Chapter 4

“DAMMIT! THEY’RE SHOOTING at us!” Bozius yelled as the three of them ran from the guard tower leading to the Queen’s Parkway.

Arrows and bolts were flying hither and yon as the party scrambled desperately to evade the attack. Matters were made worse by the fact that there were three men to two horses, with Rory having drawn the short straw and earning the inexperienced Rafule as a passenger. The attack was almost immediate upon the trio’s attempt to cross the checkpoint between Appleton Heights and the access ramp to the Queen’s Parkway. It didn’t help much that having been rejected access due to not belonging to the noble class, Rory & Company decided to attempt a mad dash across the barriers and take the Parkway with speed.

Apparently the guards at the gate had dealt with such endeavors in the past.

“I think they were ready for us to try that, Bozy,” Rory quipped as he attempted to steer his horse away from the rain of puncturing death.

“You don’t say!” Bozy snapped, his horse leaping wildly about as the party attempted their escape.

“At least you got it easy,” Rory squeaked out through shallow breaths, “you’ve got Lightning!”

“What?” Bozius retorted. “You’ve got Lightning, I’ve got Thunder.”

“How can you tell?” Rory asked, feeling a stream of air rush past his ear in the wake of a flying arrow. “They look the same to me…”

“Lighting is the black one!”

“Now, there’s the issue right there!” Rory considered. “Shouldn’t Lightning be the white horse? And Thunder the black?”

“We are not having this conversation right now, Rory!”

“Seriously, though, think about it. If lightning were dark, we couldn’t see it, now could we? And how about that time in Bonatrouse when we had those cocktails? They were called White Lightning, weren’t they?”

“You mean the drinks we had right before the angry mob of vengeful husbands tried to kill you?” Bozius asked. “I dunno, Rory. But if we live past these next five minutes, I’ll be sure to head back there and find out.”

“Hya, Thunder, hya!” Rory called, kicking his black horse to a gallop.

“You’re riding Lightning, for the love of—bah, forget it!” Bozius gave up.

“What do you think, kid?” Rory asked.

“I don’t want to die!” Rafule screamed.

“Then start blasting them with fireballs!”

As if suddenly struck with that very realization, Rafule raised one had to the sky. Unable to see his passenger, Rory could still tell that magic was in the air. The temperature around him was increasing, as if Rafule was heating up the very atmosphere around them. That was when the Pirate of Vimiland was struck with a new genius plan.

“Bozy, about face!” Rory directed as he brought his horse—Thunder? Or is this one Lightning?—around in a wide arc. “We’ve got a doll to catch!”

“This is getting added to the list of dumb ideas…” Bozius muttered, though he still brought his horse around for a return strike.

“You keep a list?” Rory was flattered. “Rafule, make a door!”

“It’s too bouncy…” the boy whimpered.

“We don’t have time for this,” Rory was kicking his horse into a full-on mad gallop.

“It’s hard to aim…”

“Who said anything about precision?” Rory asked. “Can you make it really big?”

“How big?”

“Ginormous!” Bozious hollered.

“I think so…”

“Then go big, Raffy,” Rory smiled. “Go big!”

In the moments that followed, Rory wasn’t sure if the world around him went dark, or if the force flashing forth from Rafule’s hand was just brighter than the sun itself, but either way it was all magic. Unlike the spire of flame that Rafule nearly struck Rory with just the previous morning, this had no beauty or sculpture to it, let alone direction. A widespread cone of fire spread before them, and Rory was pretty sure that any misstep at this point would immediately result in him being roasted alive. Tightening his grip on the reigns, the pirate made a wish that everything would go perfect.

And for a blink of an instant, it all did.

The twin guard towers swirled into infernos of screaming death, with archers leaping two stories to the ground, choosing broken bones over smoldering flesh. The gates burst away under the sheer magnitude of Rafule Charsbic’s magical power. Travelers and guards alike ran for their lives, desperate to escape the hellish fury that relentlessly sprang forth from the hands of a scared teenaged boy. Bozius’s white stallion leapt forth to lead the way, ignorant of the raging inferno blazing all around. Rory and Rafule followed on their black steed, and escape was within their grasp.

Then Rafule began vomiting endlessly and fell off of the horse.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Rory cursed as he brought his charger to a hault. “Bozius, man down!”

“Leave him!”

“We can’t do that!”

