MUTTKNUCKLES, JIVE
[heir to the Barony of Sneeze. Left Crestwell, then ran away when his father died, in 987, and had to be dragged back and chained to the throne in order to rule. Has enjoyed a reluctant (but peaceful) reign]
Modeset swallowed as his eyes found the last entry on the page:
MODESET, VANDRE
[heir to the throne of Dullitch, ascended to rule the capital in 986, following the death of Duke Edwyn Vitkins (uncle), but was firmly ejected during the infamous “rat catastrophe” in 1002. Currently in disgrace, though rumored to be a sure bet for the “complimentary” chair of the Great Assembly. Owns an ancestral home in the district of Fogrise, but remains the only living lord without a city.]
Modeset read the last line through twice before slamming the book shut, his eyes welling up as the truth of the statement bit into his soul. The only living lord without a city. How had it come to this?
Modeset shut his eyes, ignoring the archivist’s incessant chatter, and tried to focus on the positives. As far as he could determine, he had three things going for him: a loyal manservant, a plan to rid the continent of an unwanted menace, and … and … and a healthy dog. The rest would come. He would rule again. As his father so often used to say, an opportunity would present itself …
Three
SEVERAL WEEKS LATER, IN Phlegm’s giant arena, two swords clashed in the air. There followed a brief yelp before a goblin head flew wide and bounced along the ground several times, rolling to a halt.
A cheer erupted from the crowd.
Gordo Goldeaxe leaped onto a rock and took a moment to review the situation. There were ten goblins decapitated, six red ogres in the scorpion pit, and it looked as though Groan had the king’s elephantine moon troll on the run. That was the good news: the bad news was that, over on the opposite side of the arena, Gape Teethgrit and his magically accurate blades were doing just as well. In fact, not only had Groan’s half brother made light work of the goblins and the red ogres, he’d also persuaded his moon troll to break its chains in a dramatic bid for freedom. Predictably, King Phew had both creatures shot before they reached the arena doors.
Gordo sighed: it was going to be another tie. How much longer could they go on like this?
“Done ’im,” roared Groan Teethgrit, swaggering up with an air of arrogance peculiar to the barbarian class. “Where’d them goblins go?”
“I’ve killed them all,” Gordo admitted, indicating the pile of bodies around his rock. “And before you ask, no, I haven’t scalped you any hair.”
“I’ll get an ’an’ful, meself.”
“Forget the wig, Groan; smooth’s a good look for you.” The dwarf grinned encouragingly. Then he jumped down off the rock and removed the cracked iron helmet that had practically been hammered into his skull by goblin blades. “I see your brother’s doing well.”
Groan peered across the arena floor, and cursed. “’ginner’s luck,” he said.
“I doubt that,” Gordo replied, rapping on the helmet to see if he needed a new one. “Let’s face it, Groan, he’s every bit the warrior you are, and those swords of his are more than a match for both our weapons combined. They hum, Groan. You don’t even see the damn things until they’re sticking in your chest!”
“Yeah,” Groan agreed thoughtfully. “Maybe you should fight wiv ’im for a bit; give me a chance.”
“I’ll ignore that,” Gordo said, drawing in a long breath. “Still, it’s a pity it’s come to this. You two used to get on fine before … well, you know. Women, eh? More trouble than they’re worth. I reckon you should just let this one go …”
“No way.”
Groan flexed his jostling muscles and straightened up. At seven feet tall, he was a sight to behold. Then again, Gordo reflected, so was his half brother. In fact, the only noticeable physical difference between them, apart from an inch or two of height, was Groan’s inordinate lack of hair and his brother’s profuse abundance of it. Mentally, however, they were a world apart.
The dwarf finished toying with his helmet and discarded it. Then he raised his stout battle-axe to signal to the royal audience that their fight was over.
The distant shape of King Phew, High Lord of Phlegm, got to its feet and began to applaud. The rest of the crowd soon joined in, but a second burst of applause announced an even greater victory for the junior Teethgrit. To the delight of the crowd, Gape had stacked all the ogre arms in an amusing pyramid and was bowling a goblin skull at them.
