All of the Rogues, Sampson, Clarence, Pratt and I look at each other, and then at him. Reid is only a step behind, mouth agape and staring into the back of Tucker’s head with utter shock. His eyes dart around, as if trying to quickly recalculate the situation and make it as originally planned—that it’d be him facing the three tasks instead of his second in command. Hozfin nods. “What your name?” “Tucker,” he inhales from deep in his chest. “My name is Charles Tucker.” “Tucker,” the king nods, “tomorrow, you perform three tasks. If you no complete, you die. If you succeed, you join Zingfinolds and friends may stay as guests.” “And they’ll be able to bring a few of the Nazual back to Mybyncia?” “Yes.” “Thank you,” he turns back to the group, past a shell-shocked Reid, who’s still trying to figure out how this happened or, better yet, how he allowed this to happen. Reid takes a moment and, seeing things have clearly concluded, spins to join the others, placing himself between Sampson and Tucker, his focus down on the red fabric-lined floor.
