The Call (The Magnificent 12 1)

As he murdered snakes, Mack replayed the morning’s events in his mind. The man in green had known where he was going. The man in green had never made eye contact with Mack, and at that distance he would surely not have recognized Mack even if he had spotted him.

Everyone knew golems were made of mud. And no one was dumb enough to think that viper poison would kill a golem.

Therefore: the man in green had been trying to kill Mack.

He had actually been trying to kill him.

Knowing this made the disgusting sound of the snakes going grrrchunkchunkwgheee in the disposal almost musical.

Eight

A REALLY, REALLY LONG TIME AGO…

After his run-in with the Skirrit and the princess, Grimluk devoted himself with even more enthusiasm to the job of fleeing.

Fleeing 2.0. A whole new level of fleeing.

He pushed Gelidberry, the cows, and the baby at top speed: three miles an hour.

They fled all through the rest of that first night and all through the next day. Exhausted and cranky, they arrived toward dusk at the edge of the forest. Ahead of them was a vast open meadow. From the center of the meadow there rose a steep hill. The hill looked as if it had been built entirely of tall, jagged slabs of granite, then decorated with earth and grass and even the occasional tree. And then as if, over many years, most of that blanket of earth had been worn down by rain and snow and whatever mysterious force pulled things down toward the ground (gravity, but that hadn’t been discovered yet).

Atop this grim and stony hill sat a castle that looked almost to be carved out of the very stone of the hill. The walls were a dark gray, upswept to crazy heights and then crenellated.

Crenellations: the little jigsaw-looking things at the top of castle walls.

Grimluk hadn’t seen that many castles. In fact he’d seen just one, the baron’s castle, which, to tell the truth, was about as impressive as an Office Depot.

This castle, on the other hand, had a seriously dangerous look and feel. And even from far off Grimluk could tell that it was on a high state of alert. Spear tips glinted from the crenellations, sunset painting the bronze points red. There were even archers armed with state-of-the-art bows.

The castle was expecting trouble.

Towering above the walls was the keep. The keep was the last resort, a castle-within-a-castle. If enemies breached the outer walls, they then had to start all over again to take the keep.

From the top of the keep fluttered a black and sky-blue banner. There was some sort of symbol on the banner, but Grimluk couldn’t quite make it out.

Far below, crouching by the foot of the hill, was a village, a few dozen thatch-roofed buildings.

“Let’s go to the village,” Grimluk said. “Maybe we can sell some milk and get a room for the night.”

“We don’t have reservations,” Gelidberry pointed out.

But Grimluk didn’t care because reservations hadn’t yet been invented, let alone Priceline and Expedia and hotels.com. In fact, if there had been any such thing, it would have been called inns.com or even stables.com.

They reached the edge of the village just as night fell. They parked the cows and carried the nameless baby into the first inn they found.

It was crowded with drunken men and a few drunken women. But it was quiet for a room full of drunks. People were more sullen than rowdy. When Grimluk and Gelidberry came in, every eye turned toward them, appraising the tired family.

“How many in your party?” the innkeeper asked.

“Two adults, one child,” Grimluk answered.

“We don’t have a kids’ menu,” the innkeeper warned.

They elbowed their way to the end of one of the long tables. Grimluk ordered a tankard of mead and three bowls of gruel. It was a Tuesday: gruel night. Grimluk felt a little disappointed. If he’d come on Monday, it would have been fish and chips.

Across the table sat a burly, older man of perhaps sixteen years. He had a full beard studded with bits of food. Little pig eyes stared out from beneath a scarred, tanned brow. The man had an ax slung over one shoulder. Grimluk fingered his own hatchet and winced to realize that the ax was maybe three times bigger.

“Hi,” Grimluk said. “How’s the gruel here?”