Why I Can't Have Nice Kings Page 9

  “I don’t think it’s worth the effort,” Cat replied. “I think he’s dead.”

  Wolf slapped his forehead. “She means the other one, Cat, and no. His insignia indicates he’s one of Artenarix’s Life Guards. Life Guards are sworn to return their fallen masters to their next of kin after death.”

  “And to pull them out of the pool if they get cramps.”

  I would have punched Cat for making fun of my brilliant concept of the noble Life Guards, but he was bigger than I. Also, he wasn’t wearing any pants, and I have a strict “no wrestling with partially naked men” policy.

  Cat pointed down at the unconscious one. “Can I at least tie up this one?”

  “No,” Wolf said. “Their master said there are others out there. We need to get out of here now.”

  “Could I bring him with me and tie him up as we go? I need the practice for my knot-tying merit badge.” Cat gave Wolf his sweetest smile.

  Wolf turned around and mounted his horse. “How many times do I have to tell you that mercenaries don’t have merit badges?”

  “Seven and a half.”

  “Seven and a half.” We turned back toward Artenarix. It appeared the actors had overplayed the whole dying thing. His Life Guard leaned him forward. “Why, that’s precisely the number of minutes I give you to survive. Do you honestly think my employer will allow such an important object to be delivered by the likes of you?”

  “Employer?” Cat grabbed hold of Artenarix and shook him. “Who do you work for? What do you know?”

  The Life Guard let go of his master and forced Cat to stop, but it was too late. Artenarix’s eyes stopped moving, and his tongue rolled out. The drool really sold it. There was no way someone as fastidious as he would let his robes get that wet.

  Wolf and Cat mounted up without another word, like they had the sort of psychic communication that often develops between people who’ve worked together for a while, or they had read the script. As they moved out of the clearing, Jackal stayed behind to help Geoff and me get our horses moving.

  “At least I will die knowing that my cohorts will succeed,” the not-quite-dead Artenarix said. “I hope you are quick, because they should be here shortly. Do you want to know who you are about to face?”

  Jackal shrugged and mounted her horse. “No.”

  “One will lurk,” Artenarix coughed out.

  “If this lurker is as dumb as you, we’ll be fine,” I said. “I mean, come on, man. You have the power to animate fighting trees, and the best you could do is a shiny bush.”

  With that, Jackal led us back into the woods, making sure to double back and go in a different direction than we had left from. I thought it was pretty clever of her, as there was no doubt in my mind that he would alert his allies of our direction. Unfortunately, there was no one to do the same for the cameras I knew were out there but couldn’t quite see.

  Another Reason Why I Hate Hamsters

  We heard the occasional distant sound of pursuit, but we had so far managed to avoid our pursuers. Jackal had expertly directed us through side paths and had changed course repeatedly to throw them off.

  After a few hours, thick foliage began to cover our small path. “I think we should leave this soon,” Jackal said. “I know of an old goat trail a little way to the north. Unless they’ve hired a local guide, they won’t know it’s there. Does that sound good?” She looked to Wolf for the validation her father had evidently never given her.

  Wolf nodded in agreement. “Jackal, you’re doing great. You don’t need to ask permission. We trust your expertise.”

  “Oh, OK. You both know so much more than I do, and I did kind of screw up when those two Atlians charged us earlier. It’s so much easier on the practice range.”

  Wolf smiled. “You did fantastic. You recovered faster than any of us and had the wherewithal to fire not once, but twice before we even moved. If you hadn’t slowed them down, I doubt we would have had our shields up before they struck.”

  Cat patted her on the back. “Yeah, then there’d be four Atlians staring at a very beautiful, pantsless corpse right now.”

  Jackal smiled at the sentiment while making sure to keep her eyes up. With a renewed sense of confidence, she easily found the old trail. It wound through an ancient collection of hills, and the vegetation slowly grew less and less dense.

