Madrick was the first to rouse. Fragmented memories flashed through his mind; a crowded bar, drunkenness, spell-saying and chickens... lots of chickens. He pressed his palms hard into his eyes.
"Leave me, nightmare, leave me," he said pressing harder.
He slapped his head over and over again but nothing could dislodge the images of the night before.
"Dear God, please don't let it be true."
Deep down, he knew it had all happened, he just didn't want to believe it. What a complete disaster. They'd engineered a near perfect escape and now it had been jeopardised by this idiot who slept noisily beside him. Their freedom had been put at risk by this cretin who was completely oblivious to his own stupidity.
"Moron. Dimwit. Imbecile," he shrieked maniacally into Tung's ear in an attempt to wake him. It was loud enough to waken the dead but it didn't waken Tung. He tried again by poking the massive bump on his head, and he poked it hard. Tung yelped with pain and began a slow, throbbing ascent back into consciousness.
"You are a fool," screamed Madrick. "Have you any idea what you've done?"
"Huh? Why are you shouting at me?"
"Why am I shouting? Why am I shouting? I'm shouting because you're an idiot. You're wasting your life away being an idiot."
"Listen, old man," said Tung, "it's not easy being an idiot, you know?"
"Right. If it was easy, I suppose everyone would do it?"
"What?"
Madrick ranted and raved a bit more about his stupidity although he soon realised that Tung was suffering too much to pay any heed to his chastisement. The boy was too busy being crushed by the pain of a fierce ale hangover compounded by two headfirst floor collisions; not to mention the 'normal' spell-saying headache.
It was going to be some time before there'd be any sort of sensible conversation so Madrick hauled him to his feet and pulled him out of the barn. Supporting his weight as best he could, he trailed and dragged him along as they started to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the town.
Fleeing at top speed was their best, no, it was their only option. Mifal was sure to have heard about last night and he'd almost certainly have sent out teams of soldiers to capture or kill them. Madrick's ultimate horror was to be reunited with Mifal so he put all his effort into helping this dead-weight fugitive run away, although walk away slowly was a much more accurate description of their two-man exodus. Tung was in no fit state to travel under his own steam so Madrick had to cart the semi-conscious lump along the dirt track. He tried everything, starting with 'carroty' encouragement followed quickly by 'sticky' scare tactics.
"Move yourself, Tung," he badgered. "They're on our trail and woe betide us if they catch us. We must make haste and get distance between us and the king's men. I don't want to be back in that dungeon. I, for one, don't want to be a plaything in the hands of Mifal's torturers."
The cajoling had little effect on Tung. After a lot more than half an hour and a lot less than half a mile, Madrick realised the futility of this mode of escape. He released his hold on Tung who promptly slid to the ground, fell backwards and smacked his head hard on the only protruding rock for yards around.
"Wake up, you moron. We need a spell which will get us out of here fast... or, at the very least, a little bit faster. Another Stallion Spell would be perfect, however knowing you we're more likely to end up with a plague of rats or an everlasting lantern."
The fact of the matter was there'd be no spell at all for a while; Tung was out for the count.
***
Back at the castle, the king had been told of the strange goings-on in The Black Bear tavern the night before. He knew it was probably Madrick and the thief however he couldn't be seen to accept any such explanation. If he did, his subjects would know he'd been wrong about the wizard turning into the stallion and he never ever admitted to being wrong. He believed his people thought he was infallible but he was wrong about that too.
An alternative story was needed. If he said Madrick had been at the centre of the chicken incident, the people would surely hate him even more, because that meant he'd have tortured an innocent horse to death. Torturing a guilty horse was barely acceptable.
So he pronounced that an evil pair of demons had visited themselves on the townsfolk and played chicken with them. As the great defender of his subjects he, Mifal, would send a squad of his best soldiers to slay these devils and make his people safe again. That would surely make him popular with the populace, so the squad was assembled, briefed and duly dispatched.
***
At the Sorebun Academy, the headquarters of the Order of White Wizards, word had filtered through about the magical incident in the inn. The Great Grand Wizard and six Under-Grand Wizards met to decide what they should do about it. From the stories it was clear there was a scroll in the hands of a buffoon and that posed many dangers as evidenced by the chicken debacle. Equally important, there was a scroll which needed to be tracked down and brought to the White Library.
"It's just a minor scroll, the Chicken Transformation Spell," said one Under-Grand Wizard. "It merely metamorphoses men into chickens for forty-eight hours."
"Yes, the men will be back to normal soon and they will remember little of their ordeal."
"Nonetheless," said the Great Grand Wizard, "every scroll is important and every scroll we get is one less for the Black Order."
They discussed how they would track it down and eventually decided to send Gravalar, one of their top stalkers, to find the idiots and retrieve the scroll. So he was summoned, briefed and duly dispatched.
***
At Devil Lair Keep, the headquarters of the Order of Black Wizards, word had also filtered through about the weird chicken happening. A meeting of the Council was hastily convened and they concluded that there was something very curious about the incident of the chicken in the night-time. While it seemed to centre on a minor scroll, their guts told them that something more out of the ordinary was involved here. For that reason they decided to send Stanverital and Devligrate, two of their top assassins, on the trail.
They were treating this happening with unusual urgency because their instincts told them that something epic was happening. Anyway, the Whites would be on the trail too and they wanted to beat them at all costs. So, without any undue delay, the assassins were summoned, briefed and duly dispatched.
***
Never before in recorded history, or unrecorded history for that matter, had so many frightening and skilful individuals been sent on the trail of such ordinary and rather pathetic common folk.