"What happens if I fail?" Marco asked Lord Leon
"If you fail? There is no 'if' about it. You will fail!" Lord Leon picked his cane off the floor. He started to dance, stomping all over the pieces of Marcela. "Oh, haha, if you fail, I win."
Marco reached for the Baron's boots. "Please stop! Please stop. She is still alive. She can probably feel it."
Lord Leon stopped dancing. "She can . . . my dear child. She felt everything!" The Baron angrily slammed his cane down on a piece of her face, shattering it once more. Lord Leon snapped his fingers, and all of Marcela's pieces disappeared. Marco fell to his knees, biting his lip. He squeezed his eyes shut.
Lord Leon went to leave the house, but before he did, he poked his head back in. "If you lose, it will not just be your mother on the line. The whole town will perish in your favor. You have until tomorrow night to begin your journey. Marco's eyebrows furrowed in and he gasped.
Lord Leon slammed the door behind himself. He came face to face with one of his minions.
"Lord Leon." His minion bowed in greeting.
Lord Leon returned it with a slight nod of his head. "Make sure he leaves by tomorrow night." The Baron poked his minion's chest.
"Everyone made their tax again." The minion gave the Barron a confused look.
Lord Leon smiled. "That is oddly delightful." His forehead creased in and he suddenly growled. "You know what, find out how they are making it. Throw them a party. Allow them more provisions from the fields, anything . . . "
"Yes, Lord Leon," his minion responded before he disappeared.
The Barron walked away swinging his cane. The villagers never looked at him. Their eyes were always downcast, and their bodies trembled.
Marco remained staring at the floor, his body frozen in agony. A painful expression flitted across his face.
"Mother, first father, now you. I can save you, though. If I fail, the whole village will suffer. Mother, I need your wisdom, your guidance. Where do I even begin?" Marco looked back toward the table, spotting the innocent hide. He knew the book would help. Now he just had to remember his father's word.
His father was a preparer. His preparedness rubbed off on his mother. They were always packed, ready to leave at any moment. Since he was a child, his mother showed him what they would do if the occasion ever arose. Marco finally stood.
He removed the hide, flipping the book open to each of the knights.
"I know what I must do." Marco glanced at the area where his mother was once turned to glass. "Mother forgive me. For three months, I will be collecting the knights my father once stood with. Then after that, I solemnly swear to you, I will find you."
He grabbed the book, standing up. Marco kneeled at the bearskin rug, pulling it up. It revealed a trap door. Marco quickly yanked it up, revealing two packs. Marco pulled one pack out, shutting the trapdoor, then covered it back up. Marco packed the book into his pack, slinging it over his shoulder. He stood up, went over to the wolf's jaw, and yank it open again. Marco grabbed two large purses of gold. One was for himself, the other, for Miss Ashman to take care of everybody.
Marco went to the door and opened it. With one last solemn look, he closed it behind. He immediately ran into Miss Ashman.
"Oh, Marco, blessed news. Enough gold for everyone. So the Baron is throwing a feast. Each house and beggar gets extra food." After she finished speaking, Miss Ashman noticed Marco's pack. "You leaving, Marco?" Her eyebrows drew in confusion. "What about your dear mother?"
Marco blinked. "He said I have six months to save her."
Miss Ashman patted his shoulder. "Oh, you poor boy! First your father, now this. Just forget about your mother. The Barron might be in a giving mood. Just settle down and marry. Name one of your children after her."
Marco's eyes narrowed. "Mrs. Ashman, while your opinion is always valued, please shut up!" he huffed, pulling his pack tighter.
Mrs. Ashman snarled, drawing up her full weight. "Why I never," she shrieked.
Marco handed her one of the purses of gold. "Take care of everyone."
Mrs. Ashman froze, her face dropping, as Marco handed her the gold. "This is goodbye, isn't it, Marco?"
"Yes, Mrs. Ashman, it's goodbye."
Mrs. Ashman closed her hand around the gold purse. "Marco, you come home. You hear me. You come home and watch after us again," she whispered.
"Always," Marco replied, as he turned away heading up a dirt path.
Mrs. Ashman tucked the gold away, watching the last of the Stromwell's leave. "Bless them, the Stromwell's. Elric, may you rest In peace." Tearfully, she strode back to the village.