TWO HEADS TWO SPIKES (The Pearl of Wisdom Saga)

by Jason Paul Rice

  “First order of interest,” the Princess started, “I want the whore wagons and tents gone immediately.”

  Sir Pierre Trommel interjected, “My Princess, I am not particularly fond of the whores personally, but they are necessary for the men’s morale.”

  The Princess quickly snapped back, “Morale? Morale? I watched six men die yesterday, fourteen the day before. Pissing blood was the first sign for all of them. Then their whole body turned green and they rotted from the inside out. They were throwing up and shitting out their insides until they died a painful death. Many of them now ask to be put to the sword after pissing blood. Forty-eight men died after contracting these symptoms last month and every single one of those men visited the whores just weeks before their demise. I don’t have to be brilliant to put this together.”

  “But highness, maybe we can find some new, cleaner whores. I do say this for your safety as well,” Captain Leo Tetine warned.

  The Princess immediately came back, “Hah, I think I am able defend myself just fine Captain.” She thought for a moment, and declared, “We bring in new whores under this provision: They will be sampled by our most unproductive men first, pages, squires and the like. If nothing should occur to those men, then the soldiers may start using them again. As for these present whores, they are killing more men than the enemy at the moment. We need them removed immediately. Send them over to the Donegal lines with the message that the Warrior Princess will not allow whores in her camps any longer. These girls can be better killers than most of our men at the moment.”

  “Brilliant idea, my Princess”, said Captain Salina.

  Leimur just nodded her head.

  “As far as my father, I can’t seem to get a response from him about consolidating power in the west. Many letters have gone unanswered and I am afraid we must remain here until we receive word from the Capitol,” the Princess told her audience.

  “They must be fighting a war in Sevring that we do not know about,” said an annoyed Sir Pierre.

  “Look,” said Leimur as she raised her voice, “Nobody wants to end this stalemate more than General Rigby and I. If we continue to receive no response I will go to the Capitol myself to handle this problem.”

  “Would that be wise, my Princess?” asked Captain Rosa Salina.

  The Princess turned to the woman and smiled, exposing her jagged teeth. “No, but it may be required for a Princess General. Captain Tetine, what words have you received from the Harbor Valley front?”

  The older man with a missing left eye said, “Same stalemate that we have here. They take a couple hundred feet, Harbor Valley takes it right back. It sounds exactly like the letters we are sending them.”

  “Perfect. We are exhausting resources on either side of the realm and probably all points in between.” She looked around and told the war veterans, “Thank you everyone, you are dismissed now.”

  General Rigby stayed back and addressed the Princess, “Leimur, I have some unpleasant words I feel are necessary for your ears.”

  The Princess knew the General had something serious to discuss. He had never called her Leimur before.

  “It is about your father,” continued General George Rigby. The General had served in the Goldenfield army for thirty-two years. He was forty-six and scars of battle were visible. The General, a gargantuan man, had many battle wounds. His two missing fingers and knife scars across the back of his neck were constant reminders of having been a prisoner in Livingstone for three years. Rigby’s shaggy, gray hair and short beard matched each other. His gray eyes and several missing teeth completed the haggard look.

  The Princess took a seat inside the makeshift mobile office.

  “I have received several reports from different sources about your father’s behavior.” General Rigby squirmed as he uttered the words.

  Leimur tried to make it easier for him, “I am not a stupid little girl, General. You have seen me kill men all over the battlefield and I have even tortured them in gruesome ways, so do not be shy.”

  She spoke in a deep bass voice that proved useful when she had to shout orders over the chaos on the battlefield. Conversely, she rarely raised her voice in meetings.

  The General fingered his moustache and stated, “Unfortunately, it seems your father is going a bit mad. I am told he is uselessly drunk at all times and he is bringing whores into the bed of his holy union.”

  Leimur hated her mother even more than her father, but even she didn’t deserve that humiliation. “That’s not mad, just disrespectful really,” Leimur responded.

  “I was not quite finished, my Princess. It also seems as though he thinks he holds a connection to the Gods. He takes on a different moniker for all seven days of the week.” The General now sat down. “It also appears that he feels that mortals are here on earth for him to feast on. Not only is he taking on whores, but the wives of his council members and family. He is also sacrificing a virgin girl every day in the palace bailey in a mark of respect to the Gods.”

