The Noble Mr. Prickles

By Ardy

King Orvan of Dargod has been cursed with insanity, passing all sorts of crazy laws and taking advice only from his dog. But when he calls for his oldest friend, a former general and military instructor, and his three best warriors to go on a mission to find a magic orange rose petal, they soon find out that this mission is not only legit, but is vital to the survival of their kingdom. On their way they encounter obstacles such as an insane wizard, drunken oafs and their hideous mother, zombies, enemy soldiers, and a giant princess who makes them into her living dolls, and their only hope seems to Mr. Prickles, the chimpanzee that King Orvan insisted that they take along.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ardy
• Release date: May 12, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476213507

Ardy

I live in Northern New Mexico. My biggest influences include Stephen King, C.S. Lewis, Tolkien, Frank Peretti, and Trey Parker. I write mainly fantasy, science fiction, and horror, often with a Christian slant.Some of the things I write are just for fun, like most of my free short stories, which I will continue to produce as long as these interesting, and sometimes quite messed up ideas keep popping into my head. Some things I write because I feel that they are important. I don't intend to be preachy and try not to insert messages into my writing unless I forewarn the reader that they'll be there. My main intentions with my works are to entertain the reader, make the reader think, and sometimes just to give them a good little scare.Two things seem to creep into my writing often. One is my faith. The other is my proclivity for horror, which even rears its ugly head in my Christian pieces.Check my blog for special coupons and discounts that will be available exclusively at smashwords.com.I appreciate any review, and please be honest.

Book preview

The Noble Mr. Prickles

By Ardy

Published by Ardybooks at Smashwords

Copyright 2012

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CHAPTER ONE

Everybody in the Kingdom of Dargod knew that their once wise and powerful king was losing his mind. Few dared to say it, though. Everyone still called him King Orvan the Wise and Powerful, at least publicly. Behind closed doors he was referred to by some as King Orvan the Moron, King Orvan the Man with the Intelligence of a Demented Goat, or simply that old fool.

So far, Orvan's mental degradation had not seriously harmed the Kingdom in any way except embarrassment. When he ordered a holiday in honor of his pet dog Burgy nobody complained. When he promoted Burgy to his panel of advisors and held barking conversations with the mutt in the presence of foreign dignitaries, people began to wonder about his sanity. That was the first indication for most that something was wrong with Orvan. After that he ordered the military uniform to be replaced with pink tunics and frilly yellow pants. Dargod's warriors were still the most vicious in the known world, a fact that kept most other kingdoms from ridiculing their new attire, but the soldiers who had previously paraded proudly through the Kingdom had remained out of sight in their fortresses and barracks.

If I were to tell you about all of the king's eccentricities, I would never get around to the story. I could describe the way he had the shrubs at the palace trimmed to look like overweight chickens, or his request that the theater in the city of Radil produce a three hour musical glorifying banana pudding (a rather entertaining play, I might add), or any of the other insane things he had done. But it was common knowledge to half the world that Orvan the Wise and Powerful was now a man who wore a crown made of turkey bones and insisted on calling everyone Bucky.

There was much speculation about how Orvan got that way. Some said that he had been cursed or poisoned by an enemy (he did have a lot of them) or that he had taken to eating the mushrooms that grew in the palace courtyard. Some said that it was dementia brought on by old age, but King Orvan was barely fifty. No one could ask him if something had happened to him because he insisted that he was not crazy. One day, he said, history will look back on me as the wisest king who ever lived! As a writer of history, let me tell you that had it not been for the events I am about to transcribe, that would most certainly not have been the case.

In light of Orvan's growing insanity there was much wonder about the special mission he had announced. He was going to select his greatest warrior for what he called a glorious quest. Most of his warriors did not want to go on a mission that, if recent history was any indication, would probably involve silky pants, banana pudding, and hunting down an elusive singing dung beetle who held the secret of life. Many good men were lost on that noble mission, and many others just never came back to Dargod, hoping to find a king who was less likely to send them to war with the elves at the advice of Burgy.

The warrior that Orvan chose for this special mission was a man named Javan who was actually one of the greatest warriors in the history of Dargod. Javan was told to meet the king in the courtyard of the palace at 2:30 in the morning on the second Wednesday of the third month on the ninth year after the fourth anniversary of the birth of Burgy. It took poor Javan a few days of investigation and calculation to realize that Orvan had meant that Wednesday and he was almost late getting there. Javan was also told to bring his three best warriors with him, but they were to wait outside the palace gate while Javan was given the mission.

Javan was a fierce warrior and a former soldier who had fought beside Orvan when the king really had been wise and powerful and had retired just before the uniform change. When he had met Orvan, Javan was just twenty years old and Orvan was thirty. For ten years they fought side by side and had grown closer than brothers. Then, on his fortieth birthday, Orvan became king of Dargod and for the next five years Javan was his top general. Five years later Javan chose to retire, mostly because Dargod was at peace and there were no wars to fight. But Javan had sworn a blood oath to his friend and king that should he ever be needed again, he would be ready to lay his life on the line for Orvan.

As he left his three best warriors at the palace gate and went towards the courtyard, he questioned the wisdom of making that vow. It had been five years and Javan had opened a military academy that trained soldiers who would graduate only to wear pink shirts and hide shamefacedly in their barracks until called by Orvan the King who Bathed in Goat Milk to defend the honor of Burgy against a rogue water buffalo (though the man who vanquished that buffalo did receive a medal). Five years ago Orvan was a good king. Five years ago Javan had sworn a blood oath to defend and obey him. Now, Orvan was a lunatic and Javan's blood oath may end up costing him and his three best warriors their pride at best, and at worst, their lives.

There was a fountain in the courtyard and Orvan sat on its edge