The House of Yeel - By Michael McCloskey Page 0,21

concentrate on more pressing matters. But she remembered how Yeel had referred to “her race” as if he didn’t share her humanity. Did he simply mean her people?

“You must prepare to destroy this awful monster that’s done this thing, my lords. Together, two such as you are can do anything!”

“We’ve only heard one side of the story, my friend,” Yeel said. “Perhaps this Slevander fellow had his reasons. If he even exists. We must keep an open mind. Nevertheless, it would be prudent, yes advisable, to ready ourselves…”

Yeel fished through his reagents pack with one hand while grasping his shiny three-armed flail with the other. Jymoor saw Yeel twist in a disturbing way. For a moment his movements seemed to defy human skeletal restrictions. Jymoor blinked and looked more carefully…the odd man did only have two arms, right? Of course he did.

Jymoor shook her head to clear it.

“What magic do you have to protect us?” pleaded Jymoor, turning her gaze from the wizard and scanning the nearby garden.

“I have a formula which promotes movement,” Yeel said. “Perhaps that would be appropriate, considering that the theoretical threat at this moment is being turned into a sessile pseudostatue. And then of course, there is my malinthander and the knight’s sword.” Yeel shook his flail emphatically as he mentioned it.

“Sometimes the greatest of dangers can be avoided through the judicious application of blunt trauma. I wonder how it is that the biped remains standing even though she is now incapable of the constant adjustments that your kind makes to remain upright.”

“My kind?” Jymoor asked.

“Well, yes, that is to say, um, mortals. Nonwizards.”

Yeel produced three small packets and handed one to Jymoor and another to Avorn.

“Here’s the compound,” he said. “It should be easy to break open.”

Jymoor took the small packet. She ripped one corner of the container and lifted it toward her mouth, pinching her nose shut.

“Halt! Desist! Clamp your mandible, Jymoor! Whatever is it that you are preparing to do with the bioruminate pace catalyst?”

“I don’t swallow it? Is it medicine, a potion mix?”

“Swallow it? Oh my no. Rub it on yourself. Wait. You haven’t eaten any floridius root today, have you?”

“Any what?”

“Flori—oh, no, of course you haven’t. It’s fatal to humans. A poor question on my part. But you can never be too careful. Well, perhaps one could be too careful but I meant—”

“Yeel, the task at hand,” Avorn interrupted, pouring the powder out into his hand and rubbing it onto his face.

“Yes. You must be on the watch for this Slevander, whoever or whatever he is,” Jymoor said. She began to rub the substance on her exposed skin.

“Very well then. A game of cat and mouse is upon us,” Yeel said. “It occurs to me that perhaps we should not be talking. The noise might attract this foe, and we would lose any edge of surprise that we potentially have. In fact, if we continue to speak out loud, Slevander might hear us and attack while we are locked in conversation, catching us by surprise and dispatching us before we are even aware that we are under attack! Why it could even be this very conversation about the possibility itself!”

Avorn stared at Yeel in irritation. “Then don’t speak!”

Jymoor winced, afraid that the knight’s harshness might anger Yeel. She had never seen the mighty wizard become enraged before, but the very thought filled her with dread. There were stories…

“Very well then, let’s all be quiet,” whispered Jymoor. She looked all around, checking for any anomalies.

Yeel pointed forward. Avorn turned and walked onward, deeper into the forest littered with statues. Jymoor followed, spotting the eerie shapes more and more frequently as they moved on. Jymoor saw stone scouts, footmen, and knights. Some of the statues seemed to be sharply defined and out in the open, but others looked weather worn. A few were partially hidden beneath heavy vines or other foliage.

They emerged from the trees and Jymoor caught her breath. A vast garden stretched before them. As she took in the sight she realized that the place had been long neglected. Even though beds of flowers and walls of shrubs grew in full color and health, the lines that delineated the various areas of the place had started to blur.

To the left Jymoor saw the statue of a warrior frozen with his spear ready to cast. The figure stood on the edge of a swath of overgrown grasses.

“This Slevander has defeated a lot of people,” Jymoor muttered.

The group walked along the soft