by Chris Pisano
Finally, one elder tilted his head back and released a shriek that sickened every nerve in everyone’s bodies. When no one had the wherewithal to utter a single noise, the elder stomped his foot and bellowed, “The stone stays! That is final!”
Despite his new headache, Bale continued to pull the twine. With one final tug, Lapin popped from the hole holding the stone in question. With a slurred smile, he presented it for all to see. “Found it!”
Thirty-two
There was no road between the Kingdom of Albathia and the monster city of Grimwell by design. In fact, not even seldom used paths existed in most places. The walk was arduous, and the conditions were heinous to the average traveler. In one area, the conditions were dusty, and dry soot hung all about in a thick cloud, the grime permeating even the densest clothing, lying on the skin causing it to sweat, then caking in the moisture. In an odd twist of fate, it was only several miles beyond that a vast expanse of moisture-rich soil laid. Not fully a swamp, but bearing many of the same characteristics of this geographical feature, the soil was damp and the air thick with humidity. Scores of pestering insect species sought out life within their demesne and then proceeded to make that life wish it were somehow something less than living. Again, even the densest clothing provided little relief to the stinging, swarming, eye-seeking, aperture-exploring insects. Nestled within the inviting arms of a small forest, this mire lasted for several miles, lying invisible beneath a lush carpet of loam that gave way easily under foot, causing the walker to slip as the bugs attacked his ears, eyes, and nose.
Daedalus dropped to his knees for the thirteenth time that he could recollect, though, by his own admission, he wasn’t sure when he had begun keeping track of the ignominious acts nature had wreaked upon him during this journey. It wasn’t until his “walking companion” had disappeared, his parting words an offer to run ahead and act as the prince’s herald to the citizens of Grimwell.
“It simply wouldn’t do for the human prince to show up uninvited and unannounced,” the knotted little bard had said with a lopsided smile that carried no mirth.
At first, the prince acquiesced. Were it simply one of his brothers making this trek, then such frivolities could have been overlooked. But someone of his stature and standing, soon to be named king … certain etiquettes could not be ignored. But after walking through the muck for several hours, his mood had soured considerably, and Daedalus decided his first act upon reaching his gods-forsaken destination would be to choke his erstwhile companion until the little fellow’s face turned livid with pent up life. The herald would beg for death in front of the assembled natives of Grimwell, and Daedalus, the Merciful, would oblige his sad wishes. His first meeting with the indigenous members of the nonhuman city would be notable, and he would be remembered as a sanguine individual even as they placed a crown upon his head. Let previous plans burn in great plumes of smoke, Daedalus thought, salivating at the thought of becoming king. He would claim this city of wild things as his subjects, as was only right, falling as it did well within the established borders of Albathia. He would be coy at first, he decided, pushing them to the limits of their need until they verily begged him to be their king, uniting them against the thronging Horde and delivering them from the evils of Praeker Trieste. Surely tales of the scorpion-clad general’s bloodlust must have reached even the most remote pockets of civilization, no matter how rudimentary.
He smiled to himself, despite the pressing concerns of his present situation and for just a moment allowed himself to forget that he was on his knees and sinking in the hungry mud while flies and gnats barraged his skin until red. Welts and white, pus-filled abrasions too numerous to count surfaced like so many remote island chains upon the globe of his skin.
It was an unusually virulent sting upon his oft-blistered foot that brought him out of his vision of coronations and coquettish speeches. He seethed in silence; let his anger vent in ragged panting, the white clouds of hatred almost discernable against the backdrop of humidity. In time, the humidity would be replaced by humanity, still grouped and overlapped one upon the next, the necessity of their existence palpable, though not entirely palatable. It was at that moment that he would unleash his boiled-over rage, his antagonism reaching where sight could not. A gleaming spotlight of zeal crowning his head, like no circlet of no man-made forging could deign, would be the only herald he would need, though he would allow himself the normal courtly pleasantries lest the dignitaries of other states who would prostrate themselves at his feet be at a loss to express their humility in the presence of his greatness.
