Ghrell summoned his energies and withdrew a fusillade from a leather pouch on his hip. He rolled five metallic draws along the street, the balls whizzing past Grimwarden, then whipped a handful of shards high above. The shards spun as they gained their bearing, then flew toward the irresistible draws. Ghrell smiled as the tiny blades cut Grimwarden’s skin to ribbons.

  “NOOOO!” Goldarrow screamed. She flew forward into a spray of blood, watching Grimwarden stumble to the ground. His knees hit the stone as his sword clattered down the street.

  Her first instinct was to attend his wounds, but she was all too aware of the lethal enemy gaining his feet. Goldarrow paused long enough to see light in Grimwarden’s eyes, and hear his forceful admonishment: “Get him.”

  She looked up. Ghrell was nearly erect, reaching into his pouch for another handful of shards. But Goldarrow countered, having produced her bow and nocked an arrow in the time it took Ghrell to stand. Goldarrow relaxed her string fingers.

  “Shoot me and these shards fly free,” Ghrell growled. “And we both know where they’ll go.” His eyes looked down to the draws pinned under Grimwarden’s already battered body.

  Goldarrow stayed the arrow between her fingers, her heart beating loudly in her ears. Ghrell was losing blood, a lot of blood, and she wondered how much longer he could remain standing even if she didn’t shoot him. There was no way she could move Grimwarden’s body in time, and throwing herself in front of the shards was pointless: they’d still travel through her and hit him. Nothing but a granite wall could stop them.

  That’s when she realized she’d been outwitted. It was over. She secretly hoped some Elves had followed her and Grimwarden down the street, but based on the boisterous cries of the flet soldiers, they were too distracted, celebrating imminent victory. The Gnomes’ little invention had apparently swung the balance in their favor. She chuckled. Who would have thought Gnomes would have been so good at flying?

  “Why are you laughing, Goldarrow?” Ghrell hissed, the air coming out a puncture in his throat. His hand loosened on the shards.

  “We beat you. We beat you with Gnomes,” she said. She lowered her bow.

  Goldarrow watched Ghrell’s rage consume him. He shook, face contorting, limbs fluttering. His blood pressure squirted fluid from the wounds on his chest. The last words she ever heard him say were, “I DESPISE YOU, ELVEN SPAWN!” And with that he opened his hand and released the shards.

  Ghrell realized he would probably never walk out of this alleyway. But at least he was certain Goldarrow and Grimwarden would die for their treachery against his people. Liars. Deceivers. All of them deserved to die. At least he would get the pleasure of seeing two of Berinfell’s leaders bleed out right before his very eyes.

  Goldarrow had infuriated him for the last time. He felt his body expand with rage. It rose up inside of him like a geyser issuing up boiling water from the deep. He had few words left, nor the energy to speak them, but he would be true to his heart.

  “I DESPISE YOU, ELVEN SPAWN!”

  His hand opened, and he watched as the shards tumbled into the air. When they found their bearing, Ghrell eyed them. They were pointing toward him.

  Impossible!

  A moment later two dozen new holes had been opened in his torso. He didn’t feel them. There was already too much adrenaline coursing through his body. He glanced up to Goldarrow, his mouth filling with blood.

  “Like I said,” she smiled, “we beat you with Gnomes.”

  Ghrell wobbled, his head growing dizzy. He blinked, trying to focus, then slowly turned around. There stood the Gnome from on his back, holding one metallic ball in each hand, each protruding with a dozen bloodied shards.

  Ghrell fumbled a hand into his pouch and noticed two draws were missing. “How…how did you…” but he was too weak to talk.

  Impudent Gnomes...

  33: Friendly Fire

  JETT GREEN SPRAWLED BACK ON his bed reading a book about motorcycle racing. He looked up and frowned, seemingly annoyed at the invasion of his space. There were, after all, six strangers at the door, strangers who were gawking at him.

  Autumn burst into the room first. “JETT! YOU’RE ALIVE!” she cried, hurling herself at him, arms wide.

  Tears filling their eyes, Kiri Lee and Kat both cupped their mouths with their hands. Johnny placed a hand on Jimmy’s shoulder, and Tommy threw an arm around Johnny’s back.

