Skarenmoor: A Fantasy of Falkenland

Chapter Eight: Horric Dorric ~ Jeaquson

All vengeful smugness vanished abruptly as I found myself staring into the eerily yellow eyes of Septimus Sky.

"I thought I might find you here," Septimus snarled, his eyes fiery daggers. "Did you really think that you could escape me? The most powerful sorcerer in all Falkenland? Imobilium!" The spell hit me full on in the chest and I crumpled to the ground, my entire body numb with paralysis but my eyes. I watched as Septimus surveyed his handiwork.

"I know that Queen Raven wishes to see your head on a platter, and if I really served her I would give her just that." The fiend inched closer and I could smell his rotten breath. "But you're in luck; I'm no true servant of that spoiled usurper. I have a more powerful master. However, I was promised a reward for news of your death, so while I've got you..." His foot struck my face with the force of marching army, breaking my nose instantly. Crimson blood gushed out. "That was for escaping," Septimus scowled. "Locomotor ventrili!" A snakelike rope drew itself tight around my feet and I felt myself being lifted up, flipped upside-down, and hung by my feet from a tree.

"You can rot there for all eternity, Jeaquson!" With a sharp crack, Septimus had gone. As the darkness chased away the twilight, the pain in my broken nose grew all the more violent. I hung in that tree for hours on end, waiting for a sign, a voice, a sound, anything that could carry with it the possibility of deliverance. Alas, none came. I was alone in the world. The blood continued to pour over my face as the pain stabbed at my nose. The faint rustling of the bushes, the howl of the wolves, or the hoot of an owl would raise my hopes at rescue, but would die away almost immediately. Hours it seemed later, when I'd lost so much blood I couldn't see straight, I felt ready to die right there, giving up the chance for revenge against Septimus, undoubtedly the murderer. My life force slowly ebbed away as I thought of the past few days; jailed, framed, and escaped, only to be left to die on this accursed tree.

As I began to draw my final breath, I heard a strange sound of approaching voices through the tangle of the trees. At first I thought they were chanting something or another, but then I realized that they were singing.

You Can Give Me a Fish; I'll Eat for a Day,

You Can Give Me a Treasure; I Won't Want to Pay,

You Can Give Me a Palace; Yes that is a Start,

But from You, Dear Lady; Give Me Your Heart!

You Can Show Me the Seaside and I Might Sigh,

You Can Show Me Lord Barkler and I'll Probably Die,

You Can Show me the Stars that Shine High Above,

But from You, Fair Maiden; Show Me Your Love!

The song ended on a nasally high note and the singers came into view, walking upside down it seemed. The largest wore a bright fez with a golden tassel and a matching scarlet vest over his bare chest. He had arms the size of young trees and looked as if he could tear a grown man in two. The smallest stood about four feet high at the most and was dressed in an oversized gentleman's overcoat with a black cravat. A top hat perched precariously atop his straw-like strands of yellow hair, and he wore a monocle over one eye that magnified his hooked beaklike nose. Overall, he resembled a large penguin. Last came a gentlemanly figure with a prominent nose, though not hooked like the short one, curly black hair, a brilliant mustache, and eyes like those of an eagle. He dressed in a scarlet tunic, white cravat, and a red three-cornered hat with a green plume.

They looked quite oddly flamboyant striding and singing in this remote part of the forest. The colors of the strangely dressed figures, along with my orientation, made me quite sure I was hallucinating, until the leader noticed me and marched up to investigate.

"What 'ave we here?" demanded the mustached one.

"A lying, I mean a dying man in a tree?" I subconsciously groaned.

"So it is, so it is," the man repeated. "Why is your face so red?"

"My dose is, I mean my nose is broken," I mumbled, semi-coherent.

"So it is, so it is," he remarked. Turning to his two companions, the gentleman explained, "I 'ave come to the conclusion zat this man is 'anging from a tree and 'as broken his nose!"

"Thanks for noticing," I grumbled.

"You're welcome, you're welcome," the stranger replied. "Allow me to introduce myself. Horric Dorric at your service," he expressed, bowing his head to the ground. "And these are my two comrades, Karrik the Beak (pointing to the short one like a penguin) and Dust the Brawn (the muscular one). Dust's not much for words, got his tongue cut out by the Squanjoes as a boy, but he's a real snappy dancer!" At this Dust grinned. Horric returned his gaze to me. "Who are you?"

"Sir Jeaquson Corbin Orimorison, former knight of Falkenland."

"So you are, so you are," Horric mused. "'Ere, let me help you out." Drawing his rapier, Horric cleaved the cord, dangling me above the ground in two, and I was free.

Thud! I'm quite sure I broke a rib. I tried to stand but my knees buckled under me. The three strangers came closer to inspect me.

Horric stooped over me. "What is such a knight as yourself doing out 'ere in Varen Forest?"

"I am running from the Queen Raven. She desires to end my life. Had you killed me, you would have done the very thing to please her."

"Let's kill him now!" squeaked Karrik with the beaked nose. "Who knows? Perhaps there's some sort of reward!"

No, it couldn't end like this! I was not going to die at the hands of that penguin! Horric stroked his fine goatee, pacing back and forth.

"I do not trust Queen Raven. She could betray us; besides, she is a usurper! For shame Karrik, the thought ov it!" Karrik made a terrible face which was quite a feat for him as he was already revolting when he did nothing. "So Jeaquson," Horric began, "Would you like to join our merry band?"

"I'd be delighted," I declared, welcoming any chance to avoid Karrik's knife.

"Wonderful, wonderful! Now all we need is a quest of some sort; a feat which will put our names into the stories, songs, and dreams ov all people everywhere! Anyone got ideas?"

I stroked my chin in a manner akin to Horric's. My mind raced, trying to come up with a quest of grandeur to avoid Karrik's wrath. Under this delusional pressure I blurted out the first idea I had. "Well, there is always Hazarack." The trio's mouths gaped wide open.

"What? You mean the Squanjoes' river prison?"

"Exactly. We cause a breakout and show those pie-heads that we are not afraid of their torture chambers." The others stared at me intently, ready for the first sign of falter. But I stayed true to my word and devised a plan so outrageous, I almost would have preferred Karrik's rusty blade to all that came next.