The Kidnapped Prince (Tales from the Land of Ononokin Book 5)

by John P. Logsdon

  “Hi, Gungren,” she said with a smile.

  “Hello,” the little Giant replied.

  Agnitine then sneered and looked up. “Whizzfiddle.”

  “Agnitine,” Whizzfiddle said as if it were a dirty word.

  “How your match thingies going?” Gungren asked after climbing up on the step-stool so he could lean on the countertop.

  “Same as always. Undefeated.”

  “That cause you am the best,” Gungren stated.

  “That’s because she is the best,” corrected Whizzfiddle.”

  “That what I said.”

  “And I thank you for the compliment, Whizzfiddle,” Agnitine added with a wink.

  “What? No, I was just trying to corr...”

  “What can I do for you today, Gungren?” Agnitine interrupted.

  Gungren handed over the document. “Finished that bunny quest.”

  “Congratulations. You’re really pushing through, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah, I guess.” Gungren shrugged. “Dogs and cats next. Then birds.”

  “Birds are tricky.”

  Gungren looked up and then flicked his thumb at Whizzfiddle. “That what him said, too.”

  “I don’t suppose I have any correspondence?” asked Whizzfiddle, doing his best to demonstrate that Agnitine was lower on the totem pole than he was.

  “Just the minutes from the last meeting,” she said, pointing to a stack of papers at the edge of the counter, clearly doing her best to demonstrate that she didn’t care about her particular position on any blasted totem pole.

  “Nothing important, then,” Whizzfiddle replied, leaving the stack of documents untouched.

  “Okay, Gungren,” Agnitine said as she flipped the document around, “if you could just sign here, I’ll add this to your list of completed quests.”

  Gungren took the quill and carefully drew an uppercase “G” on the line. Then he put two dots to the right of it. Whizzfiddle didn’t know the significance of this, but he assumed it had something to do with Gungren not wanting anyone to copy his signature.

  “Perfect,” Agnitine declared as she slid the document into a protective sheath and then set it on the top of a stack of other documents.

  Gungren sighed. “Thanks.”

  “Now, don’t be so glum,” Agnitine said, patting his head gently. “Even I had to wrestle my way to the top. You don’t get there overnight, I’m afraid.”

  “I know,” moaned Gungren. “I just hate to wait.”

  Another wizard had walked in and was standing impatiently behind them. His name was Carlson Fitch and he was one of those few wizards who ran by the clock. If he didn’t get where he was going on time, he became cantankerous.

  “Carlson,” said Whizzfiddle in greeting.

  “Whizzfiddle,” Carlson replied with a nod while checking his watch again. “Are you in line behind this bulbous fellow?”

  “He’s my apprentice.”

  “Ah, will you be much longer?”

  “Wait your turn, Carlson,” warned Agnitine, “or I’ll snap you in two.”

  “Well, I’ve never...” Carlson began hotly, but Agnitine stood up and glared at him.

  “You never what?”

  He blanched and said, “I never thought I could be this happy to wait my turn.”

  “That’s what I thought,” she said before sitting back down and smiling sweetly again at Gungren. “Anything else I can do for you, little friend?”

  “Nope. “ He hopped down from the stool and headed for the door. “Thanks, Agnitine. Good luck with your next match thingy.”

  “Such a sweet lad,” she said to Whizzfiddle. “So handsome, too.”

  Whizzfiddle furrowed his brow. “Him?”

  “Always thinking of others,” she added dreamily. Then she soured and looked up. “He could teach you a thing or two, Whizzfiddle.”

  “And you as well,” Whizzfiddle retaliated.

  Agnitine nodded. “Probably true.”

  HE'S WHAT?

  Princess Jill Henroot had been called to her parents' chambers.

  Normally she would find it rather vexing to be interrupted during training, but if she was summoned by the king and queen, there had to be something dire going on.

  It had been a couple of weeks since she'd last been here and it seemed as though her mother had redecorated again. The walls were an earthy green now, unlike the pale red they were during Jill's last visit, and the drapes that hung by the walls were more richly adorned with gold braiding than she'd recalled as well.

  “You called for me?” she said to her mother and father.

  Her parents were sitting upon their respective thrones, which had clearly been reupholstered to match the new decor.

  King Corbain was a large, bearded man with dark eyes and rough skin. He was skilled with most every weapon and was not the sort who sat comfortably in a castle while his soldiers were out on the field of battle. If there was fighting to be found, he’d likely be in the mix rollicking heartily as he thrashed and parried.

  Queen Helena was more demure, with perfectly kept blond hair, pale blue eyes, and skin that made it abundantly clear she moisturized. Though she was far smaller than the king, her words held a power over him that even the dullest observer could witness. Everyone knew that when she made up her mind, that was that.

  “We have good news,” exclaimed the king.

  “Corbain,” warned Helena, “don’t be mean.”

  “What?” Corbain replied innocently. “I think it’s good news.”

  “I know you do, but it’s not about you. It’s about our daughter.”

  “What are you talking about?” asked Jill, who was the perfect amalgamation of her parents. She was blond with pale blue eyes, and her words carried weight. She was also muscular and soldierly, sharing the love for battle that her father had.

