“By all the gods, is this the brave and noble Prince Alban I see before me? Or are my eyes deceived by some kind of trick?” Bargar the warlord laughed as he surveyed the two men who had been quite easily captured by his own forces. They were staring back defiantly at him, but he knew the look of defeat in a captive’s eyes, and it pleased him to see that same look in the eyes of his prisoners.

“No, your eyes are seeing quite clearly,” Alban answered, cursing himself for being this easily captured. They were on the borders of their own kingdom now, it being two weeks since they had parted ways with Valerie. All the while they had been heading along as quickly as they could, and by the time they’d reached the borders of Elgon, they were almost too weary too continue. He and Turas had set out into the forest to hunt, leaving Shardon behind to make a camp.

It was here that they were captured, caught up in a net which they’d failed to see hidden in the undergrowth. Then, from out of the shadows of the trees, two dozen armed men had sprung upon them. They fought back as best as they could, but there was no chance of escape. They’d been taken, stripped of their weapons and shackled, to the fortress of the notorious Bargar, a one-time bandit who had slowly built up his own villainous little domain on the border. Now this villain and his small army, all men who hated King Mildar, were looting and killing any who were foolish enough to travel or settle in what Bargar called his ‘empire’.

“I’d often wondered when I would run into you,” Alban continued. “It’s high time you and your hive of criminal scum were taken care of.”

The bandits all roared with laughter, as did their leader, who was busy amusing himself by playing with Alban’s sword.

“Is that so? Then why, may I ask, is your old drunkard of a king so frightened of us? We smite and pillage as we please, and he remains shut up in his filthy little castle! And they say that he is a better ruler than me! What nonsense!”

“My father has many duties,” Alban replied. “If he has not seen to you yet, it can only be because he does not consider you at all great a threat.”

“Shut up! Mildar is a pathetic swine, whose throne he is not worthy to even look at, and you are nothing more than a piece of hogshit, a brat who thinks he’s some sort of ‘hero’! Don’t make me laugh! And you!” he turned to Turas. “You…hell, I don’t even care who you are! Get rid of him, Kassel!”

A sinister-looking man stepped out from behind Bargar and, with one quick motion, stabbed his sword into Turas’s chest. Alban screamed in anger, and tried his utmost to fight back, but it was in vain. The bandit-chief turned towards him with a menacing grin.

“That,” he said, glaring at Alban, “is what will happen to you, if your father does not pay the ransom for your release. Two hundred thousand in gold, and control over one third of the kingdom. Or else, his darling little boy will get hacked to pieces!” The men all laughed loudly, and Alban was dragged off into the fortress’s holding cells, cursing his stupidity, his vain lust for adventure, which had led all his friends, and possibly himself, to their deaths.

Almost all of them, actually. Shardon, who was never much good at hunting, had remained to look after the camp. He didn’t like to be left alone, though, so, after making sure the camp was in order, he set off in the direction the others had headed. He hadn’t gone far, when, to his great dismay, he heard the sounds of fighting, Alban and Turas yelling, and a dozen or more strange voices screaming. He crept forward a little further, and was just in time to see his prince being led off a captive.

He should have gone after them, he knew it. He should have been as brave as the man whom he served, but he wasn’t. He was just a boy, with very little experience in fighting, and his only job was to look after Alban’s arms and belongings. Compared to living on the streets, this was a very noble life indeed, and he was immensely grateful to the prince for taking him out of his previous, miserable circumstances, and giving him this opportunity to serve a man of royal blood.

“I owe Prince Alban my life,” he thought to himself, still hiding in the forest. “I should go after him, or at least find someone to help rescue him. If only…no, no, wait, that would never work. Maybe…”

He sat for many hours, wondering what to do, as the day grew darker, and his chances of remaining hidden grew smaller. The nearest friendly village was a day away on foot, and he knew that the villagers would never dare attack the infamous warlord Bargar. The nearest Elgonite military encampment was much further, and Shardon would have to travel through places that were infested with bandits, and some things even worse. The road back was safe, however, but there was no-one in that direction who could be of any assistance. No-one…except her.