  With all of the danger and the very pleasant banter of my companions, I had completely forgotten about escaping this silly show. I was actually having a good time. While I still had misgivings about their having invented all of the characters I was currently with, they were interesting people that I enjoyed being with. Of course I had forgotten about Geoff, as he had been so far too busy writing about our surroundings to speak.

  “How far does this path proceed?” Geoff said. “Being so deep in the woods makes me a tad anxious. I have never been what you would call a woodsman, though my benefactor Lord Hartin is exceptionally skilled in that area of expertise. He once killed a raging boar with only a small whittling knife.”

  “I once killed a boar naked,” Cat said, “using only my God-given weapons.”

  “That wasn’t a boar, Cat. It was just a really hairy street urchin, and you didn’t kill him, you gave him pinkeye,” Wolf said.

  By midday, the vegetation had disappeared completely, replaced by a “varied” combination of dirt, rocks, more dirt, and even more rocks. I think I even saw some rocks in there.

  “I would assume there aren’t many people in these parts,” Cat said.

  “There are no settlements for at least twenty miles near the Terngarin Mountains,” Jackal said.

  “These are mountains? Aren’t mountains usually, you know, tall?”

  “Time has taken its toll, yet the name remains.”

  “In about five miles,” Jackal said, “we’ll arrive at the old road that used to attach two cities of the original inhabitants of this island, the Bulmians.”

  “The Bulmians were all wiped out by the Litotians, the predecessors of the modern Shrannin,” Geoff said.

  “The Shrannin live in the south,” Cat said. “What were they doing all the way up here?”

  “Our ancestors drove them south, to the Lowlands and beyond. They used to control the whole island.”

  “Quite the feat, that was,” Wolf said. “The Shrannin are huge, savage warriors. I don’t know how the ancient Garandians managed that. We didn’t even know how to ride horses then, let alone fight in an organized manner.”

  “We had recently taken up our faith in The One,” Geoff said. “Zealotry and fervor are a powerful weapon.”

  “That, and hamsters,” Cat said.

  “Hamsters?” I said.

  “St. Bertius, with his trained and holy pack of hamsters, guinea pigs, and chipmunks, drove the merciless King Helfind and his hordes away from the beleaguered crusader army, who had just fought a bloody battle at Diferend,” Geoff said. “So terrified was King Helfind of that adorable and vicious swarm that he abandoned the land all the way to the Lowlands in the south.”

  Oh, yeah. That was why I wanted to escape. The Trio seemed nice, but Geoff by himself had done more to ruin my magnificent world than the rest of the characters combined.

  “Where did you hear that ludicrous story?” I said. “How would someone train hamsters to fight? Even if that were possible, how would hamsters drive off a horde of massive barbarians?”

  “The village priest told it to me when I was a child,” Geoff said. “He said that with enough faith, even the smallest of creatures can overcome the largest of foes. Also, St. Bertius sharpened their teeth and taught them how to leap really high.”

  “Jackal, please help me,” I said.

  “He called it the ‘leap of faith,’ but St. Bertius didn’t teach them that. The Almighty did.”

  “And I’ll bet the armor he put them in really evened out the odds,” Cat said.

  I held back my tears. “Really? He built armor . . . for guinea pigs, hamsters, and chipmunks?�
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  Cat nodded. “My church still has a few of them on display.”

  I really needed to get them to stop talking. If my headache got any stronger, my whole head would explode. I had to escape. “Could we stop for the night? I’m not used to the saddle, and I’m rather sore.”

  “All right. We should be out of danger for the time being,” Jackal said.

  “Only if I’m not here to strangle you all in your sleep,” I muttered under my breath.

  Running Away Can Be a Very Rewarding Experience

  We set up camp, had our meal—which looked a lot like Hot Pockets—and climbed into our bedrolls. I convinced them that I needed to sleep away from camp by complaining that Cat was a snorer—which turned out to be true—and I had trouble sleeping around so much noise. The fact that there had been no objections made me a little suspicious, so I made sure to walk past all of them to see if anyone was awake about fifteen minutes before my escape. As no one had reacted to my little test, when the time came, I jumped up and ran toward the distant forest. Given my difficulties with mounting and the fact that my horse kept giving me dirty looks, I had abandoned the idea of riding away. I also left my pack behind, as it would only slow me down.

