Treffen sucked in a huge breath as the body of the Bearstruck was heaved off him.
“See? Told you he’d be fine. Elves are tough.”
The voice was so familiar, but he’d fallen for that before.
“Shut up, Wisp,” he gurgled.
He forced his eyes open and found himself nose to nose with a face he had known for years. Green eyes blinked at him, and green hair flowed down over his cheeks.
“Emerald?” He sat up much too fast, and the round room spun.
“Easy, Ranger. You just took a big nap with a solid bearskin rug.”
No sounds of fighting reached his ears, but the hum persisted. They were still in the round room, and more enemies would be spawning any second.
“Emerald,” he said again, and she reached out a hand to help him up.
“The one and only,” she confirmed. “And a good thing, too.” She gestured toward the dead Bear, which had a large hole in its back. Emerald patted her trusty rifle. “Wasn’t sure it could bring down something that big. Good thing we found out it could.” She looked just like the last time he’d seen her months ago in the Wood, except this time she didn’t have the litter of tree rats she was hand-raising poking out of her coat pockets. She wore her trusty brown top hat with safety goggles attached. She never pulled the goggles down, much to her father’s dismay.
The hum increased.
Not again.
Treffen had no bow. No arrows. He could see from the Knight’s movements as he chopped into the brambles holding them prisoner that he was near exhaustion as well. He had a million questions for Emerald, but they would have to wait.
“Incoming!” Emerald stood in front of Treffen and raised her rifle.
Gawain charged into the oncoming hoard.
“We can’t keep doing this.” Treffen pulled out his machete, the only weapon left. “We have to find a way to close that rift.”
He thought about the Executioner’s axe they had left in the courtyard, but even if they had it, they couldn’t chop through the stone statues.
“That’s what’s holding it open.” Emerald aimed and fired, pausing to reload with quick, practiced movements. “Those stupid statues. We need to blow those things right back to the Dark Realm.”
Treffen’s hands flew to his pack, miraculously still attached to his back. “If only I had some firefern . . .”
“Firefern?” Emerald brought down one of the giant birds in an explosion of feathers. “I’ve got tons of firefern.”
He whipped out the sealed bottle and held it up. “I’ve got dragon poop!”
She stared at him. “Where did you get it?” She paused to blow away a Billman. “Here, cover me.”
Treffen handed Emerald the bottle of liquid poop, reloaded her rifle, and brought it to his shoulder. He’d never fired one before, but he’d seen Emerald do it a hundred times. How hard could it be? Gawain was cutting a slow swath through the enemy soldiers. Treffen pulled the trigger.
The rifle’s kick punched him right off his feet.
“Knight, give me your helmet!”
Gawain slew the last of the wave of Billmen and backed into Emerald, who shoved him off her foot with a scowl.
He spun around to face her, the haze of battle still hot in his eyes. “Who are you?”
“I’m Emerald and I need your helmet.” She shook the vial of dragon poop, and Gawain flinched back. He shook his head.
“Goddess, really? Are we going to play this game now?” Emerald muttered. She straightened up and pulled out her Princess Voice.
“In the name of my father, King Jasper the Third, I command you remove your helmet.”
Gawain was powerless against the Princess Voice. He pulled off his helmet and handed it to her. His eyes were still wild with battle, and his skin held a sickly pallor.
He looks awful, Treffen thought. I probably look a whole lot better.
“Let’s cut us a way out of here,” Emerald said, pulling a pouch out of her own pack and handing it and the helmet to Treffen. “You’ll have to do the honors. We’re not going to have long once this is mixed.”
“How long?” Gawain asked.
“About five seconds.”
With renewed energy, Gawain chopped at the vines. Emerald took Treffen’s machete and ducked underneath him, hacking with a frenzy of blows. They cut their way through until a small opening appeared into a dark hallway beyond.
“Ready!” Treffen yelled.
He poured the dragon poop into Gawain’s helmet and tipped the contents of her pouch into his hand. “Just a pinch . . .” He glanced back toward the doorway. “Go, go, go! I’m right behind you!” A few flakes of ground red leaf fluttered into the helmet. Treffen could hear the sizzle as it dropped into the goo.
Behind him, Gawain was crawling through the hole in the brambles. Emerald shoved into him, popping them both through.
“Five, four . . .”
Treffen hurled the helmet at the base of the stone statues.
“Three, two . . .”
He lunged through the hole in the brambles right behind Emerald, and they all flattened themselves against the floor, covering their heads.
BOOM.
The floor rattled in the blast, and bits of plaster rained down. The brambles showered all over them as the dragon poop mixed with the firefern, blowing the statue pile into a million tiny shards.