Skylantern Dragons and the Monsters of Mundor
Page 18
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The king drove his heals into the flanks of his charger. The white stallion gave a strident whinny and moved swiftly toward the open countryside, and the forest beyond. Fabian was dressed as a peasant and wore a hood so that no one would recognise him. He was free. Beyond the forest lay destiny, a fate that stretched out before him like a road fixed, disappearing into the far distance, and unseen. His heart began to pound faster in his chest. He actually smiled. He actually laughed. It almost sounded triumphant as he swept passed dense thickets, and trees, and could feel the wind upon his skin like the promise of a dream come true.
Time for one more adventure!
Time for one more story!
Finally he was free!
Epilogue
The golem sat at the throne where the king once sat. Nobody could tell there was a difference. It merely remained perfectly silent, content to simply let the advisors do the talking.
Nobody suspected the golem for it looked just like the king. Behind the scenes, the gray old wizard plucked the strings of the puppet, making it move when necessary so as to maintain the fiction that this golem was actually the king.
The puppeteer stood in the sidelines watching, magically operating the strings like a marionette.
Demetrius, gave a confident smile and then made himself scarce, removing himself from the throng. The old wizard knew that he had prevailed by subterfuge and trickery.
In a secluded room the shape-shifter’s eyes transformed. In the old wizard’s orbits a pair of nictitating membranes enveloped these once human organs of sight, and had replaced them with blood-red slits, at once reptilian in appearance. His flesh tones turned a greenish tincture, and the beard of light grey hair that lined his face was spent.
Tai Pan stood in the exact spot where the wizard had been. The shape shifter smiled, knowing that the king’s facsimile, once on the throne, would be in a perfect position to leave the kingdom open to an invasion.
Scaly and snake-like, he transformed again into a dragon, charged for the open door, and escaped into the evening sky blessed with stars, and cried with triumph, vibrating the very air with his sonorous roar.
The golem that looked just like king Fabian began to display an emotion. The sides of its mouth tilted into a knowing smile. The moment was about to present itself. The creature opened its mouth to speak, its words carrying the same timbre and resonance of the man it had been charged to replace. And when the golem spoke its subjects listened. The people listened. The people talked and debated, but ultimately obeyed. People rose to battle. And the people fought and died, and the puppeteers, behind their masks, continued to forge on with the slaughter, thus continuing the hum and the thrum of the machine of civilisation. In truth it would not falter. It would not wane. The unthinking gears kept grinding on. Through the winter months and through the modest summer seasons, nothing would change. Bloodshed was the basic conclusion of wearing masks. Only one mask had been removed. Only one man had the wisdom to disentangle himself from this pretence and masquerade, walk freely upon the earth and, with a smile upon his lips, take his own life into his ownhands.
And his name was Fabian, sovereign among men.
The End.
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