Knightscares

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by David Anthony and Charles David Clasman

“Jozlyn,” I whispered in the dark, “are you scared?” I could hear her in the bed on the other side of the room talking quietly to her pixie doll, Rosie, so I knew she was still awake.

Jozlyn didn’t call Rosie a doll. She was too old for dolls. She called Rosie her friend and behaved exactly like Rosie was a real pixie.

“Of c-course not, Josh,” she replied in a stutter as if I’d surprised her. “But it’s all right if you are.” Oh sure, I thought, that was just like Jozlyn. As my older sister, she thought she was smarter, faster, and stronger than me. Now she acted like she was braver, too. She never quit.

Jozlyn had just turned thirteen. A teenager. Add that to the fact that she was taller than me, and she was almost impossible to live with.

I was eleven, so Jozlyn really had the upper hand. Until my birthday in three weeks, she’d be two years older than me instead of just one.

I decided to try a trick my Dad had taught me. He said that sisters don’t always tell the whole truth but their dolls usually would. “What about Rosie, is she afraid?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

I wanted to ask What about your little doll? but didn’t think it was the best time to pick a fight. Even though I wouldn’t admit it to Jozlyn, I was nervous.

“Hmm,” Jozlyn mumbled. She sat up in her bed and I could see her in the dim light coming through our window. Jozlyn’s hair was long and blonde like Mom’s. Mine is short and dark like Dad’s. Jozlyn wore a white nightgown embroidered with horses in different colors of thread. Prancing horses, galloping horses, rearing horses, grazing horses. Jozlyn was crazy about horses.

“Well, maybe a little scared,” she admitted, “but not too much. Rosie has magic, don’t forget.”

Here we go again, I thought and rolled my eyes. More of how Rosie wasn’t just a doll. Jozlyn was always telling people that Rosie had magic like a wizard.

Or a witch.

I shivered under my blanket and hoped Jozlyn didn’t notice. Tonight was Cauldron Cooker’s Night, a holiday for witches. That’s why we couldn’t sleep. We’d already been lying in our beds for a long time trying to fall asleep.

Witches rode their brooms all night long in celebration of the spooky holiday. They shrieked and cackled and kept people awake. Supposedly they also tried to catch children who weren’t asleep to throw into a big pot for a midnight snack.

So far, I hadn’t heard anything unusual. Just crickets and a dog barking. Normal nighttime sounds. So far.

That could change at any time. A witch named Cleogha lived on the edge of town where she sold herbs, love potions, and charms to ward off trolls. Cleogha’s charms must work because I’d never seen a troll, and Tiller’s Field, where I lived, was a pretty big town.

My friend from school, Connor Telvenson, claimed he saw a troll once. He was always making up stories though, so I’m not sure I believe him. He said the troll had been fishing from Mosswood Bridge.

“You know, Mom and Dad will be mad if we don’t get to sleep,” Jozlyn reminded in a know-it-all voice. “We have to be up early to save a seat by the fountain to see the Fairy Troops.”

Her bossing me around was her way of changing the subject. I could tell she didn’t want to talk or think about witches or their cauldrons any more than I did. Not on Cauldron Cooker’s Night especially.

Tomorrow was the Trooping Fairy Day Parade when all the fairies from Everleaf Woods gathered to celebrate the arrival of summer. They played tiny instruments, sang songs, and put on a parade at the edge of the forest. All the townsfolk attended the celebration. Parents, children, grandsires and grandmars, babies, and family pets.

There’d be archery competitions, fencing, storytelling, games like unicorn horns, a pie-eating contest, and a big feast in the evening. The mysterious Wizard Ast might even come down from his tower to perform some magic tricks.

I really wanted to fall asleep. Nothing was more exciting than Trooping Fairy Day, except maybe my birthday. The sooner I slept, the sooner tomorrow would arrive and the fun would begin.

Not to mention that a witch wouldn’t catch me awake and stick me in her pot.

“Why don’t you hush and go to sleep yourself? I’m pretty tired,” I told Jozlyn as I faked a big yawn. “And I’m not scared one bit.”

Jozlyn harrumphed and made a big show of flopping back down on her bed. “Well, I’m not scared, and neither is Rosie.” Even in the dim light, I could feel Jozlyn sticking her tongue out at me.

After that, I must have slept for a while because when I opened my eyes next pale moonlight shined in through the window.

Something had awakened me. A strange noise very close by.

Whoosh! The noise came again.

The strange noise came from right outside my window. It sounded like a flock of large bats flapping by at high speed. I didn’t see it, but the moonlight flickered as it passed.

I held my breath and didn’t move. The noise was Witch Cleogha riding her broom, I just knew it. And I was awake. She was going to catch me and put me in her pot.

Whoosh!

The sound and the blink of light came again. A shiver snaked its way up my back. I needed to….

A hand clapped over my mouth and my eyes shot wide open in alarm. I tried to shout, to call out for Mom and Dad, but couldn’t. I was trapped!

A scream built deep inside of me.

Jozlyn’s face suddenly appeared very close to mine. She looked like she’d been sleeping. Her long hair was a mess and her blue eyes were squinting. She knelt on the floor between our beds.

She took her hand from my mouth. “Something’s out there,” she hissed. By something, she meant someone. A witch.

I nodded stiffly. “Cleogha?”

Whoosh! The sound of bats zipped past again.

We both cringed at the noise. “Probably,” Jozlyn whispered, glancing apprehensively at the window.

The light hadn’t flickered this time but the noise had still come from somewhere close. Probably right over our house. Over our room. “We have to get Mom and Dad,” she said.

Staring hard at the ceiling as if I’d be able to see right through it and spot the witch on her broom, I slid from my bed and joined Jozlyn on the floor. She grabbed my hand with hers but I didn’t complain. Normally holding hands with your sister wasn’t very grown up, but this situation was different. I think it’s all right to hold your sister’s hand when a witch is flying over your house.

“Let’s go,” Jozlyn urged. She clutched Rosie in her other hand. I had to admit, even with the doll, Jozlyn was being rather brave.

Side by side, we scuttled on our hands and knees toward the open door. Neither of us liked to sleep with it completely closed.

Our house was small like most houses in Tiller’s Field and our parents weren’t rich. Dad worked in a bakery and Mom helped another lady make cloaks, dresses, tunics, and bodices. A tunic is a long shirt for boys or girls and a bodice is a kind of fancy vest that girls wear over their dresses.

In the evenings, we would all sit around the fireplace and listen to Dad tell stories about dragons, wizards, knights, and fair maidens held captive by goblins and trolls.

Dad had a great imagination. He’d sit in his big stuffed chair and entertain us for hours with his adventurous tales. I liked the scary ones best. Dad called them knightscares with a k. Kind of like nightmares only scarier.

Across from the fireplace was Mom and Dad’s room. Their door was open. That was odd. They always slept with it closed.

The house was silent. Even the whooshing of the witch’s broom had stopped.

I turned to Jozlyn with an inquisitive look on my face. She shrugged and nodded, sensing it, too. Something wasn’t right. The night had become too quiet.

As we inched forward, the floor creaked like a moaning spirit from one of dad’s stories and I froze.

“Ehh-he-he-he-he-heh!” The unmistakable sound of a witch’s cackle erupted in the quiet night.

My heart jumped into my throat, pounding wildly, and my insides shivered so hard I thought they’d become outsides.

Jozlyn whimpered softly and hugged Rosie to her chest. “In there,” she said, pointing a shaky finger at our parents’ bedroom.

