Novel Excerpts

Call-Ru Comes Calling

            Daniel felt sick. He hadn’t stopped feeling sick for a week now. A disease that seemed to have no cure, his only treatment was the large cylinder in front of him. His fists pounding into it, harder and harder as he thought about what he had said, and what he wished he had said. The punching bag trembled under his blows, but he still felt as though he wasn’t punching hard enough. 

            Someone entered Daniel’s field of vision. “You should stop,” Grayling said, barely visible in his peripherals. “There’s not much reason to beat yourself up over a girl.”

            “It wasn’t just a girl,” Daniel said, taking one last punch. He stopped, turning towards the cloaked figure. 

            Grayling came closer, grabbing the bag to stop it from swaying. “I thought the same thing,” he said quietly. “But it was worse for me. It wasn’t that she didn’t want me, she did. But she was killed.” His voice was steady, but on the verge of breaking. He punched upwards, sending the bag swinging in a wild arc that nearly pulled it off of the hook. “It was Call-Ru. That’s why I keep chasing him. That’s why, if I find him, he’s dead. He is a dead goblin walking.” 

            “I’m sorry,” Daniel said, putting a hand on Grayling’s shoulder. 

            “Don’t be sorry, and don’t be stupid,” Grayling said, pushing his hand off. His voice was calm again. “You have to snap out of it, Daniel. Maybe you can’t see it, but I can. The only reason she’s staying away is because she thinks you want it. And the only reason she said what she did is because she’s falling in love with you. The fear of losing a young love can be greater than the pain of that loss.” Grayling stopped the bag, looking at Daniel. “Now, Daniel, which will you choose? Lillian or the bag?” He raised his hands toward the door and the bag in turn. “It’s your choice. If you choose the bag, I won’t bother you again. I promise.”

            “I don’t want a bag,” Daniel said, a smile beginning to break over his face. “I want Lillian. Thanks, Grayling.”

            Grayling’s voice contained the hint of a smile. “Trust me, it’s a pleasure. Go, Daniel. You pursue her, and don’t ever let her get away.”

            “I won’t, don’t worry,” Daniel said, pulling off his gloves and tossing them onto the counter. As he rushed out the door, he bumped into Lancelot. Daniel barely stopped moving, pushing around his best friend and sprinting to the door. “Sorry, gotta go!” he yelled back.

            His feet barely touched the ground as he ran. He skidded to a stop in front of the walk to Lillian’s house, panting slightly. He had forgotten to pace himself – a mistake he hadn’t made in years. His shoes tapped against the rocks that made up the short walkway to the porch. He silently walked up the porch stairs, the soft wood creaking under his weight. Pulling the screen door out of his way, he rapped his knuckles against the front door. Just as he was preparing to knock again, Lillian’s mother opened it. 

            “Hi, Mrs. Brown,” Daniel said, “Is Lillian home?” 

            “I think she’s up in her room. Why don’t you come inside while I check?” Daniel walked through the open door, into their living room. While he waited for Mrs. Brown and Lillian, he examined the pictures and knick-knacks on the mantle, grinning at a sculpture Lillian had made when she was much younger. It was done just after they had met in school. Originally, it was going to be a bird, but had slowly morphed into a monster with a beak-like mouth.

            The sound of feet on the stairs made him turn around, a half-smile of nervousness forming on his lips. “Hi, Daniel,” she said. His heart started pounding again, but it wasn’t because of the sprint.

            “Lillian,” he said. He hoped he said everything the right way. “I need to talk to you. Do you mind?” he said motioning to the door. 

            “Sure,” Lillian said, her lips mirroring Daniel’s nervous grin. “I’ll be right back,” she said to her mother, grabbing her jacket. She led the way outside, pulling it on as they stepped onto the sidewalk.

            “So, what’s this about?” Lillian asked.

            “Let’s get a little bit further away from anyone, if you don’t mind,” Daniel said. The autumn air bit into his skin, still soaked in sweat from his workout in the morning.

            “Okay,” Lillian said.

            The silence was nearly unbearable, unbroken except for the occasional car slipping past. Daniel cleared his throat. “Lillian,” he started, “What you asked me to promise you, it’s impossible.”

            She started to speak, but Daniel shook his head. “Let me finish, please.” He took a breath and continued. “You know Lancelot is my best friend. Well, he was raised by his grandmother, who taught him that, if he wanted to be a knight, like he did while growing up, he would have to practice chivalry. And that means to put the woman first, and to put yourself last. He taught that to me while we were growing up – he lives by it. It’s a part of who I am.

            “I like to say that I’m practical, that if you died, I’d be able to get over it. But if I’m being honest with myself, I don’t know. I mean, I’m not Romeo. If you died, I wouldn’t kill myself. But I know that if there was something I could have done to save you, and didn’t, it would destroy me. So, I understand. Maybe it’s better if we stay just friends, but I want you to know-“

            Lillian pressed a finger on his lips, silencing him. “My turn to talk, Daniel. I understand all of that, I really do. I said what I did because I thought I wasn’t strong enough to get close to someone, only to see them die. But I realized something. If I stay in this business, that’s could happen, no matter who I end up with. And Dan, I don’t think I want to end up with anyone else.” She stopped suddenly, like she had just revealed a huge secret, and wasn’t sure how Daniel would take it.

            “Well,” Daniel said slowly, “I’m not promising I’m going to marry you. But I’ve had a crush on you for years, Lillian. And even getting to know you through the ADRT hasn’t changed that, which makes me think that maybe there’s something more than a crush.”

            “I kept trying to tell you,” Lillian complained. “I wanted to tell you that I was sorry. But you kept pushing me aside and going back to that stupid punching bag.” She shook her head, brown hair swishing across her back. “Why did you keep punching that blasted bag, anyway?”

            Daniel thought for a second, then replied, “Pain on my hands was easier to deal with than pain on my heart.” As soon as he said it, he realized how true it really was. “I’m sorry, Lil. I shouldn’t ever have kept you away. Can you forgive me?”

            “Forgive you? Can you forgive me?” Lillian asked. “I shouldn’t have let my mouth run away from me. My feelings got away from me.”

            “Then let’s forgive each other,” Daniel said.

            Lillian considered. “Okay,” she said.

“Can I buy you lunch?” Daniel asked suddenly. “Like, right now?”

Lillian cocked her head, studying him. “Are you asking me out?”

Daniel thought for a second, then nodded. “Yes. I guess I am.”

“In that case,” Lillian said, taking his hand. “I guess I’ll say yes.”

)~(

            “I don’t understand the world,” Lancelot said, bringing his sword up to block Grayling’s. Almost absentmindedly, he brought his sword down swing below his opponent’s defenses. 

            “What about the world don’t you understand?” Grayling asked, his sword swishing as it moved to block Lancelot’s with a loud clack. 

            “Well, yesterday,” Lancelot stepped backwards, out of Grayling’s reach, “Daniel was obsessed with his punching bag. Today, I can barely get him to do anything related to training.”

            “Why do you think that is?” 

            “I have no idea.” Lancelot touched the point of his sword to the ground, nodding. “Seriously, his mood swings are insane.”

            “What’s different about today than yesterday?” Grayling asked, putting the sword back on the rack. 

            “Lil’s talking to him again, but what would that have to do with anything?”

            Grayling shook his head. “You must be blessed to be so blind. You have to tell me your secret.”

            “I don’t get it.”

            “If Isabelle stopped talking to you, what would you do?” 

            “Find out why,” Lancelot said, shrugging. 

            “Okay, but what if it was because she didn’t love you like you love her?” 

            Lancelot was silent for a while. “I don’t get it,” he finally said, and Grayling let out a groaning laugh. 

            “Let me try to explain it this way. Do you love Isabelle?”

            “Without a doubt,” Lancelot answered without hesitation. 

            “Daniel feels the same way about Lillian. A few days ago, though, she told him that she didn’t want to be close, because she was afraid of what would happen if he died.”

            “He loves Lil?” Lancelot considered. “I mean, I know he had a crush on her, that was obvious, but love?” He shook his head. “Love is way more just having a crush on someone. It’s commitment. There’s a sense of duty along with it.”

            “I would say that Daniel has that kind of love.” Grayling struggled for briefly, attempting to figure out how to explain it. “The type of love you’re talking about is based off of maturity. This stage might just be a precursor to what you’re talking about, but it is a stepping-stone to that maturity.”

            Lancelot nodded in understanding. “That makes sense.” He thought about his own relationship with Isabelle, trying to remember when it had turned from infatuation to love. “I can’t believe I didn’t see that,” he said.

            “We’re not all graced with the gift of being able to perceive relationship issues,” Grayling said. He laughed slightly. “Though, I will admit, you seem to have a negative portion of that grace.”

            Lancelot shrugged. “I can keep my own relationship together. I don’t really need to figure out other people’s relationships for them.”

            Grayling nodded. “Nor should you. Still, your comments make us laugh.”

            “I guess that’s a good thing, right?”

            “Yes. I-.” Grayling suddenly cut off and started forward, grabbing Lancelot by the shoulders. “Lancelot, listen to me. You have to go get Byron. He’s seeing Stephanie off. Take Larry if you have to, but get him!”

            He pushed Lancelot, and the young man stumbled backwards, nearly losing his balance. “I don’t understand,” Lancelot, and Grayling said something. Lancelot didn’t exactly know what it meant, but knew that it was a close approximation to several things that his grandmother would wash his mouth out for. “I’m going, I’m going,” he said, turning and tripping over his feet. 

            Grayling, rushing for the stairs, cursed again.

)~(

            “I’m going to miss you,” Byron said, pulling Stephanie into a hug. She returned it, letting go far sooner than Byron would have liked. 

            “I’ve got to go, Byron. Come and visit me.” She smiled. “You’re always welcome.”

            Byron nodded, grinning. “I’ll do that. After all -“

A shout cut off his flirtation comment. “Byron!” Byron turned, catching sight of Lancelot on Larry, flying towards him. “Grayling sent me,” he said, pulling to a stop beside the car. “We need to get back to the Nest right now. I don’t know why, but Grayling seemed to think that it was really important.”

