bebbens whispered miserably.
"Huh. Um...why isn't he wearing any pants?"
Lord Coalbrick smiled at him warmly. "I like the breeze," he said, as if this explained everything. Perhaps it did.
Bebbens moaned.
The Murderous Interlopers gaped.
The king patted his pockets—his shirt pockets, naturally—his expression puzzled. "I seem to be fresh out of Peanut Crackle Surprise..." he said hesitantly.
"You had better go get some more from the kitchen then, your majesty," Bebbens squeaked.
The king nodded. He was a Dwarf who appreciated good advice when he heard it.
"And...your majesty?"
"Yes?"
Bebbens leaned in close and quickly whispered something. Lord Coalbrick glanced down in the direction where pants are usually found, then sighed heavily. "If you insist," he said. "I'll go find some." He wandered off down the hallway, humming absently.
Bebbens glanced at the Murderous Interlopers.
They stared back at him.
"I think...umm...I think you had better come with me," Bebbens said weakly.
***
So this is a castle, huh? Jonah thought absently. Didn't expect it to be so...clean.
They made their way up the winding staircase, following close behind Bebbens. The fat little Dwarf was still babbling excuses to Tom, who didn't seem to be in a particularly excusing mood. The staircase was clean and bright, and the white marble sparkled brightly in the soft fluorescent lights...
Hold on a minute. Fluorescent lights?
Jonah paused, staring at the ceiling. Sure enough, a thick black cord snaked its way along the ceiling, occasionally connecting with small crystal clusters that were pumping out a sterile yellow glow. He blinked. He had read enough trashy fantasy novels to know that castles didn't have electricity. They had moats and cobwebs and paintings where the eyeballs mysteriously followed you as you passed, but they didn't have electricity.
Did they?
"What are you—?" Sally broke off as she followed his gaze upwards. "Huh," she muttered.
Bebbens glanced over his shoulder nervously. "Is...err...is there something wrong?" His tone suggested that he fully expected that if something wasn't wrong at this particular moment, it probably would be soon.
"You've got electricity," Jonah said. "How do you have electricity?"
"Well, whaddya know?" Tom said, grinning a little. "Didn't even notice that."
Bebbens licked his lips again. "Lectricity? Well...of course...we're very modern here...lectricity is the newest rage...sweeping the kingdoms, you know..."
Tom stared upwards. "But you wouldn't have any wizards here, and Dwarves can't do magic. I know—I've tried." He peered at Bebbens. "How are you getting lectricity without wizards?"
Bebbens laughed weakly. "Oh, it's all so technical...never really explained it to me...not my department, you understand...we really must hurry along..."
He turned and hurried up the stairs.
Tom shrugged at the children, then followed their guide.
The stairs seemed to stretch on forever, one winding spiral after the next, and Jonah finally decided that there was really no reason for any castle to be this tall. If they had electricity—or lectricity, or whatever they called it here—then it was about high time they got some elevators to go along with it. He was a big fan of elevators.
A Dwarf passed them coming down the stairs. He or she moved quickly, face shrouded by a heavy cloak.
"Hi!" Jonah said brightly, feeling that being friendly might help to discourage any further suggestions about being Murderous.
The Dwarf let out a tiny squeak and hurried on.
Jonah glanced at Sally, who shrugged helplessly.
"Please don't...err...please don't disturb...well...right," Bebbens stammered, his hands clenching and unclenching in a great spasm of Uncomfortable.
"I just said hello."
"Yes, well..." Bebbens turned away. "Must hurry on, you know. This way."
Jonah sighed and kept climbing.
Eventually they reached a doorway, which led to another doorway, and then, predictably, a third doorway, this one guarded by several grumpy Dwarves holding unpleasant-looking instruments of stabbing. Bebbens nodded at the guards, and they reluctantly opened the heavy iron doors.
The interior of the chamber was spacious, at least by Dwarf standards, filled with expensive-looking couches and pieces of furniture adorned with various unnecessary pink ruffles and bows. The walls were draped with a thick layer of padding, the type that is often used for muffling noise. The padding obviously wasn't doing its job, since there was a terrible crashing coming from the corner, where a teenage Dwarf wearing black lipstick was busy smashing ornate plates with a hammer. A pudgy female Dwarf, this one slightly older and possessing the type of face that could possibly be called handsome by a decent liar, sat on an elaborate throne in the center of the room, massaging her temples wearily. She was wearing what was quite possibly the ugliest pink dress in the sad, unfortunate history of ugly pink dresses.
"Faunella, I really will have you thrown in the dungeon," she said.
The teenage Dwarf held another plate up to the light, peering at it critically. "No, you won't," she said, affecting the tone of utter and absolute boredom that only teenagers are capable of mastering. "Father would never stand for it."
"Father doesn't have a say."
"Anyway, I'd just escape. You know that." The girl named Faunella brought the plate smashing down to the floor. It shattered merrily. Faunella smiled brightly. Then she suddenly noticed the newcomers and the smile faded from her face. "Aurella..." she said softly.
"What do you want now? Out of plates already?"
"No, there's...look!"
Aurella sighed and opened her eyes.
Bebbens cleared his throat and took a tentative step forward. "The Royal Mistress Aurella and her sister, Mistress Faunella, presenting the—"
"Who are these people, Bebbens?" Aurella interrupted.
"—Murderous Interlopers," he finished weakly.
She nodded. "Ah. The prisoners. I was wondering when you'd finally talk Bebbens into getting you out of that cell."
"Erm...Mistress? If I may...?" Bebbens took another bobbing step forward.
She sighed and motioned with one finger. Bebbens scurried over to her side and began whispering in her ear. Aurella listened intently.
"Hmm. Really? Princess of Dell? Coming here? Well, that's not... Yes, right. Yes, Bebbens, I know. Yes, Bebbens..." She shoved him away with one hand and turned to them. "So your Princess is on the way, is she?"
"That's right, your...majesty?" Tom ventured.
She nodded slightly. "She has picked an unfortunate time. Things are not well in Aabundiai. Of course, from what I've gathered, things are not much better in Dell, for that matter. Lost a few members of the Royal Family, have you?"
Tom stiffened. He opened his mouth, then closed it again as manners got the best of him.
Jonah had no such inner struggle. "I'm sorry, but who are you again?" he snapped. "First you hold us prisoner for no reason, now you're making jokes about Elsie's entire family being...I mean, who do you think you are?"
Tom groaned.
Aurella's eyes narrowed. "I am Aurella Coalbrick, daughter of Lord Coalbrick, High King of Aabundiai. And it would be wise to show a little more respect, human." She spat this last word at him. "My father is a powerful man. He would be here himself if he wasn't so dreadfully busy, and he would not be as merciful as myself."
Tom was frantically making don't-say-anything-else gestures beside him.
Jonah ignored him. "Yeah, I just met your dad. Wasn't wearing any pants."
Tom groaned again.
Aurella stared at Jonah for a long moment, then she turned to Bebbens. The blood drained from the pudgy little Dwarf's face. "Not...wearing...pants?" she repeated slowly.
Bebbens nodded miserably, eyes shut tight.
"Sounds about right," Faunella murmured from the corner. Another plate shattered.
Aurella sagged against the throne, rubbing her forehead. "I've got such a splitting headache," she said softly.
Tom was glaring daggers at Jonah. Well, he had already gone this far—why stop now? Jonah took a step forward. "So let me see if I've got this straight. Your dad has gone crazy, and you've taken over the throne for him, but you don't want anybody to know that, right?" A new thought suddenly came to him. "And that's why you've sealed off the city, isn't it? That's why you're throwing visitors in jail and then kicking them out of the castle, because you don't want word to spread that your dad has gone bonkers. Right?"
You could have heard a pin drop in the silence. Since there was no pin, one of Faunella's plates apparently had to suffice.
"Um...right?" Jonah pressed.
Aurella stared at him.
"The human's pretty good," Faunella said cheerfully.
Aurella closed her eyes again. "I have such a headache..."
"Your majesty," Tom began, "the kid didn't mean nothing. Certainly didn't mean any disrespect..."
Her eyes snapped open, but she was looking at Jonah. "You're right, of course," she said bitterly. "And now what will you do? Spread the word? Tell the world how the once-proud city of Aabundiai is being governed by the daughter of a fool? You would bring that shame upon us?" Her voice trembled slightly.
Jonah shook his head. "Nope. I don't even know anybody in this world, except for my friends here, and I don't think they'd care much one way or another."
She stared at him. "In...this...world?" she repeated slowly. "You mean that you...are not from this world?"
"I'm from Earth."
"Me too," said Sally. She sounded rather annoyed at being left out of the conversation for so long.
"Yeah, Sally too."
Aurella blinked. "Where's Earth?"
"Good question. I'll let you know as soon as I find out."
Faunella shattered another plate. "You're much better prisoners than the last ones," she chirped. "All they did was moan and wail and beg for mercy."
"I was just getting to that," Tom muttered.
"So the Princess has bodyguards from another world...?" Aurella stared off into space, drumming her fingers against the side of the throne. "And the Princess is on her way here? This is all so complicated."
"So...are we still prisoners?" Sally asked hesitantly.
"I suppose not." Aurella sounded glum. "No sense in holding you in the prison if you're from another world. Our cells were built for prisoners from this world. Probably wouldn't work right." She sighed again. "Bebbens!"
Bebbens made a sound like a duck that had just been stepped on.
"Take them to the guest wing. Give them rooms. Get a room ready for their Princess, too. As long as they know our secret, we might as well keep an eye on them until I figure out what to do."
"They might be here a while," Faunella said to nobody in particular.
"Oh, will you shut up?" She glared at them. "And even though you're not prisoners, you're not guests either. You will stay in your rooms until you are called for. Wandering around this castle isn't...safe. Especially after dark. Do I make myself clear?"
"Perfectly, your majesty," Tom said.
"Then go." She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead absently. "Such a headache..."
Bebbens hurried over to Tom and the children, motioning frantically for them to leave. He was practically cross-eyed with anxiety.
Jonah didn't budge. "One more thing, your majesty. We had a dragon in our party, goes by the name of Aligore. We were separated outside the castle. He's hurt, maybe badly, and he needs help." Inspiration suddenly struck. "The Princess is especially close to him. She would be really unhappy if nobody tried to help him."
Aurella glared at him. "A dragon? And you expect me to help it? Are you insane?"
"Err..."
"I'll be dead before I see a stinking dragon as a guest in this castle. I don't care how much your precious Princess likes the wretched beast—if it comes near this castle, it will be killed. Do I make myself clear?"
"But...but..."
Her upper lip curled in a tight half-snarl. "Do I make myself clear?" she repeated.
"Perfectly clear, your majesty." Tom grabbed Jonah's arm and dragged him out of the room.
"They'll find out sooner or later," Faunella said softly.
"Shut up, Faunella."
The doors slammed shut.
Bebbens drew a dirty handkerchief and wiped his brow furiously. "Oh my, that didn't go well at all..."
Tom turned to Jonah, his eyes flashing. "Why'd you mention Aligore?" he snapped.
Jonah blinked. "Well, because he needs help!"
"Not from Dwarves he don't! Don't you know anything?"
"But...but he's your friend!"
"Yeah, but he's not a friend to Dwarves. You get the difference?"
Jonah frowned. "No. Friends are friends."
Tom's face flushed. "I don't care what you call it, and I know Aligore wouldn't care what you call it, but these folks"—he jerked a thumb at Bebbens, who flinched away—"it matters a lot to these folks. Dwarves and dragons ain't friends. It ain't done like that."
"Well, maybe it should be."
"And maybe you should try keeping your mouth shut for a change."
"Perhaps I could show you to your rooms?" Bebbens suggested weakly.
"Shut up, Bebbens," they said simultaneously, glaring at each other.
"Quite right," he agreed instantly.
"Can we not do this fight right now?" Sally said. "I'm tired. I want to go to bed."
Tom and Jonah said nothing. They merely stared at one another. Any insect unlucky enough to buzz through the space between them would have been instantly vaporized.
"We've been awake for two days," Sally persisted. "Everybody's grumpy. Let's sleep now, fight tomorrow."
"And what about Aligore?" Jonah asked. "We're supposed to climb into our nice, comfortable beds and just forget that he's out there bleeding in the dirt somewhere?"
"Erm...yes?" Bebbens guessed desperately.
Tom's large nose twitched. His normally sunny face had gone deep scarlet. "Seems to me," he murmured, "that you're not seeing the whole picture here."
"And it seems to me," Jonah retorted, "that you care more about impressing a bunch of strange Dwarves than you care about looking out for your friend. Aligore needs help."
"And so do we, in case you ain't noticed it yet. I've heard stories about this place, kid. I would have never let Elsie bring us here if I knew what she was planning. This place is dangerous. Dangerous to you, dangerous to me, and especially dangerous for Aligore. We ain't safe here."
"Oh dear," Bebbens moaned.
"Oh, in that case, everything is perfectly fine," Jonah said, unable to keep the nastiness out of his voice. "I thought you were just ashamed of us. I didn't know you were scared."
There was a sharp intake of breath. Sally turned away, shaking her head.
Tom opened his mouth, then shut it again and spun around. "Take me to my room," he snapped at Bebbens. "And I want a separate room."
"Me too," Jonah said quickly.
Bebbens squeaked and hurried off down the hall.
***
Despite his exhaustion, Jonah was too angry to sleep. The room they had given him was fine—a bit small, but he supposed that was to be expected in a Dwarf castle—and the bed did look very comfortable. He couldn't think of anything he wanted to do more than pull off his clothes, slip beneath the fluffy covers and drift away for the next fourteen or fifteen hours.
Which did nothing to explain why he was currently lacing up his sneakers. His dagger went into his belt. There was a black cloak in the wardrobe, and he pulled it around his shoulders.
This is stupid.
Jonah paused, his heart hammering in his chest. He listened intently.
You know that, don't you?
"Roon?" he breathed.
The voice sighed. It was faint and muted, as if it were an echo from some place far away. Yes, it's me. Hello, Jonah.
"I thought you were...I mean, I thought something had happened to you." Jonah took a step back and sat down on his bed.
I've been...busy.
Jonah frowned. "Doing what? You disappeared for weeks, Roon!"
It's complicated, Jonah. Things are...going wrong. I'm getting weak. Can't seem to make the communication spell work anymore. I think I need help with—
The air around Jonah suddenly hummed and crackled, and he felt the hair on the back of his neck rising as static electricity coursed through the room. Roon's voice stuttered, then faded, leaving only a low, vibrating hum.
"Roon?" Jonah leaped to his feet again. "Are you still there?"
Don't leave the castle—zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz—not safe in the d—zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz—know what to do. And don't forget—zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
"Are you still there?" Jonah cried. "You're breaking up!"
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz—not what he seems—zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
"Just tell me how to help you!"
zzzzzzzzzzz—she's getting closer—zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
"Where are you?"
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. And then one last garbled phrase: gobblecuspuddington. It could have been a name, a place, or simply a jumbled string of nonsense.
And then Roon was gone. The invisible electricity roared out of the room, leaving a hot and oppressive silence in its wake.
"Roon?" Jonah tried one last time.
There was no response.
While he was glad that Roon was still alive, the conversation had hardly been reassuring. Roon's voice had been weak, frightened. And what was preventing him from talking? Where had that strange energy came from? And what exactly was a gobblecuspuddington? Probably a monster, Jonah decided. In Rhyyne, most things were.
Well, Roon had seemed to share Jonah's unspoken suspicion that this night expedition was a terrible idea. But then again, Roon wasn't here and Jonah was. Aligore was out there somewhere, hurt and maybe dying. Tom might be too much of a coward to do anything—and he could hear Sally snoring next door, sawing logs with phlegmmy vigor—but that didn't mean Jonah could simply sit back and hope for the best. Aligore had saved his life more than once; he owed the dragon.
He tightened the cloak around his waist and headed out into the hallway, taking care to close the door quietly behind him. The castle was dark and silent around him. It seemed unnatural. A structure this large should have been filled with rustles and creaks, moaning whispers of wind and the echoes of distant voices. Instead the castle was a tomb. Jonah's breath seemed grotesquely noisy in the absence of all other sounds.
Well, except for the sounds Sally was making, of course. That girl could snore.
He crept past Tom's room. Faint light spilled from the crack beneath the door. Was Tom still awake? And if so, why? Did he feel guilty about abandoning Aligore? Jonah hoped so. As much as he liked the cheery little Dwarf, he felt more than a little disgusted by Tom's cowardice. Jonah was a firm believer that you don't leave friends behind—especially since on more than one occasion, he had been the friend who had needed rescuing. Aligore hadn't abandoned him before, so he would not abandon Aligore now.
Finding his way out of the castle, however, proved a little trickier than he had imagined. He followed the winding staircase down several flights of stairs, hurried across a marble courtyard, then down another set of stairs. The narrow stairwell descended at a suicidal angle, plunging down into darkness. Dwarves might be vertically-challenged creatures, but they apparently weren't bothered by heights. Jonah couldn't say the same for himself. Feeling a little woozy, he pressed tight against the railing and made his way down the stairs.
He should have brought a lantern. The electricity—no, the lectricity, as the Dwarves called it—had been turned off for the night, which seemed vaguely stupid to Jonah. He was of the opinion that night was the best time for lights. And there were no light switches or levers on any of the walls, at least none that he could recognize. He was forced to make do with the thin streamers of ghostly moonlight that randomly snaked their way through the castle's narrow windows.
The ground beneath his feet suddenly trembled. There was a faint, distorted noise, drifting up from one of the floors below him. It was an explosion of some sort, so deep that it almost sounded like a roar. Flecks of dust rained down from the ceiling. Then the noise died away, the vibrations faded, and Jonah was once again left alone in the returning silence.
"I hate this castle," he muttered.
He reached the bottom of the stairs and hurried through another corridor. His footsteps echoed loudly, and he was rather surprised that nobody had caught him yet. Was the castle deserted, or had everybody simply retired to their rooms for the night? How could any place this big be this quiet?
Something's wrong with this castle, his imagination piped up in a cheerfully nasty little voice. Something that runs deeper than just being too quiet. Even if I can't put my finger on it exactly, there's still something very wrong here.
"Shut up," he told himself crossly. Despite the chilled air, sweat was beading on his forehead. How could it possibly be this hard to find an exit? He glanced out of a nearby window, taking stock of his location. It looked like he was still about fifty feet above the ground level—he could see a huge courtyard far beneath him, illuminated by the faint flicker of torchlight. There were several Dwarf guards standing in a tight huddle in the courtyard, whispering to each other and casting nervous glances around. Jonah watched them intently, fascinated in spite of himself. They seemed to be the only other creatures awake in the castle besides himself.
There was a low rattling noise and a carriage emerged from the mist, rumbling toward the center of the courtyard. The gumbeasts pulling the carriage were slick with sweat, and they collapsed gratefully when the carriage came to a halt. Several new Dwarves swarmed out of the front of the carriage, muttering to one another. They were carrying large spears and vicious maces. The carriage's back gate was lowered, and three Dwarves began tugging on a heavy rope that led up into the dark interior.
Slowly, something began to emerge from the back of the carriage.
Jonah frowned, squinting.
Then he gasped.
He spun around and raced down the corridor, his feet pounding loudly against the spotless marble floor, his mind racing. Where was the nearest staircase? He had to get down to that courtyard before it was too late. He tried a door at random. It was merely an armory. Suits of armor and rusty-looking weapons were piled in dusty heaps. He shut the door and hurried back down the corridor.
There. Another staircase. He hurried down, gasping for breath. The staircase finally ended, spilling him out into a huge room that was dark and cold. He paused, searching for an exit.
Something rustled in the corner. A hot, musky odor suddenly washed across Jonah and he took an involuntary step back. There was something in this room, hidden in the shadows.
He swallowed hard. "Err...hello? Is somebody there?"
There was another rustling movement, then a sharp clacking noise, the sound of huge claws clinking against the stone floor. Something hissed. It sounded close.
Jonah turned and fled back up the stairs, panic clawing at his back. His feet barely touched the ground. The smell seemed to follow him, seemed to be right behind him, and he realized that he was being chased, he was being hunted, it was after him. Terror throbbed through his chest, sharp and painful.
He reached the top of the stairs, raced down the corridor and around the corner.
Something grabbed him.
He let out of a squeal of fear and went tumbling to the floor. Then there were hands reaching for him. He kicked out at the dark figure with all his might. His feet connected with something soft, and there was a groan from the shadows. Jonah leaped to his feet and backed away.
"Why...why'd you do that?" the figure wheezed.
Jonah blinked, then stared forward. The figure straightened up and emerged from the shadows, rubbing its stomach. It was a stout little Dwarf carrying a comically large broadsword. The Dwarf glared at him reproachfully. "You're one of those human kids, ain't ya?"
"Um...yeah." He suddenly felt extremely foolish.
"You kicked me. Why'd you go and do a thing like that, eh?"
"Sorry," Jonah murmured. "See, I was downstairs, and there was this...well, there was something down there, moving around, and it came after me. When you grabbed me, I thought you were..." He trailed off weakly, his cheeks going scarlet. "Sorry about that kick."
The Dwarf threw a nervous glance down the hallway Jonah had come from. "Down there, you say? Did you...err...did you see what it was, by chance?"
Jonah shook his head. "I only heard it."
The Dwarf moaned. "Not again. Well, come on, then. Better get you back to your room."
"But...but...listen, I can't go back to my room. I've got something I have to do tonight."
"No. You're going back."
"But down in the courtyard I saw—"
"Whatever you think you saw, you probably didn't. Best to just forget it. Now come on. I've got my orders. You ain't supposed to be wandering around here. It ain't safe."
"But...okay. Fine." Jonah gave up, realizing that arguing with an angry Dwarf with a large sword in a deserted castle in the middle of the night probably wasn't the wisest strategy. Besides, he had to tell Tom and Sally what he had seen. Well, maybe just Sally. He followed the Dwarf back up through the winding bowels of the castle, throwing the occasional nervous glance over his shoulder. Nothing was following them. Nothing he could see, anyway.
"Who are you?" Jonah finally asked. He was panting slightly. The little Dwarf moved with surprising speed through the dark hallways.
"Gug."
"What?"
"Gug."
"What?"
The Dwarf sighed. "Gug. It's my name. G-U-G. Gug."
"Oh," Jonah said, again feeling rather foolish. "It's...um...it's a nice name."
"No," Gug said crossly, "it ain't. That's the point."
They turned a corner and headed up another set of stairs.
"So listen...err...Gug, that thing I saw down there..."
"Didn't see nothing."
"No, but there was something down there!"
"How do you know?"
"Well, I heard something moving..."
"Prob'ly the wind."
"...and I smelled something. Smelled pretty terrible."
"Prob'ly the sewage pond. Always bad this time o' year."
"And I felt it!" Jonah snapped. "Don't try to pretend you don't know what I'm talking about! When I told you about...well, about that thing, you said not again."
"Didn't." Gug increased his pace, and Jonah jogged to keep up.
"Whatever it is, you can't keep it a secret," he panted. "I'll find out sooner or later."
Gug paused and glared at him. "Then you're even stupider than most humans. You go looking for bad things and bad things'll find you. And some of those things don't leave you in one piece. Get my meaning?"
Jonah bit his lower lip and nodded.
Gug stared at him a moment longer, then jerked his head to the side. "Room's down that hall. I catch you wandering around again, I'll throw you in a jail cell. See if I don't." The Dwarf spun and marched back off into the darkness.
Jonah went straight to Sally's room. The door was locked, but he rapped on it softly for several minutes and finally it swung open. Sally rubbed sleep out of her eyes and frowned at Jonah. "What do you want?"
He brushed past her and shut the door behind him. Quickly he told her about his midnight expedition to find Aligore, as well as his encounter with the creature that had been stalking him from the shadows.
"I knew something was wrong with this place," Sally said thoughtfully. "I mean, I didn't really know, since this is my first castle and everything, but I knew that something felt wrong. So you think it's a monster or something?" Her eyes were shining brightly. Sally always seemed to enjoy monsters, a fact that Jonah found endlessly annoying.
He shook his head. "Listen, that's not the important part. Right before I ran into that thing, I saw a courtyard through a window. There was a carriage and a bunch of Dwarves and they were unloading something from the back of the carriage."
"Well, what was it?"
He sat down on the end of her bed and stared at her. "It was Aligore."
Tom was easy to find. Elsie had learned that once she had found a person's signature—for lack of a better word—in the dream world, it was usually a fairly simple matter to find them again, like singing a song she knew by heart. She concentrated hard, focusing in on his signature, pulling him towards her, and then it was done.
Tom popped into existence beside her. For their dream meeting, she had chosen a simple wooden hut. No need for anything elaborate or fancy, after all. He rubbed his eyes and blinked, then grinned broadly.
"Princess! You're okay!"
She smiled. "Hullo, Tom."
"We thought...well, we were pretty worried about you. Where are you?"
"I'm not really sure. Yap teleported me to a deserted gnome village, but I really have no idea where it's located. I'm safe, though, and Yap is here with me. Oh, but he went insane."
"Come again?"
"I guess the strain of teleporting us both was too much for him. He sort of...snapped."
"But wasn't he already insane?"
"Well, I suppose. But now he's more insane."
"Oh." Tom frowned.
"But don't worry. We met a Unicorn who's going to help us. We'll be on our way as soon as I can figure out where we are and where we need to go. Is everybody okay there?"
Tom's expression became grim. "Not really, your highness. The airship crashed. Fleet and the little talking rats are off somewhere trying to repair it. Aligore got...hurt, and then we got separated from him. I'm not sure where he is right now, to be perfectly honest."
"Oh no," she said softly.
"As for me and the kids, we're in Aabundiai, and it's not a very nice place. Seems the King has gone a little screwy, and his wretched little hag of a daughter is making a mess of things in the meanwhile. Plus, I get the feeling they're trying to hide something from us..."
"Listen, Tom, you have to keep Aligore away from that city. It's not safe for him there."
"Yeah, I figured as much. Dwarves and dragons don't get along too well..."
"No, it's worse than that."
She told him about the Hornless.
Tom's face paled. "But they...I mean, they wouldn't! Right? Nobody would be that..." He shook his head. "No, that's impossible."
"It's true, Tom. And if Aligore wound up in Aabundiai..."
"Well, you've got to warn him! Find him in a dream and—"
"Dragons don't dream very often, Tom. I can almost never find Aligore's signature."
"Ack. Forgot about that."
"You'll have to find him yourself and get him away from that city. I'll be there as soon as I can, and I'll try to find you, and then—"
Tom shook his head. "I don't think it'll be that easy, Princess. This city is surrounded on all sides by a stinkin' wasteland, full of fog and fire and dragons. We can't exactly just camp out and wait for you to arrive, and without an airship, we'd never make it past the Scorched Lands on foot. Not in one piece, anyway."
She bit her lip and stared at him.
He shrugged. "I've been driving myself crazy trying to figure out what to do. Jonah hates me 'cause he thinks I'm abandoning Aligore, and to be honest, I kinda agree with him. Kinda hate myself right now. Feel like a traitor. But we're dead if we leave this castle, Princess. I'm sure of it. And wherever Aligore is, I hope he's got the sense to stay hidden until we can rescue him. At least, that's what I'm hoping..." He trailed off miserably.
"I don't know what to do, Tom."
"Me neither."
"Yes, but I'm a Princess. Knowing what to do is my job. I should be there with you right now, and instead I'm lost in some..." She paused, frowning. "Oh, drat. Somebody's waking me up." She spoke quickly as her dream-self began to fade. "Take care of Jonah and Sally and I'll be there as soon as possible. Whatever you do, don't go into the—"
And then she woke up.
Yap was shaking her arm frantically. He was smiling broadly. "More delicious beastflesh!" he announced, pointing across the clearing.
Another Unicorn had arrived. Where Vork was lumpy and disheveled, this Unicorn was proud and beautiful, with a long glowing mane and sharp eyes. It towered above Vork, who was arguing with the stranger in sullen tones.
Don't see why, Vork was saying. Not like anybody would miss me. After all, I'm a loathsome ball of blubber. You're much better off just leaving me for dead. Go ahead—stab me in the eye. I know you want to. Don't worry, I won't try to dodge.
The new Unicorn sighed. Qurt sent me, Vork. My orders were to find you and bring you back to the herd. She's the new boss—you know that. If you want to argue, take it up with her. I'm just doing my job.
Elsie stood up and approached them. "What's going on?"
The Unicorn grimaced when it saw her. What is this?
"I'm Elsie Ortower, Princess of Dell," she snapped. "Who are you?"
Eieis, the Unicorn said. And what is a Princess of Dell doing in the middle of the forest?
"Getting lost," she admitted. "It's complicated. Vork was going to help me find my friends again."
No, he's not. Vork is coming with me to the White Place.
Vork rolled his eyes. No use in arguing with him, he told Elsie. Sanctimonious bugger doesn't seem very reasonable. I guess that's one of the drawbacks of being practically perfect. Me, on the other hand, I'm always ready to listen to other creature's points of view, assuming I can find a creature bored enough to talk to me...
Shut up, Vork. Eieis sighed. Listen, human, I'm very sorry to separate you from our little bundle of despair here, but I have a job to do. Vork is coming with me.
Nobody ever asks me what I want to do, Vork muttered crossly.
That's because all you ever want to do is lay around and eat and feel sorry for yourself. It's hardly appropriate behavior for a magical creature.
In response, Vork blew a snot bubble and popped it noisily.
Eieis grimaced, then turned away. Let's go.
"Oh no you don't, blubberfish!" Yap cried. He lunged forward, teeth bared.
Eieis stared at him. You don't want to bite me, he said.
Yap stopped, blinking.
You'd rather bite Vork instead, Eieis continued reasonably.
Yap slowly nodded, as if to agree that yes, biting Vork did seem like a good idea indeed. He eyed Vork hungrily.
Elsie scooped the gnome up before he could carry out his dastardly plan. She turned to Vork. "Fine. But I'm coming with you."
He shrugged. Why not? The more the miserable-er.
Eieis turned around. No, you're staying here. My orders were to find Vork and bring him back. No passengers. I don't care if you are a Princess.
Elsie held up her hand and began counting on her fingers. "One: Vork promised to help me, and magical creatures have to keep their promises. Two: I'm a friend of the human child Jonah, who your leader died trying to protect. Well, Jonah still needs protection, and I'm not doing him any good sitting here in this swamp. And three: If you leave us here, we're as good as dead. We were already attacked by Wolfen last night."
Eieis began to argue, then he sighed again, his voice tinged with defeat. Fine. But I'm not carrying either of you. Especially that gnome.
"Haunches are tender!" Yap screamed, still wriggling in Elsie's arms, desperate for a nice, hearty bite of Vork.
Hurry up. Eieis lifted into the air and sped away into the night.
You sure about this? Vork asked her. The other Unicorns aren't too big on helping humans. They might not let me take you to your friends.
She shrugged. "What choice do I have?"
Good point. Get on.
***
Aligore was sick.
It was the moult. He had known it was coming for the past several days, had felt it in his bones, had felt it quivering beneath his skin. Hot lances of pain danced along his back. The fire in his belly was growing hotter with each passing hour. And while he was still rather young for moulting, it was not unheard of at his age. It's timing, however, was always notoriously lousy.
Through the red mist, a small creature in chain mail emerged, holding a large whip. It let out a sharp cry and the whip crackled in the darkness. Aligore's roar was muffled through his muzzle. He lunged forward, but the heavy chains around his ankles brought him crashing back down to the ground. He lay in a heap, panting. The armored creature chittered laughter and its whip sang out again. Aligore closed his eyes tightly.
He didn't know where he was. It was dark and frightening, and small creatures in armor appeared and vanished out of the mist at random, screaming threats at him. They might have been Dwarves; he wasn't sure. All he knew was that they didn't seem fond of dragons.
The air was hot down here. And the smell...
He needed to concentrate, needed to find a way to escape. But the moult was coming. It clouded his mind, blurred his vision, stirred his emotions into an unstable powderkeg of fire and hate. He had been dreading the moult for years. It was during the moult that many young dragons developed a taste for flesh. They discovered the joys of ravaging and destroying. They lost the ability to feel sympathy or kindness. Aligore had spent most of his childhood telling himself that his moult would be different, that he would not lose the character traits that made him who he was.
Now, however, in the bowels of some insane torture chamber, the buds of his growing wings strong and heavy beneath his skin, he wasn't so sure.
The Dwarf-creature whipped him again. If Aligore hadn't been muzzled, he would have incinerated the creature right then and there. He had never been able to breathe fire before, never been able to manage more than a few fizzling sparks. At the moment, however, he felt like he could blast a plume of flame two miles long, incinerating everything in its path. And even worse, he wanted to. It was a terrible feeling.
His friends would find him. They wouldn't abandon him. They would come.
He only hoped that when his friends arrived, they would find the same dragon they remembered. Because the moult was coming and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
***
The imaginary wall evaporated and Paldawar entered the room. Jimjim backed away from him, flinching. "Don' hurt ol' Jimjim, meester ghost. Don' keell me."
"I'm not going to kill you, stupid." Paldawar sat down in front of him, cross-legged in the dust. He stared at him intently. "So you figured out how to create representations, hmm? Nice job with that knife. Almost didn't see it coming."
Smiling pleasantly, Jimjim contorted his body, trying as innocently as possible to conceal the seventeen massive hunting knives on the ground behind him.
Paldawar sighed. "I can see those new knives, Jimjim. You don't have to try to hide them."
Jimjim stared at him.
Paldawar sighed again. "You're going to try to stab me again, aren't you?"
"No," Jimjim said.
"You sure?"
Jimjim licked his lips, frowning. "...Yes?" he ventured.
"Good."
There was a moment of silence.
Jimjim grabbed the nearest knife and lunged at Paldawar with a loud "Ha ha!" A second later the knife clattered to the floor and Jimjim began hopping around the room, holding his scorched hand and howling miserably. "Hot! Hot! Ooo, dat burns!" The knife lay on the ground, glowing bright crimson. Tendrils of smoke drifted from the handle.
Paldawar watched him patiently. "Yes, I imagine that any knife you create from now on is going to wind up a little...warm. Think of it as negative reinforcement. See, you're not the only one who can play with reality here, Jimjim. And to be perfectly honest, you can't hope to match my intellect. So let's leave the knives alone for the moment, okay?"
Jimjim sucked on his fingers and stared at him reproachfully. "You treeked Jimjim." It wasn't a question, so Paldawar didn't bother with an answer. Instead he motioned for Jimjim to sit back down. After a moment, the scrawny man did so, still glaring at him.
"I want to keep you abreast of the situation," Paldawar began, "because I still might need your help. I know I told you that I would release you after Dain was dead, but there have been...complications. Have you heard of the Rune of Roon, Jimjim?"
"Dat some kinda food?"
"No. It's a magical tool."
"So not for eatin'?"
"No. Do not try to eat the Rune of Roon, or I will get very cross."
"Got it."
"In any case, the Rune has the ability to alter reality. In the same way that here, deep inside your mind, you can create a solid knife out of nothing at all, the Rune can theoretically create a real knife in the real world."
"It jus' makes knives?" Jimjim didn't seem impressed.
"No, that was just an example. It could create a knife, but it could also create a castle, or a kingdom, or an army strong enough to rule the world. It can create anything. Including, I hope, my old body again."
"But knives too?"
"Yes. Also knives."
Jimjim nodded his approval. He had recently become a big fan of creating knives. "So if you got a new body, you'd be 'live again?"
Paldawar smiled grimly. "That's the plan."
"And then you let ol' Jimjim go, don't keell him or hurt him none?"
"Naturally."
Jimjim seemed to ponder this for a moment. "Kay," he said at last. "Dat's a pretty good plan, den. But what 'bout dat Dain guy? You gon' keell him now?"
"I'm afraid not," Paldawar sighed. "At the moment, he has connections to the Sorceress, and he also has a history with Jonah, who is apparently the key to finding the Rune."
"Eh? Jonah? Dat lil' ratboyee?"
"Yes. The boy you did such a miserable job of kidnapping. He's the one who will help me find the Rune."
Jimjim frowned, possibly realizing that limitless, godlike powers had once been dangled briefly in front of his nose. "So where's de ratboyee now?"
Paldawar gave him a humorless smile. "You're the mighty tracker, Jimjim. You tell me."
It started with a knock.
Jonah opened his eyes, blinked a bit, then he stumbled out of bed. He opened the door and Sally walked into the room. Her face was pale, but her eyes were shining with excitement. Another day of danger and potential screaming bloody death was a good day for Sally. And behind her was...
Jonah glared at Sally. "You told him!"
"Of course I told him," she said crossly. "Did you really think I wouldn't?"
Tom sighed and entered the room. "Listen, Jonah, I'm sorry about last night. I had my reasons for not mentioning Aligore to the others—turns out that I was more right than I thought—but that don't excuse the way I treated you."
Jonah's eyes narrowed. "What do you know about what's going on here?"
Tom shut the door and sat down in the middle of the room. He sighed and ran a hand through his scraggly hair, suddenly looking very old and tired. "Well, to start with, Dwarves and dragons ain't been on friendly terms since...well, since never, I guess. But back in the old days, it was a lot worse than it is now. We used to kill each other on sight every chance we got. The Wizard Council cleaned a lot of that up, set down some laws and rules. Kept us from slaughtering each other right outta existence, I'd imagine. But with the world the way it is now, I guess things have gotten bad again. Never thought it'd be this bad, though..." He trailed off, his expression suddenly sad.
"Is that why the dragons attacked us in the airship?" Jonah guessed. "Because we had a Dwarf with us?"
He shook his head. "It ain't that simple. They're attacking everyone now. They don't care who they kill. Yeah, they probably weren't happy to see me, but they were even less happy to see Aligore."
"They called him Hornless," Jonah recalled.
Tom flinched. "Yeah, they did. I've heard the word before, and I always thought that dragons just hated any of their kind who had lost his horns, but I didn't know why. I do now, though. Elsie told me last night." He sighed again, searching for the right words. Jonah was a little shocked to see that Tom's eyes were watering; he was on the verge of tears. The naked hurt on the Dwarf's face was heartbreaking. "I didn't know...honest I didn't," he whispered. "Don't hate me just 'cause I'm a Dwarf. We're not all...we don't all...I would have never..." He broke off and looked away, rubbing his eyes.
"Slaves," Sally said. Tom had obviously already told this story once this morning. She looked at Jonah sadly. "The Hornless are slaves. The Dwarves in this city have been kidnapping dragons and harnessing them to power the city."
Jonah was silent. He didn't know what to say.
"Even in the old days, it wasn't like this," Tom murmured, still looking away. "We hated each other, and sometimes we even killed each other, but it was respectable. Not slavery. Never that..."
Sally gave him an awkward pat on the shoulder. "We don't blame you, Tom. Humans do some pretty rotten stuff, too. But that doesn't mean that Jonah and I are bad, does it? Everybody's responsible for their own actions." She glanced at Jonah, then blushed. "I saw that on TV once."
"You don't understand!" Tom cried, getting to his feet. "They got Aligore! They made him one of their stinkin' slaves, and they're Dwarves! We ain't supposed to be like that! We're supposed to be...well, better, you know? And now Aligore is somewhere in the dungeon and—"
"We'll get him back," Jonah said.
Tom stared at him, his eyes red and puffy.
"We're not going to just sit around and leave him down there to die."
Tom nodded slowly. "But all the guards..."
"Don't worry about them," Jonah said, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. "We'll figure out a plan. We're gonna save him."
Tom stared at him for a moment longer. Then the Dwarf suddenly threw his arms around Jonah in a tight, furious hug. "I'm sorry, lad," he wailed. "Sorry for not sticking by my mates, sorry for treatin' you like a kid..."
Jonah returned the hug awkwardly. "I'm sorry, too," he said. "I acted like a jerk last night. I thought you were scared...I didn't know that you were just trying to protect us. But that didn't give me the right to say the things I said."
Sally turned away. The back of her neck had flushed red. After a few seconds, she gave an embarrassed little cough.
Tom pulled away, dabbing his eyes with a dirty sleeve. He sniffed loudly, then nodded. "Right. So what's the first step?"
***
As usual, Bebbens was having a bad day.
First he had overslept, forcing him to rush through his morning chores. As a result, he had banged his shins on a small table, tripped over a pile of books, and—worst of all—he had accidentally brushed his teeth with the small wire brush he used to clean out his nostrils. This was unpleasant for a number of reasons. The final indignity was that in his mad rush, he had apparently put his boots on the wrong feet, and this was proving to be very uncomfortable. He was desperate to switch the boots, but what if somebody noticed that he had been wearing them on the wrong feet all morning? What would they say? Would they laugh? Who would they tell? What if somebody saw him switching boots and gave him one of those nasty nicknames that seemed to stick around for the rest of one's life, such as Bumblefoot Bebbens or Badboots Bebbens?
These were the kind of thoughts that made Bebbens's hair fall out in great miserable clumps.
And now he was late for his meeting was Aurella, and so switching boots was naturally out of the question. Aurella was not the type of person you wanted to keep waiting. He limped through the corridors as quickly as possible. Occasionally he made awkward and spastic hand gestures for no apparent reason, valiantly trying to draw attention away from his feet.
He rounded the corner and almost bowled over the two human children, who were being accompanied by a short Dwarf in a suit of armor. The boy named Jonah glared at him. "Watch where you're going, why don't you?"
"Quite right...err...so sorry," Bebbens said quickly.
The children and their escort began walking again. After a moment of agonizing decision, Bebbens turned and hurried after them, wringing his hands nervously.
They ignored him.
"Err...?" he ventured.
Jonah gave him a skeptical look. "Yeah?"
"Um...I mean, if you don't mind me asking...well, that is...what are you doing?"
The boy sighed, as if this were all painfully obvious. "We're going on a tour of the castle. Me and Sally have never been in one before."
"And...err...and Tom?"
"Nah, he's probably been in castles before."
Sally nodded. "Probably lots of 'em."
Bebbens moaned. "That is...I mean to say...err...where is he?"
Jonah shrugged. "Sleeping, I guess. Why?"
"See...oh...well, the thing is...you're really not supposed to be...well, wandering around the castle, you know..."
Sally jerked her head absently in the direction of the Dwarf escort. "That's why that Aurella girl made him come with us. Said we couldn't go off alone."
Bebbens peered at the other Dwarf critically. "And you are...?" Bebbens asked, trying to sound official.
"Shut up, Bebbens," the other Dwarf muttered. He sounded tired.
"Quite right," Bebbens agreed instantly.
Sally suddenly frowned And to his horror, he saw that she was looking at... "You do know that your boots are on the wrong feet, don't you?" she asked slowly.
Bebbens felt his stomach drop away. If miserable had a color, his face was slowly turning that shade. "Yes," he finally said. "Yes, I do."
She glanced at his feet. "Huh," she said faintly.
The Dwarf escort did a poor job of stifling a giggle. Bebbens glared at him. "Well...err...I mean, you will keep them away from floor three, won't you?"
"Told yeh to shut up, Bebbens," the Dwarf snapped. "Know how t' do m' job."
"Of course, of course. So sorry." Bebbens took another hopping step forward, trying to keep up with them. If hand-wringing was a sport, he would have been setting new records left and right.
Jonah raised an eyebrow. "So are you gonna follow us around all day too?"
"Well...um...no, of course not. Very busy, you know." He flushed crimson. "Must hurry off. Please...erm...uh...please let me know if you need anything, naturally."
Sally waved him away with an idle flick of her wrist. "Hey, suits of armor!" she said, staring down the hallway. "Let's go take a look."
"Cool!" Jonah said. They hurried off.
The Dwarf escort gave a weary sigh and trailed after them.
Bebbens spun around and went limping off toward the throne room. His mind was a muddled mix of terror and guilt. He had a vague, niggling sensation that he had already done something wrong today, that he had already screwed something up. If only he could figure out what it had been...
