Escapia: Chapter Three, "The Princess and the Pass"

Escapia: Chapter Three, "The Princess and the Pass"

Chapter 3 –

“The Princess and the Pass”


Sondrew rose early, before the rest of the party began to stir, and began to stoke the campfire to make breakfast. The fire was just cracking cheerfully as he noticed hoofbeats approaching. He raised his eyebrows curiously at the approaching party.

The glow of dawn was just easing into the early morning mist when Sondrew caught sight of Princess Prenzibeth, astride a white mare, and two male companions, a knight and a Brigadionist Panin (cleric).

The princess wore a dark goldenrod riding uniform with a short skirt. Her chestnut brown hair in a long, tight braid. As she got closer, Sondrew could see that her brown eyes bore something of a resemblance to Sequiel’s, which made Sondrew feel a bit more at ease.

In her bearing, she was undeniably feminine and undeniably noble, but “princess” was too frilly, too precious of a word to describe her; and yet “queen” was too austere for one so youthful. She required the invention of some new title. Or at least so it seemed to Sondrew’s lyrical mind.

Apparently, Corpalot had set out a display of more of the strange items he manufactured in his factory after the rest of them had gone to sleep.

A breeze tipped it over – gently, so that nothing broke – and Sondrew knew that Ballad must have woken up. Sure enough, when Sondrew turned around, Ballad was grinning at him. The gryphon yawned extensively, then crowed like a cockerel to awaken the rest of the camp, but choked, due the lingering effects of the previous night’s attack.

Corpalot erupted out of his tent and immediately said:

“Boy, can’t you make that gryphon look a little more…”

“Magestic,” supplied Sequiel, who had just emerged from his tent.

“..majestic?” Corpalot continued. “The princess approaches! And pick that display up!”

Everyone bowed deeply except Ballad and Kane, who were studying Prenzibeth with great scrutiny.

Prenzibeth politely introduced the knight, Sir Arvin, and the cleric (her “spiritual advisor”) Panin Janek Diarsi. Corpalot, in turn, introduced his first mate, Mr. Razolo, and his “consort,” Miss Gabriana.

“And now,” Corpalot said, “allow me to introduce the legendary - ”

"Cousin!" exclaimed Prenzibeth. She leapt off her horse with such verve that the animal started. She turned to the knight.

"Sir Arvin, would you take him please."

The knight took the horse's reigns as Prenzibeth charged at Sequiel like a unicorn at a lyon.

"Cousin! You're alive!"

She threw her arms around Sequiel and hugged him so tightly, he was reminded of The Werewolf’s grip on his neck. The princess wasn’t nearly as strong - but she had ahold of his entire body.

"I always wondered if it was you - Master Sequiel, I mean."

"It's...an honor to see you again, your highness" said Sequiel, stiffening in her embrace.

"Come now, Seeky…" She refused to release him just yet. "Such decorum never suited either one of us."

"Yet you remain royalty, Prenzie" said Sequiel. "And I don't."

"Are you not the King of All Questers, as I've heard?" she asked.

"No," Sequiel replied plainly. "No quester holds dominion over another. I'm simply the best."

"We shall see..." she said, finally allowing him to pull away.

Prenzibeth put her hands on her hips and surveyed the campsite.

"Well, Captain,” said Prenzibeth to Corpalot, “I am surprised, to say the least. This appears to be everything you promised - your distinctive supplies and provisions, Master Sequiel,” she smiled once more at her cousin, “and friendly, obedient magicals."

"I'll take friendly," said Ballad, whispering to Sondrew loudly enough to be overheard. "Wolfie can take obedient."

"If I may be so bold as to ask: Why should this surprise you, Highness. I be a man of me word."

"You have been deceiving the palace for some time, Captain.”

"Only because of the - if you'll forgive me - stagnant ways of his highness, your father," (the knight raised an eyebrow) "and the Brigadionist Elders," (the cleric raised an eyebrow). "Had I known you was so much more...pragmatic, I'd have approached you you about this matter meself -"

"Before I threatened to have you arrested for secretly bringing dangerous magical creatures near a populated area?"

"Ultimately, a fortuitous occurrence for both of us." He bowed with a flourish.

"Let us hope so, Captain."

In a genuine whisper, Ballad commented, “She already knows about the factory.”

“She knows about it,” Sondrew whispered back. “But she may not know all about it.”