            “Right,” Byron said, turning to Stephanie. “Duty ca-“

            “Get on!” Lancelot ordered harshly, and Byron winced. He scrambled up the Bonston, waving to Stephanie. A swift wind picked up, and Byron turned around, grabbing Lancelot for support.

            It took only a few minutes, but the time seemed interminable for Byron. They burst into the Nest to find Grayling sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor. Elliot was watching him with curiosity.

            “What’s going on?” he asked once he saw them enter. “Grayling hasn’t said a thing since he came back downstairs.

            “Byron,” Grayling said, his head snapping toward the leader of the ADRT. “I’ve sensed a disruption. Call-Ru is closer than he’s ever been before. I believe we can catch him if we hurry.”

            Byron grabbed a sword from the rack by the door, slinging it over his shoulder. “Let’s go,” he said. Grayling rose, putting a hand on Byron’s shoulder.

            “I don’t know how long we’ll be gone,” he said. His hand, sheathed in a gray glove, was beginning glow slightly. “Watch over the town until we return.”

            Lancelot watched, gapemouthed, as Grayling’s entire body joined in the steady glow. The intensity soon was so great that it hurt to look at. Then, faster than the blink of an eye, the two men were gone, and Elliot and Lancelot were left staring at empty space.

            “My word,” Elliot said. “Grayling’s been holding out on us.”

)~(

            Lillian turned to Daniel, grinning from her perch in the oak. “Come on, the view’s great!” she called, and Daniel shook his head. 

            “Nah, I’m good.” He leaned against a tree, watching Lillian as she clambered through the branches with ease. He knew that he could have climbed just as fast, if not faster, but he didn’t feel up to it. He had finally decided to take the break that Byron had suggested. Once he had started, his muscled had shown him how tired they were. Lillian kept teasing him about it, constantly moving to show that she was in perfect health.

            Lillian called down again. “Daniel, I think a portal opened. My head hurts.”

            “Okay, come down,” Daniel said. “But be careful, for goodness sake. You know how dizzy you get when a portal opens.”

            “I know,” Lillian sighed, carefully climbing down. She dropped the last few feet, Daniel catching her with a grunt. 

            “You’re a lot lighter than I expected,” he said, smiling at her. “I could easily carry you down if I wanted to.” 

            “I don’t want you to, though,” Lillian said,, trying to get her feet on the ground. “Set me down, please. My head’s already clearing up.” 

            “So, no more people are coming through?” Daniel guessed.

            “No, it’s beyond that,” Lillian said, rubbing her temples. “It feels like Grayling is pulling it closed.” She dropped one hand, still feeling her right temple, as if she was a psychic. “I can still follow it, though.”

            “I don’t know,” Daniel replied. “We don’t know what we’re up against. We should go back to the Nest and get the others.”

            “But if it’s Grayling, then we’ll be fine,” Lillian replied. “And if worst comes to worst, it’s only a small group. The portal wasn’t open long enough for more than four or five people.”

            Daniel let out a sigh. “Okay. But just reconnaissance. We go in, we take a look, and if it’s more than we can deal with, we get out of there.”

            “Exactly what I was thinking,” Lillian said. “We just need to know what we’re up against.” She closed her eyes for a second, then chose a direction. Daniel followed at a quick run through the still forest. He touched his hips, hissing when he realized he didn’t have them. He had taken them off when he had gone back with Lillian to her house – her mother didn’t like those kinds of knives. Adrenaline started to fill his body, and he hoped that they wouldn’t be needed.

            They ran for several minutes in silence, until Lillian slowed outside a large clearing. She ducked behind a tree, glancing into the open area. “The portal is just sitting there,” she said, pulling on a portal glove. “I’m going to go for it.” She slid around the tree, creeping into the clearing.

Daniel, hiding behind a tree further back, was about to move, when he spotted a flash of movement. His shout of warning was cut off by Lillian’s scream. The figure pulled her out of his line of vision before he could get a good glimpse.

            A deep voice, seemingly raspy with age, hissed, “You wouldn’t want to be taking my only way home, now would you? After all, if you had taken it, I would have to kill you.” There was a low chuckle. “Now tell me. Who do you work for, and where is the rest of your team?” 

            “Who are you?” Lillian cried, trying to struggle to her feet. Daniel crept forward, so that he could see the creature. It wore a tight bodysuit, completely black. The back of his head was dark green, like an unripe pumpkin, as were his thick hands. A heavy boot kept Lillian pinned to the ground.

            “I am the Warlord Call-Ru,” the goblin replied, drawing a sword from a sheath across his back. “Now, my questions. Your team, and are there are many more of you?” 

            Daniel’s hand dropped to his knife, but then remembered that they were gone. He looked around him for something to use as a weapon, but all of the dead limbs looked rotted or far too large to be useful. Trying to keep his calm, he slid his portal gloves on.

            Lillian shouted defiantly, “I belong to the ADRT. We’ve beaten you before, and we’ll beat you again, Call-Ru. And I came out alone.”

            “Excellent. Then I’m in the right place.” Call-Ru laughed. “It took years for the portals to line up just right, but here I am, without your precious Grayling to protect you.” He heaved a sigh. “However, your friend breaths far too loudly for your lie to work.”

            The goblin turned, facing Daniel for the first time. “Come out and join us, won’t you?” he asked. Daniel was surprised at how normal he looked. Instead of a hideous monster he was expecting, he looked like most of the goblins Daniel had seen, albeit how few they were. There was a scar on his right cheek, and the words ‘Mad Bull was here’ were cut into his bodysuit. Otherwise, he looked fairly typical: a small nose, ears that seemed like fish fins, and scale-like skin, all of which were the same shade of dark green.

            “First off,” Daniel said, stepping forward, “Let me say how please I am to meet you.” He regulated his breathing, trying to remain calm. “Second,” he dove for the portal, scooping it up as Call-Ru rushed forward. He rolled to his feet, running for the edge of the woods. “Run, Lil! Run!”

            Call-Ru ignored him as he fled, grabbing Lillian’s neck as she tried to scramble away. “How stupid,” he said, calling after Daniel, who paused at the edge of the woods. “You try to sacrifice yourself for her, but she still ends up caught.” Call-Ru shook Lillian, lifting her off the ground. “Now, I have her. And what are you going to do?” He paused, but only briefly. “I’ll tell you. Nothing. You’re going to sit there and watch me leave with her. Now, put the portal on the ground.”

            “Give me her, and I’ll give you the portal,” Daniel said, holding up the glowing orb.

            Call-Ru laughed slightly, lifting his sword. “Very well. Put the portal down, and I’ll give you the girl.”

            Daniel was frozen for a second, uncertain. The tense silence was broken by Lillian shouting, “Don’t do it! He’ll just kill both of us!”

“Shut up, girl!” Call-Ru said, throwing her away, into a thick trunked oak. She slumped to the ground, unconscious. Call-Ru’s eyes narrowed on Daniel. “Give me the portal, boy!” he hissed.

Daniel screamed back, a boiling rage heating up inside of him. Then the conversation with Lillian came to his mind, and instead of doing as he was instructed, he spun on his heel, sprinting back the way he had come. Call-Ru cursed, and started after him, leaving Lillian slumped.

            Daniel recognized this area now – it was near a trail he had used many times over the past few days. He followed it as it wound through the woods but took a right when it forked to the left. The trail ended, as did the ground, in a sharp bluff. He slid to a stop, and stood for a second, turning to face the oncoming warlord.

“I’m sorry, Lillian,” he called softly, then dove over the edge of the bluff.

            Call-Ru cursed again as he watched Daniel roll down the hill. “Fine, then, ADRT,” he said quietly. “Let it begin.”

)~(

            Daniel collapsed onto the floor of the Nest, the portal ball slipping from his ringing fingers. He clutched at his sides. The desperate run had left him burnt, but he could hardly breath.

            “Daniel?” Elliot asked, pushing away from his chair so quickly that it tipped over. The bang echoed through Daniel’s head, the trace beginnings of a headache.

            “What happened?” Lancelot asked, dropping the fruit that he was playing with and running.

            “Call-Ru,” Daniel gasped. “He got Lillian. I got the portal.” He rolled into a ball, trying to block out the tears. “Dear… He got Lillian.”

            “Keep breathing,” Elliot said, his hand on Daniel’s shoulder. “Just keep breathing.” He waved at Lancelot. “Get him water! Now!”

            “We have to stop him,” Daniel said, uncurling. “He’s going to kill her.” He clutched at Elliot. “We can’t let that happen.”

            “We won’t,” Elliot replied. “I promise. Just keep breathing, Daniel.” He looked up as Lancelot ran back, carrying a water bottle. He uncapped it, then handed it down to Daniel, who began to guzzle it down.

            “What do we do?” Lancelot asked as Elliot stood up, watching Daniel closely.

            Instead of answering, Elliot asked, “Where was he, Daniel?”

            Daniel gestured, trying to think of the name. “That bluff, just past Bower’s field. You know that trail through there? He was in the area.”

            “Okay,” Elliot said. “Look, we’re alone. Byron and Grayling are somewhere else, searching for Call-Ru, actually.” He ran a hand through his hair, taking short, controlled breaths. He caught Lancelot’s eyes. “We go after him. We can’t leave Lillian out there.”

            Lancelot nodded, his face turning hard. He marched to the weapon’s rack, retrieving his favorite sword. “Then let’s get our girl back,” he said. “I’ll get Larry.”

            Elliot sighed. “I wish that wasn’t the best choice,” he said, following Lancelot into the stable, grabbing an axe on his way out. “Stay here, Daniel,” he ordered.

            They rode in silence over the rolling fields of Callsboro, not that the wind would have allowed for much to be heard. Determined expressions were mirrored on both faces, knowing that they were going to be facing something that they had never experienced before.

            Ahead, they could see the bluff blocking the horizon. Standing in the middle was a dark figure, who remained motionless, even as they began the ascent. Once they reached the top, it turned and walked away, toward the woods.