He passed another Dwarf and began frantically waving his hands. Don't look at my boots, he prayed silently. Oh please, don't look at my boots.
***
Jonah risked a glance over his shoulder. "Okay, I think he's gone."
From beneath the iron faceplate, Tom chuckled. "Ain't too bright, is he?"
"Nice of him to give us that warning about floor three, too," Sally said. "Wonder how we get there?"
They soon found a set of stairs and headed down. If they were on the eighth floor now...Jonah mentally counted down as they passed each landing. Floor seven...floor six...here was floor five, then the fourth floor.
It had been a stroke of luck stumbling upon the armory the night before, Jonah reflected. After finding the room again, it had been a fairly simple matter for Tom to slip inside and disguise himself as a member of the Aabundiai Royal Guard. And with a grumpy-looking Dwarf escort in tow, they had been left pretty much alone until Bebbens had made his stumbling and awkward intervention.
Sally suddenly came to a halt, peering up at the ceiling. Jonah and Tom paused on the landing below her. She said nothing for a moment, merely staring at the glowing fluorescent crystal on the ceiling. "Lectricity," she murmured.
"What?"
"Lectricity. Or electricity, whatever you want to call it."
Tom glanced around nervously. "What about it?"
"Where does it come from?"
He shrugged. "No idea. In the Great Castle of Dell, the light crystals were enchanted. Wizard work, I'd imagine. Here..." he trailed off, his face thoughtful.
"Can't this wait for later?" Jonah asked impatiently.
Sally rolled her eyes. "You mean you haven't figured it out yet? Where this power is coming from?"
"Magic?" Jonah guessed. In Rhyyne, this seemed to be a pretty good guess most of the time.
"From them," Tom said, his eyes widening. "They're getting the lectricity from the dragons, ain't they?"
Sally bit her lip. "I think so. It makes sense, doesn't it?"
Tom sighed heavily. "I still can't believe they would..."
Sensing another bout of misery approaching, Jonah quickly interrupted the Dwarf. "Yeah, yeah, it's all fascinating, but can we please hurry up and find Aligore?"
Tom nodded his head slowly. "You're right. Best keep moving."
Sally threw another doubtful glance at the light crystal, then hurried down the steps after them.
On first appearance, floor three wasn't much different from the other floors. Lots of marble, suits of armor, dusty old chandeliers. It hadn't taken long for Jonah to get bored with the castle, especially since every room was practically the same. He absently prodded a suit of armor with his toe and glanced around. "Don't see anything," he muttered.
Sally was also frowning. "This might be a stupid question, but wouldn't the entrance to an underground dungeon be on the first floor? You know, next to the ground? That's how it's normally done, after all."
Tom chuckled. "Not in a Dwarvish castle. Putting the dungeon stairs on the bottom floor is just what they would expect."
"Who?"
"Well...whoever was looking for them, I suppose. Dwarves hate being predictable. Makes for some interestin' architecture."
"So the dungeon stairs are hidden?" Jonah asked, suddenly very interested. He had always wanted to find a secret passage.
"Well...maybe," Tom said doubtfully.
"Then I know just where they are," Jonah said with a wide grin. He walked over to the largest suit of armor. Grabbing the suit's axe with both hands, he gave it a mighty tug.
In a movie, the axe would have slid down easily, and a secret passage in the wall would have rasped open with a dusty squeal.
In Aabundiai, the suit of armor toppled over and broke apart with a tremendous crash.
Jonah flinched.
"What'd you do that for?" Tom cried.
"Well, it was supposed to open the secret passage."
"What secret passage?"
"I just assumed there would be one."
"Yeah, well, there ain't."
"Hey, guys?" Sally said softly.
Tom ignored her, glancing down the hallway. "Don't see anybody coming yet, but let's try to not destroy anything else, 'kay?"
"What about that torch on the wall?" Jonah suggested.
"What about it?"
"Maybe if we grabbed it and pulled on it, the secret passage would open up."
Tom massaged his temples. "And maybe the torch would fall off the wall."
"Guys?" Sally tried again.
"Maybe we're supposed to lean up against the wall," Jonah tried desperately.
"What're you talking about now?"
"Well, when people are looking for a secret passage and they can't find one, they always give up and lean against the wall, except they lean against a certain stone and the stone goes sliding in and suddenly—pow!—the door opens..." Jonah trailed off. Judging by Tom's expression, the Dwarf didn't share his love for cheesy adventure movies.
"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."
"I bet it would work. Lemme just find a place to lean..."
"Guys!" Sally stamped her foot down.
"What?" they snapped in unison.
"I found the secret passage."
Rats, Jonah thought. And he had been so close... "Was it a hidden stone trigger? No, it was the torch, wasn't it? I knew it was the torch..."
"It's behind that door," she said, jerking a thumb over her shoulder. "The one that says DUNGEON."
They stared at the door.
"So Dwarves hate being predictable, huh?" Jonah finally said.
Tom flushed. "Proper Dwarves do, at any rate. Putting a sign on the door like that..." He shook his head. "It's just lazy, that's what it is. Lazy."
"Well, whatever. Let's go find Aligore," Jonah said, starting forward.
"Hold on." Tom grabbed his shoulder. "You two gotta stay here."
"What?"
"Think about it. You can pretend to be sight-seein' up here, but not in the dungeon. It's supposed to be a secret, ain't it? What do you think they'd do if they saw the two of you just walking around freely down there?"
"He's right," Sally said. "They'd probably throw us back in the prison cell..."
"Or worse," Tom agreed. "A secret like this, the Dwarves would probably do just about anything to keep it quiet. You'd better stay up here and let me do the rest of the snooping."
Jonah sighed. He had wanted to be a part of Aligore's rescue. Still, Tom had a point. And to be perfectly honest, Jonah didn't particularly relish the thought of seeing any new dragons up close and personal. He had seen enough dragons in the last few days to last a lifetime. "Fine. We'll keep an eye out up here."
"Be careful, Tom," Sally said. Her face was pale in the creeping shadows.
Tom nodded gruffly. "If I ain't back in an hour, it probably means I got caught. Try to get out of the castle and...I dunno, meet up with Elsie or something."
"Naw, we'll just rescue you."
He grinned. "I guess that'd be okay too."
***
Bebbens mopped his brow as he entered the throne room. He was terribly late and terribly frightened. To be perfectly honest, he was just generally terrible all over. He felt sweaty and clammy, and his feet were screaming because he still hadn't found a chance to switch his boots. Plus, he had an itch on his back. For a human, itches are annoying, but at least a vigorous scratching will chase them away for awhile. Dwarves have short, stubby arms, however, and there are certain places on a Dwarf's body that he simply cannot reach himself, such as that ticklish little spot right between the shoulderblades. This was where Bebbens' itch was currently gnawing away. And this was quickly moving past minor annoyance into the realm of potential catastrophe.
The throne room was dark and silent, and for a moment Bebbens dared to hope that the sisters were still asleep, that he was not late after all, that everything might still turn out okay.
"You're late, Bebbens," a voice whispered in his ear as a cold hand brushed against the back of his neck. Bebbens let out a rather undignified yelp and spun around. Faunella was already retreating into the shadows with a laugh, her large eyes gleaming. The girl had always taken a perverse pleasure in scaring people, which meant that she rather liked Bebbens, who was the most easily terrified creature in a two hundred mile radius.
"H-h-hullo, ma'am," Bebbens stammered. "You...you snuck up on me again...didn't you? Heh, that's...err...very clever...quite the little charmer...err...please don't scare me again?"
Silence.
"You're...err...you're going to...um...scare me again, aren't you?"
She emerged from the shadows beside him and he let out another squeal of fear. "Jumpy this morning," she said, sounding pleased. Faunella was clothed in black from head to toe, with huge blotches of black facepaint running down each cheek. It is a scientifically proven fact that girls who wear too much eye makeup often resemble raccoons. Faunella's face art was on a whole different level; she looked like something that would have eaten a raccoon. Her black veil trailed on the ground behind her like a depressed shadow.
"I...err...hope that you and....um...your sister are well this morning?" Bebbens tried unsuccessfully to keep his voice from trembling.
She barked cold laughter and shrank back into the darkness.
"No, Bebbens, I'm not well," Aurella said from behind him.
Bebbens squealed and turned. Squealing and turning seemed to be his only remaining options this morning. Aurella had entered the room from a side chamber, dressed in her usual attire of gaudy pink clothes that hung off her lumpy body in unattractive creases and folds. She was rubbing her forehead and glaring in his general direction. "You kept me waiting."
The horror. The agony. Bebbens prayed for the ground beneath his feet to open up and swallow him whole. He couldn't bear this shame, this humiliation.
Plus, his back still itched. Rather badly now.
Aurella plopped down on the throne and groaned. "Do you know how long you kept me waiting?" she snapped.
"N-no, ma'am," he said softly.
"Five. Whole. Minutes." She stared at him intently. "Five minutes, Bebbens. Do you know how busy I am?"
Faunella laughed somewhere from the shadows.
"N...n...no, ma'am?"
Her eyes narrowed. "No?"
"I mean yes," Bebbens said quickly.
"No or yes—which is it?"
He thought desperately. "...Yes?"
"Yes, you do know how busy I am?"
"...Yes?"
"Then why did you keep me waiting, Bebbens?"
Faunella appeared beside him, grinning mischievously. "Feed him to the dragons, sis! I bet they'd just looove a snack this morning."
"Eek," Bebbens said bravely.
"It's so very exhausting, running an entire kingdom," Aurella said, fanning her face theatrically. "And yet you insist on wasting my valuable time..."
Faunella snorted laughter. "Valuable time? You've been eating cream pastries for the last two hours."
Aurella's face darkened. "You'd better shut up."
"Or what?" Faunella's voice taunted from somewhere in the corner. "You'll lock me up? Throw away the key?"
"Maybe I will."
"Ha! I bet you won't."
Aurella frowned, then turned her attention and abuse back in Bebbens's general direction. "What have you got to report?"
"Err...umm...ohh..."
"Bebbens, settle down. I'm not going to feed you to the dragons."
"Oh, thank you, ma'am...thank you so very—"
"...Unless you keep wasting my time," she finished smoothly.
Bebbens trembled.
"The report?" Aurella prompted. Her voice dripped with mock sweetness.
He nervously cleared his throat. "Err...everything is...good?"
"Good?"
"Umm...yes? Yes. Good. No problems whatsoever. Everything...err...everything's tiptop in the dungeon...hmm...no dragon problems last night...well, one dragon's muzzle broke and it started...err...roaring, but they...urm...got it under control again...uhh...and so that's a good thing..."
She watched patiently, drumming her fingers against the side of the throne.
"And...errr...the Murderous Interlopers....right...well, I saw two of them just now....yes, um...the human children, and they're....uhh...good. Just sight-seeing with...um...with your escort."
Aurella sat forward. "With my what?"
Bebbens quailed. "The...err...oh, please don't hurt me...the escort, ma'am? The escort...mmm...that you sent with them? That escort?"
Faunella laughed from somewhere in the shadows. "Whoops."
"I didn't order any escort, Bebbens," Aurella said softly, her eyes narrowing to sharp little slits. "Who—exactly—were they with?"
"Some...umm...not quite sure, to be honest...err...definitely a Dwarf."
"Well, that sure narrows it down," Faunella said.
Aurella sighed. "Did the Dwarf happen to be that Tom fellow in a disguise, Bebbens?"
"Tom? No! They said he was...err..." He paled. "Oh," he said softly.
Both sisters stared at him intently.
"Well...err...maybe."
Aurella brought a meaty hand slamming down onto the nearest armrest, causing the entire throne to tremble. "Summon my guards, you incompetent little toad. Do you have any idea where the children are now?"
He shook his head miserably. Then a snippet of conversation suddenly bubbled to the surface of his memory and bobbed about merrily: "Well...err...I mean, you will keep them away from floor three, won't you?"
And again he said: "Oh."
***
Aligore collapsed into the dust and lay panting. The pain was too much; he simply couldn't take it anymore.
"Ge' up!"
He closed his eyes and ignored the voice.
"Ge' up! Now, 'ornless!"
He focused his senses, tried to still his racing heart, listening for that one particular sound.
The Dwarf took a step closer.
Aligore waited.
Then he finally heard the sound he had been waiting for: the clink of something being unhinged from a steel belt, the soft rustle as a fierce leather whip was unfurled. Aligore had become well-acquainted with that whip over the last several hours; the spiderweb of streaked gashes along his back was a testament to this fact. He held his breath. His body tensed. The whip suddenly cracked and he lunged forward, sweeping a massive paw in a tight arc, claws extended. The plan was to catch the whip mid-stroke, and then to pull the surprised guard within slashing distance. And after that...well, whatever happened would happen. It was a matter of self-defense. He had to survive.
But the heavy harness around his neck went taut as he lunged, jerking him back and spilling him to the ground. The whip bit into his back and he gritted his teeth, trying not to howl. The whip came again and again, searing new crimson stripes into his flanks. He made another feeble lunge for the tip of the whip, but he was too tired, too sluggish. He dropped back down into the dirt and lay still. His wings pulsed thick and ready beneath his skin, and his vision blurred red.
It was time to moult. He didn't know how much longer he could hold it back.
No. He wouldn't kill. He couldn't kill. It wasn't in his nature.
The whip stung down again and Aligore realized that natures could sometimes change.
The Dwarf raised his whip again, grinning horribly in the pale orange light of the torches.
***
"We shouldn't be here."
Jonah glanced up. He was halfway through his current task of writing WASH ME with his finger on every dusty suit of armor. "What are you talking about? We have to wait for Tom and Aligore."
Sally shook her head. "Don't you think we look a little conspicuous standing outside the dungeon door? What if somebody asks where our escort went?"
"The bathroom."
"What if there's no bathroom on this floor?"
"Every floor's got to have a bathroom. That's just common sense."
"Well, what if they don't?"
He sighed. Sally could really be a pain sometimes, especially when she started acting logically. "Do you have any better ideas?"
"I think we should hide somewhere. In one of the empty rooms or something. Then we can keep an eye out for Tom, but we can also stay out of sight in case any other Dwarves come along."
He finished one last WASH ME, then turned to her. "Fine. I'll follow you."
"Why do I have to lead the way?"
"Because it was your stupid idea."
"But I don't know where to go!"
He frowned. "Well, neither do I. Listen, you came up with the plan, so that means you have to pick the hiding spot."
Sally shook her head impatiently. "No, since I picked the plan, you have to pick the hiding spot. Then we'll be equal."
"Nope. That's not the way it works. You're acting like the leader, so lead."
She stamped her foot down and crossed her arms, a trait she had picked up from the Princess rather quickly. "Would you stop being a baby about this, Jonah? This isn't the time to fight."
"Fine. Then decide what we're doing."
"You're impossible."
He went back to drawing on the nearest suit of armor, humming loudly.
"Maybe I should just leave you here," she threatened.
"Maybe you should."
"Maybe I will."
"Maybe you should stop talking about it and do it."
"You're impossible."
"You already said that," he pointed out.
"It bears repeating."
He hummed louder. On the next suit of armor, he wrote SALLY IS A TERRIBLE LEADER in large blocky letters.
"Real mature," she sniffed.
"Just waiting for orders, Leader Girl."
"I seem to be lost," an ancient voice suddenly said from behind them. They whirled around.
Lord Coalbrick was standing in the middle of the corridor, smiling at them pleasantly. Thankfully, he was fully clothed today, his large purple robes spilling out behind him. An imposing iron crown sat cockeyed on the tip of his forehead. Tufts of springy white hair poked up from the center of the crown.
"Uh...hello, sir," Sally said.
"Hullo," he replied happily, still beaming at them.
Sally glanced at Jonah nervously. Her expression clearly said what should we do now? Jonah let his eyes flicker over to dungeon, then he gave his head an almost imperceptible shake. The message was clear: let's get him away from that door. She nodded.
"Where are you trying to go, sir?" Jonah asked, taking a step forward. "Maybe we can help you get there."
The King peered off into the distance, his eyes cloudy. "I've been in this corridor before," he finally said. "But I can't remember when that was. I think I must have dreamed it. That happens quite often, you know. Dream something and it's true, live something and it isn't. That's the way the world works. Shadows and dancing at night." His eyes snapped into focus and he smiled at Jonah warmly. "Don't you agree?"
"I...um, yeah, I suppose so, sir."
"I often feel like I'm asleep when I'm not, or that I'm awake when I'm not, and it has become dreadfully difficult to tell the two apart." He sighed heavily. "I was going to the kitchen to get a slight snack before lunch, and I seem to have gotten turned around. I think I might be dreaming again."
Sally gently took the King's arm and steered him down the hallway. "I know just how you feel," she said lightly. "My favorite parts of the day are those moments right when you wake up, when you can't tell whether you're still dreaming or not. Everything seems calm and peaceful, like you're resting with your eyes open."
The King nodded gratefully. "Yes. Yes, that's exactly what I mean. I tried to tell that to Gobblecus, but he didn't understand."
Gobblecus? Jonah suddenly remembered his all-too-brief conversation with Roon, and the snippets of garbled conversation that had been filtered through his head. Gobblecuspuddington had been one of the words. At the time it had seemed like nonsense. It didn't seem that way any longer. "Who is Gobblecus, your majesty?" he asked.
Sally raised an eyebrow. "I don't think that's important right now, Jonah," she told him softly.
He ignored her. "Is Gobblecus somebody in this castle?"
The King's eyes had fogged over again. He seemed to be staring right through Jonah. "In my dream, you were running away from something. It was chasing you. All teeth and flashing bites. Very frightening." He turned away and favored Sally with another broad smile. "I was certainly glad to wake up from that dream."
"Yes, I'd imagine so," she said.
They turned the corner and headed down another corridor. Lord Coalbrick stared at the suits of armor with obvious interest, like a child on a sight-seeing tour. "I used to know every corner of this castle, you know," he said slowly. There was sadness in his voice, but also confusion. "I used to play here as a child. But now things are different. I think the castle might have grown up before I did. It got too large, and there are parts of it that are cold. One could freeze...yes, one could certainly freeze in here. Winter must have gotten inside somehow, and now it can't seem to find its way back out. Very unfortunate." He took a handkerchief from inside his robes and gave it a noisy honk before continuing. "Nothing is cold in dreams, though. That's one of the reasons I like dreaming. Have you ever been cold in a dream?"
"I...I can't say that I have," Sally said, gently leading him toward the stairs. "Would you like to go to the kitchen, sir? We can take you there."
"I like the kitchen," he said slowly, nodding a bit. "It's warm there, and the fire makes popping noises."
Jonah hurried to keep up. "Sir, who is Gobblecus?" he tried again.
The King glanced at him. "Why, he's the same person he has always been, of course. Gobblecus Puddington...yes, that's his name. In the library, he told me that he could help. Thousands of books, so it must have been in there. How can one person read so many books? It must take a very long time. That, I think, would be a good way to live. Much better than this King nonsense."
"So...Gobblecus is the librarian?" Jonah guessed.
"I told him that I didn't need help," the King mused. "I like to dream. It's the only time I'm warm." He shivered a little and pulled his robes tighter around his skinny little shoulders. The heavy crown dangled precariously from the tip of his forehead.
"Jonah, not right now," Sally said with forced pleasantness. She was staring daggers at him. "We wouldn't want to upset the King, would we?"
"The bean stew, that upsets me," Lord Coalbrick said thoughtfully. "I told them not to give me bean stew, but they never listen to me anymore. I was upset that entire night. No good dreams can come from a stew like that."
"Of course not," Sally said smoothly, reaching for the door of the stairwell. The door suddenly flew open. She jumped back with a yelp.
"Oh my," the King said.
Aurella stood in the doorway, surrounded by grim-looking military Dwarves. She stared at the children, a strange half-smile dancing in the corner of her mouth. "There you are, father. We've been very worried about you. Bebbens! Take my father upstairs." Nodding frantically, Bebbens dashed forward and grabbed the King's hand.
"I want to go to the kitchen," the King said, his voice slightly petulant.
"That seems like a good place," Aurella said. Her gaze never left the children's faces. "Bebbens, take him to the kitchen for a snack."
"Err...yes, ma'am," Bebbens whispered, pulling the King toward the stairs. He flashed an apologetic look at Jonah and Sally, his face a mixture of guilt and fear.
"Bye bye," the King said.
Sally gave him a little wave as he disappeared up the stairs. Jonah said nothing. He returned Aurella's cold stare.
"So...enjoying the castle?" Aurella finally asked.
"It's okay," Sally stammered. "We've been all over the place. Just waiting for our escort to get back from the bathroom, then we're going to see the...uh...the courtyard! I've...um...always wanted to see one of those."
"Fascinating. I'm glad you're enjoying my castle." Aurella's gray eyes bored into Jonah, unblinking and steely, but he refused to look away.
"It's...um, everything's very clean, too," Sally continued desperately. "It must be quite a chore, keeping everything tidy in such a big place."
"It's exhausting." The creepy little half-smile never left Aurella's face.
Sally took another step back. "Your father...he...um, he seems very nice," she said lamely. "We were just talking about some of the...some of the history of this place, and—"
"Is Tom already in the dungeon?" Aurella interrupted. "This will be over much quicker if you tell me the truth."
Sally's shoulders slumped. "I think he's upstairs," she said softly, looking at the floor. "Still asleep. I think."
Jonah said nothing.
"I'm sure he is," Aurella purred. "I don't know what you were hoping to accomplish with this little jaunt, but you're not going to like the consequences."
"But—" Sally began.
"Shut up, child, or I'll have my men cut the flapping tongue out of your head." Aurella's voice had grown cold and low. There was an unstable shimmer of hatred and fear buzzing beneath the surface. She turned to her guards. "The dungeon. Now. Bring him back alive or dead, I don't care which." They moved forward in unison.
Jonah took a step toward them. "You're holding my friend prisoner. We're setting him free, and then we're leaving. Don't try to stop us or you'll regret it."
The guards hesitated, glancing at Aurella. The smile had disappeared from her face. "What are you waiting for? I gave you an order!" They advanced again.
Jonah darted across the hall and grabbed a battle axe from the hands of the nearest suit of armor. The axe tugged free with a rusty squeal. It was heavier than he would have guessed, and he took an unsteady step backwards. "Run, Sally! Find Tom and get out of here!"
"Jonah, you can't—"
"Run!" he yelled. He lunged forward, the axe held high.
She turned and dashed back down the corridor, her feet slapping against the marble floor.
The nearest Dwarf fell back into a defensive stance, raising his sword. Jonah brought the axe crashing down toward the Dwarf's helmet—my first axe fight, he thought with an absolutely inappropriate sort of pride—but the Dwarf sidestepped neatly and batted the axe aside. It spun out of Jonah's hands and clattered to the floor.
"I don' wanna kill ya, kid..." the Dwarf grunted.
"Good." Jonah lashed out with his foot, bringing it smashing up into the Dwarf's stomach. The Dwarf took a wobbly step backwards, gasping for air. Jonah spun around, but he was too late. Another Dwarf brought his sword slashing down, and the flat side of the blade cracked against Jonah's skull. Sunbursts blasted across the inside of his eyelids and everything swam around him.
That didn't go well, Jonah thought, then he slumped to the floor and the darkness swallowed him.
***
Tom took the stairs two at a time. The stairwell wound down into the darkness in a dizzying spiral, illuminated only by the faint glow of the occasional torch. Lectricity apparently hadn't made its way into the castle's deep yet. There was a rather unpleasant smell coming from the lower floors, a musky odor, hot and stinking. The air around him slowly grew warmer, and he began to hear the heavy clunk and crunch of metal slabs grinding together.
The staircase finally spilled out onto a narrow balcony overlooking a massive cavern. Tom stopped short, his jaw hanging open. He didn't know what he had been expecting to find, but it hadn't been this. Nothing this large. Nothing this horrible.
The cavern stretched out as far as the eye could see in every direction, impossibly large. Gigantic iron pillars dotted the cavern in a vaguely symmetrical cropping, rotating slowly in their bases. The tops of the pillars were attached to huge gears and cogs in the ceiling. The bases were attached to dragons. There were hundreds of them, more than he could count. Large dragons and small dragons. Green, blue and black dragons. Furious dragons, snarling and gnashing and letting out the occasional roar. Exhausted dragons, their eyes cold and dead, plodding along like docile gumbeasts at the end of their halters. Each dragon was firmly secured to a pillar by a complex system of harnesses and iron bridles, their jaws pinched shut, their wings clipped firm against their heaving flanks.
So that's where the lectricity comes from, Tom thought with numb horror. The dragons turn the pillars, the pillars turn the gears, and the gears are attached to something that creates lectricity. Like some sort of twisted underground windmill. He shook his head slowly. How could the Dwarves have sunk this low? How could they have created something so terrible?
As he watched, a nearby dragon collapsed into the dust, its sides trembling and silver with sweat. Two Dwarves instantly fell upon the dragon with raised whips. Tom turned away.
"Gettin' Aligore outta here right now," he whispered under his breath. "Even if I have to thump every Dwarf in this lousy place, I'm gettin' him outta here."
Finding Aligore, though...that might be tricky. There were a lot of dragons in the cavern, and most dragons looked the same to Tom. Complicating matters further, the air was thick with soot and ash, and billowing bursts of greenish smoke belched randomly from the machinery littering the cavern's ceiling. For one brief moment he thought he glimpsed Aligore in the distance, but then the dragon turned its head and Tom realized that its sloping snout was different, longer and pointier than his friend's nose.
Wait...there. In the shadows. Several small dragons were chained to a post in the corner, half-hidden by the creeping darkness. A Dwarf overseer was striding among them, administering the occasional lash of his whip. And one of the dragons looked like Aligore.
Maybe.
Well, kind of.
To be perfectly honest, they all looked the same to Tom.
Gritting his teeth, he grabbed a nearby ladder and slid to the floor. Standing at the base of the cavern, the sounds and smells were almost too much to bear. Everything was thundering and shrieking and burning and stinking. Absently wiping the sweat out of his eyes, Tom crept along the wall, making sure to stay hidden in the shadows as much as possible.
An enormous red Meruevian on the far side of the cavern suddenly reared up on its hind legs with a snarl of triumph. A broken harness swung freely from its jaws. The dragon was nearly fifty feet tall. It let out another roar and took a step back, trying to free its legs from the steel yoke. Dwarves rushed at the dragon from all sides, spears held at the ready.
Now's my chance, Tom thought grimly. While they're distracted.
Mustering up what little courage he had left, he dashed across the room, keeping his head low and avoiding eye contact with the other Dwarves. Fortunately, they seemed more interested in subduing the raging Meruevian than bothering Tom, and nobody gave him a second glance as he dashed past them.
He reached the far side of the cavern, where the youngest dragons were chained in the shadows. His heart suddenly soared. There he was—Aligore. His friend looked exhausted and frightened, but at least he seemed to be in one piece. Tom stared at the iron shackles around Aligore's muzzle, legs and flank, and he felt anger rising in his chest.
"Who're you?" It was the Dwarf overseer, the one with the whip. He peered at Tom critically from behind his fireproof faceplate.
"They...uh, they need your help with that one," Tom said, jerking his thumb at the Meruevian. The other Dwarves had thrown chains over the huge dragon's back, and it was being slowly dragged to its knees. It was howling miserably the entire time.
"Looks like they're doing okay without me," the Dwarf said slowly.
Tom took a step closer, trying to act casual. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Aligore watching them intently. "Hey, I'm just passing on a message, mate. They told me to come and get you, so that's what I did." He took another step.
The overseer removed his bulky faceplate and peered at Tom. Orange flickers of flame reflected in his beady little eyes. His face was cloudy with suspicion. "Who sent you?" he finally asked.
"Punch." Tom smiled broadly.
The overseer frowned. "Who?"
Tom punched him.
The overseer took a tentative step back, then his eyes crossed and he slumped to the floor. Tom hurried over to Aligore. "Sorry I'm late, mate," he whispered. "Got here as soon as I could."
Aligore lunged at him with a snarl.
Tom stopped short, his eyes widening. For a brief, terrible moment, his vision was filled with flashing teeth. Then Aligore's neck brace caught and the dragon fell back against the wall, panting and growling, his eyes rolling in his head. Wisps of dirty smoke shot from Aligore's nostrils in tiny jets. And his back was...
Tom shuddered. "What did they do to you?" he asked softly.
Aligore's eyes were on fire. Maybe it was just an optical illusion, simply the reflection of torchlight that made them burn blazing orange. Maybe.
"Don't you recognize me?" Tom asked, taking a cautious step closer. "It's me. Tom. Don't...don't you remember me?" He pulled off his helmet and stared at his friend.
Aligore returned his gaze for a long moment, then the dragon suddenly blinked and shook his head. When he opened his eyes, Aligore's expression seemed to soften beneath the heavy metal muzzle. "TOM?" he said weakly. "TOM?"
"Yeah, mate. It's me."
Aligore sighed heavily. He seemed to unable to focus his vision properly. And there was something wrong with his skin...it appeared to be peeling. Aligore must have seen something in Tom's expression, for he looked away, his expression pained. "IT'S THE MOULT. IT'S COMING ON STRONG NOW. I DON'T KNOW HOW MUCH LONGER I CAN HOLD IT BACK."
"You're...you're moulting? Now?" Tom bit his lip and glanced around nervously. He had heard about moulting. It was the dragon version of puberty, when the creatures grew wings and developed the ability to breathe fire. He had heard that it was a fairly dreadful experience. "No offense, lizard, but your timing stinks something fierce."
"MY WINGS...THEY'RE HOT. I CAN FEEL THEM GROWING." Aligore's body spasmed and he let out a great whooping cough. Twin streamers of flame flew from his nostrils. Aligore looked up at him with bleary bloodshot eyes. "HELP," he said simply.
"You got it." Tom fumbled with the leg braces. His fingers were trembling uncontrollably. At such a close range, the smell rolling off Aligore's body was overpowering. The dragon had always had a faint, distinct odor, but this was a stink. It was the smell of the moult.
The leg braces clinked open and fell away. The skin underneath was raw and rather unpleasant-looking. "Hold on," Tom whispered, feeling for the muzzle's brace behind the dragon's neck. "Let me get this thing off of you and you'll be..."
The muzzle fell away.
"...Free," Tom said. "Right, can you walk?"
Aligore nodded slowly.
"Then we had better go fast. Follow me."
They kept to the shadows, slinking along beneath a dusty shelf of rock. The huge red dragon had finally been brought down, and Dwarves were busy attaching new braces to its muzzle. They were shouting and laughing to one another through the gloom.
"Rotten buggers," Tom muttered. "Hope they all get eaten."
Aligore said nothing. His eyes were glazed and hollow.
"All right, see that staircase? That'll take us up to the balcony, and that'll take us to the stairs back to the third floor. Then we've just gotta find the kids and get outta this nasty castle. Right?"
Aligore nodded again.
"Fine. We're gonna have to make a run for it, though. On the count of three? One...two...t—"
On the balcony, the door to the stairwell was suddenly flung open and Sally stumbled out into the light. Her face was very pale. She glanced around, her eyes darting back and forth, searching for Tom.
"Well, this can't be good," Tom said softly.
Sally took a deep breath. "It's me, Sally!" she shouted at the top of her lungs to the entire cavern. "Find another way out! Do you hear me? Don't come this way! This way isn't safe!"
"SHE'S TALKING TO US, ISN'T SHE?" Aligore murmured from beside him.
"Yeah." Tom took a step forward, into the light, but then Aligore's heavy paw fell on his shoulder, pulling him back into the shadows. Aligore shook his head slowly.
"I hope you can hear me!" Sally yelled again. "This way isn't safe! This is a bad...way...to...go! Got that?"
Then she was tackled. Four Dwarves burst out of the stairwell and threw themselves on Sally, pinning her to the ground. "Run!" she screamed, then a hand fell over her mouth and the rest of her cries were muffled.
Aligore tensed beside him, and dragon began to breathe rapidly. "Don't, mate," Tom whispered. "Getting you out of here is the first priority. We'll worry about the kids later."
"BUT..."
"No buts. Follow me."
They turned and retreated further into the shadows. Aligore's breathing came in short, sputtering bursts, and the dragon finally stumbled and leaned against the rocky wall for support. "DON'T KNOW...HOW MUCH LONGER...I CAN GO ON," he wheezed, his voice muted and miserable. "I'M SORRY."
"Nothing to be sorry about, mate," Tom whispered, patting him awkwardly on the shoulder. Aligore's skin was hot to the touch and felt vaguely grimy. Tom drew his hand back, grimacing in spite of himself.
Aligore saw his expression and looked away. "IT'S THE MOULT," he said sadly. "I CAN'T HELP IT."
"I...I know you can't. It's just bad timing, that's all." Tom fumbled in his pockets absently, cursing a little under his breath. "Now where'd I put that...know it's in here somewhere...stinkin' little...oh, here we are. Thought you might be hungry, so I smuggled you down some jerky." He held the small bundle of meat out to Aligore tentatively. Aligore stared at the meat for a long moment, then hung his head.
"I HAD BETTER NOT. EATING MEAT DURING THE MOULT...IT ISN'T WISE."
"Oh," Tom whispered, feeling rather foolish. "Sorry. Didn't know."
"IT'S OKAY. THANK YOU ANYWAY." Aligore glanced around. "WE HAD BETTER KEEP MOVING."
They set off again, pressed tight against the dusty rock shelf. "You remember seeing any other exits out of this place?" Tom asked.
"NO. A YOUNG DRAGON ESCAPED THIS MORNING AND TRIED TO MAKE FOR THE CEILING. I ASSUME THAT HE MEANT TO SLIP BETWEEN THE CRACKS IN THE MACHINERY AND MAKE HIS WAY TO FREEDOM."
"Yeah? What happened to him?"
"THEY BROUGHT HIM DOWN. ARROWS."
"Oh."
"INDEED."
A loud cry suddenly echoed out from the other side of the cavern. The unconscious Dwarf had been discovered. A number of Dwarves were gathered together in a tight huddle, whispering furiously. Then the huddle broke apart and the Dwarves separated. As they made their way through the cavern, they appeared to recruit new Dwarves at every turn. It was a search party.
"THEY'RE COMING THIS WAY. THEY'RE GOING TO FIND US." There was terrible resignation in Aligore's voice.
"Sure looks that way, don't it?" Tom stared at the ceiling intently. The jagged outcroppings of rock created a sort of natural staircase, with one shelf bleeding into the next until they reached the ceiling some eighty feet above them. From there, twisted pipes and coils of steel snaked their way across the ceiling in a spiderweb of rusty gears and cogs. And there were gaps in the ceiling, vertical shafts leading up toward the surface. The climb, however, was certainly out of the question. For a Dwarf.
The other Dwarves were getting much closer now. Their spears were held at the ready, and they took short, cautious steps, like hunters stalking big game.
"Say, Aligore, you think you could make it up that wall and through one of those holes in the ceiling?" Tom asked, trying to keep his voice casual.
Aligore peered upward. "YES, I SUPPOSE SO. BUT THEY WOULD PROBABLY SHOOT ME DOWN BEFORE I GOT HALFWAY THERE."
"Not if they're distracted."
Aligore stared at him. "WHAT ARE YOU—" he began.
"Get out of here," Tom said simply. Then he turned and ran.
The Dwarves jumped a little when he burst out of the shadows, and he felt an arrow nick by his head as a nervous bowstring was released. He began waving his arms and shouting merrily. "Nice place you got here! Figured I'd take a look around! Hope you don't mind!" He never slowed his speed.
The Dwarves paused. Their spears trembled slightly.
"I'll be done in a second, mates! Just wanted to see the dragons, you know!" Tom gave them a little wave, then raced right past them. Come on, he silently prayed. Chase me. Chase me. Chase me.
The Dwarves chased him. They waved their spears and shouted threats, told him to get back here, to slow down, that he wasn't allowed, that this was off-limits. They seemed to have no idea what to do next. Neither did Tom, for that matter.
He raced around the nearest pillar and a dragon lunged at him, its eyes blazing beneath a thick metal mantle. Its choke-chain caught tight and its claws swept harmlessly past him, raking through the empty air. He gave the dragon a little wave. "Big fella you got here!" he called over his shoulder. "Seems hungry! What are you guys feeding 'em? Bet they eat a lot, huh?"
"Stop or we'll shoot, sir!" one of the Dwarves cried, his voice cracking with frustration.
"What's that? Can't hear you! Too noisy! The dragons, ya know!" Tom gave them a lunatic grin and increased his speed. Out of the corners of his eyes he could see Dwarves racing toward him from every direction, matching his pace. Trying to cut him off. Well, that was fine. Just a few more seconds. That's all he needed. "Hi, guys!" he hollered, hopefully the perfect picture of clueless innocence. "You sight-seein' too? Pretty neat, eh? Didja see the dragons? They're huge!"
"I mean it, you can't be in here!" another Dwarf cried. "We really will shoot you!"
"This is excitin', ain't it?" Tom cried merrily. His heart was already thundering in his chest. He was badly out of shape. If he survived the day, maybe he would take up exercising, he reflected absently. "I always say that a good jog every morning will keep you ummpphg!"
He hadn't meant to say ummpphg. He had meant to say bright and bushytailed all day long. The reason he said ummpphg was because a Dwarf had suddenly leaped out of the shadows and wrapped his arms around Tom's legs. Tom came crashing down to the ground, ummpphging all the way.
"Got 'im!" the Dwarf cried out. He sounded terribly excited.
Tom managed to roll over. He glanced at the ceiling. Aligore was creeping along a low metal walkway eighty feet above his head. The dragon met his gaze for a moment, his expression unreadable. Tom gave him a slight nod, then Aligore disappeared upwards into the bowels of the machinery. His tail gave a great flick and then he was gone.
Ten more Dwarves landed on top of Tom and he ummpphged again. Loudly.
What followed was several minutes of furious arguments that involved a lot of pointy things being jabbed menacingly in Tom's general direction. He tried to keep an air of confused innocence about him, but he had never been a very good liar. "Just thought I'd go for a stroll," he muttered. "Didn't know this was off-limits. Somebody should've told me."
"We oughtta kill 'im now," the nearest Dwarf snarled.
"No need to get hasty, mate," Tom said.
"There ain't gonna be any killing." A tall—at least by Dwarf standards—Dwarf emerged from the crowd. Instead of the typical iron breastplate, there was a band of beaded gold circling his chestplate. "Not until Mistress Aurella has her say."
"On second thought, you can just kill me now," Tom said weakly.
"Captain! Captain!" A young Dwarf jogged over to the group, his face pale and excited.
The Dwarf captain with the gold breastplate stepped forward. "What now?"
"One o' the dragons, sir...the one we caught the other day...green one..." The young Dwarf bent over, gasping for breath.
"What about him?" the captain snapped.
"Well, he's gone! We looked everywhere, sir! He ain't here."
The captain turned to Tom, his lip curling in a cruel sneer. "I think," he said softly, "that you are in quite a bit of trouble, friend."
Tom's heart sank. "Yeah, I figured as much."
Then a dirty canvas blanket was flung over Tom's head and everything went dark. He felt dozens of hands grabbing him, twisting him, binding him. Iron chains snaked around his legs and hands. He fought for breath inside the hot and stinking blanket. Then everything blurred as he felt himself picked up and swung upside down. The Dwarves began to march with him, laughing and bickering back and forth, and Tom realized that he was in very much trouble indeed.
Vork slowly lowered himself to the ground and Elsie and Yap slid from his back. Elsie drew her cloak tight against her body and shivered. It was freezing.
They had flown for most of the day, sweeping over forests, racing along dry riverbeds, over meadows and mountains, through caves deep beneath the crest of the world. Their path had led them in a tight winding corkscrew through a labyrinth of giant rocks. They had passed over a lake with water so pure and clear that she could see giant lobster creatures fighting and biting on the lakebed, hundreds of feet below the glassy surface. The trip had been an exhausting, confusing whirlwind of blurred motion that had finally led them to the highest peak of the tallest mountain in the realm, a massive ice slab stabbing into the dusky air. They had passed through the clouds—a moist and rather unpleasant experience—passed plateaus of crystal spires, passed rocky monoliths from a forgotten time that glared down on the world below.
Finally they had reached the summit, an icy shelf that towered above the clouds, wind-swept and barren, which was where they now stood.
Elsie glanced around. "It's empty. Where are the Unicorns?"
Vork shrugged. Everybody probably left me again. Can't say I blame 'em.
Eieis, the larger and better-groomed Unicorn, merely sighed. They're in the caves, Vork.
Vork shrugged. I suppose so. Hiding from me.
They followed Eieis into the mouth of a cavern that at first appeared to be no more than a crack in the smooth shale. Soon the crack widened, however, and their path branched down into the darkness. The light emanating from the Unicorns' bodies cast strange reflections across the giant icicles dangling high above them. Soon the shriek of the wind died away and the only sound left was the muffled thump of Elsie and Yap's footsteps.
Yap seemed distinctly bored by the secret passage in the mysterious mountain. He glanced around, yawning broadly. "Where's the troll that lives in Yap's nose?" he casually asked Eieis.
What?
"The troll," Yap explained patiently. "In Yap's proud nose. Guardian of secret wisdom. Fears no trout."
Eieis frowned. I...I'm afraid I don't understand.
Yap sighed. "Troll. Nose. Trout. Very simple, you stupid flobberworm."
"Don't pay any attention to him," Elise muttered. "He's insane, remember?"
Eieis stared at Yap. Yap smiled back at him broadly. Eieis took a few steps back, watching the gnome nervously.
He was biting me the entire way here, Vork complained.
"Sorry," Elsie said.
I didn't really mind. I'm used to being eaten.
"You were deeee-licious," Yap crooned softly. "Full of hearty flavor."
Thanks, I guess.
The winding path finally spilled out into a massive cavern. In contrast to the dark passageways they had just come through, the cavern was brilliantly bright, with torchlight reflected and refracted off a thousand shards of crystal ice that crept up the walls like winter ivy. Geysers of steam were dotted across the cavern, belching the occasional blast of warm mist into the air. Elsie loosened her cloak. "So this is the White Place, huh?"
That's right, Eieis said proudly. It's where the Unicorns gather in times of danger. The cavern is warm enough to keep us comfortable, and the entrance is high enough to keep away all dangers from the outside world.
Except the flying kind, Vork murmured.
Eieis glared at him. We haven't been attacked yet. It would take a formidable enemy to reach these heights.
"Well, if this place is so perfect, why don't you just stay here permanently?" Elsie asked. "Why the Unicorn Glade?"
Because nothing grows here, Eieis said simply.
"Yap grows strong and true!"
Yes, that's wonderful, gnome. He turned back to Elsie. Unicorns are creatures of the ground, creatures of the soil and sunshine. A tomb of ice high above the clouds is no place to live.
"It seems..."—Elsie struggled for the right compliment—"...very safe here. I did expect more Unicorns, though. Or at least some Unicorns."
Eieis frowned. I'm not sure where everybody went. They were here when I left. Perhaps they're out recruiting more magical creatures.
Or perhaps they're dead.
That's a rotten thing to say, Vork.
I'm a rotten Unicorn.
Eieis snorted. At least there's something we agree on. He set off across the cavern, his tail flicking back and forth angrily. Soon he had disappeared from view.
"So what are we supposed to do now?" Elsie asked.
Wait for death.
"You're certainly in a cheery mood."
You go blind if you stare at the sunny side of things for too long.
Elsie sighed. It was clearly a losing battle. She glanced around, suddenly apprehensive. Yap had been quiet for several minutes, which meant that he was probably trying to eat or break something. Possibly both. The little gnome was nowhere to be seen. "Oh, where did he go now?"
The little shrieking rat?
"Yeah. Did you see where he went?"
Vork nodded. Over there. In the shadows.
Elsie headed over into the corner, ducking under a shelf of glassy crystal spires snaking out of the nearest wall. Sure enough, there was Yap. He was sitting in the shadows, beaming broadly. "Found something!" he chirped. "Happy dead guys!"