She was right. The witch’s cackle had come from straight ahead. Through the open door to our parents’ room. Jozlyn and I climbed to our feet at the same time. We weren’t thinking about being brave. We just acted. The witch had our parents and it was up to Jozlyn and me to do something about it. We had to help.

We dashed into the dark bedroom and tripped on a blanket on the floor. It dragged us to the ground and I landed hard on my elbow with a bang. Jozlyn tumbled down on top of me.

I looked at our parents’ bed. I looked around the room. Both were empty.

Our parents were missing.

“Ehh-he-he-he-he-heh!” the witch cackled shrilly nearby.

Copyright © 2003 Sigil Publishing, Inc.
All rights reserved.

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by David Anthony and Charles David Clasman

As soon as my eyes opened, I jumped out of bed. Today’s the day! I excitedly reminded myself like I really needed reminding. There wasn’t anything that could make me forget.

Yawning, I shook my head irritably. I’d been too excited to sleep last night and I was paying for it. But there was no way I’d let sleepiness slow me down.

I’d turned twelve the week before. The age a kid can become a knight. Well, a page really. A page is a knight-in-training or a knight-to-be.

While I’ve always considered myself a knight, I was about to officially begin training. I already knew how to ride a horse, carry a lance, and wield a sword. But a knight’s training is more than practicing to fight. It’s about learning the Noble Deeds and Duties. That’s every knight’s code of behavior. Aside from being strong, brave, and good in battle, a knight must know about honor and justice.

The First Act of the Noble Deeds and Duties sums it up:

The Common Good is Best Served by Uncommon Honor.

In other words, a knight must be honorable at all times for the good of everyone. As for the Acts, they’re sort of the rules for knighthood. There’s one hundred Acts in the Noble Deeds and Duties.

I dressed quickly in my best outfit. A dark blue doublet trimmed in black, some blue hose, and a pair of low boots. Checking myself in the mirror, I thought I looked pretty knightly.

My blond hair was cut very short. Most knights wear their hair that way because it gets hot under their helmets. I also thought I looked taller than I had the day before. Maybe I’d had another growing spurt in the night.

“Connor,” my father liked to tease me, “stop growing so fast or we’ll have to keep you in a barn.” He was joking, of course. I wasn’t that big, and we didn’t have a barn.

Following the delicious scent of bacon into the kitchen, I found that my parents had left breakfast for me. They’d left before the sun had risen to prepare for the Turning of the Pages ceremony.

That’s where I needed to be by noon. Knights and pages from all over the kingdom would participate. Not just from Tiller’s Field where I lived. The ceremony was where and when new pages would be named. It happened only once a year and was a very big deal.

A soft knock on the front door told me that Simon had arrived. Simon was a boy my age who would also be named a page. Only he didn’t want to be.

Simon was kind of small, pretty clumsy, and more interested in books and magic tricks than swords and noble deeds. But his father was a knight, too, so Simon didn’t have much choice.

I hauled the door open fast to startle him. “Good morning, peasant,” I shouted to add to the surprise. I call everyone who isn’t a knight “peasant”. That included people like Simon who didn’t want to be knights.

The whoosh of the door along with my loud voice worked perfectly. Simon sputtered in surprise and fumbled the four apples he’d been juggling. One even bounced off his head of floppy red hair.

Juggling was just about the only thing Simon could do that required coordination. So long as he wasn’t distracted, that is.

“Good morning,” Simon said cheerfully. Nothing much bothered him. Not even an apple bouncing on his head.

“Good morning, sir,” I corrected. Peasants were supposed to call knights “sir”.

Simon shrugged and rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say, Sir Bigmouth,” he snickered. When I didn’t laugh with him, he shrugged again then scooped up his fallen apples.

No, Simon would never be a real knight. But he was a good sport.

Crrrrrunch, Simon bit into one of his apples. “Got anything to eat?” he asked with a mouthful of fruit.

Got anything to eat, sir? I said to myself. But there was no point in saying it out loud. Simon wouldn’t change.

I never would have guessed it then, but I’m alive today because of Simon. A whole lot of people are. He’s something of a hero. Brave and chivalrous just like a real knight. There’s a lot more to him than you’d expect from a clumsy bookworm.

Even though my parents had made breakfast for me, Simon ate most of it. I don’t know where he put it all. He wasn’t a very big kid.

If I ate like him, I really would have to live in a barn!

After breakfast, we cleaned our dishes and left. The Turning of the Pages ceremony would take place outside of town at Battledown Yard. It’s also where knights held jousting tournaments. The Yard was a couple of hours east of Tiller’s Field, so we’d have to hurry to be there by noon.

Lucky for us I had my own horse, Honormark, a spirited charger. I called him Honormark because of a black mark on his nose that looked like a shield. The rest of his body was white.

The stables were located on the other side of town. On our walk, I decided to ask Simon about something that had been bothering me.

“Why don’t you want to be a knight?” I asked. “Are you happy being a peasant?”

Simon laughed and raised one eyebrow at me. I couldn’t do that. Raise just one eyebrow. “You don’t really believe all that peasant nonsense, do you?” he asked.

His question made me frown. “Sure I do,” I said defensively. “There’s royalty, knights, and peasants. In that order. Kings and queens are royalty and they’re born that way. So that leaves knights or peasants for the rest of us.”

He laughed again. “Can knights or peasants do this?”

With a quick flick of his wrist, he tossed an apple high above his head. It was the same color as his hair. As the apple fell, he brought up his hands to catch it and mumbled something I didn’t quite hear.

The apple stopped falling and rotated slowly in mid-air.

“How did…?” I started to ask when Simon hooked his finger at the apple. It shot through the air at an angle and bonked me on the head.

“That’s for surprising me when you opened the door,” Simon smirked as he held out his hand for me to shake. “Now we’re even. Still friends?”

I shook his hand eagerly. I’d deserved getting hit with the apple. It was only fair for what I’d done to him earlier. As for making the apple float in the air, almost anyone could learn magic tricks. Simon practiced them all the time. It’s not like he was a wizard using real magic.

We arrived at the stables a short while later. Mr. Sootbeard the blacksmith has a big barn on his property where most everyone from Tiller’s Field keeps their horses.

Strangely, we didn’t see or hear Mr. Sootbeard around. He wasn’t in his house or in the forge out back. Usually there was smoke coming from the chimney and the clanging of a hammer coming from the forge.

“Maybe he’s running an errand,” Simon suggested.

“Could be,” I agreed half-heartedly, but I knew Mr. Sootbeard better. He wouldn’t leave without posting a sign or note. He had the only key to the stable.

Simon suddenly flinched and ducked into a half-crouch. He pointed at the stable. “Someone’s inside,” he whispered. The stable door was slightly ajar. That meant that either Mr. Sootbeard was inside or that someone had broken in. Mr. Sootbeard wouldn’t leave without locking up.

“Keep quiet and stay down,” I said and waved my arm for Simon to follow. We had to find out what was going on. It was the knightly thing to do.

We quietly crept across the yard to the stable and stopped to catch our breath. Pressed up against the wall next to the door, I took a deep gulp then silently mouthed the words “One…two…three.”

On three, I threw the door open wide and charged inside.

The interior of the stable was dark and strangely quiet. A short row of railed stalls formed a hallway that turned to the right a short distance ahead. The stalls were full of shadows and looked abandoned.

I stopped when I noticed that the gate to the stall on my left was open. Simon bumped into my back.

“Excuse…” he started to apologize but I waved him off. There was something moving in the stall. Not a horse or Mr. Sootbeard. Something taller than my waist and covered with dark hair.

