Keys to the Demon Prison

You have not transformed any of my astrids yet. I have tried to send them in your direction. I lost track of you when you came to this accursed preserve. No astrids are currently near. Yet even without my warriors, I believe I have a solution to your dilemma. It will require a little time.

"Thank you, your majesty," Kendra said.

Bracken winked at her. "Could you give me a few minutes alone with her? There are a few unicorn-type matters I would like to discuss."

"Sure," Kendra said, standing, the dismissal making her even more uncomfortable.

"I’m glad you were here for this much," Bracken assured her. "Hopefully you now have good reason to trust me. Stay here on the island. We’ll walk back together."

Feeling a little better, Kendra strolled down the slope to the edge of the radiant water. She could not help wondering what Bracken and the Fairy Queen were discussing. Was she angry at him for getting captured? Did they simply need to catch up? What was their relationship? Did the Fairy Queen have as big a crush on him as the other fairies seemed to? Would the Fairy Queen put more pressure on him to come to her realm? Kendra figured if any creature belonged in an unspoiled realm of purity, it would be a unicorn.

But it was hard to think of Bracken as a unicorn. He seemed way too human. He just felt like a really cool friend. Kendra looked up the slope, watching him as he knelt beside the little pool, his back to her. What a relief to know she could trust him! He was right that an endorsement from the Fairy Queen allowed Kendra to lay aside her concerns about his legitimacy. After so many betrayals, it felt heavenly to know there was somebody she could truly count on.

After some time, Bracken came down the slope. He looked rejuvenated.

"You’re all smiles," Kendra said.

"I missed that complete form of communication the Fairy Queen can provide," Bracken said. "Mind to mind, heart to heart. And I missed her. She is very important to me. Since her consort fell, she has borne a very heavy burden alone."

"What kind of help do you think she’ll send?" Kendra asked.

"I’ll be curious to see," he responded vaguely. "Let’s go tell Warren help is on the way."

Chapter 17 Preparations

Newel and Doren arrived at the manor just as Seth was deciding they wouldn’t show. Seth had waited on the porch for nearly an hour after contacting Bracken, his confidence steadily waning. He was on the verge of asking Hugo to take him back to the main house when the satyrs came scampering across the unkempt lawn. Each had a pack over his shoulder. Newel wore a dented helm. Doren had a bow.

"The word is abroad that Graulas has claimed this house," Newel said by way of greeting.

"We were hoping it was a hoax," Doren added. "No trick," Seth said loudly. "I was asked to claim it on his behalf." He lowered his voice. "Please don’t yell about my hoaxes where any imp can hear."

"Right," Newel said with a knowing wink. He cupped a hand beside his mouth. "We had better clear out of here before the dark master of this haunted abode returns!"

"You don’t have to oversell it, either," Seth whispered.

"We brought you some gear," Doren said, unshouldering his pack and rummaging through the contents. He pulled out an oval shield about a yard tall. "Heroes need proper equipment."

"Thanks," Seth said.

"Adamant," Doren said proudly, handing over the shield. "We fished it out of the same tar pit where we found the shirt of mail."

"Probably all belonged to the same careless adventurer," Newel speculated. "Too much money, not enough talent."

Seth hefted the shield. It felt light, almost like a toy or a prop, but he knew that if it was made of adamant, it was stronger than steel and absolutely priceless. "What a great gift."

"We were reserving it to trade for batteries," Newel explained. "But in light of our new arrangement–well, investors need to protect their interests."

"It would be a shame if I died before you got your generator," Seth said.

Doren nudged Newel. "The shield isn’t all."

From his pack, Newel removed a sword in a battered leather scabbard. Jewels adorned the golden hilt. Newel presented it to Seth, who drew the sword. It felt too light. "This isn’t adamant too?" Seth asked.

"Tempered adamant," Doren gushed. "We found just the naked blade. The edge is keen. The nipsies crafted the hilt, and we salvaged the scabbard from an old scrap heap."

"The nipsies couldn’t have made it just now?" Seth asked.

"No," Newel chuckled. "It took them six weeks. We were simply preparing another item for barter."

Seth belted on the scabbard and sheathed the sword. "Why don’t you guys have armor?"

Newel snorted derisively. "Slows us down. We prefer to avoid injuries by not getting hit."

"What about the helmet?" Seth asked.

Newel rapped the helm with his knuckles. "This old thing? It’s my good-luck charm."

"Tell him the story," Doren urged.

"Satyrs never wear armor, including helmets," Newel began, using his hands expressively. "But years ago I was in a play, and the helm was part of my costume. During the big battle scene, a few of us were assailing a castle. We had quite a set. The main tower must have been fifteen feet tall, fashioned from real stone. Anyhow, as we actors were laying siege, a big chunk of the battlement dislodged from atop the tower."

"Shoddy workmanship," Doren inserted.

"Definitely not part of the rehearsed scene," Newel emphasized.

"Newel was delivering a line," Doren laughed.

"Behold, the enemy falters!" Newel quoted in a bold voice, raising a finger skyward for dramatic effect. "I was facing the audience and focused on my diction, so the falling stonework blindsided me."

"Biggest laugh of the night," Doren chuckled.

"Those might have been my last words if not for this helmet," Newel said. "Cumbersome or not, any object that lucky deserves to be worn in battle."

"Is that how the helmet got dented?" Seth asked.

"Exactly," Newel confirmed.

"Newel wouldn’t let anyone repair it," Doren said.

"I’m surprised you weren’t injured," Seth said.

"I was unconscious for almost two days," Newel clarified.

"His understudy was elated," Doren said.

Newel smirked. "The botched scene was such a success, I had to give up the theater. All everybody wanted from me thereafter was slapstick. And trust me, with satyrs involved, slapstick hurts a lot."