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Explorer
Reaping 27, CY 593
58: The good life keeps getting better.
After seeing to Lucius’ well-being, acquainting his new cohort with the run of Cur’ruth, and assigning to him the security of the Liberator’s home base, Heydricus travels to Nevond Nevnend. Upon his arrival, he begins to reestablish his capital, gathering the Northern Tenha there, and organizing the distribution of the remaining foodstuffs.
Back in Cur’ruth, Prisantha, Jespo, Gwendolyn and Dabus begin work on magic items. The Liberator makes a brief appearance, but is soon gone again, taking Dabus with him on a whirlwind tour of Nyrond, Verbobonc and Veluna beseeching the nobility of those nations for aid.
Goodmonth arrives, and at the end of the first sevenday, Heydricus is in Cur’ruth, meeting with Belvor and the King’s ubiquitous archmage.
“My baker!” Butrain cries. “Phineas? It cannot be.” He casts an accusing eye at his wizard.
“Yet it is true, sire,” Heydricus says. “And he is not alone.”
“Well, it is war, after all,” the King allows. “Men die, and pies go uneaten.” He hands his wizard the list of spies. “Memorize this.”
“And I assume you have heard about the Baron Butrain?” Heydricus says.
Butrain snorts. “I have, the scoundrel! I shouldn’t laugh, ha ha. Do you know he has called his Lords to Willip, and forced them to renew their fealty vows? I would have loved to have been there for that procession! Imagine, bending a knee to a farm-beast! Ha! Perhaps I should make him do the same, the stubborn mule.”
“Donkey, sire,” the wizard corrects him.
Heydricus smiles. “This could play well for us, sire. What if I could remove the spell upon Butrain, and force him to support our cause?”
“I am told that only the witch that placed the curse may remove the spell,” Belvor says. “What are you about?”
“I cannot speak to the details sire, but I believe this thing can be done, and that I can do it. Could we not force him to support the war? What is his choice—do the right thing by the gods and men, or spend the rest of his life looking more like an ass than usual?”
Belvor laughs again. “More like an ass! That’s funny!” He turns to his wizard. “Memorize that.”
-----
The Duchess Maia is entertaining guests when her steward announces the arrival of Heydricus Tritherionson, Lord of Valmont, and Holy Liberator of Tritherion. The dinner guests are titillated by the presence of a bona-fide adventuring hero, and spend the rest of the evening listening to Heydricus’ war stories, oohing at his description of his losses, and ahhing at his victories.
After the guests take their leave and the servants are dismissed, Maia and Heydricus relax before a fire, sipping mulled wine and exchanging coy glances.
“Maia, do you recall when I would visit you and claim that I had been raising funds for the Liberation struggle in Tenh?”
“How could you doubt it?” Maia purrs. “They are my fondest memories.”
“Well, this time, I really need the funds.”
“Heydricus, you have only to say so,” she pouts. “I would glady make a sizable donation, provided . . .”
“Here it comes,” Heydricus thinks to himself. To Maia he says, “What could I possibly do to repay such generosity?”
But Maia surprises him with her request. “Your companion Prisantha? The pretty one? The last time I saw her, she had just come into the possession of a magical cloak of beauty, and I admired it greatly. Should you have her craft one for me, I would gladly fatten the coffers of Tenh to the tune of fifty thousand gold pieces.”
For the first time in a long time, Heydricus is left speechless.
-----
“No. It is out of the question,” Prisantha says, crossing her arms. “I will not craft vanity items for your . . . for her.”
“Pris, don’t be that way,” Heydricus says. “It’s for the cause.”
At this moment, Gwendolyn enters the room. “There you are, Heydricus,” she says, one hand on her hip. “What’s this I hear about you promising Belvor that I would remove my curse from Butrain?”
“Well, you see,” Heydricus begins.
“You can re-think your plan. It’s never going to happen,” Gwendolyn says.
“But, the cause,” Heydricus begins.
“Never,” Gwendolyn says.
“Never,” Prisantha says.
Heydricus looks at the two women, takes a breath, and puts on his most charming smile. “Let me explain,” he begins.
-----
The Baron Xanthan Butrain has called all knights of the realm to Willip, to undertake a Lord’s Quest: find the means to restore the Baron to his rightful form. Hundreds of ambitious men, scoundrels and heroes alike have arrived to promise their aid, every one of them hoping to rescue the Baron of Willip, and to thereby reap the reward.
