Deep Azure: Under a Sky So Blue
(Read the first installment here)
Jude pinched himself.
Yup, it was real.
He looked at Arwen. She had stopped laughing and looked around in wonder.
“Arthur!” she yelled, hands cupped around her mouth.
“Hey, you little brat! I’m here, where are you?”
Nothing but the wind.
Jude saw the scarecrow. A couple of crows stood on its arms.
“Hey, why don’t we check that out?”
“I’m here to find Arthur, not go talk to some scarecrow. What do you think this is, Wizard of Oz? Arthur!”
Jude shrugged. There was nothing but sky and grass as far as the eye could see: no trees, and the ground was mostly flat; the sky swallowed the landscape like the insatiable maw of some ravenous behemoth. It was darker than a sunny sky back home, with more depth, and — wait.
Where was the Sun?
Jude spun around and scanned the entirety of the sky. He rubbed his eyes. He looked again. Nothing.
But how? The day was bright with that kind of filtered, soft light you get on a cloudy day, yet there were no clouds and apparently no sun either. Where did the light come from? He tried to find his shadow, or Arwen’s, but again — nothing. No shadows either. Arwen’s eyes were leaking sparkling black streams, and he felt like he was losing his mind.
He had to do something.
Jude sprinted. The crows were as big as cats and didn’t budge as he made it to the foot of the scarecrow. There, on a patch of dirt, was a huge flat rock the size of a small bed. And on this rock was arrayed a row of items.
“Arwen!”
She looked at him and wiped her face. Jude motioned for her to come over. She started to, but halted and picked something up.
Arwen ran like someone who didn’t just hate running, but someone who seemed to also fear it. Every step was like a scared hiccup: it was painful to watch.
Eventually, she made it with a grey bundle clutched to her chest. She dropped the bundle, and it sounded like it cursed.
“Regulus!”
The cat stared into Jude’s soul and loathed him.
“What the flip is that stuff?”
Arwen approached the rock. Arrayed in a neat line upon it were several random items: a large curved knife in a leather sheath, a compass, rope, and five golden coins.
“Queen Arwen Twenty-Five, take the items.”
She rolled her eyes at Jude.
“Just cuz you found this stuff, don’t tell me what to do. But you can call me Queen Arwen. Has a nice ring to it, don’t ya think?”
She did that curtsy thing again and gave a peace sign. Jude wondered for a moment if she really thought she was some anime character.
“Uh no. And I didn’t say anything!”
“Queen Arwen Twenty-Five. Receive items to start journey.”
They both looked up at the scarecrow. Its face was weathered burlap; for a mouth, a stitched smile; one big square black button for a nose, and two small round red buttons for eyes.
“Queen Arwen — ”
They both screamed.
“That scarecrow — ”
“ — it just spoke.”
“What the — ”
The crow on the right arm cleared his throat.
“Ay, come on and just take the stuff, aight? He’s gonna keep goin’ on and on if ya don’t take it. Please. Just grab the crap so he can move along to the next prompt. And yeah, he talks, and so do we. Ya gotta problem wit it?”
Jude gulped.
“Uh, no Mr. Crow. Sir.”
“Name’s Harris kid, and I’m a raven. But fugeddabout it. And the fella on the left is Eleas. Say hi, El.”
“Greetings, children.”
Jude slapped himself.
“Oh! Didn’t see that comin’!” said Harris, covering his eyes with his wing.
“What’re you doing?” shrieked Arwen.
“Do they still talk?”
“Yes,” said Eleas.
“Ahem, kids, go ‘head and get the stuff, or Sal over here’s gonna keep yappin’.”
Arwen and Jude each reached for the knife.
“Ha, cute. But no,” said Arwen.
“But I’m the guy. I should have the knife.”
“So I can’t have the knife cuz I’m a girl. Is that right?”
“No, that’s not what I’m saying. I just wouldn’t feel right. Um, let me put it this way… You came to my brother’s shop, out of the hundreds of others in the city. I just happened to be there.I was the one to get sucked into the game with you. There’s, like, a bigger picture here. Maybe I’m not just here to help you. Maybe I’m here to protect you. I could be wrong, but I know there’s a reason why I’m here.”
Arwen put both her hands on her hips and chewed her lip. Harris cleared his throat again.
“You know what, you’re right. And I think I know what that reason is… TO ANNOY THE LIVING CRAP OUT OF ME!”
Arwen snatched the knife and deftly clipped it to her skirt.
