The Manticore

THE MANTICORE

By

Doug LeBlanc



I

Domaz tried to open his eyes, but failed in the attempt. Only the prompting of the king’s closest advisor encouraged him to try, but it was not with any great enthusiasm that he did so.
“Domaz, the king awaits thee, this very nonce!” he wailed into his ear.
“Three-knees, can’t you talk like everybody else?” Thirum demanded from across the room.
The seneschal drew himself up to his full height, trying to look imperious. His diminutive stature, however, utterly failed to convey this impression. “My name is Sir Thrienese, personal advisor and…”
With a negligent wave of his hand, Thirum changed Thrienese into a squawking parrot, and a very unhappy one at that. Domaz chuckled.
“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you. Granted, Three-knees looks better that way, but you know how the king carries on when we change people, even if it’s for the better.”
“Three-knees hardly qualifies as a person.”
“King Theford doesn’t agree, and he pays us.”
“Oh, very well,” he agreed irritably, and waved his hand again. With a crash, Sir Thrienese fell to the ground with a loud thud, and a foul temper.
“Damn you, you filthy wizards, I’ll, I’ll…” Suddenly aware that two bad-tempered and hung-over wizards were staring intently at him, he decided to beat a hasty retreat. He raced for the door before another spell could be cast, and was through it in seconds. “The king wants you in the throne room in ten minutes!” he yelled through the door, and was gone.
Domaz stretched, then yawned. “Well, I suppose we should obey him, don’t you?”
“Well,” Thirum drawled slowly, “since we’re awake anyway, we might just as well.”
“Yes, I agree.”
“Quite.”
“Yes, we should.”
“Indeed.”
“Just so. We should get up. We should always obey the king.”
“Yes, always.”
“And we will.”
“Yes, there’s no doubt about it, we will.”
“Unquestionably.”
Silence intruded at this point, as both wizards, seemingly unwilling to heed their own advise, lay in bed and contemplated the advantages and disadvantages to rising to the king’s summons. Some considerable time had passed before they managed to act on their decision about the matter.

