Cyrus screamed as he felt the animal gnaw at his arm. He expected ripping pain but instead felt the soft squishiness of the animal’s gums.

“Looking for these doggie?” A familiar voice asked with confidence.

Cyrus and the wolfhound glanced up and saw a set of sharpened teeth hovering in Archibald’s hand. The wolfhound yipped and darted off as Cyrus finally felt himself breath again. “Don’t relax now, Princey. Look ahead of you.”

Cyrus looked up and saw a whole pack of black, white and brown wolfhounds, all with razor sharp teeth spread in a canine grins. Their thin but toned legs ended with sharpened claws and they howled in unison before tearing towards the prince and his loyal servants. Before they could reach their prey, several men let out loud cries and dashed at the beasts, swinging their swords and brandishing their shields.

“Wow, didn’t even need to call the cavalry,” Archibald remarked, putting his hands behind his head. “They care about your well being, princey.”

Cyrus observed the men who jabbed at the beasts. The wolfhounds, in turn, dodged swiftly with their enhanced animal senses and bit into the men’s armor, not even chinking it. Neither side seemed to progress in this scuffle, and Cyrus started to feel that this was his moment. A well placed fireball from his throat could set those beasts’ fur ablaze. He looked over at Archibald who had laid his tiny briefcase on the ground to watch the brawl.

The prince slowly moved his bottom across the ground, sliding it from his throne onto the dirt where small grassy tufts sprouted. He prayed that Archibald wouldn’t see him reach for the case. Much to his luck, the Majester was strangely entranced by the battle scene. Cyrus stretched his hands towards the brassy handles of the brief case and opened it up. A large painted jack-in-the-box sprang up on a coil spring and let out a horrifying laugh. Archibald’s alarm, Cyrus thought.

He quickly made a grasp for whatever was inside the case. Archibald screamed, “Hey! What are you doing, princey?!”

Cyrus felt a cold circular object and snatched it. He knew that whatever he grabbed could probably end the battle quickly. He pulled it out, and without any further thinking, chucked it into the fray.

A glint of green sparkled in the air as Archibald screamed “nooooo” in a dramatic fashion. It was the frog coin from Pimplelips and when it hit the ground, green smoke enraptured through the air, consuming both man and beast. Archibald quickly jumped in front of Cyrus and produced a jar from his briefcase. The jar was bright purple with a goofy looking eyeball painted on the front of it, and when he opened it up, it began to suck all the smoke in a whirlwind. The green smoke completely dissipated, and Cyrus came to a shocking realization: only two people remained on the edge of the battle field. Twenty one lumpy toads the size of a human palm hopped along the ground, quickly heading in different directions.

“Did they turn into toads?” Cyrus asked bluntly knowing the answer.

Archibald crossed his arms, thumping his fingers on the edge of his elbow. There was a legitimate look of irritation in his eyes, but he refused to aim it at the young prince. He gently nodded.

Cyrus slowly started to sob. Archibald turned his head, hoping the prince had fully realized his mistake.

“Why are you crying sire?” he asked with a look of concern in his eyes.

“There’s no one left to carry my throne,” Cyrus bawled.

Archibald grimaced. “I hate to break it to you but there’s much worse problems afoot. Thanks to you, many good men have had their livelihoods reduced to toadihoods. And to make matters worse: the only one who can make elixirs to cure this is Pimplelips herself.”

“Why does that concern me?” Cyrus asked remaining as blunt as ever.

“They were your men.”

“They were my father’s men,” Cyrus said correcting him.

The darkness in Archibald’s eyes reflected a time in his past he didn’t wish to remember. “They were men just the same.”

Cyrus crawled back to his throne like a wretched rat and silently sat on it. Archibald began to pace back and forth in a manic fashion. “For instance, Sir Thompkins has an ailing wife who desperately needed the silver to pay for her medicine. How’s he going to do it now as Sir Frogkins?”

Archibald paced in the other direction, motioning his hands through the air. “Or what about good Sir Etheredge, who I believe is allergic to toads. How do you think he’s faring right now, princey?”

Cyrus crossed his arms and closed his eyes. “The lives of my servants are not a matter to me, they’re for my father to deal with.”

“But one day, they’ll be your subjects,” Archibald turned to look at Cyrus with a look of resignation in his eyes. “Perhaps I was wrong to have so much faith in you princeykins”.

“How dare you say that to me?” Cyrus exclaimed. “You’re my subject. I ought to have you executed for saying such things in defiance of me!”

“Oh what’s that sound?” Archibald said, comically putting his hand to his ear. “Do I hear them tying a noose off in the distance? Oh, no, guess it was just the wind.”

Almost brought on by madness, the Majester began to do a merry little jig. Lifting his legs up in the air, he pranced in place with a mischievous smile.

“Why are you so happy?”

“Because princey poo, today is a momentous day. The day you truly learn how to care for your own hide. Get up, we have much traveling to do.”

Cyrus firmly planted his large buttocks on his throne. He was in complete denial and angry at Archibald for even suggesting such a thing.

