How to Rescue a Dead Princess

by Jeff Strand

  "Sir William, go see that the horses are ready," said Princess Janice. "I think your squire needs to be taught a lesson."

  An uproariously funny comment about giving his old teacher a call sprang into Randall's mind, but he had the good sense to squelch it. Then he decided that it wasn't nearly as amusing as it had seemed at first, and forgot it altogether.

  Sir William exited the chamber, shutting the door behind him. After he left, the princess shook her head. "He really is a wiener, isn't he?"

  Randall hesitated. Agreeing that a knight was a wiener didn't seem overly wise, even when the wiener status had been bestowed by a princess.

  "It's okay," she said. "You don't have to say anything that would result in Sir William showing you a guaranteed cure for masculinity. I just want to get out into the open that he's a jerk. When a man's a jerk, it doesn't matter if he's good-looking, as Sir William most certainly is. Really, when you think about it, so what if he has gorgeous eyes that just about bring me to my knees? And a smile that makes me tingle inside. What good is that if he's a jerk? Do you know what I'm saying?"

  Randall nodded that he did.

  "And those bulging biceps, that ripple when he walks? Who cares? I'm not even concerned with his chest of pure, throbbing muscle that glistens with wet, delicious beads of perspiration and is like solid steel when I run my hands along it."

  She shivered with excitement.

  "And his rear? Oh, sure it's firm, perfectly-shaped, and tightly-packed. Sure, it makes my salivary glands lose control. Sure, I want nothing more out of life than to grab hold of it and just squeeze!"

  She mimed this with both hands.

  "But he's a jerk, so who cares?"

  "Not me."

  "So if I scold you, it's simply because a princess must take a knight's side over that of a squire. It's not because I agree with him. And certainly not because I'm driven to the brink of madness with lust. Do you understand?"

  "I believe so."

  "Good. Go get cleaned up. I need some privacy."

  HALF AN HOUR later, they were riding along the countryside. The princess was on her own horse, Squish III. Her body pressed forward into the wind. Her long, golden hair flew out behind her. Randall wondered if she'd notice later how much of it was missing.

  She was a fairly attractive woman, which was interesting because everyone agreed that both the king and queen had more than a trace of canine in their appearance. At twenty, she was the youngest of the three princesses, and the only unmarried one. She was also the only one who had more than the brain power of lard. Princess Janice frequently acted as a diplomat between the nearby kingdoms, and had been responsible for such projects as the Pet Leash Law (revoked two weeks later when a certain dog owner got carried away with role reversal), organizing the Six Kingdom Music Contest (which, sadly, promoted a great deal of ill-feelings when the winning song was "Spank Me With Your Tongue"), and the very first September Fool's Day (also the last, though she couldn't possibly have foreseen the immense number of distasteful gags involving umbilical cords).

  Randall was curious about what she was going to do in Rainey Kingdom, but neither she nor Sir William had volunteered the information, so he didn't ask.

  They rode throughout the morning and well into the afternoon, stopping only for lunch and to give the horses an occasional back massage. Then, around three o'clock, a series of events was triggered that could best be described as "bad."

  "I don't recall this being here before," said Sir William, bringing his horse to a stop. Randall and the princess stopped on each side of him. They were at the edge of a thick, dark forest. A trail led into the trees, but they could only see it for a few feet before it was engulfed by darkness.

  "It wasn't," agreed Princess Janice. "I've been this way several times, and there was never any forest. There's some sort of magic at work here."

  "Or an agricultural breakthrough," added Randall.

  There was a large wooden sign nailed to a tree. The nail looked suspiciously like bone, and the words looked suspiciously like blood. The wood was, mercifully, wood. Beware! You AreAbout to Enter the FOREST OF DEATH!

  "I wonder what creative genius came up with that name?" Randall muttered.

  "I'll go first," offered Sir William.

  "I'll ride in the middle," offered Randall, "just in case they think the person in the safest position is the one they should attack."

  Sir William drew his sword. "Let us go. Slowly."