  “I…I can’t believe it,” Tommy said, the words a joyous sigh. “Thank Ellos.”

  Jett rolled off the far side of his bed and ducked under Autumn’s embrace as if she were some crazed football fanatic.

  Autumn froze, stunned by Jett’s obvious avoidance…as well as, his cold expression. The Lords filed into the room behind her.

  “Jett, honey,” Mrs. Green said, “these are your friends.”

  Tommy frowned. Something’s not right here.

  Jett stood, arms to his sides, staring at all of them.

  “Jett?” Autumn pleaded. “Are you…are you okay?”

  Jett examined her, but he wore a blank face. No look of surprise; worse still, no look of recognition.

  “Jett, it’s me,” Autumn said, taking a step closer to the bed. Jett withdrew even more, pressed against the far wall.

  Kiri Lee came forward next. “Jett,” she said. “You remember me, don’t you? You came to me in Berinfell and again in the Thousand League Forest.”

  Jett blinked, stared at the floor for a moment, and then looked up…it was the tiniest flicker of recognition.

  Kiri Lee reached out. “I knew you would remember.” But he flinched away from her hand as if it was a white-hot branding iron.

  Tommy stepped forward. “Jett, it’s Tommy. Tommy Bowman,” he said. “Felheart Silvertree, I’m here for you, man. We all are,” Tommy gestured to the others. “We’ve come to get you.”

  The room grew silent. Jett backed up a step, cornering himself between the end of the bed and a bifold closet. He glanced warily about the room and finally said, “Get me? No one will get me. I am home.”

  Tommy looked at the other Lords, all manner of questions popcorning in his mind. He stepped in front of Autumn, but Jett balled his fists.

  “Tommy,” Kat’s voice spoke into his mind. “I wouldn’t.”

  It’s fine, Tommy spoke back. Then he spoke to Jett, “Whoa, easy man. Everything’s cool.”

  “No, everything’s not cool,” Jett said, his face contorted. “Who are you people? Why are you troubling me?” Jett glanced to his parents.

  “Honey,” Mrs. Green said, “these are your friends. From Brenafield.”

  “Berinfell,” Jimmy corrected her with a whisper.

  Jett squinted, struggling with something in his head. “I…I don’t know any Berinfell, and I do not have any friends.”

  “Yes, you do, Jett,” Autumn reached out her hand past Tommy’s side, reaching once more for Jett. “You do. I’m right here. We’re right here.”

  The moment of wonder at seeing Jett alive had been utterly crushed. He was there, right in front them him. He looked older than when they’d buried him seven years ago, but he’d aged no more or less than they had. He was Jett, in the flesh. But he did not know them.

  It was some type of amnesia, and sometimes amnesia was reversible. But often, it was not. Jett was alive, that would have to be enough for now. Exactly how he was alive was another story. But that could be answered later.

  “Jett,” Tommy asked, trying to relax and keep his frustrations invisible, “what exactly do you remember?”

  “Remember?” Jett barked back. “About what?”

  Tommy said, “About Allyra. About the Elves.”

  Jett blinked, looking down at the floor.

  “Keep going Tommy,” said Kat.

  “About the Age of Reckoning, the Prophecies of Berinfell, about the Spider King and—”

  “STOP! STOP!” Jett held his hands up. “You are absurd. Leave, now.”

  “Don’t you remember who you are?” Autumn pleaded. She was crying now, as were Kat and Kiri Lee.

  Their joy had morphed into sorrow, like a butterfly reversing its metamorphosis and climbing back inside a cocoon. Jett was dying all over again right in front of their eyes. Kiri Lee sobbed into the corner of her arm.

  That’s it, Tommy said to Kat.

  “What’s it?” she asked.

  Tommy approached the bed and started walking slowly around the end, his hands up. Jett tensed. “Jett, who are you?”

  Jett’s eyes darted between Tommy’s slow steps and his outstretched hands.

  “Tommy, be careful,” Kat cautioned.

  “I’m…I’m Jett Green,” Jett said flatly.

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  “Tell me your other name,” Tommy said, as he eased closer. “The name you were born with, your Elven name.”

  “Stop talking to me!” Jett cried, fist balled tight.

  “You are an Elven Lord of Berinfell!” Tommy declared, inching closer.