An angry growl came from the stall and yellow eyes stared out at me from the darkness.

Copyright © 2003 Sigil Publishing, Inc.
All rights reserved.

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by David Anthony and Charles David Clasman

Ffft-thew!

I love that sound. It’s the noise an arrow makes when it leaves my bow on a good shot. Not too loud or too soft, and very little twang. When I hear it, I know my aim is perfect.

This morning I hadn’t heard the sound much. The weather was cold and snowy, and that had my concentration off. There wasn’t even supposed to be frost on the ground for at least another month.

Something was terribly wrong with the weather.

My parents tried to pretend the snow and cold were nothing more than a passing storm, but it was supposed to rain this time of year, not snow.

I might be only twelve, but I knew that much. Fall had just begun.

I noticed the worried looks in their eyes, too, when they glanced at the sky. Something dangerous was happening.

“Woof!” Leland barked at my side, interrupting my thoughts. He was waiting for me to tell him to fetch my last arrow. Leland has been my best friend since my parents brought him home when I was seven. He’s five now. That’s thirty-five in people years, but he still acts like a puppy.

Leland’s a very big dog with lots of bushy yellow, tan, and brown fur. We’re not exactly sure what breed he is, but his feet are as wide as my dad’s hands put together, and he stands taller than my waist.

Leland is also the best guardian a girl can have. Most of the time he’s a playful giant, but when I’m in danger he becomes as fierce as a mother bear protecting her cubs.

“Emily!” my dad called from the other side of a thicket of bare trees. “It’s time to leave.”

“Coming!” I shouted. I scratched Leland’s big head. “Fetch, boy. Go get it.”

The dog bounded off through the dusty snow with his tongue hanging out, and I turned to rejoin my parents.

We’d camped last night on our way to Willowhill, the nearest town on the Longrapid River. Normally the trip takes less than a day, but the unusual weather had slowed us down.

Except for the weather, I was excited about the trip. Once a year, Willowhill observes the Celebration of Leaves, an autumn festival, and I was going to participate in the festival’s Sling and Archery competition.

This was the first year I’d be old enough to compete, and I planned on winning. I’m not trying to brag, but no one my age is better with a bow.

Pushing my way through the snow-covered trees, I found my parents packed and ready to go. They were sitting at the front of the wagon. Dad held the horses’ reins in his hands.

I guess I look like both of my parents. I’m tall and slender like Mom, but my red hair and freckles definitely come from Dad.

“Done practicing, Emily?” my Mom asked from behind her wool scarf. She was bundled up tightly against the cold.

I was, too, only I wasn’t wearing a dress like her. I never wore dresses, bonnets, skirts, or anything too girly. Archers need comfortable clothes that don’t get tangled up in our legs and feet.

I usually wear boy’s clothes and keep my hair in a ponytail. Maybe that makes me weird, but I like it that way just fine. No one can shoot like me. That’s what matters.

We spent the rest of the morning slowly rolling and bumping our way to town. I passed the time by waxing my bow and straightening the fletchings on my arrows. Our wagon pulled into town late in the afternoon, but the dark grey sky didn’t make spotting the sun easy. A light snow continued to fall.

As its name suggests, Willowhill was built on a tall, round hill and is surrounded by old willow trees. Some of the buildings in town even have great tree trunks growing in their walls.

“Here, take this to pay Mr. Barleyhop for our room,” Dad told me. “Your mother and I will stable the horses.” A small leather coin purse dangled from a thin cord in his hand.

I snatched the purse eagerly and attached it to my belt. “You got it! I’ll meet you there,” I said. “C’mon, Leland.” Mr. Barleyhop owned the Eternal Flame Inn, the biggest and best inn in town. People from miles around stayed there during the Celebration of Leaves.

Best of all, my friend Daniel would be there. He was an orphan, but Mr. Barleyhop allowed him to live at the inn in exchange for doing odd jobs.

The Eternal Flame was so crowded that I could barely push my way into the common room. A common room is a gathering place where guests eat, drink, talk, tell stories, and listen to music.

People stood about discussing the strange weather in quiet voices. None of them seemed happy.

When I spotted Mr. Barleyhop across the room, I sent Leland ahead to cut a path through the crowd. I reached for my coin purse and found it—

Gone!

Someone had stolen my gold!

What was I going to do? Someone had stolen my coin purse and gold. I wouldn’t be able to pay Mr. Barleyhop for a room or afford the entry fee for the Sling and Archery competition.

The Celebration of Leaves was ruined!

Suddenly, I realized that I was surrounded by strangers, and the common room felt smaller. A thief was nearby. It could be anyone. I started gasping for breath and grabbed Leland’s collar to keep him close.

Men with shaggy beards and faces wrinkled from working in the sun spoke in deep voices. Women glanced at me and whispered to one another. I didn’t recognize anyone, and their dark conversations made me uncomfortable.

“It’s the end of the world…” a woman shuddered.

“…unnatural snow…” a man muttered, shaking his head.

“…Longrapid River running backward,” said someone I couldn’t see.

Everyone sounded worried and tense. A soft whisper right in my ear startled me. “I’m a human shadow.”

“Who…?” I spun around, but there was no one there. At least no one paying any attention to me.

I wanted to scream. Hadn’t anyone noticed that I’d been robbed? Hadn’t anyone seen the thief leaning over my shoulder?

I tried to calm down and take a deep breath. That’s when I saw him. The thief. He hurriedly slipped through a door labeled private and marked with the picture of a large silver key.

I only caught a quick glance, but he was wearing a dark hood pulled over his head and moving fast. Sneaking that carefully meant he was up to no good.

I didn’t wait. I had to get my coin purse back. With Leland serving as my personal battering ram, I struggled through the crowd. A battering ram is heavy wooden beam used to force open the door to a castle.

People muttered as I pushed my way past, but Leland’s size quieted them. No one wanted to disturb the giant-of-a-dog.

The private door was unlocked and we entered. I’d have unslung my bow from my shoulder if I’d thought it would be of use indoors.

While I’d stayed at the Eternal Flame with my parents many times, I’d never been beyond the private door. I’d always wondered what might be hidden on the other side.

Finally knowing was a disappointment. The room wasn’t large or full of gleaming treasures like I’d imagined. It looked like a library.

Books lined the shelves on two walls, and a torch burned above a small fireplace on a third wall. Oddly, the torch didn’t give off any smoke and had a greenish tint to its flame.

I sighed heavily. The room was empty except for Leland and me.

“Guess we lost—”

Vrooosh!

A section of one bookcase suddenly slid open like a door, startling me. Darkness filled the space beyond.

“I told you I was a human shadow,” said a familiar voice.

Copyright © 2003 Sigil Publishing, Inc.
All rights reserved.

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by David Anthony and Charles David Clasman

I saw them when I closed my eyes. Their dark shapes blacker than night. Their fiery yellow eyes blazing like comets. They were coming for me.

Searching…

Hunting…

Their damp, stale breath tickled the back of my neck like a chilly breeze shivering through a graveyard. It smelled of dead leaves, wet soil, and worms.

They would catch me, and I knew their name.

Shaddim.

Shadows of night, groaning ghosts. They were coming for me.

“Just one more hour, lads.”

Uncle Arick’s deep voice interrupted my thoughts, and I blinked in the fading light of dusk. It was getting dark, but I could see just fine. Darkness didn’t bother me. Even in the tiniest bit of starlight, my eyes saw almost as well as they did at noon.

