2006 FEATURED SHORT STORY

2005 FEATURED SHORT STORY
2004 FEATURED SHORT STORY
Previously Featured Short stories:
  • Running... a thriller
  • A Devoted Friend .. A story about a dangerous friend and one woman's struggle to face her worst enemy, herself. It's a worth while story to take the time to read.
  • Vampyr ..A dairy based off the novels by Ann Rice..
  • Farewell ..Ever wonder how you would live your life if everyone was killed and you for some reason were spared to live out your days?
  • Lynn Warden's Secret .. There is only one way to find out..
  • INITIATION Follow Matthew into the darkness..
  • Bad Awake Karen is running for her life.. find out why..
MAGAZINES:
BOOKS ON THE SHELF:

The Library




Technology wonders


by Andrey Prokopyev


Hledwig displaying a great portion of benevolence did not make the council wait for him too long. It was a good omen. The baron entered the hall with his clothes tidy and cleaned of fat dribbles. Though his wide smile still remained greasy. It was evident the feudal lord was in seventh heaven. His joviality brightly radiated from under his skin. Knights sitting deeply in high leather armchairs somehow did not think of standing up and saluting their liege-lord. After having shown their respect with perfunctory greetings and smoothing numerous folds in dirty and crusty cloaks which partially concealed their glistening and colorful honorable coats of arms. They peered into the place where the local tyrant settled his overweight body. Like King Arthur himself, the corpulent baron proudly towered above the table contemplatively examining the heads of his own Gawains and Lancelots.

The Round Table were all here except Sir Richard, a glorious knight, who was distinguished for his total overeating. The poor man had a horrible disease; he was lucky to have survived a near fatal gala in honor of the birth of his ninth son.

This time Hledwig wisely prevented a recurrence by not giving access to the sacred treasures of his food storage, leaving the knights with loudly rumbling stomachs. To preclude the complaining likely to result from this wily trick, he hurriedly commenced the council: Without fanfare or superfluous pomposity, he solemnly turned the meeting over to one of his most loyal knights with a slight gesture of the palm.

Sir Henry had proved to be a knight of immense strength despite his advanced age and fairly feeble build. Puffing his cheeks to make an air of extreme importance.He put away his scarlet plumed helmet and his cloak with a visible hole in the middle. The knight proudly ran his right hand across a magnificent emblem with a sunbeam cutting in two a sullen monster and proclaimed:

“My fellows and accomplices!” he began rather awkwardly. “The dawn of our honorable victories is finally approaching! With permission of our seigneur, I proudly declare the beginning of the greatest crusade in the history of the knighthood! Following the chivalrous traditions of Saints Dominic and Francis, we will wage a Holy war upon the head of our eternal enemy! The unlucky loser is… our lord’s neighbor, Baron Voldemar the Hairy himself!”

A loud hubbub immediately ensued which appeared to be a sign of unpleasant amazement. Strife with a neighbor is a common thing but not in the case of Voldemar, the most powerful and invincible baron in all the kingdom.

“Patience!” Sir Henry called for silence. “I promise that we will take his castle before the moon appears above the face of the earth. Upon my word! Let me not be of the Blackshires if my tongue lies, by our Holy Lord!”

“Our teeth are too soft for Voldemar”, muttered Sir John, a knight with a pimply face and an equally pimply coat of arms. “His knights have more pages than we have footmen and horsemen altogether, geez… Couldn’t we attack – let us say – Herbert the Roofless? He has no army of consequence, yet his court is full of such splendid ladies that I…”

“No”, firmly replied Sir Henry, “our target is Voldemar the Hairy’s castle and we will not consider any less!”

“The walls of his castle are pretty high”, uttered Sir Galahad, whose name excited nothing but derision. The knight had gained tons of dust and not a pound of glory. “My steed, my sword and my soul are at your disposal, seigneur, but assaulting those high walls…”

“Keep your mouth shut, Galahad”; interrupted Sir Michaels, whose beard nattily stuck out from under the heavy visor. The warrior had not parted with his armor for several years and he even donned a dressing gown over his chain mail. He was said to be escorted to bed by three or four strong servants who helped him lie down without a sound of clinking. Which, he said, made him remember a miserable duel, when his glorious self was thrown out of the saddle. “Walls are taken by steel and courage. Am I not right, Sir Cain?”

