Ghosts of Sherwood by T.S. Maynard & W.J. McNally

Author:T.S. Maynard & W.J. McNally [Maynard, T.S.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781736488607
Published: 2021-06-30T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 7

Outside the gates of Camelot, Alex gave Sean a hug before mounting his silver stallion. King Arthur stood with the Sheriff and looked on with trepidation, hoping this plan would work. It might be the last chance to save the kingdom.

Arthur waved. “God speed, Sir Alex.”

“Hiking up a mountain shouldn’t be too bad,” Alex said, trying to convince himself more than anyone. “I climb the rock wall at the gym all the time.”

“Right. Of course, no one has ever come off the mountain alive,” the Sheriff said.

Alex’s eyes widened. “What’s so dangerous?”

“I’d ask them, but they’re all dead.”

“Good pep talk.” Alex dug his heels into his steed and headed off towards Mount Drudgery, a massive and foreboding sight on the horizon. Dark clouds encircled the peak, and it had sharp edges and a steep face just below the clouds.

Alex rode for several hours through the forest. As he neared the mountain, he passed a ragtag group of refugees in tents. Aside from a few people with small knapsacks, these people had nothing except the clothes on their backs.

Alex guided his horse towards a small boy. “Young man, what’s your name?”

“Jack,” the boy answered.

“What happened here?”

“Achilles. He destroyed everything. I was lucky and managed to save some potatoes and beans.”

Alex sputtered, “I bet they’re your magic beans.”

Jack cocked his head. “How did you know?”

“It’s that type of day,” Alex said, and rode on. He soon passed the area where Achilles had struck. The land was barren and black, as if a massive fire scorched everything to a cinder. Alex hated Achilles as a boy, and he was beginning to hate him as an adult. He clipped his heels into his stallion and hurried past the wasteland.

A short time later, Alex arrived at the base of Mount Drudgery. The trail leading up was too narrow for a horse, so he hopped off, tied the animal to a tree, and started up the path. At first, Alex moved up the hillside at a nice clip, swerving through trees and around rocks, but he soon tired. After several hours of maneuvering through thickets of bushes and squeezing between craggy rocks, he could climb no more. He perched himself atop a rock for a breather. When he looked out to enjoy the view, he gasped. At best, he was thirty feet high. It was as if he’d been on a treadmill all day. Alex slumped his shoulders and groused, “Guess that explains why no one gets to the top.”

How could he scale this never-ending mountain? It would take him thirty or forty years to reach the summit at this rate. It seemed an impossible task until an idea struck him. He hurried off the mountain, which only took a minute since he was so close to the ground. Alex mounted his horse, then rode back to the refugee camp where he searched the people until he found Jack huddled near a campfire.

“Jack, do you have any of those magic beans left?” Alex asked.

Jack stroked his chin, sensing Alex’s desperation.

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