It was nighttime that worried me. Night and what it brought with it. Shaddim prowled when the sun went down, slinking like thieves between shadows. They’d catch me if we didn’t reach Tiller’s Field soon.

“Will your backside hold out, Jasiah?” Uncle Arick asked, turning to grin at me.

Seated ahead of me, Kadze chuckled at my uncle’s joke. He and I rode a few yards behind my uncle, sharing a horse and saddle. The seating didn’t make for the most comfortable ride. Worrying about shaddim didn’t help.

I wasn’t a good rider, but our horse Chet was patient and calm. The last thing I needed was someone reminding me of how sore my backside should be from bouncing in a saddle.

“Aye, we’re fine, Mr. Dragonsbane,” Kadze said to my uncle. “Even rolling downhill, a round stone will bump and bounce.”

Hearing that, I couldn’t keep from groaning. Kadze talked in riddles a lot. He called them proverbs and claimed they were very old and full of wisdom.

I scrunched up my face and scowled. That’s what you think, I grumped at the back of his bald head. The shaddim aren’t hunting you.

That was the problem. To Uncle Arick and Kadze, we were just traveling along Wagonwheel Road in the evening. They didn’t worry about shaddim the way I did. They didn’t feel the monsters coming.

We were on our way to see the famous Wizard Ast. He had a very important quest to tell us about. Kids like Kadze and me had been summoned from all over the kingdom to meet with the wizard.

The quest had something to do with a magical instrument called the Dragonsbane Horn. When blown, the Horn would hypnotize every dragon that heard the sound. It was old, powerful, and dangerous.

My name is Dragonsbane, too. Jasiah Dragonsbane. But I’m not old, powerful, or dangerous. I’m an eleven year old boy with brown hair and brown eyes. I’m short and I don’t look any older than nine.

Except for being able to see in the dark and hear a cat’s tail swishing from across a room, I’m a pretty regular kid. Definitely not someone who’d go on a quest like a hero. I can’t use a sword, cast spells, or fire a bow.

That’s why it didn’t make sense for the shaddim to be after me. I wasn’t a threat. Why did they want me?

Ooowhooo-ooh-ooo.

A ghostly moan slithered in from the darkness, coming from everywhere at once. The creepy noise prickled the hairs on the back of my neck.

Uncle Arick immediately threw up a big hand. “Halt!” he hissed between clenched teeth as the dreadful moan came again.

Kadze pulled up rein and slid silently from the saddle. “No—” I started but the word died on my lips.

Ooowhooo-ooh-ooo.

A pack of shaddim appeared, floating just above the ground. They materialized from the darkness like ghosts. There were at least twenty of them.

We were surrounded.

For an instant, I froze with fear. My limbs trembled and my eyes stared, watching in terror as the black creatures glided closer. Then finally, I found my voice.

“Shaddim!” I cried too late.

The shaddim weren’t hunting anymore. They’d found me.

“Get behind me!” Uncle Arick roared, leaping from his saddle into a battle-ready stance. He gripped a huge two-handed sword in his fists.

The shaddim drifted nearer, steadily tightening a circle around us. The closer they got, the louder and more frenzied their moaning became.

Uncle Arick didn’t stand a chance.

The shaddim were ghosts darker than anything I’d ever seen. Shaped like tall, narrow triangles, they reminded me of wisps of smoke with curling, snake tails where their legs and feet should be. They had long arms that looked stretched-out and scissor blade claws the length of my forearm.

Their shining yellow eyes stared at me. When their mouths opened to moan, whatever was behind them showed through like I was looking out a window. The monsters were hollow and razor-thin.

Ooowhooo-ooh-ooo.

The noise deafened me. It echoed in my mind and whispered greedily. Give us the Horn, it seemed to say. Mother wants the Horn.

“Jasiah, look out!” Kadze cried.

A dark, thin arm snapped at me like a tentacle. Razored claws whisked inches from my face. Then Kadze was there, leaping between me and the shaddim. He was fast, very fast. His arms and legs sliced through the air in a blur like a knight’s deadly weapons.

I twisted away, pulling hard on Chet’s reins. In a stuttering lurch, we nearly bowled Uncle Arick over. He held a cluster of shaddim at bay with his mighty sword, slashing its point threateningly at the monsters as they tried to advance.

From the corner of his eye, he spotted me. “Don’t let them touch you!” he warned without looking from the shaddim. “One touch will put you to sleep.”

Chet fidgeted nervously. He was well-trained and brave, but the constant moaning was still scaring him. He would run soon, and I wouldn’t be able to stop him.

“What do I do?” I wailed helplessly.

A shaddim struck at Uncle Arick before my uncle could respond. His sword took the creature at the elbow, passing through the arm as if it were fog.

Unharmed, the monster moaned louder and lashed out with its arm again.

“Run, Jasiah!” my uncle ordered. “Run to Tiller’s Field and find Wizard Ast.”

I blinked in shock. I wasn’t a hero, but I still knew right from wrong. “I can’t! I can’t leave—” I tried to protest.

Bending suddenly at the knees and pivoting to his right, Uncle Arick parried another shaddim attack. Then with one hand, he pulled something bulky from a sack on his belt.

“Take this and go,” he commanded. “This quest is about you. Go, now!”

He tossed the object to me, and I clumsily caught it while struggling to maintain my grip on the reins. The object was an oversized, right-handed gauntlet made of heavy leather.

I wanted to ask what I was supposed to do with it but didn’t have the time. Uncle Arick swatted Chet on the rump and sent us charging though the ranks of the shaddim.

Whip-like arms and claws swatted at us. Empty mouths split wide and moaned. It was like galloping blind through a tangled forest. I squeezed my eyes shut and held my breath.

Ooowhooo-ooh-ooo.

Not until the moaning died did I open my eyes and risk a glance backward.

Uncle Arick stood in the center of the road, completely surrounded. His enormous sword flashed again and again.

Behind him lay Kadze. The boy’s chest rose and fell with the breathing of sleep, but other than that, he didn’t move.

When I saw my uncle trip and go down, I buried my face in Chet’s mane and shrieked without a sound. There was nothing else I could do.

We charged into the night, hunted and alone.

Copyright © 2004 Sigil Publishing, Inc.
All rights reserved.

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---

by David Anthony and Charles David Clasman

With a sigh, I punched my pillow and flopped onto my back for the umpteenth time. I just couldn’t get comfortable. The lumpy cot creaked under my weight, and my eyes stared up at nothing, into the darkness before dawn.

I couldn’t sleep.

“Talon,” I whispered, “are you out there?”

Talon’s reply was immediate. —I am here, Dragonsbane— she said in my mind. That’s how Talon spoke to me. In my mind, like a whisper that no one else could hear. She could speak to me and hear what I said from far away.

Talon was a wyvern, a kind of tiny dragon with colorful feathers. She was the size of a big raven and had beautiful metallic scales and wings that shone like polished mirrors. She was also my friend and guardian.

“I can’t sleep,” I told her. I probably didn’t need to say the words out loud, but thinking alone in the dark isn’t all that comforting.

—Have you tried eating sheep?— she asked without any hint of humor.

“Eating sheep!” I gasped, sitting straight up. “A person who can’t sleep is supposed to count sheep, not eat them.”

—What an interesting idea— Talon said dryly.

That was something else about the wyvern. She liked to tease. She could be fierce and reliable one moment, silly the next.

At least I hoped she was being silly right then.

“Forget it,” I grumped. “I’m getting up.”