Sir Cain doubtlessly supported him. ‘Steel and courage’ meant much more for the knight than words could express. Should anyone of the council carelessly use this idiom, Sir Cain at once was flooded with the recollections of his noble deeds of which nobody else had ever heard. “Certainly, Sir Michaels. An advantage in quantity plays an inconsiderable role. Let me recount the day when I alone faced a large army. With a single wave of my sword, the most well tried veterans fled dropping their arms and shields as cowardly yeomen. I chased them all day long until the sun hid its face beyond the horizon, and even when the night came…”

“Sir Cain”, interrupted Sir Henry who felt very honored to be the leader of the council and that he had to regain control, “we are speaking about tomorrow’s crusade though we will willingly hear out your story some other time. I proclaim that the castle of our neighbor will be taken imminently. Upon my word!”

“The honored knight has some strategy in mind, does he?” wondered Sir Michaels. The lean soldier scratched his nape.

“Not really. Strategy is of no importance here.”

“Then what do you expect?” asked Sir Brian whose proud coat of arms was decorated with a silhouette of mighty Beowulf, the killer of the terrible Grendel. Pity that the knight resembled the last. “So what do you expect, may I ask? A miracle?”

“Oh, nay”, Sir Henry solemnly raised his chin. “It is not a miracle, it is a wonder. A fantastic wonder capable of making our esteemed baron, a count or even the king!”

Silence. Somebody let out a short giggle.

“I’d love to see…” uttered sir Galahad.

“There he is!” The knight pointed at Hledwig shining with a wide smile.

“No, the wonder I mean, oh, honorable knight.”

“Ah”, awkwardly noted Sir Henry. “A most fantastic wonder indeed.”

“Has Merlin come to the castle?” – someone asked.

“May be Sir Henry is pulling our leg?”

“Deceit?”

“A hoax?”

“Where is your secret weapon?”

“Patience!” Sir Henry once again called for silence. “As some of you have already noticed, our secret weapon is in the castle. It was purchased by our generous sire from the stock of a mighty wizard for fifteen bags of gold.”

“Well, well, well…”

“Silly to believe in fairy-tales”, from the distant corner muttered Sir Geoffrey, almost indiscernible against the back of a chair. For a timid and modest knight like him these words appeared to be a brave and brilliant speech.

“So I believed. Until yesterday”, Sir Henry was unable to calm himself down, fighting for the trust of the absently grinning lord. “Upon my word, let me be not of the Blackshires! And I’ll prove it to you; I’ll make you believe my words! The gifts of a mage from the future…Bring them in!”

A dozen quick servants rushed into the hall dragging shields, cuirasses, brayettes, helms and other oddments of armor. One of the servants was holding a bow in his arm – the man with a pointed nose proudly strode to the center of the hall.

“Is that your wonder?”

“Not quite. Before I want to ask you: what you see, brothers?”

Sir Brian sniffed. “A commonest bow. My peasants use such at the hunt.”

“Excellent. Now, my dear friend”, he addressed the servant, “show us how to exploit it.”

Sir Brian sniffed again. “Let the peons teach knights combat!” he scoffed.

Sir Henry turning a deaf ear to Brian’s remark ordered another servant to place a shield as a target. Bang! The arrow hit the metal surface and jumped away. Sir Henry made a gesture and one more servant appeared with a crossbow in his hands.

“What is that?”

“You know”, Sir Brian snapped and fell silent.

“And yet, I insist.”

“He is trying to offend us!” Flared up Sir John, hastily clasped his sword hilt.

“I remember”, grimly uttered Sir Cain, “how one loud knight lost his head when he raised his voice to me! I hung his head over my mantelpiece and his… ”

“Enough-calm-down-you-both”, rapidly pronounced Sir Geoffrey awaiting praise for his bravery.

Sir John unambiguously gave him to understand that another rebuke would cost him dearly and Sir Cain gave him such a heated look that the poor knight shrunk as a turtle inside his armor.

“No need to quarrel”, gently gurgled Hledwig from his armchair and the knights preferred to hush up the conflict – rather than to appear agitated.

