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“Zee shortest way to zee Hive from here,” Marcel Pierre Clouseau told Elliot, “eez east srough zee Bols de Mort field, but eef you go zat way, you must be most cairful not to touch zem.”
“Bols de Mort?”
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“Cassandra!… Cassandra! Can you hear me? Where are you? Are you all right?… Cassandra!” Elliot charged over the mossy ground, first in one direction, then in another, frantically calling as the shadows stretched deeper into the woods and the eastern sky darkened to cobalt.
“Cassandra…” his hoarseness whispered away to nothing as he slumped to the ground and wept.
“Excusé moi?” a smoky voice rasped, “I cannot help but wondair eef you are een need of some kind of asseestance.”
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Holding Cassandra close, Elliot was barely aware of the approaching buzz before pain stabbed into his neck.
His world dissolved in a cloud of black mist.
Shivering and shaken, he awoke in the shadows of late afternoon. Alone.
“Cassandra?… Cassandra!”
To be continued. . .
Previously, on Elliot’s Adventures ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Next time . . .
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Captain McWatt of the Light of Day Aero Squadron struck and tore, shredded and tossed every Marauder within his reach. Sirehta’s brothers turned on their captors with unleashed hatred.
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Winding his way through bracken and brush, Sirehta returned to the battlefield, seeking out the Rebel commander who’d sent him to scout the south.
“Sir, the Evil Ones lie many leagues distant. Their number is small compared to ours. Their own recruits, the Foaming Reds, attacked them before their howling allies could save them. I believe the threat is low.”
“Do you? I’ll bear that in mind, soldier,” the commander sneered. “Leagues, you say? Well, I say your pace is impressive. Use it on your way to the front — your breakfast ration is up to you. Dismissed.”
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Young Scout Philbin’s reckless race back to his own unit echoed the turmoil in his head. What’s the King thinking, trusting that serpent? He’ll probably eat them all before they can blink. If I were King, I’d tie that bugger’s mouth shut and… Hey, if he eats them, we’re gonna need a new King. Hmm, King Philbin… I’d definitely wear a crown. And have people wait on me. And eat off golden plates. And have a harem. And kiss all the girls…
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“Stand down, soldier,” the King laughed. “You’re alarming our ally.”
Confused but obedient, young Scout Philbin scanned the Knights’ faces before stammering, “Uh… King Arnie, I’ve located the… um, Marauders.” He threw a quick glance at Sirehta. “They’re less than five minutes ahead, raiding the winter stores of the tree dwellers.”
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King Arnie’s calm faced Sirehta’s anger. “You can see we are not demons, flaming or otherwise. We are only protecting our homeland from those who want to harm us. Where is your home, soldier?”
“My home is gone.”
“Destroyed?”
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Weapon in hand, King Arnie faced the noise. Half a dozen Knights moved soundlessly into the bracken, encircling the suspected threat.
“You’re surrounded. Show yourself,” the King commanded.
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King Arnie led half his Knights of Service north through the bracken, paralleling the eastern road to the river. Lieutenant Terrance led the other half along the western route. Teams of scouts boomeranged from and between each division to update their leaders about the path ahead and the other’s progress.
“Your Greatness,” the King’s fifth scouting team reported, “there’s another vanquished red ten minutes ahead, but no sign yet of the Marauders.”
Space, Time, and Raspberries 
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