Talon hissed a chuckle. —Good idea, sleepyhead. Your friends are already waiting on the bridge.—

By friends, she meant Connor and Simon. The three of us were going to talk to Wizard Ast today about where to find the next piece of the Dragonsbane Horn.

That’s where I got my name. From the Horn. I was Jasiah Dragonsbane, and the Horn was my responsibility. Long ago, the Horn had been broken into four parts and then hidden. So far, I’d found two of the pieces. Finding the last two wouldn’t be easy.

A terrifying black dragon named Shelolth wanted the Horn for herself. Her ghostly servants, called shaddim, were hunting the pieces of the Horn. And for me.

Now, I wasn’t much of a hero, but I couldn’t let Shelolth or anyone else find the lost pieces. With all of them, a person—or a monster—could control all the dragons in the world.

I dressed quickly in the dark, careful not to wake anyone. I didn’t have to put on my right-handed gauntlet. A gauntlet is an armored glove that fits over the hand and forearm. The gauntlet’s magic wouldn’t allow me to take it off even at bedtime, and Talon liked it that way. She used it as her favorite perch.

I grabbed my pack and went outside. Lucky for me, I didn’t have any trouble seeing in darkness. I think it has something to do with being a Dragonsbane.

I found Connor and Simon on Mosswood Bridge just as the sun was rising. That’s the bridge outside the village of Tiller’s Field.

“Not more apples!” Connor groaned, rolling his eyes at Simon. “Don’t you know any other tricks, peasant?” Simon ignored him and concentrated on juggling. Seven polished apples whirled over his head. His hands blurred as he tossed and caught the fruit.

“Excellence Demands Dedication,” he said with a smirk. The words were from the Noble Deeds and Duties, the code of behavior for knights. One hundred sayings called Acts made up the code.

Connor and Simon had trained together as pages. A page is a young knight. Simon was Wizard Ast’s apprentice now, but he hadn’t forgotten his chivalry lessons.

An eighth apple zipped from a pocket in his robe. Two more quickly followed. Simon was juggling ten apples at once!

“What do you think, Jasiah?” he grinned at me. “How’s my juggling?”

I glanced at Connor before answering. The big, blond boy was staring at his fingernails, pretending not to listen.

Unlike Simon, Connor was still a page and on his way to becoming a real knight. He looked it, too. He was big, tall, and strong for a thirteen year old.

That’s why he’d been picked to join me on the quest for the Dragonsbane Horn. We were opposites. I was short and small, with brown hair, and only eleven.

“The juggling is great,” I told Simon, “but maybe we shouldn’t be goofing off right now.” I hoped the comment didn’t upset either of my friends. I didn’t want to pick sides.

Simon shrugged with a smile, lowered his arms, and flopped onto the bridge. To my amazement, all ten apples kept spinning in the air.

“Hey, you cheated!” I objected, pointing at the apples. He’d used magic to keep them afloat.

Simon held up a finger and shook it back and forth. “Ah-ah-ah. Never trust your eyes when a wizard is near.”

I started to protest but clamped my jaw shut, realizing I’d already lost the argument. Simon hadn’t said anything about not using magic. In the future, I’d have to be cautious around wizards.

Connor snorted and mumbled one word. “Peasant.” It was his favorite. He called most anyone who wasn’t a knight peasant.

“So when will Wizard Ast get here?” I asked Simon.

“He isn’t coming,” Simon said. “The two of you will be taken to him as soon as transportation arrives.”

“You aren’t coming?” I asked just as Connor snapped his head up.

“What exact—?” the blond boy demanded.

He never finished.

Guh-GUNG!

Dirt, grass, and pebbles suddenly exploded upward like water after a big splash. The ground trembled and sent the three of us sprawling.

I threw myself flat and started to roll. Getting to my feet was impossible. Clumps of grassy soil hurtled through the air, and the ground continued to quake.

“Oh, no! No!” Connor choked out, sounding more irritated than afraid.

“Huzzah!” Simon cheered.

Lying flat on my stomach, I watched the dust from the eruption settle. New shapes slowly appeared.

A hole about twenty feet wide gaped at the foot of the bridge. Two pinkish tentacles swayed like charmed snakes, emerging from the opening and inching steadily higher.

“Look out!” I cried.

I knew what was coming—some kind of monster from the center of the earth.

“That’s not transportation!” Connor bellowed, flailing his arms. “That’s a slithersaur!”

Next to him, Simon hooted with delight. “I know! Isn’t it wonderful? You get to travel with the princess.”

Wonderful? The princess? Exactly what was Simon looking at? All I saw was a monster.

The pink tentacles turned out to be antennae on the head of a gigantic white worm. The creature—the slithersaur—was as long as three horses standing in a row and had a body like an unfolded accordion.

S-C-R-E-N-C-H, the slithersaur stretched from the hole like a turtle extending its neck from its shell. I’d never seen anything like it.

But I did a double-take when I saw that the creature wasn’t alone. On its back sat a tiny girl.

Seated in a fancy red saddle, she rode the worm as confidently as if it were a horse. Her brilliant purple eyes shone fiercely and matched the color of her hair. The look on her dainty face was serious.

She’s a gnome! I realized in astonishment. The girl was one of the gnomish people from Castle Burrowfar, many miles to the south.

“Hi, Princess Oti!” Simon cheered.

“Hello, Oti,” Connor mumbled glumly. He definitely wasn’t as pleased to see the girl as Simon was.

Princess Oti didn’t seem pleased either. She waved her arms frantically and shouted. “No-time, no-time!” she squeaked almost too fast to understand. “Get-back!”

“Wha—?” Connor and Simon both gasped, leaping out of the slithersaur’s way as it rumbled forward. The creature wasn’t stopping for anything.

“Close-up-the-hole, Simon!” Oti wailed. “Something-is-coming!”

A knot twisted my stomach. I knew what was chasing the princess. Shaddim, the ghostly servants of Shelolth. To prove it, the monsters’ moaning drifted up from underground.

Ooowhooo-ooh-ooo.

The eerie noise sent shivers up my spine. In the hole, dark shapes writhed like shadows cast by flickering flames. The shaddim were coming!

“Hurry, Simon!” I cried. The shaddim were after me. They were hunting the Horn.

Simon didn’t ask questions. He sensed the danger and jumped into action, pushing up the sleeves of his robe and raising his arms. In a strong voice, he chanted:

Stone and sand,
Rock and root—
Link the land,
Shovel chute!

GRUNCH!

Dust welled up from the hole, and the ground around it buckled. Dirt and rocks tumbled into its depths.

The shaddim moaned angrily but their voices sounded muffled and far away. Simon’s magic was filling the hole and trapping the monsters underground. In seconds, the dust settled and the shaddim were gone.

Simon exhaled loudly and lowered his arms. “Simon one, monsters zero,” he said to no one in particular.

I stared at the ground where the hole had been. The shaddim were bolder than I remembered. They used to come out only at night or when it was very cloudy, but something had changed. They were different, and I shivered. The shaddim were getting stronger.

Feeling eyes on me, I raised my head. Connor, Simon, Princess Oti, and the slithersaur were staring. Simon asked the question on all of their minds. “What were those things?”

Now it was my turn to exhale. “Shaddim,” I said quietly. “Servants of a dragon named Shelolth. They’re after the Horn…and me. Usually water or light will chase them away.”

I paused, looking around at the early-morning sky. Usually light will chase them away.

Connor straightened his shoulders. “They’re after the Horn and us, you mean,” he corrected. “Never Let a Friend Face Danger Alone.” Simon and Oti nodded in agreement.

