Part 1
The messenger stood before the large double doors. Inside, he would be facing death. One wrong move, one wrong utterance, or if the king was in a bad mood, he would be dead. He took a deep breath, and went in. Inside was a dark room, filled with shadows except for a center path that ended abruptly in shadows, where the king sat.
“Y-your Majesty?” he stammered, kneeling.
“What, mortal?” a high-pitched, wheedling voice squealed.
“I, uh, I have a m-message for you, Milord.”
“Then read it!” the king squeaked.
“W-well, the r-rebels have won yet another victory.”
“What!?!?” the king shouted. If the messenger had had the courage to say it, he would have related the king’s shout to a pig squealing.
“They have taken a victory at Ysgard, Milord.”
“You are dismissed. Leave the message there.” The messenger fled, and the king waited a moment before picking it up. He scanned it, and then threw it behind him. “What do you advise, Nakarn?” the king scowled.
“I advise that we take all the villages and homesteads in the area, O Whiney One.” Nakarn was the only man alive who could insult the king to his face.
“But why? That wont help us defeat the rebels in that area, will it?”
“Of course it will. Where do you suppose they get their food from? And their recruits?”
“Those homesteads! Of course! Summon my commander of the army. Give him the plan. We strike tomorrow morning!”
