At the royal garden of Castle Fogeye...
Kikuv knew that today was to be an important day for him. Word had traveled fast among the servants, and not twenty minutes ago he had heard from his sweetheart Heefi that the kingspawn were afoot, and the oft-ignored Royal Garden (a capitalization that was similarly ignored despite Kikuv's insistence), the place where the young man wrought, tested and proved his genius daily may very well be visited by one to five very important individuals as a result, who would most certainly notice the wonders his hands had created over the three years he had worked here. His mind flashed back to the day two years ago that the old gardener, Silent Klomki, as he often did in times of great import, broke his silence to relay to Kikuv a morsel of wisdom.
"Kikuv," he said in a voice that sounded like it had been dutifully practicing its mystical qualities in all the time it had spent locked down in his throat, "I am not long for this world, and so I feel that I must tell you one final thing before I am off for good."
Kikuv remembered being very excited. What secret would the master himself whisper in his ear before his passing, how would he choose to pass the torch to his worthy apprentice? Kikuv could barely contain his delight at the honor he had been bestowed by the old man. And then Silent Klomki spoke his last words.
"Kikuv, you will become a great gardener with or without my help, but what I shall tell you is more important still - nobody actually cares about plants. You cannot change this simple fact of life. And as the new royal gardener, you must know this and accept it, or you shall forever live in misery and unfulfillment. Be more like I was. Go to taverns. Drink until you drop. Wake up in strange places with unfamiliar women. That is how a royal gardener survives his miserable lot in life. Look at me, once again. I go, regretting nothing. You should be so lucky."
And then he said nothing more, and shortly afterward stirred no more. No wonder the garden was such a mess, Kikuv thought. But he would change it, turn this place around, he then decided. With hard work, perseverance and inspiration, he would turn this into a garden like no other. He would turn it into art.
Two years later, he was of the opinion that he had met no small amount of success on that front. The garden was beautiful, and it was unquestionably his. The landscaping he had done on his lonely nights complimented the well-kept vegetation of the area. He often took Heefi here at night, even though entry into the Royal Garden was forbidden for non-royals and the Royal Gardener, and she most certainly agreed with him that this was the most beautiful garden she had ever seen, although some of the places were a bit overgrown. Kikuv spent the rest of the night explaining to her how that was a deliberate impression, his own attempt to make this place look like an actual natural sanctuary, complete with all the necessary flora and even some of the requisite fauna! Heefi was sometimes impossibly dense, he thought.
Just as he was moving one of the fallen, dead branches of one of the trees into a more aesthetically pleasing spot, he noticed something - an appreciator of nature, clearly! And he was so obviously a prince, too! The figure, who Kikuv recognized as Prince Wilril if the hat and face were any indication, seemed to be examining a particular shrub, extending a finger to touch it.
Needless to say, Kikuv was mortified when the leaf he was touching instantly turned to ash, practically poofing out of existence when the prince blew on it. He then swiveled around, pointing at a nearby tree demonstratively, nearly causing Kikuv's heart to stop. Fortunately, nothing seemed to happen, though Prince Wilril was evidently dissatisfied, murmuring something that seemed rather incoherent to Kikuv. The gardener dared not step out to protest - Prince Wilril, to hear the servants talk, was somebody to avoid by any means necessary. And as he thought on whether it would be best to run and hide before it was too late, the prince's eyes flashed at the tree that had defied him, and his mouth opened in a perfect 'O' as he outstretched his arms toward the offending plant. Suddenly, flames filled Kikuv's vision, and he instinctively threw himself to the soft ground, feeling the clothes on his back starting to burn before a massive, icy gale blew over it. A few seconds passed, and Kikuv briefly considered getting up before deciding that perhaps he needed to wait a little longer to make sure. And so, after about half a minute of silence, he raised his head cautiously.
