To the Last Stand

It was a dark and stormy night. Lightning flashed. Winds raged. Hooves thundered. On the back of his steaming horse, a man clung, urging his steed to greater speeds even as he struggled to keep his own seat. Alternate flashes of lightning revealed him as an official messenger, his crest of a running horse never more fitting. As the dark mass of castle Galans came into view, the horse stumbled, throwing the man to the ground. He sat up from the mud wearily and remounted, again pushing the poor beast forward, though this time at a trot. The gates showed through the sleet, promising rest well earned; he, they, were there at last. But this was no time for rest! “Sir Leznupar has been taken!”

* * *

Syla Heroine awoke to the sound of shouting. She crept down from her bedchambers and saw the sun had just come over the horizon. The clouds from the storm that night had scudded North-Eastward and the Monday morning sky was relatively clear. She found the source of the shouting in the round-tabled room. Each knight, noble, or duke had his own round desk situated in a circle, with the king at the ‘head’. A man was standing in the middle, looking like he was waiting to be excused. Actually he was dozing where he stood. “You’re certain it was them?” her father asked

“Yes, my king,” came the reply. “They only let me go so I could tell you so.”

A small puddle surrounded the man, and Syla realized he must have been out in the storm last night. His messenger crest—in fact, all of him—was splattered with mud. “What’s happened here?” She asked.

“I’ll tell you what happened!” cried a new voice, “The Ruperts have taken my son, my poor Leznupar!” that was Noble Elbon

“Why don’t you rescue him?” Syla’s mother, Queen Aidren Heroica, suggested to her daughter. “It shouldn’t take too long, maybe a fortnight or two.”

“What! My Syla?” gasped Sir Charles Heroist, his daughter’s chief adorer.

“Maaaybe,” the Princess replied, ignoring her father. “We’re after Leznupar?” She thought about the cocky idiot. He always had a green feather in his hat, and his beard was kept in a manicured goatee. She did not want to rescue him, but she had been looking for an adventure recently. Castle Galans could get pretty boring, and if the Rupert’s had got him, that meant she’d be exploring new parts of the world, exploring Ennlar. The kingdom of Galania was great, but there was more to the world than a hunt in Oafenshire, a trip to The Township, and a ride in the Meadowlands. “Well, I’ll go, but I’ll need to bring someone with me.”

“When did I agree to this? You think you can just whisk my daughter off whenever you feel like it?” her father demanded, pointing an accusatory finger at his wife.

“She’s my daughter too you know, and I won’t just have her sit around and deteriorate knitting socks and wondering if anything might happen in her life in the next few years!” She looked the king in the eye and he hastily dropped his gaze.

“All right,” he grumbled, “but at least take Pallen with you.”

“That’s fine” Syla interjected, hoping to end the rivalry.

“It most certainly is not!” yammered Noble Elbon. “I won’t have a girl going after my son!

She—”

He stopped, his jaw wagging up and down at the look on the queen’s face.

“Fine,” he muttered tersely, along with some other unintelligible things, which, to Syla’s relief, her mother let go.

“I guess I’ll go get Pallen then?” When the princess got no response, she hurried out of the room, leaving the shamed, fuming, and dozing men to their fates.

She found Pallen sparring with another of the castle guard in the courtyard. He was clearly winning, his opponent reduced to clumsy blocking attempts. When he finally disarmed his opponent she called him over. “We’ve got a new quest,” she informed him, standing two inches over his five-seven frame.

“Leznupar?” he asked. If he’d hoped she’d be surprised she knew they had a quest, or that he, Pallen, had to come, he was disappointed. She gave him a slightly annoyed look, and said “What an amazingly lucky guess. I know the guard schedule. You were on duty when the messenger arrived.”

“I should have known you’d know how I knew,” he replied, earning a tired face.

“The Ruperts have got him,” (Pallen shuddered) “which means we have a little time on our hands before they realize we’re not sending a ransom. They’ll be waiting at the Last Stand, a good distance for a slow moving and guarded ransom party to travel. We'll leave at midday, making for the Hope Tree, then north, crossing the river near the Banner Delta, and we’ll decide our route from there.”

“We? It sounds like you just decided half the route on the way down the stairs!”

