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                               Sangrelysia

                          by Vivian Darkbloom

In Which the Wizard Expresses Discontent

   "The war you propose to declare is absurd!"

   A thin sliver of afternoon sunlight slicing across stale musty
   atmosphere accented the tense silence in the room, as I faced the
   harsh men seated around the dark wooden table. Their impatient
   expressions flew across at me with unbridled hostility.

   King George cocked his head with jaunty swagger. "Our wizard
   propostulates a differing view," he condescended to the terrible
   discussion with an irritating mix of whimsy and pretentiousness.

   "You think it's funny," I half-whispered, quivering with rage.
   "But you have no idea how much death and suffering you will
   cause, simply because you cling to the foolish notions that, the
   more gold you hoard the happier you will become, or that the
   bards will sing your name more loudly the larger your empire is."

   Several of his sycophants laughed, mocking me.

   "Fine. Don't listen. You'll squander all of the Kingdom's
   resources on this foolish and unnecessary quest, and the entire
   populace will wind up in poverty. All because you can't stand to
   think there's a piece of land where the people don't fly your
   ridiculous flag. There is absolutely no reason for this
   unprovoked aggression."

   King George turned to admire the flag that hung beside him, the
   hideous hacked-up mockery he had made of the beautiful
   Sangrelysian banner, eying his handiwork with a glib smile.
   Before he had stolen the throne, we would proudly fly our long
   colored streamers for festivity, the crimson, green, and violet
   stripes striking tones of the earth-harlequin.

   But after the appalling travesty of George's ascension, he
   decreed that the flag be redesigned, as a plain flat rectangle
   with his family crest at the center. Walking about the
   countryside, one could still see the old banners flying in
   protest.

   King George cocked his head once more. "Guards, would you care to
   escort this nameless wizard back to his tower, so we can get some
   peace around here to concentrate on our plans for war?"

   Two heavily armored guards, clomped over to me, each with heavy
   swords on his belt. They reached out to take my arm, but I deftly
   evaded their grasp, resisting the urge to paralyze them
   completely, instead just throwing them off balance a bit with
   gesture of my gnarled old oak wand, so that they klonked heads as
   they closed in on the spot where I had been.

   "Don't you dare touch me!" I hissed. "Besides which, I was
   already on my way out. My distaste for this petty discussion is
   sufficient to merit my absence from it. I can see your
   conversation is as bereft of intelligence as is your puny
   conscience from any form of moral clarity. Or as empty of
   compassion as the miniscule lump of worthless rock that you call
   a heart!" I spun around to shove open the dark heavy nail-studded
   swinging doors to stride out the passageway back to my tower.

   The two knights in shining armor followed on my heels. "Better
   disarm him," said one.

   "Right. We'll have the wand," said the other.

   My turn to be whimsical: he thought my power came from the wand.
   "Fine. Don't drop it!" I said, flinging it at him so that he
   might. But triumphantly he wrapped his thick stubby fingers
   around it and smiled faintly as we strode through the corridors.

   The smile faded as he walked, and he began to look back
   furtively, with the haunted expression of one pursued by shadows,
   flitting darkness that grew blacker and more menacing with each
   moment. Soon he collapsed against the plaster-covered stone wall,
   armor clanked on the flagstones, eyes unseeing, as the wand fell
   with a clatter.

   "No!" he screamed in terror.

   A noble-lady and her young boy brushed by, and she worriedly
   ushered his curious gaze along out of sight.

   The other knight shouted at me. "Stop it! What are you doing to
   him?" He seized the wand. "Stop it, now!"

   I shrugged. "I didn't do a thing," I said truthfully. "He wanted
   to hold the wand. One cannot escape the consequences of facing
   the power of magic with an impure heart."

   "Right. Now keep walking!" he brandished my wand at me
   threateningly.

   "You're just going to leave him there?" I asked, half-smiling.

   "The king ordered me to escort you to the tower. Don't make me do
   anything unpleasant!"

   I shrugged and continued on my way.

   Soon the second guard was cowering in fear from unseen ghosts
   swooping down from every direction. "No!" My (fortunately sturdy)
   wand again clattered on the flagstones as the knight collapsed.

   Carefully, I picked it up once more, leaning on it as I stood
   over him. "You fought in the battle against the Clymerians,
   didn't you. Slaughtering innocent unarmed villagers?"

   "But we were welcomed as liberators!" he protested, still
   shivering, flinching, eyes blind to the alarmed passersby.

   I clucked, with a trace of genuine sympathy.

   A merchant stepped forward from his storefront. "What should we
   do? What's wrong with him?"

   No longer could I restrain the disgust from my voice. "Oh, don't
   worry. He'll be alright. He may experience some trouble engaging
   in further senseless killing."

   I left the worried merchant puzzling over the fallen knight.

                                                           Chapter 2

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