Frog Read online

  He paused and took a drink.

  ‘Disturbances are reported from many places, accounts of crops and wells being tainted, unearthly creatures moving in groups are causing mischief and destruction, then disappearing back into the dark mountains and caverns below the earth. Those that would side with evil are testing us, flexing their strength. The beast that governs a realm of darkness and misery has arisen again. This time in the image and form of a banished follower of the Dark Arts, Lord Maelstrom.’

  Again he paused to take a drink.

  ‘He was once a fine practitioner of the natural laws of Magik and helped to heal the land and kingdoms many, many ages ago from the onslaught and ravages of evil. Gradually, he found too much satisfaction with his powers and started to exert them for his own pleasure, and he became cruel and malicious. Finally, in his wickedness he killed his only brother who had tried to stop him from torturing the land and the people. It was then that the Guardians stepped in. Sensing that Lord Maelstrom could shift the balance of influence to the evil ways, they gathered together and stripped him of his powers, banishing him to the confines of the mighty Ice Mountains for eternity. It would appear that something has happened to him during the ages that he has spent there and he has now become a vessel for the darkest of powers.’

  The king leaned back as though tired. ‘I know this may not make sense to you, but you have the ability to help us overthrow the coming threat. The visions and messages from the Guardians only tell us riddles, but above all we have been told to trust your instinct and listen to your words.’

  ‘Well,’ said Chris. ‘My instinct is to run and my advice is, leave it to the wizards!’

  He looked at their faces, stern and grave. ‘Maybe I should have kept that to myself,’ he thought.

  Then a smile appeared on the king’s face and he laughed. ‘You said he had a sense of humour and you were right, Gizmo. You lift my spirits my boy.’

  Chris smiled as the room was filled with everyone’s laughter. ‘I still say, run,’ he thought, but he kept it to himself this time.

  ‘Now that you have been acquainted with us, you must tell us about yourself,’ said Sir Dragonslayer.

  ‘I’m afraid that is not a good idea,’ said the wizard. ‘The less you know about his world the better, there is knowledge that many of you should not be privy to. If you are exposed to it through him while he is in our world then so be it, but do not go looking for insight.’ ‘One small story cannot harm, surely,’ insisted Sir Dragonslayer.

  Gizmo moved in front of the fire and his shadow grew large across them all.

  ‘I am not a Guardian in name only, Sir Knight. You would be best to remember how Lord Maelstrom started his descent into the world of lost souls by gathering some small, other-world intelligence.’ The fire flared up, crackling and spitting sparks, and it seemed the shadows pressed in on them all for a few seconds. Gizmo made a sign with his hand and the fire settled down again, the shadows receding. ‘His influence is spreading,’ said the wizard. ‘It is weak at the moment but it pushes forwards each day, testing us and flexing its strength.’

  Chris could not contain himself and stifled a yawn. He looked at his watch. 21.20. ‘My time or their time?’ he wondered.

  He caught Sir Dragonslayer staring at his watch so he quickly covered it with his hand. He felt tired; the warmth of the fire was making him drowsy.

  ‘If you don’t mind, I think I’ve had enough for one day and I would like to go to bed now,’ he announced, fighting back drooping eyelids.

  6

  What’s in a Name?

  As sleep pulled away from his mind, Chris became conscious of water dripping on to his face and he lifted his hand to wipe it away. As his senses became aware of giggling and muffled laughter, he slowly opened his eyes and his vision cleared to reveal that his surroundings had changed. He was in a stable. A smiling, red-haired boy was standing over him with a wooden ladle in his hand with which he was dripping water onto Chris.

  ‘Wake up, sleepy head,’ he said cheerfully. ‘The sun’s risen and is shining on the castle walls, you’re well late for your master’s breakfast.’

  Chris sat up with a jerk. ‘Is this a dream?’ he asked out loud.

  As if to ensure that he was awake, the boy tipped the remaining contents of the ladle on to Chris’s head. Splosh! And there was an outburst of laughter.

  Chris jumped up, wiping it away furiously.

