‘If you want it, here it is, come and get it,’ my phone was singing and rumbling in my pocket, tempting its fate and mine. Not to forget, the blade, which I’m pretty sure the sharp end was since no other options were left in the air, was still thinly close to my neck.

“Who the hell is singing?” The blade wielder asked. I imagined him turning around, half-tilting his head to check his surroundings as if someone was actually singing, not to forget playing percussion and guitars in a studio-built environment.

“It’s my phone-”

“Hush,” he silenced me. “I didn’t ask you.”

Are you kidding me, I thought. He’s not daft, but still.

“I can tell you-”

“Tell me, then,” he cut me off again.

That was what I was trying to do.

His voice was had risen slightly, but whenever he did it seemed that he was overreaching and trying to sound tough. He wasn’t all that tough, though if I forgot about the blade trying to make friends with my neck, I wouldn’t find him tough.

“I was going to,” I said.

“Stop wasting my time, boy!”

“This is a song from Badfinger, titled Come and Get It,” I explained.

No sound emerged from him. For some reason I seemed to associate anyone with Rinoa to be too quiet. Just trying not to speak even though they could, and then objectively trying to avoid every little small talk or conversation.

Speaking of Rinoa, she was still holding fine from my shoulders, though her pale face was now attached to weary.

“Never heard of it,” the stranger finally broke the silence, while my phone quietened.

“Doesn’t matter, it’s my ringtone,” I said. “If we don’t get your-” I paused, getting my ranks and titles in order, “-princess to a doctor-”

“Is she hurt?!” He hurtled forward from behind, nearly spiking the side of my neck with his steel sword as it brushed past me. The man, in loose plated armor from top to bottom and an open helmet, revealing a rather large moustache and pointed nose, rushed to Rinoa’s aid and pushed me aside. There was also an insignia located on his right shoulder, probably to denote his rank or who he served under. “You hurt her!” He swung back around, sword in hand hanging under my chin.

“No,” I said. “I didn’t hurt her. She suffered a curse and I brought her back.” I pointed to Rinoa’s Pasture necklace, thinking that it would help me somehow. “We came back using that necklace. Through the Glimmer Portal, I think, or whatever it was.”

There was a stunned expression plastered on the man’s face, as if he meant to say what did this little boy just said to me?

“It’s true, I’m not making this up. I had no idea she was a princess,” I lifted my hands up in the air to signal surrender, or defeat, or whatever to make him drop his sword. It was making me a little anxious, and too close to uncomfortability. It was like being stopped in place, being pointed at with a gun while somebody, I don’t know, robbed your apartment. Though, Rinoa’s not much of an apartment.

“Curse you,” he spat while shifting his eyes between me and Rinoa. “You’re lying. Everyone in Estoria knows that she’s the princess!”

“See, that’s something only Estorians, or what names you people go by would know. I’m not from here!” I gestured to my loose shirt tucked underneath the thin jacket and my cargo pants. “Do I look like I’m from your world?”

He strode back and forth, Rinoa hanging by his arms. She had gone sick. Terribly sick. Every second I watched her, I could see the colour of her lips wilting as the moderate wind passed us by.

“Please ask Rinoa,” I said.

“Princess Reudinger,” he corrected me, dangling his sword back at me.

“Yes, please ask your princess,” I corrected myself. I was still inherently trying to cope with finding out that the girl at the Blueberry Bar was a princess. A freaking princess. That’s like waking up and finding out that a thousand servants are waiting for their daily instructions. Actually, that’s terrible. I’d have to tell all of them what to do, everyday, and that would be exhausting. No, I don’t want to be a prince now that I’ve figured.

He turned to face Rinoa, and she whispered to him softly in his ears. There was a deadly stare that he returned as he listened to her speak, but then it waned after, and the sword he was lifting at me was carefully drawn.

“The princess has spoken, and she says that you are of no threat to Estorians,” he said.

“Thanks,” I nodded my head. “Now-”

“Now you can go.”

“What?”

This was wrong on multiple levels. First, I brought Rinoa in. Secondly, well, I’m not sure, but I brought her in and that should account on at least three levels, or more. She’s a princess, after all.

“You can’t just send me away! Where the hell am I supposed to go?” I asked.

The man hooked his arm around Rinoa, and began on their way towards the small hut in the distance. I supposed that was where he lived, his wielded sword now placed behind his back.

Wait, did Rinoa not tell him about who the hell I was? I brought her back here! Well, not fully all the way, but I did help to some extent. If they were to go away now, and I were to stay here, where else would I go? Where else could I go?

I watched them leave as I stood in my place like a statue shining for the Estoria sun. A hiss sounded from behind me, and I turned but nothing was there. The rustling of the plants near one of the shaded trees caught my attention, and then a voice spoke.