  Carefully, the three of them directed their horses down the path into the forest. All light seemed to vanish. They could hear the wind, but none of the leaves were rustling. Thud began to whinny softly, and Randall stroked the horse gently along its neck. This unexpected touch scared the living daylights out of the animal and caused it to rear up onto its hind legs, dumping Randall to the ground. Thud turned around and took off running back in the direction of Mosiman Kingdom.

  "Are you all right?" Princess Janice asked. "How many fingers am I holding up?" She lifted her left hand and held up three fingers.

  "Three," Randall replied. He blinked. "On each hand."

  "Get up, squire," said Sir William. "We haven't got time for this nonsense! Or any nonsense, for that matter."

  Randall sat up. Then he lay right back down again to make a more difficult target for the numerous arrows he could see pointing at them from amongst the trees.

  "I think we have kind of a serious problem," Randall noted.

  An arrow sailed through the air, swishing right past Sir William's face. He turned Crunch around in the direction from which the arrow had been shot. "Come out and fight like a non-female!" he demanded.

  Fifteen or sixteen non-females stepped out from their forest cover. Most of them were holding bows and arrows, ready to fire at the slightest provocation. Then, after an appropriately dramatic pause, the leader stepped out into the path directly in front of Sir William and Randall.

  "A female," muttered Sir William. "I've always hated irony."

  She was at least six feet tall, with an ugly scar that ran down her left cheek, crossed over her chin, went back up the other cheek, took a sharp turn to her nose, circled around one nostril, went down over her lips, did a figure eight where it intersected with the other part of the chin scar, then moved around her neck in a poorly-drawn smiley face.

  "Make a move, we kill you," she said.

  "Thus explaining your reasoning behind having all these arrows pointed at us," Randall observed.

  Sir William started to tell him to shut up, but only got as far as "shu--" before something more important came to mind. "What do you want?" he asked.

  "The princess," the woman replied.

  "You can't have her."

  "We've already got her."

  Randall looked around. The princess and her horse were gone without a trace. These people were efficient if nothing else.

  "You will return her or face my wrath!" shouted Sir William.

  "Oooh, I'm quaking in my bloodstained booties," said the woman, trembling a bit to make sure the full brunt of her sarcasm reached him. "Maybe we'll give her back, maybe we won't. That all depends on you."

  "What do we have to do?" asked Sir William.

  "For right now? Lose consciousness."

  The men who hadn't been holding bows began throwing rather large rocks, striking Sir William and Randall in the head and making the process of losing consciousness go by with very little effort.

  Chapter 3

  The First Big Fight Scene

  RANDALL woke up from the recurring nightmare where he was in a public place wearing only a loincloth. Except this time the loincloth was replaced by poultry.

  He was seated at the edge of a clearing, with both arms firmly chained to a tree. Sir William was seated next to him, also chained and still unconscious. At the other end of the clearing, maybe fifty feet away, Princess Janice kept with the chain motif on her own tree. She was awake, and gave Randall a frightened look that he was more than willing to
return.

  The men were standing around, discussing politics and the unfortunate depletion of natural resources. Their leader sat on a stump directly in the center of the clearing. She was holding a clear crystal the size of an apple. When she noticed that Randall was awake, she stood up, set the crystal down on the stump, and took a step forward.

  "Somebody wake up the knight," she ordered.

  "Wake up, knight," said one of the men.

  Sir William woke up. "How dare you restrain me like this?" he shouted. "When I get free I'll kill the lot of you!"

  The woman rolled her eyes and walked over to him. She smiled, then kicked Sir William in the chest, driving the breath from his lungs with a loud oooomph!

  "What did you think about that?" she asked.

  "I found it disturbingly pleasant," Sir William admitted.

  "Shut up." She stepped away from him. "Let me introduce myself. People call me Scar."

  "Seems appropriate," said Randall.

  "It's short for Scarlet."

  "Obviously."

  "Now, pay close attention, because I'm going to explain the current situation to you. Your princess will be held for ransom. You two are going to be killed and dumped." She thought for a moment. "Well, I guess you didn't have to pay that close of attention, it's a pretty simple situation, really."

