Book 3: Chapter 87 (1/2)

“Why does Vur always end up at an empire’s or a kingdom’s capital every time he goes on adventure?” Grimmy asked. His wings were spread as wide as they possibly could, and he was gliding through the air with his legs dangling underneath him. Smoke drifted out of his nostrils as he sighed and swayed back and forth, causing the cursed elf on his head to smack his scales.

“You’re making me nauseous,” Lindyss said. “Stop swaying. And you know why he always ends up at places in power. It’s because you taught him to be as prideful and stubborn as yourself.”

“You’re saying that like it’s a bad thing,” Grimmy said and raised an eyebrow. He flapped his wings twice to ascend and flew through a cloud. Curses came out of Lindyss’ mouth, and Grimmy chuckled while descending. “We’re almost there.”

A palace came into view. Its fence was made of steel, and its gardens lay mostly bare. A few flowers were sprinkled here and there, but the majority of it was overrun with weeds. The palace walls were in chunks, and it was hard to differentiate the pieces that belonged to the ceiling and the pieces that belonged to the walls. It was almost as if a crazy lady with a sword had tried to kill someone who could teleport throughout the whole building.

“You think this is Vur’s fault?” Lindyss asked and sighed. “I swear, everywhere that boy goes, he brings about destruction. Then it’s up to me to fix it. Then, while I’m busy, he runs off to cause trouble elsewhere.”

“You mean busy drinking on a beach while your undead servants do all the work for you?” Grimmy asked. “Because that’s where I found you before I dragged you here.”

“I was busy relaxing,” Lindyss said and glared at the dragon underneath her. “I have a very strict schedule of work and relaxation, and you just happened to find me on my relaxation portion.”

Grimmy snorted. “Alright, whatever you say,” he said. “But I do wonder what kind of mess Vur got himself into this time. Why would he need our help?”

***

Ralph stared at the golden man underneath his foot. There were multiple holes in the knight’s body, and his head was partially severed, but the expression on his face was one of outrage instead of pain or fear. “Do you admit defeat?”

“I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it once again,” Sir Edward said and spat on Ralph’s toes. “Only a noble can defeat me. I refuse to fight a peasant; my honor prevents me from doing so.”

“Soldier, why don’t you let me fight him?” Lord Briffault said and walked up to Ralph. “He’s undying and stubborn; we might as well accommodate him. Forcing him to admit defeat like this might cause a disaster similar to attacking the genie.”

Ralph shrugged. “I just didn’t like his mustache,” he said and took his foot off of Sir Edward’s chest.

“Ah, envy, the worst of the cardinal sins,” Sir Edward said and clicked his tongue. He nodded at Ralph. “It can consume even the best of us, lad. One day, when you become as great as me, you’ll be able to grow out a mustache just like this one.”

Ralph stabbed Sir Edward’s shin with his spear, piercing through his leg and into the ground. He cleared his throat when Lord Briffault patted his back and helped pull out his spear. “Sir Edward Baron,” Lord Briffault said. “I am John Briffault the Third and a Half. I challenge you to a duel.”