  ‘Oh, thanks, I really needed that. I don’t suppose you’ve got some soap while you’re at it?’ he said sarcastically.

  ‘No, but we can arrange to throw you into the moat,’ said a gruff voice.

  Chris wiped his sleeve across his eyes and took in his surroundings. The stable was a long building with rows of stalls spread out to either side of him, some of which contained horses. There was a small crowd of eight or nine boys standing around him, all about the same age as himself as far as he could make out, but they were all bigger than him (as usual).

  ‘Gerrouta my way,’ growled the voice again and a large, round-faced boy with long blonde curly hair pushed his way through the others. He was a good thirty centimetres taller than Chris.

  ‘What have we got here then?’ he asked, standing in front of Chris. ‘Another little weed that needs watering?’

  He gave Chris a shove backwards into the straw as he reached for the wooden bucket of water that the redhaired boy was holding.

  ‘Gimme that, carrot-head,’ he snarled to the redhaired boy. Chris could see what was coming and as the boy lifted the bucket, he dived between his legs.

  ‘Why, you!’ exclaimed the boy as he twisted around, intent on soaking Chris.

  Chris rolled to one side and as he did so he spotted his leather belt and dagger lying in the straw. He grabbed out for it but as he pulled it towards him the belt entangled itself around the boys ankle. The boy tripped and fell, the bucket landing on top of his head, its contents completely soaking him.

  There was a gasp from the rest of the boys as his large, chubby hands lifted the bucket from his head. He looked like a drowned rat, his once curly locks now flattened against his head and shoulders.

  ‘I’ll pulverise anyone who makes a sound, let alone laughs,’ he hissed through clenched teeth as he glared at them. ‘As for you,’ he directed at Chris, ‘I’m gonna sit on you and stuff horse manure in your mouth.’

  He rose menacingly towards Chris who got to his feet and clutched his belt and scabbard, not knowing what to do next.

  ‘Hold it, Maxim,’ said the red-haired boy, stepping forward. ‘You can’t touch him.’

  ‘Who says so?’ shouted the thoroughly wet Maxim. ‘This says so,’ replied the boy, holding up Chris’s scabbard for all to see.

  ‘Royal knight’s squire, Sir Peacealot’s by the look of the crest on it. If you touch him, you’ll be in the stocks for a week and there’s a lot of us could do with some target practice with some rotten old vegetables.’

  There was a murmur of eager agreement from the rest of them.

  Maxim’s face went bright red and his bottom lip started to quiver. For a moment Chris thought that he was going to cry. But the look that he gave Chris was filled with rage.

  ‘I’ll get you,’ he snarled, looking Chris up and down, ‘You, you, slimy little frog.’ Then he pushed his way through the crowd and disappeared out into the courtyard.

  Chris turned to the red-haired boy. ‘Thanks, I guess I owe you one.’

  ‘Owe me one what?’ he asked.

  ‘A return favour,’ said Chris. ‘For helping me out.’ ‘You don’t owe me anything; we’ve been waiting for him to get his comeuppance for a long time, haven’t we guys?’

  The group nodded in one accord.

  ‘I wouldn’t have missed it for the world, did you see the colour of his face?’ said a really tall boy.

  ‘Yeah, didn’t he remind you of something, with his hair hanging down like that?’ asked another. ‘You know, like the turnip-headed dummy that the knights u
se for target practice, the one with the old rope stuck on top as hair.’

  With that the group collapsed with uncontrollable mirth and Chris joined in, enjoying the laughter and revelling in the attention.

  Gradually the laughter subsided and the red-haired boy approached Chris. ‘I guess that I’d better introduce everyone,’ he said, as they all gathered in a circle around Chris.

  ‘Smithy – his dad is a blacksmith. Speedy – he can run faster than any of us. Fish – he hates water! Smiley – it’s not very often than he isn’t smiling. Finder – if we need it, he’ll get it. Lofty, he’s the tallest.’ He was nearly twice the height of Chris. ‘Snoop – he’s our spy when we want to find out information, and finally, this is Fixer – she can put most things back together again, eventually.’