“Why are you just sitting there, princey?”

“I want you to use pixie dust to levitate this throne for me,” Cyrus responded.

“Mmm, what was that?” The Majester said putting his ear out.

“I want you to levitate this throne for me.”

“Sorry, I couldn’t hear you. I was too busy pouring out my last bag of pixie dust.”

True to his word, the Majester dumped his remaining bag of pixie dust into the dirt. “Nooooo!” Cyrus’ eyes bugged and he sat right up, jogging as fast as he could to stop his servant.

Unfortunately, Cyrus’ legs were too short and he didn’t reach his servant in time. Archibald held out his hands in a showy pose. “Well that got you up and running! Too late though.”

“That’s no fair! Not fair at all!”

Archibald began to prance off. He raised his hand to declare checkmate. “First law of the land. Nothing is fair but the ladies.”

Archibald moved to leave the battlefield, and though Cyrus considered just throwing himself on the ground and having a tantrum, the young prince decided to walk too. A small smile curled on his jester companion’s lips.

After returning to gather their food and clothes from the burlap sacks the soldiers were carrying, Cyrus and Archibald walked for miles through the misty forest. Not a step went by that Cyrus didn’t let Archibald know how much his feet hurt. His ridiculous outfit made matters worse with his zebra pants constantly draping over his feet, tripping him up and making him grumpier. Only a tiny tinge of regret crossed Archibald’s mind; but he knew that in time, his new project would pay off.

The air felt cold and moist. Signs of rain were imminent and the darkness draped over the plants, indicating the twilight was drawing near. “Can we stop yet?” Cyrus complained. “When we get back, I’m going to have you locked up for inflicting this kind of torture on me.”

“That is if we make it back,” Archibald said with a sly expression.

Cyrus did a double take before stomping his foot. “I didn’t walk all this way just to be wolf food.”

“Who knows. In the world of nature, everything is unpredictable. One second you could be fine, the next second you could have a huge hogweed wrapped around you crushing every bone in your body.”

Cyrus shook. “Don’t say that stuff. We haven’t encountered anything since the wolves. Look, I really need to sit down. I hope you know that I’m carrying more weight than you.”

“But I’m carrying everything, you’re not holding anything…” Archibald let out his squawky laugh when he realized what Cyrus meant.

Archibald walked over to a coaster of fallen logs. They were dark, damp and covered in a soft moss. “Here’s the deal, princey. Gather me some fire-wood and we’ll set up camp here. I’ll even let you use some dragon powder to light the campfire.”

Cyrus nearly forgot for a second how tired he was. He finally wanted to use magic that would benefit him and Archibald. “Ok, I’ll get some fire wood. But then you better let me use that powder and make us some nice roast mutton.”

Archibald winked and gave a thumbs up. “You got it boss.”

Cyrus grumbled as he continued to move his sore legs. In spite of the chill in the air, he was soaked in sweat. His clothes weren’t intended for long distance travel, and some would argue they were intended to be worn at all. The mist soaked the air, making him feel even wetter. He stumbled over roots and brambles that lined the ground. He cried in relief when he saw a nice pile of branches, all neatly ordered like an ideal campfire. He hobbled over to it and grabbed at it greedily. The wind blew a chill in his face and he began to run away. His ears perked up when he heard rustling but he couldn’t see anything in the darkness of dusk. A crash of lightning shot through the sky, and for a split second, a silhouette of an armored figure brandishing a large sword spread itself across a nearby tree. Cyrus yelped and ran faster to escape it.

Moving in a hobbling jog, Cyrus returned to the campsite. Hearing his hurried movement, Archibald stood up. “What’s going on?”

“There’s a ghost knight haunting the forest!” Cyrus screamed.

“I envy your imagination,” Archibald remarked. “When you get older, age really dulls those funny thoughts. Unless you’re me. I always have funny thoughts!”

“No really,” Cyrus yelled. “It was going to kill me. I can’t believe you made me risk my neck like that!”

Archibald realized the only way he’d calm the young prince was letting him use his magic, so he whipped out a red burlap sack of dragon powder. Cyrus panted and gave a congested breath.

“Will this shut you up, princey?” Archibald asked. “Let’s forget about your nightmares and just relax. I’ll make you the mutton too. I’m not going to massage your tummy like your mom though.”

Cyrus quickly dropped the pile of branches on the ground. “Well are you going to let me?”

“Just remember where we are,” Archibald said. “We’re in a forest and…”

“Gimme that!”

Cyrus quickly grabbed a handful of dragon powder--a little too much--and snorted it. He felt his insides ignite; he was ready to unleash a hail of fire like a ferocious dragon torching a countryside village. He closed his eyes and unleashed a red blast of heat that immediately connected with the trees in front of him. They shot up in flames and quickly spread to neighboring plants. Bits of ash flew from the trees in an orange blaze, Cyrus looked nervously at Archibald. “Uh…that wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“I have an idea, princey,” Archibald said, fidgeting a little as more ash fell and smoke billowed around them.

“What?” Cyrus screamed back.

“Run!”