Not QUITE the Classics (5 page)

“What does that even mean? Why do oracles have to be so mysterious? Why don't they just say, ‘The King is taking a walk alone in the garden at 2:25 p.m. Stick a sword in him, then run away'? But nooo, oracles have to be vague. That prediction could be about anyone or anything. There is nothing the Oracle said that pertains specifically to me.”

“The Oracle said the One is named Tyro Tinnywinkle, the magic seller.”

Tyro was silent for a moment. “I have to admit that does seem more specific.”

Twenty minutes later the brothers and Tyro were in the heart of the Forest of Deepening Despair. The forest was quite lovely, filled as it was with soft mosses, golden leaves, and sweet birdsong.

“I have to say,” said Tyro, “the Forest of Deepening Despair is not living up to its name.”

The brothers guffawed.

“The forest was named by the mistress of King Ratnor the Vertical. She was bipolar,” explained Big Brother. “Many places with fearsome names amount to nothing,” he added.

Little Brother agreed. “'Tis the sweet names that you should worry about. Makes you let your guard down. I could tell you tales that would curdle your very blood. About places that the Devil himself would think twice about setting foot in. The Valley of the Returning Lamb, Baby Bumpkin's Point, the Cave of Lingering Passion.”

Big Brother shivered. Tyro shivered just to see that something could make Big Brother shiver. These lads had not seemed to fear anything.

“Stop here.” Little Brother jumped off the wanbuck, pulling along his brother, who was ready for the quick dismount.

As Tyro looked around, all manner of Tarnezians crept out of the woods. They dropped from branches, parted bushes, and emerged from beneath piles of golden leaves.

Soon, the brothers and Tyro were surrounded.

Big Brother addressed the crowd. “My friends! May I present Tyro Tinnywinkle. The One who will lead us to victory!”

The crowd burst into enthusiastic cheers. Tyro burst into enthusiastic dread.

Big and Little Brother led Tyro and the rest of the group—well,
deeper
into the Forest of Deepening Despair. In Tyro's mind, at least, it was starting to live up to its name. Barely any sun at all filtered through the dense leaves here, and the mossy forest floor gave way to naked rocks, broken sticks, and mud. Mosquitoes buzzed about the wanbucks, and they swished their tails to repel them.

How did I get involved in this? Tyro wondered, ducking a low-hanging branch. I'm a
shopkeeper
. I am not equipped to face warfare, sacrifice, and hardship. And I certainly don't have the wherewithal to lead a rebel army to victory—unless that army is fighting bored ten-year-olds at a birthday party—but even then, the odds would be sixty–forty on the children.

The group entered a large clearing festooned with perhaps a hundred, two hundred tents.

“How many people are there here?” Tyro asked.

Little Brother's chest swelled with pride. “We have nineteen hundred and eighty-three brave souls who have joined us in our hope for a better tomorrow.”

“Impressive,” admitted Tyro. “But you're still out-numbered by the King's Guard.”

The brothers laughed and slapped the hapless merchant on the back in unison.

“By the Hair of Hecubah!” said Big Brother. “You are a veritable Gus of Gloom! And anyway, the odds are a little better now, for you are the
nineteen hundred and eighty-fourth
.” Bugles sounded in the distance.

“Come,” said Little Brother with a laugh. “You must meet the Queen.”

“The Queen? We have no queen.”

Big Brother scowled at Tyro. “Not at this precise moment, no. But tomorrow…that is a different thing altogether.”

They were now standing in front of a huge tent stitched together with swaths of crimson and emerald and turquoise fabrics. Its doorway was guarded by two of the largest men Tyro had ever seen.

Big Brother nodded to them. “Francis, Periwinkle. We wish an audience with the Queen.”

The one named Francis nodded back. His black, blazing eyes bored through Tyro. “She is waiting for you. Enter.”

They entered.

The inside of the tent was even grander than the outside. It was hung with antique lamps that cast a rosy glow over banquet tables overflowing with bottles of wine, platters of fruit, loaves of bread, and wedges of very stinky cheese. The tent could comfortably sleep a couple of hundred people, Tyro thought. About eight hundred uncomfortably.