  ‘But you’re a girl,’ said Chris, and regretted saying it almost instantly. ‘I mean, I didn’t notice at first,’ he said apologetically. ‘No offence meant,’ he added hastily.

  ‘None taken,’ she replied, the smile on her face remaining as proof.

  Chris continued to stare at Fixer, mesmerised by her short, cropped brunette hair, freckled face and hazel-brown eyes.

  She looked him up and down. ‘But you’re a boy,’ she said jokingly and Chris went bright red as everyone laughed.

  ‘I guess I deserved that,’ said Chris.

  ‘And I guess that we’re even,’ said Fixer, holding out her hand.

  Chris shook her hand and knew then that he had made a very good friend.

  The red-haired boy offered his hand to Chris, who shook it as well.

  ‘I’m Ginger, no prizes for guessing why,’ he grinned, pointing to his hair. ‘There’s one other thing that you should know,’ he continued, ‘the boy that you’ve very quickly made an enemy of is Maxim, his dad’s head stable master and so he thinks that he can push us all around. We try to keep out of his way as much as possible as he’s always looking for trouble. Don’t ever let him catch you alone, he’s nothing but a big bully and he’ll deny that he was near you if you report him for being nasty. He’s just jealous because we’re all knight’s squires and he’s just a stable boy.’ He looked Chris up and down. ‘Well I guess we all know what you’re called.’

  ‘Do you?’ said Chris, surprised.

  ‘It’s obvious,’ continued Ginger. ‘You look like one and Maxim guessed it right away.’

  ‘Did he?’ asked Chris, totally confused.

  ‘Of course,’ continued Ginger. ‘You look even more like one with your hood up.’ He reached forward and pulled the hood of Chris’s jerkin over his head. It was now that Chris looked down at himself and realised that he was in different clothes. Green leggings, cross-strapped to the knees with brown leather boots and a long green-sleeved top which fell just below his hips. He looked back at the others, who were dressed in a similar style but in mostly brown and black colours.

  ‘There you go, I wouldn’t say you were slimy, but you definitely look like a little green frog, so Frog it is,’ said Ginger. The group nodded in agreement and approval.

  ‘But my name’s Chr—’ started Chris.

  ‘Your name’s Frog,’ cut in Ginger. ‘We all have our birth names but we don’t use them, you don’t get your real name back until you eventually become a knight, it’s tradition and it’s the rules. So forget about your old name, from now on you’ll be known as Frog to one and all.’ He turned to the others. ‘Okay gang, you know what to do.’

  All of a sudden the place was a hive of activity. Some of the boys disappeared while the others busied themselves in a corner.

  ‘Let’s tidy you up a minute,’ said Ginger, brushing straw and dust from Chris’s clothing. ‘Put your belt and scabbard on, you can put your hood down now if you like.’

  Chris reached up and flipped the hood back and as he did so he noticed that he was still wearing his watch. 21.20. It was then that it dawned on him that his watch had stopped. Either the battery had gone or it had become frozen at the time that he had left his own world.

  Suddenly the stable doors were flung open and sunshine flooded in along with the noise of a busy castle. The others boys had returned carrying colourful pennants on poles.

  ‘He we go, Frog,’ said Ginger. ‘Enjoy the ride!’

  The boys gathered around him, two of them lifting him onto their shoulders. They all lined up around him and marched out into the sunshine. Even at this time of the day the large courtyard was full of people going about their business. Smells and sounds assaulted his senses. Chris tried to take it all in but for the moment the bright sunshine made him squint. Then the chant started.

  ‘Frog, Frog, Frog,’ went the group of squires in unison and Chris watched as Fixer unfurled a green pennant with the image of a leaping green frog sketched out on it. Then they were off, the little group parading around the courtyard as other voices joined in, the sound of the chant getting louder.

  ‘Frog, Frog, Frog,’ they went.

  High above, staring down on the procession from the king’s balcony were the king, Gizmo, Lady Dawnstar, Sir Dragonslayer and Sir Peacealot.

