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WITH A PACK SLUNG OVER his shoulder, his quiver and crossbow on his back, Jareth left earlier than he had planned, for the walk to the widow’s cottage would take time away from his trip to Ogress. The cool morning air and the silence that comes just before dawn left Jareth alone in his thoughts. How he wished he could free his son from torment. That a demon was coercing Crispin to murder anyone sickened him. Who would do such a thing to a twelve-year-old boy and how long could Crispin resist? Chase knew something about curses and Jareth wondered if he were involved with Crispin’s affliction. Chase might be a friend, but Lorica was right, he might also be the enemy. The mystery of why the sorcerer had been imprisoned in a rotting cell in the Neverworld haunted him. Stumbling onto him had to be more than a coincidence. If he were the enemy, Jareth would have to keep a keen eye on him, but it would be to his benefit to have him for a friend. Jareth was a skilled warrior, but he had no power to fight sorcery.
Since stumbling into the Neverworld, this undertaking had become much more dangerous than fighting a simple uprising in a neighboring village.
The door to the widow’s cottage had been repaired, the premises cleaned of debris. Chase sat on the porch steps, his head shadowed by the hood of his cloak, stringy hair hanging. He ate porridge with his fingers, sucking them clean after each bite. The wizard wiped his lips with his palm as Jareth approached. “I thought you might come back,” he said.
“I need you to come with me.” Jareth cringed when he considered the man might say yes. He was only doing this for Lorica’s sake but part of him wished he didn’t have to.
Chase held out his bowl. “Breakfast?”
Jareth ignored his offer. “I’m in somewhat of a hurry. It’s a long journey.”
Chase glanced up at him, and Jareth shivered. For a moment, a woman sat where Chase had been and as attractive as she was, she smirked at him. Jareth remained steadfast. Puffs of blue and gold vapor flew out of the wizard’s robe as his form melted into the man again. The wizard grinned. He leapt suddenly to his feet and took his bowl in the house returning with a knapsack.
“Where to, master?” he asked.
“The name’s Jareth. And we’re headed for Ogress.”
The wizard scratched his chin and squinted at Jareth.
“Why?”
“I need to feed my family, and I’m a mercenary by trade.”
“We’re going to war?”
“Hopefully.”
“I don’t do wars. I’m a coward.”
“I need you to come with me.”
Chase grimaced, searching Jareth’s eyes intently. “You need me?”
“It’s what I said.” It’s what he promised his wife, rather, but he wouldn’t mention her. The concept was a good one, taking the sorcerer with him so that he could keep an eye on him, but he wasn’t sure it was that good of an idea having him on a battlefield.
“Well then, I suppose I must go with you.”
Jareth had hoped for more of a protest. Chase had no weapons on him, nor did he have the physical build of a warrior. His long shaggy hair could be a hindrance for him in battle. That he would eagerly agree to fight puzzled Jareth, but sorcery might be the man’s defense.
They walked in silence through the woods. Jareth glanced at his cottage nested in the outskirts of town. The goats were out of their pen grazing, and smoke spiraled from the chimney. Perhaps Lorica was watching out the window, but he looked away quickly not wanting to implicate his home.
“This is where you live?” Chase asked, pointing toward Tuluva. “On the western shore of the great river?”
“No,” Jareth whispered.
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Why?” Jareth refused to look the man in the eye. Lying was not one of his talents.
“Simply because it’s the only village near enough to the widow’s shack that would allow you to make the trip twice in the time that you did.”
Jareth said nothing, but began to walk a little faster. Smoke now drifted over the community teasing the air with scents of hickory and cedar as men of the village chopped wood and women gathered arm loads to take inside. A child threw grain out for a rasp of guinea fowl, and dogs wandered the road looking for handouts. Jareth hoped none of his neighbors would acknowledge him as he passed.
“If we’re going to be partners, we need to trust one another,” Chase continued, trotting by his side.
“Partners?” Jareth asked. That would be taking this too far. How could he trust someone who shifts from one form to another?
“Why would I consent to going to war with you if we didn’t have some sort of partnership?”
“What would the partnership entail?”
“Trust. Honesty. I need accountability in my life,” Chase muttered. “I’ll be honest with you, you be honest with me. Deal?”
Jareth regarded the man’s twinkling eyes and decided to be friendly, but he couldn’t trust a sorcerer, much less a sorcerer who shifts gender on a whim. “You have no need to know where I live,” Jareth said.
