Which was when he began calling himself Torshak the Terrible and not Torshak Pudwuddle, which was his real name. You can understand why he might decide to do this.
Torshak liked to reinvent his own history. It made sense he would do so with his name.
On this morning, perhaps two weeks after the demise of the Filipians, he was feeling particularly wrathful. His head hurt terribly from the after-effects of consuming copious amounts of alcohol the previous night at a tavern in the village of Stink Whistle. That, and the blows struck him by the tavern owner when Torshak revealed he could not afford to settle his bill.
So, hungry and hurting and hugely disgruntled, he was looking for something to make himself feel better. Hence the search for food, gold, or trouble. Not very imaginative, but well within his manly comfort zone.
What he found, however, was something else entirely.
The first creature landed right in front of him, an insect more than twelve feet tall with a colorful wingspan larger still, claws each the size of Torshak’s hands and mandibles that looked exceedingly sharp. It shrieked and rumbled when it saw him, making an unpleasantly eager sound. Torshak had no idea what this creature was and didn’t think it necessary to find out. He began to back away, sensing that this was going to end badly for him if he stuck around.
But he only got as far as the wall behind him. Wheeling in dismay, he discovered another of these terrible creatures, this one no less terrifying than the first. He backed away in a different direction, seriously worried now. He was rapidly running out of space.
Then a third creature appeared, this one larger and more formidable in appearance than the previous two, descending from the sky and blocking his way once more. Now he was hemmed in on three sides with no room left to maneuver. He did some quick thinking—well, quick for him, anyway—trying to discover a way out of his dilemma. It occurred to him that if he were nimble and quick, he could duck under their wings or between their legs and flee to safety. But he possessed neither of these attributes, and in his present state—still hung over and aching from the blows he had received from the tavern owner—he was having trouble moving at all.
So he took the only course of action open to him. He drew himself up, faced them squarely, and roared, “I am Torshak the Terrible!”
Turned out the creatures didn’t care.
They ate him anyway.
Then they began to follow his tracks back toward the unfortunate village he had come from.
* * * * *
It was late the following day, and Ben was sitting with Willow out on the balcony of their living quarters watching a spectacular orange and purple sunset when Abernathy appeared. Talking dogs were not unheard of within the Kingdom of Landover, but you never wanted to make mention of it to the King’s Scribe. Abernathy viewed himself as a victim of an incredibly careless and unfeeling Questor Thews who, once upon a time, had changed him from a man into a dog. He had used magic to do this, but magic ill-conceived and ill-applied, even given the urgency of the moment and the circumstances that required that this happen. Bad enough that he had done this much damage, but then Questor had found himself unable to change Abernathy back again. Although he had repeatedly tried, to date he had failed to make any real progress.
Well, except for once, but that’s another story for another time, for which you can be thankful.
Abernathy still thought of himself as a man rather than a dog and struggled mightily to convince others to do the same. After all, he had his human hands and brain and voice, even if the rest of him was a Soft-Coated Wheaten Terrier, and those were the parts that counted. His vocabulary, in point of fact, far exceeded that of others at Sterling Silver and gave him a decided advantage in any conversation.
Not that he required much of an advantage on this occasion.
“High Lord, it appears we have a problem with the village of Stink Whistle,” he announced. “A rather serious one.”
Starting with the name, Ben thought. He had never heard of Stink Whistle and would have been perfectly happy if things had stayed that way. The one thing he knew he would never do was ask how the village got such an unfortunate name in the first place.
“What sort of problem?” he said, trying to sound interested.
“People are being eaten by large insects.”
“Have they tried bug spray?”
“These are not normal insects. They are gigantic, carnivorous creatures. Literally, villagers are being snatched up and consumed.”
Willow frowned. “What species are we talking about? I don’t seem to remember insects like that anywhere in Landover.”
“Precisely,” Abernathy said.
Ben nodded slowly. “So, what you’re saying is?”
“These insects are the direct result of ill-considered and ill-conceived magic,” his scribe declared. “That’s what I’m saying.”
“Magic conjured by whom?”
“Questor Thews, once again practicing magic without a license to the detriment and regret of all.” A pause. “I’ve warned you about this before, have I not?”
“Repeatedly.” Ben exchanged a look with Willow. “I don’t seem to remember him saying anything about creating giant insects, however. Are you sure he’s to blame for this?”
Abernathy drew himself up, a sneer tugging at his dog lips. “Quite sure. Our overconfident and marginally skilled Court Wizard botched his attempt at transforming Filipians into butterflies, it seems. Some of those butterflies have become monsters with wingspans of twenty or maybe thirty feet and prefer humans to plants as food. Stink Whistle is bearing the brunt of this failure.”
He looked so self-satisfied that Ben could hardly stand it. “Perhaps we should feel a little compassion for our friend?” he suggested.
“Compassion?”
“Yes, you know. Sympathy. Empathy for his unsuccessful, though well-meaning, attempts to do the right thing? I’m sure you will agree that none of this was intentional.”