I smiled gratefully. Connor might like to tease and call people peasant, but he was good to have around. The Noble Deeds and Duties, I realized, taught everyone how to be a better person—and a better friend.

Oti hopped from the slithersaur’s back and landed gracefully before me. “You-are-Jasiah-the-Dragonsbane,” she chirped. “I-am-Princess-Oti-and-very-pleased-to-meet-you.” She curtsied formally.

Her words were fast. Being small, I suppose gnomes did everything a little faster than normal, including talk.

Before I could respond, she spoke again. “If-you-would-climb-aboard-Opal, I-will-take-you-to-Wizard-Ast.”

After saying goodbye to Simon, I glanced from Oti to Connor, who nodded. It was time to go. It was time to begin our quest for the third piece of the Dragonsbane Horn.

Copyright © 2004 Sigil Publishing, Inc.
All rights reserved.

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---

by David Anthony and Charles David Clasman

I dreamed of fire in underground tunnels. Blazing pillars erupted from the floor and bathed the walls in bloody red. Smoke stung my eyes. Fumes choked my breath. I screamed without making a sound.

Laughter filled my dream, too. Taunting, hateful laughter. It hissed in every corner and flame, always ahead of me, behind, and close. Hearing it reminded me of a red-faced bully.

I started to run. My skin dripped with sweat and my vision blurred. Waves of heat rippled and danced in the air.

Racing wildly around a corner, I spotted it—the Dragonsbane Horn. The magical instrument hung in the air, rotating slowly over a cauldron of simmering lava.

That’s why I’m here, I realized. The Horn needs me. I wasn’t named Jasiah Dragonsbane for nothing. Protecting the Horn was part of what I’d been born to do.

But the Horn didn’t look quite the way I expected. This Horn was whole. It had four pieces connected together end-to-end. My Horn—the real Horn—only had three pieces. The fourth was lost, and it was my job to find it.

That told me this dream wasn’t about the present. It was a vision of the past or the future. I reached timidly for the Horn with my right hand. Even in a dream, I wasn’t surprised to find that I wore my gauntlet. It had become a part of me.

The gauntlet was a thick leather glove that reached almost to my elbow. A number of buckles and straps kept it in place, and deep scratches covered its surface.

It was a sign of who I was and more. My Uncle Arick had given it to me but hadn’t told me why. I’d had to figure that out myself. One of the first things I’d learned was that I couldn’t take it off no matter how hard I tried. The gauntlet’s magic stopped me whenever I tried.

My fingers brushed the Horn, causing it to spin faster. It bobbed out of reach like a cork bobbing on water.

“Come … here,” I grunted, standing on my tiptoes and stretching for all I was worth.

Glurp! The lava in the cauldron suddenly belched, and I snatched my arm back.

Glurp, gloop-gloop, glurp!

Hiccupping bubbles swelled and popped. Sizzling droplets splattered my tunic. Something was rising up from the lava.

A flame-red shape slowly took form. First a jelly-like ooze, the shape solidified as it continued to rise. Five fingers appeared then a hand and arm. Straps and buckles coiled about its length.

The lava was imitating my gauntlet!

The lava-gauntlet’s fingers spread and grasped the Dragonsbane Horn. A flash of orange light pulsed, and the fresh scent of something burning clogged the air.

I yelped in horror. The Horn was melting, and I had to save it.

This time I leaped, both hands clutching after the Horn. The lava-gauntlet was pulling it down, down into the cauldron. If that happened, the Horn would be lost forever.

My hands found their mark, but I shrieked and let go instantly. Such pain! Awful heat burned into my skin and seared my bones. The agony of it drove me to my knees.

Through tears, I gazed up as the Horn slipped away. The lava dragged it into the cauldron, bubbled once more, then went still. A deep red splotch pooled at the surface like blood rising from a wound.

I hung my head, tears still streaming from my eyes. One thought echoed hauntingly in my mind.

I’ve destroyed the Dragonsbane Horn.

Laughter howled through the tunnels and the flames danced higher.

I came awake gasping for air. My blanket lay kicked on the floor, and I was sweating. My palms and fingers tingled painfully.

The Horn! I panicked, stabbing a hand beneath my pillow. If anything had happened …

Toongk.

My fingers collided with something solid, and I sighed with relief. The Horn was unharmed and exactly where I’d left it. Too bad I couldn’t say the same about my tender hand.

I rolled over, hoping to fall back to sleep. Darkness outside the window told me it was too early to be morning. There was no reason to be awake.

But my mind had other ideas. It replayed my dream, demanding answers. Had the dream been a glimpse of the future? Had it been some kind of warning?

Normally I don’t pay attention to dreams. They’re mostly meaningless, not predictions of the future. The only thing more boring than trying to figure out my own dreams was to hear about someone else’s.

But this dream was different. It had a feeling of magic about it. A feeling of doom. It told me I would destroy the Dragonsbane Horn.

But why would I do that? I’d spent so much time trying to find it and keep it safe. A lot of people had. I couldn’t imagine harming the Horn.

Long ago, the Horn had been broken into four pieces. Wizard Ast had given me the first piece. My friends and I had rescued the next two from monsters. The fourth was still missing, but I thought I knew who had it.

Shelolth.

Shelolth was a horrible black dragon who wanted the Horn. She hunted its pieces and me. She’d even created a terrifying army of ghost-like monsters called shaddim to help her.

If anyone had the last piece, it was Shelolth. I didn’t need a nightmare to tell me that. My quest wouldn’t end until I faced her.

—You will not face her alone, Jasiah Dragonsbane—a metallic female voice whispered reassuringly in my mind.

The voice belonged to Talon, my guardian and best friend. Talon was a wyvern, a creature similar to a dragon but small enough to perch on my gauntlet like a falcon. She had amazingly colorful feathers and scales, and could speak to me and hear what I said over great distances. She could also read my mind.

“Eavesdropping again?” I joked. I was glad to know she’d be with me when I faced Shelolth, but I wasn’t going to come right out and say that. It was more fun to tease her. “Don’t you ever sleep?”

Talon’s reply came immediately. —Don’t you?—

Like I said, I liked to tease Talon, and she teased right back. I’m just not sure if I ever got the best of her. “I’m going to check on the egg,” I said to change the subject. Talon had won that round.

—In the middle of the night? It could be dangerous.— By dangerous, she meant there could be shaddim, Shelolth’s ghosts. They came out in dark places, especially at night.

I shrugged even though Talon couldn’t see me. “I can’t sleep. Besides, with you around, what do I have to be afraid of?”

Talon didn’t respond, and I thought I might have actually won a round. If she argued, what would that say about her ability to protect me?

I smiled at that. Talon one, Jasiah one. It was a whole new game.

I cleaned up and dressed quietly. My Uncle Arick slept in the next bed, and I didn’t want to wake him. He was as big as a bear and would be as grouchy as one if he knew where I was going.

That wasn’t to say Uncle Arick was mean. He was protective. He was also the biggest, strongest, and bravest man I’d ever met. People from all around called him a hero, including me.

Unfortunately, big and strong ran out in my family after Uncle Arick. Who knew about brave? I’m so short and small that most strangers think I’m nine years old. That would be fine if I weren’t eleven and a half!

But what I’ve learned on my quest for the Horn is that heroes come in all varieties. Looks, talent, background, gender—these things don’t make heroes. Regular people make heroes through heart and hard work.

I slipped silently out the window. My uncle and I were guests in Sheriff Logan’s home. It wouldn’t be polite to wake the sheriff in the middle of the night.