“Oh, come now, I will prove myself a devoted friend. I will have your back wherever you go. Even in battle.”
Jareth grunted, and continued walking one step ahead of Chase. What good is a promise? Jareth laughed to himself. The troubles that wrenched at Jareth’s heart could not be eased by promises. Putting food on his family’s table came first and then he would find a remedy for his son. He had little faith that Chase could, or would help him. All he wanted of the man was to keep him away from his family.
“Good, have my back and I yours.” Jareth whispered. “You gave me fair warning that I needed to flee the Neverworld, but how do I know it wasn’t for your benefit, and not mine?”
“I don’t confess to be a hero. Of course, it was for my benefit.” He held out his arms. “Look where it took me! Out into the fresh air again, out of captivity!”
“Then I’m not sure I can trust you.”
Chase didn’t answer and Jareth kept to himself after that.
They left Tuluva and followed the road along the Great Wellstone River, a body of water whose distant shores launched the mightiest empire in the modern world. Casdamia. A land known for its cruel rulers and uncontrolled magic. As they paused to reflect on the vastness of the waters, and the majestic Casdamian mountain range, Jareth glanced at Chase. He wondered if Chase’s sorcery was as evil as legends claimed the magic of wizards was, or as powerful as the forces that had plagued the Potamian kingdom only two years ago.
“Ah, breathe the fresh air!” Chase puffed out his chest as he inhaled. “Look at those mountains. Are they not the most beautiful you have ever seen?”
“Beautiful,” Jareth agreed, and observed the wizard with a watchful eye. Too willing to please, he thought, suspicious.
The further they traveled from Tuluva, the more he questioned the decision to bring Chase, and the stronger the ache in his gut grew. He missed Lorica and his children already. He should be with them, protecting them at home.
They slept in the woods away from the road in a pile of pine needles. Few travelers ventured this far from Ogress, so there was little fear of muggers or thieves, but Jareth kept his bow near his head and an arrow at the ready. Come morning they munched on cheese and jerky while they walked. For the most part they spoke little but every so often Chase would tell his story and Jareth would listen intently, hoping for clues as to who this man really was.
“Our friendship is valuable, Jareth,” he began that morning. Jareth didn’t respond. “And so, I must confide in you. This power that I have, this transformation ability, I told you it was mine, but it isn’t.”
“You told me you stole it.”
“So, I did. And I surprised myself that I was so candid. I don’t usually tell people my secrets.” He grunted and mumbled while looking out over the coast. “I don’t usually talk to people at all.”
“So, who does it belong to?”
“The Influencers. It was left over from Skotádi’s potions. You do know who Skotádi is, don’t you?”
“It wasn’t that long ago the Dark Wizard, and his underlings plagued the kingdom,” Jareth replied.
“Skotádi used the Neverworld to store his magic, and this particular one he used to create the mountain giants. I won’t go into detail how he used it, just know one of his ingredients was...” Chase cleared his throat.
“Human,” Jareth finished. He had heard the tales. Songs and sonnets from Fairmistle to the plains of Kershiv traveled the pubs and were sung by young and old alike. Ghastly tales full of horror, but they had a good ending and gave the people hope for a better world because the Dark Wizard had been defeated.
“Yes, but when he died most of the power dissipated. Now the only thing this particular magic can do is transform a man into a woman or vice versa. The Influencers had it stashed away. I found it and stole it.”
“What were the Influencers going to do with it?”
“Oh,” Chase’s face turned red, and he shook his head. “I cannot tell you that. It would be too dangerous to let that secret out.”
Jareth snickered. Still keeping secrets.
“What do you do with it?”
“Why, I hide!”
Jareth nodded. It made sense, in a way.
“So, that’s why you were imprisoned? Why didn’t they take the magic back while you were locked up?”
Chase chuckled, avoiding Jareth’s eyes. “They still don’t know I have it.”
“That’s not what you were imprisoned for?”
“Oh, holy idols, no!” Chase laughed, but said nothing more.
On the second day of their journey as the sun set, the silhouette of the Ogress Castle made a grand display on the horizon. The earthen road they traveled wound leisurely into a greenbelt of cottonwood and maple trees. The city of rock and mortar bordered the moat, and even now lanterns brightened the dwelling places of its subjects. Foot traffic on the road increased as they descended into the valley, and one man with an ox cart carrying firewood, stopped to greet them.
“Visitors, I see,” he said and nodded. His coarse mustache bent upward when he smiled.
“We are.”
“How far have you traveled?” he asked.