An hour later, their decision finally having been acted upon, the two wizards stood before the throne of a fuming King Theford. Neither seemed greatly concerned with the king’s displeasure, or with the rumpled state of their attire, and its subsequent effect of increasing the king’s ire.
“I sent for you both an hour ago. Where have you been?”
They both bowed low. “We were preparing ourselves to be presented before your august majesty, your august majesty,” Domaz stated with an irreverent twinkle in his eye.
“You seemed to have failed in that respect, as well as in obeying my summons on time.”
“Yes, we do seem to have, your august majesty.”
The king waited for more, but nothing seemed to be forthcoming. “Why?” he finally demanded.
“Why what, your august majesty?”
“Why are you late, and why are you looking like that?” he demanded fiercely.
“Your august majesty,” Thirum stated, “we were overcome with indecision concerning suitable raiment to be presented to your august majesty, your august majesty.”
“AND STOP CALLING ME THAT!” he thundered, his face mottled with anger.
“Sure, Frank,” Domaz said with a smile.
“My name is King Frankiman Theford, and you will address me as King Theford, or sire.”
“I like Frank, better,” Domaz told him whimsically.
The king shook his head in dismay. “Never mind. Have you heard what’s happened?”
“Well, Porthin the Tailor has a wonderful new coat that he’s created, The Duke of Saggy Bottoms has a boil on his buttocks, but further than that, no, we’ve heard nothing.”
“His title is the Duke of Sag, oh, never mind. No, we’ve received word of an imminent invasion from Quaz. They could be here within the week.”
The two wizards glanced at each other, then laughed. “And why should we concern ourselves with Quaz? They’re no threat to us.”
“They weren’t,” Sir Thrienese told them. “They’ve developed a new weapon that can destroy whole armies within a few hours.”
“Three-knees, there’s no such weapon,” Thirum told him. “ Have you been nipping at the king’s private stock again, hmm?”
“Stop calling me that disgusting nickname!” he almost screamed.
“Sir Thrienese,” the king said, “allow me.” He turned to the wizards. “If either of you ever harasses my Seneschal again, I will not only dismiss, you, but you will be banned from my court forever. And that goes or the other members of my staff. Do you understand?”
Both wizards bowed low. “Completely, your majesty” Domaz stated. “However, Thirum’s point is, ah, to the point. Quaz has no such weapon.”
“They didn’t,” the king told him. “They do now. It’s a thing called a Manticore.”
Thirum chuckled. “A manticore, your majesty? A creature with the head of a man, the body of a goat, and the tail of a spider?”
“Spiders don’t have tails,” Domaz told him.
He nodded. “Yes, that’s true, isn’t it? Ah, how about a gerbil?”
Domaz turned to him. “Why a gerbil?”
“How should I know? Gerbils are nice, though. They’re cute, and fuzzy, and…”
“And completely harmless. It has to be the tail of something terrible.”
“Well, it’s got the head of a man, and there’s nothing terrible about that.”
“Depends on the man. If it had three knees, it’d be a fearsome creature, indeed.”
“Oh, indeed. I’m scared already.”
“Yes, petrified.”
“Shaking in my boots.”
“I’m all aquiver.”
“Me, too, and I don’t even know what it means.”
“Will you two knock it off?” the king demanded crossly.
“Certainly, your majesty.” Domaz told him.
“Besides,” the king added, “the Manticore has the tail of a scorpion.”
Thirum snapped his fingers. “Yes, that was it.”
“I thought it was the tail of a dragon,” Thrienese exclaimed.
“I thought it had the head of a jackass!” Thirum said.
“What has the head of a jackass?” the king asked.
“Both wizards stared meaningfully at Thrienese, but Domaz shook his head. “Nothing, your majesty, just thinking of something else.”
The king scowled, as did the seneschal, but they moved on.
“And just what is this manticore thing supposed to be, Fran, er, your majesty?” Domaz asked politely.
“A huge battle weapon a hundred feet high, heavily armoured, and impossible to attack.”
“Sounds nasty,” Thirum stated.
“It is,” Thrienese stated.
“One of Pooty’s creations, no doubt,” Domaz said.
“His name is Sir Pootum,” the king told him.
Domaz shrugged. “Pootum, Pooty, what’s the difference?”
The king shook his head. “None, I guess. Whatever you call him, he’s a dangerous man.”
“Your majesty, he’s a demented tinker,” Thirum stated sharply. “We’ll deal with him when the time comes.”
“Maybe, but who’s going to deal with the Manticore? Quaz will be here within the week, and we have no way of defeating this thing.”
“Are we sure this creation is as dangerous as you think?” Domaz inquired.
“Quite, sure,” Sir Therienese said. “They’ve already conquered Tansart with it, and we’re next. Tansart is a larger country than ours, and they fell in five days.”
Domaz and Thirum exchanged glances, looking more serious than anyone had ever seen them before. It was gone in a moment, though.
“Your majesty, we are wizards, and while we’re cute, cuddly, and immensely witty, not to mention very popular at parties, we can add very little to battle plans. If we might be excused?”
The king hung his head. “Very well, Domaz, you may go, but I had hoped for some encouragement from you two. Our country is all but doomed, and we have very little hope that any of us will be here a month from now. Somehow, I thought you’d care.”
“Your majesty, do not give up hope. Things are not always as desperate as they seem.”
“Perhaps not, but hope fades like the dawn. Go, now, I am tired, and would rest.”
They bowed low, as did Sir Thrienese, and left the court. The seneschal was angry, but did not say anything. The wizards left for breakfast, seemingly not at all concerned with the impending doom that affected everyone else.

