Lawful Times: A Humorous Fantasy: The Slightly Unfeasible Tales of Landos, #4

By Chris Whyatt

Enjoy satire? I guess you do, otherwise you wouldn't have landed here...

With no heir to the throne of Merewood, the elves are divided in their choice of successor. Merith, a loyal friend of the late king, believes his son, Thaldyr, has more right to rule than most, but others remember a different bloodline. The great forest of Merewood has not seen a queen - a jewel - rule for centuries, but does the lost jewel of Merewood even exist? Both parties believe that she does, and with a vague idea of where she resides, both intend to find her first... for very different reasons.
Meanwhile, in the bustling city of Landos, a travelling con man returns, fresh from escaping the merciless grasp of King Louis de-Cap - Garlician monarch and lover of all things painful to those that aren't... him. The prodigal son soon formulates a plan to turn the city's archaic law system on its head.
On the outskirts, in their strange little blithering bohemia, the wizards... are being wizards...
Oh, to live in truly Lawful Times.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chris Whyatt
• Release date: May 29, 2024
• ISBN: 9798227402950

Book preview

Rock, Parchment, Scythe

(Be on your guard)

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Grindle Wimp and Fazzle Stump ‘sat’ in the wine cellar of The Wizardry. Despite the astronomical combined ages of the wizards, they were engrossed in a childish—albeit equally ancient—game of chance. It has been suggested that, long ago, this particular game had decided the outcome of vitally important dilemmas affecting the fate of thousands, thus making history. It’s easy to understand why this had been the preferred method when you have the option of either long, drawn-out, expensive peace talks, for example, or a simple game which lasts approximately fifteen seconds. The rulers of old were not the most patient. Grindle and Fazzle started the game by chanting three words in unison...

Rock, parchment, scythe!

Damn! Okay, another!

Rock, parchment, scythe!

Yes! Haha.

Not again, moaned Fazzle, are you cheating?

Of course not... how can I cheat? Grindle replied with a look of pure innocence.

Another?

Go on then, Fazzle agreed reluctantly.

Rock, parchment, scythe!

Yippee! Three in a row.

I’ve had enough of this.

Look, Fazzle old boy, maybe you should change tactics.

"Why? Despite everything, I like scythe, Fazzle admitted, with a hurt look borne of experience rather than a faked attempt at gaining pity, and it has to win sooner or later."

Why does it?

’cos Death always has the final say, Fazzle beamed triumphantly. Like it or not, you have to respect it.

Not true.

How so?

"Because we are here. Not upstairs or down below. Gord has the final say, Fazzle."

S’pose you’re right.

Besides, it’s rather obvious what’s coming when you pick scythe.

Is it?

Well, yes. Bit cumbersome, what with the long handle, an’ all. Not easy to disguise.

Grindle acted out an over-emphasised sweeping arc mime to demonstrate the point.

Ah, I see what you mean, agreed Fazzle, copying the mime, I s’pose that’s why you’ve been choosing rock?

’fraid so. As I said—too obvious. So, bear that in mind. Ready?

Ready, agreed Fazzle, with a determined look.

Rock, parchment, scythe!

Yes! I win ag—

Aha!

"What’s that?" asked Grindle, looking down at Fazzle’s hand, which had been formed into a strange shape.

It is a very small rock-splitting axe, Fazzle announced proudly.

Eh? Fazzle, old bean, you can’t—

Look out!

The wizards tried, without success, to dive out of the way of Alker Seltz (Head of Staff), who was leaving the cellar with a bottle of fine wine. It appeared particularly fine to the mesmerised onlookers, but then again, so would greasy dishwater.

He walked straight through them.

They watched him turn into the corridor, vessel of velvety sumptuousness in hand.

I bloody hate it when that happens, moaned Grindle.

Being walked through is one of the drawbacks of being deceased, I’m afraid, ol’ boy.

Not that! I meant drinking wine. Bastard!

Yes, that’s the other. It really gets my goat too... Bastard!

The ghostly curses remained firmly within the boundaries of the spirit world, although Alker felt a slight chill on the back of his neck. He hurriedly climbed the steps from the cellar and emerged into the kitchens, where the cooks were busily preparing lunch.

What’s on today, Archie?

Morning, Mr Seltz. We have a fruit starter, followed by a refreshingly crisp salad, rounded off with a particularly consistent custard, and then—

Whaaat! cried Alker. The unexpected shock of Archie’s horrific announcement made him drop the wine bottle—he screamed again, watching the bottle descend in dreadful slow motion. Although the old wizard’s physical reactions didn’t stand a chance, his magical ones did, and the bottle stopped, hovering fractionally above the ground.