  The Princess looked down and shook her head, “Does the public know?”

  “All of my resources trust very little is known right now, but that shouldn’t last for long. One of these husbands is going to talk to someone at some point,” the General slowly added.

  “Or kill someone? Send me to all seven hells. How can my mother put up with this?” the Princess wondered.

  “Damn, I was hoping you wouldn’t ask. I have been told that the Queen has - I am sorry - your birth mother has…” the General corrected himself as he remembered the Princess despised people calling her mother the Queen. “She has become very fond of wine, ale and spirits, I am afraid. They say she wakes to six cups of morning water spiked with heavy spirits and progresses to drink it straight as the day moves on. She is believed to sleep sometimes for a full day at a time. She only wakes to vomit or relieve herself.”

  A disgusted look came over the Princess’s face as the conversation angered her the more it went on. She said sternly, “Our realm sits in peril, ripe for sack by outsiders or the general public, and we are stuck dealing with this nonsense.”

  THE PRICE TO PAY

  RUSSELL

  He abhorred doing this. Ali-Pari Wamhoff pulled his pants down and welcomed his penis into her mouth. After several minutes of heavy licking and sucking Russell Seabrook was ready to go. The stark naked Ali-Pari slowly stood up and leaned over the bed. Russell knew he had to carry out this burden. The young man settled in behind her. He closed his eyes and envisioned Ali-Gare, the fairest maid in the land, as he inserted himself inside Ali-Pari Wamhoff.

  “Ooohh,” she moaned in her deep voice. He started slowly until Ali-Pari reached back and pinched his thigh, saying, “Pound me young man.”

  I guess this is the price I pay for being knighted at sixteen.

  Russell’s eyes remained closed as the sensual slapping of skin got increasingly louder.

  Sir Russell Seabrook was a bewildered young man of seventeen. He always thought he had greatness within, but wasn’t sure of what his destiny had in store for him. Russell had shaggy, curly brown hair offset by brilliant blue eyes. He was tall and strapping but still appeared younger because he couldn’t grow facial hair. He had a slight speech difficulty and tended to stutter when stumped or ruffled. Russell served as one of only a few lowborn knights in the realm. His mother worked in the castle kitchens of Duke Tyus Etburn. Duke Etburn was eighty two and cared little for Russell. When he had refused to knight the boy, Ali-Pari threatened to take the boy to Falconhurst to let her brother, King Ali-Stanley, knight him. Duke Etburn ultimately caved in and carried out the wishes of Ali-Pari.

  Ali-Pari Wamhoff had always taken care of Russell Seabrook. Even though she had married Duke Etburn, everyone still called her by the Wamhoff name. He never knew his father and she took him in after his mother died when he was eight.

  Russell opened his eyes and looked at Ali-Pari’s wrinkled skin bouncing around. She was a dazzling woman, but at age seventy, new sh
ortcomings arrived every day like uninvited guests. Ali-Pari’s once vibrant auburn hair now grayed, matching the dull walls of her room. She had been nicely shaped, but those days were only fading memories. Russell focused on the wrinkles and blue marks on her legs. After about ten minutes of rough sex Ali-Pari started convulsing and screamed Russell’s name at the top of her throat.

  The Duchess of the castle released her taut grip on the sheets and said, “Oh Russell, you are my favorite.”

  Russell was simply glad it was over. He felt grimy having sex with the Duchess of Waters Edge, right under her husband’s roof.

  I cannot continue this.

  Russell put his clothes back on while Ali-Pari lay back, smiling in the bed.

  “Oh why are you so sad, Sir Russell,” poked Ali-Pari.

  “I’m not sad, it’s just...”

  “It’s just what?” interrupted Ali-Pari, suddenly annoyed.

  Russell carefully continued, “Well it just feels wrong to do this to Duke Etburn.”

  A direct Ali-Pari said, “My child, that man is deader than a ghost. He couldn’t satisfy me when he was in his prime. And every woman, although she will deny it, has sexual needs just like a man.”

  That doesn’t make me feel better at all.