II

King Birzan stretched, and smiled. “So, everything is going according to plan.”
“Yes, your majesty,” Sir Pootum answered with a smile. He was a tall, thin, gangly man with graying hair and well-tailored clothes. When he stood still he resembled a misplaced corpse more than anything else, and from his childhood his playmates had a tendency to want to bury him, a trend that, distressingly, followed him into adulthood.
“Unfortunately,” responded Sir Tharkon.
“Tharkon, you’re not going to go into objections again, are you?” Pootum exclaimed.
“I still feel we are taking a big chance by attacking Virdaran. They outnumber us at least two to one, probably more. We are relying far too heavily on the Manticore.”
“With reason, Tharkon. We’ve already won against greater odds with it. We will defeat Virdaran, you’ll see.”
King Birzan smiled, and rose from his throne. “Ah, Tharkon, my oldest and most trusted advisor. You do well to be concerned, and I do not dismiss your concerns lightly, but Pootum is right. We will conquer Virdaran, as I‘ve always dreamed, you will see. And you will profit as much as anyone, I assure you. I will repay your loyalty in gold.”
Sir Tharkon bowed his head, proud that his king thought so highly of him. However, great concern over this plan of conquest bothered him deeply. There was something wrong with it, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. No one had ever defeated Virdaran, and he did not think they would do so very easily. True, the Manticore was an awesome weapon, but should they find some way of defeating it, they would be open to attack, and their homeland would be overrun in no time. If they had some sort of backup plan, he would feel much better. No good general went into a war without having more than one form of attack. And certainly not without a backup plan, should they lose. They were relying far too heavily on a piece of technological equipment that could break down easily, even with no outside interference from Virdaran. Not to mention, King Theford had wizards at his command. Should they find some way of stopping the Manticore…
Sir Tharkon bowed before his king, and asked for, and was granted, permission to leave. When he was gone the king turned to Pootum. “I fear our good knight is not very enthusiastic about our plans.”
“I know, your majesty, but his fears are ungrounded. Virdaran will fall, you’ll see.”
“I know, but he is right about one thing. If the Manticore fails, we are helpless.”
“It won’t fail, your majesty. You’ve seen what it can do. The machine can sustain huge amounts of damage, without causing it to falter. Virdaran is doomed.”
King Birzan’s look lightened considerably. “Yes, my friend, you’re right. Come, let us dine. We shall celebrate our coming victory.”
“Indeed, your majesty.”
Pootum lead the way from the throne room, as the onlookers bowed before them. All of them had seen the Manticore in operation, and all of them believed fully in the coming victory. All, that is, save one. There was one who knew something, but he had another game to play, with stakes equally as high. And he would win. He was sure he would win.


III

Dawn had come, but in the early morning mist it was difficult to tell. Slowly, the light began to filter in, and gradually it came to gleam off a gigantic form. Huge, massive, and lethal, the light reflected from huge, deadly blades of steel, and massive cannons so large a man could stand inside one. Every inch of it was covered in steel, and every inch of it was enough to frighten anyone at the business end of it out of their wits.
With a great roar the thing’s vast engines sparked into life, and with a vast clanking it rolled forward at a frightening rate. Faces peered out from it, proud, young faces of warriors eager for battle. Parting the mist like a curtain, the vast machine rolled forward like a charging bull, and nothing dared stand in its way. Then, slowly, ponderously, it ground to a halt.
Suddenly a voice echoed out of the dimness and the mist. “Shit, it’s stuck.”
The only weapon of any effectiveness against the Manticore, the greatest war machine ever invented, was plain, old mud. The method used to extract the weapon from the mud was good old fashioned sweating and grunting. For those who enjoyed such pursuits, there was plenty to be had with this creation.
Two hours later the monstrosity finally managed to clear the mud, and was on its way to its next destination. Unfortunately, no one on the Manticore knew where that was, but it was definitely on its way there. It motored along, destroying everything in its path as it went. Trees, houses, flowers, several huts, and an outhouse or two, all fell before the might of it. Several farm animals were also unfortunate enough to be caught by the machine, some of which provided a quite passable dinner for the occupants. In fact, it gave a new meaning to the term ground beef.
It was a sad and unfortunate thing that the general who was directing the operation had just a bit more wine than was good for him one afternoon, and found a need to relieve himself. Again, the misfortunes of war sometimes dictate the most unfortunate of circumstances. The said general had chosen a spot to perform his necessary deed that seemed to be a safe distance from the Manticore. However, the vast machine had become entrapped in the mud again. In the ensuing delay the machine was propelled out of the mud a bit more forcefully than was anticipated, and for a few terror (or amusement, for certain of the soldiers) filled minutes, the general tried to outrun the huge machine bearing down on him. As he had not quite finished his purpose, his decorum was not at his normally noble best as he fled. His subsequent demise could be heard for miles.
The loss of General Snoberhobben elicited a grief-filled response that lasted for long minutes, but was quickly put aside. The manner of his death, while on the grisly side, was at least quick, and resulted in a body shape that facilitated a most speedy internment. The general’s loss was more keenly felt later on, however, when it was discovered he was the only one who knew their precise destination. This was only discovered when the crew realized their present course was directing them into a bog. Arguments ensued, and finally saner heads prevailed, and the monstrosity was turned about, and chugged off in a direction that was, again unfortunately, entirely wrong.
Sir Pootum was riding along in the warm summer sunshine, enjoying the clemency of the weather, and of life’s pleasantries, when he spied something he should not be spying for several days yet. The Manticore, huge and ungainly, and far from its original course, rumbled into view like an overweight armadillo. Sir Pootum was put out to see his invention so far from where it was supposed to be, and expressed his displeasure with his subordinates. Pootum took a few minutes to regain his composure, and, as a result, fatalities were kept to a minimum.
In the relatively short time it took to get the great machine turned about and the bodies buried, the Manticore and its creator were on their way to Virdaran, only two days behind schedule. Later that same day they met up with the army. Now surrounded by massed foot soldiers and cavalry, it seemed to be an insurmountable force to defeat. Those of a more whimsical turn of mind could not decide whether the army was their to protect the Manticore, or vice versa.
As the evening fell, the Manticore rumbled to a halt, and camp was made. In the fading light Pootum ate his meal with his eyes on the horizon. Just beyond it lay their destination. Virdaran lay just beyond the hills. The invasion would begin by tomorrow night. Then the darkness fell, and a blanket of gloom lay over the land like a grave cloth.