“And anyways,” she said, “you’re a minor. Let the grown-up carry the knife, kay honey?”
Jude huffed and ran his hands through his messy hair.
“Grown up? You talk like a Bratz doll that grew up on the wrong side of Sesame Street. How old are you anyway?”
“Eighteen.”
She stuck her tongue out at him.
“Fine, I’ll take the compass then. And the money.”
“Whatever, as long as I don’t have to hear you whine.”
Arwen grabbed the rope and stuck it in her hoodie pocket.
“Alright. Thanks for playin’ kids. Eleas, tell ’em what they won.”
“Yes. They have won one special item each.”
The scarecrow, Sal apparently, stirred to life.
“Queen Arwen 25 and — ”
“Jude.”
“Queen Arwen 25 and Jude, take one special item at your choosing. Pick wisely.”
Lined up on the rock were more items: a small cherrywood flute, a hollow horn, a sapphire ring, a crystal vial, and toilet paper.
“Looks like a bunch of useless crud. Ring’s kinda cute,” said Arwen with her nose scrunched up.
“Eleas, ‘splain it to ‘em.”
“Certainly. First we have the Flute of Favor: play it and your song shall gain you favor with the hearers, if they have ears to hear; the Horn of Salvation: blow when trouble is nigh, and rescue is sure to come near. A friend in deed will appear but use only in your most dire need; Bluesome, a ring forged from the air and distinct to the wearer; Elixir of Empyrean: when hurt beyond repair, pour with care; Paper of Buttocks — ”
“Yeah, we know that one,” broke in Arwen, “hmmm…”
“I say the toilet paper.”
“What? No we’re not wasting our free gift on toilet paper! I pick the Flute of whatever it was.”
The flute appeared in her hand.
Jude scanned the items. A horn that could bring rescue sounded like it would come in handy. And some healing juice. That was supposed to be good in games, right? Wait — so could they really get hurt? And if they could get hurt… But the ring, it seemed to call to him with a voice. Not like a real voice, but it was like a radio playing in the next apartment over. Thinking of music, the voice of the ring did sound like a song. Like something his mother used to sing when he was a baby. It came to him through the sheer gauze of memory.
I’m just a poor wayfaring stranger
Traveling through this world below
There is no sickness, no toil, no danger
In that bright land to which I go
I’m going there to see my father
And all my loved ones who’ve gone on
They sang that at his dad’s funeral, too. A capella. Standing out in the rain at the graveside. At the end of the song they couldn’t tell whether their faces were wet with tears or rain.
Then there was a flash of fury. A boy’s scared face. The color red. Broken glass.
“That ring’s evil.”
He didn’t mean to say it out loud.
“Good eye you have, young Jude,” said Eleas.
“If you would have chosen that ring, you would have never made it home.”
“And you would have let me?”
The raven stared at him.
“Your will is free. And so is mine.”
Jude pointed at the horn.
It appeared on a leather string around his neck.
“Wise choice, kid,” said Harris.
“Well, where do we go now?” asked Arwen.
“Wherever you want. This game’s open world, don’t youse know that?”
Arwen peered around. Nothing but grass.
“Hey, do you guys know a kid named Arthur? About yay high, redhead, freckly, scrawny, annoys the crap out of you. Stinks.”
“Hey Eleas, we know a kid like that?”
“Thousands.”
“Okay, more specific then, I guess…”
A name in bold blue letters flashed across her mind, like when you close your eyes real fast and see your surroundings etched on your eyelids for a split second.
“Artorius Rex.”
Eleas squawked. Harris looked this way and that. Even Sal shuddered.
“Watch it, sweetheart! Whaddaya tryin’ to do, get us killed out here?”
Harris was ducking and looking around.
“What do you mean?”
“Queen Arwen, miss. Let me put it this way: this AR fella, or Arthur as you call ‘im, is bad news. He’s got this place in a full nelson. There’s not many lands yet he hasn’t conquered in his conquest of total control of Azurene. No disrespect, but he’s rotten.”
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Arwen thought for a second. Maybe Arthur hadn’t been pulling her leg. He certainly spent enough time on the game: she was surprised it wasn’t called Deep Arthur. But had he really caused that much trouble? He had become mean, like more than little brother mean.
When she was little her and a couple friends found a snake at the park. The boy and the girl, she forgot their names, poked and prodded this snake into a corner and wouldn’t let up. She’d never seen anything so angry, yet it was a quiet anger. The eyes were just slits. The mouth was open, and it would hiss for a second and then stop. The two kids thought it was hilarious, but she thought it was just sad.