“Tuluva, sir,” Jareth replied. The man grunted but seemed to be in no hurry to go his way. His eyes shifted between Jareth and Chase, mulling over them. Jareth shifted his weight and nodded toward the fortress in the distance.
“Tell me, whose fires might be surrounding the castle?”
The man turned in the direction Jareth pointed and grunted again.
“Those be the baron’s men. The militia, keeping guard,” the old man answered.
“Is there still a scuffle going on?”
“Scuffle? Is that what they call it in Tuluva? You’ve not heard about the new poll tax, I take it?” He shook his head and prodded his ox. “Good tidings to the both of you.”
They watched for a moment as the man drove his cart up the road.
“I say, the old man was unwilling to talk politics,” Chase chuckled.
“He told me all I needed to know. Let’s hurry and reach those fires before the sun sets.”
#
As grand as Ogress looked from the hills above it, the town had little beauty. Populated by peasants and serfs alike the residents were as poor as the people of his own village, and considerably less clean. Many of the cottages needed repair, with litter strewn in the yards. Animals roamed free, half-starved. Dung from sheep and dogs had been shoveled into gullies in the alleyways, and the stink made Jareth gag.
“I suppose these folks are used to that smell,” Chase muttered as he lifted the hem of his cowl and held the cloth over his mouth.
“It seems.” Jareth had already covered his face with a kerchief.
A woman with a coal pot crossed in front of them and hurried to her home. The aroma of fresh baked bread overpowered the stink in the street. Jareth’s last cooked meal had been two days ago.
“What are we doing for supper?” Chase asked. “Surely not just those nuts and goat cheese in your pack!”
“We’ll camp on the other side of town and eat our rations. I couldn’t bear to dine in this filth.”
Jareth made no attempt to stop walking. The closer they came to the forest surrounding the castle the better off they would be. The campfires they had seen earlier burned brightly in the foothills, and Jareth hoped to reach one of them before the last light of day faded.
He almost had his wish for dusk fell as they ascended a hill that took them through a woodsy glen. The sweet smell of hickory and roasted meat filled his nostrils. He drew near the first campfire, his bow slung over his back.
“Who’s there?” a soldier jumped from his log by the fire and drew his sword. Before Jareth could answer, four other men also unsheathed their weapons.
“The name is Jareth Rubinda of Tuluva. I’ve come to fight for the baron. Can you point me to the enlisting officer?”
“Tuluva!” one of the men said. “I’ve family in that village. “You’re here for the baron?”
“I am.”
“You just happen to be in the right camp.” He stepped forward and offered his hand. “Captain Dwight, commanding officer of Sir Castille’s foot soldiers. Most of the fighting is over, but we’ll need sentries to protect the grounds while the dust settles. Swear your allegiance and tell me why you came at such a late date.”
Jareth made the salute of the king, pounding his fist to his chest and taking a knee. When he rose, he simply stated. “I need to pay the baron’s taxes. Tuluva hadn’t heard about this war until a few days ago.”
The soldier nodded and spat. “Very well. That’s understandable. You’re good with that crossbow, I take it?”
“I’ve years of experience, Sir.”
The man nodded and stepped up to the sorcerer. “Who’s your friend?”
All eyes turned to Chase and the sorcerer stepped back.
“Chase is his name,” Jareth began unsure how to explain.
“Speak for yourself, fellow,” the soldier demanded. “Where are you from and did you come to enlist?”
Chase’s face paled. He clearly had no idea what to say and his silence gave him a guilty look. By the bewilderment on the sorcerer’s face, even Jareth would have wondered about his intentions if he didn’t know better. The soldier drew his sword.
“Isn’t that one of the outlaws we tried to catch yesterday?” another soldier asked. He was a large man, twice the weight of Jareth, and his shoulder plates were hammered with intricate designs. His armor rattled when he came up behind Jareth, and he reeked of ale. “I recognize that hair.”
“No, that wasn’t me,” Chase stuttered. “I’ve never spent time in Ogress, I swear.”
“We’re not insurrectionists. We support the king,” Jareth said as the assembly of men encircled them. He looked to Captain Dwight who simply regarded his men and then stepped into his tent.
Another soldier tossed the contents of his mug in the fire. Flames burst from the pit as he threw the goblet aside. “I’ve seen you both in Ogress shouting profanities at the baron.”
“No, you’re mistaken.”
“I know what I see. We slaughtered your friends. War’s over and you lost. Too bad, too, because I would love to make you into mincemeat for my wife’s pie!”
