by Sam Ferguson
“So, now you’re on the ground, and there is no wall?”
“Obviously,” Arethel said with an impatient tap of her foot. “Now shush, it’s almost over.”
“Praise the author,” Simplin huffed.
“So, a clomping sound reached my ears. I barely had time to dive out of the way before a horse stepped right where I had been a moment before. I looked up at the rider and my heart froze.
“It was King Nunya!
“His face was redder than a ripe tomato and steam streamed out of his mouth as he breathed heavily in the cold winter air. Despite what I knew had to be an early hour, the king was dressed in his finest purple tunic, neatly pressed black trousers, knee-high boots, which are so last year, and his little robe thingy with the spotted fur. Oh! And his highly-polished crown rested easily above his pointed ears. His eyes seemed to pierce me to the core. I had never seen such a manic, deadly look in someone before.
“He was like, ‘What do you think you are doing, missy?’ as he brought his horse around to face me.
“I slowly got to my feet, muscles tense, but I didn’t back down. I said, ‘I could ask you the same question.’
“King Nunya sneered at me and ignored my words. ‘Why do you commit such treason? You look to be a Lickedintime ranger, and a rather pretty one at that. It would be a pity to kill you,’ he said.
“I drew myself up to my full, albeit short, height. ‘You are the one who commits treason, sir. You, who kidnaps citizens without cause and lock them up for imagined crimes. It is you who has lost his way!’
“’I know exactly what I am doing, and no one is going to stop me, not even a PYT like yourself!’”
Simplin held up his hand. “A PYT?” he asked.
“Oh, it means pretty young thing,” Arethel clarified.
“Okay, go ahead, continue,” Simplin said with a relenting nod.
Arethel smiled. “So, the manic look in King Nunya’s eyes shown even brighter—”
“Shone,” Simplin cut in.
“I’m sorry?” Arethel asked,
“You said shown, with a ‘w.’ You need to use shone, s-h-o-n-e for the past tense of shine.”
“Oh, right. Thanks. So anyway, King Nunya’s eyes shone even brighter—”
“Actually, maybe use the word ‘shined’ instead,” Simplin said. “It’s better in this case.”
“Whatever. His eyes shined even brighter, making me take a quick step back. I had not wanted to believe the king was aware of how badly his guards were treating the citizens, but to learn that he had actually instigated it made me sick to my stomach.
‘“But why do this?’ I asked him. ‘Why lock up people at random?’
‘“Did you not attend school, maid? All kings are like this. We prey upon the weak in order to make ourselves feel important, and to get rich!’
“That like, totally threw me for a loop. I just stood there, dumbfounded, like what was he talking about? Truly King Nunya had totes snapped. But, I can be crafty, so I decided to play along. I was all like, ‘I did attend school, sir, and never did they teach this or reveal you for what you really are.’ Super burn, right?!’
“Yep,” Simplin said. “Totally.”
“So, then, King Nunya was all like, ‘Then you must have been taught the history behind the great nations of the world.’ King Nunya droned on and on for a long time, it was sooo bloody boring.”
“I can sympathize with that,” Simplin commented.
“Right?!” Arethel said. “So, while he went on about the history of all the nations, I just remembered sitting in class one hot afternoon, looking longingly out of the window at the sparkling water rushing by in the nearby stream. History had fascinated me back then. So much mystery was involved. Of course, even then I suspected that the story had been changed with each telling. The truth would probably never be known. But I had never heard of someone who actually believed everything that was said about how this kingdom rightfully still belonged to elves. Nor did I really believe anything about the supposed superior races, or any of that other nonsense. I mean, I’m half human too, hello! Come on. Racism, so dumb.”
“That, might be the first thing you have said that I wholeheartedly believe,” Simplin said.
Arethel looked at him, stunned and slack jawed, but she picked up again. “Well, anyway, when King Nunya finished with his monologue thing, he jumped off of his horse and charged at me, sword drawn. The edge of the sword nicked my shoulder, ripping my tunic, but I managed to dodge further damage. The king turned to make another attack, but this time I was ready. As the king swung the sword at my head, I ducked, pulled a knife out of my belt, and drove it into the king’s leg.