That’s kind of how Arthur was when she’d try to get him to watch a movie with her or go eat some noodles.
“Why doesn’t he get kicked out, then?”
“It’s not time,” said Eleas.
“When will it be time?”
“Find your brother, Queen Arwen,” said Sal.
“Easier said than done. Can you tell us where he is?”
“Head west,” piped up Harris.
“And we’ll find him?”
“Yeah, or he’ll find you. Better get a move on.”
“Alright, you guys wanna come with us? I mean, the kid’s alright, but you guys seem pretty cool.”
Arwen ruffled Jude’s hair.
“Sorry, kid. I’d love to. Believe me. But we gotta stay here. Don’t worry, this ain’t goodbye.”
“Promise?”
“Promise. Here. As a token of my solemn oath, take this.”
A leather satchel appeared. Sticking out of it was a loaf of brown bread. Jude lifted the flap and inside were two golden-green apples.
He immediately held out the coins.
“It’s on the house, kid. Break a leg.”
A strong wind came and, with its hundreds of invisible hands, nearly blew them away. Jude looked at his compass. The wind was blowing west.
“Come on, let’s follow the wind.”
They jogged through the tall grass with the wind at their back. Jude looked over his shoulder. The scarecrow was just the size of an ant on the horizon.
“Let’s stop.”
The wind hushed and they could hear their breathing. They were just as tired as if they ran that distance in the real world. Arwen, who had carried Regulus, let him leap free as she fell back to sit on the grass. She slid a hair-tie off of her wrist with her teeth, held it there, put her hair in a ponytail, and then secured it. Jude plopped down beside her. He looked at a wet wisp of hair along her ear. Dark pink. A thin tendril of sweat ran down her cheek, and he noticed a few freckles unconcealed.
“See if there’s any water in that thing,” panted Arwen.
Jude rummaged around and found a leather bottle. He brought it toward his lips but then held it out to Arwen.
“Here you go.”
She grabbed it and took a long glug. Panting, she pulled the bottle from her mouth.
“Thanks.”
“Welcome.”
Jude took a small sip. He held it out to Regulus, and the dusky cat accepted a couple of drops.
“You know,” started Arwen, “I’m, uh, sorry about being, well, a total jerk back there. I was acting like it’s your fault that we’re here. And that’s, like, crazy. You didn’t bring us here. And when I think about it, this is exactly what I needed. What better way to reach Arthur than to be here, where he is? The place he loves, and apparently rules with an iron fist.”
“In the words of Harris: fuggedabout it… Oh my gosh, did I just quote a talking raven?”
“You totally did.”
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They both laughed. Arwen stood and gave a hand to Jude. They each turned and surveyed the land.
“Help!”
Jude whipped his head and saw a man running in the distance. Arwen looked too.
“What the — wait!”
Jude set off for the man at a sprint. Arwen and Regulus were soon beside him.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“That guy needs help.”
“So? We don’t know him. He’s probably just some NPC that’s gonna waste our time.”
Jude grunted and kicked it up a notch.
The man fainted and fell. Jude skidded on his knees and grabbed the man by the front of his rugged brown robe. He was old, and beneath caked blood his skin was bronzed by years working under the nonexistent sun.
“Hey, we’re here! Wake up!”
Jude shook the bottle. Barely anything. He touched it to the man’s dry lips; a trickle ran through the dry cracks, and he revived.
“No more! No more! Oh…they’re gone.”
“Who’s gone?”
“The monsters!”
Arwen came panting up to them. The whites were visible all around the man’s eyes, and they tracked movements of people that were no longer there.
“What monsters?” asked Jude.
“Giant black skeletons on steeds of lightning.”
“See, he’s loco! You’ve done your good Samaritan act. Let’s make like a tree and leave… speaking of, where the heck are all the trees?”
“Artorius…Artorius…” gasped the old man.
“Wait, what did he say? Old man, did you say Artorius?”
Jude gave him another trickle of water, their last.
“Aye, m’lady.”
The old man closed his eyes. His brow relaxed.
“My village was attacked by that brigand and his horde of monsters. I alone escaped. The whole village was taken by the edge of the sword. I pray there are no survivors.”
Jude spoke up.
“Wait, why don’t you pray for survivors?”
