Fortune

Sunshine bathed the little valley, spilling from the near peaks to ignite verdant summer foliage in thick stands of timber. Birdsong played sweetly upon the wind. Bees and butterflies flew lazily amongst hillside wildflowers. Even the Stonecobbler River, a treacherous man-killer at nearly any other spot along its course, ran here almost gaily between high, tame banks, tracing the valley floor.

The wizard Wiggin sat ahorse frowning dolorously at all that pastoral beauty below him. He was not, by nature, a curmudgeon, but no amount of pastoral beauty could lift his spirits with an unfriendly army arrayed along the valley's opposite rise.

"Nyssor's balls, Master, we're going to die," whispered Bean, Wiggin's apprentice, who sat a donkey beside his master's horse.

Wiggin slapped him, hard, and then cast about amongst the nearest cluster of knights. No one seemed to have heard his loquacious student.

"Say something like that within earshot of King Card and we're dead for sure, you idiot," said Wiggin.

Rubbing his cheek, yet seemingly nonplussed, Bean said, "What do we do, Master? That's the best of three armies over there. We don't have magic enough to stop three armies." Bean pulled at Wiggin's sleeve like a babe tugging its mother's apron.

Wiggin freed himself temporarily from his apprentice's grubby clutches, slapping at the boy's doughy hands. "Quit blubbering, you," he hissed.

A commotion amongst the nobles caught the wizard's attention.

"Bean, stop it. The King approaches."

Bean redoubled his efforts, grasping his master's arm, nearly toppling from his donkey.

"Don't listen to King Card, Master. You know he's insane. Let's ride out of here."

Wiggin stiffened his arm, bringing Bean's frantic movements to a stop. Lightning flowed through the wizard's exposed wrist, giving Bean a good shock — not enough to cause any real damage, but plenty to silence him.

The boy yelped and sucked his fingers.

"Wizard," said old King Card as he and four of his knights retainers approached.

"That weren't nice," complained Bean, pouting.

"Shut-it," hissed Wiggin then turned to his liege lord.

"My Lord," said Wiggin, inclining his head in a bow.

"We're on the brink of civil war, wizard. What says your stone on this? Read our future."

Wiggin exchanged a knowing glance with King Card's First General, Lord Hatrack, who rode at the old king's side. That glance spoke volumes. Any faith either man had once held for their elderly king had long since fled with the king's reason. Everyone knew Card was mad even fat Bean. Only their oaths of fealty, general and wizard, kept them in Card's service. In years past the two of them had been able to guide Card to reason, to passably logical choices if not always the most sane, but not this time.

Across the valley an allied force of Card's former liegemen waited. Bound together by their mutual hatred for the king, they had rallied behind Duke Milnard Corvidae. A man known for strategic genius and armed prowess, Corvidae had, not long ago, been old King Card's most feared war duke and enforcer. But the old man's insults and heavy-handed dealings had finally been enough to raise even the duke's ire.

Wiggin wondered why it had taken Corvidae so long to revolt. For three years Card had demanded a tithe of eighty percent of all incomes — coin and crop — from all subject lords living outside his home county of Selerous. Those within the home boundary, however, enjoyed a mere five percent tithe. It was enough to make a man's blood boil.

The wizard came out of his reverie. King Card's beady eyes were upon him. Quickly, Wiggin freed a cloth-of-gold sack from inside his robes, retrieved from it an ornately carved, eight-sided stone about the size of a man's fist, and tossed the thing into the grass between himself and his king.

"Well?" said Card.

Wiggin gasped. He couldn't help it. The upturned stone had landed on the dancing swordsman.

"Fortune, High Lord. The stone shows portents of fortune," said Wiggin.

Old King Card gave General Hatrack a knowing, triumphant smile that spoke of old arguments won.

"Fortune," he said with a childish smirk. "Now, General, I shall lead the charge."

"Sire, I really don't think —"

"Silence," said Card as he donned a golden helm formed in the shape of a dragon's head.

He drew his long sword raised it over his head and shouted, "To me!" as he galloped headlong down the uneven slope.

So abrupt was his departure and so muffled his voice that only Lord General Hatrack, Wiggin and Bean followed the crazed king. Wiggin wouldn't have followed at all, except his stupid horse ran after the King's own mount despite the wizard's insistent tugs at the reigns. Bean's donkey did likewise.

This would be an ignoble end to Wiggin's days of magical service, he thought. He didn't belong at the front of battle, especially when the bulk of King Card's army sat stupidly above them on the rise. For all his grammary and alchemical genius, he was about to die a most common, dirty death. Would it be an arrow in the chest or a pike in the gullet he wondered as he struggled to keep hold of his mount.

And then the prophesied fortune arrived. Old King Card's horse stumbled, spilling its royal cargo. The old man toppled from the saddle ignominiously, struck the green earth with a thunderous boom, rolled several times, and then lay still, an inert lump of ornate golden armor.

Silence ruled the erstwhile battlefield as seasoned fighting men on both sides watched in jaw-dropped fascination like children at a puppet show. Lord General Hatrack, having followed his liege, trotted up to the dead king. He dismounted, kicked the former High Lord of all Telred softly several times, then drew his sword and cast it before Duke Milnard Corvidae. Hatrack sank to one knee.

"Thank the gods that man's dead. We surrender."

Find more by David A. Jones in the Author Index.

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