            “Call-Ru!” Lancelot shouted, as Elliot slid down the side of Larry. “Give us back Lillian!”

            The goblin turned, the scar of his face prominent against the dark green. “Did you bring my portal?” he asked.

            “You’re not going to need it,” Lancelot said. “This is where you die.”

             Call-Ru snorted, unsheathing two swords from across his back. “Bold words. Well, then, come at me. But bear in mind, if you come too close, I will kill your friend.”

            Lancelot’s eyes drifted to where Call-Ru motioned. A slumped figure hung from a tree, dangling from her wrists. “Lillian!” he shouted. He spurred Larry forward, only to have Call-Ru put a sword up to her side.

            “Bad idea, boy,” he hissed.

            Lancelot’s eyes narrowed, and he let Larry continue walking. He pulled short as Call-Ru thrust the sword into her side. Lillian let out a scream, sending goosebumps rippling across Lancelot’s arms. Call-Ru withdrew the sword, now red with blood. “It’s not fatal,” he said. “But if you come closer, it will be.”

            Lancelot unstrapped his legs. “Take me,” he said. “Let her go, and I will willingly come with you.”

            “I don’t want a willing prisoner,” Call-Ru scoffed. “You’re much too much trouble. I can tell just by looking at you.”

            Elliot let out a roar uncharacteristic of his usual quiet manner. As Call-Ru turned to look at him, he heard a loud whupping noise. Elliot’s axe caught him on the arm, throwing him backwards.

            Lancelot clapped his feet on Larry’s flanks, sending him forward. With a broad stroke, he swept through Call-Ru’s neck. He turned around, expecting to see the headless goblin crumple to the ground. Instead, Call-Ru was pulling out the axe, cursing as blood leaked from his side.

            “You’re going to pay for that,” he hissed, throwing down his swords, and sticking a hand toward Elliot. Elliot prepared himself for an attack but was surprised when nothing happened. Suddenly, an overwhelming wave of exhaustion hit him.

            “Lancelot?” Elliot said, dropping to his knees, and staring in shock. “Wha-what’s happening?”

            Call-Ru grinned maliciously, throwing out his other hand and catching Lancelot before he could move. In the same way as with Elliot, he felt his energy get sucked away, and he slid to the ground.

            “Goodbye, ADRT,” Call-Ru said, laughing scornfully as both tried to move, but found that they suddenly had no strength. They were getting weaker by the minute, and Elliot knew he wouldn’t last long.

            With a sudden roar, the side of the bluff erupted as a vehicle catapulted through it. Dirt flying, it ripped through the ground, plowing into Call-Ru and carried him into a tree. Call-Ru was driven through the trunk, the entire tree falling on the Suburban.

            The driver’s side door popped open, and Daniel fell out. He had avoided being crushed by only a hair, but didn’t seem to notice. “Lillian!” he shouted, pulling himself around the back of the car and stumbling toward the tree where Lillian was hanging.

            Taking out his knife, he reached up and cut the rope, supporting her as she fell.  “Let’s get you out of here,” he said, half-supporting, half-carrying her toward Larry.

            Elliot dragged himself to his feet. His energy hadn’t completely returned, but he felt at least a little better. He could see Lancelot also pulling himself up. “Lancelot,” he ordered, “Take Lillian back to the Nest,” He winced as he walked. “Daniel, we need to follow them.”

            Daniel looked over at him. “Why?” he asked, as Lancelot reached them and took Lillian from him. He motioned to the wreck. “It’s over. Call-Ru’s finished.”

            “I don’t think it’s that easy,” Elliot said, nervously glancing at the last place he had seen Call-Ru. “I saw Lancelot cut Call-Ru’s head off, but the sword just went through. It didn’t hurt him at all.”

            Lancelot lifted Lillian onto the Bonston. “He’s right, Daniel. We need to wait for Grayling and Byron. If he’s dead, there’s nothing to worry about. If he’s alive, then there’s nothing we can do against him.” He pulled himself behind Lillian. Elliot noticed that he looked as near death as Elliot felt, though still somehow managed to continue to act as if he had all the energy in the world.

            “He what?” Daniel asked, glancing at the wreck with a dismissive snort. “You can’t be serious.”

            From deep within the twisted metal, something started to creak. “Go!” Elliot shouted at Lancelot, stumbling for the edge of the bluff.

            The battered remains of the vehicle blew outwards, following their earlier tracks. Larry bolted, hurtling away down the narrow path on the bluff. Both Daniel and Elliot dove out of the way, barely avoiding the massive wreck as it blew by. The front end was ripped open, as if someone had tossed a grenade into the engine and closed the hood.

            Lying on the edge of the bluff, Elliot could see where the tree once stood. The grass surrounding it was gone, as was most of the topsoil. The roots were exposed, stripped of their bark. In the center of the explosion, crouching low, was Call-Ru.

            Without hesitating, Elliot rolled over the edge of the bluff, hoping that Call-Ru wouldn’t notice him, and that Daniel would follow. He slid down toward the ruined suburban, losing grip on the axe. He caught himself before he ran into the jagged metal, then pulled himself underneath, attempting to hide if Call-Ru was looking for him. He sucked in a tight breath as a piece of glass caught his shoulder, but remained quiet.

            He heard a noise from the opposite side of the vehicle, and half-turned his head. Daniel had apparently had the same idea and was squirming underneath a precarious piece of metal.

            “What is that… That thing?” Daniel hissed, pulling the rest of his body under cover.

            “Apparently, Call-Ru,” Elliot whispered back, trying to catch his breath. He couldn’t believe this was happening. Trolls, goblins, elves – he could deal with those. But creatures that couldn’t be killed? Where would it end? “Keep quiet and let’s hope we can get out of here,” he finally said.

            Daniel forced air through clenched teeth. “I can see him,” he murmured. “But I don’t think he can see us.”

            Elliot turned his head back up, but couldn’t see anything past the mess of metal in front of his eyes. “Just stay quiet,” he said softly. He could feel the glass digging into his shoulder, but ignored it for the moment.

            “He’s coming down!” Daniel warned, trying to press further underneath the metal.

            Elliot felt his pulse quicken, but forced himself to keep breathing slowly. He felt, more than heard, the impact of the boots next to his side of the car. He turned his head, and saw Call-Ru’s legs. Time froze, and Elliot’s heart stopped beating. Then the legs moved, and began to run across the field.

            After a few minutes, Elliot forced himself to relax. “We need to try and get out of here,” he said, looking over at Daniel.

            “I agree,” Daniel replied. He poked his head out from under the wreck. “He’s running towards the town, and it doesn’t look like he’s turning around.”

            “Okay,” Elliot pulled himself out of the wreckage. He surveyed the area, watching Call-Ru sprint across the field. He picked up the ax from where it had embedded itself into the soft ground, and swung it determinedly. “We can’t stop him,” he said nodding toward the dark figure. “But we might be able to slow him down until Grayling gets back.”

            Daniel glanced at him, then nodded. “Okay.” He began to run, limping slightly. He let out a shout of annoyance. “We’re not going to get anywhere like this,” he said, disgusted.

            “No,” Elliot agreed. He pointed across the field to the left. “I think there’s a house with a car over there.”

            “Yeah, because they’re going to give us a car if we smile and say please,” Daniel said, still struggling to move quickly.

            “No, but they’ll probably give us a ride. Or let us call Lancelot.”

            Daniel considered. “Good point.” He changed directions. “Let’s go.”

)~(

            Lancelot lay Lillian down on the couch, spinning around and rushing back to the training pit. He dug through the cabinets, trying to find as many medical supplies as he could. He ran through the first aid that Byron had taught them.

            “Stitches? Sutures? What do I need?” he muttered. Disinfectant, he knew that. He gathered everything he could, and sprinted back, laying it on the floor. “Okay, Lil,” he said, carefully lifting her shirt so that he could see the wound. “I don’t know what I’m looking at here, but I know we have to put pressure on that.”

            Lancelot looked at her face. She was unconscious, which he assumed was a blessing. But that could also be a bad thing, right? He began to press the bandages against the damage, not knowing if what he was doing was right or not.

            “I can’t risk it,” he finally decided. “You’re going to the hospital, Lil.” He pushed away from her and stumbled to the phone. Nervously, he dialed 911, watching Lillian as the operator answered.

            “911, what’s your emergency?”

            Lancelot took a deep breath, and began to explain as calmly as he could. As he finished giving his address, he heard a pounding on the door. He looked at it, grabbing the hilt of his sword. “Oh, no,” he whispered. “I need to go. Send an ambulance, send the police, send whatever. But get them here!”

            As he finished his desperate request, the door burst open, splintering into pieces as it did so. Framed in the doorway stood Call-Ru, looking worse for the wear. While his skin was still unblemished, except for the scar, his suit was patched with massive holes. Lancelot drew his sword, watching the goblin.

            “Hello,” Call-Ru said, his voice deep and chilling. He stepped forward, reaching out a hand.

            “I invoke the right of the trial by combat, as put forth by Nigroc the Strong, leader of the goblins upon Foray!” Lancelot shouted, his words slurring together. Somehow, they were understood.

            “And what thinks that gives you any sway over me?” Call-Ru asked. “Do I appear as one from Foray?”

            “No, but as a warlord, it is your duty-“

            Call-Ru laughed. “Warlord. Duty. What are those to me, boy?” He stalked forward, Lancelot holding out his sword in a defensive position. “I will tell you. They are nothing. The title warlord has been stripped from my name, as has any ‘duty’ that comes with it.” He threw out a hand, and Lancelot felt an invisible force push him back. He stumbled backwards, nearly falling.

            “I am more than you can imagine, little thing,” Call-Ru hissed, walking closer. “Even at your strongest, you will never come close to my weakest.”

            Lancelot snorted. “Is that what you told Mad Bull?” he asked.

            In response, Call-Ru roared and threw out his hand again, this time throwing Lancelot across the room. “Even he could not defeat me,” he said angrily, putting out a hand. Lancelot felt the strength – what little he had – begin slide away.