“I’ll agree to nothing of the sort.” Abernathy actually growled. “As for empathy, when he finds a way to turn me back into a man again, then I will extend him compassion and whatever else he requires. But not before!”
He barked at the conclusion of these last three words, something he almost never did. Ben sighed. “So how, exactly, do we know these creatures are Filipians? Or were Filipians, anyway?”
“After eating a villager or two, they regurgitated pieces of them. A characteristic that might remind you of another species?”
“So we now have more babies?”
“No. Now we have body parts. The kind that simply lay on the ground, waiting for someone to dispose of them. Rather a lot of them at this point since the creatures have eaten five villagers and seem eager to continue eating as long as there is anyone in Stink Whistle for them to devour. The residents of the village have barricaded themselves in their homes, which for the most part are constructed of stone and therefore safe enough. For the moment, the beasts can’t get at them.”
Which might not be true for very long, Ben knew.
He got to his feet. “Assemble a company of soldiers. We better go see what we can do.”
For the first time, Abernathy hesitated. “Perhaps it might be better to wait until morning? Haste does not benefit those who rush to . . .”
Ben shook his head, cutting him short.
“Right now.”
* * * * *
So off they went, a small army of the High Lord’s finest soldiers along with Bunion, Questor, Abernathy, and Ben himself. Willow had given momentary thought to coming but she had done this so many times before that she decided it would be better for everyone if she remained behind. Having a woman along on a rescue mission always seemed to upset everyone, possibly because men always worried they would end up having to save the woman when it usually ended up being the other way around. Which was how she knew life mostly worked, even if men didn’t want to admit it.
They rode horses north toward what had b
ecome known of late within the confines of Sterling Silver as the Filipian Woods, just beyond which, Ben knew from consulting with Questor, they would find Stink Whistle and the marauding insects. They covered ground quickly, moving at a fast pace, anxious to get as far along as possible before sunset. They didn’t accomplish much, of course, because the sun had already been setting when Abernathy brought news of the need for a rescue. So they ended up riding most of the way in the dark, although two of Landover’s moons were out that night and provided sufficient light to allow for safe passage.
It was well after midnight when the company finally arrived at the outskirts of Stink Whistle. Although Ben was expecting to hear sounds of mayhem and destruction, he heard nothing but the steady clop of their horses’ hooves. No shrieks or screams; no grunts or roars. Only silence. When they rode down the main road leading into town, they saw no one. Apparently, they had arrived too late. It appeared the hunt for food was over, the beasts sated and the villagers devoured.
Ben spurred his mount forward, fearing the worst. The rest of the company followed, weapons drawn. They proceeded cautiously, peering into shadows between buildings and encroaching groves of trees, watching for movement. There were glimmers of light in windows, but shutters everywhere were tightly closed. They came upon the remains of a horse and something that might once have been a man, but nothing like the carnage they had anticipated. There were no body parts scattered along the roadway. No villagers fled through the streets and alleyways, seeking shelter from their hunters.
More gratifying still, there were no signs of new baby Filipians.
Huh, Ben thought as they reached the center of the village and came to a halt.
They were sitting atop their horses, looking around in puzzlement, when a nearby door creaked open and an old man stuck his head out. “They’re gone!” he snapped.
Ben walked his horse closer. “Which way?”
“How would I know that? I’ve been hiding in my house for two days! Are you the rescue party we’ve been waiting for?”
“I suppose so,” Ben said.
“Took your sweet time getting here, didn’t you? Get after those things before they decide to come back! You got to figure out which way they’ve gone first. They fly, you know, so they could be anywhere!”
Ben looked at Questor, who shrugged. “Where is everyone?” he asked the old man.
“They’re hiding in their houses, you dang fool! You think they want to get eaten like Jens Whippet or that Forney kid? Who are you anyway?”
Ben didn’t think he wanted to answer that question, so he smiled bravely and said, “You can come out now. The monsters are gone.”
“Says you!” snapped the old man and slammed the door.
Ben shook his head. “Questor, Questor, Questor.”
“I am terribly sorry about all this, High Lord,” the other replied quickly. “But how was I to know those Filipians could continue to change into other things once I magicked them.”
“It would have been a good idea if you experimented on one of them.”
“Magic is unpredictable, High Lord. Never forget that.”
As if this were a possibility where Questor was concerned. Ben searched the empty, darkened skies. “Do you happen to have any magic that might let us track these things? Anything that would tell us where they’ve gone? We have to find them before they attack anyone else.”
Questor looked at him indignantly. “Of course, I do,” he said.
* * * * *
They rode all night, making their way to the northeast of the kingdom, crossing into the southern reaches of the Greensward. Although they searched for signs of the winged creatures, they saw nothing, and no one they came upon had see anything either. By the time they had reached the Eastern Wastelands and still not experienced even the smallest sighting of their quarry, it was beginning to feel to Ben as if they were looking for a needle in a haystack.
It didn’t help matters that Abernathy and Questor were bickering nonstop. It got bad enough that Ben thought about sending them both home. Except he needed Questor (well, maybe) to help him search out the creatures they were hunting. And sending Abernathy back would require he also send an escort to protect him. That would embarrass his Court Scribe immensely. Better to weather the bickering, even if it was driving him crazy.