"—for the students, of course, but I’m afraid it’s boring old lamb braised in port and brandy, followed by rum trifle... for your good selves."

Please, Archie, my heart is so weak it is teetering on the brink of plunging into the rhythmless abyss. Do not do that again.

Sorry, Mr Seltz, just my little joke. Perhaps the salad would be more appropriate, then? Given your fragile condition?

"It’s not that bloody weak!"

Archie gave a knowing grin as the Head of Staff left the kitchen.

Alker wiped the sweat from his brow, having suffered two shocks to his vulnerable system. He opened the door to the meeting room, where Fezlet and Simson were already waiting, accompanied by two empty bottles on the table.

"There you are, old chap. Thought you’d got lost!" joked the headcaster.

Couple of potentially disastrous food-and-wine-related incidents on the way, Fez. Terribly close calls, but I prevailed.

Sounds very nasty, Alker, well done!

Alker handed the vintage bottle to Fezlet, who wasted no time releasing the fine liquid from its fragile prison. He skipped swiftly over the unnecessary formalities of checking the year... or substance, for that matter. Bouquet was right out the window... and drifting somewhere beyond the river.

Y’know, Fez, this place is getting colder and colder. The building has been here a long time—must be practically teeming with ghosts by now.

Yes, I’ve noticed that too, Alker, agreed Simson.

Really? Fezlet remarked, a little concerned. Can’t we just conjure up a holographic play castle or something? Y’know, to keep the ‘tangibly challenged’ amused. After all, the lifeless should never hinder the living.

"Well... it’s never stopped us before, Fez."

(O)~ɮɒʍ~∆

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Merewood, the great forest. Home to the elves of Anglost.

The wind whispers through the leaves of the guardians—mighty oaks possessing the memories and histories of the entire elven reign. The blink of an eye, a mere comma, to be stored somewhere between the ever-expanding rings in the circles of life.

Branches may be gifted to elf friends for the crafting of bows, and although metallic evil wielded by outsiders may take limbs forcefully, they can never destroy a wooden heart.

Wood lives. Wood learns. Wood remembers...

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The figures met on a quiet, seldom-used path in the shadows.

Elidyr.

Merith.

Inajoor must be stopped. His wretched sibling is not the jewel and must never be allowed to become so.

I agree, Merith, but she is nobility, at least, and there is no true bloodline now. The king’s passing has ended that path, and there will never be again.

She is not even true nobility, Merith whispered angrily. "I am, unfortunately, too old, but my son Thaldyr, he shall be king and crown. And, Elidyr, my old friend, he shall choose his own jewel."

Merith, I know you held the king’s favour and were a good friend, but people are starting to recall. With no true heir to the crown, they will follow the family tree, however tainted, and she is next in line.

She abandoned Elfdom and chose her path, blissfully unaware of our empty crown. It will stay that way. I wish her no harm, and none shall come to her as long as she remains where she is.

High above them in the treetops, the rustling whisper of the leaves was broken by a loud crack!

Look out! cried Elidyr.

Diving full length, he grappled Merith to the ground. A second later, a large bough thudded to the forest floor, standing menacingly upright as it embedded itself into the path. The elves stared at it and stood.

I don’t like this. I don’t—

Where is Thallon now? interrupted Merith.

He has been detained at Knottswood by the sheriff. Ardryll and Galan are on their way.

Good.

Merith looked up at the mighty oak silhouetted in the moonlight before turning away and heading purposefully back to The Haven.

(O)~ɮɒʍ~∆

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Thallon Inajoor’s ever-alert eyes looked around his prison cell as his captors slept outside. The loud snores emanating from the ‘guards’ were like a major assault upon his sensitive ears. The metal bars were set just close enough together to prevent even him from squeezing between them, but he had spotted a weakness. Above the door frame was a narrow gap before the bars continued to the ceiling. It was the same width as the door. The tall, slim elf backed up to the wall, took two short running steps and leapt up to the door, clinging onto the bars above it. With impressive strength and agility, he put his leather-clad feet through the gap and shuffled his body until his waist was against the bars. He was now sitting on the transom, half in and half out of the cell.

Whas—hmmph... hmmph.

He froze as one of the guards stirred and mumbled in his sleep. Waiting for the snores to return, he started to arc his upper body through the gap, still gripping the bars above while slowly sliding down. He was now in a very awkward position but almost through! Thallon turned his head sideways, expending a lot of energy to support his weight, but try as he might, he couldn’t quite squeeze through. With one last tired effort, he pulled himself back up and dropped into his cell.

I am going to have to do this the hard way.