“Oh, my son. You two must be new here. But it is because of this Wicked King, Artorius Rex…”
The man went on to describe exactly how Arthur spent those countless hours in the game.
Artorius Rex started like any other newcomer: he foraged and wandered from town to town. While there, he would do little tasks to earn coinage, and in so doing he was able to make upgrades. His first upgrade was a horse. This allowed him to go from town to town faster and make more money. He would rent stables and lots at the towns and pay a lad there to take care of livestock for him. He seemed to have a way with people, as if he put people under a spell when he spoke to them. They readily paid him wages for any work, and he was able to sell his timber and livestock at higher prices without complaint. Arthur seemed to get whatever he wanted, and soon he was seen as a master of the game. Of course, he got a sword and would enter duels with other gamers. By betting on himself, he made a considerable fortune in this as well. He began to set up and build his own villages, even. Some are still there today.
But then the dark days came.
Another gamer, called Gilgamesh, began to take Artorius’s villages. Gilgamesh would slay the men and take the women and children as his slaves. He even stole Artorius’s betrothed, a native Azureni named Keelith. Artorius responded by attacking Gilgamesh’s towns. A tit for tat, if you will. He completely wiped Gilgamesh off the map. No one has seen him enter the game ever since. Unfortunately, Artorius didn’t stop there. Once his tongue tasted blood, a thirst for it arose that has since proved unquenchable. The problem with the Gilgamesh affair was that it embarrassed him, so he vowed to never let it happen again. This meant: total and complete takeover of Azurene. And he was almost there. Since he had become so rich, and now had control of most of the towns, he then had a monopoly on all the ways gamers could make money. If a new player entered, she could maybe, just maybe, eke out a living doing odd jobs and trying to stay under the radar. But eventually she would run up against the Artorian Guards, or the Nightwraiths as they were called. After a few times of getting killed by them, most players gave up. Or they joined them. That was really the game nowadays: serve Artorius Rex and get whatever you wanted in the world. DEEP AZURE really had become Arthur’s world. And now he was there in the flesh, ruling from any one of his castles across the land.
“So are you a gamer?” asked Arwen.
“No, I am Azureni.”
She looked at him and smirked.
“NPC. Like I said. Welp, let’s get as far away as we can in the other direction. Shall we?”
“Wait!”
The old man coughed into his hand. When he brought it away, there was blood.
“Ew.”
“In my robe…against my chest. Something… for your kindness.”
“Talk to the hand perv.”
Jude reached in and pulled out a weathered scroll. He unrolled it.
“A map! Sir, what’s the name of your village?”
The man gasped and exhaled.
“Grynyth.”
And with that, he disappeared.
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Jude stared at the spot where he had lain. He shook his head and waved the map in Arwen’s face. But she was looking up into the sky.
Two large hawks were circling just above. The first one was closer, and the other one was a speck in the sky. The closest one was about the size of a small car, and this is what gripped Arwen’s attention. They still could not see a sun, but light still shone through its wings. It flew over them, and the tips of its wings appeared dipped in gold. Then it would glide away, and as it tilted to catch the current of wind, its back looked like polished brass sparkling beneath a hidden sun.
“Do you think those are here for us?” asked Arwen.
Jude dropped his gaze.
“No, but they probably are.”
About fifty paces away, two lightning colored horses thundered across the plain, carrying two large men wearing black skeletal armor.
“Great,” said Arwen as she blew a strand of pink hair out of her face.
Jude grabbed for the horn, but Arwen placed a hand on his arm while the other went toward her hip.
The Nightwraiths were soon upon them with no intention of stopping. Arwen flipped the clasp on the sheath and, in one motion, unsheathed the blade and slashed at one of the horses. A jet of thick black blood painted the grass. And just like that, for a moment, the rider was carried by forward momentum alone; he landed with a thud and slid about ten feet on the grass. The horse was gone. The other rider pulled up on his reins and turned his horse around, heading straight toward Arwen. She widened her stance and readied for another attack. The Nightwraith pulled up just outside of slashing distance, which created a barrier between Arwen and the other wraith.
“You okay there, Van?” hollered back the wraith on the horse.
“Oi, Stult. Nothin’s broke.”
The title of “monster” was a fitting one for the Nightwraith.