            “You are a worm compared to me,” Call-Ru said. “A worm who’s very life I will take from you, in order to feed my own.”

            Lancelot gathered the remainder of his strength, and forced himself to his feet. He wobbled unsteadily and lifted the sword. “This… Worm…,” he said, fighting not to collapse, “Has… Teeth.” As he fell forward, he threw the sword, burying it into Call-Ru’s chest. The warlord stumbled backwards, staring at it in disbelief. Lancelot felt a little energy come back into him, but it wasn’t much. He pushed himself up and began to stumble toward the stable.

            He could hear the sirens, but as if he was under water. The room swayed, but he pressed forward, tripping through the training room. Behind him, Call-Ru pulled out the sword from his chest and threw it away. He began to walk quickly after Lancelot, ignoring Lillian’s limp form on the couch.

            “Larry!” Lancelot shouted as he pushed through the stable door. “Come on, boy. Come on.” He grabbed the side of the saddle, but was unable to pull himself on.

            The door creaked open behind him. “Footloose!” he shouted, holding on tightly to the saddle. He was pulled along as Larry bolted from the stable, away from Call-Ru.

            The sinister figure continued to follow at a leisurely pace, waiting for Lancelot to let go. Lancelot clutched the straps as tightly as he could, knowing that he fell off, it would be the end. He had no idea where he was going, just that it was away from the monster that was chasing him.

)~(

            Elliot slapped the dashboard. “Stop! Stop!” he demanded.

            The driver, an older man named Frank, slammed on the brakes. Elliot and Daniel pushed open their doors and ran out, toward the Bonston sprinting in the distance.

            “Oh, please, get here soon, Grayling,” Daniel whispered, drawing out his knives.

            Elliot bellowed to the figure being dragged across the ground. “Lancelot! Stop!”

            At the other end of the field, near the Nest, Call-Ru could be seen, his pace quickened slightly.

            “What in tarnation is going on?” Frank asked behind them.

            Elliot ignored him and rushed toward Lancelot. He had put his ax away while asking for a ride, but now wished he had something. “We need to get Lancelot out of here,” he shouted at Daniel, who was already ahead.

            “I know!” Daniel shouted back. “Larry can’t take both of us. You take Frank and get out of here. I’ll take Larry, and we’ll go somewhere. Draw Call-Ru off.”

            “Okay,” Elliot said, stopping slowing and turning around.

            Daniel continued his run. He didn’t know how much longer he could go. He had been pushed to his limits before, but this was beyond even those boundaries. He touched the pocket that he had put the portal in, wondering if he could trap Call-Ru somehow.

            Larry slowed down as he saw Daniel approaching. Lancelot’s grip finally failed, and he slumped against the ground. “Come on,” Daniel said, lifting Lancelot. “I can’t have you dying on me now.”

            Call-Ru was beginning to run now. Daniel lifted the groggy Lancelot to his feet, and helped him get into the saddle. Then, wearily, he pulled himself behind his friend.

            “Larry, footloose,” he ordered, and the Bonston ran off again. Without any other ideas, Daniel began to lead him toward the clearing where Call-Ru had originally appeared.

            Behind them, Call-Ru continued his fierce run. Thankfully, he wasn’t as fast as Larry, but he was far faster than anything Daniel or Lancelot would have been able to put forward, even at peak strength.

            Larry’s hooves hammered a rhythm into the ground, a beat which Daniel’s heart mimicked. The scenery blurred in the corner of his eyes, and all he could see was the point of land between Larry’s ears.

            His eyes were going in and out of focus, and for the briefest of seconds, he thought he saw Grayling and Byron standing on the edge of the bluff, looking over the city. He blinked, and looked again, only to find that they were standing there, examining the wreck below.

            Instantly, a feeling of energy rushed over him, and he perked up, shouting, “Grayling! Byron! I’m down here!”

            Almost instantly, the cloaked figure jumped off the bluff, cloth billowing around him. He landed in a crouched position, then stood up slowly. “I’m sorry for not being here,” Grayling called to Daniel, who had slowed. “We followed Call-Ru, only to find that he had taken the opportunity raised by our absence to get to all of you.”

            “Just finish it, Grayling,” Daniel said. “Just finish it!”

            Grayling nodded, taking a few steps forward and throwing back his hood. Daniel gaped in shock. Grayling’s entire head, which had been hidden for the entirety that Daniel had known him, was pure white and glowed with unearthly light.

            “Call-Ru!” Grayling bellowed. “Reaper in the Order of Veign. You, as our Brother, stand condemned.”

            Call-Ru, now close enough to be in earshot, continued to walk forward, unsheathing his swords as he did so. “Ah, Bonthor. I wondered when you would appear.”

            Grayling shed his cloak. Everywhere that his clothing did not cover glowed, and even through some of the thinner pieces of cloth, a muted light could be seen. “Call-Ru, once my friend, and now my most bitter of enemies,” Grayling continued. “You who tricked your way into the Brotherhood of Reapers, who stole the right from another, you stand condemned.”

            “Of course, read my sins to me, Bonthor,” Call-Ru scoffed. “Explain why it is you must kill me. Appease your conscience. You have attempted before, do not forget. And, as before, you will fail again.”

            “I am not the scared boy you left trembling at the side of his dead lover, whom you killed,” Grayling continued, his voice fierce. “I am not the angry young Hood who you bested upon the plains of Horith. No, Call-Ru, I stand before you today as a Grim, leader of the Order of Horith.”

            Call-Ru’s confident expression faltered. “Impossible,” he said. “You are so young!”

            “Then imagine what power I must have,” Grayling said coldly. “I stand before you as your executioner, Call-Ru. You have already been tried and found guilty. And now, know you will die by the hand of Bonthor Alekit, Grim Reaper of Horith.” The light around him seemed to grow in brilliance, and he lifted his hands.

            Call-Ru lifted his swords, crossing the blades as if trying to block something. Daniel could see his face stretched in horror, as if knowing what was to come. “No,” Call-Ru whispered. His voice grew in volume. “Bonthor, no! Have mercy on me, Grim!”

            “Mercy?” Grayling said, his voice as if it were made of ice. “I will show you the same mercy that you gave to Sillith and the million others you slaughtered!”

            With the final word, Call-Ru’s arms broke open, and he stumbled to his knees, his chest thrust out, as if there were rope attached to his heart, the end of which, Grayling held.

            “Just like those whose lives you have taken,” Grayling thundered, “So shall happen to you. The Reaper will be reaped – the unmaker unmade! For this is our task, to rid the realms of scum like you! You have perverted our mission and our cause, and you do not deserve the title of Reaper. Begone with you!”

            With a final scream that lingered in the air, Call-Ru disintegrated into black ash. For a second, it pulled toward Grayling, then caught the wind and scattered in a crooked circle around the place that Call-Ru had only minutes before stood, defiantly confident of his superiority.

            Daniel’s hands began to shake uncontrollably. “What… What are you?” he asked.

            Grayling turned his steely gaze onto Daniel. “I am a Grim, Daniel. A Grim Reaper.”

            “You mean, like Death?” Daniel asked, his heart racing. He wondered who had been working with for all this time.

            “In a sense,” Grayling agreed. “Come. I believe I owe an explanation to everyone.”

            “No,” Daniel said. “No, you need to tell me what you are, and what you did to… to him.” He motioned to the ash, still settling onto the grass.

            “What he and I are, Reapers,” Grayling explained, “We are able to take the energy out of other sources and put it into ourselves. I drained him of all the energy he possessed. Only Grim, like myself, is able to do to such a degree that even his body collapses.”

            “Then why do you hide that?” Daniel asked. “If you had all that power, why not use it?”

            “I have my reasons,” Grayling said. “I need you to trust me on that. Now, come. We need to get back to the Nest. All of you need rest. When we are all gathered, I will explain myself in full.”

)~(

As Grayling descended into the main area of the Nest, he took a deep breath. Nothing felt as good as freedom. Call-Ru was gone. While the others ate and rested, he had taken the time to reflect on what had happened. He had allowed himself to mourn the losses that Call-Ru had inflicted and rejoice that he was finally gone.

            For years, the knowledge that Call-Ru existed, roaming the worlds and killing had made Grayling focused. But it had so focused him that he couldn’t see past it. Even the glory of being a Grim at such a young age hadn’t filled him with excitement. His life always returned to the removal of Call-Ru from the realms.

            And so, Grayling was satisfied. His entire life purpose had been fulfilled. But with that fulfillment, it left a void of what to do next. Not for lack of options, but instead of how to choose between those options.

            A cough brought him back to awareness. “We’re all here,” Daniel said. “Except for Lillian, of course.” He looked worried – not surprising, as the sword thrust was a serious matter.

            Grayling looked around at the team. They were strong. Even battered as they were, they had never given up on trying to defeat the goblin. This team, he might even call friends. It was strange, he knew. Reapers hardly, if ever, grew emotionally attached to anyone. But he had done so twice now. First with Sillith, now with these humans. 

            “I’m a Reaper,” he said, nodding. It seemed a good place to start. “We are powerful creatures, able to take the energy of others and use it for ourselves. As you might have been able to guess, Call-Ru was also a Reaper. However, he’s not like me. I was born one, he was made one. I’ll explain what that means in a few minutes.

 “I was born an Alekit, which is extremely renowned in our world. Because of this, I received the highest amount of training from the time I was born, until I was old enough to join the ranks of an Order. I chose the Order of Horith, along with my best friend, Sillith Queren. She and I were to be married after I completed the first round of training, when I was at a Brother status.”

Grayling shook his head. “You don’t understand this, do you?” Watching them mumble and shrug, Grayling knew he was right. “There are three orders of Reapers, Veign, Horith and Zaydon, with four levels in each one. The levels are as such: Acolyte, the lowest, meaning you’re in training, Brother, which is a full-fledged member, but just a member, Hood, which is an unfortunate name, I agree, but is highly respected member. The leader of a Brotherhood is called a Grim.”