IV

Dawn rose, painting the sky with pink and purple sweeps of majestic colour, instead of the blood red hues one would normally associate with the morning of a great battle. The Manticore rolled onto the battlefield, huge and massive in the morning light. To the waiting army of Virdaran, it was as fearsome as any sight ever beheld by mortal man. Although they vastly outnumbered the opposition, few of them believed they would see victory this day. King Theford, resplendent in golden armour that was, from a practical point of view, as useless in battle as he was, could only shake his head in dismay. They stood almost no chance of winning this war.
Trumpets blew from the distant camp, and a parlay flag went up. Theford was about to signal his own up when he spied a strange sight. A carriage was rolling in the grass toward them, but it was no ordinary carriage. Shaped like a large, grotesque head with the face of a clown, it was drawn by a team of large deer, all reddish-pink in colour. The effect was that of a large head sticking its tongue out. If the situation were not so desperate, the king would have laughed, and it soon became apparent that the army were having trouble containing their amusement.
The king signaled for his parlay entourage, and they began to ride toward the waiting parlay with Quaz. Pulling up along with them was the mysterious and silly carriage. They rode for a few minutes, then stopped. The carriage stopped as well, and out tumbled two wizards, looking the worse for wear. Calling them rumpled and frumpy would amount to a compliment. Their eyes were bloodshot, and they staggered as they emerged from the garish contraption.
“Well, good morning, at any rate,” Domaz announced loudly. “ We’re glad to see everybody’s here.”
The king winced visibly, and Pootum shook his head. Thirum noticed.
“Why, Pooty, old boy, good to see you!” he exclaimed loudly. “Say, you’re not quite as ugly as you were the last time I saw you!”
Domaz turned to him. “You know, you’re right. He is looking slightly less corpse-like than before.”
“Decidedly so.”
“He almost has colour in his face.”
“There’s evidence of breathing activity.”
“Definite animation.”
“It’s alive.”
“So it would seem.”
“Appearances can be deceiving, however.”
“Yes, he may look alive, but is he really?”
“True. The battle has not even begun, and we may have already had our first casualty.”
“THAT’S ENOUGH!” roared King Birzan.
“I quite agree,” King Theford agreed.
King turned to king. “We are met here on the field of battle, my lord. Forsooth, thy and thy forces are doomed. However, surrender, and thine lives will be spared.”
“Forsooth, and fivesooth,” Thirum laughed, “and three-knees worth of sooth. It matters not, King Birzzy. You hope for victory that will not be.”
Sir Tharkon stepped forward, his hand on the hilt of his sword. “Were we not at parlay, I would soon enough teach thee manners!”
“And who art thou, my lord, that blusters as the high breeze bloweth?” Domaz asked mockingly.
“This is the leader of my armies, the puissant Sir Tharkon!” Kin trumpeted.
“Hardon?” Domaz inquired, perplexed.
“THARKON!” he screamed in anger.
Thirum grinned. “Say, that’s quite an, ah, erection, you’ve got there, Sir Hardon,” pointing at the Manticore.
Pootum puffed out his chest in pride, but such was his cadaverous appearance that it went unnoticed. “That is the Manticore, and it is the instrument of your destruction.”
“It doesn’t look like a manticore, there, Pooty,” Domaz stated.
“It is so-called because of its fierceness in battle. Like the mythical beast, it cannot be defeated by mortal man.”
“Care to make a small wager on that?” Thirum inquired casually.
King Birzan drew himself up imperiously. “These be the posturings of the doomed. Prepare ye now, for thy death is upon ye!”
“Oh, that’s not very nice of him at all!” Thirum told Domaz.
“No, not at all,” he agreed.
“Must be that archaic nonsense he’s speaking.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“Rude, to say the least.”
“Very.”
“Should we teach him a lesson?”
“In what, language? This is hardly the time.”
“No, no, in etiquette.”
“Yes, I believe we should.”
“Are we agreed, then?”
“Yes, I believe we are.”
“What form should this instruction take?”