When he is announced, Heydricus sketches a short bow to the donkey, and is rewarded by a lengthy braying. The elderly charm-festooned adept next to the Baron says, “His Lordship Butrain, the Baron of Willip and Shield of the South bids you welcome in his court, and bids you to regard his demesne as your own. In the name of King and Country, as your Lord and Sun, he grants you leave to speak your peace.”
Apparently, donkeys salvage dignity wherever they can find it.
Heydricus bows again, this time with some conviction, and says, “My lord, I understand that you have fallen under a terrible curse, and even now your men search for a cure.”
The donkey brays.
The old woman says, “The Baron says that the flower of Furyondy’s chivalry quest upon his behalf, and in regard for their valor, he has offered the greatest prize a father may give to the knight who returns victorious. The lord offers the hand of fair Xantha, his daughter, his pride, and his rightful heir.”
Ah, the muddy waters grow clear.
“My lord,” what would you say if I told you I have already found the means to remove your curse?
The donkey brays enthusiastically, its ears perking up, its hooves making little clop-clopping sounds as it dances from side to side.
“The Baron would have me tell you that this would make him twice in your debt, and that he could ask for no better son, either as a father for his grandchildren, or the future ruler of his realm.”
“Ah,” Heydricus says, backpedaling. “I have a . . . different . . . reward in mind my lord, but one I am sure you will find agreeable under the circumstances.”
The donkey cocks its head and bares its jutting front teeth.
Heydricus smiles.
-----
“No!” King Belvor shouts. “Never! You will never wed my line to Butrain’s, and I won’t hear of it. Heydricus, you have done great things, but promising my boy to Butrain will not do! Never, I say, and I’ll say it again!”
Heydricus weathers the Royal outburst with an outward serenity that masks his inward glee. This is going better than he’d hoped. Standing directly behind the king, the member of the Circle of Four who attends Belvor at all times is gesturing to catch Heydricus’ eye. The arch-wizard simply nods once, indicating that, in fact, the King of Furyondy will accept this marriage proposal, along with the Baron’s pledge of support in the upcoming war against Iuz.
The fate of Furyondy neatly tied up with one fell diplomatic swoop, the Liberator of Tritherion returns to Cur’ruth, congratulating himself on an afternoon’s work well done. He wonders out loud what will be served at chow, but never in his wildest dreams might he have expected that it would be his favorite meal for a second night in a row.
Life is good, and it just keeps getting better.
58: The good life keeps getting better.
After seeing to Lucius’ well-being, acquainting his new cohort with the run of Cur’ruth, and assigning to him the security of the Liberator’s home base, Heydricus travels to Nevond Nevnend. Upon his arrival, he begins to reestablish his capital, gathering the Northern Tenha there, and organizing the distribution of the remaining foodstuffs.
Back in Cur’ruth, Prisantha, Jespo, Gwendolyn and Dabus begin work on magic items. The Liberator makes a brief appearance, but is soon gone again, taking Dabus with him on a whirlwind tour of Nyrond, Verbobonc and Veluna beseeching the nobility of those nations for aid.
Goodmonth arrives, and at the end of the first sevenday, Heydricus is in Cur’ruth, meeting with Belvor and the King’s ubiquitous archmage.
“My baker!” Butrain cries. “Phineas? It cannot be.” He casts an accusing eye at his wizard.
“Yet it is true, sire,” Heydricus says. “And he is not alone.”
“Well, it is war, after all,” the King allows. “Men die, and pies go uneaten.” He hands his wizard the list of spies. “Memorize this.”
“And I assume you have heard about the Baron Butrain?” Heydricus says.
Butrain snorts. “I have, the scoundrel! I shouldn’t laugh, ha ha. Do you know he has called his Lords to Willip, and forced them to renew their fealty vows? I would have loved to have been there for that procession! Imagine, bending a knee to a farm-beast! Ha! Perhaps I should make him do the same, the stubborn mule.”
“Donkey, sire,” the wizard corrects him.
Heydricus smiles. “This could play well for us, sire. What if I could remove the spell upon Butrain, and force him to support our cause?”
“I am told that only the witch that placed the curse may remove the spell,” Belvor says. “What are you about?”
“I cannot speak to the details sire, but I believe this thing can be done, and that I can do it. Could we not force him to support the war? What is his choice—do the right thing by the gods and men, or spend the rest of his life looking more like an ass than usual?”
Belvor laughs again. “More like an ass! That’s funny!” He turns to his wizard. “Memorize that.”
-----
The Duchess Maia is entertaining guests when her steward announces the arrival of Heydricus Tritherionson, Lord of Valmont, and Holy Liberator of Tritherion. The dinner guests are titillated by the presence of a bona-fide adventuring hero, and spend the rest of the evening listening to Heydricus’ war stories, oohing at his description of his losses, and ahhing at his victories.