            “A Grim Reaper,” Elliot said, nodding. 

            “Exactly,” Grayling said, nodding. “I was a first year Acolyte Reaper when I met Call-Ru. He was a normal goblin, albeit already gaining popularity, and well on his way to becoming a warlord among them. He took me under his wing, and taught me how to be a true leader of the people. In one conversation, I told him that there were ways to become a Reaper without being born one, and he badgered me until I told him. How I regret ever dealing with that devil,” Grayling said.

He had forgiven himself years before for what transpired, but that didn’t make it easier. “To become a Reaper, when you are not born one, you need to take another’s power. And so, he did. He killed my love, Sillith, and had someone make a suit to allow him to control and use the power for himself. He became one of us.

“Because death is our business, we’re not supposed to get emotionally attached. But I dare any of you to watch the one you love killed and not try to react.” Grayling shook his head, remembering how angry he had been. “I tried to kill him several times, but he had himself transferred to Veign. He became a Brother at the same time I did, and then left the Order, taking his knowledge and power with him. He went on to become the warlord you know now.

“Seventy years later, I became the youngest Grim in the history of Reapers. I had become a Hood Reaper at sixty, when most of the others were in their hundreds. I led Horith for five years, then began my chase of Call-Ru. Unfortunately, my obsession with him led to the other two Grims deposing me, forcing me out of our realm and eventually arriving here, where I met you, Byron.”

“For the third time,” Byron commented.

            Elliot smiled slightly. “So, you just avenged Sillith’s death,” he said.

            “No,” Grayling replied. “I avenged every single life he took. There was no reason for him to live. He was scum on the earth.”

            “One question,” Elliot said, half raising his hand. “Why has the Grim Reaper become the symbol for Death?” 

            “Like I said, Death is our business,” Grayling replied. “The power we care makes us extremely cautious of when to use it. According to the Old Ways, our Creator made us to be his executioners. So it’s very easy to equate the two.

            “More to the point, several hundred years ago, a Grim Reaper known as Vithoric Alekit arrived on earth. He rampaged the world, and soon, they knew him as the death bringer. Which, of course, he was.”

            “Wait, Alekit?” Elliot asked. “Isn’t that your family name?”

            “Yes,” Grayling said. “Vithoric is my great-great grandfather.” He sighed. “It’s not something I am proud of, by any means.

            “But it’s over now? Call-Ru won’t come back?” Daniel asked.

            “No,” Grayling said. “He won’t come back.”

            “And you, what do you do now?” Byron asked. “Your task is finished. Do you get to go home now?”

            “There’s very little for me there,” Grayling said. “While I still hold the Grim title, I do not rule. I still have the power of a Grim, but not the authority. And driven as I was, I dare say not too many people were keen on being my friend.”

            “So, will you stay with us?” Lancelot asked.

            “For now,” Grayling said. “For now.”

            Daniel stood up from his chair. “Okay. Well, I’m going to go check on Lil. Lancelot, Elliot, you want to come?”

            “Let’s all go,” Byron said. “I’ll drive.”

            Grayling waved a gloved hand. “You go ahead. The last thing anyone needs to explain is why I’m there.”

            “Sounds good,” Byron said, following the others out. Once they were gone, Grayling took a seat. Now that he had dealt with the emotions of defeating Call-Ru, he could ponder a much more serious question.

            How had Call-Ru known that Grayling had left Callsboro?

(Note: After much debating, William Jennison finally won the title for this chronicle of events. A close second was Elliot McGuffin’s ‘Afternoon of Call-Ru.’)

(Note of Note: The only reason that was a close second was because no one else had offered any titles! ~Byron Tullaney)

The Grandurian Invasion

Part 1. Why I hate Vacations, by Elliot Gerald McGuffin

(Note: This and the following part, “Lancelot Loner,” follow two ADRT members throughout the Grandurian Invasion. The former explains Gerald McGuffin’s part in the affair, while the latter tells of what Lancelot experienced.)

            Lancelot put his hat back on his head, standing. “Well, I’m glad to see you’re doing better,” he said, smiling at Lillian. “And don’t worry, I’ll save some math problems for you when you get back in school.” A week had gone by since Lancelot had been released from the hospital, so she didn’t need to remain bedridden, but she was still extremely weak.

Lillian made a face at him, then reached out for a hug. Lancelot returned it gently, then slipped out of the room, figuring he should leave her and Daniel alone for a bit. 

            Daniel watched him leave, then shrugged. “I probably should go, too. My mom is getting ready to pack up and leave.”

Daniel’s grandmother’s health had taken a turn for the worse, and his mother wanted to be with her, if the worst should happen. The entire family was leaving for at least a week, more if things went badly.

            “I’ll miss you,” Lillian said, grabbing his arm and pulling him into a hug, made awkward by the fact he was standing, and she was propped up by pillows. 

            “I’ll miss you too,” he said, letting go and stepping back. “A lot. Don’t go fighting any more monsters while I’m gone, okay?” 

            “Sure thing, Dan,” Lillian said, smiling slightly. “Call me if you need to talk.” 

            “I will,” Daniel said softly. A smile touched his lips, but he turned and left the room as well.

As he walked down the stairs, he heard Mrs. Brown and Lancelot were talking in the living room. Byron had explained to her what had happened, and strangely, Mrs. Brown had taken it all in stride. She actually had known about the ADRT – her husband’s great-aunt had been involved in it many years previous.

Her main concern, she had said, was that she didn’t want Lillian to be on the team anymore. Daniel had expressed the same sentiments, but Lancelot, privately, took the stance that she was good at what she did, and the team wouldn’t be right without her. But as it was, he acquiesced to Mrs. Brown’s authority. 

The two boys said goodbye and walked into the chilled fall air.

            “See you later,” Daniel said, waving to Lancelot, who nodded back.

            “You’re leaving tomorrow morning, right?”

            “Yeah,” Daniel replied. “7:00, if I remember right.”

            “Cool. Well, have a safe trip, Daniel. Don’t forget us, okay?”

            Daniel laughed. “I won’t. Stay safe out there, okay?”

            “I will,” Lancelot said, grinning. He waved goodbye, and they walked away in opposite directions.

            A stiff wind had picked up, and Lancelot tipped his head in order to keep the hat from blowing off his head. It was cold, but not to the point of irritation – the kind of wind that hit him when he was on Larry.

            A few minutes later, he stepped into the warmth of the Nest. Elliot shot him a glance from where he sat, the phone pressed against his ear.

            “I understand completely, Mr. Feng,” he said, rolling his eyes toward Lancelot. “But my services are not available at the moment. Right. Of course. Yes, sir. Goodbye.”

            “Telemarketer?” Lancelot asked as Elliot hung up. 

            “Another alternate dimension team member, wanting me to join them,” Elliot sighed. “Recruiting agencies. Gotta love ’em, right?”

            “Of course,” Lancelot said, nodding. He slid into a big armchair. “When’s Byron getting back again?” 

            “Uh, next week,” Elliot replied. “And we don’t know Grayling’s schedule, Lillian’s out, and Dan’s going to leave tomorrow morning.”

            “So,” Daniel recapped, “We have two active members of the A.D.R.T. for who knows how long.” Byron had left to visit Stephanie and meet with several of the leaders from various dimensional teams. In the meantime, Grayling was going through portals, trying to reconnect with the Reapers.

            “At worse, a week,” Eliot replied. “And what could happen in a week?”

            “You really don’t want me to answer that question, do you?” Lancelot asked, standing. “Let’s see, we could be overrun by dwarves, goblins, elves, and/or trolls, not to mention-“

            “I know far more addecks than you, so don’t even try to say anything like that,” Elliot said.

Lancelot rolled his eyes. “You only think you know more addecks. I’ve been on the team much longer than you.” 

            “What are the weak points of a griffin?” Elliot grinned as he said the word. Griffins were rarer than most creatures, and the weaknesses were even less well-known.

            With confidence, Lancelot replied, “Eyes, back of the neck, back, inside the beak, danger zones include anywhere in reach of the beak, or muzzle, or whatever it has, depends on the type of griffin, so back is usually out, front on attack is a bad idea because of beak/muzzle and trying to get underneath is suicide because of talons. Wings can deliver a concussive blow, not to be messed with lightly.” Lancelot grinned broadly. “Good enough for you?” 

            Elliot faltered, then said, “You forgot one crucial weak point.”

            “Rear end. Always get that wrong. Sorry.” Lancelot began pacing. “Not much to do, is there?” 

            “Count yourself lucky,” Elliot said. “I still have paperwork to do. You can go home if you’d like. I’d rather not; Francis is in town.” Francis, his mother’s boyfriend, had a nice persona, but something about him made Elliot’s skin turn. 

            “Ah,” Lancelot said in understanding. “Hey, you want me to bunk over here? It’ll be like a sleep over, but way more fun, because it’s not being run by girls.” Lancelot shook his head. “Sorry, it was great in concept, but totally ran away from me.” 

            “It was still was kind of great,” Elliot replied. “And why not? We should call in Daniel, make a total night out of it. He has an eight-hour car trip tomorrow anyway, it’s not like he’s going to be doing anything, right?”

            Lancelot grinned. “Why not?”

            Elliot grinned back, lifting the phone he had just put down.

)~(

            The night was a blust, a word they invented during all the sleepless hours of the night. It was a mix, they decided, of a blast and a bust, which was perfect to describe their night. There were aspects that were good, for example, spending time with friends, getting that second sugar rush (Lancelot’s favorite thing), talking about their work, girls, and who knows what else (after about midnight, it blurred) and eating food.

But there were also negative aspects, like staying up the whole night before a day of school, the third sugar rush (sending Lancelot to the bathroom) and how they felt the next day: Miserable. 

            “Well, I’m off,” Daniel said, stumbling out of the Nest door. “Have a nice day, guys.” He sleepily climbed into his family’s car, tripping over his younger siblings while trying to get into the back. Even before the car started moving, his head lolled to the side and his eyes closed.

