The sudden and stealthy appearance of a skilled bandit shocked even the hardened members of the royal guard. There was nothing they could do for fear he would cause the Prince grievous harm. If they assaulted him, his swords would slip and slash the prince’s soft, sensitive throat. The bandit opened his stubbly mouth in a sneer, knowing full well he had the upper hand.

“This is the Prince’s royal guard?” he scoffed. “This? You didn’t even hear me. I fell like silent rain from the tops of the trees. They taught me well in Scum County.”

With a sudden move, he pressed his cold blades up closer to the Prince’s neck letting his flabby skin hang over the blade. “If you know what’s good for him, surrender your weapons to my men and sit still.”

Archibald breathed hard but kept a straight face. He didn’t look like it, but he was more conditioned for the situation than any of the other men. The eyebrow and skin above the bandit’s eye patch lowered when he saw Archibald.

“You some kind of mercenary the loathsome Coates hired?” The bandit asked with slight unease. “Did they fear their son needed more protection if these royal clowns couldn’t hack it?”

Archibald put his hands behind his back. He gave a cold chuckle. “Funny you say that to me. I am their court jester, their official royal clown.”

Archibald continued to chuckle and the bandit’s face grew tense. He couldn’t tolerate someone who scoffed at him, especially someone whose job it was to laugh and be merry. “Hey Bungo, Snipps, why don’t you wipe this smile off this clown’s face before we make off with the boy.”

Archibald smiled and looked to his left and right. A weedy stringy haired man with a hooked nose and bulging eyes approached him on the left. A burly bald man with a small head perched on top of his large body moved in on the right. Snipps pulled out a dagger and grinned with his crooked yellow teeth while Bungo smashed his hands together like an unleashed gorilla.

“Every small time crook sure likes to employ the same looking henchmen,” Archibald remarked with his hands crossed. “How about a beautiful henchwoman? That’d be the only thing that’d make me quake in my shoes.”

Snipps and Bungo were unflinching and lunged forward, ready to grab the Majester and maim him. Right when they did, Archibald loosened a bag of liquid from his ankle, kicking it up in the air before somersaulting away on his hands.

Snipps and Bungo only had seconds to roll away but it was already too late. The water drenched them. Slowly, their skin began to bubble and smooth. Their cheeks grew rosy and their eyelashes lengthened. Long hair sprouted from their bald spots and their bodies curved in feminine ways. In spite of their new female appearance, they were still clearly the bandit’s henchmen with the same respective girth and weediness.

“Oy Snipps,” Bungo said in a high pitched voice. “Ow come you look like an ugly lassie?”

“You do too, Bungo. See look!” Bungo took one look in the reflection of her partner’s nicely polished dagger and let out a squeal before running off. Snipp looked into the dagger too and quickly passed out.

“Well,” Archibald remarked with his hands on his hips. “I tried to help you fellas but beautiful henchwomen you don’t make.”

“Don’t run like a pack o’ girls” the head bandit shouted.

“As a matter of fact, they are girls,” Archibald said holding his hands together and walking towards the prince and the bandit. “And what kind of gentleman leaves his lady friends in distress?”

“Enough joking, you clown” the bandit said, growing increasingly unhinged. “I heard exactly what you were saying under the bridge. This so-called prince is going to be a great hero. Well, I’ll tell you this- that ain’t gonna happen if I have a say in it.”

“I thought you just wanted his treasure?” Archibald said with a shoulder shrug.

“I do, but it’s deeper than that. I’m going to get rid of this tyrant.”

The Prince’s eyes shot open as he felt the blade press further into this throat, choking him a little.

“I work in the Coates mines in Scum County, digging up the Prince’s pixie dust. He uses it more than any regular joe in this kingdom. Why is someone who does nuthin get everything, while someone like me, who works fo’ a living, get nuthin?”

Cyrus gave a congested squeal as blood dripped from his neck onto the bandit’s swords.

“It should be me saving the princess while this fat hog drowns in his blue blood. Forget the ransom. I can’t bear to look at him anymore.”