  “It’s your fiancé...” Queen Helena paused and gave Jill a caring look. “He’s missing.”

  Jill’s eyebrows jumped up. “What?”

  “Isn’t it great?” Corbain said with a wide smile.

  “Corbain!”

  He stopped smiling while shrinking away from Helena. “Sorry.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Jill. She was looking around irritably. It was barely two weeks before she was to be married and her fiancé had chosen now to go missing? This was just like him, though. Always drifting away whenever there was a family meeting or a royal gala or essentially anything that was deemed important. But this was inexcusable. This was their wedding! The caterer had been paid and everything. “What happened?”

  “Seems he went out for a walk last night and never returned,” explained Helena.

  “Probably got stoned,” Corbain said.

  Jill grunted. While she always butted heads with her father, there were certain times where they agreed. Now, for example. But Jill caught herself. She knew Jack better than that. He may engage in those pleasantries now and again, but he was nothing like his parents.

  “Corbain,” said Helena, “just because his parents run a hemp farm doesn’t mean that their son partakes in their particular brand of merriment.”

  “Sure,” Corbain scoffed. “Right. Whatever you say.”

  Jill put her hands on her hips, growing tired of her father’s accusations. Again, he was probably correct, but it just wasn’t in her make-up to let him think it. This was yet another trait she’d gained from her mother.

  “They make rope, father,” she said. “Rope. We’ve had this discussion many times.”

  “Again, dear,” Corbain pointed out, “it’s called dope, not rope. Have you heard of anyone smoking rope?”

  Jill bit her tongue at this. Her father did not approve of Prince Jack Nubbins. Frankly, she wasn’t desperately in love with the prince either, but she had little choice. Jill was getting older and kingdoms preferred to have young princes and princesses getting married over the middle-aged ones. Plus, her mother had arranged all of this with the Nubbins’s kingdom. Thi
s was because Queen Helena had grown up with Queen Louise and they had made a pact in their youth to support such an arrangement. And so Jill had forced herself to be interested. On top of that, she’d toiled over the last six months to tone down her musculature so that she could fit in the dress that Mother had worn when she’d married Father. It had been the worst half-year of her life. Jill was fond of weightlifting and calisthenics, but she despised jogging, which was the only activity that thinned her out, and she’d be damned if all that effort was going to go to waste.

  “We have to find him,” she declared. “We have to coordinate a search party.”

  “I agree wholeheartedly,” Corbain said, sitting forward.

  That was unexpected. “You do?”

  “Absolutely, Princess. I think we should celebrate with one of these ‘birch parties,’ as you’ve just mentioned, though I have no idea what that means exactly.” He scratched his beard for a moment and then shrugged. “I guess it’s something you young people do these days.”

  “Corbain,” said Helena with a look that conveyed she’d often wondered why she’d ever agreed to marry the man, “she didn’t say she wanted to celebrate with a ‘birch party,’ she wants to coordinate a ‘search party.’”

  “Oh, right.” The king was deflated. “Well, a birch party sounds fine, but I’m not paying for a search party.”

  “Mother?” Jill said with a sigh.

  “Ignore him, dear,” the queen said, rolling her eyes. “We’ll think of something.”

  Jill knew what that meant. They would take days conversing with advisers, clergy, and each other. By the time they came up with a plan, Jack would have had time to move to a remote area of the world, build a new identity, and start a family. She had to cut through this red tape and take matters into her own hands.

  “I’ll grab my bow and my sword and search for him on my own,” Jill announced, placing her hand on the hilt of her blade.

  “Let’s not overreact, dear,” Helena said quickly, holding up her hand. “It could just be that your prince decided to have a little time to himself in order to come to terms with the future.”

  Jill relaxed slightly. “What do you mean, Mother?”

  “A bachelor party, maybe?” suggested the queen.

  “And he didn’t invite me?” Corbain grumbled. “That little creep.”

  “You think that’s it, Mother?”

  “I don’t know for certain, dear,” her mother admitted, “but it is a tradition.”

  The king was still muttering irritably. “They’ll probably have strippers and everything.” He grunted and again added, “Creep.”

  “Strippers?” Jill yelled. Her gaze then turned dark. “I’m definitely getting my bow.”

  “Now, now, now,” said Helena in a tone that made everyone uncomfortable. She was masterful at that, after all. “Just relax, daughter of mine. You’ll be having a bachelorette party, too, you know.”

  “I will?”

  Corbain frowned. “She will?”

  “Of course,” said the queen with a wink.

  “Will there be strippers?” Jill asked hopefully.

  The queen winked again. “Of course.”

  FATEFUL DESIGNS

  Heliok needed to find a way to improve the number of people on Ononokin who believed in the Fates. It didn’t have to be a drastic improvement, but getting even a single percentage bump in the right direction was going to be a challenge.

  He’d searched around until he found a possible option to help him in his quest.

  Her name was Misty Trealo and she was in charge of programming at one of the Underworld’s television stations. It was a channel dedicated to learning, which he deemed the perfect broadcasting platform for teaching the populace about his people.

  So, in general Fate fashion, he snapped his fingers and she appeared in the chair across from him.