“Hello,” an orotund female voice spoke. She emerged, short and squat and old, from behind one of the moss covered stones with a straw-coned hat and a wooden walking stick, adding to her features of a rather distinct individual. She looked human enough, so that didn’t scare me, but so did the stranger that whisked away Rinoa.

“Hey,” I responded, not sure what else to add.

“So,” she approached me slowly, “what happened to the princess?”

So she saw too, I thought. Does everyone know who the princess is? Well, to be fair, she was the princess. That’s like saying who didn’t know about the leader that stood above the high stones. Everyone knew.

Other questions flooded in and I tried to make peace with them, even though they came all at once and in a swarm. There was hardly time for me to pick one and concentrate on it.

“She’s hurt, and cursed. Some guy in white armor took her away for comfort.”

She drove her walking stick into the front of my shoes, and I jumped.

“Ouch!” I yelped. “What the hell was that for?”

“You fool,” she said. “What if that guy was an imposter of an imperial guard? What if that guy was a smokescreen, and that he was trying to kill Estoria’s dear princess? Have you thought about that?!”

“Uh,” I mumbled, unsure of my response. Of all the questions that I got, one of them was definitely not about Rinoa’s safety. Curse it. If she dies then it’s my fault.

I turned my head, watching the tracks that the two lead as they disappeared into the hut after the door. There was no way this guy could be faking it. An imposter? His sword seemed real, after he almost stabbed me with it. His outfit looked rather important, so there was that. Everything seemed to fit the bill correctly.

She was safe. But it wasn’t something I could evidently confirm.

“What are you waiting for?” She barked at me, as if it was a duty of mine to keep the princess safe. I mean, technically my job was done. Rinoa was back in Estoria, I’m not part of this world and I don’t belong here, and I need to leave. Which reminded me - the only way I’m getting out of this place was with the Pasture necklace, which was with -

The elderly struck me with her walking stick again, this time on my other foot. It stung, but it didn’t hurt like hell. Not that I wanted it to.

“Stop thinking and chase after her!” She pointed to the hut.

“How do you know that guy isn’t real? Or how do you know that guy isn’t even really an imperial guard, or whatever it is that you said?”

She folded her arms, her expressions shifting from stern to frustration.

“Where are imperial guards supposed to work at?”

I thought for a moment. “At towers?”

“Where was this guy going to?”

“Not a tower?” I thought again, watching the pieces in my mind fix themselves.

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Wait a second. Is… Rinoa in trouble?

I spun towards the hut again, but nothing had changed and nothing had happened. I was kidding myself.

“I think that you are naive,” she muttered, standing beside me, watching over the hut. She brandished a silver dagger, reflecting the tones of the sun and handed it over to me.

“What is this for?” I asked.

Before she could answer, there was a thunderous bellow that came from the hut. It was monstrous, the way that it sounded, and the volume continued to rise in deep proportions. As I heard it, my mind clicked into one outcome: Rinoa.

I grabbed the silver dagger from the woman and dashed forward, sucking in a deep breath and running towards the door. I was a fool. I was indeed naive. But what did I know? I can’t expect to know the in’s and out’s of a world I’ve only just been in for fifteen minutes.

This wasn’t just all foreign to me. This was also just absolutely insane.

I skid down the grassy slopes and up another, reaching the door of the hut. The roaring had stopped, but that could mean anything. My first instinct was to kick the door, and so I did, but it didn’t budge. I checked the port windows that were found on one side of the hut and tiptoed to peek into it.

Inside, the man had dropped his disguise of an armor down onto the ground and laid Rinoa - the princess - up onto a cross, where she was, unconscious.

Curse it! I can’t get in through the front door. I raised the dagger that was given, realising that I had it and returned back to what had prevented me from entering.

On the right handle, there was a latch that was tightly wound and hammered into, making it impossible for my kicks to have an effect. I flipped the dagger and changed the way I wielded it, making a stabbing down gesture and proceeded to drag the edge into the latch. Once I managed to break the lock, I gave the door a heavy kick and rushed into the hut, gripping the dagger tightly in hand.

The man that walked with Rinoa spun around, facing me, and I looked up at Rinoa. She was pinned and still, and somehow I wanted to scream sorry. I blamed myself. It was my fault that she was there now, and I’ve let her down.

“Aren’t you a pity,” he hissed. His shirt tugged at his shoulders, and his bulging muscles provided an inherent threat that wasn’t there before. “The princess is here with me now, and I wield the power of the Pasture.” He wore a grin on his face that tore through his lips.

He grabbed hold of the steel sword that he had earlier, in its sharpened shape pointed at me. For once, I noticed the insignia deeply carved into the sides of the hilt, resembling a glowing sword.