“No, I was never in Ogress, and I didn’t fight against you. I swear. You mistake me for someone else,” Jareth said, eyeing the hem of a cloak as the sorcerer dived into the woods.
“Oh, then why’s he running?”
One of the soldiers raced into the woods after Chase.
Another man grabbed a kettle that had been on the fire. “The war’s over, fool!” With a violent thrust he emptied hot lard onto Jareth.
Jareth cringed from the molten liquid, though most of it landed on his cloak. Before he could draw his dagger or bow, another man torched him, and his clothes burst into flame. He dove to the ground and rolled in the dirt while the Ogress militia laughed. If their intent were to kill him, he wasn’t going to give them satisfaction. He rolled away from the light of the campfire slapping at the flames that soon turned to smoke, throwing dirt on himself until he smelled like roasted lamb’s wool.
Had it not been for Chase, he would be fodder for the wild bovine in Ogress. But while Jareth rolled in the dirt, Chase had stolen a horse and in the midst of the chaos, the wizard pulled Jareth into the saddle, and into the depths of the forest, they fled.
They rode for hours into the hills, away from any human habitat. Whether the militia pursued them, Jareth had no idea, nor did he look back to see. The confrontation had been brief and hazardous. But he had escaped.
Once disguised by the shadows of the woods, and their horse quivering with foamy sweat, Chase slowed the beast and mumbled.
“You were almost killed back there.”
“I was trying to enlist, not fight them.”
“As long as I’m with you, never, never again try to join forces with a bunch of renegades.”
“They’re mercenaries.”
“Unemployed mercenaries are brigands. You of all people should know that.”
“They aren’t unemployed. They’re standing guard. I could have had a job if you had simply taken a knee and sworn allegiance.”
“How was I to know? You gave me no instructions.”
Jareth sighed and picked the burnt fibers from his cloak. “How long before we reach Kolada?”
“We’ll be there before morning,” Chase answered.
“Then let’s rest for a moment.” He slid to the ground and met the rough terrain on his knees. He smelled like burnt hair, as if someone had thrown a ram into the coals and let it smolder. Both his cloak and the locks on his head were singed. What stubble he had on his chin had curled from the heat. It pierced his fingers when he brushed leaves and dirt away from his face. Fortunately, the flames had not found his flesh, or he would have never been able to stay on the horse. He stood, swung his crossbow off his shoulder and dropped his quiver. “What food did you find?”
Chase tossed a bag on the ground by Jareth’s feet and dismounted.
“Turn the horse loose,” Jareth commanded as he rummaged through the bag retrieving a skinned rabbit—that and two apples. “This is all you could pilfer?”
“They weren’t done fixing dinner when they attacked you. I got what I could. If you remember, I was in a hurry,” Chase answered.
“We’ll need to make a fire.”
“So, you don’t want the horse? You’re suggesting we walk from here?” Chase’s grin bothered Jareth.
“We’ll be hung if they catch us with a stolen horse. Turn it loose.”
“We’ll be hung if they catch us, regardless. But as you say.”
Chase pulled the blanket from the horse’s back and loosed the rope from around its muzzle. With a gentle slap on its rear the horse flinched and trotted into the darkness.
There’d been no rain for days, so the kindling Jareth found burst into flame once the spark ignited the pine needles. Chase sat across from him and stared into the fire as Jareth rotated the carcass on a spit. The wood burned, coals glowed, and an occasional snap of the fire interrupted the silence, leaving enough quiet to settle his heartbeat. He closed his eyes hoping to shut out the angry voices and the heat that almost consumed him. It was the savory smell of roasted rabbit that brought him around.
“Looks done to me!” He broke apart the meat, and handed half to Chase, taking a moment to gaze into his companion’s eyes.
“I wish you’d stop doing that!”
“What?”
“Changing like that. From man to woman.”
“It’s the firelight.”
“It’s magic and you know it.”
“You might be right.”
“Who you once were, please leave in the Neverworld. You’re Chase now, my fellow mercenary.”
“As you say.” Chase grinned.
“Don’t give me that coy smile. I’ve a wife and two children at home. My loyalties remain with them.”
Chase laughed again. “You saved my life,” the man reminded him. “My loyalties remain with you.”
“And we’ve more lives to save. My son’s for one!” Jareth spat a bone into the fire and regarded Chase. While traveling, Chase had changed form continually. One moment he wore the hard jawline of a thirty-year-old man, and without forewarning his skin would soften and Jareth would be gazing into the seductive eyes of a young woman.
