my hand then slashed downward. The row of branches split down the middle.
“I have an excellent edge,” Thomas said from nowhere.
“I would expect so, since I doubt it’s ever been used.”
For about an hour, I trained with the invisible sword until I felt fairly confident I knew where the edge and point were. Remembering I had a deadline, I sheathed Thomas, struck camp, then set out for Hellhole.
By mid-afternoon, Hellhole loomed on the horizon like a toad squatting on an eclair. Towering over the town dotted with brightly painted roofs, like candy confetti, stood a rickety tower, home of the Mad Moffett gang. They weren’t crazy-mad, just always in a bad humor. And Prince Duryea had pissed them off. So they kidnapped his beloved poodle, Prince. Yeah, the prince had named the dog after himself.
I approached the tower with the careless appearance of a tourist. I rode right past the gate guards, waving as if they were supposed to know me. I even tossed a casual, “How’s Bruce today?” Bruce was the leader of the Moffett gang.
Scrunching his forehead, a guard answered, “In his usual snit.” In their confusion, the guards let me pass. Or maybe they thought killing a trespasser would brighten Bruce’s day.
Oh, well. Getting into the bad guy’s tower was always easy. It was getting out that killed many a hero.
As soon as I entered the fortress’s grounds, I recognized the layout. The keep was a standard design of Home and Castle Depot, from their budget line. Assuming the poodle was locked in the playroom—this floor plan didn’t come with a dungeon—it’d be in the second room on the right.
Without a hitch, I found the room unlocked. Why lock it? Dogs couldn’t open doors. I stooped and patted my knees. “Here, Prince.”
I don’t know why, but I expected a standard poodle—something with some teeth that looked like a man’s dog . . . sort of. Instead a miniature poodle, dyed pink and purple (the royal colors) and wearing an emerald-studded collar with a tiny ermine cloak pranced towards me. I scooped it into my arms and turned around.
Bruce filled the far end of the corridor, wielding a two-headed axe. He wore an eye patch and one gold hoop earring. Tattoos covered his arms, bulging from his sleeveless, leather jerkin. A thick chain with a jeweled coat-of-arms pendant hung around his muscular neck. And he’d tied his stringy blond hair back in a ratlike ponytail. To top it off, a dozen honorable mention and participation ribbons hung from his baldric.
“I trust the award ribbons aren’t for your wardrobe,” I sniped. Realizing that could be taken two ways, I added, “Your get-up doesn’t deserve last place.” I scowled; that, too, could be misinterpreted for a compliment. My wit was definitely dull. Hopefully my swordplay would be sharper.
Bruce squinted his one eye. “Is that some kind of crack about my looks?”
“I’ll give you credit for almost being sharper than I’d figured. You should’ve known it was a crack.”
He swung the axe over his shoulder. “Put . . . the . . . poodle . . . down.”
“Were you pausing because you were trying to think of the right words, or did you think that gave them emphasis?” Nevertheless I released the dog and drew Thomas.
“Prepare to die, thief!”
“The dog’s not yours. Therefore it’s not stealing.”
“Unless you’ve brought the ransom, you’re not leaving here alive with the mutt.”
At that, Prince barked.
“I think he objects to being called a mutt—especially by the likes of you.” I widened my stance. Considering Bruce’s bulk, even blocking a blow would take considerable strength and balance.
Bruce let out a frustrated scream.
“Run out of words already?” As he charged, I shouted, “Now, Thomas!”
“Now what?” the sword asked.
“Do your trick!” Bruce was nearly upon us. I swung the sword upward, certain it would see Bruce and the axe and get scared.
Suddenly, Bruce’s axe disintegrated. The metal head rusted until it dissolved, and the wooden handle turned to dust. Bruce skidded to a stop so close I could smell the excessive amount of aftershave on him—something between woodsy and old farts. He stared at his empty hands for a second then lunged for my neck.
I tried not to show my surprise—but later I would definitely have questions for my magic sword.
With a flick of my wrist, Thomas whipped between us, his point gleaming. Now would be an inopportune time for the sword to vanish. Gritting my teeth, I smiled and said quietly, “Don’t you dare disappear.”
“I won’t go anywhere,”