Rory wasn’t quite sure what his friend grumbled next, but it sounded faintly like, “Dammit! All a man wants is some peace and quiet and sex…”

Rory leapt down from the horse and ran to the young wizard’s aid. The boy finally stopped puking—hopefully—but couldn’t rise to his feet under his own power. Rory attempted to help, but discovered his own strength failing him.

“Give him here, you weak little girl,” Bozius bawked, tossing the woozy boy over his shoulder. “Puke on me, kid, and I will gut you! Rory, get on Lightning.”

“Which one is—”

“The black one!” Bozius screamed. “The black one that you’ve been riding all this time! The one right there!”

Rory climbed up and Bozius laid Rafule’s limp form across Rory’s lap. At this time, a small group of confused and leary guards and citizens were massing nearby. Rory turned to look at them.

“Um…” time seemed to be of the essence here. “Another victory for the Cache of the Hand!” Twice in two days, he thought. I really hate that stupid name!

“Cache of the Hand?” an old man repeated. “You bastards!”

“Yeah! We hate the Cache of the Hand!” added another voice, and soon the whole mob was taking up the anti-Hand chant.

“Hey, fearless leader, good work,” Bozius called over from his horse. “Now can we please leave before they realize you’re a liar?”

“Ah, yes, right, Bozius, good plan,” Rory looked down at Rafule before kicked his horse into motion. “Don’t puke on me, kid. This shirt is silk.”

The remnants of Rafule’s destruction settled to ash as the last remaining flames licked at the air. Hopefully, this Golden Doll was going to be worth all this trouble.

* * *

THE SUN WAS shining, birds were chirping, the horses were sweating, and Rafule stunk like vomit; all in all, Rory considered the day thus far a success. He wasn’t proud of the fact that a restless night spent with Starla at the Broken Spoke blew his chance to steal the Golden Doll with ease, but Rory surely didn’t regret the night as a whole. That woman could do things with her body that seemed impossible to the imagination…

Still, the mission was still on. Sweeping in and stealing the Golden Doll from Lord Wordsly now was going to be quite the dilemma—after all, he had a large armed escort with him—but not at all impossible—after all, he had a large armed escort with him last time. The important issue now was devising a plan to accomplish this goal, sans magic. I wonder if passing out from the mental and physical stress of launching the Apocalypse upon two guard towers constitutes as a nap, Rory pondered, hoping that when Rafule finally awoke from his coma he could cast another spell. That sure would be nice…

“This is stupid,” Bozius piped in, bringing Rory’s thoughts back into reality with a crash. “Wordsly’s gonna have guards, Rory. Probably more now that he knows people are after his stupid doll.”

“Stupid?” Rory asked. “Bozy, what’s stupid about a solid gold doll is that we don’t currently possess it. I assure you, it won’t seem so stupid when we’re swimming in a pool full of money!”

“Rory, how do you expect to pull this one off? There’s two of us!”

“We’ve got Rafule…”

Bozius looked at Rory for a brief moment, then quickly returned his eyes to the road. “There’s two of us, and who knows how many of them.”

“You saw the body back in the forest,” Rory put in. “Wordsly’s guards are worthless.”

“You bring up a good point, Rory, I’m sorry, yes,” Bozius stated, reigning Thunder in to a hault. “The Cache of the Hand attacked Wordsly and killed his men!”

“I really wish we could call them something else,” Rory pleaded. “Seriously, I know it’s supposed to sound like cash, and it’s cute because their thieves, but really? Can’t we just call them the Hand?”

“That might get confused too easily with Dante the Hand,” Bozius countered thoughtfully.

“That bandit with the one arm?” Rory asked. “I thought he retired.”

“Oh no, he robbed some beggars outside of Trivelva just last week.”

“Beggars? Really, the man stole from beggars?”

“He’s got one arm, Rory!”

“Then he should retire!”

The two friends sat atop their horses for a bit in silent contemplation. A bee hovered nearby but continued on its merry way, and Rafule groaned a bit but did not wake up.

“What were we talking about?” Rory asked, dumfounded.

“That this heist is a stupid idea and we should go somewhere else,” Bozius answered. “Not just ‘cause we’re trying to steal something from a heavily guarded nobleman, but if we get caught on the Queen’s Parkway, we’ll be tossed into some dungeon somewhere for sure! Only nobles are supposed to be here!”