Prenzibeth spied a poor skinny lad in patched clothes who appeared to be cooking breakfast for everyone. Knowing the well-accepted fact that Sequiel kept no servants, she assumed he belonged to Corpalot. One of the captain’s trained creatures was seated dangerously close to him – a gryphon large enough to snap the lad up in one bite. This was the closest the princess had ever been to a magical creature, and she could not help feeling a certain measure of abject terror.

But, she thought, if that servant can sit there without fear and cook a meal, then I ought to be ashamed if I can’t even approach the beast for a few moments…or perhaps the lad is more afraid of Corpalot than he is of the gryphon. That thought fired her anger, which gave her the courage to get closer to the creature so she could speak to the lad.

"You there, young man,” she said to Sondrew. “I see you're cooking enough to feed an army. Does the Captain provide you enough to eat?”

"No," said Ballad. "I do."

"That's true, your highness,” said Sondrew. “Ballad fishes for both of us back home in…where we live."

Prenzibeth looked puzzled - it looked strange on a face that seemed made only to express a sense of serene wisdom.

"Ballad is the gryphon, your highness,” Sondrew offered. “ The one and only Ballad Quill." With his wooden spatula, Sondrew gave a more reserved version of the gesture he had used to introduce Ballad to Sequiel. Prenzibeth grinned at this.

"Anyhow,” Sondrew went on. “I'm not starved, I'm just…slight. And I'm not a servant of Corpalot's. He can't really be blamed for my impoverished appearance."

"Congratulations, Sondrew," said Ballad. "You found the one thing he can't be blamed for. Now, let me tell you what he can -"

But he was cut off by a laugh from Prenzibeth.

"This is impressive," she said, looking directly at Ballad for the first time. "And I don't say that lightly. Is it some sort of ventriloquism, or do you make him speak through…sorcery?"

"Ventriloquism" echoed Ballad's voice - from the general direction of Corpalot. Then, in an exaggerated version of Corpalot’s voice, it echoed, "Ask me about how I once enslaved Sondrew and Ballad, or the magicals I hold captive to this day." It concluded with an evil laugh, "Har, har, har, har, haaaaar!" Ballad's beak was shut, and a look of mock-innocence played across his face. Corpalot tried to pretend he didn't notice the voice that seemed to be coming from him, but his face flushed red with anger.

"He speaks for himself, your highness," said Sondrew.

"And so do you, I see," said Prenzibeth. "Something I'd like to see more often in the peasantry. Time is moving swiftly. I must continue my inspection now, but I would like to hear all you know of The Captain once our journey is underway – and of where you’ve been living with this creature. That does smell delicious...might I partake?"

Sondrew handed her one of the breakfast cakes he was cooking over the fire.

Prenzibeth asked Sondrew to have Ballad give a brief display of his abilities - which Ballad readily obliged. However, he did not display any particular attitude towards the princess – neither the iciness that had seized him when Corpalot shot fire at him, nor the bubbliness he’d shown when performing for Sequiel. He resembled a housecat looking out the window at nothing in particular.

When the demonstration was done, Prenzibeth then gave Sondrew a little curtsey, which he returned with a deep bow. As he did so, he felt that he might topple over from the pure shock that anyone – much less a princess – would curtsey to him.

Ballad nodded in response to Prenzibeth’s curtsey, but she didn’t notice. She strode purposefully towards The Werewolf.

"Well?" Sondrew whispered to Ballad, with slight trepidation – wondering if his friend would leap into the air right then and there, and soar off to attack Corpalot’s factory.

"As with Sequiel, only time will tell," said Ballad "Seems nice enough, called me ‘him’ instead of ‘it.’ But she did the same with her horse. We may have to go along with them to see whether or not to trust them. But let's decide what we think of ‘em before it's too late to turn back."

Sondrew nodded in agreement.

“I hope that they turn out to be alright people,” Ballad added with a wisp of wistfulness. “Not that you en’t the greatest, Sondrew, but I wouldn’t mind having one or two more friends - and audience members.”

******

The werewolf presented herself dutifully for inspection. She was used to being sniffed-over by alphas. She never liked it, but she was used to it.

This human alpha female approached. The Werewolf stood straight and still, presenting herself for inspection. She was used to being sniffed-over by alphas. She never liked it, but she was used to it. She knew that human alphas weren’t always the physical paragons of their kind – but it never failed to strike her as strange. She could snap this “alpha” in two with her bare paw-hands, if she so wished…however, the princess did have the slightest hint of the moonlight in her eyes – the kind of power that could wring a zealous howl from you if it so desired one. In some strange way, this princess reminded her of Alpha Tarrah, before she mated with Alpha Greku, before she turned vicious, before The Werewolf was forced to…She wondered if this gentle little Alpha would turn vicious as well, and how she would react to it this time.