  When I reached the concealment of the forest, I made sure to run in an erratic, zigzagging pattern so I would not be easy to find. I could feel the constant glare of the hidden cameras lift, and a nice concealing mist rolled in. It was refreshing that something was going right, even if it made it a little hard to see in front of me. After I ran into the third tree, I decided to slow to a jog. With that much concealment, I could afford a little slackening of my pace.

  After a few hours of fast walking, I knew I had to be safe from pursuit, so I slowed to a normal walking speed. My arms were getting scraped up pretty bad from running into bushes, but I didn’t care. The only question was whether I could find someone not involved with this production to help me get back home. My prayers were answered when I saw the familiar blaze-orange of a hunter through the mist.

  “Excuse me, sir. I’m lost, and I could use some help getting back home. Could you direct me to the nearest town or lend me a cell phone?”

  The figure in orange turned, but I still couldn’t make out his—or her—face. The glare of what had to be the scope of his rifle shone toward me, so I stopped. I couldn’t see any cover nearby, not that my legs were working, anyway. As is my way, I had escaped from one terrible thing and run straight into something worse. I hoped he would at least stuff my body and point me toward the TV for all of eternity.

  “Please, sir. I could pay you. I’m a famous writer. I could even sign things for you."

  The glare from his scope moved over my left nipple —my favorite nipple. “Like your baby—”

  The glare pointed at my head.

  “Your forehead?” I asked.

  The glare moved down to my crotch.

  “I’m not going to sign that. That’s absurd.”

  The glare from the scope was directly in my eyes now.

  “Fine,” I said, “but I’m going to need a special pen for that . . . and could you not tell anyone about this?”

  The glare moved between my eyes.

  “Fine. You can tell one friend, as long as he doesn’t work for any news outlets.”

  “And where could one get one of those special pens?” the hunter said.

  “The special pen store, obviously.” You’d think I’d know not to taunt the guy with the gun, but I couldn’t resist a setup like that.

  “You’d know where to get special things, given that you’re such a special boy, Harry.” He really put some extra menace into the last “special.” You’d think he wouldn’t need to sound so menacing with the gun pointed at me, but some people are over-achievers.

  “A clever quip for a clever man, I suppose. Who are you, stranger? It’d be nice to know the name of the man who’s probably going to kill me.”

  “Some call me the Wizard of New Atlia, which I’ve always found odd, as New Atlia is full of wizards, but I guess the guy who does nicknames was on vacation that week.”

  I stepped forward defiantly, which for me means I only shook a little. “You can kill me, but do you have to appropriate the title of my favorite character? You, sir, are no Hammurabi Joudisz! Also, the nickname is a double entendre, because he’s a financial wizard and he can do actual magic. The guy who made it up is actually really smart. Not that I’ve met him or anything, but that’s what a lot of people say.”

  “If I’m not him, then who is?” His face began to glow so that I could finally make it out, and it was, in fact, Hammurabi Joudisz (or the actor who was currently playing him, anyway). The way the light barely lit up his already frightening and unnerving face would give me nightmares for weeks.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked. “Did I catch you on a smoke break, or were you out hunting?”

  “Why, I’m out hunting for you, of course.”

  Couldn’t he say something in a manner that didn’t make me want to wet my pants? I’m mean, the guy was like six foot six and had one of the most intimidating faces I had ever seen, but no, he still had to have a voice so frightening that it scared the crap out of me even when I couldn’t see his body.

  “Fantastic. I finally escape that travesty of a TV show, but then I get murdered, and not by a normal guy. No, it has to be by the guy who’s playing my most iconic character.”