(O)~ɮɒʍ~∆

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Most of the Merewood elves were true to their upbringing as tree dwellers, preferring to live above ground on platforms among the branches. In recent times, however, some of the younger elves had risked incurring the wrath of the elders by building humble cabins on the forest floor. This was not considered the elven way, but change comes to all eventually.

The Vine Crown stood roughly in the centre of The Haven in Merewood. A circular wooden structure skilfully crafted around a majestic tree—a meeting place where the elves of the forest ate and drank together. It was a tavern of sorts, although the elves only ever drank fresh water from the forest streams or, occasionally, wine made from the fruits of the forest, both of which were stored in barrels. No money ever changed hands as they had no currency. The elves freely traded wares with each other, believing there was nothing they couldn’t make or grow, although they were very fond of jewels. It was said their ancestors originally came from faraway lands overseas and that the first settlers brought chests full of precious stones with them, which had been passed down to family members through the generations. In exceptional circumstances, they would trade in gems, but generally, they were used as leverage in the outside world, which was very seldom indeed.

Merith is starting to divide the people with his nonsense. He may have been a friend to our king, but he is not royalty, Elas said, pointing a finger angrily at nobody in particular.

Agreed, brother, replied Darfin. But he has gained the trust of some.

Crafting beautiful wooden objects and structures came naturally to elves, utilising the material whenever possible, but there was always a place for metal, which was Elas and Darfin’s trade.

He has no right and his son even less so.

True. There is but one who may lay claim, and even that is a thin thread, agreed Darfin.

Halson! Two more mugs! Elas cried, waving the landlord over.

Halson stood behind the beautiful bar, which completely encircled the wide trunk.

Coming.

He carried two wooden mugs of water over to the table. Even the vessels were miniature works of art, mimicking small barrels, complete with iron banding.

Bless you, barkeeper. Now there’s a fine piece of metalwork, eh brother? Elas said, admiring the mug.

Haha. Now that I do agree with. Cheers! toasted Darfin, lifting his mug.

Cheers! To the true crown and jewel!

A few cries of agreement came back in reply... just as Thaldyr stepped into the tavern.

Halson acknowledged him with a nod. Thaldyr.

Halson. A mug, please.

The conversation in the tavern dropped sharply in volume, and some started to whisper. Thaldyr grabbed his draught and sat at a table alone.

I see that your father is stirring up trouble and ill feeling again, Elas called to Thaldyr.

Elas, not now, Darfin said quietly, putting his hand on his colleague’s arm.

My father has a right to stand up for what he thinks best, Elas, replied Thaldyr.

Best for who? Him? You? You will never be king, not while people remember the truth.

That may be so, Elas, but The Haven needs a king, and unless by some miracle an heir comes forward, the people can decide for themselves.

Your father professes to be a loyal friend, but he is a traitor to the crown. He knows the truth!

Thaldyr jumped from his chair and strode towards Elas. "You may speak your mind about me if it makes you feel better, but nobody insults my family."

Thaldyr dived across the table, landing on top of Elas, and they wrestled on the floor. However, before any real damage was done, they were pulled apart by the other elves in the tavern.

Thaldyr stood, pushing them away.

Darfin, put your skills to good use and make a horse’s bit for your colleague here... before his mouth gets someone killed.

Why you—

Elas tried to follow but was restrained again as Thaldyr strode out of the tavern and into the forest.

(O)~ɮɒʍ~∆

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The cockerel crowed outside Knottswood Law Cells. One of the guards reluctantly opened a bloodshot eye and staggered from his chair, stretching and yawning.

Rob, get up! he said, nudging the other guard with his foot. "Boss’ll be here in an hour, and our guest is being escorted back home by his... friends. Hah!"

Oh, sh— I was having a good kip then, Bill. How can it be morning already?

I dunno, but get up and look lively. Forest boy’s still sleeping like a baby, bless ’im.

A short while later, Rob unlocked the cell door, moving aside for his fellow guard. Bill entered the cell carrying a tray of bread and water as Rob stood at the entrance, watching on.

Wakey, wakey, elf! Nearly time for your journey home, Bill cried loudly, displaying a gappy smile.

Thallon leapt up from the bed with lightning speed, soared over the guard’s head and executed a ferocious double-legged mule kick as he descended. The guard smashed face-first into the cell wall, sending the tray and its contents flying.

Hey! yelled Rob.

Foolishly, he instinctively ran into the cell.

Thallon reacted accordingly, performing a forward roll and cannoning into the advancing guard’s shins, causing him to topple onto his sprawled colleague. Thallon stood, walked calmly from the cell and locked the door.

"Thanks for