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Sangrelysia
by Vivian Darkbloom
In Which the King's Henchmen Rally Support for the War
The stench of the afternoon marketplace -- of hay, of bleating,
clucking and baahing goats, chickens and sheep, of horses, of
chow mein noodles, onions, bock choy, water-chestnuts, garlic and
ginger singed by sesame oil in woks over open wood fire, of the
full warm scent of baking bread and pastries.
Fortunately for the olfactory senses, our pseudo-medieval magical
world is blessed, not only with excellent Chinese food, but also
with indoor plumbing and running water, along with a miscellany
of other amenities imported from the mundane world.
Under the bright colors of striped canvas awnings, cheerfully
flapping pennants and prayer-flags, merchants stood behind piles
of fruit, vegetables, and other produce, sometimes hawking their
wares, but more often simply resting in the shade sipping mead,
tea or coffee, as crowds of young and old ran or shuffled in all
directions along the dirt path, carrying bags, sacks, and
backpacks laden with every variety of craft or foodstuff you
could imagine. Pedestrians mingled with horse and mule-drawn
carts carrying chairs, honeycombs and hoes. Carpets and wheels,
brooms and brushes.
Children played, old folks reminisced.
Across from where I stood, a young lad in white tunic and black
beret stood lute-strumming and singing ballads. Above, light
whiffs of thin clouds here and there punctuated the deep icy blue
of the autumn sky.
The placid pastoral scene was marred by the clanging of the
blacksmith across the way, hammer against anvil, forging yet
another sword. Beside the hellish furnace, sparks flew with each
blow, as the mallet repeatedly struck with the red-hot blade.
Then finally a clatter as it joined its already-made companions.
I clenched my teeth as I saw the smith pick up another blank, and
begin hammering away again.
Two knights strolled by in faintly jingling chainmail. "Did you
hear, the King's dog has fallen ill?" remarked one to the other.
Three girls, maybe five years old, ran along the path in the
opposite direction, entirely naked. Laughing and teasing, hair
dripping wet from bathing in the nearby stream.
Then came another sound I would happily live my entire life
without ever hearing again: the military bugle and drum of the
King's soldiers, on the elevated stage at the center of the
marketplace. As I angrily strolled over to where the crowd,
mostly of young men, was gathered, I noticed an unusually high
concentration of sword-armed knights amid the populace.
Up on stage stood a handful of army officers, men I don't recall
seeing around at all before George ascended the throne. Above
them flapped the hideous monstrosity of his butchered banner, the
noble crimson, green, and violet of Sangrelysia in a hemmed into
a cramped quadrangle with George's ridiculous coat of arms pasted
on top.
"Hear ye, hear ye, listen one, listen all," one of the officers
petitioned the crowd. "As you have all heard, the nation of
Valeplysia has been committing acts of unspeakable terror in our
land. Our roads are not safe. Our homes are not safe. Our
children are not safe. But praise God, our King is preparing a
campaign to put an end to these haters of liberty, seeking
able-bodied young men, especially those capable of wielding
sword, axe or cross-bow, seeking glory on the battlefield."
My blood boiled at this nonsense. Fists clenched with rage,
foolishness overtook me. "Rubbish," I shouted. "It's a pack of
lies."
I felt more than saw from the corner of my eye, as behind me the
two armored knights closed in on me. I slipped into a temporal
subdimension. Time froze as I continued strolling through the
statuesque crowd.
After a few paces, I let myself gently back into the timestream,
gloating over the knights' bewilderment.
"Over there," one of them grunted in frustration, and they came
after me again.
Again I slipped into a space outside of time, but this time
continued walking until I had skirted the fringe of the crowd,
and ascended steps to the wooden plank stage, to stand opposite
the King's sleazy, unctuous, corpulent recruiter.
The murmuring of the crowd dropped off into dead silence with my
unexpected appearance (well, I confess, I did add a little
explosion and a cloud of smoke which slowly cleared to reveal my
presence, just for the fun of it). All eyes in the crowd strained
to see what was happening on the stage.
"I said -- " I continued, "Rubbish. It's a pack of lies."
Like lightning, the lead officer spun towards me, sword drawn,
the point held inches from my heart. "I don't know who you are,
old man, but begone, and dare not speak against His Majesty, or
I'll have to run you through." The other soldiers, by his side,
flustered, wobbled ineffectually.
I raised my eyebrow whimsically. An officer in the King's army
who did not recognize the Royal Wizard? Where had he come from?
"Run me through, will you?" I asked (rhetorically).
He yelped, like a dog whose tail had been stepped on, and his
sword clattered to the ground, the handle glowing with the red
heat of a blacksmith's poker.
He raised his fist. I lifted my index finger in warning.
He balked.
"Right," I continued, addressing the King's men. "As I was
saying, contrary to what these poor honest citizens hear from the
pack of lies you have been spewing at them, the people of
Valeplysia are in fact civil and orderly, and indeed, you
yourself could well stand to learn some of their manners, for
(unlike yourselves) they are fair, gentle and polite. All anyone
would have to do to discover this, is to journey to their land."
"But they offer children as a death sacrifice!" cried a young
male voice from the crowd. "For their evil priests to drink the
blood!"
Turning, I clucked at the surly scowling soldiers. "Amazing. You
got them to actually believe this crap?"
The guy in charge shrugged. "They'll believe anything, if you say
it loud enough and just keep repeating."
"I think you better get off the stage," growled another.
"Get off the stage!" shouted someone from the audience.
"Let the Wizard speak!" called out another.
"Yeah, off the stage," growled another soldier, reaching for his
sword.
Enraged, the recruiting officers all began yelling at me at once.
I felt a sickening blast of evil from the thicket of angry
unintelligible epithets. I held up my hand, and they continued
their shouting, but with the volume turned down. I waved my hand
again and they froze.
"Not done yet," I said, leaning on my staff, surveying the crowd.
The blacksmith's anvil rang out tediously still.
"See, the secret they really don't want you to know, is the
beauty of Valeplysian women. Now, if you all storm in there with
weapons and start fighting, the women will all go off into the
forest, where the wood nymphs will conceal them and they'll never
be seen.
"But if, instead, you set out on a peace envoy, bearing gifts of
beautiful artwork and love poems, they might invite you to their
regularly scheduled orgiastic festivals, where they have been
known to offer instruction on the subtle arts of romance and
even," (pause for dramatic effect) "seduction!"
For a brief moment, there was the silent stillness, only broken
by distant lutesong and animal cries.
Then, all at once, raucous angry commotion broke loose from all
sides.
Humming to myself, I slipped back out of time, calmly retracing
my steps through peaceful silence of the frozen chaotic world
along a back trail up to a hilltop overlooking the marketplace.
Safely out of the way, I once more released the stream of events
to progress along their merry course.
The soldier's cries from the stage of "Pay no attention to that
lunatic!" countered by voices in the audience: "The wizard's
right! It's all a pack of lies," and "Down with King George!" The
soldiers found themselves helpless to contain the crowd's anger.
I stood for several minutes, unnoticed in the shade beneath a
tree, watching unseen from behind the sturdy trunk as the crowd
boiled and frothed below me.
Chuckling at my own reckless rage, I reflected that would most
likely live to regret my loss of temper. But you couldn't tell me
it hadn't been fun.
As I slipped away back to the castle tower, I heard the high
voice of the young bard carried sweetly on the wind.
Between the moments linger memories of you.
Sails over the ocean waves, tossing and blue
will carry me back to my lover so true. . .
Chapter 4
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