Free Not QUITE the Classics by Colin Mochrie Page B

Brothers about the demise of the Twavverhackle made it seem to Tyro as if three times that amount of time had passed.
    â€œDid you jump on its back and twist its neck until it broke?” asked Little Brother as he ran up with Big Brother. “No. Of course, that was my first thought, but, uh, it’s not important how I did it. Ah, here we are.” They had reached the end.
    The brothers, Tyro, Madwyn, and the Oracle stood at the secret door that led into the ballroom. Tyro stuck a cautious head in. The magnificently opulent ballroom glistened with golden chandeliers, long tables covered with elaborately decorated silver tablecloths, and several life-size statues of Fairdwych.
    â€œThere’s no one about,” Madwyn whispered to the squadron leaders. “Bring your people in quietly. Brothers, Tyro, you will come with me. You too, Mavellus.” She gestured to the leader of the archers. “Those stairs lead to the level above the Throne Room where the advisers to the monarch and the people’s representatives sit. That is, until my brother disbanded them. Three hundred of your archers can easily stand there. We shall surround the King and his guards. Hopefully, they will see the folly in resistance and we can end this without any blood being spilled. May the Gods be with you all.”
    Madwyn led the way up the stairs.
    Tyro marveled at how three hundred archers could move so quietly up uncarpeted stairs. Five minutes later everyone was in place above the throne of Fairdwych the Despised. Madwyn and Tyro peeked over the banister and glanced at the scene below. One hundred Royal Guards were preparing for what Tyro assumed was the Mystic Crowning. Large orbs were set in the shape of a pentagram, and herbs smoked in pots around the perimeter. A very nervous goat bleated from her place in the center. Fairdwych appeared to be in an impatient mood.
    Pointing at the workers with his scepter, he screamed, “Move faster, you square-headed buffoons! The time of the Mystic Crowning is almost upon us! We must be ready. Then the world will be mine! Mine alone! ”
    I really hate that guy, thought Tyro.
    Madwyn turned to make sure the archers were in place. They were. She stood up, looking every inch the Queen she was. “Fairdwych! This stops now!”
    Startled, Fairdwych looked up. When he saw her, he smiled. “Sister! How lovely to see you. I thought we would never cross paths again. How can I help you?”
    â€œIt is I who will help you, Brother. I will help you step down as ruler and live a life away from here, where you can cause no harm.”
    Fairdwych smiled again.
    A chill ran up Tyro’s spine. Something was not right here.
    â€œSister, tell your archers to put down their weapons.” Tyro saw Madwyn begin to falter.
    â€œArchers…put…down…” She seemed to be having trouble speaking.
    â€œMadwyn! What are you doing?” Tyro saw that the archers seemed to be in the same state as their Queen. They started to lower their bows. What was going on?
    â€œSister! You can’t resist me. You should know that. Put down your weapons and I’ll make sure your death is a quick one.”
    Tyro started to feel light-headed himself. As if his will was being slowly eroded. He looked closely at the scepter Fairdwych clutched. Of course! On top of it was the Mesmerizing Orb of Thallos! A mystical talisman that his grandfather accidentally sold to King Sardoz. It had the power to make all within its vicinity the pawns of the possessor. Tyro fought its influence. Years of magic shows and dealing with disgruntled hypnotists had given him a slight edge in overcoming the power of the orb, but even so, he knew he would succumb eventually. Quickly, he reached for the nearest archer’s bow. He placed an arrow against the taut twine, aimed at the orb, and pulled back.
    â€œYou will not win, tyrant!” Tyro loosed his arrow. It sliced through the air and glanced