Aryo & the Missing Prince

CHAPTER SEVEN: THE FINAL BATTLE

Aryo found himself thinking back on the Wood Sprites—those little sparks of good in the midst of all the darkness of the forest—as he faced the townspeople of Denzilli. With Sprites, it was easy to see that they were good and pure, especially when compared to all the other horrible creatures that called the forest home. With people, it wasn't so easy.

"The prince sent you, did he?" Ferit mocked after Aryo explained everything the prince had told him about the orcs and the army and how the townspeople needed to rally and fight. "Why didn't he just come tell us himself? Seems a little suspicious to me..."

"He tried!" Aryo said, shouting from atop Kamri. The horse had charged straight through the little city and into the square, drawing a crowd. Aryo took advantage of the opportunity and explained what must be done. To his surprise, no one believed him. "He almost made it here, too," he continued. "But he was attacked by the orcs and—"

"Attacked by orcs!" Ferit jeered, looking to his fellow townsmen for approval. "Really, boy! What do you take us for? Fools?"

The crowd laughed and Aryo felt himself grow angry, his memory of the prince turning to face the horde of orcs replaying in his mind. How dare they mock his sacrifice! He clenched his fists as Ferit continued to make fun of the "imaginary prince" as he called him. Just as Aryo was about to scream at the man, Barin spoke softly into his ear.

"There's still some good here," he whispered, "and it's worth saving. The prince thought so."

Aryo knew he was right. In that moment, his anger—justified as it might have been—had almost convinced him to give up on these worthless people, to throw up his hands, and ride far, far away where no orcs would look for him.

"See who's laughing then!" he was tempted to think. But there was still some good in this place. There must be, for a great man had died for it.

"Listen up!" Aryo yelled so all could hear. Ferit quieted, perhaps listening only to stockpile ammunition for his mocker. "An army is coming to destroy our city! There is no time to escape. We must fight! If you believe me and want to protect your friends and family, arm yourselves and rally at the east road!"

And with that, Aryo rode out of the square. No one made a sound. He'd said his piece. He was serious. They could take it or leave it. The choice was theirs. As Kamri trotted past The Caliph's Café, a man called to them from the doorway.

"Ah," Barin said, smiling grimly. "Ruslan, did you hear what Aryo said?"

The man nodded. He was a large fellow who seemed better suited to blacksmithing than making coffee. "I did, Barin," he said respectfully. "And I wanted to know whether or not you believed him. It doesn't seem like you to believe in such tales."

Barin hesitated. The man was right. Just a day ago, he would have scoffed at Aryo just like the others—only privately and behind a cup of coffee. "You're right," the old man replied. " I wouldn't have. Not before. But I do now."

"If this is true," the man said, looking more anxious than before, "how much time do we have?"

"A matter of hours, Ruslan," Barin said. "Not much time at all."

"Then I will prepare in haste," the big man said as he approached the horse. Only then did Aryo notice that he was holding a cup that looked even tinier than it was in his enormous hands. He handed it up to Barin. "I had already brewed your coffee," he said, "just as I do every day. Your timing is impeccable."

Barin took the cup and laughed. "You're a good man, Ruslan," he said. "I hope your arm is as strong as your coffee."

Ruslan bowed a quick bow and then squeezed back into his café.