“Pathetic,” Gordo grumbled. “Absolutely pathetic. Look at him parading up and down as if he’s the Duke of Dullitch. Makes me sick.”
Groan nodded his head to one side. “I don’t reckon’ they should let ’im ’ave them swords.”
“Oh, don’t be an idiot!” Gordo muttered, beginning the long walk back to the podium. “If they ban his swords from the arena, then they’d sure as hell ban me. In fact, while we’re on the subject, I don’t even know what I’m doing here; remind me again?”
“Friendship,” Groan barked. “’Sides, I came wiv you when you went to fight that bloke what took all them kiddies outta Dullitch.”
Gordo rounded on his friend like an angry dog. “Ha! You were in that for the gold, Groan Teethgrit. Don’t even try to deny it.”
“Yeah, well, you’re probably in this for the, for the, for the—”
“Goblin snot?”
“No, I was gonna say ‘fun.’”
“Fun? Fun?! You’ve got to be joking. What’s fun about wrestling slaves, killing ogres, and jumping giant mantraps?”
Groan shrugged. “’S a laugh, innit?” he said. “You know, ’venture in forgotten lands an’ all.”
“Forgotten lands?” Gordo boggled at him. “We’re in Phlegm.”
“Yeah, well. You know what I mean.”
Gordo came to a sudden halt, so sudden in fact that Groan almost walked right over him.
“Listen,” the dwarf began, stepping back from his partner and raising an eyebrow, “is she really worth all this?”
“How d’you mean?”
“It’s simple. I’m asking you if, after a single date, you can be truly, head over heels, one hundred percent in love with this princess?”
“Yeah, I am.”
Gordo heaved a sigh. “What is it about her that makes you so sure that she’s the one?”
The barbarian scratched his scalp. Groan had been completely bald ever since a battle with a sewer dragon some eight years ago, when a ball of flame had singed his crew cut. Curiously, the hair had never grown back.
“I love ’er wiv all my ’eart,” he said eventually. “She’s my ol’ mate.”
“I think you mean ‘soul mate,’” Gordo corrected him. “And I seem to recall your saying much the same thing about Sue Ellen of Trumpinit.”
“Yeah, I loved ’er, too.”
“Well, she didn’t love you.”
“She did ’n’ all.”
“No, she didn’t, Groan. She tried to kill you, remember?”
“She never.”
“She did so!”
“No! I was just clumsy that mornin’. I fell.”
“Down seven flights? She’d greased every damn step, Groan. Are you really that stupid?”
The barbarian tightened his jaw, then straightened up and turned away from his friend.
“Do what you like,” he muttered. “I’m gonna get me a wife.”
“Fine,” Gordo snapped, driving his axe into the rough sand of the arena floor. “Just don’t come to me when it all ends in tears … or when Gape beats you in the next trial.”
“Nobody beats Groan Teethgrit,” the barbarian called back. “I’m my own worst enemy, I am.”
Gordo rolled his eyes. “That doesn’t mean what you think it means!” he yelled.
Phlegm Keep basked in the heat of the generous Illmoor sun. It was a busy place at the best of times, an unfortunate consequence of being home to the richest family in all of Illmoor, but today the corridors wer
e positively seething with activity. Nowhere was this more apparent than in the main courtyard of the keep, where most of the townsfolk had gathered to hear the latest installment of the princess’s sensational love triangle. One of the barbarians had already arrived back from the arena; the crowd was anxiously anticipating the arrival of the other. They didn’t have long to wait.
Gape Teethgrit strode into the courtyard of Phlegm Castle, sheathed both his swords, and yawned loudly.
“How’s it going?” he asked Groan, who was standing in a widening circle in the center of the square, staring up at the royal balcony.
Groan shrugged and folded his muscular arms.
“Not talking, eh? Can’t say I blame you; nobody likes a thrashing.”
If the barbarian was rankled by this, he wasn’t letting it show.
“Of course,” Gape went on, “we both know who won. I mean, it might be a tie on paper, but we both know who’s got the mustard for this particular caper. So, if I may be so bold”—he paused at this point to secure his jet locks in a tight ponytail—“why don’t you pack up your great big sword and all your little daggers, grab that dwarf of yours, and sod off?”