“Oh, Bozy, you worry a bit too much,” Rory smiled, nudging his horse into motion. “Rafule’s going to wake up any minute now, rejuvenated and ready to set victory into motion in a blaze of glory!”

“He’s not sleeping, Rory, he’s unconscious!” Bozy stated. “And, as long as we’re talking about it, I don’t feel comfortable with this. I don’t want to go down in a blaze of glory! How can we trust some kid who can throw fire from his hands?”

“He’s on our side, he likes us,” Rory replied, almost patting the sleeping boy’s head but changing his mind last minute upon noticing chunks of vomit sitting in Rafule’s hair. Rory settled for patting the teenager on the shoulder instead. “He needs a role model, is all. I nominate you.”

“I ain’t no baby-sitter,” Bozius argued.

“Never thought you could be, Bozy,” Rory muttered. “But you could mentor the boy, show him what it means to be a man.”

“He wants to be a man? That’s easy! Let’s leave him here to fend for himself. That’ll make a man of him real quick!”

“Bozy, don’t be ridic—wait…” Rory’s thoughts drifted off as he brought Lighting to a stop.

“What is it?” Bozius asked, before seeing for himself. “Oh…”

Several hundred yards ahead, cresting over one of the Queen’s rolling summits, was Lord Wordsly and his retinue. The Parkway was, for the most part, a long, flat bridge, but having to accommodate for the rolling foothills that were the Bumperton Hills, the Queen’s Parkway occasionally rolled with the terrain. The inclines were slight, but enough to offer Rory and his friends some cover at this distance. Nevertheless, they would soon enough be discovered, if they hadn’t already.

“So much for the element of surprise,” Bozius spat. “Wake the kid up!”

“I thought you didn’t trust him?” Rory quipped.

“No use in carrying his dead weight around,” Bozius muttered. “If we’re going to do this, I want to at least have a little bit of fire leading the way. Blaze of glory and all that stupid nonsense. I’m glad I got to do a Transcontinental Swordfish one last time…”

“A transcontinental…” Rory was both confused and intrigued. “What exactly did you do with those girls last night?”

“It involves five willing participants, a few pints of jelly, two blind folds, some candles, and a very lucky me,” Bozius summed all matter-of-factly as if it should be common knowledge. “After that, it gets complicated.”

“Hell, we have to survive this!” Rory proclaimed. “I want a transcontinental sword fight!”

“Swordfish, Rory,” Bozius corrected. “Unless you’re looking for seven very willing men.”

“Seven? Why does the Sword Fight have more?”

“Can you focus, please!”

“Right, Bozy, right,” Rory agreed. “But after this, I want explanations. Rafule!” Rory started slapping the boy in the face. “Wake up, my legs are numb!”

“Mama?” Rafule grumbled as he slowly came to. “Can we have pancakes for dinner?”

“What? No, foolish boy, wake up,” Rory demanded. “Quit dreaming, we need your skills. Although pancakes do sound better than cold chicken and warm beer…”

Rafule looked up at Rory, around at his surroundings, and seemed to be waking up. Then he dropped his head back down and puked again.

“Ah, that’s it! Off!” Rory shouted, pushing the boy to the road.

“Yes, good idea, just in case they didn’t see us yet,” Bozius was shaking his head.

Rafule puked and gagged a bit, his face was pale and eyes bloodshot, but other than that he seemed to be okay. Rory checked for puke stains on his clothes and then made sure that the boy missed the horse. All seemed well.

“Have a nice nap?” Rory inquired.

“What?” Rafule asked. “No. What happened?”

“Fire and brimstone and then you blacked out like a drunk sissy,” Bozius recapped.

“All class, Bozy,” Rory said.

“It’s all I know how to be,” Bozius replied dryly.

“Wait? I passed out?” Rafule reached his hands out for balance, catching himself on Lightning’s dark black flanks. “I never cast anything that powerful before! Looks like it worked, right? I mean, we got out of there, huh?”

“Yes, yes, all is well, good job,” Rory rushed along. “But now that we’re awake, we need you to work your magic on those men up ahead.”

Rafule looked up at Rory with a baffled expression on his face. “But I can’t.”

“Sure you can, piece of cake,” Rory corrected. “Just hop back up here, we’ll ride out, and you’ll torch Lord Wordsly for all the injustice he has shown you. Everyhing will be splendid and we’ll all be rich!”