A she-werewolf, thought Prenzibeth. In her mind, she scolded herself for assuming that the deadly werewolf warrior Corpalot had mentioned to her would be male.

Prenzibeth had hoped approaching the second magical would be easier, but the gryphon had looked downright jolly compared to this werewolf. She didn’t usually set much store in the superstitions that linked ravens with death, however, considering this one perched on the shoulder of a creature with fangs and claws, she was willing to give them a second thought. There was no convenient little human accompanying this magical, so the princess called Sequiel over.

“I’m so glad you got a chance to speak to my friends,” he said.

She smiled tenderly. Same old Sequiel. It was just the kind of thing he would say – calling a gryphon a friend, and putting that beast and that tender in the same category.

”What about The Werewolf? Is she your friend as well?”

“Well, she arrived later,” he rubbed his neck “haven’t had a chance to observe…to give a finite opinion on…she’s excellent at archery and swordplay.”

Despite her surly expression, the werewolf was just as compliant as the gryphon had been at giving a display of her abilities. It reminded the princess of how she felt when dutifully enduring royal pomp and circumstance, though she would not express it so openly.

“That’s a lovely garment,” Prenzibeth found herself saying to the creature, “Where did you get it…I mean, I didn’t know your kind wore…”

”We don’t…,” The Werewolf muttered back. “Unless…You see, some Betas were sent to find a wrapping of shame for me, and they found this hanging on a tree in the woods, where some human huntress must’ve lost it…they did a poor job, the Betas, because I think it’s beautiful.”

This last bit she swiftly, with a defiant tone, like a child slipping in a snide remark to a parent.

For the second time that day, an out-of-place look of bewilderment took hold of Prenzibeth’s face.

“Some wild werewolf packs believe their human side is shameful,” Sequiel offered in explanation, “the way that werewolves who live amongst humans believe their wolf side is shameful.”

It was surreal to The Werewolf to hear a human sum up her pack’s core belief in such a straightforward manner by an outsider. It made her feel as if there almost might be a possibility that it wasn’t true.

Prenzibeth was appalled at this revelation – not because she was insulted, but because it reminded her of the kind of negativism that had long the Brigadionist church.

*****

Once Corpalot had given her a display of the dragonfire lantern and other items from his factory, she said to him,

“Your preparations are exemplary, Captain. Shall we be on our way”

“Immediately, highness,” he replied graciously.

“Just a moment,” said Sequiel. “Contrary to what Corpalot may have told you, we haven’t yet agreed to go on this quest.”

Corpalot glared at him, but Prenzibeth nodded understandingly.

”I imagine he’s neglected to tell you why I want to open trade with the dragons,” she said.

In a royal announcement voice, so that all in the clearing could hear, she explained:

“For years, my father did nothing about the dragons. Now, out of the clear blue sky, he’s planning a full-scale military invasion of their territory in the Lumin Mountains. As it is, each dragon attacks individually. The intelligence from my sources suggests attacking the dragons on their own territory will be like smashing a hornets nest.”

“Except the hornets are enormous, incredibly strong, heavily armored and breathe fire…” Sequiel offered, obviously picturing it in glorious, vivid detail, and relishing the thought.

“Just so.”

“By the by, what are these ‘sources’ you speak of?”

“One source, actually…a sorceress.”

“Your source is a sorceress?”

Prenzibeth cleared her throat softly, indicating that she would say no more on the subject of the secret sorceress.

“I want to at least attempt a peaceful solution before we spark an inferno we can’t extinguish,” she continued. “Quintessentia was founded as a land of peace, a haven from the aggression of the outside world, and so it shall remain!”

Hearing how…proclamationy that sounded, she took a softer tone.

“I am not the ruler of Quintessentia and I am not acting on my father’s behalf. If you join me in this endeavor, you will all be guilty of high treason for interfering in his affairs. The least I can do is knight you all. In the event that I actually do take my father’s throne, your titles will become official.”

Although Sondrew was a Bohemian, devoted to questioning authority and tradition, he was also a great lover of the Paromdonian theatre, and a ceremonial knighting was like something right out of one of his favorite dramas. He had to admit, whether it fit her or not, she knew how to use the mystique of her royal title. If anyone was going to back out

Everyone lined up and kneeled before Prenzibeth. She borrowed Sir Arvin’s sword and
When she got to the gryphon – his front end “kneeling” with the rear end high in the air, his tail swishing – she looked amused and giggled lightly. Ballad seemed just as amused at the idea of having a human as his liegelord.