  “Where am I?” said Misty as she glanced around Heliok’s office.

  He had purposefully altered his appearance to be that of a Dark Elf in an effort to keep her calm. His office had also been tailored to look similar to what she was used to seeing in the business world below. There was a stapler, a monitor, a keyboard, and even a few pictures sitting on his desk and on the credenza behind him.

  “You’re in the land of the Fates,” he explained.

  “Did I die?” she asked.

  “No, that would be the Afterlife.”

  “Ah, right. That’s what all the preachers say anyway.” Misty glanced around again. “Where’d you say I am?”

  Heliok slumped. “You’ve heard of the Fates, right?”

  “I’ve heard of fate, if that’s what you mean?”

  “Amazing how so few people know of us, compared...” He stopped himself, closed his eyes for a moment, and took a deep breath. He hated to admit that Kilodiek was right, but if even someone from the dark races didn’t know who the Fates were, then Heliok had dropped the ball somewhere along the line. “Forget it. Look, you’re in the land of the Fates. We created The Twelve. They created you.”

  “The Twelve are real, then?” she said, blinking.

  “You’re not a believer in them either?”

  “Guess not.”

  “Well, you do now, right?” He was clearly stating the obvious. “I just explained it all to you and you’re obviously in a realm different than you’ve ever been in before.”

  Misty shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe this is just a vivid dream.”

  “I assure you it is not a dream,” said Heliok in a haughty voice.

  “I could be dreaming you just said that,” Misty countered.

  It was clear that this one was not going to be easy to convince, so he decided to show her what he truly looked like.

  “Perhaps a demonstration is in order.”

  With a snap of his fingers he transformed, and he glanced at his reflection in the office window. He was a good-looking fellow, if he did say so himself. Dark green skin, bright red eyes, and long, pointy teeth that matched perfectly with his practiced evil grin.

  “Now do you believe me?” he said ominously.

  “Okay,” she said while shifting in her chair, “so it’s a nightmare now.”

  “No, it’s...” He put his head in his hands for a moment. “You know, you people are really impossible to convince of anything.”

  What he should have done was fling her into outer space, and then dunked her in the deepest ocean, zoomed her past a belching volcano, and held her in the center of a massive tornado. But even if he had, she probably would just claim it was all part of her dream. Frankly, as long as she continued to believe that possibility, there was nothing that would convince her otherwise.

  Then he had a thought.

  “What time was it when I brought you up here?”

  “Just after lunch. Why?”

  “Do you always sleep just after lunch?” he asked skeptically.

  “Good point.” She took another look around. “So this is real, huh?”

  “I assure you that it is.”

  “Fine, Mr. Fate,” Misty said finally. “I’ll play along. Let’s start with your name.”

  “My name is Heliok.”

  “Heliok,” she said as if tasting the word. “Right, and you’re a Fate and you made The Twelve. Got it.”

  “You do?”

  “Yeah.” Misty nodded vigorously. “Can I go now?”

  “No.”

  “Thought not.” She cleared her throat and seemed to be forcing herself to relax. “If this is a dream, I shouldn’t be worried, right?”

  “It’s not a dream.”

  “Says you.”

  “And you, you may recall.”

  “Honestly,” she admitted, “I sometimes doze off after lunch. It always looks like I’m awake because my screen is on and my back is facing the door, but I’m completely out.”

  Heliok glared at her.

  “Okay, okay,” Misty said, holding her hands up in surrender. “It’s not a dream.”


  “Correct.”

  “And you’re the gods of The Twelve, right?

  “In a manner of speaking, yes.”

  “And The Twelve are the gods of Ononokin?”

  “As your preachers have explained to you for years,” he answered.

  “So our gods have gods?” she asked.

  Heliok nodded. “Apparently.”

  “And that means I’m sitting in the office of a god of my gods and I’m supposed to believe that I’m not dead?”

  “You’re not dead,” Heliok repeated.

  She pinched her arm and winced. Then she went into a series of other tests that Heliok assumed were devised to make her believe she wasn’t actually dreaming all this. She kicked his desk, held her breath, scratched her hand with a fingernail, and even liberated the letter opener from Heliok’s desk momentarily so she could poke herself with it.

  “This is actually real, isn’t it?”

  “I find it unfathomable that you had to subject yourself to painful stimuli to come to that conclusion.”

  She didn’t seem bothered by his observation. “Sorry, why am I here, again?”

  “I have a proposition for you,” Heliok said, hoping that this Dark Elf was actually starting to get that this was for real.

  Even if she wasn’t, he was going to go through the motions. The worst-case scenario would be wiping her memories and putting her back in her land. Then it would be another hunt to find someone more pliable, and who already had belief in the Fates. Of course that may prove difficult.

  “I'm listening,” she said, taking another look around. Then she turned abruptly back to Heliok and said, “Wait, is this some kind of immaculate thing where...”

  “No, no, no.” He waved his hands to calm her down. “Nothing like that. That’s not even part of this world. Some of the other Fates use that one a lot, but I try to avoid the status quo.”

  “Good, because I’m not that kind of girl.”

  “Again, I assure you that it’s not that.”