  “As you say, my Duchess,” Russell offered.

  “Oh, Russell Seabrook, I cannot have you mad at me,” she said as she got out of bed and walked over to a fully attired Russell.

  Russell loved Ali-Pari like a grandmother. She took care of him when no one else was willing, but he still needed to figure out an alternative that would convince Ali-Pari to terminate this adultery.

  She hugged Russell, kissed him on the cheek and whispered in a raspy voice, “Goodbye, my brave knight.”

  “My Duchess,” Russell bowed and slipped out the door. He withdrew from the castle as fast as he could.

  The smell of dirty, salty seawater lofted through the afternoon air. Although Elkridge, the Capitol of Waters Edge, lay inland from the Sea of Green, it still caught some of the ocean smells that drifted in. A huge crowd of people thronged the castle. Some traded goods from the early harvest. Others just drank and exchanged boisterous stories. Food and essentials were the main items traded since luxury goods were somewhat forbidden by Duke Etburn who preached against living in excess as he believed it may burn the soul.

  There was a strong belief in the afterlife in the kingdom of Donegal. They called it the forever-life because it was expected to last for eternity. The worshippers believed that they would be judged by their actions on earth to determine their status in the forever-life. Would it be heaven or hell? After death, a person either ascended into heaven or descended to hell. There were seven steps of heaven and seven gates of hell. A test at each step or gate determined if you went to a better heaven or worse hell as each step multiplied the results. The people called them the heavens and hells. The church had also convinced worshippers to repent their sins on earth to the Faith of Eternal Light with the promise that you may enter the tests of heaven with a clean soul. Usually it took a monetary transaction to have one of the Brothers of the Faith of Eternal Light absolve your earthly sins for the Day of Judgment.

  The fiery sun blazed bright with hardly any clouds, but the gusty Elkridge winds kept the day proportionately cool. Russell stumbled around before he spied a familiar face.

  The older man laughed heartily and said, “Ha, ha, ha, there he is, my brave knight.”

  His raspy voice sent a sharp, cold shiver up and down Russell’s spine.

  “I bet you never had to undress a dead man have you?”

  “Never,” answered the young man.

  “How can you call yourself a knight and never perform your war duty?” the old salt chuckled.

  “I had, uh, other duties that, uh...,” stammered Russell.

  The old man cut him off, “Uh, uh, I am just breaking your stones kid. But if you haven’t had to steal from a dead man, you haven’t been to war.”

  Russell wanted to go to war, but Ali-Pari wouldn’t acquiesce.

  “You probably never seen anything like this neither,” sighed the gruff old soldier.

  He lifted his shirt to show Russell but the stink hit him first. It stung his nostrils in a way Russell Seabrook had never experienced before. He considered himself a tough man to have been knighted at sixteen, but this challenged him.

  From bellybutton to hip, Terry Underling sported an unsightly gash. The wide cut was purple and black down the center, with a bloody red surrounding. It made the ghostly white flesh next to it even more alarming.

  “You are dying?” inquired an astonished Russell.

  “If that’s so, I’ve been dying for years,” joked the war veteran.

  “Tell me more about war, the bad stuff,” suggested Russell.

  Terry began, “See right now you swing that sword around the practice yard. Sure, it sings lovely songs and at the end of the day everyone goes home safe. You eat a nice supper, kiss your girl, maybe pat her bottom and go to sleep in a comfortable bed. But that’s not real, lad. The first time you feel that sword rip through a man’s body, that’s when it becomes real.” He grimaced as he thumbed the wound but kept talking, “It’s said that man is mightier than the sword, but my sword has widowed many a woman.”

  Russell jumped in, “But you, a man, had to wield that sword.”

  “Aye, that’s true,” he continued, “But when you have been away from your home and family for years, taking people’s lives from their families, that’s when you start to question it. Especially when you see childhood friends sliced straight through the neck and their bloody heads land by your foot. Then you watch your brother take a sword through the stomach and I can tell you it’s not pretty to watch any man try to shove his guts back into his body.”