“I knight thee,” intoned Prenzibeth, “Sir Gryph - ”

“Sir Ballad Quill,” Ballad supplied, ventriloquizing in her voice. “Noblest of all my royal knights.”

When Prenzibeth reached Sequiel, he looked as if she was going to chop his head off with the sword. The princess nodded knowingly and said to him,

“Those who don’t wish to be knighted – or lorded – all you need do is say so.”

Sequiel was deeply moved by this sentiment – moved enough to request a private audience with his cousin away from the other denizens of the clearing.

*****

“Enough about the risk we’re taking,” said Sequiel. “What about you, Prenzibeth? As near as I can tell, you’re the one royal who’s even halfway fit to lead this kingdom, and it looks like you’ll get the chance very soon. Why do you want to risk that? What will happen to Quintessentia if you die?”

“It’s not a risk I take lightly. I weighed this as carefully as I could for as long as I could…If I’m wrong, Brigadion help us all, but I must do something now and this is the best course of action that’s presented itself to me. Besides, it’s not my job to see that I don’t die…it’s yours.”

Zounds. He wondered what about this quest had him spooked – now Prenzibeth had tied it up for him it two neat little words. He had been responsible for the lives of dozens upon dozens of men, with as few injuries and casualties as could be expected in this dangerous business. He tried to tell himself that this was the same thing – but it wasn’t.

“Why the sudden concern about the welfare of this kingdom?” Prenzibeth asked him.

“Quintessentia is where I do my questing, after all.”

”What…do you think of this plan, Sequiel? You were always my…well, my confidante, I suppose you’d call it, up until our families’ ridiculous feud got in the way.”

Sequiel shook his head and threw up his hands.

“I don’t know. Making war with dragons sounds crazy, but making peace with dragons sounds crazy, too. And even if Corpalot can convince the dragons to go along with this, you’ll have to come back here and convince your father…or depose him.”

“My charitable works have earned me many supporters in the military. And once the dragons are beholden to me, who will dare resist me?”

“Prenzibeth, you frighten me,” he said, half-jokingly.

“I frighten myself – it sounds so calculating. I would have rather waited until I simply inherited the throne. And I would have rather that day had not come for many decades.”

“I understand. I didn’t want to depose your father, either, no matter how much my father wanted me to.”

“That’s different. You didn’t want the throne, anyway – I do. Just not like this. It’s complicated...”

“Well, as your esteemed confidante, the only counsel I can offer is this: enjoy the quest. Remember when we were children and we played knights and dragons in the arbor at Castle Escalon? Well, this is just like that, only on a grander scale - and without a wall around us.”

Prenzibeth actually seemed excited at the idea.

“You almost make me feel guilty for my plan to outlaw questing,” she said. “Yes, the rumors are true. Dragons have started attacking more often since you and your people began plundering their treasure and slaying them in earnest. Perhaps if it wasn’t for that, this quest and the whole conflict with my father wouldn’t have happened...”

“You can outlaw questing,” he said matter-of-factly, “but you will never stop it. It will continue underground. It might even have more mystique that way. Besides, it’s your royal friends that pay for it. If my father had had a unicorn’s horn to drink from, he might never have been poisoned.”

Sequiel believed what he said – questing would never die. But he felt deeply wounded by the idea that Cousin Prenzibeth was trying to take away his crystal and smash it – figuratively speaking - just like The Werewolf had done.

“Corpalot’s products will provide that security. Come now, we can discuss this further during our journey.”

Prenzibeth, meanwhile, wished she could explain to Sequiel why she felt she had to do something. She saw herself not so much as a ruler as a steward – one of many stewards – of the vision of Lord Brigadion that Quintessentia would be a beacon of peace for the world. She didn’t think he would understand that.

Maybe Sequiel was right – maybe she couldn’t stop questing, or the dragons, or any of it. Perhaps she could only push it into the darkness, where it could fester further. But the only way to find out was to try…

“You are coming on the journey, aren’t you, Seeky?”

“Yes, Prenzie. I never could refuse you, a unicorn of destiny came and visited me last night in my tent, and besides – I want to find out what happens next.”

*****

Sequiel led the party deeper into the woods with strong, certain strides. This was not the bookish, daydreamy little boy Prenzibeth used to boss around. The humans rode horses, except Sondrew, who rode Ballad. The gryphon and the werewolf were on foot.

Prenzibeth had always thought the only distinction between “ordinary wilderness” (where they had been) from “magical wilderness” was that magicals lived in the latter. That day, she learned otherwise.