The garden, to put it mildly, was quite ruined. The trees were burnt husks, the ground was filled with the charred remnants of what was once wonderful grass, steadfastly cultivated to be exactly like what you would find around the Lower Meandering. His back felt a little burnt, and he knew the hideous smell to have come from his own hair - without a mirror, it was difficult to know the exact damage. And there, on his knees, slightly smoking and breathing heavily, was Prince Wilril. He seemed to be taking a short breather after his acts of unspeakable barbarism, and Kikuv wondered if he could just sneak over there and strangle him. It wouldn't be too difficult. Maybe he could even get outside of Foghaunt before somebody hunted him down. Maybe start a garden in some remote village. Sadly, the prince got up before Kikuv could decide one way or the other, dusting off his disgusting robe, twirling his awful staff and straightening his reprehensible hat before calmly proceeding out of the ruins of all of the gardener's work and getting on his hellish beast of a horse, then riding off while singing softly.
There would be a lot of drinking done tonight, Kikuv thought before burying his face into the dirt hopelessly once more.
At the stables of Castle Foghaunt...
Though one of the strangers was considerate enough to leave right away when provided with his needs, Firzeek was disappointed to find that the other one saw it necessary to yammer at him further despite all that needed to be said having been said already. Fortunately, his words seemed to be but a formality as he walked away immediately, taking a look at the other horses, eventually settling on the cowardly one.
The cowardly one was the only horse of the lot that did not take too well to Firzeek's guidance, despite the man's extreme proficiency with its ilk. It was a philosophical, ponderous beast, Firzeek had determined, much unlike its brethren both in age and spirit. More like a donkey than a horse in temperament and intelligence, it had refused the food Firzeek prepared and the exercises he had devised, and had been particularly averse to culling the unworthy and weak in order to ensure the strength of the stable. It had even kicked him in the stomach when he tried to file its teeth to sharp points. Instead, it had chosen to subsist on the hay that lined the floors, and take the abuse of its stronger fellows with grace and steadfast endurance. Through the years, it had gone from the proud and mighty stallion it had been when Firzeek took control of this place to the haggard, mangy, partially blind skeleton of a beast it was today. And yet it had never lost its stubbornness. Firzeek respected that, and had provided the creature with its very own space, separate from the rest, although he still refused to give it normal food on sheer principle. And now the idiot stranger was examining it. And then he led it back toward Firzeek, clearly expecting him to saddle the pathetic excuse for a horse.
Well, Firzeek thought, perhaps it would finally find a reward for its willpower. Or maybe it would simply die without dignity in a strange place. At any rate, its fate would be resolved, and so Firzeek snorted and saddled up the cowardly horse, murmuring "Excellent choice, excellent choice. Very fine horses," as the stranger took the reins of both his radically different riding beasts and headed out of the stable. He wondered briefly what the stranger may have seen in the cowardly one. Could he also sense its spirit and foolish nobility? It would remain a mystery for him, Firzeek thought as he stared at the corpselike horse walking away from him. It seemed very satisfied with itself, he deduced from its decidedly lighter than usual gait.
On the grounds of Castle Fogeye...
Jum was dutifully following along with ATF when the latter spoke to him again. ATF sure was a very talkative and demanding master, Jum thought, and the way he was continually engaged in some kind of activity was definitely a very drastic change from the almost monastic standing around in intimidating silence he had been doing for two thirds of his adult life.
"Yes, good, Jum. Though I suppose now that you work for me that is or will soon be Sir Jum. I'm not quite sure how one would be knighted, but rest assured that prospect lies in your future," ATF said without looking back. Jum wasn't sure he liked the idea of being called Sir Jum. The 'sir' part seemed so very unnecessary and hard to remember to use at appropriate occasions. And he was also not sure he was cut out for land ownership that being a knight entailed, given how he continually forgot to water his own plants back at the barracks (well, actually his friend Rafful's plants, though the way Rafful somehow managed to neglect them even more than Jum did made him think of them as his own for all intents and purposes). His servants would probably scratch at the doors after he would forget to take them on walks and provide them with dinner, and then he would get in trouble with the king, and then his servants would be taken away.