  Russell’s stomach started to stir as the zealous man carried on, “I threw up. I looked like you did a little while ago when I showed you my little cut. And then you realize the sword is a pretty damn close second. Then, once you start to be able to stomach the death, the freezing, the stinking, the starving, you realize that we lose even if Donegal wins. I have seen tens of thousands of men slain in the name of the great King of Donegal. I knew many a man who died for Ali-Baster before Ali-Stanley. They laid their lives down for the King who died on the golden chamber pot. They gave up everything for a man who couldn’t survive taking a shit.”

  Russell interrupted, “What are you talking of? Ali-Pari told me King Ali-Baster died on the throne, ruling the realm.”

  Terry laughed heartily, “Of course that is what a Wamhoff told you. Fuckin’ hells, they aren’t going to tell everyone in the realm that the king keeled over on the pot.” He settled down as he continued his story, “Not one of these men I speak of ever saw the king. I have never seen either of my kings nor the Capitol for that matter. I am just a poor sea boy thrust directly into the front lines of a fox king’s fantasy war. The great Ali-Stanley waves his magic scepter and men like me die.”

  Russell was a little distressed, but he’d asked for it.

  Terry went on with his story, “Most men have no idea why the war is even being waged. And the king uses phrases like WE are at war. King Ali-Stanley is still spending away to glory, having feasts and tourneys. He kisses his wife and family every day. He even sends his own son into the action he never saw himself. He sits in the palm of luxury and has the nerve to speak of sacrifice. Hah!” Terry agonized over his wound as he went on, “I was once gone for fourteen years fighting a war that accomplished nothing. I returned to find my loving wife had passed. She has been gone for five years, but I can still see her face right now, like it was just yesterday.”

  Terry Underling closed his eyes and had a quick smile wiped away by a very painful look.

  Russell cut in, “Are you alright my friend?”

  “Aye,” grunted Terry as he kept telling his story, “We ate when rations were available, slept on the rocky ground and I killed more men than I care to count.
These men never wronged me. They waved a different flag than me and for that I slayed them like animals. And maybe because I ruined so many people’s dreams, the nightmares still haunt me. They all involve the wives of the men I killed. I don’t know them, but they know me in these dreams, nightmares really. They show up to kill me every damn night. Now that is sacrifice. For the good of the realm, hah. Have I scared you enough, lad?”

  Terry started coughing uncontrollably. Russell was really perturbed when Terry spit a wad of blood on the ground.

  Is he dying right now?

  “Are you going to be alright?” a concerned Russell asked.

  “Oh, I am fine, lad. This happens all the time. That’s the glory of the privilege to serve in the Donegal army,” smiled Terry, exposing his red teeth.

  The day was making Russell feel ill.

  “I need a drink, kid. I guess I’ll see you around,” said Terry as he scrambled off toward the tavern.

  Russell simply nodded his head. He had undertaken digging for answers today but only more questions sprouted up. He noticed Edburgh Etburn moving quickly down the street so he hustled over to him.

  Russell tapped Edburgh on the shoulder and asked, “How are you, my Lord?”

  “Just fine, Sir Russell,” Edburgh mumbled as he hurried away.

  “Fare thee well, my good Lord,” Russell yelled.

  Now Russell knew something was amiss. He was naïve, but Edburgh had never called him Sir Russell before and only gave him respect in the company of Ali-Pari.

  Maybe he is just as confused as I am? At least he has Caroline with him to travel life’s path. I think I might need a walk in the Frozen Forest to discover some answers. I must tell Ali-Pari I will be leaving for several days. I suppose I will have to perform my duty before I leave.

  A LAZY AFTERNOON IN THE CAPITOL

  EMILIA

  The horse’s hooves thudded along the moist beaten trail, launching mud in every direction. It had rained last night and the Queen’s dress paid the price. Most women, let alone a queen, never rode their horse in a dress. The two raced away from the rank odor that flowed throughout Falconhurst. The sewage system had failed again and the residents of the Capitol suffered the inconvenience. It was a bright spring day with the wind howling. Puffy clouds swept in occasionally, stealing the sun’s rays. The Queen headed toward the wooded area on the outskirts of the eastern side of the Capitol. The petite Queen sat atop her simple white horse in an amber saddle. Her protector rode alongside, controlling a dark brown horse that wore a black saddle.