The forest grew steadily more twisted and gnarled; it grew ever darker and danker, yet the colors were richer. Where sun did peek through, swarms of light particles swirled in the air. Flowers grew more bizarre and complex; fruits were larger, heavier and more appetizing (And more likely to be poisonous.) The branches curled and twisted and interwove with each other. The patterns in the bark on the trees seemed to form some sort of unreadable writing.

Everyone found their attention being drawn towards The Werewolf. She was not doing anything in particular – it was actually the most serene she had been since pouncing on Sequiel the night before. Apparently, thought Prenzibeth, werewolves possessed some power other than fangs, claws and ferocity. It was not overt and showy, like Ballad’s power over wind. The forest did not miraculously sprout and grow, as in tales of nature faeries. But it seemed to be drawing on some energy from her, and she, from it, making both seem more mysterious, more foreboding, more alluring, more fearsome, more beautiful, more natural, more supernatural.

The Werewolf, meanwhile, noticed that a similar nexus of energy had formed around Sequiel.

He’s not a werewolf, she thought. What is he?

At the same moment, Sequiel and The Werewolf both detected a presence somewhere in the vicinity.

“Friends of yours?” asked Sequiel.

“My pack,” said The Werewolf. Myriad emotions swirled in her voice when she spoke those two words, like a cauldron full of volatile potions.

*****

They spent the rest of the day picking through the wilderness. Sequiel got the impression that the Werewolf’s pack was to be avoided, which forced them to take a few detours. Twice, Ballad flapped up into a treetop to take a cat nap, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. It was dusk when they came to a mountain pass known as The Gash. Sequiel quickly determined that the pass was devoid of magicals, though he could see signs that a large questing party had passed through, but that was not uncommon, since this was the main way into the mountains.

“The gateway to the Great Lumin Mountains,” he announced grandly to the rest of the party, “Our quest truly begins here.”

“Halt!” a deep, commanding voice rang through the pass. “You are surrounded! You are all under arrest for high treason to the crown!”

“They could have at least waited ‘til we got back,” Ballad whispered to Sondrew.

Archers rose into view on the crags above and aimed down at the party. Swordsmen marched in through the far end of the pass, blocking their way.

“There is no escape!” shouted the captain, from a crag above them. “Surrender now, and pray for mercy from Lord Brigadion and our King!”

“Captain Fikus, I command you stand down!” said Prenzibeth with firm authority.

Fikus didn’t go for it.

“My orders come directly from the king!” he went on. “If you do not surrender, we will have no choice but to take you into custody by force. You may rest assured of your own safety, your highness, but we will not be responsible for what happens to your companions if they resist.”

Ballad roar-schreeched and The Werewolf growled.

“And do not think your beasts will threaten us,” Fikus added.

Sequiel spied Brivald, Scraglior and several high ranking members of the Quester’s Guild sprinkled in amongst the royal troops.

“Brivald!” shouted Sequiel in surprise.

”I tried to warn you, Master Sequiel!” Brivald said.

“Ooooh, it’s a big one,” said Scraglior greedily, eyeing Ballad and fingering the hilt of his sword.

Fikus held up a small hourglass.

“You have until this expires to make your decision,” he said.

“Your highness,” Panin Diarsi whispered to Prenzibeth. “Perhaps in the guise of these men, Lord Brigadion is presenting you with an opportunity to turn away from this folly. Surely your father will not harm you.”

Prenzibeth considered her advisor’s words.

“I spent a great deal of time deciding to do this,” she said, “and I’m not about to give up at the first sign of resistance. Lord Brigadion may be testing us.”

She had managed to master her fear of the gryphon and the werewolf. She wasn’t about to give up now.

Sequiel and the Werewolf both started at the same time, for no apparent reason.

“Lord Brigadion has prepared one hell of a test for you today,” Sequiel explained. “There’s a large pack of werewolves headed this way.”

Sure enough, a few moments later, The Werewolf’s pack lumbered into the mouth of the pass. They were hunched over and looked much more wolflike – the way werewolves in the wild were supposed to look during this phase of the moon.

The omegas were wrapped in rags, the betas wore loincloths. The two alphas only had strands of wooden beads around their necks.

The alpha male was silver-furred, blue eyed, and wearing something between a snarl and a supercilious sneer.

The alpha female had raven black fur and yellow eyes. She was considerably younger than her mate, but her expression was a decent replica of his.

“Surrender, Omega” barked the alpha male, “for the unholy murder of Alpha Tarrah!”