“I’m not just a person, I’m a wizard, Jareth. The sooner you accept that the sooner our friendship will stabilize. I need this magic.”
“What do you hope to prove with it?”
Chase shrugged. “I’m practicing. It’s something I have to do.”
“Well, change back. It’s making me uncomfortable.”
Chase adjusted his robe over his head so Jareth could no longer see his face. “Someday you’ll thank me that I have this ability.”
“Someday, perhaps, but not tonight.”
#
They reached Kolada at sunrise and found themselves walking through the gates in the dust of a patrol carrying Potamian’s red and gold standard. Luck was on Jareth’s side, for despite Crispin’s warning, if there were any militia he chose to join, it would be King Barin’s of Prasa Potama. He had planned to make the trip south to the King’s city if he couldn’t find work with the northern barons. To have them here was an opportune moment!
But his aspirations were shattered when bolts flew at the soldiers from out of a window of a run-down cottage. Jareth pulled Chase away from the road and took cover behind a house just as the commanding officer was thrown from his horse. The soldiers in the plaza scattered.
“Wretched holy idols!” Chase snarled.
“Quick, come with me!” Jareth pulled on his cloak, eyeing a ladder that led to the roof of the nearest home. They climbed onto the thatching overlooking the village and lay quiet. Jareth readied his crossbow. Below them the commanding officer crouched behind a merchant’s wagon. A horse lay on the road, dying.
“Who would lift arms against King Barin?” Chase asked and Jareth shook his head. Jareth respected the monarch of Potamia and was under the impression the kingdom was at peace with the monarch. Wasn’t that why he’d been unemployed for so long? Perhaps his circumstances will change soon. His heart pounded and his hands sweated. A war was just what he needed to feed his family!
“Hold fire!” the commander cautioned his men. “There are women and children in that house.”
“Bloody scoundrels hiding behind innocents. Who are they?” Jareth whispered to Chase as more projectiles flew at the king’s men from the hideout.
Jareth scanned the crumbling walls of unkempt cottages, their dried thatching hung loosely over broken shutters. For all the wealth the village of Kolada boasted with its horse trade and wealthy barons, their lavish castles, thriving vineyards, easy lifestyle, the peasants enjoyed no such amenities. It was a wonder there hadn’t been an uprising years ago.
Other troops fared better than the commander as they congregated by the blacksmith’s tent, untouched by enemy fire. A good thing, Jareth thought. They’ll be able to move in quickly should the commander give the order. If only he could move in with them!
The officer rose and adjusted his cloak, peering from the side of the cart.
“Stand and give yourselves up,” he called out. “You’ve attacked the King’s army. Surrender I command you! Plead for mercy!”
A group of women and children rushed out of the house, but before the commander could act, a voice cried out.
“Your king knows no mercy! We’ve had enough of your tyranny. Kolada is its own nation.” Arrows flew at the commander’s troops, and one soldier fell. To see him bleed on the street boiled Jareth’s blood. This was the King’s army! He could understand rising against a greedy baron, but not the king.
As bolts volleyed from both sides, a man’s face appeared in the window of the cottage from where most of the projectiles came. Jareth nocked his bolt and nudged Chase.
“Quick, light it.”
Chase gave him a puzzled look, then spat on his fingers and touched the bolt head. A flame sizzled. Jareth aimed and shot. As soon as the projectile hit the rooftop of the insurgent’s hideout, it burst into flames. “One good thing about a drought,” Jareth whispered as he watched the thatching of the home disintegrate into ash and billowing smoke.
The commander spun around and squinted in Jareth’s direction.
“Come on,” Jareth said and slid off the roof and down the ladder. A brilliant sun glared across the rooftops as a scurry of people appeared in the street throwing buckets of water at the flaming cottage. Amid the flurry, men and women jumped from windows as a mob of villagers assailed the home. Soon mayhem consumed the streets. Punches were thrown between villagers, and young boys gathered in a circle around the combatants.
“Start arresting them. Any of them until we find out what’s going on!” the officer ordered. Swords drawn, the militia charged into the chaos with the steps of authority, the sound of their boots beat on the stone road. Jareth followed, Chase lingered behind.
Many of the combatants dispersed once the soldiers strong-armed the most violent of the perpetrators. But the wildest of them all, the man who had ordered the initial shooting, wrestled with two knights, and gave a fair fight against them.