“Why, I believe taking away his favourite toy would suffice.”
“Yes, that would be adequate, I think.”
Up until now no one had really been paying much attention to the wizards and their ramblings. However, they took notice when they stepped forward and raised their arms. Crying out in a loud voice, they both incanted some long spell. When they finished, light played out from their hands, and covered the Manticore. For a moment it shook, then settled again. Pootum laughed.
“Is that the best you…”
Without warning, the Manticore exploded like a small sun. The force of it knocked everyone off their feet, and the light blinded them to any view of what was happening. The roar was so great the very air seemed bruised by it. Moisture was seeping down through the air like rain. It only took a moment to realize it was blood.
When the smoke and flames finally cleared, the sight was devastating. Huge chunks of metal lay everywhere, while literally hundreds of dead and dying lay strewn about. The Manticore lay in devastated ruins. Where it stood only a few fragments of burnt metal smoldered. In mere moments the Quazian hopes had been reduced to ashes. King Birzan climbed slowly to his feet, unable to believe his eyes. His dreams of conquest, held for so long, were gone. He had dreamed of defeating Virdaran since childhood, and he had been warned time and again not to try to take them. He was told they could not be defeated. Why didn’t he listen? Because he believed Pootum. Because, because, … and he hung his head. Because he wanted to believe.
Slowly everyone climbed to their feet, and stared at the devastation. Not only was the Manticore gone, but the army that surrounded it lay in massacred heaps. Blood seeped into the ground, and the carnage made the field look like an abattoir. Those that still lived were obviously in no shape to begin a battle. Indeed, they were outnumbered before the explosion. Now they lay helpless before the Virdaranian army. They had no choice but to surrender.
King Birzan turned to face his enemy. It took King Theford a moment to adjust to the shock of what had just happened. Victory, complete and overwhelming, had been delivered into his hands. The whole thing took only a few seconds, and he had won a war. He vaguely became aware of King Birzan standing before him. He smiled.
“Ah, I take it you no longer request our surrender?” he asked with a twinkle in his eye.
King Birzan could only shake his head.
“Very well. However, now I require your surrender. If you do not, I will order my soldiers to attack.”
“You will do nothing of the kind!” Domaz told him sharply.
King Theford looked shocked at the way his wizard addressed him. He tried to control his anger, with scant success.
“How dare you?” he seethed. “I am your king, and you will address me properly!”
Thirum turned to Domaz. “He’s right, you know. That was most disrespectful of you.”
“Yes, I suppose it was, wasn’t it?”
“Almost rude.”
Domaz nodded. “Quite so.”
Yes, I think it was. Most rude. What do you intend to do about it?”
“I could be ruder, I suppose. Difficult, but I could manage if I really tried.”
“Yes, well, it would be an effort, but I suppose you could.”
“Can’t really see the point, though. I believe I’ve been sufficiently rude for the occasion.”
“Adequate, I’d call it.”
“It got the point across, though.”
“Certainly.”
“Domaz,” the king interrupted, “why shouldn’t I attack?”
Domaz looked disapproving. “Really, Frank. We’ve just blown up half their army, and you want to attack the other half? Most rude of you.”
“Yes, it was, wasn’t?” Thirum remarked.
“He did it well, though.”
Thirum shrugged. “Not bad, but he needs practice.”
“Perhaps.”
“You still haven’t answered my question, Domaz.”
“He’s right, you haven’t,” observed Thirum.
“Yes, that’s true, I haven’t answered his question, have I?’
“No, you didn’t. Do you intend to?”
“Of course. I must. In fact, it’s my patriotic duty.”
“Quite noble of you.”
“Yes, I thought so.”
“Domaz,” the king growled.
“Yes, Frank?”
“You will address me as ‘your majesty’.”
“Yes, Frank, your majesty?”
King Theford sighed, and put his head in his hands.
Birzan put an understanding hand on his shoulder. “There, there. Are they always like this?”