She turned around and started up the steps again. “Get packed!” she called over her shoulder.

* * *

When they met up again at noon, they had a quick fare-you-well lunch, and left the castle. “I would have gotten horses,” Syla commented as the castle disappeared, “but I didn’t know what we’d do with them once we got to the river. It would have been nice to at least have a pack horse for these,” she said, shifting her bulging pack into a more comfortable position. “Though they’ll get lighter as we go on.”

“In the meantime, this is great exercise!” her partner decided, as if trying to get a glare. But then he began to listen, and he felt the joy of the outdoors.

The grass rustled all around them, moving in soothing waves across the fields. They had entered the meadowlands, and the restful sounds of nature were an aura of peace all about them. Water could be heard, trickling down imperceptible slopes; the product of the shower the day before. The princess looked at Pallen, and knew each of them was silently resting in the beauty surrounding them. Then the dark shroud of the journey ahead occurred to her, and the sound of the cicadas dimmed, the art of the waves faltered, and the water dampened her spirits, telling her the cheery fire that she had hoped for that evening was not a likely thing. She quickened her pace, her friend coming more slowly after her.

The night was wet, as Syla had suspected, and the cold rations were as cheerless as the missing fire. The stars, however, burned brighter than ever, and the universe stretched before her in the sky. She thought of Oafenshire, near castle Galans, where Pallen chased the boars, and she had found the stars overhead. The pines had traced the borders of her vision, the fire had been warm, the boar meat stew had been good. Syla fell asleep wondering what the castle had had for dinner that night, and if it was stew.

* * *

Three days later, they reached the Hope Tree. They felt it rather than saw it, the gentle lifting of the spirit coinciding with the joyous scent filling the crisp dawn air. Its topmost branches broke the horizon, and a haze of lazy smoke drifted behind it. The Tree was covered in flowers, and many petals drifted from its swaying branches. Beyond it in a vale sat a town, a gentle stream trickling through. It was, strangely, as yet unnamed, and commonly referred to as ‘The Town Just Nigh the Hope Tree’.

Pallen had never understood the point of moving so far east, seemingly just to see the Hope Tree, but he began to realize the reason now. The scent about the tree was invigorating, and renewed the spirit, giving a moral boost, or more simply, hope. It was a healthy habit for starting a journey, and Pallen made a mental note to come back sometime. But now they had to move on. They entered the Town Just Nigh the Hope Tree to buy supplies, and went on their way heartened and ready for the way ahead. Except that no one is ever ready to bargain with a weathered tradesman.

* * *

It was Sunday when they reached the river, and they took half an hour for prayer before looking for a ford, which they spent two hours on. At the end of those two hours they found a trader poling his way upstream on a rather cheap raft. They hailed him, and he came towards the shore using a rafting pole. “Ye lookin’ ter buy sompin?” He said from a little ways away. He looked to be in his sixties.

“No, thank you, might you just take us across the river?” the princess requested

“Maybe if ye buy sompin”, he replied evenly.

They glanced at his wares, which were clucking and shuffling in a general unending commotion. One of the chickens leapt off the raft flapping desperately for shore, but the older man’s hand shot out and took it by the leg, bringing it back on board with a hoot of protest.

“Does it look like we want to drag an escapade chicken around?” Pallen couldn’t refrain from replying.

“It looks like ye wanna git across the river!” the man retorted.

“Pallen, be quiet.” Syla cut in, earning a shocked look. “You,” she said, addressing the trader, “listen up! We don’t want any chickens, but we’ll pay to get across.”

The man looked at her with a strange interest, or rather through her, and said dramatically: “Ye’ve got dark days comin’. Mighty dark. But if ye still want across the river to yer fate, I ain’t gettin’ in ye way. I mean unless ye don’ pay well, o’ course.”

After a silence, the princess payed the fellow hastily, and they floated across the river. Upon reaching the other side, Pallen plunked down muttering something about never knowing what’s going on, and Syla sat on a rock, utterly confused. The trader floated down the river, shushing a chicken on the pretense of dramatic silence. “Let’s go.” Pallen commanded, and the princess followed him. They had reached the long wood, which luckily had really only latitude to fit its name as they moved northward. While they moved deeper, they began to feel stifled, until at last they came to a halt. “Why is it so hot?” Pallen panted. “I thought woods were supposed to be pleasantly cool.”