            “I hate him,” Lancelot said, sagging against the door post. He had a cup of coffee, but he was fairly sure it wouldn’t hold him until the end of the day. He needed a nap – actually, he needed a full eight hours of sleep – but school was starting soon and sleeping in class wasn’t an option. 

            “I feel the same way,” Elliot said, staring blankly at the overcast sky. “And I only have paperwork to do today. I wish I had something more exciting.” His head drooped, but he lifted it. “I’ll see you later, Lancelot.” 

            “Bye,” Lancelot answered, taking another gulp of coffee, then walking towards Callsboro High. Elliot watched him stagger down the sidewalk, then turned to go back inside the Nest.

He sank into the armchair, deciding to rest his eyes for a second. A heaviness descended onto them, and he struggled to open them again. With great force of effort, he did so, blinking fiercely and looking at the clock.

            “I was asleep for an hour?” he murmured, standing and stretching. He rubbed his eyes, walking towards the kitchen. He pulled out a pear from the pantry, biting into it with energy. It was slightly juicier than he had anticipated, and he had to wipe his chin to keep it from dripping on his shirt. He turned away, thinking about everything he would need to accomplish in the day, when his eyes landed on a rock in the middle of the floor.

            Elliot walked over, and bent to pick it up, but it rolled out of reach. “Portal seeker,” he said, watching it roll towards the door. He pulled it open, watching the rock struggle to get over the threshold.

He was going to continue following it but instead stopped and looked up. Over Callsboro was a large, black portal, spinning violently. Elliot’s mouth dropped open. Every portal he had seen before had been white and glowing – this seemed to suck the light into it. “Impossible,” he muttered. “It literally defies all knowledge!”

Other people had come out of their houses, and stood on the street, pointing and taking pictures. Elliot hissed, knowing there was no way to cover this portal up. He turned around, dashing into the Nest. “Where’d I put that research?” he grunted to himself, grabbing folders from his desk. He flipped through. With a curse of anger, he threw it away, unable to find what he was looking for. The papers scattered across the floor like the leaves of autumn.

            Behind him, the door pushed open, and tapping feet announced someone’s presence. He turned, and saw a slight, blond-haired girl standing behind him. “What? What are you doing here, Wendy?” he asked, trying not to be flustered.

            She pointed behind her, an expression of alarm covering her face. “Is that thing out there what you deal with? The porter stuff, or whatever?”

            “Well, yes,” he said, still attempting to be cool and collected, mostly for her sake. He had met Wendy through an online college class. After the gala incident, he had told her what had really happened, and she had disappeared from his life until now. Apparently, she had put two and two together, in order to further complicate his life.

            “Then why aren’t you doing anything about it?” she demanded.

            Elliot put his hands up. “I’m an analyst, Wendy. I don’t do the fighting very well.”

            “Well, analyze this,” Wendy said, pointing to the door again. “And come up with a solution!”

            Elliot hissed in anger, then pushed past Wendy, back to the front walk. “Black portal, black portal,” he muttered. “Could it be taking, and not sending?” he theorized.

            A distant call broke through his thoughts. Slowly, with a sense of foreboding, he turned in the direction it had come from. Wendy, who now stood behind him, screamed in terror. Elliot swallowed, trying to keep the fear inside of him.

In the meantime, the bristling spears of a platoon of elves continued to advance. All of them wore dark armor, with a stylized letter on the front. Their marching was in perfect unison, and the words of their chant kept rhythm.

“Grandurian elves?” Elliot said. Ruthless killers, much like the Sparta of the realms, Grandurian elves lived by the ideal of kill or be killed. There was no reasoning that they understood, only brute force. Analysis, Elliot realized, would be of no help here.

            “Think,” Elliot told himself. “Think!” Then he slapped his forehead. “Forget thinking!” he shouted pushing past Wendy. He nearly tripped on the threshold of the Nest door, stumbling into the middle of the room. “No analyzing, just strength,” he said.

            He grabbed an ax from the rack, resting it on his shoulder. He caught sight of his reflection in the glass of the training pit’s door. “I’m going to die,” he said quietly.

            As he ran for the door, his eyes fell on his desktop’s screensaver. A spinning collection of quotes from ADRT members of past. To defeat your enemy, you must first know them. An idea sprang into his brain, and he knew what he had to do.

            Only a few minutes later, he stood in the middle of the street, staring at the oncoming ranks of Grandurian elves. In one hand, he clutched a briefcase, and with the other, he signaled for the platoon to stop.

            “Halt and be recognized!” he demanded, using the native Grandurian language. The platoon slowed, but refused to stop. “By order of Undek the Mighty, I demand that you stop and announce yourself!” Elliot shouted in rough Grandurian.

            This time, the platoon halted mid-stride. One of them, obviously leader, stepped forward. “Who are you to use the name of Undek?” he asked. He held a spear, like the rest of them, and a thick sword swung at his hip.

            “I am…” Elliot faltered, then muscled through, “I am Elliot the Analyst, the defender of this town.”

            “You?” the elf scoffed, “You have no weapons, no way of defending yourself.”

            Elliot grinned, hiding his fear. “What you do not see, however, are the troops behind me. At any given moment, I could have them destroy you.”

            “And why should I give any import to what you say?”

            Elliot lifted the case, his stomach churning. “There is a game you play from a young age, which trains your tactical skills. I have it here. Allow me to demonstrate my tactical skills against yours, and we shall see who would win in the coming fight. After the demonstration, you can choose either to attack or leave my town in peace.”

            The elf laughed. “You expect me to play a game, instead of merely crushing your head?”

            “I expect you to prove yourself worthy of your leadership of this platoon,” Elliot said.

            The elf lifted his spear, his face twisting in disgust. With a quick thrust, he threw it into the dirt at the edge of the road. Elliot barely avoided flinching, and hoped the elf didn’t notice. “Very well,” the elf said. “Let us play.”

            Elliot breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Beyond all hope, his ploy had worked. “Shall we sit?” he asked, motioning to the asphalt beneath them.

            Without responding, the elf sat, crossing his legs underneath him. His platoon remained motionless. Elliot copied the elf’s movement and opened the case. From it, he withdrew the board for the game. It was a sprawling vista, with a town on one side and mountains on the other. The object was to control the town – but being in the mountains meant you controlled the supply lines.

            As they began to choose their armies – all of which had different strengths and weaknesses – Elliot began to do what he did best: analyze. The elf was Grandurian, so he knew this game better than anyone on Earth. He was a platoon leader, which meant he knew strategy even better than most of the Grandurians. However, judging by the ranking stripes, he was not a general, which meant he wasn’t good at seeing multiple ways to win. He would choose a path and stick with it.

            The next issue that arose was which path would he choose? He had gone for the Hadrick army, which was known for extreme strength and power. However, they had low defense. “A blitz attack?” Elliot murmured to himself, examining the position of the board. Both teams started equal distance from the town, and while his Cune army was slightly faster, it was nowhere near as strong as the Hadrick army.

            He continued to examine the variables as the game began. The elf, as Elliot had guessed, began an assault to the town with all of his men. Elliot, knowing that he could not hope to capture and hold it, sent a single platoon, toward the area, but moved the rest of his men toward the mountains.

            As the game progressed, the elf held a superior smirk on his face. His army crawled into the town, raging through the streets. With his precious moves, Elliot barely kept his single platoon out of danger, attacking the Hadrick army every so often, keeping the elf from claiming victory.

            “You can’t keep that there forever,” the elf laughed, grinning as one by one, the platoon was captured or killed.

            “I don’t need to,” Elliot murmured, drawing a token from the supply line. He looked up and met the elf’s eyes. “I just needed one thing.”

            The elf looked back, uncertainty finally playing into his expression. “What’s your plan, human?” he hissed.

            Elliot just grinned, then played his turn. In a rush, his army approached the town, and he played the token he had just drawn, along three other tokens that had come with his army. “These four will give me a fire ballista,” he said, taking the corresponding token from the weapon pile. “And I still have one last move.”

            With a false calm, he fired his ballista into the highest concentration of Hadrick troops. Their low defense meant that the toll was catastrophic. In a single blow, Elliot had destroyed nearly half the army.

            The elf shouted a Grandurian curse, then moved his army to attack Elliot’s. However, Elliot was just far enough away that they barely reached the front ranks before he ran out of turns. Still faking calmness, Elliot pushed his troops forward, taking advantage again of the weak defenses and decimating the opposing army. He looked up halfway through, into the angry eyes of the platoon leader. “You can concede at any point,” he said earnestly. When there was no reply, he returned to routing the troops.

            The elf continued to play, but both knew that there was no point. Finally, with most of army still intact, Elliot plunged into the town, chasing the last of the Hadricks down and destroying them. All throughout his clearing of the board, the elf stared daggers at him.

            “I should kill you for what you have done!” he roared as Elliot looked up, having just won the game.

            “What have I done,” Elliot said, “Except prove that you are clearly unfit for service.” He looked at the ranks behind the elf. “Do you really want to follow someone who has been defeated by a human? If I can do this on a game board, imagine how much more devastating it will be for you on the battlefield!”

            The seed of doubt had been planted. He could see the hesitation in their stances. The platoon leader stood up, shouting, “Don’t listen to him! He does not even have an army!”

            “Are you sure of that?” Elliot asked. He stood up, leaving the board as a reminder to the platoon. “Imagine what I can do here, on land that I know better than any of you. Is it any wonder that, in this place, Call-Ru met his end?”

            The platoon was rattled now, and began to shuffle about, muttering among themselves. “Lies!” the platoon leader yelled, turning to his warriors. “Call-Ru is undefeatable!”

            Elliot breathed a silent sigh of relief. He knew Call-Ru was well known, but had no way of being sure that these elves had heard of him. “But he has been killed! I watched his body turn into ash and blow away on the wind. Imagine what would happen to you!”

            The platoon’s muttering grew louder. Elliot’s mouth was dry. His nerve was beginning to fail him, and the last thing he wanted was to have to speak again.

