He chuckled as he took in the fresh air and yelled for one of the guards before he was beyond the threshold of the lair’s entrance. The guard didn’t respond. This oddity caused Jinxton to stop; the guards sucked up to Jinxton almost as much as they did the Widow.
“Guards?” Jinxton called again.
No answer.
He drew his sword, holding it tighter. Easing himself around the corner into the darkness, he saw—
Nothing. The guards were gone.
The heart inside of his chest (if you could call it that) hammered inside of his armor.
“Guards?” he called again. He took the path; stone, weathered and old, covered in leaves. His footfalls betrayed him as the leaves crunched under foot.
He came upon the guards and stopped. Slowly, he lowered his blade. He wasn’t sure whether to be angry, or to throw his head back in laughter. So he settled for both.
In front of him, tied on each side of a great tree with its branches hanging low like twisted arms, were the two guards. They both had gags in their mouths, and Jinxton was not surprised to see one boot removed from one of each guards’ feet, and those boots jammed into the Arachnids’ mouths. They mumbled unintelligible curses.
“Who did this?” Jinxton asked. He was honestly perplexed. Could it have been the young witch, come back to save her grandfather? He doubted it, but he raised his blade again as he scanned the trees and the surrounding area for signs of movement. His eyes, so accustomed to the darkness, saw nothing but the shapes of trees and the glowing pupils of creatures in their branches. He sniffed the air deeply. No smell. Whoever did this was good, too good.
Jinxton walked over to the guards and removed the boot from the maw of the one of the left. He spat out clumps of dirt and a spray of dark saliva.
“Oh, moons!” he yelled.
“Who did this?” Jinxton demanded. “Are they still here?”
“Scavenger,” the guard said. “Around the tree.” He jerked his head in that direction, his long braids swinging. “There’s a package for you.”
Scavenger. Harry, that bastard, had come back. How dare he show his face in my country, my future kingdom? Jinxton thought to himself with a snarl on his face. It seemed there was always a snarl on his face these days.
Holding his blade out in front of him, just like his weaponsmith had taught him, Jinxton rounded the trunk of the tree. It was as wide as a boulder, allowing enough time for whoever was hiding there to prepare for an attack.
Jinxton sprang forward, landing with an audible crash; his blade held high, ready to come down on any head standing in his way.
There was nobody.
But there was something.
It was a box. An old, wooden crate with letters on it that Jinxton could not understand. Then in the script commonly used among the Arachnids—at least, among those who could read and write—Jinxton’s name was scrawled in black paint.
He edged closer to the box, still wary of what could be inside. But it was a small box. What could possibly be in there that could hurt him?
“That scavenger left it for you,” the guard explained while the other mumbled, probably begging for his own boot to be removed from his mouth.
Jinxton didn’t think he would ever remove it. He would kill the two guards for their stupidity and unpreparedness, which was actually a favor to them both, considering what the Widow would do once she got her claws into their flesh.
Jinxton hunched down and poked the box with his blade. It weighed next to nothing. Then he took the sharp edge and sliced the rope wrapped over the top. Pushing the top off, he saw what was inside; his heart, already pounding, did another great leap in his chest, as if trying to get out.
The first thing he noticed was the Jewel of Deception. It was almost impossible not to notice. Its ruby-like quality shone bright in the darkness, despite there being no light for it to reflect. The second thing he noticed was the note. Jinxton bent down and picked that up, unfolding it. In the dark Arachnid speech, hastily written, the note said,
“Hey, man, sorry I had to do you like that. I completely understand if you hate me and most likely want to kill me. I’d want to kill me, too, if I were you. But, as promised, here’s the Jewel of Deception I helped you get. And don’t think to yourself that I wasn’t much help. Without me, you’d be dead, Jinxton. Know I could’ve killed you after I knocked you out, or when I knocked you out, for that matter. Lucky for you, I like treasure, and the Widow promised me some. She’s a woman of her word, so I expect my reward. Send a man to Ves Ielan. I’m sure you know where that is. Seems your kind like to frequent that dreadful place. No funny business, either. I got eyes everywhere. Oh, and know if you don’t bring me my treasure for all the hard work I’ve done, I’ll just steal it myself. I can do it, you know. Anyway, have a good night, friend. Sorry about the guards. I figured they needed a breath mint so I stuffed their own boots in their mouths. Ha-ha.
Xoxo,
Harry.”
Jinxton growled and crumpled the letter in his upper hand while the other arms picked the box up. He knew not to touch it. The Jewel was not friendly to one’s mind, and Jinxton had enough problems already.
Still, as angered as he was, this was a relief, a weight off of his chest. He had gotten the Jewel back, and though he didn’t have the scavenger’s