“A loud scream pierced the brisk air. The guards across the moat, who had been watching and listening to the entire exchange, gasped and began running, shouting, ‘Our king! Our king!’
“I just stood there, watching blood drip down my king’s leg. He sat on the ground, clutching his leg where the knife stuck out. I realized that I had just stabbed the king of Lickedintime. Another screech filled the air, this time belonging to Abelard. I tore my eyes from the scene and ran to where Lucas was hiding in the forest. His mouth was slightly open, like he could not believe what had just happened. And that’s it. We ran. My friend freed Mulligan, and then we ran away from the city and found you.”
“That is quite a tale,” Simplin said.
Arethel nodded proudly. “Best ranger in all of Lickedintime!” she cried as she mimed a parry and thrust with a sword.
“No doubt,” Simplin said. “Perhaps you should write down all of your adventures in a book.”
“Oh, that would be a great idea!” Arethel said. “Arethel’s Adventures of Awesomeness!” She jumped up and down and clapped her hands. “I bet it would be a best-seller for sure!”
“But of course,” Simplin said.
“I’ll start right now!”
“By the way, where is your pet eagle?” Simplin asked.
“Oh, well, I ran out of crackers, so he stopped following me,” Arethel said.
Simplin arched a brow and frowned. “Pity,” he said sarcastically.
“Yep,” Arethel responded. “Perhaps one day I will find him again, and if I have enough crackers, he’ll look at me and know that he never should have left my side.”
Simplin opened his mouth to say something, and then just shook his head.
Arethel gave a wistful smile and then turned and went to grab her things.
Simplin sighed, happy for the relief of silence, and started to move away from the camp, but Lucas reached out and grabbed his leg, then motioned for him to bend down closer.
“It wasn’t like that, you know,” Lucas said.
“Oh, I think I figured that out for myself,” Simplin assured Lucas. “Just tell me, is she really Liriel’s sister?”
Lucas nodded. “You can choose who you love, but you don’t get to choose their family,” he said with a shrug. “She is helpful though, and she really did rescue us, just, it wasn’t as exciting as all that.”
Simplin nodded. “Excuse me for a moment.” The wizard walked off into the night and looked up, wagging a finger at the sky.
“You and I need to have a chat, Jack. You had better change this Arethel lady up a bit. Make her normal.”
“Normal?” Jack asked.
“You know, the whole dumb blonde stereotype thing, it’s a bit overdone, don’t you think? Just, make her normal, like the rest of us.”
“Oh, I see. Well, all right, if that’s what you want.”
“And another thing, I don’t want her to talk so much.”
CHAPTER 12
The next morning, the group walked for miles and miles. It was quite boring actually. So, we’re going to skip ahead to when they made camp, because nothing happened during the walking. Just imagine a family trip to anywhere. Five minutes into the trip the smallest one has to pee (in this case that’s Mulligan). Thirty minutes after that, someone gets hungry. Simplin k
eeps threatening to turn around and march everyone back to Lickedintime, but no one takes him seriously because they all know he’d rather get to where he’s going than go even one mile the other direction. So yeah, let’s skip ahead.
The group has settled down for the night. Dinner has been eaten, and the campfire is at a low burn with lots of red coals that emit a lot more heat than they look like they should.
“Let’s tell stories,” Mulligan said.
“No,” Simplin replied quickly. “I had my fill of stories last night.”
“Oh come on,” Arethel said. “It will be fun. We should do stories, and then songs.”
“No, and no,” Simplin said with a shake of his head.
“Oh come on, I want a story,” Arethel said. “I told one last night.”
“And a whopper at that,” Simplin put in under his breath. Lucas smirked and put a hand over his mouth.
“I think it’s fair that someone else tell a story,” Arethel said. “Mulligan, do you know any stories?”
Simplin waved his hand in the air. “This is just where the author needs some filler, so he digs up something from a long time ago, and sticks it in as part of building up the lore,” Simplin said with a nod. “No stories.”