            The platoon leader took a step toward Elliot, putting his hand on his sword. “I will kill you for your lies,” he roared. Elliot remained seated, staring unconcerned at the platoon leader, all the while, his heart racing.

            “Captain Berken,” one of the soldiers said, “Stop. We will follow you, but not into death.”

            “You are Grandurians!” the platoon leader hissed, spit flying from his mouth. “You fear nothing, especially not a boy who is too proud for his own good!”

            “Yet you yourself would not face Call-Ru,” the soldier said. “So, who are we to face the thing that killed him?”

            The platoon leader, filled with rage, pulled out his sword and swung. “Do not dare to usurp my authority!”

            Elliot, still sitting, watched the soldier duck out of the way of the swing and stab his spear into the platoon leader’s exposed side. Without a word, the platoon leader collapsed onto the street. The soldier stumbled back, still holding the bloody spear.

            Another soldier started. “Who do you think you are, to kill him like that?” he demanded.

            “I wasn’t…” the first soldier began, but was cut off by a third.

            “Don’t condemn him! The captain assaulted him first – he was only defending himself.”

            A fourth voice was raised, then a fifth, and soon, the entire platoon was shouting and threatening each other with their spears. Elliot, as calmly as he could, began packing his game up. After all, he figured, it wouldn’t do to lose pieces in the middle of a civil war.

            In between putting the game away, he kept an eye on the platoon, which was devolving into utter chaos. It appeared that no one had a side anymore, but instead, it was each man for themselves. Spears and swords flashed, shouts and roars echoed across the empty street – and all the while, Elliot collected the token and folded his game-board, hoping that no one would throw a spear his way.

            Finally, the clamor died down, and three soldiers remained. All the others lay dead or dying around them. “Are we finished here?” one of them, a massive figure, asked.

            “Yes,” said another, “I believe we are.”

            The third spat to the side. “Look at us,” he said. “Grandurian elves, and not a lick better for it. When push comes to shove, we’re nothing more than spoiled children.”

            “Couldn’t have said it better myself,” said the first. “My name is Habish, by the way.”

            “Cathgard,” said the third. “And your name?” he asked the second. Elliot was surprised that even though they were in the same platoon, none of them had learned the other’s names.

            “Villith,” the elf replied. He looked at where Elliot was still sitting, the briefcase in front of him. “What kind of wizard are you, boy?” he asked.

            “Yes,” Cathgard agreed, stepping forward. Without looking, he threw his spear into the squirming body of one of his former platoon-mates, stopping the movement. “I’m sure you had no army to speak of. And yet, here you are, with us roundly defeated, and not a scratch on you.”

            “I,” Elliot said, rising to his feet. “Am an analyst.”

            Quiet followed the solemn statement, broken by a loud laugh from Habish. “An analyst? Behold, the mighty Grandurian Army, broken by an analyst.”

            Elliot prepared to run – he knew he had no hope of outrunning elves, but he knew it might be his only chance.

            “Come,” Villith said, turning away. “This town has shamed us enough. I am not like my former captain – I refuse to attack out of embarrassment.”

            “Grandurian elves,” Cathgard said, following him. “A joke.”

            Habish went to follow, but paused, looking back at Elliot. “I do not like being made fun of, little one,” he said. “But this punishment,” he motioned to the death around him, “it is befitting our arrogance. I pray that when we meet again, we may see each other as honored opponents and not hated enemies.” He bowed, then turned to his comrades.

            Elliot watched them go, a sinking feeling in his stomach. Three Grandurian elves on Earth was not something he wanted to let happen. But he also had no way of managing them on his own, and especially not with the amount of bodies he would have to dispose of.

            Heaving a sigh, he turned to go back the opposite way, toward the Nest. The worst part of this entire situation was yet to come: paperwork.

Part Two: Lancelot Loner

(Note: This part and the previous one, ‘Why I hate Vacations, by Elliot Gerald McGuffin” run concurrent to each other.)

            Lancelot staggered down the street, mumbling to himself about life and how crazy it was. He glanced behind him, and saw Elliot watching. He would have made a face, or joked to himself, but he was far too tired for that. Instead, he merely plodded on, dragging his feet as he did. 

            Isabelle was waiting for him at the entrance to Callsboro High. “You look horrible,” she said, and Lancelot yawned in return. 

            “Three sugar rushes in one overnight. A bit much, don’t you think?” 

            “Well, your dentist sure will love you for that, won’t he?” 

            Lancelot made a dismissive gesture. “Your face always wakes me up though. And your voice, too.” He was trying to be cute, but the lack of any sense of emotion ruined the effect.

The principal came on over the PA system, making general announcements for the day. Lancelot put his pinky into his ear, pretending to clean it out. “On the other hand,” he muttered, slight annoyance in his voice, “his voice wakes me up, too.” 

)~(

            “And so, after the transcontinental railroad was completed…” Mrs. Berg droned, and Lancelot tried not to let his eyes close.

From the right side of the room, from a desk by the windows, a shrill voice called, “Uh, Mrs. Berg, is that cloud formation normal?”

Mrs. Berg glanced out the window briefly, then her eyes widened, and she stared in shock. “What in the world?” she asked.

Lancelot followed her gaze. His tired eyes sprang open, staring at the swirling black portal. “Oh, my…” he trailed off. His chair squealed as he pushed it back. “That’s not a cloud formation,” he said, his heart pounding. “Keep everyone in here, Mrs. Berg. Whatever you do, don’t follow me.”

The authority and strength in his voice caused everyone to stay in their seats. Lancelot pushed past his classmates and rushed out the door, pulling it closed behind him. His shoes squeaked against the freshly waxed floor, and he heard someone open the door behind him. He half-turned, and saw Isabelle nervously creeping into the hallway.

“Go back,” he ordered, still racing down the hall, toward his locker.

            “Why?” she asked. “Will? What’s going on?” 

            “A.D.R.T. things,” he called back. “That’s not a normal portal, and Elliot is going to need all the help he can get.”

Lancelot skidded to a stop in front of his locker, fumbling with the combination. Finally, it popped open, and he reached past his schoolbooks, to where a second wall hid a longsword and shield. He withdrew them, testing the weight and noting the defined edge along the blade. He looked up and met the terrified eyes of Isabelle, who had followed him despite his orders against it. “I need to go and help Elliot,” he said.

“I know,” she said. “But I don’t want you to go.”

Lancelot smiled at his girlfriend. “You know, when I get my gear from the Nest,” he said, “I always tape a picture on the back of my shield. That way I know who I’m fighting for.” He kissed her softly on the cheek. “I’ll be back soon, I promise.”

“You better,” Isabelle said, crossing her arms. Lancelot nodded at her, then turned and ran for the entrance. Any feeling of tiredness had left him. Adrenaline flowed freely through his veins, forcing him forward.

The outside air was colder than he had expected, but it shocked his system in even more wakefulness. Taking a lungful of the icy air, he began to run toward the Nest.

            A marching chant came to his ears, and Lancelot slowed his run, turning toward the noise. He felt his heart drop when he saw the tall spears and shining armor of the Grandurian elves.

            There was no time to think. Should the Grandurian elves be left to march into the city, everyone within would die. Lancelot lifted his shield and began to run toward the Grandurian elves. “Halt!” he shouted. “Halt in in the name of Bother Alkelit, Grim Reaper of Horace!”

            The elves slowed, not in fear, but in defense. They lowered their spears, ready to impale the singular warrior charging at them. Lancelot also slowed, trying to think of what to do. “Power,” he muttered. “I need to show them power.”

            “My name is Lancelot the Furious!” he roared, immediately regretting the descriptive title, but knowing he needed to follow through. Then, he realized that he had been speaking in English. In broken Grandurian, he said, “Show me your mightiest warrior, and I will show you the meaning of fear!”

            The captain stepped forward. “And why shouldn’t we just gut you here and now?” he asked calmly.

            “Because,” Lancelot said, “If you do not, I will release my army upon you.” He hoped that was what he had said. To the best of his knowledge, he might also have threatened the Elves’ beet crop.

            The captain laughed. “You have no army. And even if you did, we are Grandurian Elves! We do not fear the military might of others.”

            “Do not fear the military might of me, fear Bonthor Alekit, Grim Reaper of Horith, and protector of this town.” He scrambled for words, and pieced together a hodgepodge defense. “He has gifted unto me miraculous strength, which will squash your rebellion.” Even as he said the words, Lancelot could tell that the only effect they were having was to make the Grandurians laugh.

            He looked from side to side, noticing faces in the nearby windows. This situation was out of control, and would go from bad to worse in a matter of seconds. Lancelot knew he couldn’t let them run rampant. Which meant he had only one other choice.

            “As I said,” Lancelot said, “I will show you the meaning of fear.” He lifted his sword and threw it. The captain fell backwards, a surprised expression on his face and a sword in his neck. The platoon looked at their fallen leader, then back at the lone warrior who had thrown the weapon with such accuracy. There was hardly a second’s pause before every soldier rushed forward, each hungry for revenge.  

            Lancelot spun on his heel and began to run, knowing he had no chance of outrunning the elves for long. His mind spun, attempting to think of ways out of the mess he had put himself in.

            “I just gotta get back to the Nest,” he muttered, pushing himself faster. The frontrunners were already nearing and beginning to aim their spears. Adrenaline still pumping hot and heavy, Lancelot threw his shield backwards. With a grin, he noticed it take down the nearest Grandurian, which in turn tripped two more. They immediately pushed themselves to their feet, but it provided a second of distance between them and him.

            “Why didn’t I go to the treadmill more?” Lancelot asked, his breaths beginning to come in gasps. He could see the Nest now, but he also knew he wouldn’t make it. He could feel, more than see, the presence of the elves as they drew nearer.

            Luck was with him, however, for as he passed an intersection, a car pulled between him and the elves. Undeterred by the strange contraption, the Grandurians bounded over the hood, still on Lancelot’s tail.

            Lancelot put on one last desperate effort, and by some miracle, pulled away just enough that he was able to push through the Nest door and slam it shut before any of the Grandurians entered. Lancelot fell to his knees, gasping for breath.