“Alpha Greku!” The Werewolf yelped back at him, “Get the pack away from here! Hunters! Hunters! Hunters!”

“Surrender now,” Greku growled coldly, “and I will get the pack away. Do not subject them to harm for your sake. Come and take your rightful punishment!”

She hunched over submissively, as she had been when looking down at her glomwood-stained paw-hand. She had been struck by the memory of how it felt the silver arrow was loosed from her quiver. The echo of Alpha Tarrah’s yelp and whimper rang in her ears - mixed now with the sound of the gryphon’s cry – and then both dwindled into terrible silence.

But her memory worked backwards from there, slogging through years of the Alphas’ cruelty. The Werewolf could feel the hackles on her back rising, brushing against her cloak. On and on her memory went, though, back to her childhood, when Alpha Tarrah was kind…and now she was dead.

The Werewolf glanced to her right at Kane on her shoulder - steadfast Kane, who had been the pampered familiar of a high-ranking beta, but had sought her out; who had the freedom of wings, but chose to cling to her shoulder.

“Kane!” called the Alpha female, with authority. “Come, Kane!”

“Beta Hwara,” said The Werewolf. “Kane is your…Kane is free to do as he pleases!”

She put a paw-hand on Kane, but did not stroke him or hold him down – she just held it there lightly.

“It’s Alpha Hwara now!” the other she-werewolf roared haughtily.

Kane slipped out from under The Werewolf’s paw-hand and flew to Hwara’s shoulder

“Thank you, Kane,” said Hwara, stroking him tenderly. “You are a wonder. How ever did you find her?”

Kane just sat there, inscrutable. His feathers matched Hwara’s fur almost perfectly – he seemed to be a part of her now.

The enchanted woods had smiled upon her – she could tell that everyone in the group had noticed it, it wasn’t just her own delusion. So had they smiled upon Master Sequiel, who was entirely human and a Hunter, no less. She wasn’t sure what that said about the woods’ taste in sentient beings, be she decided to leave philosophizing for a moment she wasn’t in mortal danger, and go with the idea that it meant she deserved to live after all.

Her hackles rose once more.

*****

Meanwhile, at the same time:

“Highness,” whispered Diarsi. “I am loathe to give in to the demands of beasts, but could we not turn this werewolf over to its kind, and be rid of them? You are in enough danger here without their presence.”

Corpalot had said The Werewolf was vital to the quest.

But as a ruler, Prenzibeth thought, I will have to learn to make sacrifices, and work however little I must.

This was Sequiel’s area of expertise. She whispered Diarsi’s suggestion to him.

“Do you think we can do without The Werewolf?” she asked.

Sequiel put his hand to his neck again. He pictured his crystal being lobbed through the air into the darkness. Then, he recalled sensing The Werewolf (through his crystal) as the center of energy in the woods, and the curious way she looked at him at that moment, as if she was trying to figure out some great mystery.

“No,” he said. “I don’t think we can do without her.”

*****

Fikus’ hourglass ran out.

“Men, take the humans into custody!” he commanded, “But be gentle with the Princess, on threat of death by the King!”

“Leave the humans to the King’s troops!” commanded Brivald. “Slay the creatures!”

“Kirrurr thuff auroooo!” barked Greku, which meant, “Kill them all!”

“What the devil are ya waitin’ for, gryphon!” bellowed Corpalot. “Kill a bunch of ‘em! That’ll send the rest runnin’!”

“No!” cried Prenzibeth. “These are my father’s troops!”

“I en’t killin’ nobody, if I can help it!” screeched Ballad.

“Well, can’t he kill the others?”

“They’re my subjects!”

“I en’t killin’ nobody!”

”How about the werewolves?!”

“No,” barked The Werewolf, “they’re my pack!”

“FOR THE LAST TIME, I EN’T KILLIN’ NOBODY!”

Knights, questers and werewolves alike appeared emboldened by that statement.

The questers began battling the werewolves. The knights advanced on Sequiel’s party. The some of the werewolves broke through to attack The Werewolf and the questers followed them. While they were there, the questers then also began trying to kill Ballad and The Werewolf. The knights, fearing that the werewolves or even the questers might harm Prenzibeth, began battling them as well.

In short, The Gash became infected with pure bedlam.

Sequiel’s party formed a circle around Prenzibeth (at her insistence, Sondrew rode along with her on her horse, because she knew that everyone would try to protect her, and thus, by association, they’d protect him, too) With Prenzibeth, Corpalot and Sequiel issuing commands, they haltingly fought their way towards the other end of the pass, so they could attempt lose their many assailants in the mountains. Ballad took off to provide air cover with his wind powers.