On top of that, it wouldn’t do me any good to wake anyone. If I did, I’d be sent to bed without seeing the egg.

My friend Connor had found the egg while helping me search for the third piece of the Horn. It was an unhatched dragon egg. Only it wouldn’t stay unhatched for long. A long crack had recently appeared down its center.

No one in Tiller’s Field wanted the egg in their house, so Sheriff Logan let us store it in his shed. I guess the thought of waking up to a baby dragon at the foot of the bed seemed like a bad idea. It would sure give new meaning to the expression the early bird gets the wyrm! Wyrm is a word for dragon that sounds just like worm.

I tiptoed across the backyard. The sky was cloudy, and I couldn’t see the moon or stars. Lucky for me my eyes and ears are as good as a cat’s, even at night.

Vrrr-errr-nnnt.

The door to the shed creaked as it opened, and the sudden noise set my heart to racing. Why was I breathing so hard?

The first thing I noticed inside the shed was all the weapons. Spears, swords, bows, maces, and dangerous-looking things I couldn’t name hung from the walls. Sheriff Logan obviously didn’t have yard work in mind. There wasn’t a single rake or wheelbarrow.

Soft red light filled the shed, casting bloody shadows on the weapons. I was starting to have second thoughts. Maybe this wasn’t the best place to visit in the middle of the night.

K-k-k-krrreck!

A scratchy cracking sound grabbed my attention. The egg was hatching!

As tall as the space between the floor and a door handle, the egg stood balanced on its larger rounded end in one corner. Red and black swirls painted its surface. We had wrapped blankets around it to keep it warm.

K-k-k-krrreck!

The egg trembled and cracked again. Bits of dark shell popped free.

I took a cautious step back. Suddenly, I didn’t want to be near the egg. When the dragon hatched, wouldn’t it be hungry? A hatched dragon wouldn’t behave like a newborn puppy!

—Get out!— Talon’s voice was almost a shriek in my mind.

I wanted to flee, but my eyes were glued to the egg.

K-k-k-KRRRECK! The crack down its center split wide.

Copyright © 2005 Sigil Publishing, Inc.
All rights reserved.

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---

by David Anthony and Charles David Clasman

Glizzzk-thoong. Glizzzk-thoong.

Gears whirling, my arachnoped chugged uphill. Its eight spider-like legs scuttled over rocks, and I pedaled harder, eager to get where I was going.

I was on my way to see Wizard Ast and had been riding all afternoon to reach him. He lived in a tall castle named Ninespire on the top of Craggerscraw Hill. I could barely make out the dragon statue that guarded his home.

Castle Ninespire was a mysterious place. People whispered when they spoke its name or discussed its strange magic. Some folks even claimed that it was alive.

That morning I wasn’t one of those people. I still thought Ninespire was like any other castle. But I was about to learn that the rumors were true. Ninespire had secrets that few people dared to imagine.

Glizzzk-thoong. Glizzzk-thoong.

Puffing from the effort, I continued to pedal, and my arachnoped continued to climb. Riding an arachnoped was usually fun, kind of like sitting on the back of a giant spider. But this spider had levers, pedals, gears, and a seat because it was a machine.

Almost everyone I passed turned to stare when I rode by. I smiled at them and waved like a princess in a parade.

Princess Gidget, that’s me. Well, without the Princess part. I’ve always enjoyed getting my hands, knees, and clothes dirty too much for a real princess.

Blame that on my father. He’s the tinker of Tiller’s Field, my home town. He even named me after his work—gadget … Gidget. A tinker builds gadgets like my arachnoped riding machine. Most people think my dad’s gadgets are magic but they aren’t.

I have brown eyes and short, curly black hair. Instead of a princess’ tiara, I wore a pair of goggles on my head, a sturdy tool belt, and plain clothes. I was twelve years old and kept a slingshot in my back pocket for emergencies.

Ninespire was getting close, and I gazed at it with mixed feelings. I was eager to finish my trip, but the castle wasn’t the most inviting place. Just one look at its dark walls told me to beware. All of the spooky stories could be true.

I tried not to shiver when the shadow of the castle’s tallest tower fell over me. The sun had nearly set, and the brightest light came from the castle. An electric radiance pulsed around it like the steady rhythm of a beating heart.

No, Ninespire wasn’t like other castles. I could almost believe that it really was alive.

“I hope Wizard Ast has dinner ready,” I said out loud, trying to get my mind off the castle’s eerie appearance. “Some kingbite cookies sound good—”

VLOO-OOMM!

The explosion came without warning. There was no telltale rumble in the ground. There was no smoke. One second I was pedaling hard. The next I was thrown from my seat and sent spinning downhill.

Dirt and rocks whirled in a dusty blur. Metal flashed at the edges of my vision. Then a heavy crash and the sound of screeching gears told me my arachnoped wouldn’t be walking again anytime soon.

I landed hard on my back but managed to slap my goggles down over my eyes. I did it just in time, too, because blinding fire blazed before my eyes.

A roaring fireball as wide as a wagon streaked straight toward me. It hissed like a nest of angry vipers and sent fiery sparks the size of apples streaking in every direction.

There was no way I could escape. The fireball was going to plow right into me!

The fireball shrieked toward me, and I shrieked, too, expecting to die. I raised my arms uselessly and felt no hope. The end was near.

“Wizard Ast!” I wailed. “Please, somebody help!”

There was no response, of course. The wizard was far away and couldn’t help or even hear me. There was no one else around. I was as alone as a girl could be.

The fireball came fast. I expected pain. I expected deadly heat and the crushing blow of a sledgehammer. But what I really got amazed me.

Nothing! The fireball zipped through me as if I were a ghost.

Z-z-z-zlip!

It struck me, I swear it did. But I felt no pain, just a tingling in my chest and belly. My hair stood up straight, and electricity crackled between my fingertips. Then the fireball was gone like a passing breeze.

I lay on the hillside for a long time, panting and wondering why I had survived. I should have been dead and turned to ash. People didn’t survive being clobbered by fireballs.

But I could still feel my frightened heart thundering in my chest. Thwoon-thwoon! Thwoon-thwoon! I was definitely alive, and that meant something.

Aching and sore in a dozen places, I gingerly climbed to my feet. My arachnoped lay on its side a short distance away, twisted and jammed between two large rocks. Walking the rest of the way was my only choice. So I got moving—slowly. I needed dinner more than ever. Now I needed answers, too.

Where had the fireball gone? Why hadn’t it hurt me? What had Wizard Ast done to—?

Wizard Ast!

The fireball had come from Castle Ninespire, and Wizard Ast was inside. What had the explosion done to him? Without pausing to brush the dust from my clothes, I started to run. Wizard Ast might need me. He could be alone and in serious trouble.

Clouds of dust hung in the air from the explosion. I could barely see the ground at my feet. Ninespire was just a bluish haze a short way uphill.

Rocks and holes appeared in my path without warning. They forced me to jump and zigzag like a frightened deer racing through the woods. The contents of my backpack clanked as I ran.

“Don’t break, please, don’t break,” I repeated with every clink and clunk. My backpack was filled with gadgets for Wizard Ast. They were from my father, and delivering them was my reason for visiting.

Thwoon-thwoon! Thwoon-thwoon!

Even my heart got into the noisy act. It pounded so loudly that it drowned out everything else. That was strange. I wasn’t even tired yet..

I quickly stopped running and placed a hand on my chest. My heart sounded as if it was going to burst, but I could hardly feel it beating.