“I would like a story,” Lucas said.
“It’s settled,” Arethel said. “Lucas wants a story, and so do I. That’s two against one.”
“Mulligan, don’t let me down,” Simplin said.
The dwarf shrugged. “I’d kind of like a story too, you know, to pass the time.”
“Ugh,” Simplin said with a huff.
“I actually have a story,” Mulligan said. “I’ll go first, so sit close and listen up. This one’s good!”
The others all came in a bit closer as the fire crackled and popped.
Mulligan held out his hands dramatically. “This legend takes place in a land called The Middle Kingdom, on a world named Terramyr, some far away place that has long since been lost to time,” Mulligan started.
“If by far away you mean a different file folder on the shared drive,” Simplin muttered.
Mulligan shot him a disapproving look.
Simplin put up a hand. “Fine, fine, don’t mind me. I’ll listen quietly.”
Mulligan gave a curt nod and continued. “I should say that there are several versions of this legend, each with widely conflicting information. I have selected the one that my father believes to be the most accurate, though I must say it is quite a fantastic account of the events that took place there. Nevertheless, I painstakingly memorized it as a child so I could recount every single detail in exactly the way it was passed down to me.”
“This is going to be great!” Lucas said as he pulled out a bag of super-puff marshmallows and began roasting them over the fire.
“Ooo! I have the chocolate!” Arethel exclaimed.
“Guys! I’m trying to tell a story here!” Mulligan said.
Lucas and Arethel shared a smirk and then made a big show of tightly squeezing their lips shut.
“This is how it starts,” Mulligan said as he rubbed his hands together. “Every couple of centuries or so, when the sons of men are imperiled and the gods are willing, a champion is born. Not a hero of strength or valor only, but a conqueror so great that no force on the mortal plane can defeat them.
“Master Kathair Lepkin is one such champion. His parents arrived by longboat from the northlands, along with a group of elvish warriors returning to Tualdern. Lepkin’s father died on the road of the white fever, and his mother perished in childbirth, along with Lepkin’s younger brother, who came out stillborn, several days before the party arrived at Tualdern. Of Lepkin, it is said that he was born upon a moonless night, and raised until his fourteenth year by Telstian Do’Urgro, the Hero of Znsnar.
“Upon reaching his fourteenth year, Lepkin was sent to Kuldiga Academy to train as an apprentice of the sword. Never before had any of the masters at the academy seen his equal. He was strong, tall, and quick to learn. Many attributed his superior swordsmanship to his upbringing with Telstian Do’Urgro, and others said it was because of his heritage as a Northman. Whatever it was, he excelled in his studies, and graduated at the top of his class. Telstian Do’Urgro attended the ceremony and presented Lepkin with an elvish scimitar said to be blessed by the running waters that feed the World Tree.
“With this scimitar in hand, Lepkin brought order and justice. He slew orcs when they invaded from the south. He stopped rogue knights who turned to mercenary work for the unlawful clans that ruled in the west. He is even said to have defeated an ogre in single combat. Tales of his mighty deeds spread wide and far through the Middle Kingdom and there were none but knew his name and respected his sword. Because of his prowess, and his reputation, he was soon assigned to the borderlands, to protect the Middle Kingdom against Tarthun patrols.”
“Oh! Your mallow!” Simplin shouted.
Lucas jerked his stick up, and the flaming ball of sugar slipped off the end and landed some fifteen feet behind them in the dirt.
“Oh, man! I hate it when that happens.”
“Try to watch them more carefully,” Arethel said as she took the stick from Lucas and placed another mallow on the end.
“Ahem!” Mulligan gruffed.
“Sorry,” Lucas said.
“Go on,” said Simplin. “I am actually finding myself intrigued.”