And so Daedalus had slipped from one vision to another suffering the ignominy of nature yet again. But his fervor was redoubled, so sure he was of his course of action. At some point, though he was quite unaware of it, he had become mobile, moving with somnambulistic grace through the muck that grasped at his feet, his sandals having been lost and forgotten some time ago. In his mind, though, it was easier to walk without them. Right up to the point where he stumbled through the brush, erupting onto the dusty scratch of land that served as the main road of Grimwell. So sudden was his departure from the nightmare of his nature walk that the change failed to register in his mind. His daze continued, carrying him amongst the residents of the nonhuman city who rose up in twos and threes like fangs in the maw of some great beast. He was fully ringed by monsters, his forward progression impeded before his dream faded. And when true sight returned to him and he beheld himself circled as he was by the bestial inhabitants of Grimwell, he mistook this moment for the moment he envisioned, standing expectantly for some offspring of the elders to seek him out, bearing his crown.
He did not attempt speech, so moved by the moment in which he found himself. The nonhumans puffed and grunted, nudging each other and raising their eyebrows in a lewd manner, saliva pasting their chest hairs as they considered wordlessly how to consume the meal that had walked so willingly into their midst.
“Oh, you’re here! Let me through,” rang the familiar voice of the bard for all its unctuousness. “This is the human prince I told you all about.”
They know their king, Daedalus was tempted to retort, but good fortune touched his fevered mind before he could form the words, and he fell limp where he stood, collapsing in an unimpressive heap.
As with so many points in his life, Daedalus had no recognition of the happenings that passed around him. When he awoke, he lay upon a crude bed. Before his stomach protested its hunger, before his eyes grew accustomed to the filtered light, before he had even stretched his cramped limbs, he was acutely aware of the fact that he had not been bathed. And that simply would not do.
“Bard! Herald! Manservant,” he shouted, repeating as necessary until the bard appeared at the entrance to the hut in which Daedalus found himself. Upon recognizing his form, Daedalus greeted him.
“Where am I? How long have I been here? And why have I not been bathed?”
“My lord, we feared to move you much. You had suffered from a dozen maladies and a severe infection where something injected you with its toxin. You are in Grimwell. And it’s a good thing I went ahead of you. Or you would have been spitted.”
Daedalus knew very well the bard’s words were merely a euphemism for “you owe me your life.” The young prince sat up and looked around the cramped room. Two beds, poorly constructed, even for peasants, and one oil lamp on a small table. He noticed no sunlight, even though he knew both suns were up, which meant no windows. With a sneer, he said, “Who could possibly live in a squalid home such as this?”
“Home?” The bard chuckled. “No, my liege. This is the town’s hospital.”
A million worms squirmed in Daedalus’s stomach at the thought. He stood, looking for the exit. He found it, a hole at the end of upward sloping dirt. “What madness is this?”
“Madness? Why, sire, this is Grimwell. Have you heard none of the stories?”
“I have. But there is a difference between hearing a story and living it.” Remiss at the weakness of his o
wn words, Daedalus took a step toward the exit.
A worried look in his eyes, the bard stepped in front of the prince. “Sire, I must insist you return to the bed and rest.”
The prince’s face ignited to a red matching the fire behind his eyes and the heat of his words. “Listen, old man, be blessed that I haven’t killed you yet for leading me through, and to, such indignation. I have never been so humiliated and befouled in all my years in this life, and you are the reason for it. Were you not as filth ridden as these surroundings, I would merrily wrap my hands around your wretched throat and crush your neck with mine own thumbs! Unless you have the stone which I seek hidden in one of your pockets, I suggest you remove yourself from my intended path!”
The bard regarded the prince. Finally, he offered a slight bow, then stepped to the side, allowing the prince free access to the exit.
Once through, Daedalus began to think that the bard was actually trying to protect him from the horrors that waited outside the horrid hospital. The buildings nestled themselves underground, only ravaged holes served as entranceways. No roads. No signs of any form of civilization.