“Rusty buckets, Gidget,” I complained out loud. “Aren’t you in better shape?” Running usually didn’t wear my out so easily.

Thwoon-thwoon. Thwoon-thwoon.

But my heart didn’t agree. It thundered louder, hammering in my head and ears and behind my eyes. In seconds, its noise drove me to my knees.

Thwoon-THWOON!

I clutched my head in my hands and moaned. “Please, stop!”

THWOON-THWOON! THWOO—

And then there was silence.

Exhaling heavily, I pushed myself to my knees. At first I could see nothing, but a strange building slowly took shape on the top of the hill.

It was Ninespire, but not the Ninespire I remembered. Something had changed it. The explosion had done something magical to the castle.

Wizard Ast’s home was now shaped like a giant frog five stories high!

Copyright © 2006 Sigil Publishing, Inc.
All rights reserved.

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---

by David Anthony and Charles David Clasman

With a yelp, I dove headfirst into a snow bank just before the Winter Orb struck. Howling, icy wind shrieked over my back, but the Orb didn’t touch me.

Skree-ee-ee!

To my left, Levi wasn’t so lucky.

Thwalmp!

Levi did his best to catch the Orb, but it broke through his cupped hands and smacked him full in the gut. He toppled into the snow like a chopped tree, turning blue. The Orb bounced at his feet and went still.

“Out!” shouted the rule judge from the edge of the playing field. “Noah’s throw.”

I grimaced and stood up. I was Noah, and it was my turn to throw the Orb.

“Good luck,” Levi gasped before freezing completely.

The Winter Orb was a blue and white swirled ball about the size of a cantaloupe. It had caused some trouble down south recently, but here we used it to play a game. Those it struck were covered in a thin sheet of ice. They stayed that way until the end of the match.

I grunted at Levi and retrieved the Orb. My friend would be fine, but it would take a miracle for me to win. I had no business being one of the last two kids playing.

Across the field hunched Bart, the biggest, fastest, strongest boy in Neverthaw. He was also the meanest, and looked more like a bear standing on its hind legs than a ten-year-old boy.

As for me, I was the second-biggest kid in Neverthaw’s South Village, but I wasn’t very tall. My family used words like solid and big-boned to describe me. I just hoped my height would catch up with my weight soon.

My hair was shoulder-length, blond, and always in my face. Boys from Neverthaw were forbidden to grow it longer or to tie it back. Long hair was a symbol of adulthood, so everyone grew it as long as possible without breaking the rules.

I guess that made me an average kid, except for my size. But being solid and chubby had advantages. I could out-wrestle most other kids, and I could almost carry my father’s magic hammer, Stormfall.

“You gonna throw or what?” Bart barked from across the icy field. Not only did he look like a bear, he snarled like one.

Instead of answering, I reared back and threw the Orb.

Skree-ee-ee!

My aim seemed good, and I had hopes that the throw would connect. The Orb flew fast. It flew straight. It flew right into the ground.

“Har, har!” Bart brayed, holding his ground while the Orb dribbled to a stop near his snowshoe-sized boots. “Nice throw, Naomi.”

Hearing that, I groaned. Naomi was my sister, my kid sister. Bart had suggested that I threw like a little girl.

“Oh, go cut your hair!” Naomi shouted from the crowd of spectators standing around the field. The phrase was a serious insult to anyone from Neverthaw.

“Har, har!” Bart chortled again, never taking his beady eyes off me. “She shoulda played, not you.” A murmur of chuckles swept through the crowd.

Thanks, Naomi, I growled silently, shooting her a chilly stare. She never knew when to keep her mouth shut. Now the crowd expected Bart to wallop me.

I feinted right and then sprinted left, hoping to confuse Bart. A cluster of frozen players huddled a short way off. They would make a good barricade if I could reach them in time.

Bart didn’t seem to be in a hurry. He casually bent and scooped the Orb up with a big paw.

My boots crunched as I plodded across the snow. My breath puffed out in chalky clouds.

Just make it, I begged myself. Survive for one more round. Don’t let Bart humiliate you.

When Bart cocked his arm, I jumped for all I was worth. Then he grunted and the Winter Orb was on its way.

My feet left the ground. I was flying. My arms stretched, willing me forward. I streaked like a spear toward the group of frozen players.

Big-boned me—a spear!

Skree-ee-ee!

The Winter Orb hurtled my way. Flying snow and sleet churned in its wake.

Come on, Noah, you can—! But I never finished the thought.

Blamphff!

It was another bull’s eye for Bart. Numbing cold exploded in my right side as the Orb struck my ribs. Teeth chattering, I groaned through blue lips and tumbled off course. Then I crashed heavily to the ground in a shower of snow.

The bigger they are, the harder they fall, I reminded myself. The saying went double for me.

“Har, har!” Bart gloated. “I win again. I always win. Too bad, Naomi.”

I wanted to stick my tongue out at him, but the Orb had frozen me stiff. All I could do was stare face first into the snow and think about how I’d lost—again.

Vwarrr-oooohnnn!

A horn trumpeted then, signaling the end of the game. The rule judge declared Bart the winner, and the crowd cheered loudly.

Because of his skill, Bart was always the favorite. It seemed that most people wanted to root for a winner no matter who it was. They certainly weren’t cheering for Bart’s bear-like manners or personality.

Naomi didn’t cheer. She was as loyal to me as a hungry puppy looking for dinner. Sometimes that and her big mouth got her into trouble.

“Shouldn’t you be hibernating?” she accused Bart. Then to the rule judge, “Judge? Judge! Since when are mangy bears allowed to play?”

For once Bart didn’t laugh. He roared at me. “You’re gonna get it, Noah!”

Correction: Sometimes Naomi’s big mouth got me into trouble.

Water trickled into my eye, and I struggled to move. Now that the game had ended, the Orb’s ice was thawing. I wiggled my toes, flexed my calves, and then pushed myself to my knees.

Naomi was immediately at my side. She was shorter and a lot thinner than I was, but you could tell we were related. She wore her hair in twin braids on the sides of her head like pigtails.

“Hurry, Noah,” she urged. “Bart is up to something.”

As I struggled to stand, I spotted Bart and his gang packing armloads of snowballs. None of his friends were as big as he was, but they made up for that with bad attitudes. They glared and grinned threateningly from across the field.

Naomi and I didn’t wait or wonder. Their snowballs were meant for us. We started to creep through the crowd, but a strong hand gripped my shoulder and turned me around.

“You made your father and me proud,” my mother said. The strong hand belonged to her. She was a tall woman with eyes like frozen tears.

Next to her, my father still looked like a giant. He was as muscular as I was chubby. Talk about big-boned! “Soon you will be strong enough for Stormfall,” he told me, patting the massive battle hammer he wore on his hip. The hammer was a family treasure passed from father to son. I couldn’t wear it without dragging it through the snow.

“Bart won, Father,” I protested.

My mother snorted. “No one in Bartholomew’s clan can count more than the fingers on one hand. His exact age is impossible to know.”

She meant that Bart was probably older than the other players and I. That would give him a huge advantage. Why his parents would lie about his age, I couldn’t imagine. Winning wasn’t that important.

Right then, it didn’t matter much. Bart and his friends were still packing their icy arsenal. And from the look of it, they were almost done.

“We have to go,” I said rapidly, and Naomi nodded. “We’ll see you at home.”

Before our parents could respond, we dashed into the crowd. Bart and his crew followed immediately. The chase was on!

Copyright © 2007 Sigil Publishing, Inc.
All rights reserved.

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