“Sometimes it’s even worse,” Theford almost sobbed.
“Why do you put up with it?”
He pointed at the remains of the Manticore.
“Oh, yes, well, there is that, I suppose.”
King Theford nodded.
”However, I am grateful for his suggestion.”
Theford looked up. “You know, Domaz, you never did explain that.”
“No, I didn’t, did I?”
He waited, but the wizards simply stood there, grinning maniacally.
“And you’re not going to, are you?”
“Well, I can, if you really want me to, but I don’t think you’ll like it.”
“No, you won’t like it all.”
“Definitely not.”
“Probably get upset.”
“Maybe even cry.”
“I hate to see a grown man weep.”
“So do I. Excessive emotion embarrasses me.”
“Me, too.”
“Makes me weep.”
“Which brings on even more excessive emotion, doesn’t it?”
“Yes. By the time I’m done, I’ve cried myself to sleep.”
“And that makes the pillow all wet.”
He nodded. “Then I wake up, and cry myself to sleep all over again.”
“Doesn’t sound very restful.”
“Well, it’s not, really, but it saves on laundry.”
Thirum laughed, and, after a moment, so did the king.
“Very well, you lunatics, let’s pack up and go home. The war is over.”
Both wizards bowed low. “As you say, your august majesty.”
He looked at them suspiciously. “Just like that?”
“What do you mean, your majesty?”
“You’ve never agreed with me so easily before. Why are you doing it now?”
“Because you’re the cutest king in the whole wide world, Frank,” Thirum said with a perfectly straight face.
The king nodded. “That’s better.”
The wizards then turned to King , and bowed. “Your majesty, hopefully we shall meet again under more pleasant circumstances. Until then, however, farewell.”
“Farewell, wizards. No offense, but I do not relish meeting you again.”
They bowed low. “Your majesty, you mistake us. We are the gentlest and most inoffensive of souls. Should we have future occasion to meet, and adequate libation is provided, then I’m sure your majesty will discover the truth.”
He chuckled. “Well, we’ll see. Farewell. And to you, your majesty.” He bowed before King Theford.
“Farewell, King Birzan. Please consider this day carefully, should you feel the urge to try invading again.”
He stopped, and looked at him. “Is that a threat?”
“You may take it as such, your majesty,” Domaz, surprisingly, answered. “Virdaran is our home, and we will allow no one to interfere with it in any way. By the same token, we do not attack our neighbours. It would be greatly to your advantage to establish diplomatic relations with our country, especially now, in your present weakened condition.”
He nodded. “If you would consider this from a former enemy, I would gladly do so.”
King Theford nodded. “I am willing.”
He bowed low. “King Theford, wizards, you shame me. My envoy shall arrive by the end of the week.”
King Theford bowed. “Your envoy will be most welcome. Farewell.”
The king mounted his horse, and rode away with his retainers.
King Theford turned to his wizards, and stared at them for some time. “Well, my friends? You have provided great service this day, and I shall not forget. Gold is the least of your rewards, and you shall be awarded the highest honours in the land!”
They both bowed low. “Your majesty, “ Domaz stated, “we thank you most humbly, but none of it is necessary. You have complained often enough about how much you pay us, and how little we earn it. If you would consider our pay to have been adequately earned, we can call the debt paid. And we can hardly consider ourselves in a position to be honoured, when we have done no more than our duty. Others here were willing to lay down their lives in a hopeless cause for you. They deserve the honour as much, if not more, than us.”
The king stared at them in wonder. In a world full of greed and desire, here was virtue he had never seen or known of before, and from people he had known for years. “As you wish, but I shall find some way to honour you, although it may be unknown to any but ourselves. Now, let us depart for home.”
Domaz grinned. “Sure, Frank, anything you say.”
The king shook his head, then laughed. “You two are incorrigible, aren’t you?”
“We do our best, your majesty,” Thirum answered.
They made their way down the hillock, and the king spied the vehicle they had arrived in. “By the way, where did you get such an ugly carriage?”