"That's nice, Yap," she said absently.
"Eyeballs falling out of heads, all rumbly-pumbly. Smells like fruit." He smiled widely. "Yap is terrified out of his fat little skull."
"Of course you are." She bent down and scooped Yap up into her arms. She straightened up carefully—no sense in standing up quickly in a room full of nasty spiked icicles, after all—then she suddenly paused. There was a peculiar odor in the air, sweet and slightly rotten. She frowned and took a step back. It smelled like something had died in this cavern.
A hand fell on her shoulder. She gasped and spun around.
The man towering over her was very obviously dead. His skin was a waxy and dull yellow, spotted with patches of blackened ash. His eyes were milky silver orbs floating beneath a tangle of wispy white hair. Rotten teeth poked out of his mouth in a leering shark's smile. His long, bloodless fingers flexed and unflexed dramatically, and the dead man grinned at her.
"Greetings," he said.
"Eep," she replied.
The dead man frowned. "Please refrain from any demonstrations of fright or impassioned terror, young child. I have no plans to feast upon your brains."
"Oh? That's...good," Elsie said weakly. She took another step back.
Someone cleared their throat behind her, and she spun back around. Two more dead men were standing in the shadows. One of them was very short and scrawny, with bulging white eyes. The other was comically fat, with folds of dead yellow skin hanging in a halo around his massive neck. They smiled and waved at her. "Hiya," the fat dead man said.
"Yap has delicious brains!" Yap announced to the creatures. He sounded proud. "Everybody says so. Even the secret goats of yore. Everybody wants to eat Yap's happy brains!"
"Is that right?" the tall dead man said politely.
"Yes. Yes, it is."
"Yap, maybe we shouldn't talk about eating brains right now," Elsie whispered nervously. She glanced around. Where were the Unicorns? Did they know that there were monsters in their cavern?
"Oh, that's quite all right," the short dead man said. "We love talking about eating brains. It's practically our favorite thing to talk about."
Yap nodded agreement. They obviously had a lot in common.
"The only thing better than talking about eating brains is actually doing it," the fat dead man said in a dreamy voice. He let out a small, girlish sigh of contentment.
"Now, now," the tall dead man cautioned. "We have promised our gracious hosts that we shall refrain from gorging on cranial matter, and that is an obligation we are dedicated to upholding, is it not?"
"I suppose so," the fat dead man said sullenly. "Told you I wouldn't eat any brains. Gave my word. Don't have to keep bothering on about it, you know."
"But why can't we talk about eating brains?" the short dead man protested, frowning a bit. "Seems to me there's no harm in just talking about something."
"On the contrary, words are often more dangerous than actions," the tall dead man said, his voice low and serene. "Actions are fleeting, transient things. While their consequences may be short-lived or lasting in potency, an action itself is singular. Words, however, have the propensity for festering. Do you know what it means to fester, child?"
Elsie shook her head.
The tall dead man smiled. "I thought not." He didn't seem inclined to explain further.
"Fester pester lester," Yap said thoughtfully.
"Exactly," the fat dead man said.
"He's a quick one." The short dead man sounded impressed.
Oh, there you are. Vork rounded the corner, blinking a little in the sudden shadows. Elsie would have never guessed that she would be so happy to see that miserable little Unicorn. Found the Less Deads too, I see.
"The...Less Deads?"
"That's us!" the fat dead man said.
"I've heard...stories about you," she said slowly. She didn't feel the need to mention that most of the stories had been the type one tells around a campfire, the type concerning hormonal teenagers, graveyards, and plagues of flesh-eating monsters that sprang from their graves to devour screaming maidens. "I never thought you were real, though."
"There's a bit of truth in every story worth retelling," the tall dead man said. "I must admit that we Less Deads have typically been persecuted with malicious libel and slander of character. Why, the defamation of our good names paints us as remorseless ghouls bent on world domination!"
"And...err...you're not?" she ventured hopefully.
The Less Deads exchanged a glance. "Um...not really," the short dead man said slowly. "There's been a lot of...what's that word?"
"Exaggeration?" the tall dead man suggested patiently.
"Yeah! Exagimatation! That's what they done to us."
"Not all of us care for world domination," the tall dead man continued smoothly. "Quite a few of us would be more than happy with conquering merely a small portion of the world...say, a few acres of land at the base of a mountain, where the air is clean and the land is beautiful..."
"And the brains are plentiful," the fat dead man added.
The tall dead man glared at his companion, then turned back to Elsie. "The slander is malicious and at least somewhat incorrect, yet by large the world merely knows us as monsters who refuse to remain in our graves, ravaging the countryside and feasting upon the brains of unlucky wayfarers by the light of a bloodshot moon. Truly, child, can you picture such a wretched and one-dimensional existence? Can you fathom how utterly boring such a lifestyle would become?" He sighed heavily and fanned his fingers theatrically. "There are many facets to every diamond, no matter how coarse and unpolished it might seem upon first appraisal. I, for instance, am an avid fisherman."
"Here we go again," the fat dead man muttered.
The tall dead man didn't seem to notice. "Standing waist-deep in a roaring mountain stream, the whisk of my whickerstick, the silvery flash of a fish's underbelly, the thrill of the hunt...what pleasure save fresh brains can compare to simple joys such as these? Fishing is both a union and a battle with nature, a struggle for survival and a game of sport. And yet when peasants and simple mountain folks see me coming, what do they say? Do they say here comes a fine undead fisherman? No, they do not. Do they say look, it's the scholarly ghoul who respects nature? Of course not. Do they say here comes a rotting fellow fully capable of holding spellbinding conversations on topics as diverse as botany and phlegmnology? They. Do. Not." The tall dead man sighed and shook his head mournfully. "But you eat one mouthful of brains and—"
Elsie! Vork had turned and was plodding back across the cavern. He glanced over his shoulder, his expression impatient. Are you coming or not?
"Yes!" she cried desperately. "Um, it was very nice to meet all of you," she told the Less Deads. "I really must be going."
"Buh-bye," the fat dead man said. He was staring at Elsie's forehead with obvious hunger.
"We'll be seeing you around," the short dead man said.
"Remember one thing, child," the tall dead man said, bowing broadly and smiling a little. "A mind is a terrible thing to waste."
***
Paldawar was furious. This was nothing new, of course; he had spent the last several weeks consumed with the sort of blind, unrelenting rage that only the recently dead are capable of truly experiencing. This new fury, however, was different. It came from being helpless.
He couldn't kill Dain. During their earlier conversation, Dain had rummaged through one of the airship's wardrobes until he had found a gray vest to replace the ridiculous blue shirt he was wearing. He had absently shrugged off the shirt, and that was when Paldawar noticed the wound. There was a hole in Dain's chest the size of a gordmelon. A wound of that magnitude usually tended to prevent people from doing casual activities such as walking, talking, or being alive. It could mean only one thing—enchantment. Paldawar had read about invulnerability spells before, and he knew that they required a powerful degree of dark magic to master. The rotten little toad had obviously made some sort of deal for immortality with the Sorceress, and this promised to complicate Paldawar's plans quite a bit. How does one kill the unkillable man?
At the very least, Paldawar would need a bigger sword.
His first thought had been to possess Dain instead, to leave Jimjim behind and take control of Dain's unbreakable body. But again his efforts had been thwarted by the curse. Leaving Jimjim had been easy, but he had been buffered back by some invisible barrier when he had tried to possess Dain, no doubt a side effect of the immortality spell. Fortunately, Paldawar had been able to slip back into Jimjim's body before the bounty hunter had known what was happening. The encounter had left Paldawar shaken and frightened. He had almost lost a body. The thought of being a wandering ghost again was too terrible to contemplate.
So he couldn't kill or possess Dain, which meant his only reasonable course of action was to keep Dain as close and as clueless as possible until new opportunities presented themselves. They always did, sooner or later. It merely required patience and intelligence, which were two traits Paldawar had in spades.
And Dain hadn't been completely worthless. The man was intimately familiar with Jonah's little circle of friends, which might prove useful. Even better, Dain knew the name of their airship pilot—Diggus Fleet. It wasn't much, but at least it was a start.
So this was why they were currently in Cauloflouwa, a major airship port near the base of the Nherrh river. They had docked near the edge of the town and made their way down the winding, grimy streets. Airships hummed and buzzed high above their heads, but the streets themselves were quiet. Cauloflouwa was close to the kingdom of the Sorceress, and her shadow hung heavy over the frightened land. Most of the people Paldawar and Dain passed on the streets were soldiers or armed guards. Many of them were teenagers, their eyes glassy and nervous beneath heavy steel helmets.
"Dis place is...diff'rent," Paldawar said. He had grown fairly adept at imitating Jimjim's clipped speech.
Dain raised an eyebrow. "You've been here before?"
"Once. Long time 'go. Lot cleaner back den. Less soldiers."
Dain shrugged. "Well, what do you expect? The world is changing."
"Yeah. Yeah, I guess so."
A dirty looking girl of about ten suddenly appeared from a nearby alley, her face caked with grime. She stared at Dain critically. "Hey, mister, you know that you've got a hole in your belly?" she asked.
"Shut up, kid," he growled. The girl laughed and disappeared back into the alley.
"I knew I shouldn't have worn this vest," Dain said sadly. "Thought it would show off my muscles. Forgot about this blasted hole." He thumbed at the wound absently, scowling.
Paldawar managed to hide his smile. Barely.
"So where are we going?" Dain finally asked.
Paldawar tried to keep his voice (no, it was Jimjim's voice, not his voice, he had to remember that) casual and light. "Goin' to de saloon. Need to find where dis Fleet guy is. Den we'll know where Jonah is."
Dain looked skeptical. "And what if nobody in the saloon knows anything?"
"Somebody always knows sumpthin. Jus' gotta find de right way t' ask."
"Huh. I still say we need to visit the Sorceress. We're only a day's flight from her castle now. She would know what to do next."
Paldawar's mind raced. He didn't want to get within a hundred miles of the Sorceress if he could possibly avoid it. He was confident that a powerful witch would be able to see through his simple little possession trick in a heartbeat. Plus, she scared him. "Dat's not a good idea," he said at last. "She prob'ly wouldn't be too happy wit neither of us, dat's for sure. We both messed up a lil'. Prob'ly keell us or sumpthin. You know how she can be."
"I suppose you're right," Dain said glumly. "Still, it wasn't my fault..."
"Course not," Paldawar agreed instantly. He took a deep breath. "Say, outta curiosity, is dere any way to keell you?"
"What?"
"Keell you. Any way t' do it?"
Dain frowned. "Why would you want to know something like that?"
Paldawar thought quickly. "Well, we pardners, right? Don' want you dyin' in de middle of a battle or sumphin jus' cause I didn't know dere was some type of magic spell or sumphin dat can keell you. Like maybe you got a weakness dat I should know bout...?"
Dain shook his head. "Not that I know of."
Paldawar cursed under his breath.
"What was that?"
"Uh...nuttin'. Dere's de saloon up ahead. Let's go."
They entered the saloon—a typical filthy affair, desperately in need of a healthy cleaning, or perhaps a flashflood—and Paldawar paused to let the conversation die away. He felt dozens of nervous eyes upon him. It was a nice feeling. Jimjim might have been a skulking half-wit with questionable grooming habits, but his reputation for terror and brutality was proving to be quite handy.
"Why are they staring at you?" Dain hissed.
"Cause I'm Jimjim." He smiled.
"Huh," Dain said. He didn't sound impressed. "Well, do whatever you came to do and let's get out of here."
Here that, Jimjim? Paldawar thought. It's time for you to start earning your keep around here.
From somewhere deep inside his mind, Jimjim's voice drifted out of the darkness. Dat mean I kin come out now? There was a note of desperate hope in his tone.
Yes, you can come out now. Be on your best behavior. I'm watching.
Yep, yep, course I will. Jimjim be real good. Now, what you need to know?
I need you to put those interrogation skills to use. Somewhere in this kingdom, there's an airship pilot by the name of Diggus Fleet. I want to know where he is.
Gotcha.
Then Paldawar relaxed, allowing himself to slip back a little. The world around him shimmered and blurred, then he felt Jimjim rushing up to the surface. His limbs tingled and went numb as Jimjim took control of the body again. And once again, Paldawar was nothing at all. And this, too, he hated.
***
It didn't take long to figure out the problem—there were simply too many gnomes.
There were hundreds and hundreds of them: gnomes on the floor, gnomes on the wall, gnomes hanging from the ceiling. There were gnomes that were running and gnomes that were walking and gnomes that were sleeping. There were gnomes that were dancing and gnomes that were fighting and gnomes that might have been doing either of these things, or maybe both at the same time, because it was quite simply a little hard to tell. But most of all, there were gnomes, lots of gnomes, and they were all making noise.
Elsie clapped her hands over her ears and stared out across the cavern, trying to fight back the wall of screeching and hooting and howling and singing and bickering and shouting and laughing and sobbing. There were simply too many gnomes. A person couldn't reasonably be expected to cope with this many gnomes.
Nasty little buggers, aren't they? Eieis sneered from the corner. He was sitting on his haunches, watching the gnome swarm with obvious distaste. They don't ever shut up, either. Just keep taking and talking.
Elsie tried to respond, but her voice was instantly drowned out by the gnome gibberish. She stared at Vork and shrugged helplessly.
Yes, it's dreadful, isn't it? he said. You can sit there all day long and try to get them to listen to your sad stories, but do you think they pay any attention to you? No, they do not. Why, just the other day, I was just thinking—
"Can't! You! Make! Them! Be! Quiet?" she yelled at the top of her lungs.
And suddenly, they were. Every gnome in the cavern broke off in mid-sentence and stared at her with frank amazement.
"Well, that was certainly rude," one of the nearest gnomes remarked.
"Rude! Rude! Rude!" The chant was quickly taken up by the other gnomes and soon the entire cavern was trembling rhythmically. "Rude! Rude! Rude!"
"I'm! Very! Sorry!" Elsie shouted.
And they clammed up again, staring at her, unblinking. "She's shouting again," another gnome remarked.
"She wants to eat our delicious gnome brains!" a third gnome screamed in horror.
Instantly the gnomes were on their feet, dashing around the cavern blindly, shrieking and howling in mock terror. They tripped and fell over each other quite often, which, believe it or not, was not as amusing as it sounds. Yap let out a cry of joy and bounded away into their midst, right at home among the madness.
They'll do this all day long, Eieis spat. All running around and yelping. Acting like fools, if you ask me. Not befitting behavior for a magical creature.
Very inappropriate, Vork agreed, popping a snot bubble with his tongue.
"Why are they all here?" Elsie asked, raising her voice as loud as she dared.
No other place for them to go, Eieis said. The Dark Shadow or the banshees would have killed them all if we hadn't saved them, just like they're trying to kill every other group of magical creatures in the world. We can't just leave them out there to die, no matter how much some of us might want to. That's not the Unicorn way.
Unfortunately, Vork added.
Yes, very unfortunately. So now we're stuck with them. They hate it here, we hate having them here, but nobody can think of any other alternative.
"What about fighting?" Elsie shouted.
Fighting what? The Dark Shadow? Eieis let out a cold little laugh. I don't think so, human. That thing killed Droo, and he was the strongest and fastest Unicorn I've ever met. None of us would stand a chance against it.
Elsie took a step back to avoid several screaming gnome children that went racing by. "Maybe you wouldn't stand a chance alone, but what if we fought together? All of us, I mean?"
Vork shook his head. He's right, Elsie. Antagonistic and obnoxiously pious, but right. A group of Unicorns and a human are no match for something like the Dark Shadow.
"Not just us," she said. "There are hundreds of gnomes here, plus the Less Deads. And just think of the rest of the magical creatures—I'm sure they'd help too!"
Hah. The gnomes...useful? Eieis shook his head. Look at them, human. They're fools. Do you really think they'd be much use in a fight?
Elise glanced at the chaos surrounding them. No, she didn't, come to think of it. The gnomes were rather useless. Still, they had to do something, didn't they? After all, if her father had still been alive, he certainly would have found a way to save everybody, to defeat the menace of the Dark Shadow. He would have instantly came up with some grand and daring plan. That's what rulers did, wasn't it? She sighed heavily. She would never be half the ruler her father had been. She was lost in the mountains with two unpleasant Unicorns, three creepy Less Deads, and about four hundred stupid, stupid gnomes. Maybe her father wouldn't have been able to salvage this mess either. Maybe sometimes you were just doomed.
Something tugged at the hem of her cloak, and Elsie glanced down. A withered old gnome was smiling up at her. "I heard what you said," he announced quietly.
"Oh," she said weakly. "That's...err...nice. I guess."
"My name is Gree."
"Uh-huh." What did this gnome want?
He smiled at her broadly, his face breaking into a mess of twisted wrinkles. "I think," he said slowly, "that it might be time for the Gnome Chorus."
And both the Unicorns groaned.
***
Jimjim stretched. Good to be back in his body. Felt nice. He felt like killing somebody, because that was nice too, but there wasn't time. The ghost had given him a mission, and Jimjim always liked to do a good job. Besides, if he did good, maybe the ghost would start being nicer to him. Maybe let him out more often.
Everybody in the saloon was staring at him. They were mighty afraid, and that was good too. Jimjim liked it when people were scared. It was much easier to get stuff done.
He went walking forward, letting his eyes sweep back and forth, looking for something. Nobody wanted to look Jimjim in the eyes, but that was okay. He wasn't looking for a person.
"Where are you going?" Dain asked.
"Shut up," Jimjim said, and that felt good too. He didn't like that Dain character, not one bit.
Careful, the ghost whispered in the back of his head, all soft and cold.
Jimjim kept walking, past the tables, past the bar, over to the corner. There was something in the corner, something dark and small that tried to skitter away from him. But he was still fast, that hadn't changed. His arm jabbed out and his hand closed around something soft that started wriggling. He stood up and held the rat up close to his face.
What are you doing? The ghost spat out each word. What. Are. You. Doing?
Jimjim stared at the rat.
The rat stared at Jimjim.
"Squeak, squeak," Jimjim said.
"You've got to be kidding me," Dain said softly.
The saloon held a collective breath.
The rat cocked its head. Its tiny black eyes blinked twice. "Squeak?" it finally asked.
Jimjim nodded. "Squeak squeak. Squeak squeak squeak squeak squeak."
"Squeak? Squeak squeak?"
You speak...rat? The ghost didn't sound impressed.
Jimjim ignored him. "Squeak squeak Diggus Fleet squeak squeak squeak."
The rat nodded. "Squeak."
Jimjim bent over and sat the rat on the floor. It scurried away into the shadows. He turned to Dain and smiled broadly. "Now," he said theatrically, "we wait."
"Leave him alone. Let him sleep." That was Sally's voice.
"Silence. Wake up, child." That was not.
Jonah moaned. Without opening his eyes, he rolled over on his side. "Sally?"
"Yeah?"
"Are we prisoners?"
"Uh-huh."
"Just checking." Trying to ignore the throbbing headache that was currently waltzing through his skull with a joyless lack of grace, Jonah sat up and gingerly opened his eyes. Sure enough, they were sitting in one of the castle's dingy jail cells. It was about four feet long, and it vaguely resembled a nasty hole in the wall, only less cheery and with more spiders than usual. On the other side of the steel bars, Aurella was watching him. Her beady little eyes danced with angry joy. Four armed Dwarves flanked her. Their eyes were less joyful but slightly beadier, so it was something of an even trade.
And here he was, captured again. He sighed and stood up.
"You came into my castle." Aurella spit out each word with obvious satisfaction. "You took advantage of my hospitality. You slept in my beds. You ate my food. You breathed my air. And this...this is how you repay my generosity? Lies. Deceit. Treachery."
"Don't forget snooping," Jonah said.
"And I stole some stuff from my room," Sally added. "Might as well add stealing to the list."
"Oh, and I kicked one of your Dwarves. Is Dwarf-kicking as bad as lying?"
Aurella stared at Jonah. The joy had danced right out of her eyes, and judging from the way her neck fat was trembling, it was currently waltzing right down her face. "Do you find this...funny?" she finally said.
"Yep," Jonah tried to keep his voice light and breezy, tried to summon up the energy for his next move, tried to figure out how he was going to get out of this mess. He had a plan, but it was a stupid plan. A very, very stupid plan.
"And why is that?" Aurella asked.
"Because you have no idea who you're dealing with." Jonah took a step forward. He tried to make his voice lower, and he scrunched up his face into what he hoped was a grim expression. He wasn't very good at being grim and frightening, but maybe he could fake it a bit. "You have no idea who I am. No idea what I can do. No idea how powerful I really am."
He moved closer to the bars. There was a nervous murmur from several of the Dwarf guards, and one of them actually took a step back. Aurella, however, seemed unimpressed. She merely cocked an eyebrow and stared at him critically. "Well?" she said eventually. "I'm waiting."
Jonah grabbed the bars. Stubbornly, they refused to explode.
Aurella stared at him.
"Um...grr?" Jonah said weakly.
And then Aurella began to laugh. After a moment the rest of the Dwarves joined in, pointing and laughing. Jonah felt his face growing hot. His stomach churned and he felt vaguely dizzy. Slowly, one by one, the hairs on his head began to stand up. As his anger grew, the lights in the room seemed to dim. At first he thought it was merely his imagination—or perhaps a side effect of the dizziness—but then one of the guards nervously glanced at the flickering lectricity crystal on the ceiling, his expression puzzled, and Jonah knew that it was about to happen again.
"Sally, you had better stand baaaaaaaa—" he said.
He had meant to say back, but at that moment the blue flames erupted from his fingertips and his world fell away into a spiral of angry colors that lunged back and forth before his eyes in a nauseous fashion before finally straightening back out. He flexed his fingers once or twice and blinked. The door to the cell had been blown clean off its hinges, narrowly avoiding decapitating several Dwarves in the process, and it was now lying in sprawl of twisted metal on the other side of the room. As for the Dwarves, they were huddled in a tight cluster in the corner of the room, staring at him with wide eyes.
He was dizzier than ever and completely drained, but he forced himself to take a few unsteady steps out of the cell. He even managed a crooked half-smile for Aurella. She didn't return the smile.
"S-stop him!" she croaked to her guards.
The guards merely stared at him, the way a rabbit will cower helplessly when ordered to stop a freight train.
Jonah stretched out his arms theatrically and extended his fingers. "You saw what I did to that door. I wonder what this power would do to a Dwarf?"
"Probably be pretty messy," Sally said from his side. She sounded like she was enjoying herself. "You might not have enough mops to clean up a mess like that."
"It would take a lot of mops," Jonah said firmly. As one-liners go, it wasn't a particularly good one.
Aurella bit her lip and said nothing.
"Where's Tom?" Jonah asked.
"I don't have to tell you anything."
"Remember the mooooooooops," Sally crooned softly.
Aurella's neck fat quivered again. "You...you can't do this to me! It's not fair! This is my castle!"
"And you can keep it, for all I care," Jonah said. "I'm taking Tom and Aligore and we're leaving. And you're not going to stop us."
Aurella opened her mouth, then she hesitated. Then she turned and ran out of the room. Her heavy footsteps clopped off into the distance and the room was silent. The Dwarves stared at him.
"So...err...you gonna kill us, then?" one of the Dwarves asked nervously.
Jonah pretended to think about it. "I suppose not," he finally said. "Not today, anyway."
"Thanks, sir. Mighty nice of you." The Dwarf guards turned and ran.
Sally turned to Jonah, her eyes sparkling. "That was incredible! You just grabbed the bars and then...oh, and then she was in the corner and...and that part where you...it was so cool!"
He smiled at her weakly. "Yeah. Catch me."
"Oh, and that part where—what?"
He fell over.
"Whoops. Sorry. I was supposed to catch you, wasn't I?"
"Yeah," he said from the floor.
"Sorry."
"S'okay."
She helped Jonah up and they made their way out into the corridor. The sun was setting on the horizon, but the lectricity crystals in the hallway had not yet been turned. Patches of blue shadow crept along the length of the hall. The castle was silent and cold around them.
"Why don't they turn on the lights?" Sally complained. "It's not like they have to worry about their electric bill, right?"
"Probably because of us," Jonah mumbled. "Trying to keep us in the dark. Literally, I mean."
"Huh. That's pretty rude."
"Yeah."
"So much rudeness," a sad voice said from behind them. They whirled around. A figure slowly emerged from the shadows, hunchbacked and frail. Billowing purple robes hung from the old man's tiny frame like the world's ugliest set of window drapes. A pair of bright eyes shined from beneath a heavy iron crown. "I don't like rudeness. Such an unhappy way to live, don't you think?"
Jonah breathed a sigh of relief as he recognized the figure. "Good evening, your majesty," he said. Sally gave the King an awkward little bow.
Lord Coalbrick smiled at them warmly. "So good to see humans in my castle again. I miss humans, you know. So delightfully unpredictable. You can always tell what a Dwarf is going to say or do next, but humans have a way of surprising you at every turn. The castle seems much colder without them around."
"May I ask a question, your majesty?" Sally said.
"Certainly, child. And if I know the answer, I will give it to you. That is the way that questions work, after all!"
"Err...right. Your daughter Aurella had my friend Tom imprisoned somewhere in the castle. We need to find him as soon as possible. Do you know where he might be?"
Coalbrick's eyes grew hazy. He stared at the ceiling for a long moment, lost in thought. "It seems that I knew the answer once upon a time," he said slowly. "I used to know many things. Then the bad dreams started, and now nothing seems to make sense, not even things that seem very sensible. There is more than one type of prison in this castle, I think."
"So there are other prison cells?" Sally asked excitedly. "Please, your majesty, think very hard. Where would they be?"
The King absently licked his lips. "Down, perhaps? Or maybe up. Maybe nowhere at all. There are monsters in this castle, and I fear they have been moving things when I wasn't looking. Nothing is the way it's supposed to be. Very unfortunate." He sighed heavily.
"It's no use," Jonah muttered to Sally. "He's lost again."
She tried again. "These other prison cells...are they in the basement? The dungeon, I mean?"
The King slowly nodded. "The dungeon...such a terrible place. That would be a fine place to put something as awful as a prison cell. Then maybe nobody would find it. And if nobody found it, maybe nobody would use it. Yes, that seems like a good place indeed."
"Thank you, your majesty." Sally bowed again.
Coalbrick beamed at her. "No, thank you, child. Nobody wants to talk to an old man anymore. It's so very lonely in this castle. I walk around at night, looking for hope, but all I find are monsters. You, at least, are very polite. You are welcome in my castle any time."
Jonah wondered if Aurella would share her father's sentiment. Speaking of Aurella... "Your majesty," he said, "could I ask you a question about your daughter?"
Coalbrick nodded sagely. Sally shot Jonah a warning look, but he pressed on. "Why are you allowing Aurella to rule your kingdom? She doesn't seem to be doing a very good job of it."
The old man blinked in surprise. "Whatever do you mean?"
Jonah took a deep breath. "Well, she's imprisoned hundreds of dragons in the dungeon of this place, and she's using them as slaves. She's cut off all ties with the outside world, creating enemies left and right. Everybody in this castle is terrified of her. And she's imprisoned two of my friends. Sally and I would still be sitting in a prison cell right now if we hadn't escaped." He paused to wipe his brow. People weren't supposed to tell Kings how to rule their castles, were they? He felt woefully underqualified for this sort of work, but it was too late to stop now. "You seem like a very nice man, sir, but your daughter seems...well, she seems like a bit of a monster, to be perfectly honest. Why are you letting her take advantage of your throne like this?"
Lord Coalbrick was silent for a long moment. He stroked his beard thoughtfully. "It seems that things have gone wrong here," he said eventually. "Aurella was always a good child. A little bossy, perhaps, but what young girl is not? But now—a monster, you say? So unfortunate. Perhaps it is too late to salvage my kingdom. Perhaps it is not. Either way, I should talk to my daughters. Soon, before it gets too dark." He fumbled in his pockets and pulled out his handkerchief, which he dabbed at his eyes. "So dark in my castle now," he mumbled. "I miss the candles. They helped me to find my way. I will speak with my daughters. I do love them, you know. They are not good daughters, but they are daughters, and that's enough for me." He slipped the handkerchief back inside his purple robes and shuffled away into the darkness.
Jonah felt vaguely guilty. He had made a King cry. This was certainly turning out to be a weird day. Then he noticed that Sally was also dabbing at her eyes, and the day grew even weirder. "What's wrong with you?" he snapped.
"Shut up," she said, turning away. "It's just allergies."
Jonah threw up his hands and leaned back against the wall. Everything seemed so hopeless. He glanced at Sally, but she was still crying a little, so he looked away.
There was a flurry of movement from the shadows across the hall. He caught a quick glimpse of two white eyes nestled into a sharp, ghostly face. Then the figure was gone.
He jumped to his feet and hurried over to the other side of the hallway. It was no use. The corridor was empty. Maybe he had merely imagined the face...
There was a soft click from the end of the hall as a door was slid shut. He hadn't imagined the figure after all. Someone had been spying on them.
"What is it, Jonah?"
He turned to his friend. "Someone was watching us this entire time."
She frowned. "Who was it?"
He took a deep breath. "I think it was Faunella."
***
The gnomes had arranged themselves in a massive half-circle around Elsie, Yap and Vork. Eieis had scoffed at the idea of a Gnome Chorus and had returned to the upper levels of the White Place. Vork had stuck around because he seemed keen on subjecting himself to misery. Yap had stuck around to chew on Vork's leg.
"So...this Gnome Chorus..." Elsie tried again. "What is it, exactly? Is it like a song?"
Vork snorted. It's like the worst song ever made. The wretched little buggers use their magic powder to turn every important debate into a group sing-along. Some sort of belief that true honesty can only be expressed through music, or some rubbish along those lines. I wasn't really paying attention at the time.
The little gnome named Gree hurried over to them, his old face a web of crinkling wrinkles. "That's right, that's right! Powerful gnome magic! Gree, gree, gree! Soon you'll see!" He dropped a large canvas bag on the floor in front of them and dove into the bag headfirst.
"The gnomes are going to sing to us?" Elsie asked. This idea was sounding worse and worse all the time. After all, she had heard Yap's songs before. They weren't very good.
They'll sing to you. Then you'll sing to them. It'll be terribly humiliating, I'd imagine. Vork smiled a little at the prospect. Incidentally, how's your singing voice?
Elsie's stomach rolled over in a slow, lazy lurch. "Sing? Me? In front of other people?" This plan had suddenly skyrocketed past bad and into the realm of the worst idea since the invention of mosquitoes. "Nope, sorry. I can't sing."
"You will and you can, with a gnome marching band!" Gree hummed from inside the bag. Books, satchels, and strange doodads were occasionally erupting out of the bag as Gree rummaged for something in particular.
"I'm sorry, but I really need to be going," Elsie said, standing up quickly.
Bit of stage fright? Vork gave her an evil grin.
Yap wrapped his body around Elsie's legs and stared up at her. "Stay, mother! And Yap will show you how to thwart the devilish piglumps! The song will make your nosefrog grow!"
"No, I've really got to go," she insisted, trying to untangle the squirming little gnome from her kneecaps. "Bit of an upset stomach, actually. Think I'd better lie down for a few days...so dreadfully sorry...Yap, let go of me!"
"Found it!" Gree popped out of the bag holding a jar of orange powder.
"Found it! Found it!" the other gnomes cheered.
"Listen, I really would love to stay—" Elsie began. Then Gree tossed a handful of the powder into the air above her. It drifted down on Elsie and her companions, dots of firelight suspended in the chilled air. She opened her mouth, meaning to finish her excuse. ("—But I really have some pressing issues to discuss with the Unicorns," was what she had been planning to say.) What actually came out of her mouth, however—and in a flawless alto, no less—was this:
Actually, that is a lie.
I don't want to stay; I'd rather die.
Your spell won't work.
That much is plain.
And I think gnomes are quiiiiiiiiiiiite iiiiiiiiiiiiin-saaaaaaaaaaaane!
She clapped a hand over her mouth and her eyes widened with horror. Vork snickered from behind her. And all the gnomes cheered.
***
Dain stared at Jimjim.
Jimjim stared at Dain.
"So..." Dain said slowly. "You can talk to rats, huh?"
"Yep," Jimjim said. "Ol' Jimjim's a rattalker. Nifty, eh?"
"I suppose so. Um...what do the rats tell you?"
Jimjim waved his hand in the air idly. "Not much, usually. Ratstuff is pretty boring. Most o' de time, dey jus' talk about cheese and other rats. Usually jus' cheese, though. Dey really like cheese."
The saloon was silent. Nobody dared to laugh.
Dain bit his lower lip. "And what exactly are you asking them now?"
"Eh, not much. Rats get from place to place on airships. Dey like to hide away and see new places, you know? And if you want to find somebody's airship, talkin' to rats is a pretty good place to start, I reckon. It's an ol' rattalker trick. So I'm asking my leetle buddies where dat Diggus Fleet bugger's airship be right now. If anybody would know, de rats would."
"I...see..." Dain said. He didn't look convinced.
Jimjim merely smiled at him and hummed a tuneless little tune.
Finally, the shaggy black rat emerged from the shadows. It glanced around nervously, then hopped in Jimjim's hand. He held the rat up to his ear for a few seconds, then smiled and nodded. He gave the rat a pat on the back and set it down on the floor. It scurried away into the darkness.
"Let's go," he said.
***
It went a little something like this:
GNOME CHORUS:
We have left our old homes and gone over the hills
Getting hungry and weaker and thinner
We are searching for adventure and danger and thrills
And maybe a nice bit of dinner
Like Volley FaChue and his powerful sneeze
We destroy everything that we're able
We have nothing to do and we're so hard to please
And often we act quite unstable
Like Gokgok Macknock, the old king of the gnomes
Who quested to lands strange and lumpy
We have journeyed afar and we miss our old homes
And we're feeling exceedingly grumpy
We're the gnomes without homes and we roam through the land
Since the Unicorns took us away
We have stones in our bones and we're going quite mad
And we're coming to your house to stay!
ELSIE:
I have journeyed so far and seen so many things
Like adventure and danger and fights
I've seen banshees and beetles and airships with wings
I've fought spectres and sharks and a knight.
I came here with Vork, who's impossibly glum
His depression is almost cemented
And this here is Yap—my old pal, my old chum
I'm afraid he's become quite demented
YAP:
Yumpy go rumpy and flicker my doo
Muddy mickle the flidget bundrap
But sicky my tricky and grumpy skidoo
And now we shall all feed the Yap!
GNOME CHORUS:
And now we shall all feed the Yap!
VORK:
I'm very depressed and unreasonably sad
Is that what you want me to say?
You should probably stab me and leave me for dead
Don't be shy. Go ahead. It's okay
ELSIE:
So you see, Mr. Gree, the plight that I find
We could use any help you could give us
We've got danger ahead and monsters behind
And everything's trying to get us
GNOME CHORUS:
We can't help you, child, though we wish that we might
There's really no use in trying
Since gnomes are all skinny and no good in fights
We only have talent for dying
We can call us all cowards or call us all wimps
Either way, the truth seems quite plain
Our enemies are large and we are all shrimps
They will eat our delicious gnome brains
ELSIE:
Yap has said that before and I don't understand
It seems so barbaric and vicious
How could something so slimy be considered so grand?
Are gnome brains really delicious?
GNOME CHORUS:
What you've heard, we confess, is indeed the whole truth
It's a fact that we constantly mourn
It's because our gnome brains rarely get any use
They're as fresh as the day we were born!
We're the gnomes without homes and we roam through the land
Since the Unicorns took us away
We have stones in our bones and we're going quite mad
And we're coming to your house to stay!
ELSIE:
I respect your position, even though it is dumb
I don't know how to make it much clearer
The Dark Shadow's coming to kill everyone
And it's constantly drawing in nearer
I may just be young and I may be a girl
But I know that this much still holds true
The monsters will eat everyone in the world
And this certainly includes all of you
You must join the fight and you must make a stand
We must strike now while we are still free
We're going to war; won't you lend me a hand?
Doesn't any gnome here agree?
YAP:
Flever and flauver and flipper and flood
Yump monko yump zepper yump glar!
Well crever my never and lick up the mud
And put Yap's sweet brains in a jar!
GNOME CHORUS:
And put Yap's sweet brains in a jar!
ELSIE:
Stay out of this, Yap. You're not helping me here.
It's clear that you've flat lost your mind.
You all know how I feel and you know what I fear
Won't you join with me now to save Rhyyne?
GNOME CHORUS:
Wait here with your friends while we hold a gnome trial
With our plotting and planning and drinking
Make yourself comfy—it might be a while
Since gnomes are just no good at thinking
You've argued well to this humble gnome troupe
You have given us much to digest
And as long as you don't turn us into gnome soup
We will do whatever we think best
We're the gnomes without homes and we roam through the land
Since the Unicorns took us away
We have stones in our bones and we're going quite mad
And we're coming to your house to stay!
***
"Why would Faunella be spying on us?" Sally whispered as they hurried down the dark stairwell. The air was hot and musty down here, and their footsteps echoed loudly in the gloom.
"Who knows?" Jonah said. "Maybe just because she's creepy and weird. Maybe she's up to something. Either way, I want to find her."
They reached a doorway and paused. "Which way do you think she went?" Sally asked.
Jonah listened intently. The lower flights of stairs were silent, but there was a faint rustling from the corridor behind the heavy wooden door. "This way," he said, throwing open the door and hurrying down the hallway. Sally jogged behind him, glancing around nervously. "I hate this place," she muttered.
The dark corridor ended in a T-junction, and the children paused, listening for noises in either direction. "It's quiet," Jonah finally said, his voice tinged with defeat.
"Yeah...too quiet," Sally said. He stared at her. She shrugged a little and grinned. "Sorry. I've always wanted to say that. So we lost her, huh? Where do you think she went?"
"Who knows? I'm not even sure where we are right now. Is this floor seven or eight?"
"I thought it was five."
"No, it's higher than five, I think."
Sally sighed. "Yeah, we're lost."
Eventually they picked the corridor on the right. Rusted suits of armor seemed to watch them as they made their way down the gloomy hall. Jonah decided that he didn't like suits of armor any longer. In movies or storybooks, a row of shining armor looks regal and imposing. In real life, it generally seemed unnecessary. Hadn't these Dwarves ever heard of potted plants? Or those velvet paintings that his former foster parents had owned, the ones that showed fat dead rock stars looking sweaty and spiritual, or maybe the ones that showed dogs playing different sports? (Jonah had liked the dog ones best. They had seemed more sincere.) In any case, the Dwarves seriously needed to think about hiring a few interior decorators. Every hallway was just one row of stupid armor after the next. It made it terribly difficult to navigate the castle.
They rounded the corner. "Oh, look," Jonah said bitterly. "More armor."
"Wonderful," Sally said absently. She kept glancing over her shoulder nervously. "So where do you think they've hidden Tom?"
"Beats me. Probably just locked away in some room somewhere."
"Oh, then he shouldn't be too hard to find. After all, there's only about seven billion different rooms in this stupid castle."
"Humph," Jonah said. There didn't seem to be anything else to say.
"When we find him—" Sally broke off and glanced over her shoulder again, then she continued smoothly: "When we find him, do you think you'll be able to open his cage the way you opened our prison cell?"
Jonah shrugged. "Who knows? I'm not too good at controlling my power, in case you haven't noticed. It was probably just dumb luck—"
Sally suddenly grabbed him and pulled him close. Jonah felt a brief flush of panic. What was she doing? "Keep walking," she whispered in his ear. "And keep talking. Pretend like I'm right beside you."
"What?"
"Just do it," she hissed. They rounded a corner and she abruptly ducked into the shadows behind a suit of armor. Jonah paused, confused. Sally threw him a dirty look and he quickly turned and continued down the corridor. Had she finally gone insane? There had always been something a little off about Sally, a certain intensity that seemed unnatural in someone so young. Maybe the pressures had finally broken her and she had gone bonkers. Well, this is just great, he thought miserably. Now he was practically alone in the castle—one friend missing, one imprisoned, and one who was now apparently a few shoes shy of a wardrobe. And she wanted him to pretend like nothing was wrong? Fine. He would play along.
"Anyway," he announced loudly to the empty corridor, "I was thinking about what you said the other day, Sally. Remember, when you said that you might need some therapy, because you've gone completely nuts? Well, you're probably right. I don't think they have any child psychologists in Rhyyne, but they probably have loony bins, and that seems like a pretty good place for you. I figure that after we find Tom and Aligore, we can just drop you off at the nearest nuthouse before we go off to save the world. Say, while we're on the subject, do you have any ideas about that whole world-saving bit? Any brilliant plans? No? Invisible loony cat's got your tongue, I see. Nothing to be ashamed about. Well, actually it is, but it'll just be our little secret..."
There was a loud crash from behind him and a voice cried out in pain. Jonah spun around and raced back down the corridor, suddenly very frightened. He had left Sally alone and something had happened to the poor, insane girl. She had been captured or attacked by something, and it was all his fault...
"Get off me! Ow! Please, I mean. Won't you err...please get off me, ma'am?" The voice from the shadows was strangely familiar.
Jonah stopped short and groaned. Sally was sitting on Bebbens. The little Dwarf was caught tight in a rather uncomfortable-looking headlock. Sally beamed at Jonah. "I thought I heard somebody following us!" she announced proudly.
"Oh," Jonah said. He suddenly felt very foolish.
"Well! I certainly wasn't following you!" Bebbens sputtered. "Errm...okay...actually I was. But I was...um...doing it for your own good!
Sally dug her knees into Bebbens' back with obvious relish. "Explain," she said coolly.
Bebbens howled and squirmed beneath her. "This is...ouch! This is very rude, you know."
"My friends have been kidnapped and probably tortured by you rotten little buggers. I'm not feeling particularly polite right now."
"Let him up, Sally." Jonah tried to hide his grin as he gave Bebbens his sternest expression. "Let's see what the little weasel knows."
Sally reluctantly released the Dwarf. He scrambled to his feet, rubbing his neck and blubbering a bit. "It's not fair! It really isn't, you know. Not all Dwarves are evil and insane. Just because our...err...oh, I can't even say it!"
"Want me to put him in another headlock?" Sally asked Jonah sweetly. "I saw this really cool thing on a wrestling program where you wrap someone's legs behind their—"
"No!" Bebbens shrieked.
"Then start talking."
Bebbens took off his glasses and rubbed them against his tunic absently. He glanced at the children. "I see what's happening in this castle. We all do. We're just...um...just too afraid to speak up. The King's daughters have...oh dear....they've gone mad." He sighed heavily.
"I think we've already figured that out, Bebbens."
"No, I don't think you have. You're treating this like...um...like it's a game. Sneaking around the castle, rescuing your dragon friend, making up clever little disguises. I'm sure it all seems very exciting to you. But...um...well, those girls are dangerous. Faunella has quite clearly gone insane, and sister is ten times worse. The nasty business with the dragon slaves, taking away their horns...terrible stuff. We didn't want to do it. You have to believe me! But any Dwarf who spoke out against the girls...err...well, it wasn't a pretty sight. Public floggings, solitary confinement...in his day, Lord Coalbrick would have never stood for such brutality. Terrible."
"So why do you put up with it?" Jonah snapped. "Why are you doing these things if you know they're so horrible? Why not make a stand?"
Bebbens hung his head. "Well...um...I mean, don't you think that we tried?" he asked miserably. "Don't you think we spoke to the King? Don't you think we tried to take the power away from the girls, tried to get some...um, some sort of proper government working again? But it was no use. For every Dwarf who was brave enough to stand up to their madness, there were twenty more who were too scared to disobey their orders. And that's when...um...that's when things got out of control."
"No kidding," Jonah said.
Sally frowned. "That still doesn't explain why you were following us."
Bebbens blinked in surprise. "Why...um...don't you see? You have to help us!"
"And how are we supposed to do that? In case you haven't noticed, we're just a couple of kids."