“No, Rory, you don’t understand,” Rafule stated. “It’s not like I was sleeping. I lost consciousness from the magnitude of the spell I cast. I’m lucky to be alive! I’m going to need a full night’s rest—hopefully in a comfortable bed—before I’ll be able to cast anything.”

Rory felt his fortune slipping away like sand through his fingers. All the grandiose possibilities to do all the insane things that only a horse-cart full of freshly minted bobbies could afford, all vanquished with two simple words: I can’t.

Bozius sighed heavily. “Does Wordsly know you can throw fire out of your hands?”

“Yes, of course,” Rafule answered. “That’s why he hired me.”

“And does he know that you just rained red hot death back at Appleton?”

“No, how could he…”

Rory met eyes with Bozius, and suddenly found himself on the same page as his muscle-bound friend. “Bozy, I like the way you think!”

* * *

LORD WORDSLY’S RETINUE was in sight, cresting one of the final rolls of the Queen’s Parkway before the road took on a flattened pitch into the Crescent Mountains. Rory, Bozius, and Rafule were fast approaching from behind, charging hard so as to be heard by the rear guard. This plan started to take on more similarities to running headlong into the gaping mouth of a dragon, but it was the only plan they had, and was quickly becoming the only option available.

The pounding hooves of Thunder and Lightning surely had the intended effect, as several guards from Lord Wordsly’s entourage—some on foot, some on horseback, all armed to the teeth—fanned out to create a defensive wall, the cart carrying the nobleman himself drifting further ahead along the highway to take up a further protected position.

“Bear no further, strangers,” shouted a man on horseback whose helmet was adorned with a long, puffy tassel. Apparently this frilly decoration was how Wordsly identified his officers. The olive green and soft beige colors of the lieutenant’s wardrobe made it quite difficult to take the man seriously, but Rory listened to his loftily-worded proclamation nonetheless. “Another step and we shall open fire upon you!”

Rory and Bozius brought their horses to an abrupt stop, bringing them whinnying up on their hind legs. From the looks in the eyes of the guards, this apparently had the effect Rory was hoping for; he and his comrades looked large and mysterious, proficient and threatening. As the horses came down, Rory turned the flank of Lightning towards the guards, to make his great reveal.

“Sir, I believe you know my associate,” Rory suggested, with Rafule sitting behind him in his gleaming white robes. I think I understand a little more why the kid wears such ridiculous clothes, Rory thought.

“Charsbic?” The lieutenant recalled, struggling now to keep his horse from teetering back and forth. The man may not have wanted to believe his eyes, but it was doubtful that his beast forgot about seeing a boy throwing fireballs around. “But we—”

“Left him for dead?” Rory interrupted. “Yes, we know all about that. You shouldn’t ever cross a powerful sorcerer.”

“But… but, for the safety of our liege, for the protection of—”

“The Golden Doll?” Rory loved cutting this guy off. Better than that, watching the man gulp down his nervousness at hearing reference to the treasure in Lord Wordsly’s possession was making this heist seem to open itself up to Rory. “Yes, we know all about it. Hand it over, and we’ll keep Master Charsbic from using you and your little troop here for tinder.”

“Rafule Charsbic couldn’t harm me if you held a dagger to his neck and another to his nethers,” claimed a defiant voice from within the cart. Shortly after, the large, silk-bedecked form of Lord Byron Wordsly wrestled itself from the comparatively cramped confines of his carriage. He appeared as if to be wearing clothing stitched together from a dozen different fabrics, all of colors that couldn’t possibly be found in nature—several bolts likely because the man could not possibly fit into anything aside from a blanket that was not particularly tailored to his massive proportions. However, where his blubber failed him, his voice and the look in his devilish eyes gave him a presence that granted him some intimidation. “Isn’t that right, nephew?”

Rory felt is jaw drop, a very bad tell if they were playing cards right now. He tipped his head towards Rafule and whispered, “Nephew?”

“Um…” Rafule was silent for a moment, his pale cheeks blushing. “That’s kind of how I got the job…”

“I’m gonna gut you!” Bozius growled through pressed teeth. He was trying to keep his voice down, and was spitting with every word. “I’m gonna beat you within an inch of your life, and then I’m gonna gut you, kid!”

“Bozy,” Rory whispered, “nobody’s gutting anyone. Rafule, you didn’t think this bit of information was important at all?”