"I suppose, sir," Jum almost forgot to say with all his thinking.
"Now then. To business. You will cease with the sir'ing. It makes me feel old and of royalty, neither of which I particularly enjoy. You may simply call me Arcus. Or Arcy. Big A. Anything but sir, really."
"Would ATF be acceptable?" Jum asked, and the shrug from ATF seemed to indicate that it would.
"Also, you work for me. Not the king, not the Fogeyes in general, but me. That means that you can't let yourself be bullied around by my brothers, especially Percy. You'll know him when you see him, thinks he's a knight, no spine at all. That's it, really, other than that, all you have to do is keep me alive."
Jum got the sudden feeling that perhaps he wasn't cut out for keeping ATF alive any more than he was for doing the same with plants. Although at least ATF had the virtue of being able to get his own food and water, or at least so Jum surmised. If that wasn't the case, he would be in great trouble indeed. He was not sure how they raised royalty. Maybe you had to spoonfeed them water every morning in precise amounts, else they would wilt and become very irritable and hard to manage? Maybe he could ask someone more experienced in such matters.
"I will give it my best, ATF," he told his master, hoping that his efforts would be enough as they headed out of the castle. There were a lot of dangerous elements out there, after all. Jum would know - he had to keep all of them out, and he wouldn't have been given such a job if there was nobody to keep out, would he?
At one of Foghaunt's larger squares...
Kerrh was doing his best to project an air of effortless confidence and toughness as he stood next to Prince Don. It was not an easy task he had, presenting himself as more than a common guard, particularly when faced with the probably more experienced mercenaries Prince Wallace had acquired. The fact that they were women made his job even more difficult, for he could not hope to beat them in the sort of efficient elegance that the image of the female mercenary itself intrinsically possessed. He had been keeping an unblinking, vigilant, sharklike eye on the older mercenary, and when she finally looked back, he smiled at her faintly and artificially, hoping to appear effectively murderous and psychopathic. The way the woman raised her eyebrow questioningly and wrinkled her nose a little instead told him that she was finding it creepy and slightly perverse, so he elected to look at something else instead, like the younger one.
The way the younger one met his gaze was even more disheartening, as her very lively eyes seemed to tell him he was doing it wrong with their altogether more genuinely manic look. Maybe Kerrh was reading too much into this, though. Or maybe his facial expressions did need work, you never knew. Sadly, the only mirrors he knew of in the city were in the castle, and he did not think it likely that they would return there very soon. Perhaps he could acquire one from a trader and practice during the night while the rest were asleep? That would raise visibility issues, however. Hm. It was an important issue to consider, so Kerrh decided to put it off as he noticed the other brothers arriving. At least being sycophantic to his superiors was something he felt more confident at, though it was crucial determine who he should be nicest to from now on, aside from his own charge, of course.
The other brothers arrived at roughly the same time - Prince Arcus was first along with, Kerrh was surprised to note, the rather dim, if huge fellow that guarded the castle entrance, followed by Prince Grimmeth, who had a somewhat subtle variation of a shit-eating grin Kerrh himself would be hard-pressed to duplicate as he presented a horse that looked like it had suffered through at least two successive martyrdoms to his brother.
"What graveyard did he pull that one out of?" Poike whispered to Kerrh, who simply shook his head knowingly and subtly pushed his silly friend away, as he was disrupting the fascinating view.
"Here you are, dear brother," Prince Grimmeth said, handing the reins to his brother, "I tried to find the perfect beast for you, I do hope you get on well."