"No, no, I don't mean that you should actually fight anybody. Good heavens, you'd be killed! No, you've got to get out of this castle. Get far away from here. Find your Princess friend...um...find anybody, for that matter, and gather an army. Well...err...gather something, anyway. Maybe not an army. There's not too many of those anymore..."
"You're rambling, Bebbens."
"Sorry. Sorry. Um...in case you haven't noticed, I'm rather...well, scared out of my wits might be an appropriate term, I suppose. I don't think you realize what a dangerous position I'm placing myself in here."
"Yeah, join the club," Jonah said, glaring at Bebbens. He still didn't trust the little Dwarf. Could this be one Aurella's schemes, tricking the children into leaving the castle? It certainly seemed possible. Then again, Bebbens was quaking in one of those spectacular full-body trembles that only the soon-to-be-eaten ever seemed to accurately master. Maybe he was telling the truth after all...maybe things had gotten this bad in the Dwarf castle.
Sally stared at Bebbens thoughtfully. "Even if we could leave the castle," she said slowly, "we wouldn't. For one thing, we'd be leaving Tom and Aligore behind, and who knows what those lousy sisters would do to them! Not to mention the fact that the only other creatures in this kingdom seem to be huge stupid dragons that are waiting to eat us. We wouldn't last a single afternoon outside before one of those rotten things gulped us up."
Bebbens mopped his brow. "I've already thought of that. I know a secret path from the castle that you can use to escape undetected. And...um...there's a map I drew. It's not a very good map...because I'm a terrible artist...um...but it should lead you safely through the Scorched Lands, past all the dragons. Err...and I could get you supplies, enough to make a safe trip. But you have to leave tonight. Right this instant, before Aurella does something crazy!" He watched them hopefully.
"And what about our friends?" Jonah asked. "What happens to Tom and Aligore?"
Bebbens stared at him for a long moment, then he sighed and turned away. His entire body seemed to slump. "You poor, poor boy," he muttered. "Don't you understand? Don't you already know?"
"Know what?"
Bebbens glanced at him. To his surprise, Jonah saw that the little Dwarf's eyes were brimming with tears. "Your friends are as good as dead. Aurella will have them both killed for defying her. And...err...if you stay here, she'll have you killed too. I heard about the incident...um...the thing that you did in the prison cell, breaking the door like that. Very fortunate. You've got Aurella scared at the moment. But it won't last, and as soon as she figures out a way to kill you...well, she'll take it. She'll kill you in a heartbeat."
Sally glanced at him. Jonah swallowed hard and tried to sound more confident than he felt. "Then that's all the more reason to stay. We have to rescue our friends."
Bebbens winced. "But...well...I mean...don't you see? You have to rescue this entire castle, child! You have to return with reinforcements, save us all! We Dwarves are just as much prisoners here as those dragons!"
"No. It's not the same." Sally's voice was cold. "Those dragons were never given a choice."
Bebbens stared at them for a moment longer. His face fell. "So...um...you won't help us, then?"
Sudden inspiration struck Jonah. "Help us rescue our friends and we'll try to help you save your castle. Otherwise, no deal."
Bebbens shook his head emphatically. "No, no, no! I'm...umm...I'm not a hero. I'm not built for it. Too fat. Clumsy. No good in combat. Very frightened of death. And...well...it's not my job. I'm not...err...not supposed to be a hero."
"What is your job? Something about Murderous Interlopers, wasn't it?" Jonah asked.
Bebbens nodded wearily.
"Well, Mr. Bebbens, it sounds like you need a new job."
The Dwarf sighed. "Listen, I can't—" He broke off in mid-sentence. His large ears twitched twice. "Something's coming," he mumbled.
"What?"
Without a word, Bebbens grabbed the children by their wrists and dragged them toward the nearest door. Jonah was about to protest, then he noticed that Sally was giving him another classic Keep your mouth shut, stupid Sally-looks. He kept quiet and allowed Bebbens to drag them through the doorway. The room they entered was large and silent, with rows upon rows of massive dusty bookshelves stretching away into the darkness. The occasional candle illuminated fitful patches of the room, enough for Jonah to realize that he was staring at a library, although much larger and creepier than any library he had ever seen before. And come to think of it, hadn't he been wanting to find the castle library? There was something he was supposed to do here, although at the moment he couldn't quite remember...
"Stay quiet!" Bebbens hissed. He eased the door closed enough that only a sliver of pale blue light shone through from the hallway beyond. For a moment, the room was cold and dark around them. Then they heard a distant clanking that was steadily rising. Jonah suddenly realized they were footsteps. He leaned over Bebbens and peered through the crack of the door.
Three armed Dwarves came into view, dashing down the corridor toward the nearest stairwell. Their faces were very pale, and the way their armor hung from their bodies in haphazard patches and clumps suggested that they had gotten dressed in quite a hurry, or perhaps a tornado.
"Where'd they find 'im?" one of the Dwarves panted.
"Eighteenth floor."
"Gaw, that's 'orrible. 'E's really dead?"
The Dwarves rushed past their hiding place without slowing down. Bebbens turned to the children, his face twisted with fear. After a moment of agonizing indecision, he whispered, "Stay here and don't make a sound." Then he opened the door and slipped out into the corridor.
"I say!" he called to the retreating Dwarves. "What's...err...what's going on, lads?"
Jonah could no longer see the Dwarves, but he heard their footsteps die. "Who's there?" one of them called out suspiciously.
"It's...um...it's me. Bebbens." He smiled weakly.
"Aw, it's jus' old Bebbens. You ain't heard the news yet?"
Bebbens shook his head. "Care to...err...fill me in?"
"It's awful, it is. Simply awful. Ain't never dreamed of something so 'orrible."
"Whatever are you talking about?" Bebbens asked.
One of the Dwarves gave a mournful sigh. "It's Lord Coalbrick. They say....they say he's dead."
Bebbens' mouth fell open. He stared at the Dwarves, lost in mute shock. "Wha...wha...I mean, how did he die?" he finally managed.
The Dwarf's voice trembled with emotion. "That rotten dragon that escaped this morning, the one that came with the humans...well, it found Lord Coalbrick all alone up there. It...it tore 'im to pieces."
In the darkness, Sally turned to Jonah and stared at him with wide eyes.
***
The gnomes were still arguing.
They sat in a tight circle, but it was perhaps the most uneven and awkward circle in the entire history of circular objects. It was the type of circle that a drunk and blind mudbobber with only one leg would draw in the sand, assuming that the mudbobber was trapped in the center of a terrible hurricane. And assuming that not only had the mudbobber never seen a circle before, but that it had no clue how the shape was supposed to look in the first place, and was perhaps trying to draw some other sort of shape that had gone horribly awry. In short, it wasn't a very good circle.
Every now and then a break in the argument would occur and all the gnomes would stare at Elsie for moments of unbearably long silence. Then they would start bickering again. The ice cavern had a strange muffling effect on sound, making it hard to understand their voices, but from what she gathered, the gnomes were:
1) Afraid of standing up to the Dark Shadow.
2) Afraid of not standing up to the Dark Shadow.
3) Very stupid.
Yap had stuck both feet in his nostrils and he was rolling around the cavern. He only stopped rolling when he hit a solid object, such as a wall or another gnome, or when one or more of his feet slipped free from his nose. This happened quite often. It made Elsie's brain hurt just to watch him.
I hate this place, Vork said matter-of-factly.
Elsie rolled her eyes. "Is there anything you don't hate?"
Vork thought for a moment. Butterflies, he finally said. They're okay, I suppose.
"What about those butterflies that have really sharp teeth and bite you all over your body?"
There are butterflies that do that?
She shrugged. "I'd imagine so. There must be some evil butterflies out there somewhere."
Well, then I hate butterflies, too.
"You hate all butterflies, or just the evil ones?"
All of them, he said decisively.
Yap came rolling past her—he was making a very annoying whee! whee! whee! sound as he went, and she bent over and scooped him up. He instantly tried to bite her.
"Yap, go over there and see if the gnomes have made a decision yet."
"Shan't."
"Yes, you shall. Go on. Hurry."
He glared at her for a second. "Bossy blubbernose. Do not offend the majestic Yap of the North!" Then he shoved his feet back into his nose and went rolling off to join the other gnomes.
Elsie glanced at Vork. "I don't...I don't really have a blubbernose, do I?"
Vork stared at her critically. It's hard to tell. You humans are all so ugly to me.
"That's a pretty rotten thing to say." She rubbed her nose self-consciously. It was a little larger than it needed to be, perhaps, but it wasn't blubbery. Was it?
Vork watched her for a few seconds. I suppose, he said slowly, that you don't look any worse than other humans.
Coming from the suicidal Unicorn, that was probably as close to a compliment as she would ever receive. "Thanks, I guess," she said.
Don't mention it.
Yap reached the other gnomes and stood up. Their discussion died away and they watched him with obvious interest. Yap cleared his throat, thumped on his chest a bit, then threw his arms out wide. "Yap will kill you all!" he thundered.
The gnomes broke into wild applause. Yap took a few eloquent bows, then he tucked himself back into his nose and rolled over to Elsie. He slowly untangled himself and looked up at her. "The gnomes weren't there," he said in a serious voice.
"Thanks for your help, Yap."
"You're welcome, Queen of Snot Fairies."
At that moment, there was a thunderous boom from the cavern above them, followed by the tickling whisper of many different Unicorn voices in the back of her mind. Elsie turned to Vork excitedly. "The other Unicorns...they're back!"
Vork was frowning. Something's wrong.
Without another word, he stood and hurried to the nearest passage leading to the upper caverns. Elsie grabbed Yap and followed closely behind. She noticed that the other gnomes had gone silent. Hundreds of large eyes watched them exit the room.
They made their way through the passage and into the upper caverns. The Unicorns had indeed returned, but it wasn't the happy occasion she had been anticipating. They had been badly injured. Many of the Unicorns were bleeding, streaks of pale golden blood dotting their flanks. Others were caked with grime, or singed with soot. They looked as if they had just stumbled off the nearest battlefield after a particularly sound thumping. Vork hurried into their midst and disappeared from view. Feeling very alone and unwanted, Elsie hovered near the edge of the cavern, watching from the shadows.
"It's quite exciting, is it not?"
She whirled around to find the three Less Deads watching her. They smiled pleasantly.
"Being creatures of the night ourselves, we Less Deads are not accustomed to the particular sound and fury that generally accompanies a life heroic," the tall dead man said theatrically. "The struggle for life and death, while no longer directly applicable to those of the cadaverous persuasion, are nonetheless fascinating from a strictly mythological standpoint. Don't you agree?"
"And brains are delicious!" the fat dead man added helpfully.
"Quiet, you!" the tall dead man snapped.
"Yes, sir."
Elsie took another look around the cavern. "What...what happened to them?"
The tall dead man fanned his fingers in a spectacularly pretentious manner. "My dear child, is it not obvious? They encountered the Dark Shadow, that being of nefarious torment that haunts the waking hours of all creatures of magical disposition. And judging by the sizable reduction of returning warriors, their endeavors appear largely unsuccessful."
"The Dark Shadow, huh?" Elsie chewed on her bottom lip nervously. It was too soon... Yes, she had urged the gnomes to make a stand against the creature, but they weren't ready for a fight. Not yet.
The short dead man was hopping up and down, terribly excited. "Lookit! Lookit the blood!" he cooed.
In one smooth motion, the tallest Less Dead backhanded his companion, sending the short dead man skidding across the cavern. "Contain yourself," he spat, his milky white face twisting with rage. "There are visitors present." He turned back to Elsie and beamed happily. "We do so love human children, you know. So full of life and delightful whimsy."
"Yes, well, I'll thank you to keep your claws away from me and my whimsy," she said quickly. "No offense intended."
"Certainly," the tall dead man purred.
Vork emerged from the Unicorn herd and jogged over to her. His face was tense, and she noticed with some alarm that he was trembling.
Get your stuff. We've got to leave.
"We're leaving? Where are we going?"
It doesn't matter. Anywhere but here. Hurry up. He turned and set off across the cavern.
She hurried after him. "But why? What's going on?"
Vork paused, sighing. Why do you think, Princess? The Dark Shadow has found us. Even as we speak, it's on its way here. And when it arrives, it's going to kill every single creature on this mountain.
"So very exciting," the tall dead man added, smiling broadly.
Aligore rushed through the darkness. His head was pounding. Actually, his entire body was pounding, a painful sort of spastic full-bodied pound that made it feel like his heart was about to explode through his ears. He could feel each individual drop of blood coursing through his veins, furious and raging hot. And there was a funny taste in his mouth...he couldn't remember what he had eaten, but it had probably been fairly unpleasant.
All dragons moult at different ages—some as young as five years old, others as old as fifteen. Regardless of when the moult came, its effects were always remarkably similar. First the mind was clouded with a flushing rush of blood, driving the dragon into a constant state of frenzy. Next the scales were shed as a thicker, coarser coat grew in beneath their skin. While this was happening, wingbuds grew on the dragon's back, large smelly sacks of fluid that often caused piercing fits of agony as they sloshed around. The fire glands in the back of the throat enlarged, making breathing or speaking difficult. And finally the wingbuds burst in a mess of sticky goo, exposing the freshly-grown wings beneath. Within a few hours, the wings would grow to their normal size and the fire glands would finally relax. The end result of the moult produced a dragon with powerful wings and the ability to shoot steaming jets of molten flame from its mouth. The other result—the one dragons didn't like to mention—is that often the trauma and pain of the moult could transform an intelligent and compassionate creature into a raging monster with an appetite for flesh. After all, no dragon is born evil. It always happened in the moult.
Aligore had promised himself that his moult would be different. Despite his fearsome appearance, the dragon was actually a bit of a softy. He liked nature, for one thing. He had always been more interested in studying the various habits and plumage of exotic forest birds rather than simply gulping them down and moving on. He preferred napping beneath trees rather than incinerating them. The thought of eating humans made him vaguely sick to his stomach. And he desperately wanted to learn to read someday, because this seemed like it would be a fine thing to learn. All in all, he was a terrible disappointment to his parents, who quite enjoyed snacking on the occasional villager, but Aligore was proud of his intelligence and his compassion. He was more than a monster, no matter what some people might have thought.
Only now...now he wasn't so sure. He certainly felt like a monster. He felt like killing and burning and slashing and destroying. The wingbuds on his back suddenly flared up, and he roared out in agony. Instead of his voice, however, liquid fire shot from his mouth, a great whirling vortex of flame that splattered against the nearest stone wall.
He stared at the smoldering wall, terrified. What was happening to him? He couldn't control himself, couldn't control his body or his emotions. Worst of all, he couldn't control his anger. He felt it bubbling to the surface even now, threatening to take control of his body again.
"HELP..." he wheezed softly. "SOMEONE...PLEASE...HELP..."
There was no response. The corridor was cold and dead around him. Where was he? Where had his friends gone? And why had they left him alone?
He sank to his knees and rested his forehead against the floor. The smooth cobblestones felt icy against his feverish skin. He closed his eyes and tried to slow his thundering heartbeat, but it was no use.
The moult was too hot.
***
"He didn't kill anybody. He couldn't have killed anybody. I mean...it's Aligore, for crying out loud!"
"I know," Jonah said miserably.
They were sitting in Sally's room. There had been no news for the last several hours, but for the first time, the castle was buzzing with activity. Patrols of surly Dwarves moved up and down the halls, checking each room for the fugitive dragon. The Dwarves had left the children alone thus far, but their luck could change at any moment.
"We can't just sit here! We need to find him!" Jonah had never seen Sally so angry before. It was kind of scary. She could be a very loud girl when the mood struck her.
"How are we gonna find him?" Jonah asked patiently. "This castle is huge. There must be two thousand rooms here. Plus, there are all those Dwarves out there..."
She sat down on the bed beside him. She shoved a stray strand of her hair into her mouth and began to chew it nervously. "Yeah, I know. But...we can't just sit here and do nothing! It's not right!"
"We need to wait for Bebbens. I'm sure he'll be here any minute."
The door opened and Bebbens hurried into the room.
"See?" Jonah said. He was always happy when he was right about something.
The fat little Dwarf was even paler and sweatier than usual. He closed the door behind him and leaned against the wall, trying to catch his breath. The children began pelting him with questions, but he waved them away impatiently. Finally, after resting for a moment, he turned to them. "It's not good," he said simply.
"We're gonna need a little more information than that, Bebbens."
"Err...right. Well, the King is dead, rest his soul. They found his robes all torn to shreds in one of the upper levels. Apparently, it was...um...quite a mess. Thankfully, they had...err...cleaned up a bit by the time I arrived." He shook his head. "Such a terrible, terrible experience. Lord Coalbrick was...he was a good leader. He was always something of a father to me. We shall all miss him dreadfully."
"Right, right, but what about Aligore?" Jonah asked quickly. "Did they find him yet?"
"No, but they're...um...not done searching yet. But that's not the worst." He let out a theatrical moan and sank to the floor.
Jonah resisted the urge to throttle the pudgy little creature. "Tell us."
"You're going to...um...you're going to hate me for telling you this."
"Too late," Sally muttered darkly.
Bebbens sighed again. "I tried to talk her out of it, but she's insane. Won't listen to reason. The girls are naturally...um...grief-stricken, but that doesn't excuse this sort of savagery..."
"Bebbens..." Jonah growled.
"Right. Sorry. Apparently, Aurella holds your friend Tom directly responsible for her father's death, seeing as how he was the one who released Aligore."
"What?" the children cried in unison.
Bebbens nodded sadly. "The trial will be held at first light tomorrow morning."
"Trial? What's Tom on trial for?" Sally asked.
"Well, for treason, naturally."
"But that's ridiculous!"
Bebbens gave them a helpless shrug. "It's all settled. And I'm afraid...well, I'm afraid it won't be much of a fair trial, for that matter. Faunella is acting as the Chief Prosecutor, and Aurella will be presiding as Judge."
"And who's gonna represent Tom?"
Bebbens stared at them. "Why...err...you are, of course."
***
Qurt made her way over to Elsie. They had never met before, but Elsie had naturally heard about the brave female Unicorn from Jonah's stories. At the moment, however, Qurt merely looked tired and frightened. She nodded briefly. Eieis tells me that you're a friend of the boy Jonah.
"Yes. It's very nice to meet you." She wasn't sure...were you supposed to curtsey when you met the leader of the Unicorns? She couldn't remember, but she curtsied anyway, just to be safe.
I wish our meeting could have been under happier circumstances. There will be time to get acquainted later, I hope. For now, please gather your belongings and prepare to leave. We must hurry.
Elsie took a deep breath and cleared her throat. "Actually, I think we should stay."
That stopped Qurt dead in her tracks. She stared at Elsie for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Do you now? she finally said.
Elsie nodded. "We've got to make a stand. You can't run from something like the Dark Shadow!"
We can and we will. This matter is not open to discussion. Gather your things.
"And what happens when it catches up to us again? And again? You can't run forever."
Qurt's face suddenly blazed with a sharp golden aura. Her eyes bored into the girl, simmering and hot. Elsie took a step back, frightened by the intensity in the Unicorn's voice. This creature killed five of my friends less than three hours ago. Before that, it slaughtered an entire herd of theramines we were trying to save. And before that, it killed my lifemate Droo. It destroyed our home and it has chased us halfway across the land. And now it is coming to invade our sanctuary, our last place of refuge. Do not presume to lecture me on making a stand, child. I have seen what happens to creatures who stand up to the Dark Shadow. You have not.
"I'm sorry for your loss," Elsie said softly. "Truly, I am. But if you run now, you're never going to stop running. Together we stand a chance. If we flee, it will pick us off one by one until there are no magical creatures left in the entire world."
Elsie, Vork said nervously from behind her, don't argue with Qurt. Please, just do what she says.
"And what about us?" The tallest of the Less Deads came gliding smoothly across the ice. "Are we not magical creatures as well? Do we not deserve an opinion regarding our fates?"
You are monsters, Qurt said simply. You are alive because we saved you, despite our misgivings. Therefore, you will follow our instructions.
Elsie noticed that the rest of the cavern had grown silent. The other Unicorns were staring at her with frank amazement. She realized that it was now or never. "Please, your majesty," she began, "I know what it's like to face terrible odds. I watched as the High Castle of Dell fell before the forces of the Sorceress. My father, the King, had many chances to escape before the monsters reached the castle, but he held his ground. I never really understood why before today. It always seemed selfish, as if he traded his life away for a chance at bravery and heroism."
Your father was the King of Dell? Something in Qurt's expression softened slightly.
"He was. And he did give up his life defending his castle, but now I understand why. It's not about being a hero, or even about being brave. It's just that sometimes bad things happen, and sometimes people get hurt. And if you're strong, you should try to stop bad things from happening. You can't think about yourself. You have to think about all the innocent people and creatures out there, the ones who don't stand a chance without your help. You have to stand up for those creatures, because sometimes they can't stand up for themselves. And that's not being heroic or brave...it's just doing the right thing."
Qurt said nothing.
Elsie took a deep breath. "We've got a chance to do the right thing. If we run now, more innocent creatures are going to die. If we stay and fight, the Dark Shadow might kill us, but at least we would have tried. We would have tried to do the right thing."
The tall dead man gave her a slight bow. "Very eloquently put, young lady. We fine cadaverous fellows do not share your enthusiasm for the sanctity of life, for obvious reasons. We do, however, harbor an innate penchant for revenge. If you intend to kill that filthy flying scoundrel, we shall stand beside you." Bowing again, he withdrew.
"And we shall help as well!" At first Elsie couldn't tell where the high-pitched voice was coming from. Then she glanced down and saw Gree, the leader of the gnomes. He was very pale, but the little creature's expression was determined. "Nasty Shadow bugger tried to kill the poor, delicious gnomes! Gree, gree, gree, so sad to see. The heroic and wonderful gnomes have decided to kill the Shadow bugger! Hooray for the gnomes!" Having said his piece, he nodded quickly and stepped back. Elsie threw him a grateful smile. At first he seemed shocked by the gesture, then he returned the smile broadly.
I see, Qurt said slowly. She turned to the other Unicorns, who had been watching the debate intently. And the rest of you? What is the consensus of the Unicorns? Shall we make our last stand here, in the cold and the white?
There was a long pause.
Then Vork said, Sure, why not?
***
Paldawar stared down at the sleeping figure. The blade in his hand trembled.
It would be so easy. So easy to just bring the sword swinging down, to sever the head in one smooth motion. He might not be able to kill Dain thanks to that rotten immortality spell, but he could hurt him. Oh yes, he could hurt him. The comical hole in the warrior's chest proved that Dain's body was not impervious to injury. And in a way, chopping Dain into tiny little bits would be even more satisfying than killing him. Death is permanent, but it is a quick punishment. The eternal agony of being turned into very small and helpless pieces...that was true punishment.
And yet he couldn't bring himself to strike. This was the perfect moment for revenge, but to his great surprise, Paldawar had discovered that there was something he desired even more than vengeance—life. He wanted to live again. He wanted his old body again. He wanted to do all the little things again that he had taken for granted, things like sneezing and yawning and even going to the bathroom. Jimjim's body was a temporary solution, but it wasn't the same as having a body of his own.
Dain let out a grumbling snort and rolled over. Paldawar's fingers tightened around the handle of his sword. Dain let out a wet smacking noise and began to snore again, and Paldawar relaxed.
He would still have his revenge. After Dain helped him find the boy, and after the boy helped him find the Rune of Roon, and after he had his old body back once again, he would take his revenge. It just required patience.
Paldawar closed his eyes—although they weren't his eyes, they would never be his eyes—and he let himself drift away, deep inside his mind, until he came upon the spinning stone prison he had constructed. With a gesture, a section of the wall fell away and Paldawar stepped inside.
Jimjim leaped to his feet, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "Wha you want?" he mumbled. "Dere a problem?"
"No, no problem. I just..." Paldawar glanced around the room helplessly, feeling stupid and foolish. "I just wanted someone to talk to," he finished lamely. "Would you...do you want to talk about anything?"
"Why you want to talk?" Jimjim glared at him suspiciously.
Paldawar sighed. "I haven't talked to anybody in a long time, Jimjim. Well, I've given orders, but that's not the same as talking. Not even close." He waved his hand in the air casually and a pair of chairs materialized in the center of the room. He stared at the chairs for a moment—rickety wooden things—then concentrated. The chairs suddenly became much more comfortable—plush, ornate, and full of soft spots where a person could sink down and get lost for hours. Jimjim's jaw dropped. Paldawar motioned to the nearest chair, and Jimjim reluctantly lowered himself into it.
Paldawar sat down across from him. There was a long moment of silence.
"It's a very nice chair, meester ghost," Jimjim finally said.
"Oh, thank you."
"Very comfy."
"Mm."
Jimjim nodded. "Chair like dis...you could sit in a chair like dis forever."
"Thanks."
They fell silent again. Paldawar watched his prisoner intently, admiring how supremely ugly the man truly was. The long hooked nose, the stringy hair, the pale and pockmarked skin hanging off that bizarre skull that was shaped like some sort of defective and possibly hostile vegetable...Jimjim was fascinating in his ugliness. Paldawar wished that he could think of something to talk about, since this moment was quickly becoming uncomfortable. The only thing that came to mind, however, was how spectacularly hideous Jimjim was, and that probably wasn't the best topic for conversation.
"Err...you wantin' to talk to ol' Jimjim, right?"
"Yes, yes." Paldawar scrambled desperately for a topic. "Um...are you...happy here? In this place, I mean?"
"No."
"Ah. No, I wouldn't expect that you would be, hmm?"
This was turning into an even worse topic.
Jimjim scratched his nose idly. "So, what's de plan?"
"Excuse me?"
"De plan. De plan for tomorrow. What we gon' do?"
"Ah. Well, our airship is on the way to Kethlar. And according to your rat friends, that's where Diggus Fleet was last spotted, repairing his airship or something. We use Fleet to find the boy, then we use the boy to find the Rune. And once I have that, you can have your old body back. Everybody will get their rewards."
"Even Dain?"
"Especially Dain."
"Ah. 'Kay. Jimjim unnerstands now."
"Good. Good."
The conversation threatened to lapse into another uncomfortable silence. Paldawar seized upon the first thing that came to his mind: "How long have you been a...what did you call it? A rattalker?"
Jimjim shrugged. "While."
"And do you enjoy talking to rats?"
"S'okay."
"Right. Um...how does one learn to talk to rats?"
"Practice, I suppose."
"Where do you practice at?"
"Wherever dere are rats."
"Ah. I see."
"Yup."
They sat in silence for a few minutes longer. Jimjim began to pick his nose. Paldawar assumed that this would only last a few moments, so he waited patiently. Five minutes later, however, the nose-picking frenzy showed no signs of abating. Jimjim was clearly a man who was passionate about his nostrils. Paldawar sighed and stood up. "Well, I suppose I'd better get some rest," he said slowly.
Jimjim nodded. "Kin Jimjim keep dese chairs? Dey're mighty nice chairs."
Paldawar opened his mouth to say, Of course not. Prisoners don't get comfortable chairs! That's practically the whole point of being a prisoner, after all. Then he paused. Why not? Let him have the chairs. What harm could it do? He nodded slightly.
Jimjim smiled. "Thanks, boss." For a second, when he smiled, Jimjim almost looked human. Then his smile faded and he returned to the nose-cleaning job at hand. Paldawar stood there for a moment, watching him. Then he turned and hurried out of the prison.
***
Dawn broke over the castle like a bucket of swamp water falling into the sewer. It was a gray, damp, bleak, humid, smelly, dismal foggy, drizzly, sticky, uncomfortable sort of day, the type of day horrid enough to make the Bluebird of Happiness stay home in bed with a bottle of liquor and just watch television all morning.
Naturally, Jonah and Sally weren't ready for the trial. Despite his protests, Bebbens had stayed with them all through the night, helping them craft a defense for Tom. In the end, it hadn't mattered much. Bebbens was painfully incompetent when it came to explaining Aabundiai's judicial system and the way their trials worked, mainly because he quite obviously had no idea what he was talking about. There were supposed to be arguments, definitely, and sooner or later a verdict showed up, but beyond that Bebbens was rather lost.
Jonah and Sally were not much better when it came to understanding legal matters. Most of their information had come from the sleazy television programs which they were probably never supposed to watch in the first place. They had seen a great deal of lawyer programs, but none of them seemed very useful in retrospect. For example, Jonah was positive that at some point in a trial, a lawyer is supposed to jump to his feet and yell, "I object, your honor!" He wasn't sure when or why you were supposed to object, but he was certainly planning on objecting as much as possible, just to make sure he didn't miss the proper moment. Sally, on the other hand, was convinced they were supposed to say, "I move to have this case dismissed, your honor!" because once she had seen a program where this strange little sentence actually seemed to work, and the nice man on trial for stabbing the baby-sitter got to go home to his family and everybody was happy.
As for coming up with a specific defense to save Tom, however, they were both woefully unprepared.
The sun finally crept over the horizon and went trickling down across the land, and soon enough a knock came on their door. The children looked at each other in despair. They needed more time...perhaps fifteen or sixteen more years of intensive studying, to be exact.
They followed their Dwarf escort down several flights of steps, through a catacomb of obnoxiously twisting passages, and finally up a ladder—that bit seemed quite unnecessary, at least in Jonah's humble opinion—until they reached the courtroom. It wasn't much of a courtroom, and it certainly looked shabby when compared to the ones on all the fancy television programs. There were two very tall chairs at one corner of the room where Aurella and Faunella were already sitting. There was also a cage in the corner, and that was where Tom was sitting. And that was it.
"We don't get chairs?" Jonah asked, feeling rather wounded. "We should get chairs."
"You don't get chairs," Aurella said. This made Faunella giggle.
"Why not?" Jonah asked.
"Because I said so."
"And where's the jury?" he asked. There had always been a jury on all the lawyer programs. It seemed like the proper thing to have.
"I'm the jury," Aurella said.
"But you're the judge! You can't be the judge and the jury! That's against the rules!"
"The rules are written by the person with the rulebook." Aurella leered at them and held up a dusty leather book with tattered edges. The book appeared to be hundreds of years old. Apparently, Dwarvish courts were not very concerned with keeping their laws and regulations current.
Sally gave Tom a nervous wave. He nodded at them grimly. "Lovely morning, ain't it?" he growled.
"Nice cage," Jonah said.
"Yeah, it's a beauty. Comfy." He thumped his fist on the metal floor and grinned weakly.
"Silence!" Aurella barked. "There will be no joking in my court." She turned to Faunella. "Are you ready to proceed, dear sister?"
Faunella threw a wicked smile at Tom. "You bet I am," she said softly.
Aurella sat back and crossed her arms. "Then I hereby declare that this Dwarven Court is now in session."
Sally leaped forward and thrust her fist into the air. "I move to have this case dismissed, your honor!" she cried in a loud voice.
"No."
Sally gave Jonah a helpless shrug. "Well, I'm all out of ideas," she mumbled.
Faunella slipped off her chair and began to pace the length of the courtroom. "We are here to present the case against Tom Timberslap—" she began.
"Timbertramp!" Tom yelled.
Faunella ignored him. "Timberslap, who is accused of helping a murderous creature escape from the bowels of this castle. The defendant has admitted his guilt in this crime—"
"That's not true!" Tom cried. "I never said anything of the sort!"
Sally nudged Jonah in the ribs. He stepped forward. "Uh...we object?" he said.
"On what grounds?" Aurella asked.
This confused Jonah. Grounds? Who said anything about grounds? "Just on general principles, I suppose," he finally said. "We kinda object to everything."
"Objection overruled," Aurella said smoothly.
Faunella giggled again.
Jonah sighed. "Well, can I at least object to her giggling all the time? It's really annoying. So we object to that, too."
"Objection overruled."
Faunella stuck her tongue out at Jonah. He was pretty sure that this was against the rules—he had certainly never seen any of the television lawyers with the shiny hair stick their tongues out at each other. He briefly considered objecting again, until he noticed Aurella glaring at him. He decided not to press his luck.
Faunella kept walking. "It's a proven fact, Mr. Timberslap, that you helped your dragon friend escape. Dozens of Dwarves saw you commit this heinous crime. Do you deny this?"
Tom glared daggers at the young Dwarf prosecutor. "It ain't right," he said stubbornly. "Keeping the dragons as slaves like that. It's evil."
"We're not here to discuss morality, Timberslap. We're here to talk about mortality. As in death. And destruction. And chaos. All the terrible acts your friend Aligore committed once you let him loose upon our castle."
"Hey, we object to that, too!" Jonah shouted. "You have no proof that Aligore killed anybody!" He felt rather pleased with himself for this argument. It seemed very lawyer-ish.
Faunella's eyes narrowed to slits. "No proof?" she hissed. "No proof!" She strode across the room and grabbed a bundle of rags from the floor. "What more proof do you need?" she cried, holding the rags up to the light.
The tattered purple robe was unmistakable. The children had seen it draped around the King's shoulders mere hours before he had been torn apart. Huge, jagged slashes intersected across the robe, forming a spiderweb of cuts. Sally shuddered and glanced away.
Satisfied, Faunella dropped the robe and turned to Tom. "That beast killed my father, you filthy little traitor."
"I object!" Jonah yelled again.
Aurella sighed and rolled her eyes. "What now?"
"She's not allowed to call him names! Lawyers are supposed to be professional!"
Aurella shook her head. "You really know nothing about law, do you? Objection overruled."
"Thanks, sis," Faunella said. She turned back to Tom. "It's an undeniable fact that my father would still be alive if you hadn't released that dragon. Your treason and incompetence cost him his life. And for that, someone must be held responsible. Since your dragon friend isn't here to take the blame, I guess it falls on you." She grinned again.
Tom shook his head. He never took his eyes from Faunella, but he spoke quietly and deliberately. "Seems to me, if somebody wanted to find out who killed your father, the main suspect would be the person—or people—who had the most to gain from his death." His eyes flickered to Sally for just a moment. She understood what he was trying to say, and she nodded to her friend. Tom looked back at the prosecutor. "Now that I've said my piece—this trial is a joke, this courtroom is a scam, and the two of you are nuttier than a walnut tree in a windstorm." He spit on the floor contemptuously.
"You dare to mock my courtroom?" There was a dangerous note in Aurella's voice. The rulebook in her hand trembled.
"Your courtroom mocks itself. We all knew the outcome before we walked in this room. Give your lousy verdict and let me go get my head chopped off in peace."
Sally gasped. Tom looked at the children. His eyes were shining brightly. "This ain't your fault, you know. There was nothing you could have done to save me. Best if you just get away from this crazy castle as soon as you can. And...err...take care of each other, won't you?"
Sally turned away, wiping her eyes furiously.
Jonah was furious. He balled up his fists and took a step forward, his head pounding. He would show them. First he would blow Tom's cage apart and rescue his friend. Then he felt like maybe he would just blow this entire stupid castle apart, piece by piece. If the Dwarves wanted to see unfair, he would give them a whole heaping handful of it.
"Better not do anything foolish, child," Aurella said softly. She made a motion and six Dwarf archers stepped out of the nearest doorway. Six arrows trembled at the edge of six bowstrings, and they were all pointed directly at Jonah's head.
"It ain't worth it, Jonah," Tom said quickly. "You can't do nothing to save me. Just get out of here in one piece. That's all I care about."
"Listen to your friend, child. Leave my castle and never come back."
Jonah sighed. His shoulders slumped and he turned away. "This isn't over," he muttered.
"Not yet," Aurella agreed. "But it will be soon. My verdict in this case is that Tom is guilty. And the punishment shall be...oh, let me think...death."
"There's a shocker," Tom muttered.
More Dwarves appeared. They grabbed Tom's cage and began dragging him out of the room. Sally cried out and started toward him, but the bowstrings behind them whined as they were once more pulled tight. Sally glanced over her shoulder at the arrows, then took a step back.
Tom gave them a half-hearted wave. "Find Aligore and the Princess. Do the job you have to do. And don't worry about me." He rubbed at his eyes, which were shimmering in the torchlight. "You blokes are—you're good friends, that's what you are. I won't never forget that." And then he was gone. The door slammed shut behind him.
Sally let out an anguished cry and buried her face in Jonah's shoulder. He instantly felt his shoulder grow damp. To be perfectly honest, he felt like crying too, but he held it back. Nothing would make the Dwarf sisters happier than seeing him cry. Instead he merely glared at them. "What will you do to him?"
Aurella waved her hand idly. "The execution will be at sunset, as is our custom."
"And what if I can find evidence that he's innocent before then?"
"You can't. Trust me." A sudden gleam came into her eyes and she leaned forward. "But...maybe if you could find that nasty murdering dragon...maybe I would consider making a trade. The dragon for the Dwarf." She gave them a skeleton's grin. "Think about it."
Aurella gathered her rulebook and she and Faunella left the room. The Dwarf escort followed them. There was a heavy click as a lock was turned in the door. The courtroom was silent.
"It's not fair," Sally muttered, wiping at her eyes.
"Tom isn't going to die. We're going to find the evidence we need." Jonah hoped that his voice sounded more confident than he felt. For the record, it didn't.
"And how are we going to do that?"
"We'll have to split up. Search the castle for clues. It's our only chance of proving Aligore's innocence."
"Split up? Do you think that's smart?"
He sighed. "I don't think we have a choice. You need to find Aligore if you can. Look everywhere. If we can find him, I'm sure he'll be able to set the record straight."
"And what are you going to do?"
Jonah sighed heavily. "I need to go to the library."
It had been a long, fitful night. They had lined up and waited for hours—Unicorns, gnomes, Less Deads, and one very nervous human girl—but the Dark Shadow had never appeared. As the hours wore on, the battle formations steadily grew less organized. Most of the gnomes eventually forgot all about the threat of imminent carnage, and they went off to play hide-and-go-teleport and other remarkably stupid gnome games. The Less Deads had gotten in an argument with several Unicorns over the subject of eating brains (delicious and nutritious versus sick and unholy), and the creatures were now sulking in a corner on the other side of the cavern. Even the Unicorns finally seemed to relax, milling about freely and talking to one another. The general consensus seemed to be that the Dark Shadow had lost their trail somewhere along the way, and most creatures agreed that this was a very good thing indeed. At one point Elsie had gone to sit down and rest for a moment—just for a few minutes, really—and she had promptly fallen asleep.
Her dreams had been muddled and frightening. She had tried to find her friends, but something had gone wrong. Tom, Jonah and Sally were either still awake or sleeping far too deeply for her to reach. She had briefly located Aligore, but she must have made a mistake, because the raging, flashing thing in her dreams couldn't have been Aligore. She had retreated hastily, badly shaken. Perhaps all dragons had similar dream signatures, and she had merely grabbed a wild dragon by mistake? Yes, that had to be the explanation.
Eventually she woke up. The cavern was cold and still around her. Most of the Unicorns were still awake, but their conversations had died away. Nobody seemed to know what to do next. Stay in the White Place? Leave to search for other magical creatures? Try to hunt down the Dark Shadow?
Vork noticed her and came padding toward her. His watery eyes were bleary and bloodshot from a lack of sleep. Still alive, he announced. You've probably noticed that, though. It's really quite unfortunate. I was hoping the Dark Shadow would be a little more punctual. Nothing worse than being late to a massacre.
"Hullo, Vork," she mumbled. "Any new news?"
He snorted and rolled his eyes. Yeah. Unicorns take even longer to make a decision than gnomes do. Should we stay? Should we go? Should we fight? Should we run? It's all so exhausting. I humbly suggested using me as bait and escaping while the Dark Shadow killed me, but I doubt I convinced them. Wretchedly noble creatures, all of them.
"I wonder why the Dark Shadow never showed up?"
Are you complaining? He cocked an eyebrow critically.
"Just curious. From the way the other Unicorns were talking last night, it sounded like the Shadow chased them all the way home. Like it was right behind them the entire way...? And now it's suddenly gone. It doesn't make sense."
Oh, it's probably waiting right outside the cavern to kill us all, Vork said casually, staring off into space.
Elsie gave him a startled glance. "What?"
Probably right outside, I said. Are you deaf and dumb today?
She stood up quickly. "Would the Dark Shadow be smart enough to do that? To set a trap for us?"
Vork flashed her his laziest yawn. Of course it would. For something to live so long and get so powerful, it has to be pretty smart, doesn't it? But don't try telling that to them." He motioned toward the other Unicorns and shook his head scornfully. I tried to explain it to them, but they wouldn't listen. They're convinced that the Dark Shadow is just a big, dumb eating machine that never slows down or stops moving. It all goes back to that blasted nobility. The others don't want to believe that anything so evil could possibly be intelligent, that it's making conscious choices. It's easier to dismiss the Shadow as nothing more than a wild animal.
"But you don't agree?"
He stared at her sharply. I don't share their nobility problem. I think it's a wild animal, but I also think it's a very smart wild animal that knows exactly what it's doing every step of the way. And I think it's just waiting somewhere out there for us to drop our guard and go fluttering through the air without a care in the world. He snorted. Highly unlikely in my case, but I wouldn't be surprised if the rest of these do-gooders go marching cheerfully right into the mouth of the Shadow.
"It has a mouth?"
Probably. Most evil things do.
Elsie bit her lip, lost in thought. Up to this moment, she had shared the other Unicorns' assumption that the Dark Shadow would show little subtlety in its approach. Vork's theory did made a horrible sort of sense, though. "We have to go check it out," she finally decided. "It's the only way to be sure."
His eyes widened. What's this 'we' business, Princess? I'm perfectly happy staying right here. If you're looking for a Unicorn to play the role of noble defender, I'm sure you can find a better candidate in this room somewhere.
Elsie sighed. "Just follow me, Vork. And don't argue."
Oh, fine. It's about time I got killed anyway. No time like the present. But let's go quietly. I don't want too many creatures to see me die. I suspect it will be quite messy. I'd hate to make the others lose their appetites or ...
"Give it a rest."
Right.
They crept past the rest of the Unicorns and made their way down the passage to the outside world. Nobody seemed to notice their disappearance, which was probably a good thing. Elsie was terribly frightened, and it wouldn't have taken much argument to talk her out of this little reconnaissance mission.
The corridor wound its way up through the mountain. The air around them steadily grew brighter and colder. The only sound was the screaming of the wind as it tore through the mountain's desolate dips and peaks, lost and apparently very grumpy. Snow crunched beneath Elsie's feet, and her boots were soon soaked. She found herself envying the Unicorns' ability to float through the air. Walking on firm ground seemed highly overrated, at least in her humble opinion. Perhaps there was some sort of levitation spell she could learn...?
What's wrong with you? You almost walked right into that icicle. Vork shook his head. Humans.
She ducked beneath the dangling silver shard, feeling rather foolish. "Sorry," she whispered. She always found herself getting distracted by stupid, trivial details, and it always happened at the most inappropriate times. It certainly wasn't fitting behavior for a Princess. She would have to work on that, assuming that she survived the day. It was looking less likely with every passing moment.
They emerged from the cave onto the windswept plateau. A blast of chilled air roared right through her body, howling the entire way, and her teeth began to chatter. She wrapped her cloak tightly around her body and glanced around. They appeared to be alone on the mountaintop. There was no sign of the Dark Shadow anywhere.
When they had first arrived at the mountain, she had been in too much of a hurry to admire the landscape. What she saw this morning was breathtaking. The sky was piercingly blue, so bright that it seemed blinding, and the ice and snow surrounding them glowed with a pale, ethereal light. The ground dropped away in a sharp, jutting ledge some thirty yards away from the mouth of the cavern, and beyond the drop was nothing but a vast expanse of clouds stretching out as far as the eye could see. Staring down at the clouds was an oddly disconcerting feeling, and she briefly felt as though gravity had made some sort of mistake, that her body was being tugged and pulled in the wrong direction. For one wonderfully queasy moment, she felt like she was flying.
Vork apparently did not share her enthusiasm for the remarkable landscape. Bit miserable up here, isn't it? he sniffed, looking around sourly. Don't approve of that wind either. No good reason for any place to be so cold.