Groan turned his head very slightly. “You talk a lot o’ damn rubbish, Gape Teethgrit. Anyone ever tell you that?”
“Ha! Rubbish, eh? You’ll be playing a new tune on your mouthpiece come morningtide! Ha-ha-ha-ha—”
The barbarian’s derisory laughter was cut off by the fanfare that erupted from the balcony above. Several members of the royal family had stepped into view. They included King Phew and the delectable but reticent Princess Susti.
The king held up a hand for silence. “My daughter wishes to make an announcement.”
The crowd held their breath, though there were a few extra gasps as Gordo shouldered his way through the bustle to second his ungrateful partner.
“First things first,” the king droned on, his dull monotone almost counteracting the audience’s enthusiasm for the news. “I must find out if our competitors’ love for my daughter is strong, bold, and true … and I’m asking, you, Number Two, is this so?”
Groan hesitated for a moment, partly because he was still working out the question and partly because he couldn’t remember what number he’d been given. Eventually, he managed to solve the enigma using the process of elimination: Gape was number one. This, coupled with the fact that Gordo was holding up two fingers, gave the whole game away.
“I do,” Groan thundered, provoking a succession of nervous laughter from the crowd, and some not-so-nervous laughter from Gape, who leaned closer to his rival and whispered, “I hope for your sake the questions don’t get any harder.”
Before Groan could reply, King Phew shouted, “And you, Number One, you feel the same way?”
Gape gave an exaggerated nod. “She is my reason, Majesty,” he cried.
“Very well.” The king bowed his head. “My daughter, who as many of you will know, is against cruelty to the lower breeds, demands that there be no further trials in the arena.”
The crowd began to mutter among themselves.
“Therefore, she has suggested an alternative challenge.”
Gordo’s bushy brows furrowed with suspicion.
“What has Her Royal Highness decided?” Gape yelled, wincing slightly as Groan began to grind his teeth.
The king stepped aside graciously, and his daughter replaced him at the front of the balcony.
“When I was young,” she began, turning her sparkling blue eyes on the two barbarians, “I was told by my mother that the qualities a princess truly requires in her prince are a strong heart, a measure of courage, and a fathomless depth of devotion. Now, I can attest, having spent considerable time with both of these men, that a strong heart is not in question here. My warrior Gape treated me to a wonderful dinner at The Grand Hall, followed by a romantic boat ride through Cast Lake, and a moonlight serenade on his infamous pipes. My warrior Groan was kind enough … to give me one of his late father’s teeth. Both acts prove a worthy heart.”
Gordo winced and glanced up at Groan, who was grinning proudly.
“As for courage,” the princess went on, “both men have proved themselves in the arena. So now we come to devotion … and devotion will settle it. Before I bestow my hand in marriage, I shall require—”
The entire audience held their breath: townsfolk, barbarians, visitors, clerks, guards, and the remainder of the royal family (who were more than a little annoyed that they’d not been given a proof copy of the speech).
Susti took a deep breath and continued: “… Something Old, Something New, Something Borrowed, and Something Blue.”
The crowd gave a collective sigh. There were several mutterings along the lines of “big deal,” “easy peasy,” and “what a letdown.”
Then Susti opened a scroll, and every eye in the courtyard was focused on her once again.
“For the Something Old, I would like the Idol of Needs, which, legend tells us, was buried beneath a Y-shaped tree on the distant Island of Kazbrack.”
Gape’s face dropped like a stone down a well. Even Groan looked momentarily put out.
“That’s more ’an a day away,” he rumbled, glaring up at the king. “What’s she want that for?”
“I need it to prove your love,” Susti exclaimed, her voice suddenly tense.
Gape Teethgrit, usually the first to accept a challenge, puffed out his cheeks and began to initialize some strange neck exercises. Gordo suspected that he was surreptitiously looking for the exit.
An uneasy silence descended on the courtyard. At the back of the crowd, an old man was employing a series of spasmodic hand gestures in order to take bets on who’d be the first through the gates. He was still working out the odds when a voice boomed:
“I’LL DO IT.”