“Is that why you brought the parasol?” the girl asked mischievously.

Pallen, who was about to make his sarcastic reply, cut himself short when he saw what was drifting between them.

“A flaming leaf?” He wailed. “That doesn’t make any sense either! I was hoping wouldn’t this become a theme! But one strange thing happens, and ruins everything else.”

Three more leaves fell.

Two groaning people stared.

One dog barked.

“And a dog?” Pallen cried, beginning to swoon. “It’s not fair!”

“I see how you’ve been feeling.” Syla remarked, side-stepping another flaming leaf “None of this does makes any sense. But no fainting on me.”

“Rrrgh, let’s move. The leaves are only falling here.” Pallen thus moved off at a trot from the conundrum, with Syla following wonderingly.

“Nobody else has said anything about this when they travel through the Longwood. I wonder if it’s because we’re in a different part of the forest or something. Hey!” she exclaimed. “Pallen, the husky dog is following us.” She reported in a sing-song voice, knowing his weakness for the creatures.

He glanced back excitedly, then yelped “And so are those flaming leaves! Faster, Syla!”

They now proceeded to run faster than they had in their lives, even quicker than with the boar chasing them. It was no good. “Look ahead! It’s a wall of the fiery things! It’s got to be an enchantment!” the princess cried!

“Then un-enchant them!”

“Well, I can try! Luckily that’s the one spell my father taught me,” Syla replied. “Äbra Cädäbra!” (This explains why there is almost no real magic these days: everybody is un-enchanting everything [the Ä is like father])

The flames in the leaf wall ahead of them flickered, and Syla and Pallen leapt through while the flames were reduced to embers. They now found themselves tumbling down a green hillside, a husky on their heels and a flaming forest behind them.

* * *

“What’s the big idea?” asked a deep, resonant warble in front of them. Several sounds of agreement came from behind it.

“W-what?” the princess stuttered, sitting up from the ground and looking up at the small round (and CUTE!) one foot tall creatures in front of her.

“What’re you doing here?” the spokesman repeated in his cello tone, his pinkish skin glistening in the late afternoon light.

“Here?”

“Don’t give us such nonsense! Your human king told us we’d get no more funny business from you Glaniers or whatever you call yourselves.”

“The…King?” Pallen queried hesitantly.

“No, some shabby flabby human peasant. Of course your king. Nobody else of your race took us seriously, cooing and peek-a-booing and generally making great stooping fools of themselves, and some of you tried stuffing us in tiny prisons and taking us with them. Thus they vastly ended up as toads, or if we were feeling nice, birds. Your king, as you should know, promised us there would be no more of this riffraff, and no one else has bothered us since the fire wall. But you have used a spell to break through our firewall, and have broken your Lord’s promise.”

“Slow down a few million paces. We’re from Galania, the king is my father, and we have apparently no idea of anything else you’re talking about.”

“Nonsense! You can’t be the daughter of the king, he has a son, and he’s too old for mating anymore. You could be his grandgirl, but royal ladies should be snuggled up knitting socks in a cozy room in front of a fire, wondering if anything interesting will ever happen.”

“I concur.” Pallen agreed

“Oh my goodness, you men. I am the princess, and I am not knitting socks, and you most certainly do not concur.” She added, giving her cohort who was standing next to her a vicious dig in the ribs. “But yes, I used the only spell I know, the dis-enchantment spell to keep us from burning alive.”

“But, you wouldn’t have burned from anything but the firewall. Everything else was just a warning. An Illusion. A ruse. We assumed you knew that.”

“What, because the king told us?” Pallen asked sarcastically.

“Precisely.” The creature replied, Pallen’s barbed remark completely missing its target. “But it seems you didn’t listen to him.”

“Ok, seriously. Nobody said anything about twelve inch magicians on the far side of the Longwood, not even my grampa.” Syla said tiredly. “Will you please just explain yourselves?”

“Ourselves!” The tiny man said in shock. “It is you who have—

“Just tell us why we’re in the wrong then!” Pallen shouted, his temper finally gone.