  "Then why did you keep us alive this long?" demanded Randall.

  "Here's the deal. We're starved for entertainment, and as a crew of bloodthirsty thieves, we like our entertainment to be violent."

  "All that violence will rot your brain," said the princess.

  Scar turned to face her. "That has yet to be proven in a reliable, unbiased study!" She returned her attention to Sir William and Randall. "Anyway, what I want is a good fight. One-on-one."

  "Fine!" said Sir William. "I'll fight any of you!"

  "Not you. You'd kick my butt. I'm talking about your squire."

  Randall shifted uncomfortably. "I'm not much fun in fights. I tend to bleed all over the place and spoil it for everyone. How about you give Sir William a handicap? Tie one hand behind his back or something."

  "I've got an idea," said one of the men. "We could say he has to hop on one foot during the whole fight!"

  "Or we could spin him around a whole bunch of times, get him really dizzy first!" chimed in another.

  "Make him stick out his tongue and balance a rock on it!"

  "Make him sing a song that we choose, and whenever somebody shouts 'New song!' he has to start singing some other song that somebody else picks, but if he doesn't know the lyrics he has to do a somersault instead...no, change that to playing a game of leapfrog with the squire."

  "Make him...uhhhh..."

  "Quiet!" shouted Scar. "Somebody unlock the squire."

  After about twenty minutes spent trying to figure out who had the key, the chains were removed and Randall was escorted to the center of the clearing. Scar and Randall stood a few feet away, facing each other. One of the men walked over, holding a wooden box.

  "If you win," Scar explained, "you get your precious princess back. If I win, your king is going to be giving up his entire fortune for her return. Now, pick your weapon."

  She gestured, and the man opened the box. Inside were four dead squirrels. "As the person being challenged, you get first selection," Scar said.

  Randall stared into the box, straining his eyes to make sure that the contents were indeed deceased squirrels. They were. He realized that Scar was no doubt aware of their presence in the box, but he still felt uncontrollably compelled to point it out.

  "Those are dead squirrels," he said.

  "I know," replied Scar.

  "Oooh, can I see them?" asked Princess Janice, craning her neck.

  "Forgive me if I seem a bit...brain-dead," said Randall, "but the idea I'm getting here is that you want us to engage in hand-to-hand combat with dead squirrels."

  "That's right. Live squirrels writhe too much," explained Scar. "Now pick one."

  The man with the box leaned toward Randall. "I suggest the one on the left," he whispered. "It's the freshest."

  Randall picked up the squirrel by the tail and lifted it out of the box. He swung it back and forth a few times, testing its weight. "I guess this one will do."

  "An excellent choice," said Scar, taking a light brown squirrel from the box. The man holding the box replaced the lid and stepped out of the way.

  The men on the sidelines began to applaud and cheer and whistle and make obnoxious nostril sounds and whoop and hiccup. Scar gave Randall an I'm-going-to-beat-you-to-a-gooshy-pulp-you-skinny-little-twerp-and-when-I'm-done-I'm-going-to-stomp-your-unappealing-face-eight-feet-into-the-dirt look. Randall suddenly wished he'd selected a different squirrel. This one felt like it was going to come apart.

  "There's one rule," said Scar. "Only squirrel contact is allowed. Aside from that, anything goes. We start...NOW!"

  Scar lunged forward and swung her squirrel. Randall cried out just as the squirrel smashed into his face. He staggered back a few steps, spitting out bits of fur. Scar rushed at him, striking him in the side of the head with incredible force. Randall dropped to the ground. The men roared with laughter.

  "Get up!" shouted Sir William.

  Randall rubbed the side of his head. He could feel the distinct imprint of a squirrel face there.

  Scar chuckled and walked back to the center of the clearing. "I think we've set an all-time record here, gentlemen! Now let's kill the knight!"

  "No!" Randall stood up. "Have a taste of this!" He swung the squirrel over his head, working up some velocity. The body of the squirrel chose that moment to detach from the tail, flying off to the side and knocking out one of the men. Randall stared at the worthless tail in his hand as his stomach did a figure-eight.

