3 Dead Princes: An Anarchist Fairy Tale (20 page)
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Authors: Danbert Nobacon
BOOK: 3 Dead Princes: An Anarchist Fairy Tale
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The Queen waved her hatchet, the Queen’s hatchet, and winking at Geraldo, made a gracefully darting movement towards the probber.
“You blithering idiot,” she spat at Bishop thwacking him hard on his rumpside with the flat of the axe. “Even the schoolchilder know that Geraldo finds his comfort in being flameringly man-to-man.”
More raucous laughter, from Andeans and Morainians alike. Bishop was left spluttering and gibbering, but no words came out of his perfidious mouth. Queen Nukeander glared like the image of death.
In the pregnant pause that followed, Braggardio snapped out of his trance, the pyskosicks flaring new life into his eyes. His moment was escaping him and he badly wanted it back.
“You forget, so I shall remind you all,” he barked, commanding silence. “This whorlet cessprince killed my brothers. It remains my right and my duty to challenge you …” He turned on Stormy weighing his sword. “A fight, Prince Killer? To the death!”
Chapter 20
THREE DEAD PRINCES
“
N
ever!” came the shout. A teenage boy rushed forward. “I’ll fight thee in her place.”
N
ever!” came the shout. A teenage boy rushed forward. “I’ll fight thee in her place.”
It was Fred. Poor Fred.
Walterbald moved forwards, put a hand on the boy’s shoulder, and gently pulled him back. Turning to Queen Nukeander and looking her in the eye, the King said, “Call him off !”
The Black Queen gathered herself, but instead of speaking she spat at Walterbald’s feet.
“Very well,” said Walterbald, and he turned to face Braggardio. “You would go through with this?” For Walterbald knew that Braggardio had grounds to challenge Stormy. But this was his daughter they were talking about.
“You would pit your superior strength and skill as a soldier against a girl of thirteen winters … and be ridiculed throughout the west?” said the King.
“Horrible, horrible man,” Gigi wailed.
The psykologicks was, however, lost on Braggardio. Having been eagerly thrust into the shoes of leader for the mighty Oosarian Army overnight, and then to have the imperial dream snatched away by a bunch of giggling baboons, was all too much. Some of the tendons that connected his thinking to reality had been severed. His brain rationalized it thus:
If he could not own Morainia, he would not be denied his revenge.
If he could not own Morainia, he would not be denied his revenge.
“Stand aside, King, or I will kill you, too.”
Walterbald, of course, did not budge.
Stormy ran forward screaming. She pushed at her father and still he did not budge. Then turning quickly she grabbed the hatchet from Gwynmerelda’s hands, wheeled around and struck at Braggardio.
Braggardio laughed, but even in his twisted mirth his reflexes kicked into action. He easily deflected the blow with his broadsword. Stormy turned to strike again, and once again Braggardio effortlessly parried the blow.
Stormy knew how to wield a sword and an axe, and she could probably out-fence you or me. But pitted against a man trained in combat and in his physical prime, it was a battle she could never win.
Stormy spun around again, keeping the hatchet low. In the whirl of micro-moments she saw her father, Gwynmerelda, her grandparents, Geraldo. Her eyes flashed by Fred, and she saw The Fool running towards Eagle Cave. Then the thought hit her. She should do what she was good at. So, she ran. She ran to the river.
Stormy knew how to run. It was her Cliff Scout training. She could run up the Falls Road without having to stop for a break. She had run up much higher mountains in her dreams. She could also run downhill, steep downhill, and across very rough terrain, which she did now. Even carrying her mother’s hatchet, she was as sure-footed as a mountain goat skipping across a boulder-strewn beach as she neared the water.
She had a head start … the Prince was handicapped by armor … if she could just …
The screams of the crowd and the sounds of her pursuer merged into the crashing roar of Bald River Falls. The water’s edge.
Don’t look, she thought. Don’t look back and don’t look over the Falls. One false move, one wrong foot on the wet river stones, and she would be swept away. She slowed, but ran on. It appeared to the crowd on the rise behind her that she was walking on water.
The stepping-stones were only visible during high summer. It was not yet high summer, but it was not far off.
The night tales told of how the stepping-stones had been put there by Alexena, the Goddess of Rock. In the stories, Alexena enticed young men with her song, her beauty and promises of fame and longevity, to their inevitable deaths. Many had tried to cross, but the whisper of the Goddess in their ears became the roar of the crashing waters that swept them away.
Only one had ever successfully crossed the river. The giant Ohgerman. Ohgerman however, was intent on stealing Alexena’s treasures and she had slain him with catapult and rocks. If only Stormy had a catapult with her now. She would instead have to use her wits.
It was all she had.
In the previous summer, Stormy had taken turns with Fred and some of the other Cliff Scouts, skipping out across the dry rocks to the thirteenth rock, just short of the mid-point of the river. Then it was theoretically possible to cross the whole way, but no one did, for the rocks in the middle were so close to the fall’s edge, and the sound so mesmerizing, that no one dared.
It was July now, and high summer would not come until another moon. Still, Stormy could see those smooth white stones beneath her feet, just under the water. A fingernail deep, a first knuckle deep, and then as she strode out across the river, a second knuckle below surface. She felt the inexorable tug and drag of the river.