He knew the door wasn’t going to last long. He pushed himself up once again and stumbled to the weapon rack. He slid his sword off it’s hooks, ignoring the sheath, then turned back to the door. It shuddered, and Lancelot backed up. His eyes flickered back to the weapon rack, then back to the door. Lancelot grit his teeth, then made his decision. He dropped the sword, then snatched one of three pre-loaded crossbows from the rack.

Carefully, he sighted on the door, then fired. The quarrel burst through the wood, and a muted shout told him that he had hit home. Lancelot repeated the action twice, each time receiving a shout of pain as a reward.

            He dropped the empty crossbow, picking up his sword and backing up. “Make them angry,” he said, “Keep them focused on me.”

            The door was cracking now, and Lancelot scanned the room for something to aid him. As he looked, the door broke apart just enough for an elf to slip through. Lancelot, seeing the opportunity, attacked the single warrior, killing him before he even got through the door. However, even as the first one died, the rest of the Grandurians broke through the rest of the door, flooding into the Nest.

            Lancelot spun his sword, trying to back to a defensible position. The spears jabbed toward him, and he knocked them to the side. He was hyper-aware of everything around him. Time slowed, even Lancelot’s own motions. He saw the spears fall toward him, and watched his hand bring the sword up in defense. Distantly, he wondered if this was what it felt like to use cocaine. Then his mind fell back into focus, and he stabbed an elf in the arm.

            Time continued, slow, but unabated. Spear after spear, Lancelot somehow blocked and held his ground. His strength was flagging, but so where number of elves attacking. Throughout the onslaught, he had not only held his ground, he had also fought back and struck through the few openings available. Miraculously, it seemed that even more than he attacked were killed. One by one, the elves dropped, until he found himself facing only one. The Grandurian, still undaunted, faced him with an angry expression.

            “I told you,” Lancelot said, his voice cold, “I would show you the meaning of fear.”

            He took a step forward, and his legs buckled. His fleeting strength vanished like the mists of the morning, and he fell to his knees, the sword dropping from his nerveless fingers. He attempted to push himself up, but his body refused to move.

            “That’s right,” the elf said, “Kneel to die, human.”

            Dimly, Lancelot saw the spear being raised. Then, in a spray of blood, it fell. Everything around Lancelot spun into darkness.

)~(

            “Hey.”

            The voice seemed familiar, but Lancelot couldn’t place it. His eyes opened slightly, and he saw brown hair framing a freckled face. “Lillian?” he asked. “Oh, no, you got killed, too.”

            “What?” Lillian asked. “No, we’re not dead. You just fainted.”

            “Oh,” Lancelot said, closing his eyes. “Then why are you out of bed?” He rested his head against the cold floor of the Nest, disappointed he wasn’t in his own bed.

            “I saw the portal, and figured I needed to help. It’s a good thing I did, too. You were about to get killed.”

            “You’re supposed to be resting,” Lancelot said. He wondered if it was always this hard to think. He didn’t think so, but he couldn’t quite remember.

            “Just be glad I saved your life,” Lillian said. “Like, seven times.”

            “Oh, please,” Lancelot said, faintly waving a hand in the air. “You didn’t save anything. I was completely safe. I could keep fighting, even now!” He began to reach for his sword, then realized it would require movement, and gave up.

            “Right,” Lillian said. “Come on. Let’s get you to the couch, at least.”

            “Nope,” Lancelot said. “No can do. Movement is a big no-no right now.”

            Lillian looked away. “Shh, Lancelot,” she whispered. “Something just moved upstairs.”

            “Impossible,” Lancelot said. “There’s no one up there.”

            “There’s not supposed to be,” Lillian confirmed. “But there is. Wait here, but be ready to run if need be.”

            “Run?” Lancelot scoffed, as Lillian crept away. “Yeah, right.” He began to consider alternatives. Rolling, perhaps? As he considered his options, his eyelids began to drop again. He tried to force them open, but they continued to close.

            Suddenly, a burst of energy roared into him, and he sat upright, gasping for breath. “What the…?” he asked. The room was clearer than it ever had been, and he felt like he had enjoyed at least 7 hours of sleep the night before.

            “That should help a little,” rumbled Grayling’s deep voice.

            “Wasting your energy on a human?” came a new voice, this one with a line of frustration underneath it. “That is a new low for you, Bonthor.” Lancelot turned to see who it was.

            “Hush, Corinor,” Grayling said. Lancelot could see them now. Three figures stood on the stairs. Lillian was in front, rushing to check on Lancelot again. Next was Grayling, and beside him stood someone that Lancelot assumed was another Reaper.

            The Reaper’s hood was down, but unlike Grayling, his face did not glow. His head was bare of any hair, even eyebrows, and stark white, like a painting that is yet to be filled in. His robes were black, with maroon stripes down the sides.

            “This my brother, Corinor Alekit,” Grayling said, his voice low. “I brought him from Horith after taking the news of Call-Ru’s death to Sillith’s family.” 

            Lancelot waved awkwardly. Lillian reached him, and began to peer into his eyes.

            “Yes,” Corinor replied. “And I thank you for your service, Bonthor, but I cannot stay. Do you mind opening another portal through which I might leave?”

            Even through the heavy robes, Lancelot could tell that Grayling looked confused at the request. “I…”

            “You thought,” Corinor said scornfully, “That I came because of you? Please, Bonthor. You hold yourself in too high esteem. I came because you’re the only way off…” He paused, looking at the two humans on the floor below. “Off the Reaper world,” he finished.

            Grayling motioned back up the stairs. “Perhaps we should carry out this discussion privately?”

            “I think that would be wise,” Corinor said. He looked back at Lillian and Lancelot, then snorted derisively. Then he disappeared into the attic.

            Grayling waited a second before ascending. “I apologize,” he said. He gestured to the attic door. “That’s my brother, Corinor. I’m sure he was delighted to meet you. I’ll be back soon.”

            “Grayling has a brother?” Lancelot said. Lillian, satisfied that he wasn’t suffering from a concussion or any other major injury, pulled him to his feet.

            There was a cough behind them, and they turned to see Elliot poking his head through the shattered door. “Um, hi, guys,” he said, taking in the pieces of wood scattered among the bodies of dead elves. “I’m not sure I should ask, but what happened here?”

            Lillian and Lancelot looked at each other, then back at Elliot. Lancelot scratched his head. “Well, a lot. How was your day?”

            Grayling stared at his brother in shock. “What do you mean he escaped? The Pulser is the epitome of incarceration! No one has ever escaped!”

            “Well, no one has been Vithoric,” Corinor replied. “But in the Council’s eyes, if he is not able to return to Areda, then he is not our problem to solve.”

            “That is ludicrous,” Grayling seethed. “I should return and tell them what I think.”

            “If you return, you will take Vithoric’s place in the Pulser,” Corinor warned. “You know the Council has no love for you. As long as you hold the title of Grim, they have no authority to restrict your travels off-world. However, if you remain on Areda for long, they will find charges against you.”

            “I am well aware of the Council’s distaste,” Grayling said. “I do not fear them, but I am torn. After Call-Ru’s death, I had hoped I would be able to take my mantle again and return to Areda. But now, with this new threat, I do not see how I can return and take my place. Vithoric must be caught.”

            “Which is why I need you to allow me to leave,” Corinor said. “From here, I can access a myriad of worlds and begin my search for him.”

            “When did this happen?” Grayling asked.

            “During Corica. So, a few months by your standards.”

            Grayling considered. A few months prior would have been about when Call-Ru had met his demise. He wondered if the two events were linked somehow. He couldn’t figure out where the thread met, but his instincts told him that there was a bigger picture.

            “So, will you let me go?” Corinor asked.

            “Yes,” Grayling said. “I will not stop you on your quest. But tell me, Corinor, why do you search for Vithoric?”

            “To finish what our ancestors did not. I will kill him.”

            Grayling nodded quietly. “Will you at least rest tonight?” he asked.

            Corinor considered. “I suppose Vithoric can hardly get further away,” he said. “But I will leave first thing in the morning.”

            “I will not stall you,” Grayling said. “In fact, I think I may do the same. With two Reapers hunting, Vithoric will come out of the shadows soon enough.”

            Inwardly, though, Grayling felt uneasy. If, in fact, Vithoric Alekit, the original Grim Reaper, returned to the light, would anything come of it aside from death?  

            Elliot sighed, rubbing his temples. He heard someone behind him, and he looked up to find Wendy. “Oh,” he said. “Hi.”

            “What happened out there?” she asked. “It looked… It looked like a bloodbath.”

            “That pretty much sums it up,” Elliot said. He sighed. Grayling had removed the portal, and used it to clean up as much as he could – mainly the bodies and weapons – but there was still residue from where the elves had killed each other. Elliot made a mental note to spray the area to get rid of the rest of the evidence.

            “I tried to take a picture of you,” Wendy said. “Standing in front of the army like you were.” She pulled out her camera. “But funny thing, the file is corrupted. Same with the pictures I took of the porter.”

            “Portal,” Elliot corrected unconsciously. “That’s odd. Portals don’t usually disrupt electronics much. But this was different than what we’re used to.” Besides for the color, and this new phenomenon, it had acted just like a normal portal. Elliot was still positing theories as to why it might have occurred. “Is that all?” he asked.

            “No,” Wendy said. “I also wanted to tell you… I believe in you, Elliot. I know you think you can’t fight because you’re the analyst, but I think you can.”

            Elliot smiled. “Thanks, Wendy. I appreciate it.” He paused, then said, “What are you plans for dinner?”

            Wendy flashed a flirtatious smile. “I might be free.”

(Other titles for this chronicle included, “I Actually Did Save the World, Daniel,” by Elliot McGuffin. After being shot down, he offered, “Why I Hate Vacations.” “Lancelot Loner” was submitted by Lillian Brown.)

(I’m pretty sure “Lancelot Loner” was submitted sarcastically. Lillian denies it, though. – Byron Tullaney)