The man was huge, and his body was protected by a black skeleton. Probably carved from obsidian; it was so black that it absorbed light and made the wearer appear as a shadow. A skull-like helmet covered his head and soulless grey eyes stared out from the eye sockets. A black breastplate with black ribs, through which a glittering mail shirt shone through, protected his chest. On his arms and legs there was sculpted black armor with raised edges that looked like bones. And the boots were frightening as well, for on them were literal steel toes that were hooked like claws. Overall, it was something from a dark mind that feasted and festered on dark things.
The horse was just as frightening. Its skin was a nacreous white, and its twitching muscles looked like electric shocks. The mane of the horse was a dark sapphire in color, and its eyes were a milky blue.
The man, Stult, took off his helmet and, with his free hand, slicked back his unkempt blonde hair. Jude noticed there was a slight green glow around him: he must be a gamer.
Arwen slashed at the air.
“The flute! The flute!” whisper-yelled Jude.
Regulus hissed.
“A little late for that,” said Arwen, jabbing at the wraith’s boot.
In one motion, he kicked the knife out of her hand and pinned her to the ground.
“Get off of me!!”
She screamed, but the wraith shoved her face into the grass.
Panic struck Jude; this guy was almost seven feet tall and covered with armor. He had forgotten all about the horn. The only thing he saw was a sure death for both of them. Then a glint in the grass.
It would have to do.
As soon as he grabbed the knife, a dark fist appeared in the corner of his vision. He moved just enough that the blow hammered down on his right shoulder instead of his head. And, thankfully, it made him clench the knife tighter. He threw his left shoulder towards the ground, spun, and swung out with his right hand. The blade came inches from Van’s face.
He gave a surprised smile.
“Nice one, pup.”
Van dug his feet in to launch, but was jolted by a feral howl and a girlish shriek. They both looked and saw what looked like a small rain cloud whirling around the other wraith’s head.
“Regulus!”
The dour feline was ferociously clawing and biting at Stult’s face. He seemed to be making quite a few improvements to it.
Vanus went to help, but Jude lunged at him, throwing himself on his back like a wild monkey. Unfortunately, he let the knife slip in the process.
There was something crazed in that look, yet it steeled him. He took a deep breath and nodded yes to what she was asking. What was it? Words weren’t made for that kind of beckoning. They had shed blood together. If not before, then right here, right now, he made a covenant to find her brother. No matter the cost.
Stult grabbed Regulus with both hands and flung him over his head. The cat sailed into the distance. Blood was seeping from several deep gashes on his face. The right eyelid was completely gone, and the bare eyeball, covered in blood, roved around like a cherry bobbing in a glass. Arwen slid out from under him and was digging in the pocket of her hoodie. Jude saw her over the shoulder of Van as he stuck two of his fingers in each side of his mouth and pulled. Hard. He felt the soft flesh tear; the slick sides of the man’s teeth as he tried to purchase a bite; the slow mixing of blood and saliva. He could feel all that, hear the screams of the men, and watch as Arwen slipped a noose around Stult’s neck, but it all seemed far away. It wasn’t an out of body experience, per se, but he felt that same detachment you get when you’re on top of a building looking down on all the little people, and they’re so far away, but yet there’s this hyper-realistic tint to them. Jude saw Arwen’s mouth move. Then he heard the words.
He let go of Van, and the man fell forward crying.
His green halo had faded to orange.
Arwen had the noose pulled tight around Stult’s neck and, he didn’t understand how, twisted it around his left arm and had that pulled back as well. Stult alternately gagged and grunted as he fought to free itself.
“The knife!”
Jude looked, and it was just in front of Van’s hand. He swooped it up, and the next thing he knew, he was landing kicks to Van’s head.
“Stop! Stop!”
It was Arwen’s voice.
She looked at him like he was a lap dog that just mauled the pet hamster.
He looked down. The wraith’s face was swelling beyond recognition. What was more grotesque was that his mouth was stuck in a long grin.
Hot tears filled Jude’s eyes as he swore under his breath. He had made a vow he would never do anything like this again.
“Jude, help!”
Stult was pulling the rope, and Arwen with it. His hand yanked her closer.
Jude didn’t know what to do. He could use the knife, sure. And he would have just a second ago without thinking about it. But it was like he had just woken up out of a nightmare. He switched the grip on the knife, gritted his teeth, and swung at Stult’s face. The butt of the handle quickly persuaded its shape on the fleshy part of his nose. Arwen let go of the rope, and Stult fell with the momentum of the blow.
Jude dropped to his knees and shook with sobs.
Arwen approached him, snatched the knife, sheathed it, grabbed him under the arm, and lifted him. She got on eye level with him and grabbed his jaw.