"I think it's beautiful," she whispered.
Yes, well, you would. Humans can be so stupid when it comes to things that are shiny. Show them a wiltsucker root and they'll step right over it without a second glance, but give them some flashy bauble that lets them see their fool reflection and they'll be happy all day long. He snorted. Don't understand it, not one bit. Anyway, I don't see the Dark Shadow, which means that I was wrong once again. No great surprises there. So let's head back inside and get out of this blasted wind. He shivered slightly.
"Wait a moment, won't you?" Elsie begged. When else would she ever get a chance to admire such a fantastic and bizarre vista? Besides...she wanted to glance over the edge, to look down at the world below. It is an irrefutable fact of human nature that if you put a person on top of a very tall structure, he or she will be forced to creep to the very edge and glance over the side. This is a trait that seems to be unique in humans. Dogs, for example, never feel the urge to stare down the side of a cliff and contemplate what it would be like to slip and fall over the side. Dogs are perfectly happy staying far, far away from any place that might conceivably cause them serious harm. And since dogs are counted amongst nature's stupidest creatures, the average human's desire to lean out over dangerous drops and precipices is rather difficult to defend. Perhaps it has something to do with genetics.
Vork gave a traumatic sigh, but he waited patiently while Elsie took a few steps toward the cliffside. She walked slowly and deliberately, since there is no reason to slip and hurt yourself when you are on the way to needlessly risk your life. There was a large patch of ice near the edge of the cliff, which seemed rather unnecessary. In her opinion, there were some locations where ice had no business existing, and near fatal drops was one of those places. She cautiously made her way around the ice and stared over the edge.
"Wow," she said softly.
The mountain dropped away sharply beneath her feet, plunging thousands of feet straight down before disappearing into the misty fluff of the cloudbank. It was a dizzying, inconceivable drop. She had stood in the tallest tower of her father's castle many times, enjoying the way passing birds gave her suspicious glares that very clearly suggested that a human had no right being in such a high place, but even the castle could not compare to a drop like this. She stared down, her mouth hanging open, admiring the way that the clouds looked like tiny feather pillows beneath her, all dark and swirling...
Wait a moment. Dark and swirling?
It tore through the cloudbank and came screaming up the side of the mountain, huge and hungry. She had never seen the Dark Shadow before, but even in her most vivid nightmares she had never imagined anything so cold. It was rolling black shadows, tendrils of smoke and mist, a freezing ball of inky vipers chewing through the bitter morning air. It moved with a speed that was utterly terrifying. One second it was two thousand feet beneath her, a moment later it was within spitting distance. As it came, a sound of thunder followed.
Elsie turned to run, already knowing that she would never make it back to the cave in time. The monster was simply too fast. Even now she could feel it blasting up behind her. A rush of freezing air washed over her, clenching her stomach and slapping against her back hard enough to drive all the air from her lungs in one breathless gasp. She was dimly aware the Vork was screaming something, but then the shadow fell over her and it was too late.
***
"Here, master! Demon-fighting hammer!"
Diggus Fleet cursed under his breath and took the hammer from the tiny piglump. It (he still could never tell which one was the boy and which one wasn't, so he thought of them both as neutral its) squeaked and scampered off, overjoyed at a job well done. It was the wrong hammer, but Fleet didn't feel like arguing. He grimly set to work again.
The repairs had wiped him out. All decent airship pilots kept a cache of money stockpiled away in case of emergency, but Fleet had never a decent airship pilot. He had always had enough money to buy food and booze, and that had always been enough. After repairing the splintered wing and crushed bulkhead, and replacing most of the airship's rickety wooden undercarriage, however, his money supply was dangerously low. Plus, he had been sober for several days now. Fleet was a man of precious few ideals, but one of these ideals was his steadfast belief that a day sober was a day wasted. He was itching for a decent bender. A few hours in the nearest tavern would do wonders for his constitution, he was sure of it. The only problem was that his airship was ruined and his friends were alone and quite possibly in danger somewhere out there.
So he had replaced the wing (expensive), and he had repaired the bulkhead (even more expensive), and the undercarriage was finally nearing completion (ridiculously expensive), and he was dying for a drink.
He finished nailing in the final board and stood back, admiring his handiwork. It wasn't very handy. The wood didn't match, and the boards were smashed together in a rather crooked and undignified fashion. Still, it would hold. The ship was as close to airworthy as it had ever been. A few more minor repairs, one last equipment check, and they would be on their way. Maybe he would celebrate with a drink.
He climbed the ladder, humming under his breath. The town bustled around him. Hundreds of different airships were docked as far as the eye could see. The streets were clogged with tourists and pilots jostling for position amidst the sea of vendors and street urchins. He had never liked large towns, possibly due to the fact that he had never liked people. Besides, it was always too difficult to get a decent drink in places like this. He couldn't wait to get back in the air again.
"Oy! Piglumps!" he shouted, glancing around the ship's deck. Everything seemed strangely deserted. The little rats had spent the last several days bouncing around the ship uncontrollably, gleefully making one mess after another. This was the first time he hadn't instantly seen or heard them, which meant they were probably getting into some mischief somewhere. He sighed and headed toward the front of the ship. "How're yeh feeling, Lola?" he called. "Figure those boards will hold okay?"
The wooden figurehead turned to him. Her brown eyes were very wide. "Fleet," she hissed. "Get out of here right now! Just go!"
"What're yeh talking about?"
"She's talkin' bout us, meester pilot" a low voice said from directly behind him. Something very cold and sharp pressed into the small of his back. Fleet froze.
Dain stepped into view from the other side of the figurehead, grinning broadly. "Hello, Fleet. Remember me?"
Fleet's mouth went dry. He suddenly needed a drink very badly indeed. He licked his lips and smiled at Dain nervously. "Err...hullo, Dain. Thought yeh were dead."
The smile left Dain's face as quickly as it had appeared. "You thought wrong," he said bluntly. "Although thanks to those rotten little piglumps, I'm quite a bit more ventilated than before. Where are they, by the way?"
Fleet's mind raced. "Um...the piglumps? Oh, they're with the others. Jonah and the Princess and all the rest."
"Fascinating. And where might they be?"
"Haven't seem 'em in weeks. Dropped 'em all off at...err...at the Stumpdock Woods. Must have been...oh, five weeks ago? I can show yeh where I left 'em if yeh have a map," he added in a sudden burst of inspiration.
Dain shook his head slowly and chuckled. "I don't think our friend is taking this very seriously, Jimjim."
The knife pressing against Fleet's back suddenly doubled its pressure, and Fleet winced. Jimjim. He had heard about the bounty hunter from Jonah. Hadn't sounded like a very nice bloke. This was looking worse and worse. He could see Lola out of the corner of his eye. She was watching in horror.
Dain smiled again. "See, Fleet, my friend Jimjim here is a rattalker. Apparently you had a rat on this airship that watched your entire group get into an aerial dragon battle several days ago. According to this rat, you were forced to make a crash-landing, leaving all the other passengers behind when you left to get repairs. When you landed here, the rat decided that it had seen enough craziness to last a lifetime, and it stowed away on the first airship out of port. You're not a very difficult man to track, provided, of course, that you ask the right creatures the right questions." He took a step closer, his eyes gleaming. "So I'll ask you again: where are Jonah and the others?"
Jimjim's blade left the small of Fleet's back and reappeared against his throat. It was freezing cold. Fleet tried to swallow, but the blade was pressed too tightly. "T'ink carefully," a voice whispered in his ear. "De wrong answer might jus' be de last one you ever geeeeve." Jimjim let out a short, barking laugh.
"I...I don't know where they are," Fleet managed to gasp. "And even if I did, I certainly wouldn't tell yeh nutters. Yeh can kill me if you want, but I'm not going to help yeh."
Dain sighed. "Kill you, Fleet? What a small, sad little imagination you have. I'm not going to kill you."
"Yeh're...yeh're not?"
"No. I'm going to torture you instead. I'm going to torture you right to the verge of death, until you absolutely can't take the pain for another solitary second. You will beg for death before I'm done, but I won't give it to you. Every man has his breaking point, Fleet. The fun doesn't come from reaching that point...the fun comes afterwards. Before I've finished, you'll tell me your deepest, darkest secrets, just in the vain hope that I'll end your misery sooner." He smiled. "I won't, of course. I must say that I'm quite looking forwards to this."
Fleet swallowed hard and tried to give his best casual shrug. He was a realistic man who harbored no delusions about immortality. He had always known that he would die someday, although he never would have guessed that he would die sober. If his death was now a foregone conclusion, he would make it a noble one. "Might as well get started, then," he croaked. "Sounds like this might take a while."
Something flashed in Dain's eyes, something cold and furious. Despite his horrible speech, Fleet suddenly realized that Dain was more interested in information than sadism. Well, that was fine. Every moment they spent torturing him was one more moment Jonah and the others could use to slip further and farther from their mad grasp. Besides, Fleet was stronger than he looked. He could survive a little torture.
Maybe.
Dain turned him away, his shoulders heaving. When he glanced back, his face was a mask of emotions. "Jimjim," he said softly, "take the prisoner below deck and gag him. We're going to start by cutting off his fingers and toes."
"No!" Lola suddenly cried.
Dain turned to her. "Does the obnoxious ship have something to add to this little discussion?"
Fleet's heart suddenly lurched. "Lola, don't say nothing!" he shouted. "Don't yeh tell them one da—" Then Jimjim's bony hand fell over his mouth, muffling his cries.
"Quiet, now," Jimjim crooned in his ear. "Don' interrupt papa when he's lecturin'." He giggled again.
Lola gave Fleet an agonized glance. She was trembling slightly. "Don't hurt him," she whispered to Dain. "He's my only friend."
"That's not a good enough reason, I'm afraid," Dain said smoothly. "Jimjim?"
Jimjim began to drag Fleet toward the hatch, still giggling. Lola held out one panicked hand. "Wait! Please, wait a second! I'm the real airship pilot, not him. I can tell you exactly where the others are. I can even take you there!"
Fleet's string of fantastically foul obscenities were once again muffled by Jimjim's hand. Lola gave him an apologetic look.
"So start talking, dear." Dain gave her a winning smile.
"Do you think I'm stupid just because I'm made out of wood? Let him go first."
"Do you think I'm stupid just because I'm evil?" he replied sweetly. "If we let the fat man go, you'll fly us into the nearest mountain range first chance you get, merely out of spite. Forget it. He's staying onboard."
Lola frowned. "Then...well...then you have to give me your solemn promise that you won't hurt him!"
"Done," Dain said instantly.
"Mrrphg yrroo mermmmsufff ffnnrr!" Fleet howled miserably, throwing all his favorite curse words into the same sentence.
"It's not that simple," Lola said. "I don't trust you. You'll have to swear it on...on the Sorceress."
Dain blinked. "And why is that?"
"Because a promise made over dark magic is a promise that can't be easily broken. I don't think she would be very happy to learn that you broke a promise made in her name, would she? And her punishment would be worse than anything I could possibly do to you."
Dain stared at her for a long moment, fuming. Fleet watched him carefully, still feeling the cold sting of Jimjim's blade held tightly against his throat. Finally Dain waved his hand and spat over the side of the deck. "Fine, fine," he snarled. "What do you want me to say?"
"Not just you. Your greasy friend with the knife is going to make the same promise or the deal is off."
Dain nodded quickly. "Sure. Whatever you say. Get on with it."
Lola cleared her throat. "Repeat after me: I solemnly swear that if I am taken to Jonah, Aligore and the others, I will cause no harm to come to any of the creatures on this airship, or the airship itself. I swear this in the name of the Sorceress."
Dain repeated the oath. It took Jimjim several tries to get it right—he kept stumbling and saying the wrong word, such as I will cause no harm to come to most of the creatures on this airship—but he finally repeated the words correctly. Lola nodded.
"Lock him up somewhere, Jimjim," Dain snapped. "Get us in the air, ship. We don't have all day."
Fleet gave one last cry, then Jimjim dragged him below deck and he vanished from sight.
***
On the other side of the airship, beneath a pile of dusty old rags, two very frightened piglumps watched the situation unfold. They crept further back into the shadows and held each other, their tiny bodies trembling.
***
Elsie took two steps, then her foot came down on the patch of ice she had noticed earlier. Her feet swung out from beneath her and she came crashing down. Her head cracked against the ice and lancing meteors suddenly streaked across her vision. An instant later the Dark Shadow swept by overhead, missing her by mere inches. One of its tentacles brushed against her back, instantly tearing her cloak into two neat segments and sending her skidding across the ice, coughing and gasping for breath. If the Shadow had been moving even a little slower, it would have had her right then and there. Luckily, however, it was still traveling at nearly a hundred miles an hour, and it blasted past her and went screaming up into the air. It let out a furious garbled roar and changed direction.
Elsie was suddenly lifted off the ground and she rushed through the air, hovering a few feet above the snow. For a brief moment she was confused. Then she remembered that Unicorns have a strange telekinesis power, the ability to move objects using only their mind. She was levitated onto Vork's back and the pudgy little Unicorn took off like a thunderbolt. He held his head low to the ground and made for the cavern in a dead sprint. She clutched his mane and glanced over her shoulder.
In the sky high above them, the Dark Shadow wheeled around and came rushing after them. It was large enough to blot out the entire sun. And it was so fast. In an instant it had halved the distance between them. Vork let out a strangled cry and ran faster. The entrance to the cavern loomed in front of them, but they weren't going to make it. The Shadow was right behind them.
Elsie flung her hand back and summoned her magic. There was no time to decide on a spell, no time to properly concentrate or create any sort of defense. She merely let the magic pour out of her. It emerged as a swirling purple stream of sparks that hissed and crackled in the bitter mountain air. It was not much, but it was enough. Startled, the Dark Shadow hesitated for a moment before plowing through the magical aura. During that brief pause, Vork flung himself through the narrow opening in the side of the mountain. Seconds later, something huge and furious crashed into the cliff behind them. The impact threw Vork and Elsie to the ground and covered the inside of the corridor with a faint haze of drifting soot and debris.
Elsie rubbed the snow from her eyes and glanced up just in time to see the Dark Shadow hit the mountainside again. There was another thunderous boom and several feet of solid rock disintegrated. The Shadow forced itself further into the opening, its flowing body stretching and distending. It was oozing in after them, she realized. She got to her feet and grabbed Vork around the neck.
The Unicorn looked at her, his expression dazed. What's going on? he mumbled. The fall had knocked him senseless.
"Come on!" she cried, pulling Vork to his feet.
The Dark Shadow rammed the corridor again, and Elsie stumbled for balance. Coughing through the haze of smoke and ash, Vork glanced over his shoulder. He took one look at the Dark Shadow and let out a high-pitched, girlish scream. Then he turned and fled back down the corridor. Elsie followed him as quickly as she could, her heart pounding. The monster was simply too big, too evil, too deadly. She had been a fool to think that a bunch of Unicorns and gnomes could ever stand up to something so horrible. It was going to kill them all.
The commotion had alerted the other Unicorns and gnomes. They stood huddled in the middle of the main hall. Several creatures cried out in surprise when Elsie and Vork burst from the passageway, wide-eyed and caked with grime.
Qurt stepped forward. What's happening up there? she demanded.
"Dark Shadow," Elsie gasped. "It set a trap for us."
How bad is it? Qurt asked in hushed tones.
We're all doomed, Vork said simply.
I see. Qurt pursed her lips and stared at them for a moment. Then she turned to face the other creatures assembled in the hall. The moment we feared is now upon us. This enemy has killed our leader and our friends. It has burned our home to the ground and driven us across the land. Even now it threatens the lives of every free beast and creature in this world. Our actions this day shall decide whether its reign of terror will be allowed to continue unchecked.
From somewhere high above them, the Dark Shadow hit the mountain again. Shards of fractured ice clattered down around them. Several creatures let out anguished cries, and a few gnomes turned and fled back down the corridor.
Yap suddenly appeared beside Vork. "The only one who shall be eating you today is Yap, chubby mole of love!" He sunk his teeth into Vork's leg and began to chew furiously.
That's it, Vork snarled. If I'm going to die, it's not going to be with some demented gnome clinging to my leg. He lashed out one of his hind legs and swiftly kicked Yap in the head as hard as he could. Yap skidded halfway across the cavern. He sat up, blinking.
"What's going on?" he mumbled. "Yap is very confused."
Elsie ran over to him and scooped him up in her arms. "It'll be okay, Yap. Just close your eyes and go to sleep."
He struggled out of her grasp. "What's wrong with you, mother? Why are you acting stupid like a fat little Dwarf? And why are there other stupid gnomes here?" He stamped his foot down angrily. "Somebody tell Yap what is going on!"
Elsie stared at him. "You're...cured? You're not insane any more?"
Huh, Vork said. All this time, and all it took was one nice, hard kick to set him straight. Imagine that.
There was another terrible roar from high above them, loud enough to fracture and shatter the ice beneath their feet. Elsie was flung to the ground. Shards of ice rained down around her. This was too much for the gnomes. They screamed and ran. Elsie was able to pick Gree out of the crowd, and she called to him. Gree gave her an apologetic look, but he never slowed down.
Yap stared after the retreating gnomes, frowning. "Where are they going? And what's making that stupid rumbly-pumbly noise?"
"That's the Dark Shadow," Elsie gasped. "It's here to kill us."
"Oh," Yap said. Then he took off after the other gnomes, disappearing down one of the corridors.
"Yap!" Elsie cried. "Get back here, you coward!"
Wouldn't do much good, Vork said sourly. Not against that thing. Maybe...maybe you should go with them. He glanced at Elsie, his face unreadable. Try to hide. Maybe it won't find you.
"I'm not going to run, Vork. I'm going to fight with you."
Then you're going to die with us, too, he said simply. He went jogging over to the rest of the Unicorns.
From somewhere high above them, the Dark Shadow rammed the mountain again. Elsie swayed, throwing her arms out for balance. The tremors subsided after a few seconds, but when the Shadow roared again, the sound was much closer.
"Almost here," a voice said from behind her. She turned to find the three Less Deads. They smiled at her pleasantly.
"Aren't you going to run too?" she asked bitterly.
"And miss the upcoming exploits of heroic magnificence?" the tall dead man said. "Hardly. We ghoulish gentlemen quite enjoy chaos and mayhem."
"Stick around. I'm sure you'll see lots of it," she snapped. She left the creatures and hurried over to the Unicorns, who had gathered in a tight circle in the middle of the room. One by one, each Unicorn lowered its head and pointed its horn directly at the center of the circle. Ghostly strands of pale gold energy flowed from their horns, locking and intertwining with other strands, twirling and expanding. As each Unicorn joined the circle, the light in the center of the room grew brighter and more powerful.
The Shadow roared again, somewhere very close now. Elsie noticed that the room was growing steadily colder. Her teeth began to chatter.
Qurt was the last of the Unicorns to join the circle. She paused for a moment, staring out at her friends. Tears ran freely down her cheeks, but her voice was strong. It has come to this, she said. The last stand of the Unicorns, here in the halls of our ancestors. Unicorn lore holds that the spirits of those who have come before us still stand watch in these silent corridors. So when we fight today, we do not fight alone. Your mates, your parents, your children, your friends...they watch over you now. Join in the circle and take your strength from them. Their love, their compassion, and their honor watches over us now in our darkest hour. I know you shall make them all proud. She paused, her chest heaving, the reflection of fire swimming in her eyes. And then, in a voice so low that Elsie barely heard her words, Qurt whispered, Give me strength, my love. She lowered her head and joined the circle.
Droo, the next Unicorn whispered. Guide us, Droo.
Help me be strong, mother, another Unicorn added.
The whispers carried through the circle, echoing from every corner of the cavern, growing in power. My mother. My father. My grandparents. My mate. My child. The names of former friends, relatives and lovers were invoked, and their memories fed the fire raging in the center of the Unicorn circle. With each new name, the fire grew brighter and hotter.
The wall behind Elsie suddenly heaved and splintered. There was a hideous crackling noise, and a large section of the wall fell away in a spray of rubble. Something huge and black waited in the darkness beyond, pulsing with hatred and anger. It let out a roar as it spied its prey, and it slammed forward again. A section of the Dark Shadow stretched and oozed through the crack in the wall, and with it came the unspeakable cold. The monster stretched out its biting tendrils toward the circle of Unicorns.
Elsie glanced at the Unicorns. They hadn't budged, but she saw that several of them were trembling. They couldn't break the circle without breaking the spell, and the spell was not yet finished. They would never make it in time without help. "Keep going!" she cried. "I'll hold it back for as long as I can!"
She ran forward, placing herself directly in the path of the beast. It roared and reared back, towering over her. And this, she realized, was how it was all going to end. Something so monstrous and terrible...how could she ever hope to stand against it? She suddenly felt small and helpless, paralyzed by fright. She couldn't breathe. It was too cold. She was going to die. The Dark Shadow reached down toward her, gurgling and chuckling darkly.
Without thinking, she whispered two names of her own: Father. Mother. Give me strength. Give me the strength to do the right thing. And strangely enough, the words seemed to help a little, pushing the cold back and filling her lungs with air. She suddenly felt strong. And for just a moment, for just one second, she had the distinct sensation that there were two people standing next to her. One of them was wearing a glowing golden crown. She felt the figures reach out to her, placing their shimmering hands on her shoulders, and she suddenly knew who they were. The tears ran down her face and she opened her mouth.
"Sol Selar!" she screamed.
The spell exploded out of her, furious beams of light that tore into the underbelly of the Dark Shadow. It shrieked and reared back, slamming into the room of the cavern, whipping from side to side. Wispy black chunks of the creature fell away and disintegrated before her eyes. Then it gave another lunge forward and another section of the wall broke away. The creature forced its way further into the cavern, hanging above her head, ready to strike. There was no time to conjure another spell. It was simply too fast. Part of the Shadow fell away, exposing a gaping hole lined with jagged shards of pale black glass. It was a mouth. Elsie screamed.
Three figures suddenly dashed past her. "Excelsior!" one of them screamed merrily.
The Less Deads flung themselves upon the Dark Shadow, digging their hands into its murky underbelly. They gave a tremendous tug and jerked the monster back a few yards. The Dark Shadow's mouth slammed shut mere inches from Elsie's face. It drew back, snapping and snarling at the Less Deads clinging to its sides.
"There are brains in here somewhere, lads!" the tall dead man crowed. "Let's find them!" He dug both hands deeper into the Dark Shadow and tore away a chunk of its slimy skin. The creature roared in pain and struck out at the tall dead man, sending him spinning across the room. He struck the nearest wall in a boneless heap and lay motionless.
The fat dead man punched the creature as hard as he could. The Dark Shadow's skin opened up, swallowing the Less Dead's entire arm. He let out a strangled cry, then he disappeared inside the beast.
The remaining Less Dead threw Elsie a terrified glance. "Shoot it again!" the short dead man screamed.
"Get out of the way!" she cried. "I don't want to hit you!"
"Don't worry about me, just sh—" His words were cut off as the Dark Shadow came crashing down on top of him, driving him out of sight.
Choking back a cry, Elsie extended her arms and concentrated. "Sol Selar!" she cried again. Once again, the beams of white hot light leaped from her body and streaked into the creature. It howled as the light tore away a section of its face. Then it flung itself forward, bringing its entire weight smashing down. Elsie threw herself backwards. The creature narrowly missed her, but the impact when it hit the floor was strong enough to knock her to her knees. Coughing, she glanced up. A section of the Dark Shadow had disengaged from the rest of was snaking toward her, oozing across the broken ice. She backpedaled frantically. Then, in a single smooth lunge, the tentacle darted forward and wrapped around her leg. Instantly she felt lances of agony dance up the side of her body as the tentacle bit into her skin. She cried out in pain. The Dark Shadow merely chuckled again and began to slowly drag her toward its gaping mouth.
There was a loud crash and the pain was suddenly gone. Elsie opened her eyes. A huge ice stalactite had dropped from the ceiling, neatly severing the tentacle that had been wrapped around her leg. Both Elsie and the Dark Shadow glanced up at the ceiling.
Yap hung from stalactites high above them. He waved his tiny fist at the creature. "Stay away from Yap's mother!" he screamed.
The Dark Shadow roared in response and lunged upwards.
Yap threw himself through the air, down toward the Shadow that was rising up to meet him. Then the cavern was suddenly filled with foul green smoke, and Yap was no longer alone. Hundreds of gnomes had appeared in mid-air, streaking down toward the monster, screaming a war cry that rocked the very foundations of the mountain.
The creature paused, startled and confused by the tiny plummeting gnomes. They smashed into the Dark Shadow, one after another. A few gnomes were swallowed up by the creature, but then a strange and wonderful thing began to happen. As the gnomes landed, they would each grab a tiny piece of the Shadow and teleport again, tearing sections of the monster away with each new burst of smoke.
The Dark Shadow tried to flee. It couldn't cope with these tiny vanishing creatures that attacked from every angle, always teleporting away before it could strike back. The Shadow spasmed as sections of its body were ripped apart. Shrieking, it thrashed back towards the opening in the wall. The gnomes gave chase, leaping on the monster and teleporting again and again. Terrified and frantic, the Shadow threw itself against the crack in the wall, trying to escape.
And then the cavern was suddenly filled with a glorious golden light. Elsie spun around. Her jaw dropped open.
The circle of Unicorns had broken. The ball of light in the center of the circle had become a pure white supernova of energy. A figure stepped out of the light, tall and imposing. It was a giant Unicorn, beautiful and proud. It's skin was milky white, but it was nearly transparent—if she concentrated hard enough, Elsie could see right through the creature. And more ghostly Unicorns were emerging from the light, their heads held high, their bodies flashing with ethereal light.
Qurt stepped forward, her eyes shining with tears. She lowered her head and nuzzled the side of the large glowing Unicorn. My love, she said softly. The shimmering creature that had once been a Unicorn named Droo touched his horn to Qurt's forehead for a moment, his eyes closed.
The cavern was silent. As if sensing that their part in this war had finished, the gnomes vanished in unison. The Dark Shadow trembled.
And then Droo opened his eyes. He let out a roar, his voice proud and strong, and he raced across the cavern. The other ghostly Unicorns followed, their hooves thundering through the air, taking up his cry as they went. Elsie froze, panicked, but the Unicorns passed right through her as if she were the only ghost in the room. As they flickered through her, she felt a sudden rush of warmth that filled her entire body. She whirled around just in time to see Droo plunge straight into the Dark Shadow. The rest of the ghostly Unicorns followed, lowering their horns and plowing through the monster's body. The Dark Shadow screamed. Its body shuddered, and Elsie suddenly saw that it was unraveling, its black tendrils falling away and melting. And deep inside its dark center, a pure golden light was growing.
Now! Qurt cried. She lowered her head and a streaking lance of energy shot from her horn, blasting past Elsie and deep into the heart of the Dark Shadow. The other Unicorns followed suit, one beam of light after another. Elsie raised her arms and let the magic flow from her body, joining the other beams of energy. The light grew too strong to bear. It was impossibly bright, like standing on the surface of the sun. She closed her eyes tightly and continued to pour every magical spell she had ever learned into the monster.
One by one, the spells died away. Elsie lowered her hands and opened her eyes. The light gradually faded out of the cavern, leaving only shards of broken ice twinkling dimly in the darkness.
The ghostly Unicorns had vanished.
And the Dark Shadow was gone, burned from the face of the world forever.
The gnomes took up the cheer first, racing into the room, surrounding Elsie and the Unicorns, dancing and laughing. Yap raced into Elsie's arms and began showering her with kisses and tales of his heroism. Soon the entire cavern was ringing with the sounds of celebration.
***
Only one creature did not take up the victory cheer. Qurt made her way through the ruined passages, up to the face of the mountain. The air was cold and still around her. She closed her eyes and raised her face to the sky above her. The tears froze on her cheeks in tiny golden beads of light.
Thank you, my love, she whispered. Then she turned and made her way back into the heart of the White Place.
Sally sat alone in the empty courtroom for several minutes after Jonah left, lost deep in thought. Part of her wanted to go dashing through the castle, screaming Aligore's name at the top of her lungs, but she knew this would be a waste of time. The castle was simply too huge. Even if she didn't get lost—and she would, of course—it would still take days to search every room in the castle. And time was a luxury they didn't have. Tom would be executed at sundown.
So it was time to do some detective work. The only problem was that Sally was a fairly lousy detective. She had read a few of those juvenile novels where the plucky young girl and her faithful beagle sidekick solved the mystery of the haunted lighthouse or the abandoned amusement park, but at the moment, she was having difficulty remembering if the plucky girl had done any actual detective work in the stories. As far as she could remember, Plucky Girl and Super Beagle had always seemed to heroically stumble across a comically inept villain who did stupid things like leaving his evil clown mask lying in plain sight on the kitchen table. In comparison, Sally was off to a dreadful start. She didn't even have a single clue yet.
Well, she would have to start somewhere. Who was the villain here? To find a villain, you need a suspect and a motive; she definitely remembered reading that somewhere. Well, that part was easy. Aurella and her sister seemed like pretty good suspects, since they were the most evil creatures in the castle. And a motive? She remembered Tom's words during the trial: Seems to me, if somebody wanted to find out who killed your father, the main suspect would be the person—or people—who has the most to gain from his death. Again, Aurella and Faunella stood to gain an entire kingdom from the death of their father.
Okay, that was enough to convince Sally. So either one or both of the sisters was the villain here. What was the next logical step in the deductive process? Why, figuring out how the murder had taken place, of course. Had they trained one of the feral dragons to kill their father, or had they done the dirty deed themselves?
Sudden inspiration struck her, and she hurried over to the corner of the room. Sure enough, the sisters had left their prime piece of evidence behind—Lord Coalbrick's ruined purple robe lay in a crumpled heap behind one of the chairs. She reached for the robe, wincing a little. If it was still wet with blood, she was ending this little detective session right now. Fortunately, the robe was dry to the touch. She picked it up and turned it over, examining the jagged slashes in the fabric. Whatever had been after the King had not been very subtle in its approach.
She suddenly paused. Where was the blood? The robe was a very dark purple, but looking at it up close, shouldn't there have been dark bloodstains? After all, nothing could tear a robe apart this badly without making a mess out of whatever lay beneath...
"Unless he was never wearing the robe," she said slowly. It all made perfect, awful sense. Upon learning of Aligore's escape, the sisters had killed the King somehow, then slashed his robe to pieces in order to frame the dragon. Aligore would be blamed and punished, while Aurella and her sister would inherit the throne.
Sally fumed. "Why, you rotten little no-good—"
"Excuse me?"
She whirled around to find Bebbens standing in the doorway. He looked at her sadly. "I heard the outcome of the trial. The verdict and the horrible choice Aurella gave you. I'm...um...I'm so very sorry. I'm sure you....err...both did your best."
"Never mind about that," she said quickly, hurrying over to him and thrusting the robe into his hands. "Take a look at this!"
He dropped the fabric with obvious distaste and stared down at it, rubbing his hands absently. "What do you think you're doing?" he asked. "Why, Lord Coalbrick was a kind, honorable—"
"Look at the robe, Bebbens. There's no blood."
He frowned. "No...blood?"
"Which means that the King wasn't wearing it when he was killed. Someone slashed it apart afterwards, trying to frame Aligore."
"You suspect Aurella and Faunella."
"Don't you?"
He sighed and mopped his forehead with the back of his pudgy hand. "Of course I do. They've...err...they've gone completely loony, after all. But how will you prove it?"
"We need to find Aligore, and we need to do it before sunset. I'm supposed to meet Jonah back at his room at five o'clock. That gives us a few hours to search."
Bebbens nodded quickly. "Right. I know a few abandoned floors near the top level of the castle where Aligore might be hiding. I'll...err...check there first."
Sally paused for a moment, then reached out and patted Bebbens on the shoulder. "Thanks for your help," she said softly. "We were pretty mean to you when we first arrived, but you've been a real friend to us."
Bebbens blushed and looked away, stammering slightly under his breath. When he finally regained his composure, he glanced at Sally. "And...um...where are you going?"
"Faunella was spying on us yesterday, before Jonah and I ran into you near the library. I think she's hiding something. And I'm gonna find out what it is."
***
Jonah had been moderately worried that he would be unable to find the library again. After all, the castle sprawled out in every conceivable angle and direction, either due to poor planning or simply out of some sort of cosmic spite for the concepts of neatness and order. As he made his way down one flight of stairs after the next, he soon became convinced that he had gotten lost after all. He must have zigged instead of zagging back at the last half-intersection near the suits of armor that were identical to every other suit of armor in the entire stinking castle. A simple mistake, really. Anyone could have made it.
Then he found himself standing in a strangely familiar hallway, full of vaguely familiar suits of armor and somewhat familiar cobwebs in the rafters. He pushed open a door—also rather familiar looking—and his heart soared. Flickering candles illuminated rows of towering bookshelves which slumped beneath the weight of dusty and probably very boring books, maps and manuscripts. He had found the library.
Gobblecuspuddington was the last thing Abraham Roon had said to Jonah. And according to Lord Coalbrick, a Dwarf named Gobblecus Puddington was the castle's librarian. It had to be more than a simple coincidence. Jonah had a distinct feeling that there was a connection here, perhaps some sort of clue that would help them prove Tom's innocence. He knew that if his hunch was wrong, the friendly little Dwarf would be the one who suffered the consequences.
"Err...hullo?" he cried. "Mr. Puddington? Is anybody here?" His voice echoed throughout the library, faint and muffled. How large was this room? No walls were visible, only rows upon rows of bookshelves stretching away into darkness on all sides. He took a step forward, letting the ponderous door swing shut behind him. The room was surprisingly cold. And were libraries supposed to be this dark? Wasn't the whole point of a library to read things? "Stupid Dwarves," he muttered darkly.
Then again, he couldn't imagine most visitors being interested in reading any of these books. He grabbed a heavy volume at random (Migratory Patterns of the Southern Dell Kneegnaw Baajer, by a scholar with the dubious name of Lord Thud Mulwhumpy III, esq.) and thumbed through a few pages. Nope, he didn't understand any of it. No pictures, either. He put it back on the shelf.
"Fascinating volume," a timid voice said from behind him. Jonah whirled around, raising his fists automatically. There was a very thin and pale Dwarf hovering in the shadows. A large white cloak was wrapped around his skinny frame, and a gigantic pair of spectacles balanced on the tip of his nose. The Dwarf let out a cry and shrank away from Jonah. "Don't hurt me!" he said quickly. "Take anything you want!"
"I'm not here to hurt you," Jonah said. He lowered his hands, feeling rather foolish. "I'm looking for someone named Gobblecus Puddington. Is that you?"
The Dwarf blinked owlishly. "You're that human child," he said at last. "The one they say has strange powers. Friend of the dragon that murdered my King." He blinked again and took another step back.
"My name is Jonah. And yeah, strange powers pretty much sums it up. The only part you got wrong is that my friend didn't kill anybody. I know Aligore. He's as harmless as I am."
"Oh," the Dwarf said. He didn't seem reassured by this news.
"So are you Gobblecus Puddington or not?" Jonah asked.
The Dwarf hesitated for a moment, then nodded quickly. "Why? Am I in trouble? Oh, I hate being in trouble! Why, just the other day, Mistress Faunella was down here, ranting and raving. And for what reason? What did I do to deserve such abuse? All I want is to sit in a nice, quiet room and read my books. Is that so wrong?"
"Um...I suppose not."
"Well, at least somebody agrees with me!" Puddington took a tentative step forward into the light. His walk was quick and bird-like, and his head bobbed forward whenever he spoke. Bob. Bob. Bob. It was really quite obnoxious. "So if you're not here to punish me, what do you want?"
"Information," Jonah said.
"Hrrm. You're surrounded by books, child. If you're looking for information, there's no better place. It's really quite easy. This section is natural history—alphabetical by author. Fifty rows down is ancient literature—again, it's all alphabetical. If you're looking for biology or auraology, it's another thirty rows to the right. Again, alphabetical. Strategistics and philosophy are—"
"I don't need a book," Jonah interrupted.
Puddington scrunched up his face, a gesture that made his spectacles slip down to the very tip of his long nose. "Then why, pray tell, are you in a library?" he finally asked.
"Have you ever heard of the Rune of Roon?"
The Dwarf's entire demeanor changed instantly. He spun around and hurried down the aisle, his footsteps echoing in the gloom. "Can't help you," he snapped over his shoulder. "We don't traffic in mythology here. Only cold, hard facts. Those are the only books worth reading. Sorry you wasted your time coming down here. No point in looking for the fantastic in a library, after all. I must hurry along now. Good bye."
Jonah ran after him. "Please, listen to me! My friends are in terrible danger, and I don't know what to do. I...I've got a power inside me, and it's somehow connected to the Rune of Roon. That power might be my only chance to save my friends. I need to know how to use it, and I need to know before sunset."
Puddington stopped short. He slowly turned to face Jonah. A nervous tic in the corner of his left eye danced back and forth. "Is this some sort of joke?" he hissed. "There is no Rune of Roon. It's a myth. A hoax. A legend."
"I turned a steel door into a pretzel last night just by touching it. If the Rune is just a myth, it's a pretty convincing one."
Puddington removed his spectacles and dabbed at his forehead with a dirty old handkerchief. "What a mess," he murmured. "This won't end well, mark my words. Nothing ever does." He replaced his spectacles and squinted at Jonah. "And why me? What does any of this have to do with me?"
"The man who created the Rune spoke to me in a...well, I guess you could call it a dream. He gave me your name. So I figured that you must have some connection to this power, or some idea of what's going on here."
"Of course not," Puddington snapped. "I'm just a librarian, not an alchemist or a conjurer. I don't meddle in the mystical unless the mystical meddles with me." He stared up at the ceiling, chewing on his lower lip. Jonah waited patiently. "When you use your power," Puddington said eventually, "what does it feel like?"
"Huh?"
"Your power. When does it manifest? What are you saying or doing at the time?"
"Um...I don't really say or do anything. It seems to show up whenever I'm really mad or scared, but I don't think I'm controlling it..."
"No, and that's probably the problem. You say the power is destructive? And that's how you bent the steel door?"
"Right. It...um...it seems to like blowing things up."
"Naturally. All unfocused spells are that way."
Jonah frowned. "Unfocused...spells? You mean I'm casting spells when I use my power?"
"No. And like I said, that's the problem. Your power is no doubt connected to the Rune—if it does indeed exist, which I still doubt—but without the proper spell word, the power comes out of your body unfocused and out of control. It has no purpose, no meaning. All it can do is wreck and destroy. It's waiting for a command that will never come." Puddington exhaled slowly, tapping a long finger against the tip of his nose as he spoke. "Yes, it makes sense. Not a lot of sense, mind you, but a little..."
"So I need a...what? A spell word?"
"It would certainly appear so."
"Well, that's easy! Elsie showed me lots of her spells!" Terribly excited, Jonah turned and pointed at a nearby table. Time to die, table, he thought.
"Sol Selar!"
Nothing happened.
Puddington stared at him. "Are you quite finished?"
"Um...yeah. Sorry."
Puddington grabbed his white cloak and gave it a few nervous tugs. "Magic spells aren't like a cloak, boy. You can wrap any old rag around your body and it will serve the same basic purpose. For example, this cloak would offer protection from the wind and the rain no matter who was wearing it at the time. Spells, on the other hand, are more like a pair of spectacles." He waved his spectacles in front of Jonah's face for a moment, then slipped them back onto his crooked nose. "Every person needs slightly different spectacles, the same way everybody needs slightly different spell words. The more unique your power, the more unique your spell word will be. And I'd wager that your power is very, very unique indeed."
Jonah's heart sank. "So how will I find my spell word?"
"You probably won't. Words that are never used eventually die, just as flowers that are never watered will wither away and vanish. I would suspect that your word has died a long time ago."
"So it's hopeless..." Jonah said bitterly. It had been a wild goose chase after all. And now he had already wasted so much time... Tom was probably doomed, and it was all Jonah's fault.
The Dwarf watched him for a long moment, clearly torn between his conscience and his curiosity. "Well, it's not completely hopeless," he finally said. "There are places that dead words go, and there are ways to follow them. But what I'm about to show you could get me in quite a bit of trouble; do you realize that? Mistress Aurella would no doubt have my head if she knew that I was helping you."
"I understand," Jonah said quickly. "And thank you."
Puddington exhaled again, his face screwed up with emotion. "Very well," he said at last. "Follow me."
***
Bebbens followed the trail of slime up two flights of stairs. The slime—a thick, mucus-like substance that smelled positively dreadful—was dribbling down the steps in a slow and steady ooze. It was dragon slime, of course. He had never seen dragon slime before, had never even known that dragons were slimy, but this didn't shake his conviction. Evil dragon slime. There was no other explanation.
His heart was pounding in his chest so loudly that he was sure the dragon would hear it and come tearing down the stairwell, roaring and spitting fire all over the place. He was pretty sure that dragons did this quite often. He had volunteered to help Sally find the dragon, certainly, but he hadn't expected to actually succeed. Bebbens was a firm believer that life was rather like a staged play (in his case, a tragedy), and he was positive that his role was nothing more than a supporting character. He certainly didn't warrant the spotlight. Someone, somewhere, had made a very dreadful mistake. Fat little Dwarves weren't supposed to face down murderous dragons in the deserted wing of a gigantic castle. It simply wasn't done that way. Bebbens wasn't the type of character who was supposed to get involved in dangerous battles. He was more like the custodian who showed up after the play was over to sweep the mess off the stage.
There was a rumble from the darkness ahead of him. Bebbens froze, torn between his promise and a frantic, screaming sense of self-preservation. Perhaps he should just head back to his room and curl up by the fire with a nice, non-threatening book? Or perhaps he should simply follow his heart by wetting his pants and running through the castle, shrieking and blubbering?
But of course, he couldn't do that. Aurella and Faunella were preparing to execute an innocent Dwarf. And according to Sally, they had already killed their father, who had been a very nice man that Bebbens had greatly admired. If the madness wasn't stopped tonight, it would never be stopped. Desperate times called for heroes. And since none could be found at the moment, Bebbens would have to fumble through the role himself. So he continued walking, even though his teeth were chattering from fright hard enough to make his spectacles jiggle uncontrollably.
He reached the landing. The entire corridor was pitch black, but he could hear a labored breathing from somewhere in the darkness. Puddles of dragon slime ran past his feet.
"Hullo?" he ventured. "Mr. Dragon? Err...my name is Bebbens, and I taste terrible. Um...I would truly, honestly appreciate it if...um...if you could find it in your heart not to eat me. I taste terrible," he repeated desperately, because this seemed like a point that could not be stressed enough.
There was a long pause, long enough for Bebbens to vividly imagine seven different scenarios that all ended with him being devoured in a spray of blood. Finally, a low voice came from the shadows. "I'M NOT GOING TO EAT ANYBODY."
"Oh." This was certainly good news. "Well, err...thank you. I appreciate that."
"ARE YOU GOING TO KILL ME?" the dragon asked.
"Well...no. I'm not going to kill you. Might want to stay away from a few of the other Dwarves in this castle, though. Can't vouch for them."
There was a sound of claws scratching against stone, then a heavy thud. It sounded as if the dragon had collapsed. "I'M WEAK," the dragon panted. His voice sounded dazed. "MY WINGBUDS...THEY BURST. IT HURT."
"Ah," Bebbens said, nodding a bit. "I take it that...err...that's where all this...um...stuff came from?" He eyed the slime on the floor with obvious distaste.
"MY WINGBUDS...THEY MADE A MESS. I'M SORRY. I'LL CLEAN IT UP..." The dragon grunted, then there was another dull thud as it collapsed again. "IN A MINUTE. I'LL CLEAN IT UP IN A MINUTE..."
Bebbens had no idea what to say next. He had expected this meeting to be quite a bit more terrifying. He grasped desperately for straws. "Well...err...um....I suppose that I....um...have some bad news. About your friends, I mean."