Jareth had little time to witness the arrest, for his crossbow was snatched from him and his arms wrenched behind his back.
“Who are you?”
He stood face to face with a Potamian soldier, cloaked in red and gold, his beard wiry and thick, his eyes dark and stern.
“My name is Jareth Rubinda of Tuluva.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m looking to join the King’s militia. I swear my allegiance...,” but before Jareth could pledge, the man laughed at him.
“Tell that to the King.”
“I will. Please! I’m ready to fight for you.” Jareth thought to boast that it was his bolt which set the house aflame, but after they tied his hands and wrestled him to the ground next to two insurgents, he held his tongue. He glanced in the direction from where he had come, looking for Chase but all he saw was a woman cloaked in gray slip into the alley. So much for the wizard having his back!
Other men who were caught in the turmoil were cast down next to Jareth until it seemed that all the men of the village had been arrested. Jareth looked no different than any of them with his tattered coat, his hair muddled from rolling in ash and dirt, dust caked on his face and boots worn from travel.
The center focus now was that of the instigator being questioned by the commanding officer. He put up a fight and spat at the soldiers when asked his name.
“Call me Kayden,” the man said. “I’ll not give you my family name.”
“Are you the leader of this ambush?” the officer asked.
“Leader, aye!” The red haired stranger tried to pull away. His size and weight proved to be a test for them.
“You’ll answer to the king, and I assure you, he will hang you.”
“Then hang me now. Or send that blade of yours through me. I’ve no desire to see your king.”
“Why waste your life spouting profanity against the Throne?” the officer lowered his voice and unclenched his fist.
“It’s not my life that’s wasted. It’s my children’s. My family. You think you have order and law here. You’re blind to what you have done, you and your men. You and your barons! We scramble on our knees to please you, while you take our very substance away, our very breath!” With that, the man spat in the officer’s face.
Jareth’s eyes opened wide. Surely the officer would strike him dead!
But he didn’t. The commander raised his fist but instead of hitting the man, he wiped the spittle from his brow.
“I’ll pretend you didn’t do that,” he said through clenched teeth. “If it’s poverty that angers you, it’s not my place to condemn you to death. You and your little army will present yourselves to the Crown. Let King Barin decide what to do with you.”
The officer glanced at the other prisoners, and Jareth caught his eye.
“We’ll take all of them back to the King,” he said. “Let him decipher what has happened. Perhaps he can stop an impending war. Terrance!”
When the soldier named Terrance stepped forward, the commander waved toward Jareth and the other captives.
“Tie these men together. They’ll walk the plains to Prasa Potama behind our regiment and muster our troops home tonight. I have a mind to visit Lord Sylvester before I join you.”
“What about my horse, sir?”
Jareth gawked at the female soldier who appeared from nowhere it seemed. Strands of brown hair escaped her helmet and flew carelessly across her face. Her hazel eyes burned bright like the daybreak. She was tall, almost as tall as the commander, and the officer looked away, but Jareth stared. He had never seen a woman in man’s armor before.
“Take mine, Jynifyr,” the officer offered with a smile that met her eyes. “I intend to get a replacement from the horse-lord Sylvester. He owes us that and more.”
“Thank you, sir,” she said.
The troops moved slowly as they sheathed their swords, tightened their packs and cinches, and filled their water sacks from the well in the center of town. The sun filtered through the settling dust, smoke from the burning house added to the golden glare of what might have once been a peaceful village. Muffled cries disturbed the silence, moans of women who knew the prisoners and tried to get close to them only to be escorted away by the most compassionate of the soldiers. Chase was nowhere to be seen, though.
The owner of the burning house wailed. There would be no saving it. The tenants would have to rebuild. Jareth felt no remorse. He did what he had to do to stop the madness and someday this officer will thank him for it. Someday Jareth will ride with these men.
He watched a woman carry her empty water pail back to her home, but held his breath at the sight of a group of children congregating in the alley as she passed them. They were poor children, like his own little boy and girl back home in Tuluva, dressed in ragged clothes and dirty cloaks, shoes of tattered leather barely covering their feet.
His heart went out to them, but as the rays from the setting sun lingered on their little bodies, an aura loomed over them. Not the light of twilight, but a pale blue light that seemed to entwine them as a whole. Jareth held his breath, for this aura looked much like the magic that attacked Crispin. The children wore smiles. Not happy innocent smiles that children ought to wear. The grins on their faces were mocking and they stared at the soldiers as if somehow they had been a part of the bedlam—and were proud of it.