by Matt Rogers
Chapter 15: Clear Messages
The Siege (Castle Nirvana)
They gathered in the grand ballroom for their nightly sustenance. The conversation was the same at every table.
“An assassin? Blight sent an Elvin inside these walls?”
They ate in shifts, two-thirds manning the fortress, one-third taking comfort in Mother Nature’s bounty.
“We should respond in kind.”
“Yeah, let him see what it’s like to be targeted for extermination.”
The murmuring did not go unnoticed.
“General Shield?”
“Yes, Hawkeye?”
“The men wish to return Blight’s challenge. They would like to send an assassin of our own to pay back his insult.”
The good beings of the realm, those who’d been raised and sired by citizens under righteous rule were of the same mind; assassination was the lowest form of warfare. They felt it a cowardly act, a desperate attempt to gain by deceit what one could not through honest combat.
“Mother Nature would never allow it.”
The Queen felt the same. She deplored the practice, shuddered at the maliciousness of the deed and thus would never contemplate employing it on her behalf.
“She would if the assassin was in name only.”
General Shield heard his scout out and brought it to Queen Nature’s attention.
“And do you think it will work?”
“Yes, My Queen.”
“What do you believe the odds it will achieve its purpose?”
“Well, it’s Hawkeye we’re talking about so…”
“Never mind, you have my approval.”
And so Hawkeye and Longshot slipped over the wall in the dead of night to deliver their message to the one who would not follow proper warring protocols. Again it was written on parchment.
“Toodrake!”
“Yes, Your Highness?”
“I said I wanted my ale brought to me in my golden chalice! Does this look like my golden chalice?”
The Troll Toodrake eyed the drinking instrument closer and thought it did, indeed, resemble the Prince’s golden chalice but he was wise enough not to challenge the Tyrants eyesight so reached to take the expensive mug from Blight’s hand.
“I will fetch you another one immediately, Your…”
Thunk!
The arrow did the job for him. When the Prince held the cup out for Toodrake an arrow split it in two.
“Yaagh!”
When the Troll and Prince finally arose from their prone positions they noticed the note attached to arrow’s shaft.
Drink Responsibly!
Prince Blight immediately sent out search-patrols to scour the area and locate the individual who dared place an arrow in the vicinity of royalty.
“Well, what did you find?”
“I’m sorry, Your Highness, we found nobody.”
The consensus of his advisors was a rouge element in Nature’s army had taken the chance to kill him. Since no one was found they further advised the man had probably sulked away in the dark. The Prince was not at eased and unsatisfied. He sent out another patrol and sat down to sate his hunger.
“Your roast beef, Your Highness.”
“It had better be cooked properly!”
He raised the slab to his mouth using bare hands for utensils. He felt the old ways were preferable while living among the beasts. Also, he got a thrill watching the underlings salivate while he delivered the bloody morsel to his taste-buds.
Thunk!
He sat there a second wondering where the hunk of roast tastiness went as it dawned on him.
“Oh no.”
And hit the floor so fast others stood wondering if the Prince had somehow partaken of too much ale and decided to sleep where he sat. When they saw the beef pinned to the wall by an arrow they joined him in hugging dirt.
A second note of parchment was later removed and read.
Meat is Murder!
Another patrol was sent out after the second one reported in.
“We found no one, Your Highness.”
They were dispatched for dereliction of location and had their heads removed. The mercenary advisors were again summoned and again gave their counsel.
“Maybe we should move the command post.”
“Yeah, just till we find the perpetrator and torture him to death.”
So the Prince waited while Orcs and Trolls packed up his belongings. At the same time a ruse was set up and other tents were also packed leaving the rear in such disarray when the forces in the front returned to their quarters in the rear they wandered around in bewilderment for they were sure they’d taken the same route back but were unable to locate a single landmark to prove their limited directional abilities correct.
The Prince himself was also camouflaged, donned with lower soldier’s attire in an attempt to move him without anyone the wiser. The advisors quickly learned the error of their ways as the Prince, dressed as a lowly infantryman, went about berating all who came before him and basically signaling to any who were watching he was either the bravest recruit ever or a higher ranking individual in disguise. They couldn’t do anything about it, though, because the Prince was in such a huff about relocating they felt he would remove the lips of any who dared criticize him so they shut their mouths and hoped for the best.
“Here you are, Your Highness.”
“Is my bed turned down?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Are my candles lit?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Are my sentries in position?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
So the Prince decided everything was okay, laid down, pulled the lace sheets over his body and settled his head back on the pillow for a good night’s rest.”
Thunk!