"MY FRIENDS." The dragon exhaled loudly. Bebbens wasn't sure if his voice was angry or sad. "WHAT ABOUT THEM?"
"Well...oh dear, this really is dreadful...it seems you've been accused of killing the King of this castle. But...um...since you couldn't be found, they...err...they prosecuted Tom instead."
"I SEE."
"He's set to be executed at sundown."
The dragon was silent.
"Um...out of curiosity, Mr. Dragon, did you eat the King?"
"I..." The dragon broke off, and lay in the darkness panting. When he spoke again, his voice was very low. "I'M NOT SURE. I DON'T THINK SO. BUT I DON'T REMEMBER MUCH OF THE MOULT."
"Right. Of course. Naturally." Bebbens decided this was a perfectly good time to change the subject. "I feel I should inform you, by the way, that Mistress Aurella has agreed to...err...to trade your life for Tom's. Not to make you feel guilty, of course. I would never dream of making a creature with so many...err...so many teeth feel guilty. I just thought you should know."
"AURELLA..." the dragon said. He paused, as if searching for the right word. "TAKE ME TO HER."
Bebbens quailed. Once again, he had made a mistake. Taking the dragon to meet the sisters was the absolute last thing he wanted to do. "Um...are you quite sure? Please don't be offended, but...well, you don't sound like you're in any condition to travel at the moment. Sir." He mopped at his forehead and held his breath.
There was another bout of labored breathing, and again claws clicked against the slippery castle floor. The dragon gradually materialized out of the darkness.
And Bebbens gasped.
***
Puddington led Jonah through the library. If the castle itself was a confusing mess, the library was its habitually drunk and surly younger brother. The bookshelves ran at strange angles, crossing and intersecting seemingly at random. After the nineteenth right turn and the fourteenth or fifteenth left turn, Jonah became completely lost. Puddington moved through the darkness quickly and quietly, and Jonah had to jog to keep up with the Dwarf's bobbing candle. He began to feel a sense of claustrophobic panic as the shelves surrounding him became progressively taller, while the aisles between them constantly grew more narrow and crooked.
At last they came to a halt in front of a heavy iron door covered with imposing padlocks. "Here we are," Puddington murmured. "The forbidden books room."
"Why all the security?" Jonah asked, eyeing the locks nervously. "Just for a bunch of books?"
Puddington huffed and rolled his eyes, a very obvious I think you are stupid, but I'm too polite to mention it at the moment gesture. He withdrew a set of keys from his pocket and set to work opening the door. "Once inside, touch nothing. Even if the books ask you to open them, do not listen to them. Especially if they ask, come to think of it. There are books in here that will chew you up and spit you out in a heartbeat."
"I'm sure," Jonah said, feeling rather cross after being forced to sprint through the entire library. "I'm sure all the magic talking books are very eager to give me a magic talking papercut."
Puddington fixed him with a withering glare, then he swung the door open. A blast of freezing air poured out of the room. Jonah gasped. His breath was suddenly visible in the sudden chill. "What do you have in there?"
"I told you—books." Puddington led him inside.
The room was smaller than he had expected. It was almost unbearably cold. Jonah shivered and rubbed his hands together, looking at his surroundings. There were four heavy iron bookshelves, sparkling with diamonds of frost. Rows of ancient books and manuscripts were piled on the shelves. They were the only objects in the room not covered with a thick layer of ice. Something whispered from behind him, a soft and seductive voice too low to understand. Jonah whirled around, but there was nobody there. Merely more books.
You should really pick me up, a voice suggested. It seemed to be coming from a tattered book that appeared to be bound in dusty, faded leather. I can show you things you've never dreamed.
Without thinking, Jonah moved forward and reached out his hand. Yes, picking up the book did sound like a good idea. Sensible, in fact. It was only a book, after all, and hadn't he been meaning to catch up on his reading lately?
Puddington stepped forward and slapped his hand. "No," he said firmly. "Reading the Necronomicon would not be a good idea. Bringing you inside was obviously a very bad idea. I suggest you wait in the hall while I find the book I'm looking for. And as for you—" He waggled his finger at the leather book angrily. "Shut up or I won't feed you for a week."
I wasn't going to hurt him, the Necronomicon whined. I was just going to play with him for a bit.
"Stupid evil book," Puddington mumbled. He shoved Jonah out into the hallway and went back to rummaging through the bookshelves. Jonah stood in the hall for several minutes, trying vainly to warm up a bit. He felt slow and a bit stupid, the way one feels when waking up from a particularly strange dream. He had the peculiar notion that one of the books had been talking to him, but this was naturally impossible.
"I need to get more sleep," he muttered.
Puddington finally emerged from the vault. He was clutching a faded green book to his chest. He stared at Jonah, shivering a bit. "Found it. Wretchedly cold in there, eh?"
He led Jonah over to a nearby table and set the book down. Jonah glanced at the title: The Dead Words Woods. There was no author listed. He glanced at the librarian skeptically. "So what happens now?"
"Now you read the book, of course."
"I don't have time to read an entire book!"
Puddington let out a humorless laugh. "Time won't be a problem, child. This is a trapper book. This library, in case you were not aware, has the world's largest collection of trapper books. We have two of them." He noted Jonah's puzzled expression and sighed wearily. "Surely you've heard of trapper books?"
Jonah shook his head. "I read a book about Davy Crockett once. Is that what you're talking about?
Puddington groaned. "Have you never started reading an especially good book and found yourself getting lost in its pages? Have you never experienced that wonderful moment when the lines between fantasy and reality begin to blur, when characters come alive and you become a part of their story? Your heart races, you laugh, you cry, and eventually you finish the book and go about with your normal, boring life. Correct?"
"I suppose so," Jonah said slowly.
Puddington patted the green book, his expression reverential. "There is magic in all good books. That's not a metaphor or an exaggeration. Every good book contains a small ounce of magic. They are links to different worlds, after all, and sometimes the window between worlds fades and you can stick your head through to see what is on the other side. That's not to say that the stories are real, of course. But sometimes a book with a little bit of magic can make the stories real, even if it is only for a few moments, and even if it only happens within the confines of your imagination. A trapper book, on the other hand, has...more magic. Quite a bit more magic, actually."
"What do you mean?" Jonah stared down a the trapper book with a mixture of fascination and dread.
Puddington smiled. "Start reading and you'll find out."
"Is it safe?"
"Nothing worth reading is ever completely safe, child. If you're asking whether you will survive the experience, I would give you very good odds. If I were a betting Dwarf, of course. Regardless of the danger, I will give you exactly fifteen minutes to find your spell word, and then I will end your session, whether you have finished or not. Any longer spent with a trapper book and we run the risk of never seeing you again." His eyes glinted orange in the reflected light of the single candle. "Do you understand me?"
"Not really," Jonah admitted. "But if this is the only way to save Tom, I'll take my chances." He took a deep breath and sat down in front of the book. Then he opened the dusty cover and started reading.
At first the words didn't make any sense. They seemed to be describing some sort of landscape—a forest, perhaps—but the language was dense and the words seemed to jump around at random. One moment the book was describing a tree, the next moment it was talking about a specific grain of soil. And the text was too small, like the minuscule print found in books that were obviously made by people who hate children. He had to bend down to even make out the next line. There was a faint buzzing noise, as if someone behind him was humming a tuneless melody, but then the direction of the noise shifted and it was coming from above him instead. He blinked, then glanced at the text again. It had somehow become even smaller. Completely uncalled for, in his opinion. He leaned in as close as possible, squinting at the tiny black ink squiggles, and his nose touched the tip of the paper.
Suddenly the chair was gone from beneath him and he felt himself tumbling forwards. He flailed out his arms for balance, but they struck nothing. Where had the table gone? Puddington's candle swirled and vanished. Everything went dark. The buzzing noise became a roar, sweeping past him, and Jonah realized that he was falling. He opened his mouth to cry out. Then something was rushing up through the darkness to meet him, something huge and hard, and he realized that it was the ground an instant before he hit.
***
The pages of the book fluttered for a moment, then its cover slowly swung shut. The wind died away and the library was silent and calm.
Puddington shook his head ruefully. "What a stupid child," he said.
And then he smiled.
***
Sally knew exactly where to find the room that Aurella and Faunella shared. While exploring the castle the day before, she had stumbled upon Aurella screaming at a helpless Dwarf chef who had delivered the wrong dinner. Apparently, Aurella's dinner was supposed to be served on pink plates instead of the black plates Faunella preferred to use, and apparently, mixing the plates was a very serious offense. The Dwarf chef had hurried past Sally after the scolding, badly shaken and on the verge of tears. Sally had casually noted the location of their room, since she had been debating whether or not to come back later to beat up Aurella. The Dwarf ruler was stout and built like a well-oiled bulldozer, but Sally was confident that she could take her in a fight. If she absolutely had to, of course.
She eventually found the right corridor, pausing beside the ornate golden door. She pressed her ear up against the door and listened intently. There were no sounds from inside the room. Sally was vaguely aware that she would be in a whole mess of trouble if they caught her alone in the castle—after all, the Dwarf sisters were terrified of Jonah, not his pathetically normal little friend. I suppose it can't be helped now, she thought grimly. Tom needs help.
Plus, she secretly relished the idea of getting into a fistfight with Aurella. It would be so...well, cool. Sally rarely got the chance to be a hero. Sure, she had saved one of the piglumps from a shark once, but Elsie had been the one who had actually killed the shark. And she had fought off some spectres with a flashlight, come to think of it. But that wasn't the same as doing something truly heroic, like Tom's rescue of Aligore in the dungeons, or the way Jonah had defeated the Red Knight. Beating up Aurella and saving her friends—now that would be heroic, she thought.
She pushed open the golden door—they really needed to invest in some locks for this castle, she decided—and slipped inside. The giant room was empty and still. It was also, she couldn't help noticing, incredibly ugly. Half of the room was solid black, while the other half was a bright, garish pink color. The problem was that the halves were not separated cleanly. Instead they bumped up against each other, mixing and blending into a nauseous swirl of color.
Here was a black doll with beady white eyes, a creepy little bugger of a toy, resting on a cheerfully ugly pink table. Here were graceful loops of pink ribbon decorating jagged, gloomy black curtains. Here was a monstrous black mirror, like something out of an evil fairy tale designed to frighten young children to sleep, but someone had used pink lipstick to draw a ludicrous smiley-face across its glassy mouth. Here was a gorgeous pink doll house, fifteen feet high, but the beautiful pink dolls inside were currently under attack from a horde of nasty-looking black toy monsters. There was clearly two opposing decorative forces at work in this room, and at the moment, the only clear loser appeared to be any visitor unlucky enough to see the chaos. Sally wrinkled her nose in disgust and headed inside.
The room was huge, easily twenty times larger than any bedroom Sally had ever seen. Two massive beds sat on either side of the room, glaring at each other—one pink, one decidedly unpink. There was a pink wardrobe and a black wardrobe, pink bookshelves filled with pink books, and black bookshelves that looked ripped straight from Dr. Frankenstein's laboratory. Shards of broken black dishes littered the floor, and Sally made her way through the rubble carefully, hating the Dwarf sisters more with every new discovery. Murder, cruelty and deceit were bad enough, but this utter disregard for the laws of style and fashion really made her blood boil. She privately resolved to punch both of the sisters. They had earned it.
Despite countless piles of playthings and decorations scattered about the room, Sally saw nothing that even remotely resembled a clue. She didn't know what she had been expecting to find, to be perfectly honest. Maybe a diary recounting how they had killed the King and framed Aligore for murder? Yes, a diary would have been nice, just the kind of thing a plucky young girl would find in a detective novel. Her hopes soared when she found a tattered book lying on one of the chairs, but it was just the rulebook Aurella had used in the courtroom. Sally briefly debated reading the book...maybe she could find some sort of legal loophole to free her friend? Then again, the rulebook seemed to be about seven hundred pages long, and it probably had that very small text that Sally hated so much. Cancel that plan, she thought. There had to be an easier way to save Tom's life.
She paused in the middle of the room, feeling very helpless and stupid. Where were all the clues? She thought back to her detective novels. Short of a diary or a confession, the best way to catch a criminal usually seemed to be finding the murder weapon. But where would the Dwarf sisters hide such a weapon? As she looked at the mess surrounding her, she felt her hopes fading. There were hundreds of places where a knife or some similar item of the stabbing variety could be hidden.
She suddenly heard voices from the corridor. Dwarven voices, and very definitely female. Her heart thudded up into the back of her throat, and she glanced around in a blind panic. She needed a hiding spot. The wardrobes? Underneath the bed? Behind the curtains?
The door handle turned.
Sally raced across the room and threw herself forward. She hit the smooth marble floor hard and slid forward, directly underneath Faunella's massive black bed. She tucked her body in tight and gave a quick roll, and then darkness surrounded her. She froze, her pulse racing. Had they heard her?
"Don't see why we have to wait for sundown." The petulant whine made it easy to identify Faunella as the speaker.
"That's the custom," Aurella said calmly.
Faunella scoffed loudly. Sally could practically hear the Dwarf roll her eyes. "Since when do you care about customs?"
"I don't, of course. But the other Dwarves do. We can't change things too fast, sister. You know that. These old rotters love their customs. They'll put up with any amount of abuse as long as they think everything is the way it's supposed to be."
"I guess you're right." Sally heard the squeal of wood as Faunella flung herself down in a chair of some sort.
There was a long pause. "That's my chair," Aurella finally said.
"So?"
"So you're sitting in it."
"So?"
"So move before I punch you in the face."
"I hate you."
"Better watch that tongue, sister dearest, or I'll take it out when you sleep."
"You wouldn't dare." Still, Sally heard the chair creak again as Faunella stood up quickly.
"Of course not," Aurella said, her voice oozing with mock sweetness.
They bickered like this for what seemed like several hours. At first Sally paid close attention, sure that one of them would drop a vital clue at any moment (at which point Sally planned to leap out from beneath the bed and shout, "A-ha!"). But the discussion quickly turned to how messy the room was, then how much they hated certain Dwarves in the castle, and finally they launched into a dreadfully boring discussion about which famous Dwarves were cute and which were hideously, unspeakably ugly. Most Dwarves looked the same to Sally. As far as she could tell, the only real difference was that some Dwarves had beards and some did not. Aurella and Faunella obviously didn't share this assessment, but they were also unable to agree on which Dwarves were especially good-looking, and therefore the conversation droned on for what seemed like an eternity. Nothing on this planet or any other is quite as baffling and incomprehensible to bystanders as a conversation between two teenage girls about cute boys. Sally's eyes soon glazed over.
A knock at the door startled Sally back to attention. She slipped forward and raised the hem of the bedsheet, peering out across the room. What she saw caused her jaw to drop open. Fifteen armed Dwarves marched into the room, each holding a heavy iron chain. The chains snaked back into two wicked metal harnesses securely attached to Aligore's muzzle and shoulders. Her friend looked terrible. His skin was patchy and faded, and there seemed to be a faint coating of some sort of slimy gel covering most of his body. His eyes were glazed and empty. Most incredible of all, however, were the two large wings on his back, glistening faintly in the dim light. He had grown wings? Sally stared in disbelief. Thick iron clips had been attached to each wing, pinning them to the dragon's sides.
Sally started forward, her instincts overriding her common sense, but in her haste she didn't notice that the footboard of the bed hung down several inches past the mattress. She smacked her head squarely against the wooden plank and fell back, dazed.
"You caught him, I see..." Aurella said to the guards. Her voice dripped with satisfaction.
Faunella stared at Aligore. "Huh. I was expecting something much scarier. More teeth, maybe."
The largest of the guards snapped to attention and threw the sisters an efficient salute, his chest swelling with pride. "Found them in the east stairwell, ma'am. They put up little resistance."
Aurella frowned. "Them? They?"
Bebbens scurried into the room, looking flustered and badly shaken. "They didn't catch us, your majesty! I found the dragon and he agreed to see you out of his own free will!"
"I'm sure he did," Aurella purred. "He must have relished the thought of killing off the rest of the royal line."
Bebbens gave his beard a nervous tug and shuffled his feet a bit. His face was quickly turning bright red. "Err...about that...um...the dragon claims he didn't kill anybody."
"He's lying."
"But...um...what if he's not? Regardless, I think we need to release Tom and hold a new trial for the dragon to...err...prove his guilt."
Aurella blinked in surprise. "Release Tom? Why would we want to do that?"
Sally, already halfway out from beneath the bed, suddenly froze. Maybe leaving her hiding spot wasn't the best idea after all. She crept back beneath the bed, watching the Dwarves intently.
Bebbens tugged on his beard again, stammering for words. "Well...err...you promised to...um...let Tom go if someone brought you the dragon. Didn't you?" he added meekly.
"I promised nothing of the sort. I promised to consider making a trade. Now that I have them both, I see no reason to reverse my judgment. This dragon will die for the crime of murder, and Tom will die for the crime of treason." She gave Bebbens a cold smile. "Now stay out of this, Bebbens. This matter no longer concerns you."
Aligore suddenly let out a muffled roar and lunged forward. The chains jerked taut and he was dragged backwards, his eyes blazing. The Dwarf guards descended upon him with raised clubs. Sally closed her eyes and turned away. When she looked back, Aligore lay on the floor, panting. Aurella crossed her arms and laughed.
"Quite a fighter, isn't he? This should make for a fun execution."
"They're all fun," her sister muttered, smiling down at Aligore.
Aurella gave the guards a dismissive wave and turned. "Take him away and prepare him for execution," she said over her shoulder. The guards began to tug on Aligore's chains, dragging him to his feet.
Bebbens suddenly stepped forward. "Begging your pardon, Your Highness, but...err...you can't do that."
Aurella's lip curled in what might have possibly been the least joyful smile in the history of smiles. Something in her eyes flashed darkly. "And why is that?" she asked, her voice somehow silky and sharp at the same time.
Bebbens took a deep breath, then he began to recite words: "All creatures in the kingdom suspected of committing any crime most foul shall be given a comprehensive trial to determine their level of guilt. No creature may be deprived of this right and no punishment shall be carried out without proper approval from the High Courts of the Dwarf Council. Failure to abide by these laws and regulations is grounds for punishment up to and including imprisonment for any offending party. The Dwarven Rulebook of Laws and Virtues, Section IX, Article Four." He paused, wiping his brow. "I memorized that section of the rulebook last night. So...err...I cannot allow you to execute this dragon without a trial."
Aurella stared at Bebbens with obvious disbelief. "You would challenge my decree?"
"I...um...yes, I would. And I'm afraid that if you insist on carrying out this horrible act of murder, I will be forced to...err...to create a petition to depose you and your sister from the throne! Um...sorry. I truly am. But I can't...oh dear...I can't sit back and watch you murder two innocent creatures. It's not right."
"I see," Aurella said at last. She turned to the guards. "Arrest Mr. Bebbens. He shall join the others on the execution block tonight."
The blood drained from the little Dwarf's face. "But...but you can't do that! This isn't right!"
The guards exchanged a nervous glance with one another. "Your Majesty?" one of them said. "Are you sure you want to do that?"
Aurella's voice suddenly rose into a banshee's wail of anger. "Arrest Mr. Bebbens or you will all share his fate!" she screamed.
One of the guards promptly stepped forward and placed a pair of manacles around Bebbens' wrists. Bebbens looked down at the chains. "This isn't right," he repeated sadly. Then the Dwarves dragged the prisoners through the doorway and the room was silent.
"Well, that was certainly interesting," Faunella said.
Aurella slumped down in the nearest chair and fanned her face theatrically. "Shut up," she mumbled.
Sally slowly lowered the bedsheet. She lay in the dusty darkness, her blood boiling. She fought back the urge to go running across the room to strangle the fat little Dwarf witches. Not only had she failed to save Tom, but now Aligore and Bebbens would die as well. It was dreadfully, hopelessly unfair. Worst of all, Sally had no idea how to save them. Logic and reason obviously wouldn't work, but Sally wasn't strong enough to use brute force. All her dreams of becoming a great detective and saving the day seemed petty and foolish now. Her friends were going to be executed, and it was all her fault. She felt like crying.
Eventually the Dwarf sisters left the room, arguing loudly over what type of formal gowns were most appropriate to wear to an execution. Sally waited a few more minutes, just to be safe, then she slid out from beneath the bed and hurried out into the hallway. There was no sign of the Dwarves anywhere, and for this she was thankful. She needed to find Jonah quickly and tell him what had transpired. They had planned to regroup in Jonah's room at five o'clock. She glanced at her watch. Ten minutes to spare. She would have to run to make it.
She reached Jonah's room just as the castle's clocks struck five, but he had not yet arrived. She sat down on his bed and began to wait. The seconds trickled by into minutes. The minutes crept by into an hour. Sally got up and began to pace nervously. The execution was scheduled for seven o'clock, which was less than an hour away.
Where was Jonah?
"Oh, great," Jonah said. "Evil woods."
It was easy to see that the woods were evil. For one thing, they were very dark and frightening. The trees were gnarled old beasts looming above him, blotting out the moonlight. The wind was a mournful howl of pain and misery. The grass was dead and brittle, crunching beneath his feet with each step like thousands of tiny bones. It was impossible to see more than twenty feet in any direction, but this wasn't a problem, since there wasn't very much to see in the first place except evil trees.
"Stupid book," he muttered angrily. Once again, his curiosity had gotten the best of him. He had read the evil book, it had swallowed him up somehow—he still wasn't completely sure how that had happened—and now he was trapped again. At least now I know why it was called a trapper book, he thought glumly. And he was supposed to learn his spell word here, in this desolate forest in the middle of nowhere? Fat chance of that. He had already been walking for what seemed like hours. Puddington had obviously either forgotten to rescue Jonah after the promised fifteen minutes, or else the blasted little traitor had left him here to rot. Based upon his recent luck, Jonah was betting on the latter.
"Hello?" he cried again. "Anybody there? Hey, Puddington! Get me out of here!"
The woods were silent around him.
Jonah leaned up against a tree to catch his breath. He needed to calm down. He needed to think rationally. He needed to punch Puddington in the mouth... No, never mind Puddington. He needed to forget about the treacherous librarian and focus on helping his friends.
fronkerak
"Huh?" Jonah looked around. He could have sworn there had been a voice a moment ago, a soft and miserable whisper in the darkness.
fronkerak
The word came again. It seemed to be coming from the tree he was leaning against, although naturally, this was impossible. Still, Jonah straightened up and took a few steps back. He stared at the tree critically. "Did you...did you just say something?" he finally asked, feeling very stupid for talking to a tree.
fronkerak
It might have been his imagination, but for just a moment, the lines and creases in the bark of the tree seemed to converge. They formed the rough outline of a face, its eyes shut tightly, its mouth drawn back in what might have been a scream. Then Jonah blinked and the face vanished, and it was merely a boring old evil tree again.
Jonah took another uncertain step back, then he froze. He had the distinct prickly sensation on the back of his neck that usually meant he was being watched. In the sudden silence, he heard a faint rustling rasp as something very large moved through the forest around him. Whatever it was, it was taking great pains to be quiet. Jonah spun around, his eyes darting back and forth frantically. The clearing was empty.
"I know you're there," he said. "Why don't you show yourself?"
There was a hiss of breath from the darkness ahead of him. When the voice spoke, it was a hoarse croak, thunderous and deep. It sounded like a voice that had not been used in a very long time. "You are in my woods."
Jonah swallowed hard. "I suppose so."
The voice was silent for a long moment, and Jonah began to wonder if the creature had vanished away into the night. Finally it spoke again. "Men come to the Dead Words Woods seeking glory or death. We ran out of glory many centuries ago." The voice gave a nasty chuckle, and several branches snapped like dry gunshots in the underbrush as it moved closer. "So...child....which are you seeking?"
"Neither, really. I'm looking for information," Jonah tried to sound confident and brave. There were no real alternatives. If the creature decided to eat him, it probably would. His best chance for survival was simply to stay on his toes and hope for the best.
The creature said nothing, waiting.
"I need to find a certain spell word," Jonah continued. "A Dwarf named Gobblecus Puddington told me that it had probably died."
"It may be so," the voice rasped. "All my words return to me once they have faltered and fallen away. This is where they come to die."
Jonah glanced at the woods around him. "And wherever they die, a tree grows in its place," he guessed.
"That is correct." The voice sounded surprised.
Jonah nodded. "So how can I find out which tree used to be my spell word?"
The voice chuckled again. "Are you a fool? I am the Keeper. I decide whether or not you are worthy to disturb the slumber of my children. And I can tell with a glance that you are unworthy." It spat this last word out with obvious relish.
"How does one become worthy?"
The Keeper took another step closer. A dark hunger crept into its voice. "First is the Test of Fire," it crooned. "Survive the infernal gauntlet and you pass on to the Test of Mind. Answer all ten questions correctly and you shall face me in the Test of the Keeper. Complete all three tests and you shall have your dead word, although you would be the first to do so." It laughed—a rattling, hacking wheeze of a laugh. "Shall we begin?"
"No."
The creature hesitated. "No?" it repeated at last.
"No." Jonah stepped forward. There was no time for this creature's twisted challenges. He needed to find his spell word and get out of this lousy book. Every moment he wasted talking was one less moment spent trying to save Tom's life. Besides, he would probably never pass the Keeper's tests anyway. His only hope lay in a desperate bluff. "I won't play your stupid little games. You're not worthy of my time." Jonah raised his arm threateningly, his fingers outstretched. "Show yourself," he commanded.
There was a low growl, then the sound of movement as the Keeper stood up. Jonah craned his head back as he watched its progress. His stomach suddenly dropped away and he felt vaguely queasy. The Keeper's head appeared high above the trees, a silhouette against the moon. Its face was bathed in shadows, but Jonah could make out a birdlike skull, with two glowing yellow eyes atop a massive, hooked beak. The Keeper's thick neck trailed into an enormous body covered with a dense coat of fur. The giant beast stared down at him. "Who do you think you are?" it whispered.
Whatever you do, don't let him know you're frightened, Jonah thought. It's your only chance.
Jonah took a casual step forward, jamming his hands into his pockets. "Who do you think I am, you great fool?" he said coldly. "I am the destroyer of worlds. I am the thing that cannot be stopped. I am power you can't comprehend and danger you can't begin to imagine. I've devoured more worlds than I can count, and I've done it without breaking a sweat. And I don't like to be kept waiting."
The Keeper hesitated. Was it actually buying this nonsense? "What...is your name?" it finally asked.
"You have your secrets and I have mine." Jonah smiled up at the creature. "So let me tell you how this is going to work. You will face the Test of Truth. I'll ask you one question, and you'll give me the correct answer. If you obey my command, I will spare this little world you've created here. Fail me and suffer my wrath." Jonah waited, his heart pounding.
The Keeper stared down at him silently. Its massive head slowly cocked to one side, and it blinked. "What is your question, my lord?" it said softly.
You've got to be kidding me, Jonah thought. It actually believed me? He fought back the smile that was threatening to surface and he gave the Keeper a serene nod. "That's better. Now...what is the spell word that will unlock my powers?"
The Keeper stared at him for a long moment, muttering softly. Its yellow eyes flashed with a sudden light. Then it shook its head and the light in its eyes died away. "Your spell word is not dead," it said simply.
Jonah frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Your spell word is not dead, for it is yet to be born. It is deep within your body, but you have not yet given it a name. It is waiting for birth."
Jonah tried to hide his confusion. "I see. And how can it be born?"
The Keeper stretched out its long, clawed hands, holding them a few feet apart. "Concentrate on the word, my lord. Give it life. Give it form. I shall do the rest."
"Any word?"
The Keeper nodded. "Please concentrate."
Jonah sighed. Now he was supposed to invent some magic word? How in the world could he do that? And what type of word should he invent? All the good ones were already taken. Maxurd? Xernack? Gamex? All those words were stupid, and for some reason, they were all X-words. He wasn't sure why. Perhaps the letter X merely sounded magical.
The Keeper brought his hands swinging together.
Man, Jonah thought, this sure is—
The Keeper clapped his hands.
—dumb.
"The word is chosen," the Keeper said gravely. "I hope you are pleased, my lord."
"Huh? What?"
The Keeper frowned. "Dumb."
"Who are you calling dumb?"
"The word you chose was dumb."
"I'd like to see you think of a better—" Jonah suddenly broke off as the realization hit him. Dumb. "Oh," he said weakly. "Right. Dumb. My spell word. Part of my plan all along."
"Of course," the Keeper said slowly, "this is highly irregular. Words are not often born twice."
"Um...sorry about that," Jonah said, lost in thought. So what was he supposed to do now? What would happen when he used the word and his power at the same time? How was he supposed to control it? He wished this lousy power had came with an instruction manual. That would have certainly simplified things.
"Will you be leaving now, my lord?"
"Yeah, hold on. I need to figure out how to save my friend. He's going to be executed and—" Jonah broke off suddenly, painfully aware that he was no longer speaking like an omnipotent devourer of worlds. He had blown it.
The Keeper looked at him sharply. "You are lying," it hissed. "You have been lying this entire time."
"Um...how dare you question my authority?" It was worth a shot.
The giant creature took a step forward, its eyes blazing. "You have no power! You have destroyed no worlds! You tricked me..." It brought one massive hand slashing down toward Jonah.
Reacting on blind instinct, he ducked beneath the sweeping claws and ran. The Keeper roared and came after him, its feet splintering any tree unlucky enough to exist underfoot. "Deceiver!" it howled.
This had better work, Jonah thought. Without slowing down, he stretched his arm out in front on him and concentrated as hard as he could. A shadow fell over him as the Keeper lunged for its prize.
"Dumb!" Jonah yelled.
There was a loud popping noise and suddenly a patch of air directly in front of him rippled and tore. Cracking blue light spilled from the jagged gash, throwing the woods around him into sharp relief. Had he torn through the pages of the trapper book, or through something else entirely? There was no time to ponder the question. He plunged into the portal.
And then there were two.
The Keeper's roar abruptly cut off and silence settled around him. Jonah looked around. He was floating in blue. That is not to suggest that everything he saw was blue, because there was nothing to see. As far as he could tell, Jonah was floating in the middle of absolute nothingness, only in this case, the nothingness happened to be blue. Was this outer space? No, he could still breathe. Was he dead? He touched his face and ran his fingers through his hair. If he was a ghost, he was an admirably solid one. Nevertheless, he felt strange...as if he had somehow grown and shrunk at the same time.
"Hello?" he called. "Um...is anybody there?"
The blue did not answer.
He floated there for several minutes, kicking his legs through the ether and quite enjoying the sensation of weightlessness. It was rather relaxing. Using the power had once again sapped his energy, and he felt like curling up and taking a nice, long nap.
That was out of the question, of course. Tom needed saving. Jonah glanced at his watch, but the hands had stopped moving. Maybe time did not exist in this blue place, he thought excitedly. That would certainly be cool. Or maybe time did exist, but it was moving so rapidly that his watch had already died. Maybe thousands of years had already passed in the real world while he played around in this strange blue space. That thought was far less cool.
He decided to try an experiment. He had found Elsie once before in the dream world, found her signature and pulled her into his dream. Maybe this blue world ran on similar principles? It was worth a shot. Elsie would know how to save Tom. After all, she was a Princess with magical abilities. Saving people was practically her job.
Jonah did one last lazy cartwheel through space, then he began to concentrate.
***
"Ooh, I like this one," Aurella said, running her finger along the blade of a large ceremonial axe. She suddenly cried out and jerked her finger away. "It cut me!"
"Yes, ma'am," Gug said. "That's what axes do. Best to be careful around 'em." The Captain of the Guard had not been particularly happy to be picked as the night's head executioner. Chopping off heads was a decidedly unpleasant experience. He would probably need to wash his boots tomorrow morning, and Gug didn't like washing things. He glanced around the armory sullenly. Thousands of swords, knifes, and other pointy objects stared back at him.
Aurella sucked on her finger for a moment, glaring at the axe. "I don't want to use that one," she announced. "It's too sharp. I don't like it."
Gug frowned. "Ain't axes supposed to be sharp, ma'am? Ain't that the point?"
"This is an execution, Gug, not a delicate bit of surgery. I don't care if it takes two whacks or twenty to get the head off, so long as it comes off in the end. Come to think of it, maybe it would be better to have a rather dull axe." She stared at the rack of weapons critically, still nursing her wounded finger. "Don't want this to be over too quickly, after all."
"Of course not, ma'am. Might I suggest this one?"
She turned and glanced at the axe he was holding—a boring looking metal thing—and dismissed it with a wave. "Too plain. Don't you have any axes with some color on them?"
"Color, ma'am?"
"Yes. You know, like...pink, maybe?"
Gug shook his head very slowly. There was a faint squeaking noise, like the sound laughter makes when it is trying to escape. She stared at him closely, and he took an uncomfortable step back. "We ain't got no pink axes, ma'am. Why, other armies would laugh at us."
He had given her the opening, and she pounced on it. "What's wrong with pink?" she demanded.
Gug stared at her. He started at the bottom, with her pink shoes. Then he made his way up past the pink dress, past the pink blouse, past the pink make-up and earrings, and finally he reached the splendid pink ribbon nestled in her mess of dirty brown hair. "Nothing, ma'am," he said at last. "I think pink is a very nice color. Just the other day, the boys and I were talking about maybe ordering us some pink uniforms or something."
Aurella took a deep breath, then nodded. "Yes, that's probably a good idea. Pink is the color of nobility, after all."
"Of course it is, ma'am."
She gave the armory one last glance, rolling her eyes. "All these weapons are completely inappropriate. Take one of these axes and paint it pink."
"Ma'am?"
"Find some pink paint, Gug. I want a pink axe."
Gug bit his lower lip and nodded solemnly. He selected a large battle axe with a wicked curved blade, then marched out of the room, humming cheerfully. He shut the door behind him. Aurella lingered behind, staring at the various swords and axes, wondering what it would feel like to cut off a person's head. Maybe she would try it sometime. She turned in a slow circle, admiring the weapons. They were very shiny.
A moment later the door to the armory banged open again. Gobblecus Puddington slunk into the room, his white cloak drawn tightly around his skinny frame. He blinked twice and gave Aurella a nervous smile.
"What do you want, Gobblecus?"
"Present for you, my lady," he whispered softly. He drew a green book from beneath his cloak and slipped it into her hands. He let out a tiny giggle. Aurella sighed and began to open the cover. Instantly Puddington's hand slapped down across the book. "Careful, my lady. This isn't the type of book you want to open. Ever." He gave her a meaningful look.
She stared at the book for a moment, while comprehension kicked and struggled to force its way into her head. Finally it dawned on her. "This is one of those trapper books?"
Puddington giggled again and nodded. "I don't think you will need to worry about that human child any longer. The one who called himself...Jonah?" He tapped the book with one long finger and winked.
A smile leaked across Aurella's wide face. "Puddington, remind me to give you a raise one of these days."
"You don't pay me, ma'am."
"Well, remind me to start." She suddenly hesitated, a new idea rattling around in her head. "We should try to catch that last human before the execution. The mouthy little girl. Might as well get rid of all of them at the same time."
Puddington grinned. "Excellent idea, my lady."
***
Paldawar was fuming. The instant they had reached Fleet's airship, Dain had begun barking orders left and right. Take the captain hostage, Jimjim. Tie him up below the deck, Jimjim. Keep an eye on him, Jimjim. Something had gone terribly wrong. Paldawar was the brains of this outfit, not Dain. It had been Paldawar's idea to find Fleet, to steal his airship, to use it to lure the boy into their clutches. And yet somehow he was being treated like a servant. Like a henchman.
Even now he could hear Dain—tromping around on the deck above him in those ridiculous heavy boots, yelling out orders and occasionally taunting the ship's figurehead. Paldawar should have killed him when he had the chance. He should have slid a blade between his ribs and left him for the carrion birds. And now everything was going wrong.
He forced himself to take a deep breath. Patience. He would find the boy, and with the boy would come the Rune of Roon. And once the Roon was in his possession, Dain would learn the meaning of the word master. Paldawar chuckled.
"What's so funny?" Fleet mumbled. The man watched him through eyes that were quickly swelling shut beneath ugly purple bruises. Dain had been unable to resist beating on the man a little, despite his earlier promise.
"None of your business."
Fleet grunted. "How bout yeh untie me from this chair, lad? I'll show yeh something really funny."
"I very sincerely doubt that." He picked up a bottle half-filled with some strange brown liquid and gave the cork a sniff. Alcohol. It smelled foul and cheap. He tossed the bottle aside and it shattered in the corner.
"Yeh're not gonna win," Fleet muttered.
"What was that?" A mistake. Paldawar cursed silently. He had said that instead of dat. As he grew more comfortable in the body, it was getting harder to remember that he was supposed to be Jimjim.
Fleet looked up. "Yeh don't know what these kids can do. I've seen the Princess shoot fireballs out of her hands. I've seen the boy take down an entire airship by himself. They're so much stronger than yeh could ever believe. And they'll beat yeh. They'll beat yeh like an ugly mule." He spat on the floor and stared at Paldawar defiantly.
Paldawar felt the rage rising in his chest. He wanted to hurt the man, wanted to hurt him badly. But of course, that would be undignified. A soldier never resorts to such brutality, and if nothing else, Paldawar was a soldier. Jimjim, on the other hand...
Jimjim, come here a moment, he thought.
Seconds later, he felt the familiar tickle in the back of his mind. Yeah, meester ghost? What you want?
I want you to rough this man up. Slap him around a little.
There was a moment of silence. No, Jimjim said at last. Can't do dat. Sorry.
And why not? Paldawar asked furiously.
I...I don' wanna. Don' wanna hurt him. You hurt him.
Jimjim, I'm warning you...
No, Jimjim repeated. Then he was silent.
Paldawar felt himself slowly losing control. The plan was going all wrong, the hostage was driving him crazy, and now both Dain and Jimjim were refusing to obey him. He unconsciously began grinding his teeth together. Somebody was going to pay. Once he had the Rune, they would all pay.
"Jimjim!" Dain stood at the top of the ladder, peering down into the darkness. "Everything okay down there? I heard something break."
Paldawar forced himself to speak in a casual tone. "Evvything's fine. De captain don' know when to shut up, though."
"Never mind about him. We're at Aabundiai. We're circling the castle now."
Circling the castle? The plan had been to stay out of sight until they confirmed the boy's location! Paldawar cursed again. That fool Dain was going to ruin everything. "I thought we was gonna set de ship down and—"
"No time for that," Dain interrupted. "We're going to do this my way." He turned and strode out of sight.
Paldawar snarled and kicked out at a nearby crate. It hurt his toe, and this made him even angrier. He glanced at the prisoner, preparing to take out his anger on the only available punching bag, and he suddenly froze. Fleet had turned halfway around in his chair and was...what was he doing? Was he whispering to someone?
"Who are you talking to?" Paldawar snapped, striding across the room.
Fleet spun back around, his expression guilty. "Nobody," he said quickly.
Paldawar slapped him. Hard. Fleet cried out and looked away. "Who were you talking to?" Paldawar repeated, his voice raising to a shout.
"Nobody," Fleet repeated stubbornly.
Paldawar pushed past him and hurried to the other side of the room. Crates and blankets were piled in the corner, half-hidden in shadows. He tore through them. Were there stowaways on this ship? If so, they were going to learn a very hard lesson about the dangers of gravity. He would kill them, then he would throw them over the side of the ship. No, he would throw them over the side first. Let the ground do all the nasty work.
Something scuttled in the darkness, something small and fast. Paldawar whirled around, but it was already gone. He frantically kicked over a nearby crate. He ripped a blanket from the floor. There was nothing.
He turned back to Fleet. There was a soft light shining in his eyes, furious and cold. "I think you had better start talking," he growled.
***
In the end, there were fewer casualties than Elsie had expected. They had lost a total of four gnomes and possibly all three Less Deads. They had definitely lost two of them, at any rate, swallowed up and burnt away by the Dark Shadow. The third Less Dead was harder to classify. The tall dead man lay in a slumped heap against one of the walls, cold and unmoving.
"Does he have a pulse?" Elsie asked.
Vork frowned. Did he have one before?
"Good point. He's definitely not breathing."
I don't think Less Deads need to breathe.
She sighed and knelt beside the motionless creature. "Well, how can we tell if he's dead? Less dead, I mean?" She clapped her hands in front of the Less Dead's face. "Hey! Are you alive?"
I don't think he was ever—
"Yes, I know that, Vork. It was a figure of speech."
Yap came scampering over. He stared at the prone creature for a moment, then hopped in the Less Dead's lap. He peered up into the bloodless face intently. "Hmm..."
"Yap, this is important. Go play somewhere."
"Yap is a mighty doctor! Fixes all manners of ailments! Yap, yap!" Yap rubbed his chin thoughtfully, then he kicked the Less Dead in the stomach as hard as he could. "Wake up, stupid! The mighty Yap demands it!"
The tall dead man's eyelids fluttered.
"Hooray!" Yap cried. "Yap saved the horrible, flesh-eating monster!" He pumped his fists in the air triumphantly, then dashed off for a victory lap around the cavern.
The Less Dead stretched and stood up. He rubbed his neck, wincing. "Oh dear. I seem to have severed my spinal column again. What a dreadful inconvenience."
"I'm glad you're alive," Elsie said politely. "Well, I mean...I'm glad you're still less dead."
He smiled at her. "Bless you, child, and bless your delicious little brains. I can only assume that my companions in cadaverism were not so fortuitous in surviving the onslaught?"
Vork blinked. What'd he say?
"Oh. Your friends." Elsie looked away. "They...didn't make it. I'm sorry."
The tall dead man shrugged. "Ah, 'tis but the claws of inevitability. From dust we came, and to dust we shall return, unless, of course, we come back to life to terrorize the countryside." He gave a theatrical bow to nobody in particular and pretended to wipe away an imaginary tear.
You don't seem very sad, Vork remarked in his usual subtle-as-a-heart-attack fashion.
"I never liked my companions very much," the tall dead man responded.
Ah. I know the feeling.
"Yes, well, I'm glad we're all okay—" Elsie began. Suddenly there was a flashing crackle of blue energy racing across the cavern, a horizontal lightning bolt too fast for the eye to follow. She took a step back, shielding her eyes, but before she could cry out in alarm, the energy had already vanished.
There was a moment of silence.
"Hey, it worked!" Jonah said. "How about that?"
Elsie stared. She rubbed her eyes, then blinked, and then rubbed them again. "Am I hallucinating?" she asked Vork softly.
If you are, it's contagious.
Jonah rolled his eyes. "It's me, Elsie. I learned how to use my power! How cool is that?"
"You learned how to use your..." She trailed off, staring at him. It's always a rather disconcerting feeling when one of your closest friends materializes from the center of an indoor lightning bolt.
Qurt came jogging across the room. What is going on? she demanded. What was that light? Is everyone...my goodness! Jonah! She smiled broadly and gave his shoulder an affectionate nuzzle. It has been too long since our last meeting, child!
"Hullo, Qurt!" he said happily.
"You learned to use your power?" Elsie repeated again. She was too surprised to think of anything new to say.
"Yeah. I was in these really creepy woods—I think they were evil woods—and I met this Yap!"
"You met a Yap?"
But he brushed past her and knelt down. Yap came racing across the room and leaped into Jonah's arms with a squeal of delight. Jonah fell backwards and landed on the ground, laughing.
"Yap killed the Dark Shadow, Jonah! By his mighty self!"
"The Dark Shadow?" Jonah's face suddenly grew serious. "It's...dead?"
Qurt nodded. It is gone, she said simply.
"And Yap was the one who killed it!" Yap threw a dark glance at the others. "Nobody else helped. Just gorgeous little Yap."
Jonah set the gnome down and stood up. He turned to face Qurt. "I never got a chance to speak with you again after what happened in the Unicorn Glade. Droo...he died saving my life," he said quietly.
Qurt was silent for a moment. You are about to apologize, child, she said at last. I can see it in your face. Please do not. You have nothing to apologize for. Droo made a choice, and I believe it was the correct choice. I am proud of him. Won't you let go of some of that pain and share my pride instead?