“Fine.” The thing said haughtily. “We are Warbles. W-A-R-B-L-E-S. We were happy and prosperous until your fat galumphing moony people came and drove us crazy. We turned them into things that wouldn’t bother us. Then your king came along and asked us to stop turning his people into toads. We told him to get his fat snooty cooing galumphing peek-a-booing foolish moony—”

“We get it!” Pallen interjected.

The ‘warble’ made a harrumphing sound and continued: “As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted…”

Pallen looked about ready to run the thing through, but the princess put a hand on his shoulder, doing a very good job of suppressing a smile.

“…We told him to get his afore insulted people away from our land, and if he was able to keep them away they wouldn’t be turned into fat amphibians. He was supposed to tell you to stay away from here. But you obviously haven’t, and so you will most likely be turned into toads, or maybe frogs if you’re lucky. Satisfied?”

“Not quite. What did this king look like?” The girl asked.

“Let me see…he was fat, ugly, galumphing, deep voiced for a human, weird skin pigment like yours, overly humane (no Warbality, you know), useless, enormous, stupid, grumpy….What?”

“We meant his physical features, not his human flaws.” Syla informed him.

“Oh. There’s a difference?”

Pallen sank to the ground, utterly defeated by life.

“Yes. We meant things like his hair color, eye color, and clothing type.”

“Ah. I see. His hair was a dull brown, his eyes a boring green-gray, and his clothes were lame purples with cheaply refined silver chains. Does that help?” The warble said, genuinely trying.

“Yep. That’s grampa, Pallen. Without all the derogatory remarks, of course. He came back from the Longwood once after looking for a missing family. He never told anyone what he’d done there, or why he didn’t come back, but this must be it. It’s been a story in my family for a while now. How strange.” Syla remarked.

“So, what’ll it be? Toads or birds?” the warble asked with delight.

“Hey, we took you seriously, we didn’t try to trap you, and we didn’t even know we weren’t supposed to be here. That’s basically punishing someone because they crossed a property line running for their lives.”

“Be wary!” Another warble warned his spokesman. “They are using an ancient art called ‘logic’. They seek to trap you with words.”

“But they are right.” The creature answered disappointedly. “We will not transmogrify you, though it is such good fun. We will give you one day to pass through our lands, which should be easy with your great noodle legs. But you must watch your fat galumphing feet; lest you large dull folk crush us.”

“Thank you,” said Syla “And may I say, you have quite a way with words, Mr.…”

“Splink.”

“Splink.” She affirmed.

“Ok Pallen, come on.” she said, pulling him up from his depressed position. She took a step forward, and immediately yelped and stepped back, spluttering. A stream of water was passng just in front of her, moving through the air.

“Ha.” Pallen laughed. “Now you know how I feel! Except I only got splashed the face metaphorically.”

Syla gazed in wonder at the rivulets weaving through the air all around them throughout the warble’s home.

“Nice, aren’t they. Saves us the bother of building bridges.” Splink commented.

“Amazing.” Syla agreed. “If wet. This is going to be a bit annoying.” She noted, gesturing to the million levitating paths of water blocking their path.

They now began to move in earnest, Syla ducking and dodging around the streams, Pallen Despondently walking through them, soaking himself. He was, however, quicker, and Syla was having was having a rough time keeping up with him. In the end, he broke and ran, his old spirit returning. “Pallen!” Syla called.

“First one out of the water wins!” he yelled, forcing Syla to choose between wet and wimp. She chose wet, and the race was on! Both had to be careful not to kick houses or knock kayaking warbles out of their floating rivers, yet neither were willing lose. Who won is not told here, by losers manner of pride (Though the winner doesn’t believe in such things).

After a day they came to the pines of Houndshire, and Pallen began to get shifty, his hand frequently moving to his sword hilt. Syla had found a good sapling, still very young, so she had cut it from the ground with their small firewood hatchet and then trimmed it, fashioning it into a quarterstaff-spear (essentially a sharpened stick, something Pallen couldn’t help noticing out loud) which was her weapon of choice.

The scent of the pines rejuvenated Pallen, the peace of the woods but relaxed Syla. She heard a snuffling behind them, and whipped around to see the dog who had been tracking with them. She told Pallen to come over, and he looked long and hard at the dog.

