Through the Midget’s mind swirled the events of the last three days: The night Ty the Parson dropped by with confusing talk of a quest to save the world in which he was the one—the One—who must stop the evil being seeking to destroy it. How his doubts were weakened when Ty the Parson returned, as promised, the next morning, with the Party… One by one appeared images of the men who lost their lives to insure the quest reach its conclusion, including his trusty servant, Jujay. There flashed the image of Mishto Sharpaine, her innocent mistake that led to a fiery demise.
And now they were here, at the quest’s final destination, facing a door beyond which lurked Tibtarni—whatever! The evil being he was expected to defeat, to kill. He gulped. His fingers flexed on the shaft of the Holy Pike, felt the archaic lettering carved upon it, and a tiny bit of strength welled up beneath his feeling of utter weakness. Was he, a simple farmer, truly strong enough to successfully stand against such a powerful being?
"The found object cast noisily across the room to distract attention! Tricks played to weaken an opponent! A distraction is called for. Some way to weaken the evil one, as he is far too powerful for the One to handle alone," Ty the Parson said in a flail of limbs.
Expendendale moaned miserably.
Grash and Tarftenrott scooped up the gangly warrior by armpit and knee, and hurried toward the door. The Parson opened it to let them toss him in and quietly drew the door closed. If they could have seen him after, they would have been…proud. Once he caught his footing, after he recovered from his initial shock over the horror before him, Expendendale drew himself bolt upright, taking his fate like a man, and drew his sword…
All ears were cocked toward the door, waiting to hear anything that might indicate what was going on within. A deathly silence unnerved them for one minute, two. Then there was a terrifying scream, followed by a sickening splatter.
Ty the Parson peeked in, cringed, and quietly drew the door closed. "Strawberry jam to bread," he reported, arm and legs flailing.
"I will handle this," Majestus Sinobe announced.
Ty the Parson opened the door long enough to let him storm into the room beyond. When the door closed, all ears were cocked to catch any sound that might indicate what was going on. What they head surprised them—and left them wishing they were witnessing whatever was occurring on the other side of the door. After a loud "Ha!" from their egocentric fellow journeyman there was an array of pops, snaps, zings, whizzes and yes, thunder.
None would have denied Majestus Sinobe put on quite a show.
Upon stopping, he had an instance of startlement at what he faced, before bringing himself up to his full ten feet height, a haughty visage in his tattered clothes and dark blue coat, his bright blue eyes gleaming from beneath his floppy brimmed hat. Both arms shot up, wrists bent, fingers crookedly pointing, and after his exclamation began a whirling and swirling of those arms. Lights flashed, spiraled, zigzagged and danced about each other, and him, and from time to time lightning claws streaked. Yes, it was an impressive sight indeed. Yet it did not impress the one it was meant to.
Those waiting in the hall jumped back a step when a crunching boom set the volcanic mountain to trembling. When it settled down what followed was—silence! And that left them wondering what just happened, though deep down each and every one had a sickening feeling they already knew. Still, they looked to Ty the Parson, who took a peek.
"Pecan after nutcracker," he whispered over a shoulder, letting the door close.
With a sigh, Sharna turned from the others, pulled the little man from her cleavage. He was limp, mostly, in her hand, a big smile on his face, eyes dreamy. She shook him gently. He blinked, looked around to see darkness everywhere but the distant torch, and he remembered the slaughter of his village and where he was…and why. In his mind’s eye appeared the lusty promise in her eyes, leaving him to wonder if now was the time. What he heard next took the smile off his face.
"Maybe another time," she breathed as she put him on the ground. "Be careful, little one."
He felt as much regret about the missed opportunity as she did, as well as curious as to what had gotten in the way…. With a shake of his head he came fully out of the clouds being placed between her breasts had lost him in. Past events—the Eunuch battle flashed across his mind, and he realized where he was. Eyes wide, he looked about in search of escape. Of his two choices, one dark, the other lighted by a distant torch, the right direction was obvious to him He ran toward the torch.
Turning back to her fellow journeymen, Sharna said, "I’ll handle this."
Orlon gave her direction a double-take. Not only was he startled by her proclamation, but after what happened to Expendendale and Majestus Sinobe, he could not imagine what she could do that they did not. And he feared for her life, feared losing her.
Sharna unbuckled her belt and handed it and her saber to Shing on her way to the door. Ty the Parson opened it, spotlighting her in the crimson light from within, revealing she was pulling off her shirt on her way through the doorway. Orlon noticed her disrobing only in passing, his main concern that she did not have her sword. Before he could lodge a protest, however, Ty the Parson closed the door behind her.
They waited, listened. Minutes slipped into hours. Not a sound.
No one was more worried over that than Orlon, or more confused. He could not quite grasp why his concern for her wellbeing was greater than for anyone else’s, or understand the ever churning feelings about her within him. Suddenly the mountain rumbled and shook violently, casting the Party to the ground. And it was over. Tarl gave voice to what everyone, especially Orlon, was thinking at that moment:
"What in the whole wide world was that? Do you think Sharna’s okay?"
The door opened, bringing the warriors, and to his own surprise, Tarl, to their feet, swords at the ready. Orlon came to his feet as well, backing a step, looking wide eyed from the Holy Pike he held at the ready to the door and back again and back again and back again and back again.
But what they saw framed in the doorway both calmed them and answered Tarl’s second question as well as gave a pretty good idea to all but Orlon the answer to his first. Sharna stood there, panting, her hair disheveled, pulling on her shirt.
"He’s all yours," she informed them.
In a wild display of flailing limbs, Ty the Parson brought himself up to a wide-legged stance. His long finger pointed at Orlon, fingertip less than an inch from his nose, his staff pointing back at the doorway, its sappy end less than an inch from Sharna’s nose. Their eyes met, sending a jolt through the Midget. The pointing finger flipped and began to curl and uncurl—and Ty the Parson spun around, stormed through the doorway, Orlon in his wake.
Sharna sidestepped to avoid a collision with them and the Party, who were close on their heels. Shing passed her her belt and saber on his way by, and she turned to follow him which only lasted two steps before his arm caught her in a halt that narrowly avoided a collision with those ahead of them. All eyes were on what lay before them.
No more than five paces ahead was a one step platform, a huge stone pot on each side, from which belched crimson flame. But they noticed the sources of light only in passing, their attention captured by what was in the platform’s center. Beneath two poles jutting from the back wall, what would have borne flags in a king’s chamber, stood a golden throne, and upon this sat what—who they had traveled so far to stop, or more accurately, to guarantee the One reached this lair to stop…. To a man, they were amazed at his condition.