A Hero's Curse by P. S. Broaddus Page A

growls one last time, and I feel him flatten his ears toward something off to my right.
    “Is it dangerous?” I ask.
    “Who knows. It would be if it sat on you. It’s the size of a horse.”
    I take an involuntary step back. “Uh, give me all the gory details,” I say.
    “Like I said, the thing is huge. About half your height, as wide as Cagney, huge flabby mouth and a crown of horns.”
    “That’s disgusting,” I say. “I’m glad I don’t have that burned into my brain forever.”
    “You would have hissed and spit, too,” Tig says. The Urodela holding my hand pulls me in the other direction, and I am only too happy to move away from the toad. Tig crawls up my arm, poking a head over my shoulder to watch the toad.
    “What happened when you attacked my leg?” I ask.
    “That’s why I was shaking. Things got really weird,” he says. “As soon as my claws sank in something in your new armor hit me hard—but not just one part. It felt like my whole body had been pummeled.”
    “Tig, I’m sorry!” I say, stroking his furry coat. “Are you okay?”
    “It’s almost gone. It’s fading quickly anyway.” He pauses, and I can feel him staring down at my new armor.
    “The Urodela are bumping against it, and they aren’t getting kicked across the room,” he says wistfully. He is quiet for another second, and then says what I am already thinking. “There must be some kind of magic in that armor, Ess.”
    A smile plays at the edges of my mouth. Tig has scratched me dozens of times—sometimes on purpose, and every once in a while by accident—but I don’t think I’ve ever been able to return the favor, unless you count mildly irritating him by tossing and turning in bed.
    “This feels a bit more fair,” I say. “Maybe you’ll think twice before chewing on me in the future.”
    He whirls on my shoulders and wraps both his paws around my neck, pressing his teeth against my throat. I don’t try to pull him away. That’s a great way to get your face torn off. Instead I scratch him behind the ears. Point made. He lets me go and moves back to the center of my shoulders.
    “Just remember who’s in charge,” he says and pats my head with a paw. He’s getting back at me for hissing at him. He knows I hate it when he pats my head. That’s why he does it so often.
    “Too bad our interpreter wasn’t here to give us a little warning about the giant toad,” I say.
    “Yeah, I wonder where he got off to.” 
    A new noise starts in the distance. It sounds like hundreds and hundreds of squeaking, chirruping voices. Our two captors, or guides—I still can’t decide on their role, start a chirruping song of their own. The little salamander that has my hand sings to his friends, almost like he is announcing something.
    As if reading my mind Tig whispers in my ear, “This salamander leading us is short, red, and gives off its own glow. It’s walking on its hind legs, but of course, you probably knew that.” The little salamander behind me has its hand on my elbow, which is about as high as he can probably reach, half guiding and half pushing me along the passage. I give Tig a squeeze, mostly to annoy him. I’m not frightened; I can smell that we are safe, for now. The sound the Urodela make are like the spring peepers that sing at night in the early summer weeks, and it’s hard to be afraid of those.
    I wonder if our kingdom’s missing King Mactogonii was kidnapped or killed by the Urodela. That would explain why they had his clothes and armor—if it really was his. I draw a sharp breath at the thought—he might still be here, and these creatures could be dangerous after all. What if I get thrown in some damp dungeon-like cave, too? I feel my heavy leggings under my long tunic and think of the leather and plate armor back in my room. A warrior get taken out by the Urodela? Probably not. More likely if King Mactogonii was really here, he is already gone.
    A whistling squeak from the Urodela in front