“I must try to find her, and convince her to help!” he thought. “I know she’s only a girl, but she’s a bloody huge giant too! Even Bargar has to be afraid of someone like her!” So, in the end, he set off, back along the route they’d been travelling these past few weeks. He knew his chances of finding Princess Valerie were small, and he had almost no hope that she would even be willing to help him if he did. But it was his only option, so he decided to pursue it.

In his excitement and eagerness to find the giantess, Shardon had forgotten completely that Vandan was now crawling with goblins. He had been travelling for three days, and had almost exhausted his food and water. But he kept going, and forgot to be on the look-out for danger all around him. Now, finding himself surrounded by a score of goblins, the last faint traces of his courage left him.

“I’ve failed!” he thought to himself. “My master depended on me, but I’ve failed him, and now both of us will die! Oh, I wish I could have seen my home again! All my friends, too – but what would they think of me? A coward, who left his companions to die…” He began to cry, thankful that no-one will ever see him in this deplorable condition.

The goblins, who had been arguing amongst themselves in their strange language, had finally decided what to do with their prisoner. They planned to cut him up into small pieces, so as to divide the meat equally between them. The goblin chief raised his rusted sword, grabbed the boy by the hair, and yanked his head backwards. Shardon closed his eyes, and felt the blow of the sword against his neck. He fainted from the intense pain.

But he was still alive. The sword only went in a few inches, before the goblin chief dropped it. He, and all the other goblins, suddenly found themselves under attack. An enormous purple slipper came down on them from above, and crushed half of them in one shot. The others began to flee, but they were too slow, and found themselves squished by the giant feet within a few seconds.

Valerie looked down at the carnage she’d just caused. She saw the tiny form of the human amongst the bodies of the goblins, and bent down to pick him up carefully. With a gasp of surprise, she saw that it was the boy she’d seen a few weeks ago, the one who had been travelling with that obnoxious prince. He was still unconscious, and the blood was flowing copiously from a wound in his neck. She took out her water-bottle, and rinsed his wound, but didn’t touch him for fear of injuring him further.

The cold water gushing over Shardon’s body revived him. His vision was terribly blurry, but he still recognized the giant face looming above him. And he was no longer afraid of it. He heard her voice, telling him that he will be all right, that she was looking after him. But he did not care about his own condition. He had to tell her about Alban, to convince her that she had to help him.

“P-princess…” he whispered, so softly that she almost couldn’t hear him. “P-p-please…help…my master…c-captured…”

“Hey, hold on a minute, little one! Let’s get you feeling better first. I’m taking you back to my home; there must be some medicine or something there, that will help you heal…”

“No…I-I won’t…make it…please, help the prince, he’s….” here he coughed violently, and his wound began bleeding anew, “he’s…p-prisoner…in the fortress…n-northwest…”

“Alright, that’s enough! I’m not doing anything until I get you all up and able again. You’re not…listen to me! You’re not going to die, do you hear?”

She stared in horror as his tiny body stopped moving. For several minutes she kept attempting to revive him, but it was too late. His soul had left him, and she placed him carefully on the grass beside her. Then found herself beginning to cry; it was not the first time she’d seen a human die, but the death of this young boy, who only wished to help his master, seemed so…utterly unnecessary and pointless. If only she’d appeared on the scene a few moments earlier, and he would still be alive.

Despite being upset about how Alban had treated her, Valerie still couldn’t help  thinking about him. She didn’t believe it at all possible that his kiss could have broken her curse if he hated her as much as he appeared to. She began to think that one more talk between the two of them would help them to know each other much better, so she’d set off in the direction she thought they’d went.

“And now he’s been captured,” she said to herself, after burying Shardon’s body as best as she could. “I can’t say I’m surprised; he did seem rather…short-sighted, I guess. Still, he did release me from the curse – I mean, there has to be something special about him, if he was able to do that! His servant-boy risked his own life to beg me to help him – why would he do that, if his master was not a good man? Well, I can sit here and think all I want, but that’s not going to do any good, so I’d better get up and go then. I hope you’re ready, prince Alban – your princess is coming to save you, whether you want her to or not!”