“Why, it’s Jasper!” he was shocked to find.

“Jasper?” Syla queried.

“He’s one of the boar hunting dogs of the castle. I saved his life last time; the boar had slashed his side with its tusks and was coming around for the kill. He must have followed us the whole way!”

“It looks like you’ve found your dog then, Pallen.” The princess said, thinking about how much he talked about them, and how having a dog loyal to him would mean someone always there, always caring, always protecting. But the dog suddenly stopped and bristled, a low growl rising in its throat.

“What is it, boy?”

“I think that’s it,” Syla pointed, indicating something sticking over the trees of the forest, from where a rank smell was issuing. It was the tower! They had found The Last Stand.

“Don’t worry Jasper, that’s where we gotta go. Quietly.” He added, giving the dog the hand signal for stealth.

They began to move towards the spire, the smell of wet and unwashed dog rising with the noonday heat. They came over a rise and beheld their final challenge. Arrayed ahead of them was the entire Rupert dominion, still awaiting the ransom due to come.

“Hey, why aren’t they here yet?” whined a creature that was a cross between a hyena and a wolf. And, a man. Every Rupert stood on two feet, with utility belts and swords.

“I don’t know!” replied his colleague with a hyena cackle. “But too bad the boss said we can’t ‘abuse’ the ransom party. I guess the point is we need to be less monstery to those weaker races, or som’in like that. Wanna hit the bar?

“Just did. And I don’t want the bar to hit me back!” The first said with that awful laugh. The other howled with him, and then walked off to get a drink, chuckling to himself.

“I guess the bar isn’t too high for jokes!” Pallen said with a grin.

“That was your worst good joke yet.” The girl replied. “But what was it he said about being ‘less of a monster’ to other races?”

“Maybe they’re planning something which needs temporary trust,” Pallen suggested.

“Maybe.” The princess answered doubtfully.

They decided to wait and reconnaissance the Rupert’s movements for the day and learn their behavior. Jasper, however, did not like to be anywhere near the Ruperts, and was whining rather loudly.

“Shh, it’s okay, the wind’s blowing our way, boy. They can’t hear or smell us.” Pallen reassured the dog.

And then they heard voices behind them.

“Move, move, move!” Syla hissed loudly.

The three broke and ran, Jasper disappearing ahead of the two companions.

“What’s that!” A voice called behind them, but the two were already a hundred feet away, crouched behind a moldy log, with Jasper somewhere else.

“Was prob’ly one O’ them mooses.” Another Rupert joined in.

“Ye mean mice?” the first argued.

“No. Double moose is mooses.”

“No, they wasn’t mooses anyway. They was big scuttly mice, from th’ sounds.”

“Mices ain’t that big.”

“They can be. But maybe they was fat possums, then.” Offered the first, running short on temper.

“Wassa possim?”

“They curl up dead like YER ‘bout to!” He finally exploded, leaping on the other.

Savage wrestling ensued, masking the sounds of the escaping moose-mice. They hurried away, Jasper still missing, to the western side of the camp, where they could watch from.

They discovered that the guard for Leznupar’s tower, The Last Stand, consisted of four Ruperts, and that there was a very complex mechanism for getting to the top of the tower. It contained stones of different sizes at the top of the structure, all of which were hooked to deep-planted stakes in the ground via ropes. They saw the Ruperts take different hooks from the stakes so that they could connect different stones to a wooden box depending on which Rupert was going up and how many, so that the ones at the bottom turning the crank could lift them and lower them with minimal strength required. When Pallen figured this out he chuckled and muttered something about ladders, but Syla admired the ingenuity.

“This is going to be fun!” Pallen whispered. “Destroying machinery by cutting ropes and dropping two hundred feet!”

“Try not to get too excited,” Syla replied in a hushed tone. “We don’t want Leznupar to be mad at his rescuers for their sense of fun!”

Pallen was about to say something but was interrupted by a deep howl. Every Rupert there hastened to the source of the sound, converging around a stand on which a figure stood, presumably their leader. He now addressed them in a carrying voice saying:

“My people, we have all worked hard for this day. I know I speak for all of us when I praise our team who brought us our chance. Hail Sherlin, Donness, Alfrek, and Morlin, for bringing Leznupar, mighty sword-bearer of the humans!”