While the waters were deceptively clear this side of the Falls, they were as deep as a man was tall. The closer the rock path veered to the edge of the Falls, the deeper the water covering them became. It was in truth impossible to cross even without the psykologickal fear of being swept over the edge.
Nine stones out into the water meant she was considerably closer to the edge of the Falls than she was to the bank. Stormy halted, the irresistible current now buffeting her ankles. Gasping for breath, she turned and saw Braggardio step from the bank onto the first of the submerged stones.
She could see the hate in his face, and she could see the apprehension creeping across his brow. Braggardio cautiously made his way on to the third rock. More cautiously still, he made his way across the next three rocks, wavering on the last, as his lead foot slipped a finger-length under the water.
He regained his footing, but as a man six and a half feet tall, his center of balance made him a mite more unstable than Stormy. It isn’t always best to be biggest.
“Such a sweet pretty thing, but you will die, Princess,” shouted the Prince, trying to regain the initiative. “Think your prophecy will save you now, girl?”
How did he know about the prophecy? Did everyone know about it? But Stormy forced herself to concentrate. She didn’t think the prophecy would save her. She didn’t know if she
could
be saved, and she had no idea what came next in her non-existent plan. Would that she were like her namesake Alexena, and could trick the man to his death.
could
be saved, and she had no idea what came next in her non-existent plan. Would that she were like her namesake Alexena, and could trick the man to his death.
Braggardio advanced one, two … more rocks with uncanny bravado and without hazard.
“Say your prayers, girl.”
Stormy glanced over her left shoulder to the tenth rock and in the direction of the Falls. It was a little farther than a comfortable stride for her. Turning her body she leapt, and as her right foot landed she slid, crashing to her knee. Flailing and falling half forwards she crashed against the body of the rock, bringing her right arm down, and with it the hatchet that had been her mother’s.
Mezzaculously, the hatchet blade found a fissure in the otherwise smooth rock. The force of Stormy’s fall wedged the axe excaliberite into that rock, preventing her from being swept away. Grabbling with her left hand, she felt the blade sear into her fingers, but did not let go until she regained her balance and was able to pull herself up to standing.
Even above the din of the water, she could hear the screaming crowd now assembled on the bank. She looked up and saw Braggardio, advancing, laughing. She saw her father step out from the riverbank in pursuit of the Prince. She saw the blood dripping from her hand and felt dizzy with shock.
Only one empty rock now separated the Prince and Princess.
“One last miracle before you taste your reward, Princess!”
Stormy knew in her heart she had to end it. She could not risk Braggardio killing her father. She tugged at the hatchet with her good hand, but it was wedged solid. This was actually a good thing. Had Stormy swung the axe at The Prince as he landed on the rock next to hers, he would have been within striking distance to meet it with his sword. Again, that was a battle Stormy could never win.
As it was, she remained a finger-length out of reach as Braggardio swung his blade horizontally in the direction of Stormy’s chest. Instinctively holding tight to the hatchet with her good hand, she was able to lean back that necessary finger length without losing her balance. If Braggardio leant forward the extra distance he would be the one toppling forwards.
“Come, Braggardio,” shouted Stormy with a conviction she wasn’t yet sure she felt. “Come taste the Prince Killer’s kiss!”
Then she was, all of a sudden, sure. Quite sure.
Maybe she was possessed by Alexena the Goddess of Rock?
Alexandra Stormybald Wilson held out her bloody arm taunting Braggardio … and withdrew it double speed, as he swiped again, wobbling dangerously.
“Strumpet! Whorlet! I can wait until you bleed to death.”
And then Walterbald, sword drawn, was shouting behind him, and the Prince wheeled to look. He could spear the girl with his sword, but then he’d be defenseless against a bereaved king. End it now, he thought.
He turned back towards Stormy, and she saw the look in his eyes.
She could hear her father shouting, but dared not look. She flicked her left wrist theatrically, and droplets of her blood flecked Braggardio’s face.
“Taste the blood of the Prince Killer,” she screamed, and the scream filled the whole valley, drowning out the crashing of the waters, as Braggardio leapt at her, and they both plunged into the water.
Cold! Cold! Cold! The water stung her bloodied hand. Like cells dividing, fear replicated itself into a whole body panic. Where everything else was relentlessly fluid, Prince and Princess desperately clutched at each other. Then they crashed over the precipice, and Stormy saw black.
Braggardio’s clinch relaxed and fell away, but as the shadow filled her senses she felt a new vice-like grip. Death’s bony fingers and opposable thumb closed about her waist to squeeze the last breath from her, and then … and then for shockingly there was an
and then
—the falling felt like soaring. Like when your hands are so cold with overexposure to ice they burn. What new kind of pain was this?
and then
—the falling felt like soaring. Like when your hands are so cold with overexposure to ice they burn. What new kind of pain was this?
Instead of water crushing her, she felt the air rushing against her face, but still the tightening constriction around her stomach. Stormy felt that her eyes wanted to open, but she dared not let them. It had only now occurred to her that the torments that awaited the Prince Killer in death would be far worse than those of the world she was leaving behind. And then, another
and then
…
and then
…
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