"Why yes, an exquisite example of the equine race that you've procured, dear Percy. I would feel ever so bad to deny you such a glorious steed. I'll just grab the lesser one. Jum, grab the other horse's reins for me, will you?" Prince Arcus replied, pointing at the oddly monstrous horse whose reins Prince Grimmeth was holding on to with his other hand. His pet giant complied quietly, cautiously stepping over to the horse and taking its reins from the prince without much force. Kerrh decided that he had best remain perfectly neutral to both Grimmeth and Arcus while they were together and stay out of their way - when they were separate, then he could get to work on the ingratiation and support.
Before the situation could get much worse, virtually everybody noticed Prince Wilril ride up, looking quite majestic as his regalia gleamed in the sunlight. Commoners gave way long before he had even gotten close, Kerrh noticed. They probably did not really know who that actually was, given how they elected to still remain on the street and gawk as he passedt. Most everyone who knew Prince Wilril also knew to never stare at him for longer than two or three seconds - this helpful knowledge had been very thoroughly drilled into each and every one of the castle staff, including people like Jum who weren't even allowed inside the castle itself. Kerrh would certainly not make that mistake. In fact, he would take great care to never speak to Prince Wilril at all - rumor had it that he could smell fear, and Kerrh was not in the business of investigating such claims. After he drew near and stopped, eyes staring off wildly into the world around him, examining gods only knew what, there was a moment of silence, one that Prince Wallace chose to break.
"Ah. You have come. I have procured mercenaries, and... obtained a sizable outlay of coin that should cover our expenses. I see you have troops as well - shall we be off?" he said to his siblings. Kerrh had to wonder how he would impress Wallace. Despite his best efforts, arithmetic confused him and accountancy offended some primitive section of his brain that preferred silly things like human contact and physical activity. He doubted he could charm the bastard, judging by the way he seemed to not even take any notice of his two perfectly lovely murderers-for-hire. Also something to think about.
"There are four plagues, Wallace, each in different directions. Splitting up to deal with them all at once would be suicidal, so we need to figure out which we shall tackle first. There are....quite a few considerations in that regard. While each seems like a impossible task there surely must be some that are easier then others. The Orcs seem to fit that bill. I also have concerns about which is most likely to destroy our home while we deal with the others, which... is probably either the dragons or the undead. What do the rest of you think?" he asked in his characteristic deadpan voice.
The other siblings were probably not in the business of thinking too much, Kerrh thought to himself and had to resist the urge to smile.
"My mercenaries are versed in killing Orcs. I am not opposed to starting there. Plus, they seem to be the ones attacking closest to home," Wallace said as nobody else bothered to speak up. This was followed by another few moments of silence before Kerrh noticed the girl next to him take a deep breath. She then stepped forward in a humble-looking fashion, then began to speak in a very mild, calm voice.
"Pardon me, Your Highnesses, but I believe I can contribute something to this discussion, if I may," she said, making distinct eye contact with Prince Don for longer than she did with the other princes. This disturbed Kerrh a little. "The orcs, though they seem very threatening to us, are not actually attacking us, strictly speaking. They are raiding. You know, for various goods, horses and so forth. It's currently undesirable for them to really attack us because, if they did come in force to drive us out of our lands, we would, in the event of their success, be incapable of producing anything they value. And they, being orcs, lack the organizational skill or government to properly subjugate us. They are very primitive in their ways, you see. So the orcs may not be a threat that can escalate very much in the near future, unlike the rising of the dead, or the merciless dragon attacks, or the invasion of the shapeshifting creatures," she explained in a way that Kerrh found peculiarly sensible, which was a source of further uneasiness. And then she smiled humbly while definitely looking at Prince Don, bowing her head to the kingspawn. As Kerrh glanced at the other mercenary, he noticed that she, too, seemed quite put off by her friend's general behavior.
Kerrh really did hope that Prince Don wasn't the impressionable sort - otherwise, he would certainly have much work ahead of him educating the poor sap on the wily ways of shady girls like this one.
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Topic: Kingspawn of Allochthon: important question! (Read 19735 times)