The brothers and he were led to the end of the tent, where sat the most beautiful woman Tyro had ever seen. His mouth dropped open.

The brothers bowed their heads and knelt down. “Your Majesty,” they whispered in unison.

Tyro broke out of his reverie and noticed the brothers on their knees. He knelt just as they stood up.

“Queen Madwyn, may we present Tyro Tinnywinkle.”

“Please rise, Tyro.”

Tyro stood and tried to restrain himself from openly staring at this vision before him. The beauty of her face was unsettling enough, but when paired with the overwhelming aura of kindness and love that enveloped her, Tyro actually grew faint.

“So, you are the One who will restore me to the throne?”

“Uh… I will certainly try, my Majesty… Your Majestic… Queen… My Queen.” Tyro bowed deeply, and the blood rushed back to his head.

“Please call me Madwyn. We don't stand on ceremony here.” She turned her attention to the brothers. “How was everything in town?”

Little Brother frowned. “The people are giving up hope. They wish to see you on the throne, Majesty, but many believe you to be dead. Even more fear openly defying the hated Fairdwych. For his armies fight to the death, no matter what the personal cost.”

Madwyn's slate-grey eyes turned cold. “I will never forgive my brother for what he has done to our land. Never.”

Big Brother cleared his throat. “It gets worse. Fairdwych has scheduled a Mystic Crowning ceremony for tomorrow evening.”

“What's a Mystic Crowning ceremony?” asked Tyro.

“Tomorrow?” Madwyn jumped up from her seat. “If he conjures up Tarmanock, all is lost! We must move up our attack!”

“What's Tarmanock?” Tyro asked. “Is it bad? Is it part of the Mystic Crowning?”

“Could we be ready for tomorrow morning?” Madwyn asked the brothers.

“Is this crowning thing very dangerous? Is it something we really have to worry about? I mean, could we just not show up? It seems rude without an invitation or a—”

The brothers smiled at their Queen. “We have been ready for months, Majesty. We shall solidify our plans and, with Tyro here, make our way to success.” Big Brother slapped Tyro on the back.

Tyro looked at the Queen. “Yes. About that. First, I guess the whole Mystic Crowning information will be given to me later. Not important, really. Just like to know if I need to bring a gift. Here is my concern, and I have no wish to disrespect your Oracle, but I really have no idea what's going on here, and I need to get back to the shop and close up.”

Madwyn smiled beneficently. “Do not let worry furrow your brow, Tyro. The Oracle spoke. You will lead us to where we must go.”

The brothers grabbed Tyro by the shoulders. “To the War Tent, young Tyro.”

Tyro had just enough time to give a hasty nod and curtsy to the Queen before he was hurried out of her presence.

“Listen, fellows,” Tyro said as he was ushered from the big tent. “I really don't know how I can help.”

The brothers looked at each other, then at Tyro.

Big Brother spoke cryptically: “Then let the Fates have their way with all.”

Tyro raised his finger in question, then lowered it when Big Brother frowned.

In the War Tent, the brothers and the leaders of the rebel squadrons pored over a blueprint of Castle Hardstock. Big Brother went into the plan.

“As you can see, the walls are heavily fortified. Not even cannon fire can pierce them. There is but one way in. We will have a diversion at the east wall here.” Big Brother pointed at the blueprint.

Little Brother continued. “While the King's Guard is dealing with that, we have one hundred and twenty of our best warriors on wanbucks on the northwest wall. It is the lowest of the walls, and the wanbucks should be able to clear it easily. Our warriors will have to hold that position until the wanbucks can jump back and return with more reinforcements. At the same time, our archers will lead an attack on the south wall”—Little Brother pointed to another spot on the map—“and add additional support for the northwest wall.”

Big Brother looked pained. “We will lose many good men and women, but if we can gain control of the courtyard, we can bring the Queen in, place her on the throne, and stop the Mystic Crowning ceremony.”

Tyro cleared his throat. “I'm not sure, but I may have asked this before. What is the Mystic Crowning ceremony?” Big Brother craned his neck around and nodded to Little Brother. Little Brother turned to Tyro and steepled his fingers.