“As I was saying,” Mulligan resumed. “The Tarthuns were such a mighty foe that their cavalry would send ogres fleeing to the mountains. They pillaged and razed all before them, without regard for life. They sacked undefended towns and villages, plundering what treasure they could while destroying everything else. Even the livestock, if they did not roast it on the spot, was slaughtered and left to rot. They cared not to take the animals with them, and they would not allow the animal to be reclaimed by the inhabitants of the Middle Kingdom.
“The Tarthuns were led by one named Gharmagul Keldroan, a great chief who managed to unite the splintered tribes and clans into one, formidable horde. His army despoiled all before them, like the wall of a great tsunami might crush a castle made of sand upon a beach. There was no force that could oppose him, and his army soon became known as the Plague of Arrows, for so swift and adept were their archers upon horseback, the only thing any survivor ever could recall was the sight of thousands of arrows blotting out the sun, tearing through armies, and laying all low unto death.
“In such a time, the gods were willing to favor the Middle Kingdom with a champion. Lepkin, knowing that Gelleirt Monastery stood between the Tarthuns and the road to Livany, decided to protect the monastery and make a stand against the Plague of Arrows. Beyond the strategic importance of the monastery, the monks there were working diligently, translating many texts that now reside within the library at Valtuu Temple, and their work was deemed of the utmost importance by the king.
“Lepkin kept watch over the monastery, with the king’s promise that reinforcements would arrive before the month’s end. Lepkin patrolled the area around the monastery, searching the dry river bed and surrounding valley for any sign of intruders.
“On his second day, Lepkin came upon a group of ten raiders. He fell upon them with such fury that it is said he even took down three of the riders with one swing of his scimitar. None of the ten Tarthuns survived his wrath, and for the next two days no others came. Lepkin took the horses and weapons back to the monastery, keeping one of the bows for himself.
“At the end of the first week, Lepkin spied a group of twenty Tarthuns riding toward the monastery. He equipped himself with his scimitar and the Tarthun bow and rode out to meet them. The Tarthuns formed a circle and rode around Lepkin, firing their arrows all the while. Lepkin’s blessed scimitar formed a protective shield around him, deflecting arrows and frustrating the horsemen. Lepkin returned fire, slaying half of the group before his quiver ran out of arrows. The others descended on him all at once, swallowing him like some writhing sand worm with hooves and swords.
“Lepkin leapt from his horse and took down the first raider. A quick slash to his left and the second rider went down. He danced brilliantly around his foes, dodging their attacks and countering swiftly with deft thrusts and slashes. His scimitar soon painted the sands red with Tarthun blood as the rest of the group fell in battle before the mighty champion.”
“Mallow’s done,” Arethel said.
Lucas took it and squeezed the puff. “No, a couple minutes longer.”
Mulligan cleared his throat impatiently.
“Please, continue,” Simplin urged.
“He returned to Gelleirt Monastery that night and rested, bathing in a heated bath and washing the blood from his skin. The next morning, the bells sounded as a group of thirty riders were spotted off in the horizon. Again, Lepkin gathered his bow and scimitar. He offered a prayer to the old gods and rode out to meet the attackers.
“His blade glinted in the morning rays as he clashed directly with the raiders. His fury cut through them as if he were a great giant, felling saplings. This time, his horse was slain by a slew of arrows to the neck. Lepkin was thrown to the ground, but he rolled away from his enemies and jumped up, ready to fight. He took the foreleg from a horse as its rider charged at him, then he pulled another rider down to the ground and stabbed him through the chest. An arrow sliced through his left shoulder, but he hardly slowed his pace. At last, he clashed with one of Gharmagul’s sons, a feared and ferocious captain named Khelso Bagdaris. The two joined in battle as the other Tarthuns lay dead in the sand around them. Khelso leapt down from his horse, wielding a greatsword in both of his hands. The very ground shook as their blades crashed together. Sand and dust rose up around them as they danced and parried each other’s strikes and blows.
“Khelso let out a mighty roar and brought his sword down with such great force that Lepkin’s scimitar shattered, sending fragments of the blessed blade out into the sand. The mighty hero fell to the ground, but he did not lay still. He rolled to the side as his enemy charged on, chopping at the ground and shouting angrily.