“Eyes up here,” he said, and begin to swing his sword.

Shit. I jumped backwards, almost knocking into one of the many mini-tables that were around, doing small acrobatic stunts that stretched my spine all to dodge the man’s attack. When he ran out of breath, I supposed that it was my turn. Wait. Do I kill this man?

The man attacked again, catching half of his breath, striking with a half-blow. I dodged completely, fending off with my little dagger. Now, this just made no utter sense. How do I win a man that wields a sword with a tiny blade?! This was a losing fight no matter what!

By his fifth swing, I had climbed backwards up to one of the higher steps in the hut, near the bookshelves.

“Stop moving!” He screamed, then with a mighty effort he threw the sword at me, which I dodged to my right just before it caught my ears. It smashed into the port windows, but it was stuck. As I regained my footing, I gazed at him, and then something struck.

He had no weapons. He was in the open. It was my turn.

I gripped the handle of the dagger tighter, and charged at him from across the room, screaming mumbles and yelling. Before I reached him, he brought out a club from behind his back and slammed it into my face.

SMACK!

I was sent flying a short distance, a little red bulge forming in my forehead and the dagger hurled over to the other side of the room. The man approached his sword, and with some force he pulled the sword out from the cracked window.

Curse it. All this time, he had been the one directing and leading the fight, and I was just reacting to everything.

“Last words?” He said, getting closer to me.

I laid on the ground, watching him, but noticing a short stool to my right. I turned to see the dagger that was given, and the handle that it had. There was an emblem attached, or rather, an insignia that resembled what the man was wearing before, too carved into the handle.

Whatever, I cleared my mind. If I don’t do anything quickly, I’m going to cut like chopped liver. I snaked on the floor, pushing towards the stool. The man strode slowly, twisting and turning the sword in his hand.

A little closer. He continued walking, exuding a death stare. A bit more. A devilish grin appeared on his face.

Now! I pulled the leg of the mini stool on my right and jammed into his chin, and he rocked backwards, stilted. I pulled myself up quickly, doing a fail leap to grab my dagger from behind but stumbled as I did, almost spraining my ankle. I raced back to face him, but was greeted with heavy smoke fogging up the insides of the hut.

As the smoke billowed up in the air, a small silhouette stood in front of me, a dark figure behind the white air. The steel sword and a bundle of cloth was laid on the ground too.

“Well, at least you didn’t kill him,” the elderly lady that I had met earlier spoke at the entrance of the hut, her walking stick still with her. She was instantly recognisable with it.

The smoke dispersed, revealing the small faintly green creature with tiny sharp ears and an even smaller body that resembled a forest goblin. He, as I assumed, looked at me as I watched him continue lifting the sword, killing me still high up on his todo-list.

“Algor!” The elderly called, and Algor, as he was called, dropped the sword. Hunchback, he looked down at the weapon solemnly. Then, smoke puffed as the elderly walked towards Algor, soon turning into the same creature as well, with the walking stick shortened and her straw-coned hat fitting nicely on her bald head. She was green and human-like, short and squat, just like her companion. “Pardon me. This was all just a test. Algor means you no harm, I promise,” she said.

“A test? So you mean to say that I wouldn’t die under this circumstance, or would I, had the creature stabbed me anyway?” I was infuriated. Who the hell tests someone the first time they see them? It made no sense! Plus Algor was already in human form when he saw me with Rinoa in my hands. Or maybe he wasn’t. Now I wasn’t sure, and I couldn’t think properly after I almost died.

“Legend has it that a brave knight in shining steel armor would be the key to breaking the curse set upon the only princess in Estoria,” she said.

I squeezed one eye. “So?”

“We were testing if you were the legend, so to speak. A legend had to be brave, strong and worthy. Pardon us, we were only trying to see if you were as they claim you to be,” she continued.

“I’m not,” I said unwillingly, not like I intended to actually be the brave knight in that story, if that was what it was.

The elder boggart looked at me, as if there was a sparkle of hope in her eyes wilting.

“What the hell are you people anyway?” I asked, trying to fit their mould of something that I had seen before, but I couldn’t. “Are you guys goblins? Ogres?” This just went from fantasy-real to topple-me-over-I-think-I’m-crazy.

Where exactly was I? I know I’m in Estoria, and this all sounds crazy, but maybe this was just, I don’t know, preposterous? A fantasy land with mythical creatures roaming every patch of land? Now that I thought about it, it does seem to make a lot of sense.

“No,” the elderly shook her head at me, “we’re boggarts.” She smiled, as if that helped clue me into this world like it was a piece of cake. Her normal voice was pitched a little higher than her human voice, which would be true considering that she was imitating one after all.  