“You don’t fear the law or repercussions for his death? It’s best you surrender now,” Archibald exclaimed.

“I’ll never surrender to the likes of you. Royal law is a total ass.”

From his sleeve, Archibald slung a carrot like a concealed knife. It shot through the air and landed perfectly in the bandit’s mouth muffling his irate voice. Unfortunately, he was caught in mid-sentence, forcing him to bite down on the dastardly vegetable.

The bandit froze. He began to shake like he was enduring a powerful seizure. It was a full body spasm. Right when he was about to cut Cyrus throat, black hooves sprouted from his hands. He fumbled his swords, which bounced off his hands and fell with a clatter. He screamed as he stared at his hands, but his scream was cut off by an animal’s bleat. Long floppy ears sprouted from his head and lightly fell aside as large buck teeth shot out of his mouth. He fell backwards off the gilded throne onto the ground. When Archibald, Cyrus and the guards looked at where he fell, there was a pure bred, black furred donkey, braying and picking at the grass.

Archibald gave a cawing laugh. “No, sir, you are a total ass.”

“Whoa, what did you use on them?” Cyrus said, rubbing his neck but awestruck all the same.

“Transformation water from the hidden fountain of Cassia Lam and a carrot blessed by the lord of fairies, Octoberon himself.”

“Whoa you didn’t even tell me about those.”

“Some surprises I’ve saved for the most fitting moments on our journey,” the Majester teased.

“When can I use them?” Cyrus asked in a whining tone. “You only let me use dragon powder.”

“Well it has the least dangerous side effect. All the tricks I perform, while easy to use, are just as easy to botch. If you want to come home looking like a girl or a donkey be my guest.”

Cyrus was disappointed by Archibald. He looked up to the Majester but he didn’t appreciate the restrictions the jester imposed on his magic. As they passed Snipps’ unconscious body, heading further into the forest glade, the sun no longer filtered through the trees in little pricks. The new shadows and sudden chill darkened the Prince’s mentality as he reflected for the first time on the bandit’s words.

Was he really as useless the bandit said? Did thousands really toil for pixie dust while he freely sprinkled it on everything that made life easier for him? These were things that never crossed his mind before. Thought he didn’t let on, Cyrus’ ego was as fragile as his temperament, and his face spread in a nasty scowl. He started to look with ire on the fact that other men carried him and fought his battles for him. He wanted the glory all to himself. The royal guards smartly looked away pretending they couldn’t see or feel his emotion, but Archiabald always glimpsed with an empathetic eye every now and then.

The men headed down a sloped incline deeper into the forest. They tried hard not to slide on the sloped dirt hill and drop the Prince for his anger would be unceasing. The darkness advanced as they headed deeper and deeper. Though it was only midday, it felt like night. Grey ghoulish fog clouds hovered over the shrouds of shrubbery and the air was cool and still. Much to the men’s relief, the only animals they heard were chitters of small rodents and chirps of tiny birds.

The air relaxed the men. They had been carrying the Prince in the heat of the midday summer sun for hours. The resounding calm proved to lure them into a false sense of security when a sickly growl came from the bushes and startled them. Half of them jumped and the gilded throne slipped from their hands, hitting the slope with a resounding crash. Cyrus screamed as his throne became a makeshift bob sled. Cyrus held onto the edges of his throne as the world sped up around him. He closed his eyes in fear.

Fortunately for Cyrus’ stomach, his momentum slowed and his new sled came to a stand still. A ferocious growl prompted him to open his eyes and when he did, he let out a high pitched squeal. His face was two inches away from the enormous dragon like muzzle of a white winged wolfhound. Foam and drool seeped from the ridged inside of its mouth, but it was the perfectly sharpened array of pointed teeth that scarred Cyrus the most. Those pearly white teeth desired to stain themselves with the prince’s blood and tear his head from his meaty torso. Cyrus screamed; he knew his life would be over in a matter of seconds.