“Now I do, I guess…”

Rory huffed out a breath, composed himself, and looked out over the guards at the nobleman. “Uncle Byron, you lost any protection you may have had when you chained your nephew to a tree!”

“It was mercy!” the pompous noble balked. “You rescued him, didn’t you?”

“He’s got ya there, Rory,” Bozius leaned in to add.

“Shut up,” Rory hissed.

“It seems that everything worked itself out,” Wordsly decided. “Lieutenant Mackle, if you will please escort our guests off the Parkway?”

“Yes, m’lord,” the man who started the dealings with Rory earlier replied, stepping forth with several others to “escort” Rory and his friends to their demise. Bozius was already drawing swords.

“Do you have any idea who you’re dealing with, Wordsly?” came a new voice. Looking over, Rory saw a line of black-clad men standing on the side wall of the Queen’s Parkway. All of the men wore black masks, save for the man who was speaking. His long, dark blonde hair was streaming in the breeze, and across his face was painted a spread out red hand.

“Oh damn…” Rory cursed to himself.

“Sullivan,” Bozius stated, recognizing the bandit that both he and Rory had experienced several run-ins with in the past. Sullivan was pretty much Bozius’s way of seconding Rory’s oh damn.

“The Cache of the Hand!” Lieutenant Mackle shouted. “Men, at the ready!” The guards quickly gave up on Rory, Bozius, and Rafule, and expended all their focus on the newly-arrived bandits.

“I wouldn’t be so quick to turn away if I were you, lieutenant,” Sullivan advised in mock-seriousness. “For that is Roderick Casbury you show your back to!”

“The pirate?” Mackle asked, confused.

“Couldn’t you tell?” Sullivan replied. “Silk shirt, ridiculous bandana that he chooses to wear as a scarf, knee-high boots. Not so dangerous with a sword, but leave him alone with your wife for five minutes…”

“I didn’t know she was your wife, Sullivan!” Rory piped in.

“He never does,” Bozius added.

“Bozius Bozinius, is that you?” Sullivan smiled, to which Bozius responded with a snarl. “Oh, I’m sorry, you don’t like your name being out there, right? I totally forgot… Bozius Bozinius.”

“How’s the leg, Sully?” Bozius retorted, to which Sullivan’s smile became a grimace. The last time they all met, Bozius slashed his sword deep into Sullivan’s hamstring, practically crippling the man. Obviously, time heals all wounds.

“Hardly notice it, Bozy,” Sullivan responded. “Was that you? I completely forgot.” Sullivan’s gaze quickly snapped over to the nobleman’s cart, into which Wordsly was struggling to get back. “Where do you think your off to, fat man? It’s rude to leave in the middle of a conversation.”

Responding to a faint hand wave from Sullivan, several of the Cache of the Hand bandits swarmed in, leapt wholly over the guards—footmen and cavalry alike—and encircled the carriage. Another took perch atop the wagon. Wordsly’s shaking hands held onto the door knob as if it might grant him salvation. More bandits entered the Parkway from the opposite side, and Rory was quickly starting to dislike the odds.

“I see you got your hands on the mage, Roderick,” Sullivan called out, staring daggers at Rafule. “Are we going to have any trouble this time, boy?”

“Rory, I’ve got nothing,” Rafule whispered.

“They don’t know that,” Rory replied. “Just stay calm, we’ll get out of this.”

“Dragon Peak,” Bozius suggested.

“Really?” Rory was taken aback. “I’m hearing this from you?”

“It’s all we got,” Bozius replied.

“What’s Dragon Peak?” Rafule asked nervously.

Dragon Peak is one of the highest points in the Crescent Mountains. Several years prior, Rory and Bozius were on the run from a small militia, having acquired from a nearby mining town a large payment for iron ore. Needless to say, the townsfolk were angered, and spent all their available energy and resources and energy hunting Rory and Bozius down. Even the mayor joined the hunt, and was whisked along in a carriage similar in proportion to what Lord Wordsly was currently riding around in. Trapped on Dragon Peak with surrender seeming to be the only realistic option, Rory and Bozius decided instead to charge the horse-drawn carried full on, leap up onto and over it, take the horses’ reigns, and head away at full speed down the trail away from Dragon Peak. With the mayor as a screaming hostage within the cart, the militia refused to strike out at the thieves. Eventually, Rory and Bozius sent the horses charging away down one trail and themselves escaped down another, with their loot but without their original horses.