Jonah bit his lip and nodded quickly. Then, without warning, he threw his arms around the Unicorn's neck and gave her a quick, furious hug. He pulled away, looking both pleased and embarrassed.
Yap grabbed Jonah's hand and began tugging on it. "Jonah! Come listen to Yap's tales of bravery and heroic monkey knife fights!"
Elsie stamped her foot down impatiently. "I'm really sorry to interrupt, but can I just ask what's going on here?"
Jonah slapped his forehead. "I almost forgot! We need your help at the castle right away! They've accused Aligore for murder, and—"
"What?"
"—they're going to execute Tom, and—"
"What?"
"—we've only got until sunset to stop them."
"Jonah, what are you talking about?"
"There's no time to explain. Just come with me." He grabbed Elsie's arm and turned. "Watch out, everybody! Dumb!"
Nothing happened.
"Err...dumb?" he tried again.
"Jonah, what's going on?"
He turned to her, his eyes growing wide. "My power isn't working! I must have used it all up!"
"What's this about Tom being executed and—"
Ignoring her, he turned to Qurt. "How far is the castle of Aabundiai from here?"
She paused. It's at least two hundred miles away.
"Could you make it there before sundown?"
Qurt glanced at Vork, who was emphatically shaking his head no. She frowned. Perhaps. It would be a very close call, though.
Jonah took a deep breath. "I need to ask a huge favor, Qurt."
No, you do not.
"I don't?"
We will take you. I cannot promise that we will make it in time, but we shall try.
Jonah grinned. "Thanks. I owe you again."
Elsie stamped her foot again. "Are you going to tell me what's going on?"
"No time. Let's go." He grabbed her elbow and dragged her towards the nearest Unicorn.
***
Lola stared at the castle. All castles looked pretty much the same to her, and this one was no different. There was a moat, but she had seen those before. There were also a bunch of towers and spires, but she had seen those before too. She wasn't impressed. Frankly, she couldn't understand the human and Dwarf preoccupation with building things that were unable to fly. Whenever someone invented a flying castle, that might be something worth noticing.
"Keep us circling," Dain growled. "I need to come up with a plan."
"So you're saying we're going to be here for a while?" she asked sweetly.
"Shut up." He stalked away, muttering dire threats about turning mouthy figureheads into firewood.
Suddenly, Lola felt something rap against her knees. She looked down and was surprised to see the piglumps. They frantically made don't say anything gestures, which looked remarkably similar to their I'm hungry gestures and their look out, there's a demon! gestures. The piglumps didn't have many gestures.
She glanced over her shoulder. Dain was leaning over the railing, staring at the castle. As quietly as possible, she knelt down and picked up the piglumps. Wooden figureheads, however, are not built with stealth in mind. Her joints creaked and squealed as she straightened back up.
"What are you doing?" Dain called, suddenly suspicious.
"Nothing!" she cried, trying to hide the wriggling creatures from sight.
Dain scowled. To her dismay, he started in her direction. His hand hovered next to the sword hanging from his belt.
"Message from the master!" one of the piglumps whispered quickly.
"Do a barrel roll!" the other chirped.
"What's going on up there?" Dain snapped. He increased his stride.
"Are you sure?" Lola whispered frantically. "He wants me to do a barrel roll?"
The piglumps nodded in unison, their eyes wide.
Dain rounded the corner and spied the piglumps. His face suddenly twisted with hatred. "YOU!" he howled. With a roar, he tugged the sword free from his scabbard. The piglumps screamed.
Lola wrapped her arms around the little creatures tightly. "Hold on," she whispered.
The airship rocketed forward. Dain let out a yelp and stumbled backwards. He frantically groped for the nearest railing. With a sickening lurch, the airship suddenly dropped through the sky, its deck tilting wildly. Earth and sky were suddenly reversed. Dain made a last desperate grab for the railing, then he plunged out of sight with a scream.
One of the piglumps was noisily sick in Lola's arms. She grimaced as the airship straightened out. She couldn't understand why creatures were always throwing up on her ship, but she didn't like it. It seemed rude.
***
"Walk faster."
"Shut up," Tom growled.
The last two days had been nightmarish ones. They had kept Tom in a tiny cell, feeding him nothing but a bit of moldy bread and some water of questionable repute. It had been a dismal, uncomfortable and lonely experience. At first he had hoped that his friends might rescue him, but then twenty more armed guards had been assigned to watch Tom's cell, and he realized that any rescue attempt would have been a suicide mission. The final straw in the whole stinking encounter had been that mockery of a trial, where the fat sister and the ugly sister had sentenced him to death. Tom had never received a death sentence before. Thus far, he was decidedly unimpressed. He had badgered the guards for a last meal (Weren't you allowed to choose your last meal? He had definitely heard that somewhere...) but all he had been given was more bread and water. As far as he could tell, there were really no perks in a death sentence.
He was frightened, of course. Only a fool wouldn't have been frightened, and Tom was no fool. But he also knew that the fat sister and the ugly sister would like nothing better than to see him cry, to watch him break down and beg for his life. He didn't plan on giving them any more satisfaction than necessary. So instead he hummed a jaunty tune as the guards led him down the bleak hallway, whistling and joking the entire time.
The hallway ended in a T-junction, and their procession paused. The guards shuffled their feet and desperately tried to avoid making eye contact with him.
"Hey, what's the hold-up?" he demanded. "We're on a tight schedule here! No time for lollygaggin', right? Come on, let's go!" He clanked his ankle chains together impatiently. Clank. Clank. Clank.
"Shut up," one of the guards muttered.
"Or what? You'll kill me?" Clank. Clank. Clank.
"Um...yeah?"
"Nice threat, chum. Hey, what do you say we take these chains off and give me a twenty second headstart? It'll be like a wild vongtail chase! Come on, let's make this thing sporting!"
"Told you to shut up."
"I've got the rest of my life to shut up. Right now, I feel like talking."
"Huh," the guard said. He was clearly out of threats.
A deadbolt was thrown and a nearby door rumbled open. Another platoon of Dwarves marched out, leading Bebbens and another prisoner. Aligore. Tom's heart sank. They had caught his friend after all. And were those wings coming out of Aligore's back?
Then one of the Dwarves prodded Tom hard in the back and he began marching. He fell in beside Aligore. "Can't say it's good to see you again, mate," he murmured. "What part of get out of this castle and don't get caught didn't you understand?"
Aligore glanced at him and sighed. "HELLO, TOM," he whispered through the steel muzzle encircling his face. "I'M SORRY."
"Don't be. It's nice of you to join me. I'd hate to die alone."
"HUH. THAT'S WHAT FRIENDS ARE FOR, I SUPPOSE." He shook his head. "THIS IS ALL MY FAULT. YOU ARE HERE BECAUSE OF ME. IF ONLY I COULD HAVE—"
"Don't mention it," Tom interrupted cheerfully. "I didn't have anything else to do today anyway. Besides, I always hate to miss a ceremony." He glanced at Bebbens. "Looks like you'll be sharing the fun too, eh?"
"Eep," Bebbens said. His face was deathly pale.
"What's that?"
"Eep."
"Ah."
"Be quiet back there!" one of the Dwarves yelped. He meekly thrust a spear at Tom in what could only be assumed was meant as a menacing gesture.
"That spear comes near me again and I'll turn you into a flag. Get my drift?" Tom snarled.
The Dwarf swallowed hard and kept marching.
Tom threw an appraising look at his friend. "Nice wings, by the way. Did the moult hurt?"
"YES."
"Sorry to hear about that."
"...THANKS." Aligore sighed heavily. "I HOPE THE CHILDREN GOT AWAY SAFELY."
"I wouldn't worry about them."
"YOU WOULDN'T?"
"Nah. I'd worry about us."
A massive pair of stone doors ahead of them slowly slipped open. The room on the other side was enormous, with rows of seats surrounding a large flat area in the center of the room. It was an arena. The stands were filled with Dwarves, although none of them looked particularly happy to be there. The only Dwarves who applauded when the prisoners entered the room were Aurella, Faunella, and an ancient Dwarf in a white cloak. They were sitting behind an ancient stone table in the center of the room. When the other Dwarves refused to join in the applause, Aurella threw them a withering glare and sat down quickly.
Bebbens let out a squeal of helpless fear. Tom would have liked to reach out and pat the pudgy little Dwarf on the shoulders, but his hands were chained to his sides.
"Separate the condemned!" Aurella cried. Faunella and the Dwarf in the white cloak applauded again. They seemed to be in the mood for applause.
Tom was abruptly jerked to the side, but he fought back against his chains. He leaned in close to Aligore, ignoring the cries of the Dwarf guards. "You've always been a good mate," Tom whispered quickly. "And you've been a good friend, too. I'll see you on the other side."
Aligore's large eyes were shining. "GOOD-BYE, TOM. AND THANK YOU FOR—" He was interrupted by the guards, who yanked on his muzzle with all their might. Choking and coughing, Aligore fell back.
"Come on," one of the guards muttered. "Don't make this harder than it already is." He jabbed Tom in the back and motioned toward the center of the room, where a Dwarf wearing a black hood waited.
The Dwarf was holding a pink axe.
ONE HOUR AGO:
Sally couldn't wait any longer. Jonah had either gotten lost or he was in trouble. Either way, she would have to save the others by herself. The only problem was that she had no idea how. She sat down on the bed, feeling helpless and alone.
If this were a mystery novel, what would a plucky young female detective do in her place? She thought long and hard. If her memory served, the plucky young female detective was usually saved from the jaws of danger at the last second by her father, who was often the Chief of Police. That was no good. She didn't even have a father, much less one with a badge and a large, handy machine gun. There was no time to gather more clues either. It probably wouldn't have done much good anyway—Aurella and Faunella seemed terribly excited about the upcoming execution. They wouldn't let trivial matters like proof of Aligore's innocence stand in the way of their entertainment.
And that merely left the direct approach. The grab a giant sword and start swinging approach. Sally sighed. She was no good at fighting. Maybe she would have had a chance in a fair fight, but she was a young girl trapped in a castle with thousands of heavily armed and usually grumpy Dwarves. The odds were not in her favor.
"I'm definitely gonna die," she muttered, double-knotting her tennis shoes. No sense in having your shoelaces come untied during a suicide run, after all. It might be dangerous.
She still had her small ruby dagger, but the dagger would be woefully inadequate when it came to stabbing large quantities of Dwarves. No, she needed a sword. Preferably one she was strong enough to lift. A crossbow might not be a bad idea either, but she wasn't completely sure how they worked. Better just stick to swords.
She slipped out of her room and made her way back down to the armory. The corridors were filled with Dwarves. They were gathered in groups every few paces, whispering and arguing in agitated tones. Several of them gave her sympathetic looks, but nobody spoke to her. She kept a careful eye out for Aurella and Faunella, but the Dwarf sisters were nowhere to be seen. That was fine with Sally. There would be plenty of time for the sisters once she found a sword.
She found the armory again and began to search for weapons. How were you supposed to choose a sword? Do you look for maximum striking distance, or durability, or weight, or style, or something else entirely? She found a cool cobalt scimitar that would have looked great hanging from her belt, but the unwieldy weapon would have been absolutely useless in a fight. She found a massive iron broadsword that probably could have decapitated nine Dwarves simultaneously, but the blasted thing was too heavy for her to lift. She found a number of stubby little short swords that she could swing easily, but their attack range was painfully limited. She sighed. "Wish I had a gun," she murmured.
Suddenly the door to the armory was thrown open. Sally instantly ducked out of sight and hid behind a row of weapons, her heart pounding wildly. She was fairly certain that the armory was off-limits for human children plotting to overthrow the castle. Would they try to arrest her, or would they simply grab a weapon and start stabbing?
"Ooh, I like this one," a very familiar voice said. A moment later, the voice cried out in pain. "It cut me!"
"Yes, ma'am," another voice growled. "That's what axes do. Best to be careful around 'em."
Sally peered out through the forest of swords. Sure enough, Aurella and an angry-looking Dwarf guard were standing on the other side of the room, examining the weapons. If I had a gun, Sally thought bitterly, I could get her right now.
"I don't want to use that one," Aurella said, glaring at the axe. "It's too sharp. I don't like it." She turned and started walking toward Sally's hiding spot. Sally ducked back down and froze. There was no place to hide. Aurella reached the weapon rack Sally was hiding behind and paused for a moment, peering around. She was less than three feet away.
The Dwarf guard following behind Aurella also paused. "Ain't axes supposed to be sharp, ma'am? Ain't that the point?"
Aurella flapped her hands, a blatant shut up and leave me alone gesture, and she continued down the aisle. Sally allowed herself a tiny sigh of relief. "This is an execution, Gug, not a delicate bit of surgery," Aurella said. "I don't care if it takes two whacks or twenty to get the head off, so long as it comes off in the end. Come to think of it, maybe it would be better to have a rather dull axe." She abruptly stepped around a crate of weapons and Sally felt panic rising in her chest. Aurella was now directly across from her. As soon as the Dwarf turned, she would see Sally in an instant. There was no way to hide in time. Aurella sucked on her finger absently, glancing at the swords on the wall. Aurella slowly began to turn in Sally's direction. "Don't want this to be over too quickly, after all," she was saying. Sally braced herself.
The Dwarf guard suddenly stepped directly in front of Sally and picked an axe off the wall. He was merely a few feet away, but he never glanced in Sally's direction. "Of course not, ma'am," the guard said, turning to Aurella. "Might I suggest this one?"
Don't move, Sally silently prayed to the guard. If he stepped aside, she was doomed. Please don't move.
"Too plain," Aurella snapped. "Don't you have any axes with some color on them?"
Sally turned and slipped further back into the shadows. The door was only ten feet away now. She could make it if she ran, but they would spot her in an instant. Plus, she still needed a good weapon.
"Color, ma'am?" the guard said from behind her.
"Yes. You know, like...pink, maybe?"
Sally couldn't help it. It was just too ridiculous. She let out a helpless squeak of laughter. She instantly clapped a hand over her mouth and froze. Had they heard her? The Dwarf guard took a quick step backwards. A few more feet and he would stumble over Sally. "We ain't got no pink axes, ma'am," he said. "Why, other armies would laugh at us."
"What's wrong with pink?" Aurella asked.
Everything, you dumb girl, Sally thought. She crept around the rack of weapons, heading for the open door. It was so close. She was almost there.
"Nothing, ma'am," she heard the Dwarf guard say. "I think pink is a very nice color. Just the other day, the boys and I were talking about maybe ordering us some pink uniforms or something."
Oh, please. Sally risked a glance at the Dwarves. Her shoulder suddenly brushed against a dagger hanging on the edge of the nearest weapons rack. She froze. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the dagger trembling slightly.
"Yes, that's probably a good idea," Aurella was saying. "Pink is the color of nobility, after all."
"Of course it is, ma'am."
Sally moved away slowly. The dagger gave one last shudder, then it fell. Reacting on blind instinct, Sally shot out her hand. The dagger landed on her palm silently, and Sally let out a nervous shudder of relief. She turned and hurried toward the door, keeping her body bent low to the ground and her eyes on the Dwarves.
To her horror, she saw Aurella's head slowly rotating as she scanned the room once more. There was no time to sneak out of the room. Sally had only once chance. She darted forward and slipped behind the open door, pressing her body up against the wall. Her pulse was racing madly. Had she been spotted?
She heard Aurella sigh. "All these weapons are completely inappropriate. Take one of these axes and paint it pink."
"Ma'am?"
"Find some pink paint, Gug. I want a pink axe."
Boots clanked against the floor as the Dwarf marched toward her. Sally leaned back into the shadows and held her breath. The guard paused at the weapons rack and selected an axe, then he turned and marched past her. He was humming some stupid song as he went. He never glanced in her direction. Sally let out a soft, shuddering sight. It had been unbelievably close, but she was safe. Then her relief was abruptly replaced with horror as her hiding spot disappeared. On his way out of the room, the guard had shut the door behind him. Sally stood against the wall, frozen with fright, staring at Aurella's back. The Dwarf was still staring at the weapons, a distant look on her face. She slowly turned in Sally's direction.
The door suddenly flew open again. It banged against Sally's nose and she stifled a cry. Her eyes welled up with automatic tears. There is nothing quite so painful as getting unexpectedly smacked in the nose.
"What do you want, Gobblecus?" she heard Aurella ask.
"Present for you, my lady," a new voice whispered. The voice giggled, then quickly grew sharp. "Careful, my lady. This isn't the type of book you want to open. Ever."
Sally peered around the edge of the door. A very old Dwarf in a white cloak had just handed a green book to Aurella, who was staring down at it blankly. "This is one of those trapper books?" she said at last.
The old Dwarf giggled again, nodding. "I don't think you will need to worry about that human child any longer," he hissed. "The one who called himself...Jonah?" He tapped his finger against the book. Sally swallowed hard. What had they done to Jonah? Was he somehow inside that book? But that was impossible, wasn't it?
The Dwarves turned toward the door, and Sally ducked back out of sight. "Puddington, remind me to give you a raise one of these days," Aurella said in a lofty voice.
"You don't pay me, ma'am."
"Well, remind me to start." They suddenly paused in the doorway, mere inches away. Sally could smell a faint, fruity stink drifting off Aurella, something that could only have been the very worst perfume ever created in the history of perfumes. It even smelled pink. She held her breath and closed her eyes tightly.
"We should try to catch that last human before the execution. The mouthy little girl. Might as well get rid of all of them at the same time."
"Excellent idea, my lady."
Then the door slammed shut and Sally was alone in the armory. She blinked and rubbed her eyes. Her heart felt like it was about to explode from her chest and go dashing across the room.
And from the sounds of things, Sally's problems had just gone from bad to worse to worst. Jonah was captured—again—and Sally had just had the dubious honor of hearing her own death sentence given. It was an icky, unpleasant feeling.
She glanced at her watch. Less than thirty minutes until the scheduled execution. She needed to get to the arena soon. She quickly slipped into a chainmail vest and threw a rusty old helmet over her head. The outfit was awkward and rather smelly, but perhaps she would be able to pass for a Dwarf if nobody looked too closely, seeing as how most Dwarves were rather awkward and smelly even under the best of circumstances. She grabbed the first decent sword she found and hung it from her belt. It was time to go.
But first...an idea suddenly struck her. It was a crazy, wicked idea. Then again, since she would probably be dead in less than an hour, why not? Sally grinned. She might as well have a little bit of fun before everything came crashing down around her.
Besides...she hated Aurella's room.
***
THIRTY MINUTES AGO:
Dain fell two thousand feet. He hit the ground hard enough to make his body bounce several times, then he lay still.
Then he cursed loudly.
It had been those stinking rat-creatures again. The piglumps. Once again, the brainless little monsters had bested him. He glanced up at the airship high above him and silently vowed revenge. He would cut the piglumps apart very slowly. Perhaps he would make them into soup. Nothing is quite so delicious, after all, as the sweet soup of revenge...
He stood up, wincing in pain. The fall had smashed in the side of his head. He felt his left eyeball bulging out from beneath his dented forehead. It was a disconcerting feeling, as if he was constantly winking. And Dain never winked. He didn't like it. He tried to push the eyeball back into his head where it belonged, but this hurt quite a bit. So now he had a misshapen head, a telescoped spine, and a giant hole in his chest. The piglumps would pay. Oh yes, they would pay dearly.
A door in the side of the castle opened and a Dwarf peeked his head out. He came jogging over and stared at Dain with frank disbelief. "Gaw! Did yeh really jus' fall that far, mate?" he cried. "How're yeh still alive?"
Dain stuck his sword through the Dwarf. "Bad luck," he muttered. "That's all it is. Just bad luck." He left the Dwarf gasping in the dirt and ran toward the castle. Just because he had lost his airship didn't mean the situation was hopeless. The boy was still somewhere in this castle. Dain merely needed to find him before that greasy beggar Jimjim did. The Rune would go to Dain this day. He had earned it.
He slipped inside the castle and shut the door behind him. A flight of stairs led down into the darkness. This wasn't the direction Dain wanted to go, but he had no other choice. He raced down the stairs, his sword held at the ready. He would find the boy even if it meant cutting a path through every Dwarf in this rotten castle.
The stairs finally spilled out into a mammoth underground cavern. Dain stopped short, rather impressed despite himself. There were dragons in the cavern—hundreds of them. Small dragons and giant dragons, docile dragons and furious dragons. They were chained to cogs and columns, walking in circles, wailing and howling angrily. Dain dimly realized that they were slaves of some kind. Well, that was fine with him. He had no problem with a bit of slavery every now and then, provided that he was the one holding the chains.
A whistle suddenly blew from high overhead. A Dwarf guard stood on a catwalk near the ceiling. He pointed at Dain wildly. "Intruder, lads! We got a human here!"
Instantly Dwarves appeared from every corner of the cavern. They grabbed weapons and raced toward him. Dain thought fast. The Dwarves were small and weak, but they outnumbered him a hundred to one. It was time to even those odds if he wanted to walk away from this battle with all his limbs intact. He hurried over to the nearest dragon, a medium-sized creature with bloodshot eyes and bright red whip-welts running down its flanks.
"Do you understand me?" Dain barked.
Slowly, the dragon nodded.
"I'll release you if you stop those Dwarves. Deal?"
The dragon nodded again. A gleam had entered its eyes.
Dain brought his sword swinging down. It severed the dragon's harness in a shower of sparks. The creature shook its body furiously and the harness slipped away. With a roar, the dragon lunged forwards, pouncing upon the nearest Dwarf guard. The Dwarves gave a cry of alarm and switched their attention to the rogue dragon. Still, more Dwarves were constantly pouring into the cavern. The dragon didn't stand a chance alone.
Dain ran to the next dragon, this one even larger and angrier than its companion. "Same deal," he said. "You help me and I'll free you."
"YESSS," the dragon hissed. It shuffled back and forth, terribly excited.
More Dwarves raced toward Dain, sensing his plan. He cut down several of them, then turned to the dragon and slashed at its harness. Shrieking, the dragon's wings suddenly expanded in a rush of air. It blasted straight up, then wheeled around and came bearing down on the Dwarves, a gout of fire streaming from its mouth.
Dain glanced around the cavern. The imprisoned dragons stood at attention, watching him patiently. He smiled.
***
TWENTY MINUTES AGO:
The cabin of the airship was in shambles. Lola's abrupt barrel roll had sent everything crashing against the ceiling, then slamming back down to the floor, Fleet and Jimjim included. The two men were both unconscious. Fleet was snoring loudly.
The piglumps surveyed the damage. "What do we do now?" Winthrope asked.
"I don't know," Willoughby said. "The master is asleep! Why is he sleeping right now?" She frowned. This did not seem like a good time for sleep.
"We should untie him," Winthrope said thoughtfully. "And we should wake him up."
"Right. Good idea, Winthrope!"
"Thanks! But how can we wake him up?"
Willoughby glanced around the cabin. In the corner, swaying slightly with each dip of the airship, was a bottle of liquor, somehow still unbroken despite all the chaos of the last few minutes. And for the first time in her life, Willoughby had an idea.
***
TEN MINUTES AGO:
Jonah couldn't open his eyes. They were simply moving too fast. If he opened his eyes, the wind would peel his eyelids back the way one peels a banana. So instead he lay flat against Qurt's back and held on as tightly as he could. To make matters worse, he knew the ground was racing by hundreds of feet beneath him. Jonah hated heights. Even though he couldn't see how high they were, the simple thought of the drop made him queasy.
The Unicorns thundered through the air in unison. They ran silent and fast, their faces grim, their sides slick with sweat. Qurt carried Jonah, while Sally and Yap were riding on the fat, grumpy Unicorn somewhere in the middle of the pack. Every now and then Yap would let out an excited "Wahoooooo!" He apparently enjoyed flying quite a bit. The rest of the gnomes and the Less Dead had thankfully remained behind at the White Place, which kept the general level of stupidity at an absolute minimum, not counting Yap.
How are you holding up, Jonah? Qurt suddenly asked him. Her voice was low and exhausted.
Jonah tried to reply, but the wind sucked his breath away. He always forgot that you didn't need to speak out loud to be heard by a Unicorn. I'm okay, he thought. How close are we to the castle?
Qurt's voice was tinged with sorrow. Not close enough, I'm afraid.
Jonah's heart sank. How long until sunset?
Not long now.
Will we make it in time?
Qurt was silent for a moment. No, she finally said. I'm sorry. It's just not possible.
Jonah didn't know what to say. He had failed after all. He merely nodded briefly, then buried his face in the Unicorn's golden mane. He felt like crying. I'm sorry, Tom, he thought numbly. I'm sorry I couldn't save you after all.
***
NOW:
Tom didn't mind being the first prisoner to be executed. It was almost better that way, since he wouldn't have to watch his friends die. And he didn't mind the fact that several hundred Dwarves would see his death. He didn't even mind the concept of beheading, since at least it would be over quickly and there would probably be no pain.
But a pink axe? He was going to be killed with a pink axe?
He didn't like that one bit. If was a stupid, undignified way to die. It was like tripping over a leaf and breaking your neck, or perhaps getting eaten by a ravenous chipmunk. He stared at the pink axe with obvious distaste. "Why pink?" he asked the executioner.
"Sorry." From the tone of his voice, the executioner sounded like he was blushing beneath his hood. "By order of the Queen, you know."
"She's not the Queen!" Tom said loudly, staring out at the Dwarves in the audience. "You all know that. You know that this is wrong."
"This is an execution, not a sermon. Gag the prisoner," Aurella said. Her face had turned a splotchy red color that clashed rather badly with her horrifically pink ensemble.
"Don't I get any last words?" Tom shot back.
"You just had them," she said simply.
Tom opened his mouth to reply, but a nearby Dwarf shoved a rag into his mouth. "Mff mrmrmff mffs mrrrbr," Tom said, which might have been translated as This handkerchief tastes terrible, but might have also been translated as something far ruder.
"I'm sorry," the executioner said softly. He looked away.
The Dwarves led Tom to a small stone pedestal in the center of the room. He stared as the wicked grooves and notches in the black stone. They were axe marks. It was a chopping block. Then one of the Dwarves kicked him in the back of the knees, and Tom dropped to the ground. The Dwarves slammed him down onto the chopping block. The stone felt cold and coarse against his neck. Tom swallowed hard. He could see Aurella and Faunella staring at him. They were smiling.
Aurella stood and held up the rulebook for all to see. "A Dwarven Court has sentenced you to death, Tom Timbertramp, for the high crimes of treachery and treason," she announced. "In accordance with our customs, this execution shall be carried out at sunset. Please open the curtains."
Two Dwarves ran forward and grabbed the heavy velvet curtains that covered one wall of the arena. They drew them aside. A pale sliver of orange light trickled into the room. Tom could see the very tip of the sun hovering over the distant mountains, a faint crescent of flame. With a heavy heart, he realized this was the last time he would ever see a sunset. It was a shame, really. He had quite enjoyed them. The sun flickered, then dipped below the mountain range. Shadows fell across the land.
Aurella turned to him, smiling. "The time has come," she said cheerfully. "Commence with the execution."
Tom felt the icy blade of the axe rest against his neck as the executioner lined up his killing blow. He closed his eyes very tightly.
"Don't do it!" a Dwarf abruptly cried from the audience.
"Silence!" Aurella thundered.
"You tell 'em, sis!" Faunella chirped.
But now the cry was being taken up by other Dwarves throughout the arena. The whispered murmurs quickly grew into shouts of indignation.
"Dwarves ain't murderers!" one cried.
"We don't want anyone else t' die!" another yelled.
"This ain't fair!"
"Don't do it!"
Aurella turned to the Dwarves, her face livid. "Be quiet! Shut up, shut up, shut up! The next Dwarf who says anything can join the prisoners in their fate!"
Perhaps sensing that this was not an idle threat, the protests immediately tapered off. There were still angry voices rippling throughout the stands, but nobody dared to speak too loudly.
Aurella whirled around. "Get to chopping, you fool!" she hissed to the executioner.
The blade against Tom's neck trembled for a moment. "I...I don't think I can do that, ma'am," the executioner finally said. His voice was shaking. "I think I'm feeling a bit too light-headed."
Aurella snarled, then hurried over to the chopping block. "You ingrate!" she snapped, shoving the executioner aside. "Give me that axe. I'll do it myself." There was the sound of a brief scuffle, then the axe blade returned to Tom's neck. "If you want something done right..." Aurella muttered crossly.
The axe blade was raised for the killing blow. Tom shut his eyes again. So this was it. Well, at least he had made a good run of things. Had some good adventures, made some good friends. It hadn't been a bad life. Not at all.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," a new voice suddenly said.
"Um...sis?" he heard Faunella say. Her voice was strangely strangled.
"No," Aurella said softly.
Tom opened his eyes. An armored Dwarf was standing behind Faunella. The blade of a sword was pressed against her throat. Faunella's eyes were very wide. The Dwarf in the white cloak sitting beside her took one look at the unfolding hostage situation, then he turned and bolted out of the room. His rapidly fading footsteps were the only sounds in the arena. Two hundred Dwarves in the audience craned forward, watching the drama intently.
"What do you think you're doing, Dwarf?" Aurella spat.
"Who are you calling a Dwarf, Dwarf?" The figure reached up and pulled off its rusty helmet. It was Sally. Her face was deathly pale, but she managed a small smile in Tom's direction. The blade she was holding against Faunella's throat trembled slightly.
"You...filthy...stinking...human!" Aurella shrieked. "If you hurt my sister, I'll...I'll..." She trailed off, searching for the perfect threat. She obviously could not find it, since at last she simply said, "Ack!" and fell silent.
"Nobody needs to die here," Sally said. "You release my friends—including Jonah—and give us safe passage out of the castle, and I'll let your sister go. It's a simple trade. What do you say?"
"There will be no trade." Aurella's voice was freezing cold. "The Royal Throne of Aabundiai does not negotiate with terrorists."
Sally shrugged. "Then your sister is about to get a whole lot shorter." She gave a quick glance at the Dwarf guards who were slowly creeping up behind her, their weapons drawn. "And if your little henchmonkeys get any closer, I might have a little accident. Sure would hate it if my blade slipped a bit." She pressed the sword a little tighter against Faunella's pale skin. The Dwarf squealed. The guards hesitated, glancing at one another, then they took a step back in unison. "That's better," Sally said, sounding pleased.
There was a long pause as the two girls regarded each other. Sally swallowed and cleared her throat nervously. "So...um...do we have a deal?"
The arena was silent.
And when Aurella spoke again, her voice was filled with cautious triumph. "You're bluffing."
"What?" Sally sounded flustered. "No, I'm not! I really will cut off her head! I've cut off lots of heads before. One more won't bother me at all."
"You're lying. I can see it in your eyes. You're terrified. You don't have the guts to go through with this."
The guards took another step closer. Sally looked around frantically. "Stay back! I'll do it! I'm not afraid!"
"Yes, you are." Aurella laughed.
Sally suddenly returned the smile. Her expression became hard. "I wasn't afraid when I torched your room, you fat cow. And I'm not afraid now."
Aurella's laughter stumbled and died. "You...torched my room?" she repeated.
Sally's smile widened. "Are you kidding? I set fire to that entire floor. And unless you want this castle to burn to the ground, you Dwarves had better get busy finding some buckets of water."
"You're bluffing," Aurella repeated stubbornly. "You wouldn't dare."
Sally merely grinned at her.
And then the Dwarves in the stands began to panic. Their voices rose, high and agitated. One of them suddenly pointed to the window and screamed. Wisps of thick black smoke were drifting past on the other side of the glass. One of the lower levels was indeed burning. Instantly the arena erupted into pandemonium. Dwarves fled for the exit in droves.
"Still don't think I've got guts?" Sally asked. "Now...drop the axe."
***
Gobblecus Puddington fled down the stairs. Today was supposed to be his day of glory. He had helped the sisters carry out their plans flawlessly. He had even captured that annoying human child, who was probably already dead somewhere inside his last trapper book. His rewards had been great—the sisters had even allowed him to share their table, nice and close to the execution, with a great view of the action—and he knew that greater rewards would have been yet to come.
He reached a large iron door and paused. He shut the door behind him and threw the deadbolt. If the human child somehow survived the showdown in the arena, she might decide to follow him. There was no sense in making it easy for her. He continued down the stairs.
Everything was going wrong. Puddington was not a fighter. He was a librarian, after all. If Dwarves were about to get their throats slit, he wanted no part of it. He would head back down to his library and wait for all this nonsense to blow over. He had a faint, niggling sensation that he was behaving like a spectacular coward, but he couldn't help it. He was a spectacular coward. History might be created by the brave, but it was recorded by the cautious. And at the moment, getting as far away from the human child as possible seemed very cautious indeed.
He suddenly paused. The stairwell was quickly filling with smoke. Where was all this smoke coming from? Somebody had probably knocked a torch off the wall and it had ignited a stray pile of trash. Great. More problems. Why did everything bad happen to him? He moaned. It was all so unfair.
The lectricity crystals on the ceiling suddenly flickered. As Puddington watched, they faded and died. The stairwell was thrust into darkness. He took a tentative step forward, holding his hands out in front of him. The smoke was getting thicker, and it was becoming harder to breathe. This was ridiculous. It wasn't safe to return to the arena, but continuing down these stairs seemed even more dangerous. Why had the lights died? Weren't those rotten dragons supposed to be powering the lectricity crystals? They obviously weren't whipping those creatures hard enough in the dungeon. He would have to made some recommendations when this whole blasted mess had ended. Perhaps a few more whips were in order.
There was a noise in the darkness beneath him, a rasping, slithering noise. Something growled. Puddington felt the hairs on the back of his neck begin to rise. He was not alone in this stairwell.
"H-hullo?" he called. "Is anybody there?"
The growl came again. And now two lights materialized out of the darkness, twin orbs of fire on the stairs below. Torches? The lights suddenly blinked, and Puddington realized that they weren't torches after all.
He turned and fled back up the stairs, screaming at the top of his lungs. Claws thundered against the stone floor behind him, but he never looked back. The creature was right behind him. He could hear its harsh breathing. The monster chuckled. His feet slipped and stumbled in the darkness, and Puddington dropped to his knees. There was a sudden tug, and the cloak around his shoulders was torn away. There was the sound of ripping fabric. Puddington got to his feet and continued running.
He reached the iron door he had locked moments ago. He could hear Dwarves on the other side of the door, pounding and hollering. Something about a fire. The fools. There were worse things than a simple fire in this castle today. His fingers fumbled in the darkness for the lock. Where was the blasted thing? He could hear the creature racing up the stairs behind him. It sounded impossibly close. He found the lock, but it slipped from his fingers. Sweat ran into his eyes and he cursed darkly. He found the lock again and threw the deadbolt. The door swung open. Dwarves were crowded on the other side of the door, their faces pale. They stopped short as they glimpsed the frantic librarian.
"Dragons," he gasped.
Then something smashed into his back, driving him to the ground. His spectacles flew off into the darkness and shattered. Puddington let out a cry of pain as the dragon's jaws closed around his leg. It slowly began dragging him back down the stairs. He reached out toward the other Dwarves. Surely they would help him?
The door slammed shut. The stairwell grew dark again. And now Puddington felt a hot and sticky breath on the back of his neck. He moaned and closed his eyes as the dragon bent down over him.
What happened next was decidedly unpleasant.
***
Diggus Fleet took another draw from the bottle and rubbed his bleary eyes. It was amazing how fast a little bit of liquor could bring a man back to his senses, he reflected. Why had he gone for so long without a drink? He honestly couldn't remember. He took another draw.
"Tighter, master?" one of the piglumps squeaked. The little creatures were hard at work tying Jimjim to a chair. There were currently at least seventeen different ropes and chains looping around the man's scrawny frame, but it never hurt to be careful.
"Yeh betcha," Fleet slurred. "Tighter!"
"Hooray!" the piglumps cried. They gave another furious tug on the chains. The unconscious bounty hunter belched. His head lolled back and he continued to slumber.
"That's good work, lads." Fleet hiccuped, swaying on his feet. "See that yeh...um...get some more chains or something. Can't have enough ropes these days." He took another toot from the bottle.
"More chains!" the piglumps echoed, utterly delighted. It was good to have the old master back. They set to work finding more chains.
"Fleet?" Lola's voice was concerned. "I think you had better get up here."
Leaving the piglumps behind, the captain stumbled up the ladder to the deck of the airship. He felt insanely cheerful. Things had been looking pretty bleak for a while there, but a calm and level head always persevered, didn't it? He took another drink. Of course it did.
The figurehead stared at him impatiently. "You're already drunk? Oh, that's just wonderful."
Fleet zigzagged his way towards her, beaming broadly. "Lola, hon, yeh sure did good today—" he began.
"No time for that," she said. "Look."
Fleet glanced over the railing. The smile died from his face. They were circling a great ruddy castle. Things appeared to be in very bad shape indeed. One entire floor of the castle was on fire, and smoke filled the twilight air. One by one, the lights in the castle began to wink out. Soon all that was visible was the raging fire. He could see flashes of darkness moving through the flame...there were creatures alive in that blaze? It seemed impossible. Then one of the dark shapes solidified and burst through a nearby window. Huge scarlet wings unfurled and the creature took flight. Fleet realized that it was a dragon. What were dragons doing inside a castle? As he watched, several more dragons streamed out of nearby windows, spiraling upwards through the haze, shrieking and calling to one another.
"I think we've got problems," Lola announced flatly.
Fleet took another sip from the bottle. His hand was shaking slightly. "Uh-huh."
One of the dragons wheeled around. It spied the hovering airship and roared toward them, its mouth open wide.
"Not again," Lola muttered.
***
Sally watched Aurella carefully. She felt distinctly sick to her stomach. On second thought, maybe she wasn't cut out for this hero business after all. She certainly wasn't doing a very good job of it so far. And she was fairly certain that heroes were not supposed to feel like they were about to throw up.
Aurella's axe was still poised above Tom's neck. Her friend stared at her with wide eyes. Sally racked her brains. In all of her detective novels, there had never been a situation quite like this one. It was a stand-off, pure and simple, and neither side was willing to budge. So what happened next?
As if in response to her question, the chandelier above them began to flicker. She glanced up just in time to see its crystals flash and fade. The room was swallowed by darkness. Dwarves screamed all around her. What was going on?
Suddenly Faunella squirmed beneath her. The rotten little Dwarf had lighting reflexes. With one hand she slapped Sally's sword aside, with the other she grabbed a book from the table. Was that the book that had imprisoned Jonah? There was no way to tell. Faunella rolled away into the darkness. Sally made a desperate grab for her, but her fingers closed on nothing at all.
Somewhere, Faunella laughed. "I'm free, sis!" she screamed. "Kill the Dwarf!"
Forgetting her sword, Sally darted forward. It was impossible to see anything, but she knew that Aurella and Tom were somewhere in front of her. A silhouette suddenly emerged out of the gloom, a fat little figure bringing an axe swinging down through the air. Sally threw herself forward. She smashed into Aurella and they both tumbled to the ground in a heap. Aurella's axe clattered to the ground harmlessly.
Aurella's breathing was labored. "You...you...stinking little—" she managed to croak, and then Sally punched her in the mouth as hard as she could. It hurt like crazy. Sally had never really punched anybody before. She had never dreamed it could be so painful. Her knuckles felt like they were about to explode. Aurella let out a strangled cry and fell backwards.
And then the Dwarf began to cry. Her loud, miserable sobs filled the room. Sally fumbled in the darkness until she found Aurella's axe.
There were several hisses as torches spluttered to life. The pale orange glow threw the arena into sharp relief. Sally stood over the blubbering Aurella, the pink axe held at the ready. She glanced at the Dwarf guards. "Let my friends go. Right now."
They wasted no time in freeing Aligore and Bebbens, who hurried to her side. Bebbens bent down and began to untie Tom. Sally patted Aligore's head. "You okay?" she whispered.
He nodded. "THANKS TO YOU. WHAT HAPPENS NOW?"
Tom shook off the last of his chains and jumped to his feet. His eyes were flashing. "I'll tell you what happens now. First we take these miserable little wretches"—he pointed at the Dwarf sisters—"and then we feed them to the—"
"Dragons!" somebody screamed.
Tom blinked. "Well, yeah, that's where I was going with that..."
Several Dwarves spilled out of the stairwell. They looked terrified out of their wits. "Dragons! On the stairs!" one of them cried. "I think they ate Mr. Puddington! We blocked off the door, but it won't hold!"
"Oh dear," Bebbens said.
Tom and Sally exchanged a glance. "Looks like they're loose," Tom said simply.
"What should we do?"
He shrugged helplessly.
Sally turned to Aurella. "Are there any other exits out of this room?"
Aurella ignored her and only sobbed harder.
Faunella stepped forward. "Um...there's a staircase going down, and one that goes up. But I think that's it."
Sally nodded. "Okay, listen up, everybody!" she called. Instantly, the Dwarves fell silent. Their faces were waxy and pallid in the glow of the torchlight. She took a deep breath. "I want everybody to head for the upper levels. Women and children first. No pushing, okay? And try to stay quiet."
The Dwarves nodded. They fell into a line and began streaming up the stairs.
From somewhere far below, something roared. A moment later there was a crashing noise. "That's the lower level door," Bebbens said softly. "They're trying to break in." He wiped his brow and glanced around. "I've...err...I've been in those top towers, Sally. It's...um...it's a death trap up there. There's no escape."
"We don't have a choice," she said simply.
Aurella wiped her eyes absently and glanced up. "And what about us? I suppose you're just going to leave us here to die."
Privately, Sally thought this sounded like a very good idea indeed. To her surprise, however, she shook her head. "Go. Before I change my mind."
Aurella nodded gratefully and got to her feet. She paused for a moment. "I still hate you, you know."
Sally sighed. "The feeling is mutual. Now hurry."
Aurella and her sister fell in with the rest of the Dwarves. Someone tapped Sally on the shoulder and she turned. It was the Dwarf executioner, the one named Gug. Seven armed Dwarves stood behind him. He pulled off his hood and bowed to her.
"My men and I will do anything we can to help, ma'am. Just tell us what to do."
Sally rubbed her forehead. Why was she in charge? She certainly had no clue what to do. To be perfectly honest, she felt like curling up in a little ball somewhere and waiting for morning. But she saw that everybody was staring at her, their faces desperate with hope. They needed a leader. And since none could be found at the moment, they had turned to Sally. "Okay," she said. "Have three of your men try to barricade the door to the lower levels. We'll hold them off for as long as we can. The rest of you go with the other Dwarves, in case you run into any problems upstairs."
"And what about the window, ma'am?" Gug asked.
The window. She had forgotten the blasted window. She glanced at it. It was far too big to be barricaded. "Close the curtains, I guess. Maybe they won't know we're in here."
The Dwarves nodded. Several of them broke away and hurried toward the window, while the others pushed their way toward the stairwell. Only one Dwarf with a torch remained behind, yet this pitiful amount of light did little to illuminate the massive room. Shadows closed in around them. If the dragons made it past the lower levels, they would have little warning. Sally sighed again and turned to her friends. "If you guys have any ideas, now would be a great time to speak up."
Tom, Aligore and Bebbens shook their heads. "Sorry," Tom said softly.
"Perhaps...err...perhaps we could hide?"
"Two hundred of us, Bebbens?"
"Oh. Um...right. I suppose not."
Sally sighed. She turned away just in time to see the large window explode as a gigantic black dragon crashed through the glass. It streaked across the room and snapped at the Dwarf holding the torch. There was a crunching noise, and the torch tumbled to the ground and died. The room was plunged back into darkness.
Bebbens let out a high, girlish scream.
***
Dain glanced around the nearly empty cavern. The bodies of countless Dwarves littered the room, but most of the dragons had already vanished. They had gone slinking up the stairs, snapping and fuming, eager for more revenge. This plan was turning out quite well, Dain thought. His only worry was that one of the dragons would find Jonah before he could, but he quickly dismissed this thought. The child was remarkably lucky when it came to dodging death. Besides, Dain intended to get to Jonah first.