  ‘So it begins,’ said Gizmo. ‘The future of Castellion and the Four Dimensions is in the hands of one small boy called Frog.’

  As they stood, each with their own thoughts and prayers running through their minds, other eyes, unseen, watched the events. Thoughts of a darker nature, planning revenge and turmoil, were waiting in the shadows, waiting for the opportunity to strike.

  Over the following days and weeks, Frog had little time for thoughts of the world that he had left behind (every day he told himself that it was all a dream and that he should enjoy it while he could as he might wake up at any time). He learned quickly, not just because he was enjoying the adventure but also because of the help he got from the new friends that he had made. Ginger very quickly became his best friend and reminded him of his other best friend, Billy Smart, back in his home world. Fixer became his other close companion. Frog learned that she was Lady Dawnstar’s squire, one of only a handful of girl squires who served a group of lady knights known as the Maids of Steel. Lady Dawnstar was their captain and leader.

  Most of his time was spent in the company of the other squires or with Sir Peacealot, who not only instructed Frog in the ways and responsibilities of a squire, but also trained him in the art of swordsmanship and horse riding.

  Lady Dawnstar presented him with a small horse of his own, a black colt with a white flash on its forehead. It took Frog a while to decide on a name for his horse but finally he settled on ‘Thunder’, to the amusement of everyone else.

  ‘Thunder?’ said Ginger. ‘He’s so small he won’t even make the ground tremble when he gallops along let alone make it thunder.’

  ‘Well, one day he will, you’ll see,’ said Frog.

  Two disturbing events occurred within the space of a few days. A young squire vanished suddenly, without explanation, followed by the disappearance of Maxim, the stable master’s son. Neither were seen leaving the castle and no trace or sighting was reported, despite a full search conducted inside and outside the grounds. Everyone was told to be vigilant and be wary of strangers.

  One morning Frog was brushing down Sir Peacealot’s horse, which had been given to him by King Hector as a replacement for his old horse that had been killed by Belzeera, when a herald wearing the royal tabard and colours arrived at the stable door.

  ‘Are you Sir Peacealot’s squire?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Frog.

  ‘You are hereby commanded to an audience with the king.’ he announced rather gruffly.

  ‘When?’ asked Frog.

  ‘Now. I am to escort you myself,’replied the herald.

  Frog patted the horse and led him into his stall, closing the door behind him. ‘Let me just wash the horse sweat from my hands, and I’ll be with you,’ he said, as he made his way to a bucket at the back of the stable.

  Once he had splashed some water on his face, brushed himself down and put on
his belt and scabbard, he turned and followed the herald across the dim courtyard. It had been overcast and drizzling with rain for the last two days and today the sky was even darker, as though a storm was gathering. The herald turned down an alley that ran along between the main castle wall and the outer battlements.

  ‘This isn’t the way to the court!’ shouted Frog to the figure scurrying ahead in the shadows.

  ‘Shortcut,’ the herald snapped back.

  About fifty metres into the passage, Frog sensed that something wasn’t quite right and stopped.

  ‘I’m going back the normal way,’ he said and turned, only to see his path blocked by two more heralds walking towards him. ‘Hey, what’s going on? Herald, tell these two that we’re on the king’s business!’ he shouted.

  ‘Oh, they know what business we’re about and it isn’t the king’s,’ sneered the herald, advancing on Frog. The shadows in the alley became darker and Frog noticed that the herald’s eyes were now glowing red.

  ‘You’re not the king’s heralds!’ he shouted in alarm.

  ‘Not when we’re in the shadows or the dark,’ one of them sneered, revealing sharp, fanged teeth. ‘Our master wants a word with you, so let’s do this quietly, shall we? Hold him, while I tie him up,’ he instructed the others.

  They grabbed Frog’s arms and turned him around roughly.

  ‘Let me get this over his head first,’ said the one behind, and Frog looked up to see a piece of sacking being unfolded above him.

  Frog remembered his training, not only from his tae kwon do but also the advice that he had been given by his parents, should an adult attack him.