“That doesn’t help me,” I said. “I have no idea what boggarts are.”

Algor turned the other boggart, his face furious and ugly, awaiting permission to pound my head in. She calmed him down, pointing her fingers to Rinoa, whom he begrudgingly walks to unleash the chains from.

“Firstly, pardon me. My name is Milryll, which I’m sure you’ll get wrong so I won’t waste time with that,” she said. “Boggarts are household goblins. Our race is captured in the Ferret Forests not far from here, and sold by Autherists who fetch us for high prices, and we’re pulled away to do duties that families need us to do. Everything. Once in awhile, we learn from our masters too, if they let us. That was how I, and my brother, was able to shapeshift. Though, we’re class 4 and still weak to being pushed, of which we will revert back to our boggart selves. I learnt more than shapeshift, and my brother learnt swordfighting.”

Boggarts. I had to note that down. Mythical creatures captured and enslaved, sold as household workers to the rich? Curse it, I was feeling sorry for them. The way they appeared to look, they didn’t seem like the kind that milled the grain, nor would they wash the dishes diligently. They didn’t seem like maids or butlers was all I meant.

“So you were bought by a family. How does Rinoa-”

“Hush!” Milryll shrilled. “Do not speak of her first name in the plains of Estoria. In fact, do not speak of her name at all. The kingdom of Terin has fallen, and she’s wanted.”

Kingdom. Fallen. My mind took me back to when Rinoa used the Pasture necklace, and how the mighty structure stood tall even with its cracks and dents. But then, there was the thunder that struck, weakening it’s fortification and sending parts of it crumbling.

Something didn’t make sense. If Rinoa showed me glimpses of the future of Estoria, then how does the fallen kingdom fit into this story? Was that the kingdom of Terin, as Milryll described?

The shackles bound to Rinoa fell away as Algor released her, the chains dropping as I rushed to help her up.

“No, lay her down,” Milryll spoke. She walked over slowly, climbing up on one of the shorter stools to reach Rinoa, who laid on the bed, her eyes shut. Milryll placed her hands over Rinoa’s forehead, and tried to feel for something. “Her body is hot,” she deduced.

“Can you help her?” I pleaded. I don’t know why I even cared. I had known Rinoa for a few hours, and that was it. Other than her being a princess, I probably shouldn’t even muster another look. But then again, that would be cruel. Algor strode up beside me, watching on with his squinted eyes.

“I can try.” Milryll lifted her walking stick, placing it over her chest. Sparkles sprayed out over on the end of the stick, sprinkling out onto her purple dress, and then faded after.

Suddenly, a giant thud grew around the hut. It was a distinct tremble. The kind that would shake even the tallest of mountains.

“What was that?” I asked, turning away and peeking out from one of the portholes.

The trees were flailing about too. There was no wind for that. What could it be? The tremble continued to grow. Algor ran out to the entrance, the door still left open when Milryll had entered, and he poked his head out to catch what it was and where it came from.

From there, in the distance out from the road where Rinoa and I came from, the quake on the ground grew larger and louder, the trees shaking vigorously.

“Oh no,” the Milryll spoke timidly. “They’re coming.” She waved at me. “Carry the princess!”

I returned back to Rinoa, and her eyelids began to lift. “She’s awake!” I exclaimed.

The faint thudding soon came from all sides of the hut, but there was a problem: there were at least three stomps coming from all sides, shaking in a rather distinct rhythm, and repeating. Algor ran back in after slamming the door shut, his face pale.

“Tall trolls!” Algor squeaked as if he had seen a ghost, and the portholes were now painted large legs of brown. Mushrooms, ferns and fungus were growing out of it. It looked more like a tree, than anything else. “They’re getting close!” Algor reported.

This was worse than when Algor placed the steel sword on my neck. At least he had no intent to kill. The trolls, which I had absolutely no idea what they looked like, other than their gigantic size? They could probably rip me apart from hand to limb, all in one go, while feeding me to fishes.

“Why are they here?” I lifted Rinoa up in my arms, her dress drifting.

“I think you know why!” Milryll screamed.

The roof of the hut flew off as one of the tall trolls, face shaped like a horse with blunt-looking eyes stared at us through the big gap in the ceiling. Then another troll head popped in. And another. I swore I gulped.

Milryll, Algor and I - carrying Rinoa - backed up in the centre of the hut.

Somehow, if Algor didn’t kill me then, he probably would have in the fight that ensued. But now, as the trolls towered over us, and their large shrouding hands blocking out the Estoria sunlight, I was sure for certain - I’m probably going to die.

But so will Rinoa.

Maybe that was more important than anything else right now. She was in my arms, and her life depended on me. That was all that mattered.

I’m probably going to die, but not Rinoa.

Not the princess.