The Dragon's Hump - Part the Third

Cudgeling the ruffians had been a fine distraction but now it was time to get down to business.

Claron Pard stepped over the pile of bodies and settled in a darkened corner of the tavern to secretly finger his scroll. It bore the seal of the Vermillion Witch, an oracle of fantastic power. Surely her message to King Samsor would be worth a pretty penny to some scheming Lord or another.

Still, he had made a vow to the dying beauty who had used her last breath to bestow upon him a tender and trusting kiss. By all that was holy, he was obligated to put the small yet portentous missive in the palm of the King himself. And then what? Decapitation as his reward? That would be a terrible reward, one of the worst!

Luckily there was a royal ball this very eve, in celebration of the King’s nephew’s 21st birthday. All the Lords and Ladies would be there, especially the most scheming ones. Claron Pard would get a feel for the room and make a decision using the crafty instincts for which he was renowned.

Meanwhile, across town, there was a lot of hullabaloo going on in the Great Hall, just as Claron Pard had intuited.

“I dub thee Sir Gravulet,” said Samsor the Great, dubbing his nephew with his dubbing stick. That was the big surprise and everybody was thrilled.

The nephew of Samsor the Great was tall and robust with pink cheeks and golden hair like some kind of magnificent champion and everybody loved him.

“Wow, this is great,” he said.

 “Grant him a boon!” came forth the hue and cry from all present. The women were wearing conical hats of considerable height in various colors, with delicate scarves of matching colors hanging down from the points of the hats. The men wore pelts or something. Everybody wanted King Samsor the Great to grant Sir Gravulet a boon.

I have a bad feeling about this boon-granting business, inwardly mused Samsor the Great. Once you start granting boons, where does it all stop?

Yet twin natures warred inside Samsor the Great. Part of him was terrific and amazing, and another part was insecure. Can it really be that a king just wanted everyone to like him?

“OK, one boon,” he said.

A wonderful, rushing cheer rose up from the assembled peoples. Those peoples were so excited! Samsor the Great had to admit it was pretty awesome, that feeling of everyone just loving you so much. Queen Linda pinched his arm a little. She had a strong inkling everything would end badly. But that’s what she always thought.

Sometimes Samsor the Great and Queen Linda would have arguments. Samsor the Great would be girding his loins for a marvelous expedition and Queen Linda would have this certain look on her face.

“I’m trying to gird my loins!” Samsor the Great might yell in exasperation.

“I didn’t say anything.”

Which was technically true, but still.

Samsor the Great was a dreamer, with his sparkly eyes full of moony and fanciful dreams. That’s the way he saw it. Queen Linda was the practical one.

“All right, are you ready for my boon?” said the broad-shouldered Sir Gravulet in his tight-fitting black t-shirt.

“You name it,” said Samsor the Great. He was feeling cocky.

“Very well,” said Sir Gravulet. “I demand access…”

“Yes? Yes?” inquired Samsor anticipatingly.

“I demand access…”

Everyone in the Great Hall leaned forward, all excited and filled with suspense and everything, holding their breaths and all.

“I demand access… to the tube of fragrant bark!”

Nobody could believe it! Outbreaks of swooning occurred. The tube of fragrant bark was a big deal.

“We have this huge cake coming out,” said Samsor the Great, stalling for time. There was no way he was going to let Sir Gravulet get his mitts on the tube of fragrant bark. “You’re not going to believe this cake we have for you. It’s just pink and wild and I don’t even want to describe it too much, I just want you to get a load of it. You sure you don’t want some cake?”

“But I await my boon!” said Sir Gravulet.

“Well, there’s no reason we can’t have cake first, is there?” said Samsor the Great.

A deft political ploy, as even Sir Gravulet, a secret ogre with devious plans of his own, was fain to admit. Yes, yes, a populace sated with cake would be easy to manipulate. Sir Gravulet was beginning to realize that Samsor had some darker reason for keeping him from the tube of fragrant bark. Could it be that his true identity was suspected? He—in reality a small, red ogre with a melting face—squirmed uncomfortably inside the walking human flesh-disguise he had fashioned from great-looking corpses.

The Scrolls of Fandolfo the Elder tell of ancient times when “large ogres, red of hue, did tromp the woodlands and the cities of the world and make much fright upon the firmament.”It is said that a silvery star fell to Folo, the heat of it dissolving the heads of the ogres and shriveling their bodies into something the size and deliciousness of cranberries.

When the star cooled off, it was revealed to be a large egg of wonderful translucence, which, in cooling, cracked, and out rolled Eximel, the First Man.

“Cranberries!” he exclaimed, seeing the shriveled bodies of the extinct ogres.

He ate the seven magic cranberries and was filled with powers.

Like most ancient scrolls, this one had an element of truth to it. How much, who can say? One thing is for sure: there were still some ogres around, but nobody knew it.

That was all about to change.

Previously - Part the Second