Syla saw Leznupar watching from the window of his tower, and she could just make out the broad smile on his face. The leader continued to speak, but Syla and Pallen were making for the knight’s prison.

“We are considered monsters, savages, and even lunatics. But all that will change. Later this evening the ransom for Leznupar will arrive.”

The two snuck up to the Tower, the guards temporarily missing for the speech, and replacements had not bothered to come. Pallen began cranking Syla up.

“With the ransom, Galania will be forced to cooperate with us.”

“Cooperate?” Syla whispered down.

“Like I said, temporary trust for some scheme!” he replied hoarsely

“We will then prove we are an important part of society. We will repent our violent eating of livestock and show we are not what they think we are. We are Ruperts, not the horrors they make of us!”

His speech was a howling success. The howls rang out loud over the surrounding hills. Syla was shocked. Lenzupar who had seen them was beckoning urgently. Pallen continued to lift his companion. When Syla reached the top, she pulled Leznupar in and Pallen let the crank go, the wooden box now descending quickly. Unfortunately, the Ruperts hear the sound of the gears clanking and came running to see what the commotion was. Unfortunately they found Pallen with his sword out and ready, and their lifting mechanism dropping their prized captive. Unfortunately more Ruperts appeared, including the leader, and drew their own swords just when Syla and Leznupar reached the ground and climbed out.

“You!” Stormed You are about to ruin everything for my people. And yet we can’t kill you. Get back in our lifting machine and go in the tower. When the ransom arrives you can all go free. It’s as simple as that.” The Rupert leader growled, his jaw clenching and unclenching.

“We can do this the easy way, or the hard way.” The princess replied “We can fight it out, and you can’t kill us anyway, or as you said you’ll ruin your plan. Or you can come with us with a party of ten to talk with the King and establish trade systems and whatnot if you really want to. There are no other options. No ransom is coming.”

There were angry growls among the Ruperts at this last part, but their leader silenced them.

“And how are you going to tell your king to listen? Why should we believe you?”

“Because I’m the King’s daughter. And there is no scenario where we trust you in the long run. If I’m not back at the castle in two weeks, my family will assume I was captured or killed by you neither of which would mean you want to join society. But as I said, you can send a diplomatic party, who can establish healthy relations with Galania.”

“The king’s daughter,” the leader murmured to himself. “I would like an hour to think on what you have said. In the meantime, would you stay here under a guard?”

“Yes, it’ll be good to take a rest anyway.” The princess agreed, confident in the Rupert’s decision.

“Princess?” Leznupar burst out finally. “What are you doing here?”

“Rescuing you.” She replied airily, watching the sun descend in the evening sky as it turned the world pink.

“I came for you too!” Pallen chimed in. “The king made me.”

“How so very encouraging.” Leznupar replied. “What happened on the journey here?”

“Nothin’ much,” Pallen informed him. “We just met some little fat annoying useless lazy chubby tiny insignificant one foot tall balls that wanted to turn us into toads.”

“Pallen, Squink rubbed off on you!” Syla laughed.

“No! That was from my own ingenuity! Great minds think alike!” Pallen argued hurriedly.

“Great minds?” Leznupar joined in. “your mind is as great as a little fat annoying useless lazy chubby tiny insignificant one foot tall ball? I can’t believe it!”

“Forget it. They weren’t any more annoying than you two.”

“Ouch. But I mostly found them funny. That means we’re as funny as they were too, right?” Syla said hopefully.

“NO.”

* * *

Castle Galans was shocked by the new arrivals and their intents, but welcomed their guests with courtesy and grace. Pallen had made a comment to Syla, telling her he hoped the Ruperts weren’t so dogmatic with their eating habits, which somehow earned a smile. The Ruperts themselves were very well behaved, yet Syla often caught Pallen looking at her, as she had also noticed a few times on the journey. Once she even found him talking with her parents. Syla wondered, even as she watched the first successful diplomatic party of Ruperts disappearing into the meadows. Then, two months later, she found him on one knee, and found her answer. What could she say?

“Yes.”

THE END