“As you may know, the royal family has long been intrigued by the magical arts. Fairdwych has taken that passion beyond all reasoning. He found, in his father's library, a book of demonic spells. In it, he discovered the Mystic Crowning ceremony, which can only be performed every three thousand and forty-three years during the Day of the Sixteen Whirlers. Tomorrow is that day. ”

Big Brother continued. “If the ceremony is carried out, a demon called Tarmanock will be called forth and will pledge undying allegiance to the one who released him. This beast has
ungodly
power, and with it Fairdwych will never be stopped.”

Tyro felt faint. “How is it that I never knew of this book of demonic spells?”

Big Brother patted his back. “It was long thought to be a hoax till one of our spies saw Fairdwych using a spell from it to…discipline the kitchen help.”

Tyro's throat dried. “I don't want to know the details, do I?”

Little Brother shook his head. “No, you most certainly do not.”

Tyro wondered aloud: “Is there any chance Tarmanock will be like the rest of us and take an instant dislike to the King? Maybe he'll kill him and head back to his own dimension.”

The brothers looked at him sadly and shook their heads. Tyro sighed and rubbed his temples. He looked at the blueprints of the castle. Something caught his eye.

“Wait a minute. This blueprint doesn't show the tunnel.” All eyes turned to him.

“Tunnel?” said Big Brother.

“There's a tunnel that starts by the River of Lost Tears and leads straight into the castle. My grandfather was one of the engineers. He showed it to me when I was a child. Used to play in it for hours. Can't remember why we stopped.”

“There's a tunnel?” Little Brother exclaimed. “Our army can enter the castle undetected via this old tunnel?”

The group laughed delightedly. There was much handshaking and backslapping. Big Brother wiped happy tears from his eyes.

“So was that it?” Tyro asked hopefully. “Am I done?” Everyone laughed harder.

The next morning, as the brothers prepared to lead their assembled men to the head of the tunnel, Madwyn approached Tyro.

“Tyro, I thank you for your service. We are fortunate indeed to have your help. The Fates have been kind to deliver you to us.”

“But I haven't done anything, Majesty, except remember a treasured childhood haunt.”

“Ah, but this tunnel allows us access to the castle in such a way that will save many lives.” Madwyn paused, looking into Tyro's eyes. “Is everything all right?”

Everything was fine. Tyro could not help staring at Madwyn. He had never seen anyone so beautiful before. “Yes, Majesty. Everything is fine, thank you. I was just thinking of…a favorite recipe…that I like…um…I hope you get the throne. I always liked you best.”

“Thank you.” Madwyn smiled sadly. “I hope that I can get it back, too. My brother has almost broken the spirit of our country with his greed and lust for power.”

“Yes, well, family can be complex.”

“There's nothing complex about Fairdwych. He will try to separate my head from my body if he sees me and figures out what we're up to.”

“I will not let that happen, Your Queenship…my Queen…Your Majesty.” Tyro blushed.

“Call me Madwyn. 'Tis my name.” She laughed softly and kissed Tyro on the cheek. “Good luck to you today. May we all survive.”

Tyro was so besotted by the kiss, it took him a few seconds to understand the import of her words. “Good luck to me? Why? I thought I was done. What am I doing that I might not survive?”

What Tyro was doing was leading an army of rebels to the River of Lost Tears. As they rode up to the mouth of the tunnel, Tyro turned to the brothers. “There you go. That's the tunnel. Leads right into the main ballroom, right next to the Throne Room.”

“Excellently done, my friend!” said Big Brother. “Now you must lead us to the end.”

“What? I've led you to where you want to go! What else do you need me for? I'm not a warrior.”

“You are still an important part of this.” Madwyn rode up next to him with an old woman by her side.

“This is the Oracle.” Madwyn gestured to the old woman. “She foretold of you. She says there is more that you must do.”

Tyro looked narrowly at the Oracle, despising her more than anyone he had ever despised.

“Okay, Oracle. What am I to do next?”

“I do not know,” the Oracle intoned sagely.

“You have no idea?”

“I would not want to say,” she pronounced regally.

“So, I'm to lead an army of rebels to take the throne from the King and defeat his army because—you just had a
feeling
?”

“I am the Oracle! My prognostications have changed all that we know!” The old woman sounded testy.

“Will I live through this?” Tyro asked hopefully.