  Tommy! said Kat.

  “You’re Lord Hamandar, born of Vex and Jasmira Nightwing. And Ellos granted you gifts of untold strength and miraculous healing.”

  Jett clenched his eyes shut, his hands covering his ears.

  That’s when Tommy got an idea. Sometimes a physical sensation could trigger memories. Maybe, he thought. It might work…or, it might get me flattened.

  Get ready, he told Kat.

  “Tommy, what are you doing? Don’t do anything stu—”

  Tommy made his move. In one swift motion, Tommy drew a dagger from his belt. He trailed it lightly across Jett’s exposed forearm, leaving a thin red line.

  “GAH!” Jett yelled. His eyes bulged, and he glared at Tommy.

  “TOMMY!” Jimmy yelled. But it was too late. Jett took one step forward and shoved Tommy in the chest with two hands. The force of the blow knocked Tommy off his feet, through the sheetrock wall, to a sickening crash into the two-by-four studs of the next wall.

  “JETT!” Mrs. Green screamed. The room filled with dust and debris, Jett’s parents coughing.

  Kat raced to the hole in the wall, looking for Tommy, while Autumn tried to plead with Jett. Johnny was out the door, racing across the hall, and found Tommy crumpled in a heap and powdered ghostly white with drywall dust. Johnny glanced at the exit hole Tommy’s body had made. “Great Ellos,” he whispered. Then to Tommy, he said, “Hey bro, talk to me. Come on, man. You’re tougher than that.”

  He patted Tommy’s face, trying to get him awake. A trickle of blood appeared at the corner of his mouth. “Come on, Tommy. Wake up.”

  Tommy’s slack expression tightened into a pained wince. “What—what hit me—Jett…why?” He coughed, then clenched his teeth trying to catch his breath. His entire chest burned.

  “Easy does it,” said Johnny. Jimmy and Kiri Lee came to his side.

  “Is he okay?” said Jimmy.

  “Oh,” Kiri Lee said. “Oh, no.”

  “I think he may have busted a rib,” Johnny said. “A concussion, maybe too. He’s awake, but I think he might need a hospital.”

  “Oh, this is not good,” Kiri Lee fidgeted. “Not good at all.”

  “I have an idea,” said Jimmy. “Stay here with him, Johnny. You too, Kiri.”

  Jimmy bounded back into Jett’s bedroom where Kat and Autumn were pleading with Jett who was pacing in the middle of the floor. Mr. Green was holding his wife in the corner, both distraught.

  “Kat,” Jimmy motioned her over. “Tommy’s in a bad way.” Kat looked up, but Jimmy kept talking. “He needs Jett, or else we’re going to the hospital, and I don’na need to tell yu how that could turn out. I’m thinkin’ yu could use yur gift to talk to Jett, and maybe get him to heal Tommy which—”

  “Which might trigger Jett’s memory,” Kat finished.

  Jimmy gestured toward the hole in the wall, “As if that display wasn’t enough.”

  “You’re not far off,” Kat shook her head. “He’s doubting everything…like there’s a veil over his eyes. I’ll see what I can do.”

  Kat turned around and started talking to Jett’s mind. “Jett, it’s me, Kat.”

  Jett froze, a female voice loud in his head.

  “Over here,” she said, waving her hand at him.

  “What are you—how are you in my head?” Jett backed into his closet doors.

  “It’s my gift, Jett. You have strength and healing, and I can hear a person’s thoughts and project my voice into their head.”

  “This is insane,” Jett muttered. He looked to his parents.

  “Listen to them, Jett,” Mr. Green said. “Can’t ya’ see they know ya’, boy?”

  Jett’s eyes narrowed.

  “Recognize the truth, Jett. Everything Tommy told you is true. And Tommy needs you right now. He’s in the hallway. You hurt him, who knows how bad. You’re the only person who can heal him.”

  “Heal him?” Jett exclaimed. “You…you are crazy.”

  “Who sent him through a wall?” Kat pointed to the hole even though Jett didn’t need to look. “And how did your arm heal so quickly?” He looked at the gash Tommy made; Jett’s eyes widened as he realized the wound was completely healed. Not even a scar. Jett put a hand to his head. He took a step backward into the closet doors once more.