With every step he took, his feet sunk into the sandy ground. The land sloped and curved, roiled like the bubbling of a witch’s brew frozen in an instant. When the mother world was young and giving birth to Albathia, Grimwell was stillborn and yet to be discarded. As he walked, he felt eyes upon him, but every time he turned to meet them, there were none to be found. Daedalus changed his mind—once he assumed the throne, he would dispatch his army to Grimwell and raze the entire town.
Daedalus continued to walk, doubting his judgment in shunning the bard, the only one who might know how to procure the stone that he sought. However, he heard noises, voices, and followed.
Knees and ankles throbbing from navigating the unpredictable terrain, Daedalus did his best to find the most direct path to the noises. Trudging up the slope of a slime-flooded gully, the prince discovered the source of voices: thirteen nightmarish townsfolk, two wizards, three creatures, two men, and a large woman dressed for battle.
Knowing he couldn’t make it any closer without being noticed, Daedalus stayed low, clinging to the gully’s lip. The humans looked like lone roses growing in a field of dung. Even the three creatures seemed foreign. There was a reason for them being here, and the only way for Daedalus to ascertain the reason was through stealth.
Fighting every urge to vomit from the squalid surroundings, the prince listened. He soon discovered that they too sought the stone. Did they have any yet? he wondered. How many? What were their plans for them? He heard Praeker Trieste’s name mentioned. The town elders refused to give the adventurers their stone. Then he noticed something odd with the ogre, he was not part of the conversation, opting to play with a string instead. Daedalus watched the ogre pull the twine, reeling it in. At the other end was a rabbit. Holding the stone, the Sun Stone!
Unable to resist any longer, Daedalus scrabbled from the gully and approached. Standing tall and regal, he puffed his chest out as he joined the commotion. “I trust you all know who I am?”
Jaws dropped. The prince’s presence only added to the confusion. Why was he here? Unescorted? And covered in the same filth that covered everyone present? Such a shock to see royalty appear from squalor, no one made any effort to bow. Coveting the stone as he did, the prince chose to forgive them for their base indiscretion. So with stately acumen, he struck a princely pose, legs straight with best foot forward, the back of his left hand on his hip and right hand extended, waiting for the stone to be placed in it. “The stone, please. In the name of the king.”
Nothing. No reaction from a soul. Even Lapin found the situation sobering.
Frowning, Daedalus tried again. “In case you did not understand me the first time, I demanded the stone. And in case your senses have abandoned you, fleeing from such hideous surroundings, then let me remind you there is no higher decree than mine.”
The night-hag approached, every step a painful conflict with her own mangled body. “I assure you, dear Prince, the laws you pen to paper do not apply here. This is a Grimwell matter, which does not concern you. I suggest you take leave before you get involved.”
The brazen contempt added another blow to the prince’s already fragile sanity. He turned to the humans and appealed to their senses. “Obviously, none of you are denizens of this muck-ridden village. My flag flies over your heads, and I expect you to act as such. Now, one of you fetch the stone and give it to me.”
Diminutia and Silver reacted to his demands with scowls. Belhurst stepped forward and said, “Your Majesty, I assure you we are acting in the best interests of the kingdom. This stone, and the others like it, are cankers upon the flesh of your kingdom, which need to be burned away. Please allow us to do that.”
“It is not up to you to decide what is best for my kingdom. That is for me to decide. The stone. Now!”
Never recognizing the king’s rule to begin with, Belhurst found it very easy to reach down and scoop up Lapin within his hands. He took the stone from the rabbit and handed him back to Bale. The wizard then turned his back on the prince.
Ire exploded within the prince’s chest. He no longer smelled the offensive odors or felt the grime caking his body. He felt only pure rage. Turning to Dearborn, he snapped, “You! You wear the insignias of the king’s Elite Troop. You must obey me! It is your sworn duty! Your oath to me! I own your very soul. Now, you must fetch me the stone!”