  I think everyone can agree that it was perfectly within my rights to tear up a little here, even though you probably couldn’t see that on TV and would never have known about it unless I told you in the book I wrote about this show. The book you’re currently reading. The book written by me, in which I could write anything and you’d believe me. Note to self: fix this in editing.

  A thought occurred to me, and, yes, I can still think while I’m crying. “Wait. Did you mean you’re here to hunt me for sport, or you’re hunting me to bring me back to the show?”

  “Harrold, I don’t know why you think this is some sort of play. It is very much real.” The fog suddenly disappeared, and so did the bright light I had mistaken for a scope. His fingers glowed green, and a waist-high sapling appeared beside him. “See. Magic. If this were a play, I wouldn’t have been able to do that.” He backed away from the sapling. “Touch it.”

  I did as commanded, not because I was afraid or because I believed him, but because I like touching tiny trees. It was incredibly life-like. It even smelled like a tree, not that I’m one of those weirdos who gets off by smelling trees. “That doesn’t prove anything. They can do some really neat things with special effects nowadays.”

  The fog reappeared, and his face glowed a reddish tint, further enhancing his snarl. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter if you believe this is real or not. What matters is that you get the job done. I’m here to send you back.”

  “Teragonna said that if either Geoff or I survived, it’d be all right, and Geoff’s still bravely going forward with the mission. So, can I go?”

  “Have you met Geoff? We both know he’s going to die in the next day or so. I only said that to make him feel better. You are the important one, according to my magic, and my magic is never wrong about this kind of thing.”

  “What about the time—”

  “I don’t know who told you about that, but it isn’t polite to talk about that kind of thing to another man. I assumed you would do the right thing, but I guess you’re obviously not who I thought you were.”

  I looked around at the excessive amount of mist, then looked at Hammurabi’s anachronistic blaze-orange outfit. “Is this a dream? Are you my conscience?”

  “Do you usually dream about—no, I don’t want to know.”

  “So, I have to go back. What makes you think I’m going to listen to you? There are lots of woods out here, and I’m a fast runner.”

  With the light shining on him that way, I expected him to tell a ghost story, but what he said was worse than any scary story. “Dear Harrold, do you
take me for a fool? We both know you’re not in the best of shape, and you’ve been walking for hours. I am quite certain that you’re only capable of a slow walk at this point, whereas I am well-rested. I’d catch you in under a minute.”

  I expected him to smirk, but he only maintained his steady look.

  I hate it when they’re so confident they don’t even bother to gloat. I also hate it when they’re right. I was so tired, I couldn’t even manage a moderately saucy saunter or a light bit of skipping. At best, I had a respectable old man hobble in me.

  “So, is this the part where you tell me dire things will happen to me if I don’t complete this silly quest?”

  He maintained that same unwavering gaze. What was with this guy? Surely, that question deserved at least an eyebrow tilt. “‘Dire’ seems like a bit much to me. How about, ‘not so nice’ things will happen to you? Anyway, the kingdom needs you, and Geoff is less than reliable. Shouldn’t that be enough for you?”

  “I’ll continue for a fifty percent cut.”

  “Fifty percent of what? There’s no money involved.” He looked like a sinister jack-o’-lantern with the light bouncing off his face that way. “You’re really not going to do this out of dedication toward your country? I did not waste my last day in Garandia before I begin my exile for this.”

  I paced back and forth. “This isn’t the country I created in my imagination. The country I imagined is a good country, a happy country—but not so happy that the knights sing, because that’s just ridiculous. OK, some of the knights do sing, but it’s gruff war songs, not anything resembling a barbershop quartet or an a cappella group. And that country is a great country ruled by a great king, not a bumbling zealot like you’ve described. Also, in that country, the creator of the world would not be slapped repeatedly, unless it was while he was naked and by a beautiful lady, and then only if he asked her to. Slapping outside of the bedroom has no place in my Garandia.”

  My brilliant speech finally got a reaction out of him: stunned bewilderment. The expression looked wrong on him.