  “Oh no you don’t,” Kat said, stepping toward him and grabbing him by the arm. “You’re not getting woozy on my watch. You have a job to do.”

  “This…this cannot be happening,” said Jett.

  “Come with me!” Kat pulled him out of the room, around the corner to Tommy’s side. Johnny remained crouched beside Tommy’s body. The gaping hole in the wall looked like the exit wound of a cannon blast.

  Kiri Lee looked up to Jett and moved aside. “He needs you, Jett,” she said, ushering him closer. “He needs you right now.”

  Jett was hesitant. “But I don’t know how,” Jett confessed, genuinely at a loss. “How could I send him through that wall? How might I repair his damage?”

  “Here,” Kat said, taking Jett’s hand and placing it gently on Tommy’s head.

  “No, no!” Jett pulled away. “I cannot do this! You have all lost your minds.”

  “Jett, please!” cried Kiri Lee. “He needs you! We need you!” She stood up and grabbed his hands. “I know it’s you in there. Somewhere. You saved my life, Jett.” Kiri Lee started sobbing again, her hot tears dripping onto his knuckles. “And you remember, don’t you? That’s why you appeared outside my window. That’s why you found me in the Thousand-League Forest. Please, Jett!”

  Jett pulled away from her. “I cannot help you,” he said. “Leave me alone.”

  “ENOUGH!” cried Mr. Green from the end of the hallway. He kept Mrs. Green behind him with an arm, her fearful eyes gazing around his bicep. “I want you out of my house!” he roared with the same kind of authoritative tone he’d honed over years on the football field.

  “But Mr. Green,” Kat began.

  “You are disturbing my son. He’s already told you he cannot help you.”

  “At least tell him to heal Tommy!” Johnny demanded, rising to his feet.

  “You deaf?” Mr. Green asked, his face blooming a furious red. “He said he can’t do it. Leave him be.”

  “Austin,” Mrs. Green pleaded with her husband, but he’d have none of it.

  “But Tommy’s fair hurt,” Jimmy said. “Yu can’t just leave him like this.”

  “Look, son,” Mr. Green said. “Jett can’t heal your friend. But I don’t think you need to worry. I’ve seen worse. Tommy will be okay. Just needs a week of bed rest, that’s all.”

  The hall fell silent. The Five looked up at Mr. Green. Jett retreated slowly into his bedroom.

  Tommy stirred. “Help me…help me up,” he said. When they did, he glared at Jett’s parents. “Let’s go. There’s no help available here.”

  “Asp will be coming for all of you,” Johnny said as they turned to leave. “Please…for your own good, come with us.”

  “We’re staying right here,” said Mr. Green.

  “Then at least let us take Jett,” Kat pleaded.

  “You took him from us once,” said Mr. Green, pulling Jett close. “You won’t take him again.”

  34: The Phantom Blitz

  GENERAL CAERFASZ SAT ON HIS Warfly, hovering six-hundred feet above the southern bank of the Thames River. The Warspiders and warworms, as well as the infantry they carried, were in position in the network of sewers beneath the city of London.

  What a beautiful scene, Caerfasz thought of all that unfolded below him. The grand old city at night was lit with tens of thousands of lights. Every imaginable color. Every possible brightness. And many of the lights were in motion. The cars and trucks on the Westminster and Waterloo Bridges were especially mesmerizing to watch. Other lights moved as well, winking and blinking, sliding and bouncing. Even round and round. Caerfasz locked in on the amazing observation wheel known as the London Eye. It was his first target.

  Asp had ordered two kinds of attacks. The primary goal was to eliminate England’s formidable military threat, especially the Royal Air Force. General Scarvex had been given the larger of the two invasion forces for that task. Caerfasz was easily a better pilot than Scarvex, but was more than agreeable to let that assignment go to the advancement-happy general. Caerfasz and his squadron, on the other hand, had a relatively easy mission, but one that was sure to be satisfying. If only the minutes would go by faster.

  Caerfasz had been staring at the luminous face of Elizabeth Tower (formerly Big Ben) for close to an hour, and the hands had moved so slowly. Asp had been very clear: the coordinated attacks all over the Earth were to begin at the stroke of midnight, London time. And Caerfasz had obediently waited. It had been painful, but he’d waited.

 

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