Her mascara had run, so it looked like crow wings were growing out of the corner of her eyes. Her bottom lip was busted and her right cheek was rubbed raw. He could see all the freckles she had tried so hard to cover. Those same black eyes that looked so helpless in the computer shop, less than two hours ago, now were full of determination. There was something crazed in that look, yet it steeled him. He took a deep breath and nodded yes to what she was asking. What was it? Words weren’t made for that kind of beckoning. They had shed blood together. If not before, then right here, right now, he made a covenant to find her brother. No matter the cost. They each took a sword. They quickly belted them on, and Arwen leaped onto the horse’s back. She whispered a quick word to it. She held a hand out to Jude, but he stood there looking at the two mangled bodies of the men. They were each surrounded by a throbbing red glow.
Jude bowed his head and mumbled something. Tears seeped through his cloes eyes.
“Why are you asking for forgiveness? It was either them or us.”
Jude looked at his shaking hands. The mingled blood of the men was still warm as the gentle breeze caressed them.
“Because what I did was wrong. I went too far, and… this doesn’t feel like a game.”
Arwen surveyed their surroundings and gestured with her hand.
“It’s not any more. Come on.”
Jude wiped his hands in the grass and mounted the horse behind Arwen. She pointed the horse in the direction the Nightwraiths had come from.
“Where are we going?” asked Jude.
“To Grynyth.”
She dug a heel into the horse’s side.
They were off.
***
A glowing indigo seemed to pulsate over their heads as they approached a small village of burnt thatch-roofed huts. A couple were still smoking.
Fires were lit here and there, and torches were set up at intervals. They could make out a few black figures, Nightwraiths for sure, marching about and throwing stuff into wagons. It wasn’t until one of the things yelped that they realized the stuff was people. One of the wagons took off and revealed a group of wicker cages filled with shadows.
Arwen pulled up on the reins and the horse turned back.
“What is it?” asked Jude.
“Reggie!”
“Reggie?”
“Regulus!”
Oh no! They completely forgot about him! He was now miles behind them.
“What’re we going to do?” asked Arwen
“Well, it’s kind of late now,” said Jude. “And he was by those Nightwraiths. I love, uh, well, I like Regulus and everything, but I don’t know…”
“We just can’t leave him! Oh man, stupid stupid STUPID! How did I forget him? We gotta go back.”
Arwen started trotting the horse back in the direction they came.
“What?”
“We just can’t leave him. We gotta go before those goons see us. He saved our lives back there!”
That pricked Jude in the heart. He assented.
Arwen made a noise with her mouth and the horse picked up the pace.
BLAM!
A wall of flame shot up in front of them, nearly catching the horse’s muzzle. There was a woosh and a plunk to their right: a flaming arrow stood in the ground.
“I think they saw us,” said Jude.
Soon, four Nightwraiths with torches surrounded them in a semi-circle with the fire at their back.
“Aye, how’d these escape?” asked one with a gruff voice.
“You sure these are Azureni? They look like normies…” came a higher-pitched voice, possibly a woman’s.
“The glow, though,” said another voice. This one was definitely a woman and sounded like it belonged to a kind middle-aged woman that probably baked cookies for each holiday.
“Argh, let’s lock ’em up until we hear back from Artorius,” growled a young man’s voice, doing his best impression of a biker-pirate.
Arwen took a deep breath… and realized just how exhausted she was.
“You guys got us,” she said as she held her hands up.
The last one that spoke, who seemed to be the leader, directed the cookie-baker and the high-pitched wraith (now up close they saw it was just a kid) to cuff them, while he led the way and the gruff-voiced man trailed behind with the horse.
Once they got to the cages, they threw Jude and Arwen into one by themselves.
“Let us go!” yelled Arwen.
“No!” yelled the kid back.
The cookie-baker dealt Jude a blow in the stomach with the butt of her spear.
“Oof! Hey, I didn’t say that.”
“Shut up, punk!”
“Let us go! Do you know who I am?”
The biker-pirate impersonator sidled up to the cage. His thick boots crunched the dirt and the spurs on his boots jingled. Up close, they saw that he wasn’t much older than a kid himself, maybe close to Jude’s age.
“I,” he started, “don’t. Care.”
He spit in the cage and missed Arwen by a fraction.
“Artorius isn’t going to like this.”
“Oh, and why is that?”
“Because,” said Arwen with all the gravitas she could muster, “I’m his sister.”