After the guests take their leave and the servants are dismissed, Maia and Heydricus relax before a fire, sipping mulled wine and exchanging coy glances.
“Maia, do you recall when I would visit you and claim that I had been raising funds for the Liberation struggle in Tenh?”
“How could you doubt it?” Maia purrs. “They are my fondest memories.”
“Well, this time, I really need the funds.”
“Heydricus, you have only to say so,” she pouts. “I would glady make a sizable donation, provided . . .”
“Here it comes,” Heydricus thinks to himself. To Maia he says, “What could I possibly do to repay such generosity?”
But Maia surprises him with her request. “Your companion Prisantha? The pretty one? The last time I saw her, she had just come into the possession of a magical cloak of beauty, and I admired it greatly. Should you have her craft one for me, I would gladly fatten the coffers of Tenh to the tune of fifty thousand gold pieces.”
For the first time in a long time, Heydricus is left speechless.
-----
“No. It is out of the question,” Prisantha says, crossing her arms. “I will not craft vanity items for your . . . for her.”
“Pris, don’t be that way,” Heydricus says. “It’s for the cause.”
At this moment, Gwendolyn enters the room. “There you are, Heydricus,” she says, one hand on her hip. “What’s this I hear about you promising Belvor that I would remove my curse from Butrain?”
“Well, you see,” Heydricus begins.
“You can re-think your plan. It’s never going to happen,” Gwendolyn says.
“But, the cause,” Heydricus begins.
“Never,” Gwendolyn says.
“Never,” Prisantha says.
Heydricus looks at the two women, takes a breath, and puts on his most charming smile. “Let me explain,” he begins.
-----
The Baron Xanthan Butrain has called all knights of the realm to Willip, to undertake a Lord’s Quest: find the means to restore the Baron to his rightful form. Hundreds of ambitious men, scoundrels and heroes alike have arrived to promise their aid, every one of them hoping to rescue the Baron of Willip, and to thereby reap the reward.
When he is announced, Heydricus sketches a short bow to the donkey, and is rewarded by a lengthy braying. The elderly charm-festooned adept next to the Baron says, “His Lordship Butrain, the Baron of Willip and Shield of the South bids you welcome in his court, and bids you to regard his demesne as your own. In the name of King and Country, as your Lord and Sun, he grants you leave to speak your peace.”
Apparently, donkeys salvage dignity wherever they can find it.
Heydricus bows again, this time with some conviction, and says, “My lord, I understand that you have fallen under a terrible curse, and even now your men search for a cure.”
The donkey brays.
The old woman says, “The Baron says that the flower of Furyondy’s chivalry quest upon his behalf, and in regard for their valor, he has offered the greatest prize a father may give to the knight who returns victorious. The lord offers the hand of fair Xantha, his daughter, his pride, and his rightful heir.”
Ah, the muddy waters grow clear.
“My lord,” what would you say if I told you I have already found the means to remove your curse?
The donkey brays enthusiastically, its ears perking up, its hooves making little clop-clopping sounds as it dances from side to side.
“The Baron would have me tell you that this would make him twice in your debt, and that he could ask for no better son, either as a father for his grandchildren, or the future ruler of his realm.”
“Ah,” Heydricus says, backpedaling. “I have a . . . different . . . reward in mind my lord, but one I am sure you will find agreeable under the circumstances.”
The donkey cocks its head and bares its jutting front teeth.
Heydricus smiles.
-----
“No!” King Belvor shouts. “Never! You will never wed my line to Butrain’s, and I won’t hear of it. Heydricus, you have done great things, but promising my boy to Butrain will not do! Never, I say, and I’ll say it again!”
Heydricus weathers the Royal outburst with an outward serenity that masks his inward glee. This is going better than he’d hoped. Standing directly behind the king, the member of the Circle of Four who attends Belvor at all times is gesturing to catch Heydricus’ eye. The arch-wizard simply nods once, indicating that, in fact, the King of Furyondy will accept this marriage proposal, along with the Baron’s pledge of support in the upcoming war against Iuz.
The fate of Furyondy neatly tied up with one fell diplomatic swoop, the Liberator of Tritherion returns to Cur’ruth, congratulating himself on an afternoon’s work well done. He wonders out loud what will be served at chow, but never in his wildest dreams might he have expected that it would be his favorite meal for a second night in a row.
Life is good, and it just keeps getting better.
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