When they were nearing the Fire Springs, he called a halt. Going further would mean entering Strabo’s domain, and that was never a wise idea if you didn’t have an invitation. Not that the dragon offered many, but you had to at least ask. So he sent Bunion ahead to inquire of the dragon if he had seen the winged creatures. It didn’t pay to take anything for granted where Strabo was concerned. He tolerated Ben as Landover’s King, but that attitude could change at any moment given his mercurial nature. Strabo was nothing if not unpredictable, and Ben had experienced the consequences of this more than once in the past.
With the arrival of dawn, Bunion returned. Always a difficult creature to read, let alone understand, he was particularly inscrutable this morning, his wizened face scrunched up with what appeared to be laughter, his rough language so punctuated by odd mutterings that even Questor couldn’t manage to understand him clearly.
“It appears he found Strabo,” the wizard said. “But I can’t quite make out the result. He seems to be laughing about something.”
Not very helpful, Ben thought, resigned to maybe trying to talk to Strabo himself, a not very compelling prospect. He thought about sending Questor, but the dragon had less regard for Landover’s Court Wizard than he did for Landover’s King. He seemed to feel a kinship for Bunion however, although Ben could not imagine why that would be.
The problem resolved itself while the soldiers were still waking, after being allowed to sleep for several hours, when a dark shadow fell over the entire company and Strabo sailed slowly out of the heavily misted horizon east. Everyone backed away immediately, save Ben. He was King, after all. He couldn’t very well show fear even when he was experiencing it. So, instead, he stepped forward to meet his fate.
Strabo landed, and the ground shook. The dragon surpassed huge in the way a mountain overshadows a flatlands. He was a massive beast, all black scales and horny protrusions, great wings carefully folding back against his armored body. He loomed over Ben as if he intended to crush him. Intimidation being a large part of his persona, he crowded Ben’s personal space and forced him to look skyward just to meet his baleful gaze.
“Holiday,” he hissed, his breath hot and raw enough to melt iron. “I had hoped never to see you again. How unpleasant it is to find out I was wrong.”
Ben straightened. “Just once I wish you would start a conversation with me that doesn’t include an insult.”
The dragon laughed, great jaws parting, revealing a hint of the fire that burned deep in his throat. “And what fun would that be? Tell me, does your neck hurt from having to look up at me? Do you regret that you are so small and puny? Others in your situation do, usually just before I eat them.”
“I’m sure. Can we skip the threats and just talk?”
“Conversing with you is so boring. You have such trouble holding up your end of the conversation.” His emerald eyes scanned the rest of the company. “Is that Questor Thews? Is he still Court Wizard? How pathetic! You really ought to find someone competent. Isn’t he the whole reason you’re here?”
Ben was caught off guard. “You know why we’re here?”
“Let’s just say I have my suspicions. I must say I keep wondering when you are going to get around to governing your kingdom in a reasonable fashion. Thus far, the concept of governing seems to have eluded you. You appear to believe that once you were named High Lord you were no longer required to do anything but sit on your throne. Chaos reigns, your retinue of handlers wring their hands and engage in pointless efforts to do something, and no one seems to understand that it’s your fault.”
“Exactly what is it you think I should be doing that I am not?” Ben demanded, now thoro
ughly put out. “Who are you to sit in judgment of me? Who causes more trouble in this kingdom than you?”
“That is entirely beside the point. I cause trouble because that is what dragons do. This is not supposed to be the case with High Lords of Landover. High Lords are supposed to govern ably and keep things in balance. This is where you have failed, time and again. I cannot help but feel we would all be better off without you. Maybe it’s time for a new King.”
“Oh, fine!” Ben snapped. “You want to overthrow the present regime and bring in someone more able. Hasn’t that been tried before? Hasn’t it repeatedly failed? Miserably? You can wail about me all you want, but I am still better than the twenty-seven or so other Kings you had who all fled for their lives in the first week of their rule.” He paused, calming himself as best he could with a forty-ton dragon looming over him. “What is it you are trying to say? What is your specific complaint?”
“Specific complaint? I have no specific complaint. I am in general dissatisfied with your efforts at ruling.” The dragon sniffed. “But enough of that. I just wanted to voice my displeasure while I had your attention. Tell me what you’re doing here, and we can all get on with our lives.”
Strabo flexed his back muscles, and all of his considerable spikes stood on end. He yawned to emphasize his boredom and smacked his dragon lips lazily. “You know, I do like your queen though, the pretty sylph, so much better than you. Dragons are like that. Gracious and sentimental where ladies are concerned. We have a soft spot for such lovely creatures, especially when they are of the once-fairy. Such exquisite creatures.” His nostrils flared. “Why am I wasting my time telling you all this? Why am I doing all the talking? Speak up, will you? I don’t have all day. What are you doing here?”
Ben took a deep breath. “Apparently, you already know the answer to that. Three winged creatures of considerable size are rampaging through the countryside, killing people and destroying property. I want to put an end to it. Have you seen them?”
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