“I’d hate to lose these horses,” Rory lamented.

“What are their names?” Bozius asked.

“Thunder and Lighting,” Rory replied.

“And which one are you on?”

“Thunder?”

“I’m pretty sure you’ll get over the loss,” Bozius assured him.

“What’s Dragon Peak?” Rafule asked again.

“It’s going to be hard with the kid,” Rory added.

“Then we leave him,” Bozius responded.

“What?!” Rafule shrieked.

“What are you idiots plotting over there?” Sullivan asked, nodding to his men to approach them.

The moment of truth was fast approaching. Wordsly’s entourage was confused and likely scared, the Cache of the Hand was scattered but still strong in numbers, and a few of the bandits were slowly approaching Rory, Bozius, and Rafule. Every passing moment reduced their chances of escape, and right now the element of surprise was their only weapon.

“Rafule, if you don’t jump when the opportunity presents itself, I don’t know if we’ll be able to save you,” Rory said. “So be ready.”

“What?” Rafule responded fearfully, but his yipe quickly became a scream—that had the added effect of taking the approaching bandits aback—as Rory and Bozius kicked Thunder and Lighting into a full-on charge at Wordsly’s cart. Some of the lord’s retinue jumped out of the way, others were ran under. The bandits of the Cache of the Hand that encircled the carried flipped out of the way—apparently you had to be a former acrobat to join their ranks—and as Thunder and Lightning closed in, Rory and Bozius leapt atop the carriage. The horses forked around either side and continued on.

Swept up by the confusion of everything going on around him, Rafule remained atop Thunder, who continued galloping on past all the mayhem. Wordsly desperately grabbed at the passing horse, but his fumbling hands couldn’t find purchase.

“Nephew,” pleaded the desperate lord, “don’t leave me!”

Rory and Bozius had a more pressing issue to contend with: one bandit stood atop the carriage.

“One of us should get to the horses,” Bozius stated, taking a step.

“Right you are,” Rory agreed, slipping gingerly past the confused bandit. “Good plan!”

“I meant me!” Bozius growled, drawing a sword and entering combat with the bandit. The black-clad fighter was swift, but armed only with two small daggers. Still, with little space to work with, the better coordinated and more agile acrobatic bandit had the advantage. Bozius was quickly on his back, desperately trying to block and dodge incoming blows.

Suddenly, with Rory taking the reigns of the two horses assigned pulling duties, the carriage made an abrupt and bumpy leap forward. Jostled, the Cache of the Hand bandit lost footing, and Bozius took this opportunity for a quick kick to his opponent’s crotch and a continuing sweep of his leg to push the man over to the road below. Bozius pulled himself together and joined Rory to guide the horses.

“That worked!” Rory smiled, handing some reigns to Bozius. “Again!”

“Don’t go poppin’ the cork just yet, Rory,” Bozius warned, looking over his shoulder at the mob that was amassing to chase them down.

At first, it appeared that Wordsly’s men and the Cache of the Hand were battling, which was good news for this escape plan. Then, however, their actions seemed to coordinate, as both parties gave chase to the fleeing horse cart. At this time, Rafule was turning about to return to Rory and Bozius.

“What an idiot!” Bozius cursed. “What is that boy doing? He was free!”

“I think he wants to help,” Rory considered.

“He was helping! He was no longer in the way! I’m not dying for this kid, Rory!”

Some deal must have been struck between Sullivan and Wordsly, because the approaching horses had both guards and bandits on them. Meanwhile, Rafule was also closing in. Escape was within reach, but this boy’s actions could ruin it all. Still, the more pressing matter was to handle to the angry and armed men that were quickly catching up to the carriage. Rory and Bozius both had a tight grip on their swords, ready for combat at any moment.

As Rafule closed in, he raised on hand to the sky, and in his palm appeared a small but quite noticeable flame. As he arced around the carriage, this small display was apparently enough to stop the chasing bandits and guards in their tracks. Rafule continued his arc and caught up alongside the carriage.

“I thought you didn’t have anything left,” Bozius mentioned.

“Like Rory said,” Rafule responded, “I had a little nap.”

“But I thought that was only good for small magic,” Rory asked.

“They don’t know that,” Rafule smiled.

With that, the trio headed off into the Crescent Mountains. They managed to get Lightning back along the way, but that wasn’t the most important prize: securely within the carriage was a large doll made of solid gold!