And rolled onto the floor under the bed.
He lay there for a while, waiting for his sentries to enter and check on his safety. After quite a bit of time expired and no one appeared he realized they had no idea an arrow was stuck in the fluffy pillow barely an inch from where his head had resided. He was in somewhat of perplexion as to what to do, however, because he was afraid to give away his hiding position by screaming for his sentries to do their jobs and die for him. So he raised his hand ever so slowly up the rear of the mattress, felt for his pillow and snatched it down as quickly as he could. Once again, a parchment was attached.
Sweet Dreams!
It went on for days. Every time the Prince began to feel the surprise attacks were over another arrow would arrive with a note attached. It got to the point where he was actually expecting the feather-backed shafts of death and would duck at irregular intervals in order to thwart the assassin who could somehow get off a shot which would miss the Prince by a hair’s breath. He would send out patrols who returned empty-handed and then have their heads removed for the failure. As time went by patrols became harder and harder to set up for every time an arrow arrived soldiers would suddenly disappear. He asked his advisers where they went and the answer was rather surprising. They said a sudden burst of loyalty arrived after each note and the men found they would rather visit the front lines than sit by idly in the rear.
“Did he buy it?”
“Yeah, he thinks the mercenaries actually care if he wins or not.”
“So are we going to quit sending out patrols?”
“Nope, he’s decided to use Orcs instead.”
So the Orcs were dispatched which turned out to be an even further failure for they could never quite grasp the concept of locating a specific individual.
“Did you find the assassin?”
“Yes, Your Highness” the Orc grunted.
“Bring him to me!”
And the Orcs did as they were bidden. They soon returned with a rather elderly gentleman in a grungy robe who was screaming obscenities at the top of his lungs.
“What is this?”
“He the assassin, Your Highness.”
>
“That is the cook!”
“He in disguise, Your Highness.”
“He’s blind!”
“It a very good disguise, Your Highness.”
And so the Orcs were removed from patrol duty and new orders issued.
“From now on patrol duty failure will not result in death.”
The order did its job and the mercenaries again formed to locate an assassin who was both incredibly skilled and amazingly inaccurate by inches. It might’ve continued for a few days longer, at least until Hawkeye and Longshot’s arrow supply held out, but as with all everyday occurrences, even ones of the life-taking variety, those who lived amidst the activity eventually disregarded what they could not control.
“Toodrake!”
“Yes, Your Highness” the Troll hissed.
“Take this message…”
Thunk!
“… and tell the Orcs…”
Thunk!
“… to bring the Ogres some rocks to throw!”
The Troll Toodrake wasn’t sure how to respond. He wasn’t positive what his eyes were viewing was actually.
“Um, Your Highness?” he hissed.
“What?”
“There seems to be two arrows imbedded in your throne to the left and right of your head.”
“So?”
Toodrake was again at a loss for words. Maybe the Prince enjoyed self-target practice? Maybe he no longer retained control of his senses? He was in a quandary but felt a need to know something specific.
“Your Highness?”
“What?”
“There are notes attached to the arrows.”
And the Prince sighed. He’d gotten to the point where the fear of the unknown was a tiring problem so had left the emotion behind. He glanced over his right shoulder and removed the still shaking shaft from the chair’s head-cushion.
“Go ahead, read it!” he ordered the Troll.
It took time to make out the words and even more to understand what they meant.
“What does it say?”
And so the Troll told him.
Don’t Kill The Messenger!
The Prince nodded, removed the arrow over his left shoulder and told the Troll to read it next.
Again, he complied.
Kill The Author Instead!
And with that the charade ended for it became obvious to the assassin impersonators the effect had run its course. They returned to Castle Nirvana in the dark of night.
“You two did exceptional work.”
“Thank you, General Shield” they responded in unison.
They were in his private chambers where he had summoned them upon their return.
“Because of your actions our men have received some rest. The Prince was so worried about his own safety he forgot to issue orders for his beasts to harass.”
The two nodded their heads in appreciation of the compliment.
“Now, I am going to tell you something and I want it understood; you are not to repeat what I say under any circumstances. Am I clear?”
“Yes, General” the two responded.
“Good. Okay, here are my orders. As of this moment you are relieved of any regulations regarding warfare within this Queen’s army. You’re oath to obey the Queen’s wishes is now lifted.”
The two stood stunned. They weren’t sure what the General meant.
“I’m sorry, General, I don’t understand.”
“Me neither, General.”
He looked upon them as a father would his favorite child; his face tender with care.
“It’s simple. If I send you out again…”
And then his face became stone.
“… you will not be obliged to miss.”