Gape shook himself from his reverie just in time to see the crowd’s explosive reaction to Groan’s statement. Gordo Goldeaxe was shaking his head emphatically, but the giant barbarian had already raised his hand for more silence.
“I’LL GO TO KUDBRICK!”
“Kazbrack,” the king interrupted.
“YEAH, THASSIT, AND I’LL BRING BACK THE IDOL I NEEDS.”
“Of Needs, Groan: the Idol of Needs.”
“YEAH, WHATEVER. I’LL BRING THAT BACK AS WELL.”
“Ha!” cried Gape, stepping up to his half brother and facing him, nose to nose. “Well, not if I get there first!”
“Break it up, break it up!” Gordo waded in between the two waists and managed to shove the warring brothers apart. “I have a question myself!”
Susti peered down at the dwarf. “What is your question, little warrior?”
Gordo muttered something under his breath, but carefully concealed his annoyance with a smile. “I was just wondering, Your Majesty—”
“Yes?”
“Well, you said you wanted four things, didn’t you? Something Old, Something New, Something Borrowed, and Something Blue? So, what are the other three?”
The silence was actually tangible now; people were cutting it up at the back of the room and selling it.
“You are correct, little friend,” Susti conceded, ignoring Gordo’s pained expression and rolling eyes. “And so I must continue. For the Something New, I really had my heart set on Ezra’s Opal.”
“You what?” Groan yelled, suddenly forgetting himself. The crowd didn’t really notice; they were glued to the princess’s lips, anticipating the next shock announcement.
“Ezra’s Opal,” the princess repeated. “It’s a priceless stone set in a golden ring, fashioned by the demon miners of the Gleaming Mountains, and given to Lady Khan by her husband.”
There was some hushed mumbling.
“Erm … I’m sorry if I speak out of turn,” Gordo said, wiping some sweat from his glistening brow, “but wasn’t she—um—isn’t she married to Count Craven?”
“She is indeed,” Susti confirmed, grinning mischievously as the crowd began to mutter among
themselves.
“Not Mad Count Craven,” shouted a voice from the crowd. “The thrice-dead zombeegol whose haunted city of Wemeru lies deep in the Voodoo Jungles of Rintintetly?”
Susti nodded a confirmation.
Both Gape and Groan remained silent. Gordo bit his lip.
“For the Something Borrowed,” the princess went on, “I would simply adore Pagoda’s Box.”
“Pagoda’s Box?” echoed another voice from the gathering gawpers. “But isn’t that the legendary treasure chest on Windlass Eyrie, topmost tower among the Finion Finger Mountains?”
Susti smiled. “It is.”
“The one that’s watched twenty-four hours a day by the harpies of Narrow Death Rise?”
“What is this,” Gape shouted at the crowd, “a city full of geography students?”
“They are nevertheless correct,” said Susti, peering over the heads of the crowd in an attempt to determine exactly where the voices were coming from.
Gordo was also on the lookout, but it was intensely difficult to put a voice to a groin.
“Finally,” the princess twittered, returning her attention to the scroll, “for the Something Blue, I very much desire the jeweled eyes of Torche.”
“Torche?” said another voice from the fray. “You mean, the forty-foot dragon that’s been terrorizing Fastrush Pass for the best slice of a century?”
“Who’s askin’?” bellowed Groan, suddenly aggravated by the constant interruptions.
The crowd shuffled around, but no one came forward.
King Phew was smiling craftily, but his daughter looked extremely doubtful.
“Are you sure you’re interested?” she suddenly asked the warriors, her voice ever so slightly tremulous.
“SILENCE!” yelled the king. “THE CHALLENGE HAS ALREADY BEEN ACCEPTED.”
There were a number of shocked faces; none more than Princess Susti’s, but her father continued: “THE FIRST NOBLE WARRIOR TO RETURN WITH ALL THAT MY DAUGHTER DESIRES WILL BE AWARDED HER HAND IN MARRIAGE.”
“But, Father—”
“AND NO MORE WILL BE SAID ABOUT IT. I HAVE SPOKEN.”
Four
Shadewell Shenanigans Page 3