“Ugly?” Domaz cried in mock outrage.
“I don’t think it’s ugly, do you, Domaz?”
“Not ugly, no. It’s a question of character. That’s it, it has character.”
“Yes, character, definitely character. And it’s unique.”
“Yes, definitely unique. One of a kind.”
“Yes, there’s not another like it anywhere.”
“Quite. We’re the first ones on our street to have one.”
“Oh, indeed. I haven’t seen another one like it anywhere.”
Yeah,” the king interjected, “but it’s still ugly.”
“Well, maybe a little.”
“Perhaps a shade on the grotesque side.”
“Not an attractive thing about it, actually.”
“No, it’s the ugliest carriage in the world.”
“Yes, but it is ours.”
“Uniquely ours.”
“All ours.”
“Because no one else wanted it.”
“Well, there is that.”
“Besides, it was cheap.”
“Dirt cheap.”
“Very inexpensive.”
“In fact, free.”
“Yes, the price was right.”
“A bargain.”
“I might even buy another one.”
“Yes, then we’d each have one.”
“Yes, then we’d be twice as ugly.”
“I thought we already were.”
“Only physically. Here we have a chance to show true ugliness.”
“Yes, but uniquely.”
“Yes, no one else has our flare for ugliness.”
“Individually, we out-ugly anything out there.”
“That was very well said.”
“Oh, yes, not only ugly, but eloquent.”
“Eloquently ugly.”
“Indubitably,”
“Indubitably, eloquently ugly.”
“Infamously so.”
“Well, I’ve had enough of this,” announced the king, as he wandered away in search of non-wizards. He succeeded in a very short time, and was soon on his way back to the castle. The wizards stared after their departing sovereign.
“Well, he’s gone.”
“Departed.”
“On his way home.”
“Noted for his absence.”
“Which makes the heart grow fonder.”
“Do you feel any fonder?”
“Of the king? Not especially. How about you?”
“Not a bit.”
“There is another absence that is notable, however.”
“Do you mean Pooty?”
“Quite.”
“He disappeared rather suddenly, don’t you think?”
“Indeed. Nor did he leave with his king.”
“I had noticed.”
“In fact, he went in an entirely different direction, didn’t he?”
“Indeed so.”
“I wonder where he went?”
“Oh, I know quite well where he went,” Domaz told him, suddenly quite serious.
Thirum looked at him in surprise. “You do? Where?”
“To his home, in Garteen.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because it’s my country of origin,” he told him.
Thirum thought about this. “I don’t doubt what you say, my friend,” he said slowly, “but something doesn’t make sense. Aren’t wizards quite common in Garteen?”
“Indeed, they are. My family has a long line of wizards.”
“Well, then, Pootum was the one who created the Manticore, was he not?”
“Indeed, yes. We have many technologists, that we call technos, as well as wizards.”
“Then he must have known what we could do to his machine.”
“Of course.”
“Then, what I mean is,…” he trailed off.
“I’ve told you about my home before, have I not?”
“Yes, you’ve mentioned it.”
“Well, we are a small nation with little enough protection. We lie directly south of Quaz, and would be a prime target, if not for the fact that we export wizards and technos to other countries. As part of this, we are sworn to protect our nation in any way that we can. Anyway, anyhow.”
Thirum nodded, finally beginning to understand.
“Sir, I believe, as Thee-knees would put it, our carriage awaits without.”
“Without what?”
“Without us in it, presumably.”
“Then let us get ourselves in it, and return to our place of wine, women and song.”
“And debauchery, don’t forget the debauchery.”
“Ah, but of course.”
“Shall we go?”
“Indeed, let us depart.”
Together they walked toward their carriage, and boarded it. Slowly the carriage turned about, and the giant head-shaped vehicle rolled off into the distance, looking like a very rude head trying to lick the horizon, and not quite able to catch up to it.

From a distance a lone figure watched the head-shaped carriage roll away, and sighed. He had not seen his brother in so many years, and the animosity that lay within his family has never abated. His mission was accomplished, his duty performed, but he would never forget the hurt at seeing Domaz again. So many years, so much pain, lay between them. Perhaps someday…
He spurred his horse, and rode for home.

THE END