Hwara fought her way through the chaos and pounced on The Werewolf.

“Werewolf!” Sequiel called out.

”You challenge me, human?” said another random werewolf, who came charging over.

”No, not you…The Werewolf!”

Knowing of course that the werewolf before him had no idea what he was talking about, and was going to fight him anyway.

The Werewolf defended herself valiantly, but Hwara was larger and stronger, and managed to bring The Werewolf to the ground.

“Look at you!” barked Hwara, as they struggled. “Not even a full moon can make a full werewolf out of you anymore!”

“I CHOOSE MY OWN FORM!!!” The Werewolf roared – in Quintessentian – snatching the moonstone at the end of a necklace she was wearing and shaking it violently. She rubbed the pearl-like stone and, for instant, flashed to her more human and more wolfish forms before returning to the form halfway in between.

Hwara was utterly shocked.

“Blasphemy against The Moon!” she cried, in Lycanthropian.

At that same moment, Kane sprang from Hwara’s shoulder to her muzzle and began pecking at her eyes. The alpha female screamed and struck Kane, knocking him to the ground. The Werewolf threw Hwara off of her.

Hearing the strange sound that accompanied The Werewolf’s transformation, Ballad was momentarily distracted. He gasped as three indigo streaks whizzed past, inches from his face, close enough for him to see that they were glomwood-sap-dipped arrows.

He dove, but an archer must have anticipated this move. Another streak zoomed directly towards his heart. The Werewolf leapt straight up and caught the arrow in mid-air. Landing back on the ground, she used it as a spear against Hwara (The sap had no effect on a werewolf, but the arrow was still useful as a pointy stick).

The streaks of indigo were soon joined by streaks of silver – the archers were now targeting The Werewolf as well.

“What’s the matter, Omega?” asked Hwara sarcastically, as she and The Werewolf battled while agily avoiding the arrows. “I thought you would find this storm of silver beautiful!”

The Werewolf roared and subdued Hwara with the blue arrow (not fatal for a werewolf, because it wasn’t silver). Unfortunately, Alpha Greku had fought his way over just in time to witness The Werewolf defeat his mate. Enraged, he leapt over Hwara’s unconscious body and attacked The Werewolf.

A group of knights got near Sequiel’s party, all calling Prenzibeth “highness” and pleading with her to come with them. Prenzibeth, meanwhile, was issuing commands on how to deter them. Greku understood enough Quintessentian to realize what this meant.

“This human is some sort of alpha female!” he exclaimed. “The Pack of the Pure is truly blessed! We will have the honor of slaying her!”

“Yes,” exclaimed The Werewolf. “She is my new alpha female.”

She battled Greku with new resolve.

*****

Ballad swooshed back up and blew the archers over with his wind, but more sprang up to replace them.

"Bring it down, but don't kill it!" Scraglior commanded the archers. "I want to finish it up close with my sword!"

He ran towards the spot where he figured the gryphon would fall. Bellowing a war cry, he drew a twisted sword and brandished it high above his head – and Ballad swooped down and snatched it up with his beak.

Scraglior was aghast.

“I’ll rip your feathers out one by one!” he screamed at Ballad, shaking his fist “I’ll drown you in glomwood sap! I’ll -”

Scraglior pulled his own bow off his back and was about to fire a glomwood arrow at Ballad, when he caught sight of Sequiel, who a short distance away, and had just successfully subdued a werewolf with a handful of wolfsbane to the nose.

"You and me," said Scraglior, as he ran toward Sequiel. "We could slay that gryphon together. Come on, Master Sequiel! You and me together! Forget petty loyalties! We are united as slayers! I’ve waited forever for this chance!”

He looked like an impatient little boy in line for a pony ride at the faire. Sequiel hated to bring anyone’s fantasies crashing into reality. Had ever since he had destroyed his father’s fantasies about him. He couldn’t help feeling sorry for Scraglior, so he said, “I’m sorry,” before punching him in the nose.

Sequiel picked up Scraglior’s bow and snapped it over his knee.

“They were right about you!” Scraglior wailed, lying on the ground, blood gushing from his nose, tears streaming from his eyes. “You’re not a slayer! The legends are all lies!”

Scraglior wiped his face on his sleeve, grabbed a sword from a fallen soldier, sprang to his feet, and moved to strike Sequiel.

“My legends, however, are true,” snarled Corpalot, drawing his own sword (Zing!)

Corpalot and Scraglior began to duel.