Tears rolled from Dearborn’s eyes. What would Iderion have done? The general sacrificed his life, the lives of more than thirty others for the whim of one mad prince. Even when the prince was wrong, the general followed orders, obeyed the prince. And this prince knew very well who she was, but offered no sense of recognition. His wits clearly left him if he could not recall her name. She could, should, take all four stones with ease, hand them to the prince, and escort him home to Phenomere. But back to what? The city lay in ruins. She knew that, she was there, witnessed the horrors of the city’s destruction, impotent to save it. She knew what Iderion would have done, and could make no other choice but to honor his memory. “No.”
She expected a lashing retort, a string of discredits to her ancestry, some physical abuse, but the prince merely displayed the smile of a slow child. It was as if they spoke differing languages, and he was merely reacting to the roll of tears down her cheek in a calm, beneficent manner. For his part, Daedalus was dumbfounded. He knew of the word she spoke, but it existed only for his use, and it did not register into his vocabulary for any other usage. For a moment, his mind was as shaky as his body. No action held any certainty for him. If there was a path leading through this dilemma, he was powerless to discern it. But he had never been a man of action, and plan be damned, he launched himself into motion.
“There are no options for you to weigh, wench!” he said lunging past her. “It was not a suggestion, but a demand!”
She slipped one chiseled arm about him, as though steadying a drunkard and spun him about.
“Forgive me, my lord, but you are not well.”
Her touch infused him with fury, its red bloom rising in his cheeks and flushing his neck amidst the cords of muscle that twitched there like so many squirming vipers. His breath came in quick pants, small plumes of white heat rising up from his parted lips as he regarded Dearborn with more malice than could possibly be harbored within one heart.
He regarded her with steely eyes and used his thumb and forefinger to gently remove her hand from his person, then wiped his offended flesh upon his ragged shirt. Despite his fevered madness, his eyes were clear and focused as he finally recognized who she was and words were welling up in his throat awaiting a torrential release. But suddenly a great clamor erupted on the far side of town, and the denizens stumbled off towards the shouting, so the coup-de-grace of his words died as Dearborn turned her back on him to follow the action.
“I claim this town. Kneel and accept me as your master.” Before all lik
e a god, his presence eclipsing even that of the prince of Albathia, stood Praeker Trieste.
A morbidly disfigured centaur, clad in the black strips of cloth signifying one of the elders, trotted up to the newest invader and stated, “You are known to us, Praeker Trieste, as a demon. Here you are a monster even among monsters! You can expect no succor here.”
“I’m not one who disappoints easily, and yet you have succeeded in doing so. I wonder,” Praeker began, using one hand to grip the neck of the centaur that addressed him and with a quick contraction of his arm drawing the beast close to his person, “if the sentiment will remain the same after you have expired.” A sickly noise followed an imperceptible movement, and Praeker released the centaur to fall lifeless to the ground his head lolling, neck bent at an impossible angle.
Dearborn and her companions left Daedalus to survey this new development. Her training taught her that she should never turn her back on anything as desperate and deadly as the maddened prince, but one death looked very much like another to her at the moment. And there was a part of her mind that would sooner have this lunacy at an end than sit through the playing of the final card.
Praeker’s voice rang out to every corner of Grimwell, his tone creating a void within every living creature. The hollowness did not last long as fear crept into those empty spaces. “Harbored within your midst is the Sun Stone, goodly creatures of Grimwell. It will remain hidden for only as long as it takes me to reduce your populace to nil. My army lays outside your border available upon my command. Though, looking at the pathetic resistance about me, I wonder if it will even be necessary.”
“There are none here who will help you, Praeker,” said the night-hag.
“So be it. Then choose amongst yourselves the order in which you’d like to be martyred.”
“Belhurst, does Praeker stand a chance against the night-hag?” asked Silver.
“She is formidable. But Praeker Trieste is no mere mortal, Silver. There is nothing here that can oppose him.”