The Kingdom of Noitcif

Chapter Thirty-Two - Willpower

  "Fleet, my good man!" Engres exclaimed, his smile growing ever wider. "You know, you're one of the people I told my citizens I hoped I'd meet tonight. I told them, 'Listen up, troops! If we don't run into my daughter or the other squirrel-like knights that barged into my castle to save my nephew, so be it, but there are three people I am longing, to have cross my path tonight: Espen - (of course, we'll meet him when we capture him again), his loyal messenger, Tarquin Hollingberry; and Tarquin's big brother, Fleet, chief knight and highly respected throughout the Kingdom of Noitcif - as well as being a royal pain in the butt."

  "How dare you call my king by a nickname? And you!" Fleet spat as he glared at Lysander. "How dare you even show your face around here?!"

  The chief knight attempted to free himself from the emperor's two lackeys, who were binding his arms behind his back.

  Engres laughed. "Oh, he likes to call himself by Espen, believe me. In fact, that's what he told Shirly, my currently blown-into-a-million-pieces, good-for-nothing AI."

  Fleet said no more as Jax and Lysander wrestled him onto the ground and tied his wrists and ankles together. He struggled as much as he could, but the stiff metal was holding him back from doing anything substantial.

  "Can't we do something?!" Espen whispered to Wesley, as they had silently descended the stairs and took refuge behind a nearby boulder.

  "My king, that would be much too dangerous," the king's bodyguard responded in a low voice. "If Engres sees you, he will capture you. You heard him. He even may kill you and take your throne."

  "What about you?"

  "I am under strict orders to protect you with my life. If Fleet sees me helping him and leaving you unsupervised, he will banish me to Aipotusyd or Rorroh as soon as peace is restored to the kingdom - even if I was trying to save his skin."

  "Now then," Engres said with a smirk, advancing on the chief knight. With a little sigh, he held up the stone with one hand, its purple hue beginning to glow. "It's also a pity I have to use this on you. You are a very loyal, good-looking man, and I hate to see you permanently driven out of your senses; but then again, there's always the chance you'll be perfectly fine after this takes place. Lottery business, you know? But I should try harder to keep emotions out of this. All I'm asking of you are the facts. Just answer quickly and simply, and the stone shouldn't do you much harm. Now: Where is King Espen?"

  "Why would I ever tell you?" Fleet exclaimed, sitting bolt upright as best he could.

  Even in the dim light, Espen could see his uncle's eyebrows raise and the stone let off a violet glow, illuminating Fleet's face. The chief knight fell back with a shout, his eyes squeezed shut and his mouth gasping for air like a stranded fish, and then, as quickly as it came, it stopped. Espen felt himself clutching Wesley's wrist in fear - even though he wasn't even aware that his hand had found its way over there in the first place.

  "I said, where is King Espen?" the emperor repeated, his voice sounding as good natured and cheerful as it always did.

  "I do not know."

  Engres carefully unclasped the stone and its chain and held it inches away from Fleet's face. The chief knight's expression contorted once again, and a loud shriek escaped his lips.

  However, apparently the emperor saw some truth in Fleet's response, for after the screaming was over, he exclaimed, "Eh, not as good of an answer as I would have liked, but it'll have to do for now. I'm low on time. Now tell me this: Is your king a skilled fighter?"

  "Why does that matter?" Fleet blurted, and got shocked with the stone again.

  "Is he?" Engres inquired, tipping his head slightly to one side.

  Fleet paused for a moment, and then answered, "Yes, I suppose."

  "You suppose..."

  "Engres..."

  Espen's uncle calmly placed his foot on Fleet's chest and leaned towards him. "Emperor," he corrected with a smile.

  Fleet gave him a disgusted glare. "Fine then, 'Emperor'. I want to ask you a question, now."

  Jax and Lysander put their hands upon the hilts of their tranquilizer guns, but Engres held up a hand.

  "No, no, you two. Let the prisoner speak. What would you like to ask me?"

  "What exactly can the Stone of Potenza do?"

  Engres paused for a moment, the stone dangling from his hand, not exactly sure how to respond to the question given to him. Finally, he shrugged and cleared his throat.

  "The stone in my hand, Prisoner, can do what the legends foretold it would do, what King Silas discovered, and more. It gives the controller strength. Agility. The ability to place fake memories inside a person's head. But as you just experienced, Fleet, it acts also as a playdough sculptor."

  Espen thought that Fleet looked exactly how he felt.

  "A... a playdough sculptor? I am sorry, I do not quite understand..."

  Engres threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. "Of course you don't. No one in Noitcif values metaphors anymore. In third grade, boring cut-and-dry terms, it means that it can conform someone's mind per request. Of course, I haven't mastered it completely yet, but you must have realized that when I hit you with the light of the stone, you felt a deep desire to tell me what you swore not to tell."

  "I did," Fleet admitted.

  "Good! I would have thought the stone was meant for making people look like gaping sardines if it didn't!"

  "So, what more can it do?"

  "Legend has it, the stone's potential is vast." The emperor flung his arms out wide, and Espen noticed he spoke about it with almost boyish enthusiasm.

  "It can empower armies, as well as defeat them. It can give men uncanny insight, as well as drive them insane. It can alter reality, in both good and bad ways... who knows the other mysteries I'll uncover when I start digging deeper into it."

  "Digging deeper? You're planning to cut the stone apa-"

  "Metaphors, Fleet! Em-ee-tea-ay-pea-aych-oh-are-ess! Metaphors!"

  Suddenly, there was a large crash from the sky, and Espen, Wesley, Engres, Fleet, Jax and Lysander all turned their attention upwards as a shower of sparks began raining down on their heads from a passing plane as it spiraled down out of sight.

  "That makes seven down," Wesley whispered to the king from their vantage point behind the rock. "Engres is so self-absorbed, he hasn't noticed."

  "Seven down? That's amazing, Wesley!" Espen replied.

  But Wesley saw something else. Eyes wide, he pointed down the cobbled square, and the king's eyes followed.

  A tall, bedraggled man stood, leaning on the shoulder of his unicorn as he stared in shock at Fleet, Engres, Jax and Lysander. His raven black hair was askew - making him look like a fugitive - and his garments were stained and streaked with dirt and grime. He looked completely different, and yet, there was a striking resemblance to how he appeared the day Espen first saw him on his doorstep.

  "Sorry I am late, Brother," Tarquin croaked with a grin, unsheathing his glowing sword and staring at the three Ytilaer residents with a mixture of hatred and triumph. "I hope I am not too delayed to lend a helping hand."