  Scar laughed wickedly as she began spinning her squirrel behind her back and under her legs in a truly impressive display of skill. Randall's pulse quickened. Scar began to slowly advance toward him, the squirrel getting closer...closer....

  "Stop!" Randall shouted.

  Scar stopped and gave him a questioning look.

  Hey, it worked, thought Randall. That sure was easy.

  Scar began to swing the squirrel again.

  "Stop!" Randall shouted.

  Scar continued to move forward, the squirrel spinning with deadly speed.

  Crud, thought Randall.

  He leapt out of the way at the third-to-last second, which was too early and gave Scar a chance to alter her direction and smack him in the face again. He hit the ground, his head coming into contact with a healthy-sized rock that, ironically, had been purposely placed in that very spot over two hundred years ago by the warrior Edmund the Untanned in the hopes that some day it would cause harm to somebody, or at least become a major inconvenience. Sadly, Edmund was long-dead and never got to see the seeds of his labor blossom into fruition. He would have been pleased.

  Randall lay there for a moment, his head aching with so much pain that it blocked out the statement he wanted to make. He slowly sat up, waiting for his vision to de-blur. As Scar returned to sharp focus, he recalled what he wanted to say.

  "Ow."

  "Do you surrender?" Scar inquired.

  Then something bizarre happened. But it happened in some far-off kingdom and had no effect on Randall's current situation. He shakily managed to get back to his feet again, while his body put in a formal request for him to return to an unmoving position.

  "Ready for more, then?" Scar sneered.

  As he stared into her eyes, a change overcame Randall. His fear turned into anger. "That's right. I may only be a squire, but I will defend my princess to the death!"

  "I don't think so. You're no hero. You're a pathetic little cretin, and you'll always be a pathetic little cretin, even when you're a dead pathetic little cretin."

  "Bite me," Randall said.

  "Eat me," Scar replied.

  "Lick me," Randall suggested.

  "Chew me!" Scar offer
ed.

  "Lap me!" Randall urged.

  "Gnaw him!" Sir William pitched in.

  "Ingest me!" Scar recommended.

  "Masticate me!" Randall advised.

  "Deglutiate me!" Scar proposed.

  Without warning, Randall rushed toward the man holding the wooden box. Before the man could react, Randall had tackled him and knocked him to the ground. The other men weren't sure whether to intervene or not, so they pretended to have been paying attention to some birdies. Randall wrenched the box out of his grip, then got up just in time to dodge a squirrel attack by Scar.

  He opened the box, grabbed the two remaining weapons, then tossed the box aside, hitting the unconscious guy who'd been struck by the tailless squirrel.

  "Those don't frighten me," said Scar. "It's like the old saying: It's not how many you have, it's how much use you get out of each one."

  "Say what?"

  They rushed at each other, then attacked. The squirrels collided with a sickening plink! sound. Randall swung his other squirrel, bashing Scar in the face and knocking her back several steps.

  "Oh no!" exclaimed the man who'd been holding the box. "That was the one that was foaming at the mouth!"

  "You're through, squire!" said Scar through clenched teeth. The fact that these teeth were clenched around her tongue made the sight less pleasant. "You're dead! Worm chow! Necrophile bait!"

  "Look, I just--" Randall began.

  "Shut up! You're not talking your way out of this. What do you have to say to that, huh?"

  "Nothing. 'Look, I just--' was all I wanted to say."

  Scar began to swing her squirrel once again. Randall tied the tails of his own squirrels together and began to swing them like a pair of nunchaku.

  "Eeeeeyaaaaa!" he cried.

  He flung the squirrels at her. Their connected tails wrapped around her neck, and their bodies slammed against each side of her head. Scar dropped to the ground and dreamed she had turned into a colony of lice.

  "You did it!" shouted Princess Janice.

  "Wow!" exclaimed Randall. "If I'd known I was this tough, I'd have started kicking butt years ago!"