“What a winning prospect this presents,” commented Ballad, as he flapped overhead. “So long as at least one of them loses.”

*****

Ballad’s wind had knocked over and knocked out many of the attackers. He was now circling above Sequiel’s party, avoiding occasional volleys of arrows, and sending down winds to blow back any attackers that got too close.

Alpha Greku and the Betas pointed up at Ballad and their ravens darted towards him. They swarmed around him, trying to peck at his eyes and yanking at his feathers.

Ballad thought he spied Kane – apparently alive and well - flying amongst the ravens, cawing his head off, but it was difficult to tell whether he was trying to stop the attack or encourage it. But then, he wasn’t even sure if it was Kane at all amongst all the swooping and flapping around him.

A large male werewolf jumped from the cliff above onto Ballad, and began slashing and snapping at his wings.

With many of his troops out of commission, Fikus was now personally attempting to retrieve the princess. Sir Arvin battled him fiercely.

“I am appalled, Arvin,” Fikus said. “I never thought to question your loyalty!”

“I am still loyal to our king,” Arvin replied, “I’m just more loyal to our future queen!”

Not to be outdone by Scaglior and Fikus, Brivald began dueling with Master Sequiel.

“Sorry about this, Brivald,” Sequiel said, as their swords clashed, “I do fully appreciate your warning now.”

“You always were a rogue quester,” snorted Brivald. “You never showed up for a single Guild meeting. Not one!”

Razolo and Gabriana were fighting a pair of knights.

With her protectors otherwise occupied, a werewolf managed to slip between Sequiel and Diarsi, and headed for the princess.

Prenzibeth drew a dagger that was hidden in her belt.

Sondrew pulled out a dagger that was made of one of Ballad’s giant feline claws.

Sondrew and Prenzibeth both looked shocked to see the other holding a weapon

"These violent times we live in, eh?" commented Ballad, as he threw off his assailant and dropped him on the werewolf that was approaching Prenzibeth and Sondrew.

*****

Greku managed to swipe the blue arrow away from The Werewolf, and got another good swipe in that knocked her several feet away.

Diarsi stepped in and fought with astounding ferocity to protect the princess.

Through blurred vision and pain, The Werewolf spotted a bow and a quiver of silver arrows that had Ballad had inadvertently knocked to the floor of the pass while attacking archers.

She took hold of them, struggled to her feet and aimed an arrow at Alpha Greku’s heart.

“I have a right to survive!” she roared.

Kane flapped down from above and perched on her shoulder.

*****

Fikus, who was a seasoned military man, disarmed Arvin, but instead of continuing to fight the knight, he called over an underling to do it for him. Fikus himself darted directly for the princess. Over her protests, he plucked her off her horse and held her gently in his arms, hero-style. Sondrew still had his dagger drawn, but Prenzibeth held up her hand, indicating he shouldn’t try anything. She still had her dagger in her hand.

*****

”Do you think so little of questing,” Sequiel asked Brivald, as they dueled, “that you think it can be snuffed out so easily?”

“Remember your history?” Brivald shot back “The Inquisition of 1313? The sorcerers didn’t think it was possible, but they were all chased from this land!”

Fired by a desire to hear no more of this kind of talk, Sequiel knocked the sword out of Brivald’s hand and seized him. Sequiel held his sword to Brivald’s throat. Corpalot held Scraglior. They commanded the questers to stand down.

The Werewolf held Greku at bay, and the alpha male called off the werewolves. Sequiel had Sir Arvin (who had defeated his opponent) bind Greku with a slender silver chain.

Freed from their assailants, Sequiel, Corpalot, Arvin, Diarsi, Razolo, Gabriana, Ballad and The Werewolf all concentrated on Fikus, who was still carrying Prenzibeth.

Fikus did not look deterred.

“Eventually my father’s illness of the mind will become too difficult to deny or hide,” Prenzibeth said, looking up at Fikus. “You know it as well as I do. Then it will be I who wears the crown, and it will be you, Captain, who is guilty of high treason. Instruct your men to put away their weapons now, and when that day comes, I shall show you mercy.”

Again, Fikus didn’t go for it, so Prenzibeth drew her dagger, and turned it on her own throat.

“My father’s orders were that I would remain unharmed. Perhaps madness runs in the royal bloodline, Captain. Shall we see?”

“Stand down!” Fikus commanded. He set down Prenzibeth, and allowed himself to be tied up by Corpalot.

With their hostages in tow, the party made their way into the Great Lumin Mountains. There was no turning back now. At least not the way they had come.