Only one dragon remained, a large golden creature with massive coiled wings. Like the rest of the dragons in the dungeon, it had no horns. The dragon pawed at the ground frantically. "ME, MASSSTER! FREE ME ASSSS WELL! I WILL SSSSSERVE YOU!"
"I know you will," Dain said. He was enjoying this newfound feeling of power quite a bit. "But I have a different plan for you. While your friends are causing chaos in the lower levels, we're going to begin our search at the top of the castle. We're searching for a human child, and he is not to be harmed. Do you understand?"
The dragon nodded desperately. "ANYTHING! ANYTHING! SSSSIMPLY FREE ME AND I'LL DO ANYTHING!"
A few sword strokes later, the dragon's harness lay on the floor. The dragon stretched its wings luxuriously. "I'VE BEEN WAITING TO DO THAT FOR YEARSSSSS..." it hissed.
"Remember your promise, beast," Dain said.
The dragon nodded, then bent forward. Dain leaped onto the creature's back. Instantly its wings exploded around him in a fury of wind, and they rose into the air. Clutching his sword with one hand and the dragon's neck with the other, Dain began to laugh.
***
The arena was filled with the sounds of violence. Tom grabbed Sally's arm and began dragging her toward the stairwell. "Time to go," he muttered.
"REVENGE!" the black dragon bellowed from somewhere in the darkness. Something huge and powerful rushed by directly above their heads. Sally ducked. She had the distinct sensation that a pair of cruel claws had just missed her head by inches. Still clutching her arm tightly, Tom ran faster. She could hear Bebbens hurrying along beside her, letting out the occasional terrified, "Oh dear," as he went.
A massive pair of eyes suddenly materialized in front of them. Sally heard a sharp clack as the dragon's jaws unhinged, and a blast of foul breath washed over them. Bebbens screamed.
Then Aligore was leaping past them, his claws extended. He slashed at the black dragon. It howled and faded away into the darkness. Aligore turned to them, his eyes wide. "HURRY. I WILL LIGHT THE WAY." Then he cocked his head to the side and unleashed a stream of brilliant fire from his mouth. It illuminated the entire arena, throwing every horrible detail into sharp relief. The massive black dragon was thirty paces away, feasting on an unlucky Dwarf. The dragon glared at Aligore, then its wings flashed and it shot into the air. Before Aligore's flame died, Sally saw the door to the stairwell. She dragged Tom and Bebbens toward it. Aligore bounded along behind them. "GO!" he cried, his voice desperate. "I CANNOT HOLD IT BACK!"
The creature roared again, and Aligore was suddenly flung to the ground. The dragon towered over them, its wings filling the entire room. Its eyes were twin fireballs in the gloom, and its teeth glowed a pale and deadly orange.
A spear suddenly rocketed through the air. It struck the black dragon in the neck and the creature fell back, shrieking pain. Gug, the Captain of the Dwarves, appeared out of the shadows beside Sally. "Not a bad shot, if I say so m'self." He glanced at the others. "Get out of here, ma'am. We'll hold these buggers back as long as we can."
She nodded gratefully. They helped Aligore to his feet and hurried into the stairwell. It was suffocatingly hot, and the air was thick and dirty with smoke. The constant rhythmic pounding from the landing below had also stopped. Had the dragons given up? She risked a glance down the stairs and moaned. The iron door was glowing white hot. They were melting their way through. As she watched, a piece of the door slipped away with a hiss of steam.
"Hurry, Sal!" Tom barked. He gave her a shove and she raced up the stairs, the others close behind her. A Dwarf screamed in pain from the arena behind them—it sounded like Gug—but there was nothing they could do to help. They continued upwards.
The stairs wound higher and tighter through the air. There were no exits onto the other floors. Sally realized they had already passed the top of the castle, and they were now climbing one of its massive towers. She remembered what Bebbens had said: It's a death trap up there. There's no escape. So much for her leadership abilities. She had led the Dwarves to their doom.
The stairs finally ended in a massive room at the top of the tallest tower. It was worse than Sally could have imagined. The room was little more than a series of stone arches surrounding a lookout platform. There were no walls to keep the dragons away. Hundreds of Dwarves were crowded into the tight space. They clutched each other, sobbing and saying their last good-byes. Sally saw no hope on any of their faces. The wind whipped through her hair. The night sky was filled with the roars of countless enraged dragons circling far below.
A Dwarf baby began to cry, and its mother gathered the child in her arms and began to slowly rock back and forth. As the mother rocked, she began to sing. Her voice was low and soft, but gradually the rest of the room became silent. Sally couldn't make out the words of the song—the wind ripped them away instantly, but the melody remained behind, sweet and beautiful, strong yet impossibly sad. It was a lullaby. The Dwarf baby closed its eyes, and the mother held the child tighter. Tears ran down her face.
And then a great shape was rising out of the darkness beyond them. Several Dwarves screamed. Massive wings tore through the air, pumping furiously to keep the shape aloft. It hovered in front of them. And then the shape rolled to the side and a ladder dropped into view.
"Are yeh gettin' on or not, yeh stupid little buggers?" Fleet screamed at them. "Hurry up!" He leaned over the side of the railing, his bloodshot nose the only spot of color in his pale face. The airship's sides were badly singed, but at least it was still in one piece.
A cheer went up. The Dwarves streamed toward the ladder. Most of the women and children were sent up first, disappearing onto the deck of the airship one at a time. Sally glanced around. There were still far too many Dwarves huddled on the windswept tower. The airship would never be able to hold them all.
"Sally!" Tom suddenly cried. A dragon's massive head was emerging from the stairwell. It regarded them with cold, alien eyes. Bursts of steam escaped from its nostrils. She swung her axe as hard as she could. It sunk into the creature's nose and the head jerked back down into the darkness with a gnashing wail. The axe was torn from her hands and she stumbled forward. Tom caught her around the waist and pulled her back. "We've gotta block these stairs!" he shouted.
"With what?" There was no furniture of any kind in the tower to barricade the stairwell. And with her axe gone, they were now defenseless. She glanced around helplessly.
The dragon's head darted back out of the stairwell, its jaws gleaming. Aligore lunged forward and collided with the dragon. They tumbled back down into the darkness. Aligore's tail gave a final flick, then he vanished from sight.
"Aligore!" Sally cried.
"He'll be okay!" Tom yelled, dragging Sally away from the gaping stairwell. "We've gotta get the rest of these Dwarves onto the ship!"
Sally suddenly spied Aurella and Faunella pushing their way to the front of the line. As she watched, they shoved a group of children out of the way and reached for the ladder. Sally quickly darted forward and grabbed their cloaks, jerking the sisters back. "I don't think so," she said coldly. "You're getting on the ship last."
"But...but..." Aurella's eyes filled with tears. Her neck fat trembled.
"Make sure they don't get onboard yet, Bebbens," Sally said. The little Dwarf snapped to attention and herded the protesting sisters back to the end of the line. Sally glanced around. The airship was almost full, its cabin and deck packed to the brim with Dwarves, yet there were still at least fifty Dwarves left on the tower, not counting Sally and her friends. They would never made it. Even now Lola's wings were humming furiously just to keep the ship aloft under the sudden weight.
Aligore leaped out of the darkened stairwell, making several panicked Dwarves cry out in alarm. The dragon was bleeding from several small cuts, and he appeared to be in a very bad mood indeed. He snorted and shook his head. "THERE ARE OTHER DRAGONS ON THE STAIRWELL, TRYING TO FORCE THEIR WAY UP. THE BODY OF THAT LAST DRAGON WILL BLOCK THEIR PATH FOR NOW, BUT IT WILL NOT HOLD THEM FOREVER."
A blast of fire suddenly lit up the night sky. It slammed into the side of the airship. Sparks rained down around them, and several Dwarves tumbled off the ladder and disappeared from sight. The airship veered away, its sides smoking. Dwarves still clung to the airship's ladder, scrambling upwards frantically. Then the airship dropped out of sight. An instant later a gigantic golden dragon streaked into view, flames still trailing from its jaws. There was a figure seated on the dragon's wide back, his sword raised, his face a mask of hatred.
Sally's stomach clenched. "Dain," she whispered. He was still alive.
The dragon's wings curled and it thundered down onto the tower. It slunk through the largest arch, snapping and snarling. Dwarves screamed and dove out of the way. A young Dwarf tripped and the dragon lunged at the child, but Aligore darted forward and plucked the child from the dragon's path. The monster spat out a furious roar and gave chase.
Dain spied Sally and the others, and his face lit with horrible recognition. Laughing, he leaped from the dragon's back and dashed toward them. Sally looked around for a weapon. There was nothing she could use. It was hopeless. Tom grabbed her shirt and dragged her back. Seconds later, Dain's sword cut through the air, missing her head by inches. She stared up at him.
"Remember me?" he sneered.
Sally tried to speak, but no words came out. She was too frightened. She backpedaled as quickly as possible, sliding across the stone floor. The dark stairwell was only a few feet away, and she could hear dragons snapped and snarling a few feet below, trying to claw their way to the surface.
Dain advanced, his sword raised. "Where's the boy?" he asked. "Tell me and I might let you live."
Sally thought quickly. "He's...dead. Jonah's dead. One of the dragons got him."
Something flashed across Dain's face. He paused, his face twisting with emotion. "Dead?" he repeated. "No. You're...you're lying. Lying!" His voice rose to a wail, and he raised the sword again. Tom threw himself in front of Sally, trying to protect her from the blow.
And then a fierce crimson head was rising out of the darkness beside them. The dragon's jaws closed around Dain's arm. A look of horror crossed the man's face, then he was jerked from his feet and dragged down into the stairwell with one last cry.
Tom pulled Sally to her feet. They hurried away from the gaping stairwell, where a number of very unpleasant noises could now be heard. Sally glanced over and her jaw dropped open.
The massive golden dragon stood over Aurella and Faunella, who were cowering in the corner of the room, wailing miserably. Faunella's arms were wrapped around the book that no doubt still held Jonah. She clutched the book the way a drowning person holds a life preserver. Specks of foaming saliva dripped from the golden dragon's mouth, and it stared at the Dwarf sisters with naked hunger. And then a green flash was streaking toward them, placing itself between the Dwarves and the dragon. It was...
"Aligore," Tom said softly.
The golden dragon paused. "GET OUT OF THE WAY, YOUNG ONE. THEY DESSSERVE TO DIE FOR THEIR CRIMESSS."
Aligore slowly shook his head. "NO MORE KILLING. THERE HAS BEEN TOO MUCH DEATH ALREADY."
The golden dragon suddenly screamed in fury. He reared back and blasted a plume of fire straight up into the night sky. "DO YOU KNOW WHAT THEY DID?" the creature howled. "THEY TRAPPED USSS! THEY HURT USSS! THEY KILLED USSS!"
"I KNOW," Aligore said. "AND I'M SORRY. BUT I CANNOT LET YOU KILL THEM."
"WHY NOT?" The dragon took a menacing step forward.
"BECAUSE IT'S NOT RIGHT," Aligore said simply.
The golden dragon stared down it Aligore. It was trembling with rage. "THEN YOU SSSHALL SSSHARE THEIR FATE!" It lunged forward, its jaws swinging open. Aligore nimbly sidestepped, then he launched himself at the dragon's face. His claws raked down the side of the golden dragon's snout, and it whipped its massive head back and forth. It took a step back, toward Tom and Sally. They dove out of the way, and one of the dragon's huge hind legs disappeared down the open stairwell. There was the sound of splintering bone as the dragon crashed to the ground.
Aligore turned to Aurella and Faunella. "GET ON," he barked. "I SHALL PROTECT YOU AS LONG AS I CAN."
Nodding mutely, the Dwarf sisters scrambled onto his back. Aligore's green wings unfurled and he rose from the ground. He streaked across the room and disappeared into the night. With a roar of hatred, the golden dragon pried itself free and launched after them.
***
The sky was filled with dragons. They streamed from every window of the castle, shrieking as they wheeled through the sky. Several of them noticed the two Dwarves on Aligore's back, and they immediately gave chase, furious that one of their own was helping the enemy.
Yet none could not match the speed of the golden dragon. It thundered through the air behind Aligore, blasting fireballs after the retreating dragon. It was fast enough to match his pace effortlessly, yet nimble enough to follow his every feint and dive. The creature lunged forward, hissing. Without warning, Aligore dropped straight down, plummeting toward the ground far below. The Dwarves on his back howled and held on for dear life.
Aligore had never flown before. He had a sneaking suspicion that he wasn't very good at it. He felt clumsy and awkward in the air, his body too ungainly to be properly streamlined. The only thing that had kept him out of the jaws of the golden dragon thus far was pure luck, but how long could that hold out?
He suddenly pulled out of his dive and shot forward. The golden dragon dropped past him. Its jaws slammed shut inches from his flashing tail. Then Aligore was banking upwards, beating his wings rapidly against the night air. Two smaller dragons rushed at him from either side, but he rolled out of the way and the dragons collided in a shower of flame. Locked in a screaming death embrace, they fell through the sky together. Aligore risked a glance over his shoulder to see the golden dragon rising up behind him again, its eyes insane with rage, its jaws slamming open. A raging fire spilled from the corners of its mouth as it summoned another fireball. At this range, there was no way it could miss.
The Dwarves screamed again. Aligore looked forward just in time to see numerous golden shapes streaking toward him. Bolts of blinding energy rained past him on every side, and the sky was suddenly filled with light. With a final cry, the golden dragon went tumbling through the sky. Beams of light rocketed the massive creature's body all the way down.
The night air was soon filled with the shimmering golden figures. They lanced through the air at impossible speeds. Light flew in every direction, hot and brilliant. The sky rang with the screams of injured dragons. Some of the dragons tried to fight the golden shapes, but they were quickly driven to the ground. The rest of the dragons soon turned tail and fled, disappearing into the night. Their hooting cries of pain and rage echoed across the desolate landscape.
Gradually, the chaos died away. The streaking figures finally began to slow down, their golden auras fading away in the darkness. They gathered around the castle, forming a protective halo of light. The Dwarves in the tower let out a cheer.
The Unicorns had arrived.
Naturally, there was quite a bit of laughing and hugging and crying and storytelling. It would take far too long to recount everything that was said and done, however, and some things are best left to the imagination. But briefly, here is what happened:
They stood in the rubble of the tallest tower, gathered in a small circle. The Unicorns and most of the Dwarves were busy putting out the fires in the lower levels of the castle. The wind had died away and the night was warm, and the tower seemed to be a very good place indeed to talk about important things.
First Sally had talked about everything that had happened to her in the last few days. She left out the especially heroic parts, because she felt somewhat embarrassed to mention them. But that was all right, since everybody knew what she had done. And that was all right too, she supposed. Maybe she was a bit of a hero after all. She certainly hadn't planned it that way. It had just happened.
Tom had talked about his imprisonment. He was, in usual Dwarf fashion, brief and to-the-point. "I was locked away," he said. "They were going to kill me. Then Sally saved us. Then you folks showed up. That's all." Dwarves do not care much for glory or attention, which is why Dwarf storytellers are rarely seen.
Elsie had talked about her time in the abandoned gnome village, her meeting with Vork, her journey to the White Place, and the final confrontation with the Dark Shadow. Since she was a teenage girl, Elsie was a natural storyteller, so she went on for quite some time. It was a fairly interesting story, however, so nobody truly minded.
Jimjim had been brought from the airship, still tied to the chair. He seemed quite grumpy and refused to answer any questions. That was okay, though, since nobody particularly wanted to talk to him anyway. They left him sitting in the corner and forgot all about him.
Yap had talked about his encounter with a magical talking fish who took him beneath the ocean and made him Lord of the Seas. Apparently the sharks were not happy with this decision, so they had invaded Yap's underwater kingdom. Together with his magical talking fish friend, Yap had heroically defended the kingdom and strangled every last one of the sharks. He went into this with gruesome detail, relishing the looks of revulsion that his story earned. Nobody believed a single word he said.
Aligore didn't talk. He was content to merely listen.
Fleet talked about quite a lot of things, but since he was very drunk at this point, nobody could quite understand him. He slurred his words a bit, and every now and then he would make a heated exclamation such as "Mollygavump!" Nobody was sure if these outbursts were part of the story or whether Fleet was simply inventing new curse words on the fly.
Jonah spoke last, filling in the blanks from Sally's story. He talked about his adventures in the Dead Words Woods, the creation of his spell word (Sally seemed to find the fact that his spell word was "dumb" quite hilarious), and the desperate flight from the White Place that ended with the dragon battle high above Aabundiai.
And then, just as the sun was creeping over the horizon, Bebbens found the book.
***
It lay in the rubble of the tower, half-buried beneath a pile of debris. Bebbens recognized it instantly. It was the Dwarvish rulebook that Aurella and her sister had been carrying around for the past several days. His first instinct was to simply ignore the book—after all, he had read it before, and it wasn't very interesting—but then he paused. As far as he knew, the castle only had one copy of the rulebook, and he had borrowed it two nights ago to prepare for Tom's trial. Had Aurella stolen the book from his room? Why would she do such a thing? Curious, he bent over and picked the book up.
The dust jacket slipped from the rulebook and fell to the ground. What lay underneath was not the familiar boring brown rulebook, but instead an elaborate orange book with golden symbols scrawled on the cover. Bebbens suddenly noticed that the book was warm. He felt it pulsing in his hands, as if it were squirming to escape. The name of the book was, quite simply, Night.
"It's magic," he said out loud. "A trapper book."
"What have you got there, Bebbens?" Tom suddenly called from the other side of the room.
Startled, Bebbens let out a squeal of guilty fright. The book slipped from his fingers and plunked down onto the ground. Its cover fell open and a strange light suddenly shone from its pages. An instant later, a large figure burst from the light. Bebbens screamed. It was another dragon, a small, white creature with very large eyes. The dragon snarled for a moment, then glanced up at the rising sun.
"OH," the dragon said. "ISSS IT MORNING ALREADY?"
Then it changed. Its skin shimmered and seemed to flow together. Its long snout vanished, and its white wings retracted away inside its body. Its tail gave one final flick before disappearing from sight. The claws grew longer and whiter, and seconds later they had become fingers. A bushy beard sprang from the dragon's neck, while its eyes became small and watery. The entire transformation took less than ten seconds. And when it was finished, instead of a dragon, they were staring at...
"Lord Coalbrick?" Bebbens squeaked.
The King beamed at him. "Oh, hullo, Bebbens. I haven't seen you in a very long time, my friend." His expression suddenly grew serious. "I think I might have been having more bad dreams. They come and go. That's why I don't like the night anymore. But it seems that lately, the night lasts longer and longer." He shook his head. "Such a shame."
Tom hurried over with a blanket, which he wrapped around the King's scrawny frame. The King gave him an appreciative smile. "Thank you, lad. It's always hard to find clothes that won't rip and tear when the dreaming begins."
The others crowded around the King. Jonah frowned. "Wait, wait. Let me see if I've got this straight...the King turns into a dragon? And he was inside a trapper book? What's going on?"
The King looked at him intently. "A dragon?" he repeated. "I don't know anything about that. I wanted to learn about dragons, I remember that clearly. I thought that maybe if I could understand them better, I might be able to end this foolish war between our species. I went to speak with Gobblecus in the library, and he gave me a book. He said it would teach me everything I needed to know about dragons." He stroked his beard thoughtfully. "I don't know how much that book taught me. It was very confusing. And I think it might have started all those bad dreams." Despite the warm morning air, he shivered and pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders.
"The book turned him into a dragon," Tom said. "Probably every time the sun went down, the transformation would happen. Huh. Of all the low-down, rotten tricks..."
Jonah suddenly remembered the night he had spent exploring the castle, when he had first seen the Dwarves bring Aligore inside. There had been something lurking in the bowels of the castle, something that had terrified the Dwarf community every night. Realization dawned on him. "The Dwarves knew there was a dragon loose in the castle, didn't they? But I'll bet that Aurella wouldn't let anybody kill it. And she probably used the dragon to stir up enough fear and anger so that nobody protested when she started capturing other dragons. That's how she got her slaves."
"Where is Aurella now?" Elsie's voice was hard. "I think we should hear what she has to say."
Moments later, Aurella and Faunella were brought before them. The Dwarf sisters' hands were bound behind their backs, and they were very pale. When they saw their father, they glanced away, their faces miserable with guilt.
"You turned him into this, didn't you?" Jonah asked them. "You and Puddington teamed up to drive the King crazy during the daytime, and you used him to terrorize the other Dwarves every night."
The Dwarf sisters were silent.
"I get it," Sally said, her voice excited by the prospect of a proper bit of detective work at last. "And when you saw us snooping around the castle, you were worried that we would discover the truth about your father, weren't you? So you waited until he turned into a dragon and ripped through his robes one night, then you had Puddington capture him in a trapper book, just like the one he used on Jonah! And then you tried to use his death as an excuse to take full control of the throne, not to mention as a chance to get rid of us once and for all! That's really clever!" She suddenly frowned. "Horribly, disgustingly evil, but still kinda clever."
The King listened to all of this intently. At last he cleared his throat and turned to his daughters. "Is all of this true?" he asked.
"Of course it is," Aurella snapped. "Go ahead and kill us. I know you all want us dead. Just get it over with."
A woman after my own heart, Vork murmured.
The King sighed. Tears stood out in his eyes. "Your mother would have been so disappointed in you," he said softly. The girls looked away. "You have done great harm to my kingdom," he continued. "Dwarf law would indeed call for your deaths. But sometimes, I think, laws should not be followed. I don't like killing. I never did. It seems like such an ugly way to deal with problems, don't you think? Plus, even though you are not good daughters, I still love you. That is my job as a father, after all..."
Aurella and Faunella looked up, their faces hopeful.
"So I shall not have you executed. You are, however, both banished from this kingdom forever." He sighed heavily. "Such a shame. And such a terrible, terrible disappointment."
"Exile?" Faunella sputtered. "Both of us? But it was all Aurella's idea! She talked me into it!"
"Oh, shut up, you little liar!" Aurella snapped crossly. "You know that's not true!"
"You shut up!"
"No, you!"
The King motioned and guards led the squabbling sisters away. He sighed again. "Too many bad dreams. A man with this many bad dreams cannot rule a successful kingdom. It's simply too much work. I think what I need is some rest. Yes, some rest sounds good."
Elsie stepped forward. "Your majesty, I have some experience with enchantments. With a little research, I might be able to break your curse."
He beamed at her. "And wouldn't that be nice? Bless you, child. Very considerate. I like you." He stretched his arms slowly and yawned. "But now I think I must sleep. It's been a very long time since I have had a nice, long sleep. And who knows? Maybe this time there will be no dreams. That would be lovely indeed." He started toward the door, leaning on the shoulder of a Dwarf guard. He suddenly looked very old and feeble.
"It's...err...wonderful to have you back, your majesty," Bebbens called out after him.
The King turned and smiled. "Bebbens. Yes, I like you too. Like the son I should have had. You're a good Dwarf. You'll make a good King."
Bebbens' jaw dropped open. "Your...um...Your Majesty?"
"I am tired of this job, and I have no heirs worthy of the title. The crown is mine to give to whomever I choose." Lord Coalbrick bowed slightly. "Good night, King Bebbens. I'm going to bed." He headed down the stairs.
Everybody turned to look at the pudgy little Dwarf, who was stammering madly and twisting on his beard. They broke into wild applause.
And that was how Bebbens became the King of Aabundiai.
***
Although they searched for hours, the Dwarves never found Dain's body.
***
"So what will your first decree be, King Bebbens?" Sally asked. She was grinning widely.
Bebbens stammered and shuffled his feet. He was blushing furiously. "Ah...well...to tell you the truth, I don't know. I've never really...um...thought about being King before. I suppose the first thing to do would be to...err...tend to the wounded. Make sure they're comfortable. And maybe...uh...rebuild the castle? And then I think we should try to...um...try to make peace with the dragons. Maybe apologize for what we did to them?"
"HUH," Aligore said. "GOOD ANSWER."
Beaming, Sally leaned forward and kissed Bebbens on the cheek. "I think you'll make an excellent King," she said.
He blushed even deeper and mumbled his thanks.
"An what bout ol' Jimjim? What happens to me?"
They all turned. Jimjim was still lashed securely to Fleet's chair. He glared at them. "Suppose you'll keell me now. Ain't no reason for you to keep ol' Jimjim around." He sniffed sadly.
Jonah stepped forward. He hadn't seen the bounty hunter since their fateful fight in the Gloaming Gulch. To be perfectly honest, he had hoped to never see the man again. Jimjim had terrified him. And yet here he was, powerless and completely at Jonah's mercy. Staring down at the scrawny man, Jonah wondered what he had ever been afraid of. "We'll let you go, I suppose. But first, you need to answer some questions. Why were you working with Dain? And what did he want?"
Jimjim blinked. He licked his lips and looked around nervously. "Jimjim will tell you. But not dem." He nodded toward the Dwarves. "Don' trust dem. Noway, nohow. Jus' you."
Jonah sighed and took a step closer.
And then Jimjim suddenly convulsed, straining against his chains. Something large and blue streaked from his body. Jonah had time to realize that it was a ghost, and then it was upon him. He faintly heard Sally screaming somewhere in the distance.
Then he realized that he was no longer standing on top of the castle's tower. He was now inside a tiny stone room. The room was completely bare, except for a single small window. He hurried over to the window and glanced out.
Through the window, he could see the tower. His friends were staring at him, frozen in horror. A very familiar hand entered his view. It looked like his hand. Then he heard his own voice say, "Dumb!" Only the voice had not come from him; it had come from somewhere outside the window. Blue electricity leaped from the hand and a portal was suddenly torn into the world, flashing and crackling. Then his view through the window was suddenly rushing forward, directly into the blue.
***
Jonah vanished. The blue energy gave one last hissing pop, then it dissipated in every direction.
And Jimjim began to laugh.
***
It had worked out marvelously, Paldawar thought. The look on the boy's face had been priceless. And even though this new body was small, it was quite a bit less smelly than Jimjim's body had been. At least he was trading up.
He floated in the blue ether. It was quite a unique experience. Was this the very fabric that held reality together, he wondered? Or was this a different temporal plane altogether, outside of the constraints of time and space? It would be fascinating to spend days exploring this new power, but time was a luxury Paldawar did not have. The boy's friends would try to rescue him. That's what friends did, after all. It was all so wretchedly predictable. He doubted whether they could actually follow his trail, but just in case, it was wise to hurry. Now that he was so close to his goal, it would be stupid to get drawn into yet another ridiculous battle.
Please, he heard the boy say, somewhere deep inside his mind. Please, who are you? And why are you doing this to me?
"My name is Paldawar. And don't worry—I'm not going to kill you. Once I have the Rune of Roon, you'll be free to go. I promise. Until then, I need your body."
The boy said nothing. Perhaps he would prove to be less of a whiner than Jimjim had been. That would be a pleasant surprise.
"So how does this power work?" Paldawar asked. "How can I find the Rune?"
I don't know.
"Liar."
The boy's voice flashed with sudden anger. Listen, moron, if I knew how to find the source of unlimited power, don't you think I would have done it already?
Hmm. Perhaps the little brat had a point. Maybe he truly was clueless. Then again, maybe Paldawar simply hadn't asked the right questions yet. "Have you ever been here before? This blue world?"
Yes.
"And what did you do here?"
I...I won't tell you.
"Fine. I'll dig it out of your memory myself. I must warn you, though...it will probably be very painful. The mind is not a bendable object."
Okay, okay. I'll tell you. Last time I was here, I wanted to find my friend Elsie. So I just concentrated on her...you know, I thought about her name, what she looks like, the way she talks... All of that stuff, right? And then I said her name, and suddenly I was there.
"Thanks, kid." Well, if the boy was telling the truth, this would be even easier than he had anticipated. He concentrated hard, thinking about the Rune of Roon. What it could do, what it might look like, what it would feel like to hold the object in his hands. "The Rune of Roon," he said out loud.
Energy crackled forth from the boy's body. It formed a twisting spiderweb of lines and patterns, a swirling sprawl of lightning that stretched out into infinity. Paldawar suddenly realized what he was seeing. It was a map...easily the largest map ever created. The beginning lay in front of him, but where was the end? There was only one way to find out. He touched the first line of the map, a small dot of sparkling blue electricity. The boy's body was instantly jerked forward, racing along the course of the beam. They flew through space, Paldawar and the boy, spinning and looping through the vast blue nothingness. The lines began to speed past faster and faster, and soon everything was merely a blur of color.
What's happening? the boy cried. He sounded terrified.
Paldawar merely smiled. This was rather fun.
And then everything changed.
***
Jonah stared out the window in disbelief.
The room they had entered was massive. The walls were made of glimmering glass, every color of the rainbow. Sparkling crystal arches raced toward the ceiling, where a glowing white orb dangled from a chain. The light from the orb danced around the room, reflecting and refracting off every surface. It made the entire room dazzling, so much so that Jonah was forced to shield his eyes. It was like standing on the surface of the sun, only more pastel.
In the center of the room, a small stone pedestal rose from the floor. There was a tiny brown object sitting in the center of the pedestal. The light seemed to touch every inch of the room except for this one location, for the pedestal was somehow cloaked in shadow. Jonah peered at the brown object desperately. Was that the Rune? He had been expecting something...larger.
"There's a body here," Paldawar said from somewhere far away.
The view shifted down and Jonah gasped. He was staring at a desiccated skeleton. Fragments of musty clothing were draped across the skeleton, and its jaw hung open in a silent scream. The man had obviously been dead for a very long time. Then Jonah noticed the rusted spectacles perched on the skeleton's face. "No..." he whispered.
"What is it?" Paldawar asked.
"I think that's...it looks like Abraham Roon," Jonah said softly.
"The man who created the Rune? Huh. Doesn't look like it did him much good." Paldawar kicked the skeleton, which seemed in poor taste to Jonah.
"But that's impossible," Jonah insisted. "I spoke to him less than a week ago! His body couldn't have...couldn't have..."
"Decomposed?"
"Right! He couldn't have decomposed this quickly!"
"It's a mystery all right..." Paldawar said absently. His view returned to the object on the stone pedestal. The skeleton seemed already forgotten. "Is that the Rune?"
"I don't know," Jonah replied truthfully. "I think so."
"Excellent. Thanks for the body. This is where we say good-bye."
***
Jonah blinked. His prison had vanished. He glanced down and saw that he was now standing in the crystal room, next to the dusty skeleton. Jonah held his hand in front of his face. He flexed his fingers. He was himself again.
The blue ghost had left his body. He was drifting across the room, floating a few feet above the ground. He was heading directly for the Rune of Roon.
"Paldawar, don't!" Jonah cried.
The ghost glanced back. His eyes were shining with an insane light; his face twisted in a frozen smile. "Don't you see?" he screamed. "This is my chance! I'm going to live again!"
"But you don't know what it will—" Jonah began. Then Paldawar grabbed the Rune.
Lightning crackled through the room. Bands of brilliant white energy streamed from the orb on the ceiling, pouring down around Paldawar and the Rune. Jonah cried out and fell back, shielding his eyes. He could distantly hear the ghost screaming. Then a crackling flurry of static filled the air, impossibly loud. The noise seemed to be drilling into his skull. And now Jonah heard two voices screaming out in pain. The air grew hot around him, and it was suddenly difficult to breathe. He rolled over and began crawling away from the lightning storm in the center of the room. The noise and the heat continued to increase. It was like being inside an oven in the middle of a rock concert, Jonah would later think, despite the fact that he had never been inside either of those things.
The lightning abruptly vanished. The static was cut off and the room was quiet. Slowly, the infernal heat died away. In its absence, the crystal room was suddenly and surprisingly chilled. Jonah risked a glance over his shoulder. What he saw made his blood run cold.
Something had happened to Paldawar. Something terrible. Where he had once had two arms and two legs, now he had four of each. His body was as thick as a tree trunk, gnarled and misshapen. And his face... Jonah stared for a moment before he was able to even comprehend what he was seeing. There were now two faces instead of one. The first face belonged to Paldawar, and it was frozen in a scream of silent agony. The second face was withered and ancient, with watery eyes peering out from above a crooked hooked nose. It was the face of Abraham Roon.
"What's going on?" Jonah cried.
The ghost creature turned to him. Roon's eyes blazed. "You ruined everything!" he thundered. "I was supposed to be whole again! You were supposed to be the one to take the Rune!"
"I...I don't understand." Jonah took a step back. He glanced around. The room seemed to have no doors or windows. There was no escape.
The ghost creature floated toward him, howling. "I gave you everything! I told you where to go, told you what to do! And you failed me!"
Jonah turned and ran along the wall. There had to be an exit somewhere. He just needed to find it. His power was completely drained at the moment, but maybe if he could survive for a little longer...
"A ghost cannot possess a ghost!" Roon screamed. "It's against the laws of nature! And now look what happened!" He held up one of his deformed, claw-like hands and shook it furiously.
Jonah slowly turned around as comprehension dawned on him. "You tricked me," he said. "You set a trap for me."
The ghost creature paused. It towered over him, massive and terrible. "Of course I set a trap for you," it sneered. "Who else could I use? Who else could find me here? Only you..."
Jonah threw a glance at the dusty skeleton in the corner. "You were trapped here, weren't you? You knew you would die before anybody could rescue you, so you set some sort of booby trap to make sure that...what? That your spirit would be able to possess whoever touched the Rune? Is that it? You've been using the power of the Rune to call to me? Trying to lure me here so you could steal my body?"
The ghost creature nodded. It took another step closer.
Jonah fought to keep from panicking. "But I don't understand...why didn't you just use the Rune to escape?"
"You fool," the ghost creature spat. "It won't work for its creators. Magic runes never work for their creators. Only for their keys."
"Their...keys?" Jonah repeated weakly.
The creature's lips curled in a sneer. "Why do you think you were given your power in the first place? Why do you think the Red Knight knew a spell word that would transform your power into a map? Where do you think that map led? You're the key to finding my Rune. That was your purpose."
The ghost creature lunged forward. Jonah darted out of his reach and ducked behind the nearest pillar. His heart was pounding. He could hear Roon laughing.
Roon calmly stepped around the pillar and stared down at him. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll need your body. Perhaps all is not lost. After all...there might not be room for three souls in your body, but there's obviously room for two." Roon's half-face suddenly twisted into a fractured smile. "If you need to make peace with your gods, this is your last chance."
***
Paldawar fell.
He drifted deeper and further inside his mind, tumbling through the darkness. He passed the floating stone prison he had constructed for Jimjim. It lay empty and silent. He continued to fall.
He couldn't return to the surface. Not yet. There was still too much pain. His body had been twisted and ruined, torn into something that was unspeakable and cold. For a brief moment, he had shared Roon's mind. It had been a terrible place, full of writhing snakes and things that snarled in the gloom. Looking into that mind was like looking into the mouth of madness itself. In an instant he had seen everything—Roon's creation of the Rune, his eventual imprisonment here in the crystal palace, and the slow deterioration of his mind. He felt Roon's hatred. And he knew what the man was planning. A sliver of guilt shot through him. So the boy was going to die. It was an unfortunate, unplanned accident. He certainly had never meant for the boy to die.
Now he was drifting past other rooms, long buried in the deepest recesses of his mind. He caught occasional glimpses through the windows. Scenes of horror and shame greeted him. Battles he had fought. Cruel deeds he had committed. Men he had killed. Some of them had deserved to die. Many of them had not. These were the memories he had kept locked away for so many years. He averted his eyes as he passed the next batch of rooms. There was nothing he wanted to see here.
Hope was not lost. His ghostly body was ruined, but once Roon took control of the boy, he would have a physical body once more. Then it was merely a matter of defeating Roon, and ultimate power would be his for the taking. It could be done. It was not impossible.
But the boy...
The boy would have to die. It was as simple as that. For the good of the world, the boy would have to die. Paldawar pushed thoughts of the child away.
His descent abruptly ended. He had reached the bottom of this strange memory vortex. He could feel solid ground beneath his feet, although when he glanced down, there was only more nothingness stretching out below. There was only one room here in this furthest corner of his mind, tucked away in the shadows. One last memory. Without quite knowing why, Paldawar stepped forward. The handle of the door was cold, yet it turned easily enough. The door creaked open.
Paldawar gasped.
It was his home. It was the simple cottage where he had spent his childhood, recreated in perfect detail. There were his bookshelves, piled high with volumes he had read a lifetime ago. There was the worn and tattered green rug that his mother had loved so much despite its obvious ugliness. The satyr horns over the mantle. The rusty old grandfather clock on the wall, still clicking away each second in that same familiar metallic rasp. Yet while the details were right, there was still something wrong here. This was his home, but it had changed. A thick layer of dust coated the floor. A dismal-looking fire coughed and hacked in the fireplace, sending flickers of orange dancing across the walls. The air was cold.
And in the center of the room, an old woman sat in a rocking chair, gently swaying back and forth. Her face was bathed in shadows, but he instantly knew who she was. Paldawar's stomach seemed to fall away. He slowly entered the cottage.
"I'm home, mother," he said softly.
She did not look up.
"Mother?" He felt panic rising. "Mother, can you hear me?"
For a long moment, she was motionless. Then, with ancient care, she turned to face him.
"I had such high hopes," she said. He could not see her face, but he instantly knew that she was crying. He felt a stab of pain in his chest. His mother slowly shook her head. "Hopes that you would become someone great. Hopes that you would make a difference in the world."
"I will make a difference, mother. This is merely another setback. I won't let Roon stop me. I'll find a way to beat him, and then I'll have the Rune. And once that happens—"
"The only difference you've made," she interrupted sharply, "is that you're about to get a young child killed."
Paldawar paused. "I know. And if it makes any difference, I am sorry. It's a terrible situation. But without Jonah's body, I can't access the power of the Rune."
"So you are going to kill him."
"What? No, not me! Roon will kill him, and then I will—"
She turned her head away sharply, and Paldawar fell silent. "Mother, what's wrong?"
She said nothing. The house gave a sudden lurch around them. Paldawar ignored the tremor.
"Why won't you speak with me, mother?"
"You are no longer my son," she said simply. And then she would say no more.
Paldawar's insides twisted. "You don't understand!" he cried. "I can make a difference! Once I have the Rune, I can make things right again! I can change this rotten world, change it back to the way it was. Don't you see? Once I have the power, I can set things right! I can fix things."
She said nothing.
The house trembled again. Dust fell from the rafters above them.
Paldawar took a step towards her chair, then he hesitated. There was a new presence in the room, a dark silhouette watching him from the shadows. He instantly recognized the strong shoulders, the gnarled hands, the piercing gray eyes. The figure moved forward into the light, and Paldawar let out a helpless moan.
His father regarded him with a mixture of anger and sadness. His eyes flashed in the dim light. "I taught you nothing," he said at last. His voice carried the weight of defeat.
"No, father, that's not true. You...you taught me to be strong! You taught me that I always needed to keep fighting, no matter the cost! You taught me how to be a man!"
The old man hung his head. "If you truly believe that, then I taught you nothing at all."
"Why won't either of you understand?" Paldawar cried out in agony. "I'm trying to do the right thing! I'm trying to build a world where the innocents will no longer need to die! I'm trying to make a difference!"
"You're trying to be a god," his father said simply.
"The old gods have abandoned this world, father," Paldawar spat bitterly. "We need new ones."
His father sighed heavily. "All those years of studies, and yet you are still a fool. People did not worship the old gods because they were powerful. They worshipped them because the old gods were merciful."
The house rumbled. Crackling splinters appeared in the walls.
The old man stared at him. "So much wisdom, yet so little understanding. Words do not matter. Intentions do not matter. In the end, the only things that matter are your actions. Those are the only things that we leave behind when we move on."
The house gave another creaking shudder, and Paldawar suddenly realized what was about to happen. "No..." he breathed.
His mother cried out in alarm. Instantly, his father was racing across the room, his face a mask of grim determination. As the roof sagged and gave way above them, the old man threw himself over his wife. Then the timbers fell with a roaring squeal, pounding down around the motionless figures in a thunder of doom. Paldawar howled.
It didn't take long. When the house had finished collapsing, Paldawar stood alone in the shattered rubble. The sky-that-was-not-really-a-sky-at-all hung blank and starless high above his head. He stared at the ruined home. He was quite possibly the smartest man on the entire planet, but in that cold, lifeless place, his mind would not work. He could not think, could not reason.
From somewhere high above him, he heard Jonah screaming.
***
Jonah ran. He heard the ghost creature chuckle as it came after him. He glanced around desperately. There was nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. His foot suddenly slipped and he tumbled to the ground. He rolled on his back and screamed. The ghost creature stooped over him, cackling softly.
Suddenly the other half of the ghost creature's face came to life. Paldawar's eyes snapped open. "Run, Jonah!" he hissed. Then one of the ghost creature's arms plunged into its own stomach. There was a tearing noise, and a transparent section of the ghost's stomach was torn away. The blue matter floated in the air for a moment, then it dissipated and vanished. "Only ghosts can kill ghosts," Paldawar murmured. His voice was low and sad.
"What are you doing?" Roon barked. There was a note of panic in his voice. "Don't be a fool! We can share the body!"
Paldawar's face was grim. "Not all of us," he said simply. Then he reached up and grabbed his head with both hands. Roon howled, but Paldawar never wavered. He began to pull in opposite directions. The ghost creature's features stretched, then split. There was a rending noise as the head broke away in two halves. Pure white light poured from the ghost creature's mortally wounded body. Roon's half-head whipped back and forth, screaming.
Paldawar looked at Jonah. "I'm sorry," he said. That was all.
Then he was swallowed up by the light.
Jonah blinked. The ghost creature—Paldawar and Abraham Roon—was gone. He was alone in the massive crystal room.
***
There was a dull ache in Jonah's chest, a pain he couldn't quite identify. All this time, he had been convinced that Roon was his friend. He had honestly believed that the kindly old man actually cared about him. And of course, he had harbored the secret hope that Roon would have information about Jonah's history—his birth, how he ended up on Earth instead of Rhyyne, and most importantly, the true identity of his...
Jonah shook his head. No. Best not to think about his parents. Not now. Not ever. They couldn't help him. He was alone.
He slowly stood up and made his way to the center of the room. His heart was pounding. The small brown object still lay on the stone pedestal, but the pool of dark shadows had vanished along with Roon's treachery. As Jonah drew closer, he saw that the object was a small coin, no larger than a silver dollar. There were lines and shapes engraved on the coin, but he couldn't make them out. He glanced up at the orb hanging high above him. Was it safe to touch the Rune? He had a suspicion that Roon's booby trap would only work once. Besides, he had a feeling that the ghost of Roon might be gone for good this time.
He reached out and picked up the Rune.
Nothing happened.
It was heavier than he had expected. He turned it over in his hands, staring at it. It really was quite beautiful, but...was this it? He had been expecting something a little more impressive. And shouldn't something magical happen now? A flash of light, perhaps, or maybe a sudden rush of godlike powers? He certainly didn't feel any different.
Maybe it was broken.
Or maybe he just wasn't using it correctly. In fairy tales, when magic was involved, people were always told to make a wish. That's how magic dreams came true, after all. Maybe it was the same in this world. Maybe he simply needed to make a wish.
But what should he wish for? World peace? Eternal happiness? Invincible powers? Two hundred pounds of ice cream? A copy of Amazing Fantasy #15, the very first appearance of the spectacular Spider-Man? He could have anything in the world, and he didn't know what he wanted.
Except that was a lie. He did know what he wanted. It was the same thing he had wished for every day of his entire life. He clutched the Rune tight to his chest and made his wish.
He wished to see his parents.
The room shimmered.
A portal suddenly opened, flashing and crackling.
And the Sorceress stepped out of the portal.
She smiled at him. "Hello, Jonah."
The story continues in Book Three...
Fall of 2004
v1.1 proofed by billbo196