“So you see the crossbow”, sir Henry reasonably went on. “Dear friend!”

The servant put a heavy short bolt into the machine and released the string with a lever. The mechanism spitted the bolt right into the middle of the metal shield where it remained dangling and vibrating.

“So what the hell is that demonstration for?” demanded sir Nigel, idly lolling in the chair, a brave man who had only one decoration – a grey mane of hair with a shining bald patch in the middle. “I have important matters of my own to attend to, dear sirs. If Sir Henry wishes to practice with a bow, let him go into the yard and play all the year round.”

“Show them now, Henry”, permitted Hledwig.

“All that you have seen was just a prelude”, solemnly proclaimed the mentioned knight. “Now I ask for everybody’s attention.”

Henry loudly clapped his hands. His thin face brightened with joy when the servants fetched into the room an odd looking device resembling a metal stick with a vortex-shaped hole. A servant slowly filled it with a portion of gray powder, produced a small brand, lit a rope dangling from the gadget, aimed the queer staff at the shield on the wall and -…

Ba-a-a-ang! Everyone froze, startled and confused. The shield now resembled a sieve; it fell onto the floor with a loud clatter. Everybody with the exception of Hledwig and Henry hurriedly crossed themselves. The knight puffed with pride, seemed to grow in girth and stature, proclaimed: “These are Fire-Spitting-Staves! As you see, quite a useful purchase. Arrows made of gray powder are able to break any armor.”

Bo-o-o-om! Another servant fired from a similar musket at the armor plates placed near the wall making them fly apart with a pitiful jingle.

“The wizard who sold us these wonderful Staves claimed to have been in the future and taken a couple dozen such devices with a pair of gray powder barrels. He said it was an echo of some French Revolution or so… And as he had rival time traveling merchants, he agreed to give us a reduction in price, so that we could make a bargain: two items per bag of gold.”

“Th…th…th…the…they can be used by everyone?” asked Sir Geoffrey stammering, whose voice suddenly raised to a squeak.

“Of course”, jovially replied Henry. “Simple and convenient in use – as crossbows. But lethal and powerful as the Hand of God! You fill in the powder, light the rope, aim – and a great BOOOOOOM follows!”

“Oh, Saint Mary!” Sir Galahad crossed himself. “What are all these devilish gadgets about?”

“Not devilish gadgets, but heavenly gifts!” Sir Henry objected. The honorable knight handed him a musket. “Have a look.”

Sir Galahad recoiled in sheer terror.

“Armed with the Staves we have, we will beat Voldemar the Hairy’s soldiers as naughty kids”, the knight’s voice did not cease.

“Alright, alright, we will give their warriors a nasty slap”, pensively uttered Sir Michaels. “But that does not achieve victory. Who will open the gate? His massive, huge gate?”

“Consider this problem solved. Everything is provided”, winked Sir Henry. “No need to open the gate if one might shatter it.” As Saint Patrick performing a miracle, the knight gesticulated to his servants. The two opened the door of the hall – there was scraping as if someone were tugging a heavy object over the floor. The knights with their mouths shamelessly opened, peered into the corridor. Hledwig grunted satisfaction. The servants dragged into the hall a black iron leviathan on two heavy wheels. His body was a big barrel with an amazing metal tail. Some of the servants were carrying heavy black balls to feed him.

Sir Henry brightened all over again. “This thing is called ‘cannon’. Bo-booom!” And he parted his hands aside. “Like the maw of a demon, Lord forgive us! We tried this magic and hit the stables. The stables – in splinters, the groom – …rest in pieces, err… peace!” Henry humbly bent his head.

“Bo-boom”, assured the baron patting his chest. Silence reigned for a minute then there were the triumphant yells of the war elite echoing through the hall.

Preparations for the crusade did not take much time. The knights, encouraged to madness, made a battle plan, the gist of which was crystal clear – the castle must be taken!

The next day was distinguished by the arrival of the honorable Sir Richard, who had suddenly experienced a miraculous healing. The knights spent the morning in different ways. Sir Henry pondered much over the problem of where to place a wine cellar in the conquered castle. Sir John was dreaming of a rendezvous with a stout dame of his heart. Sir Cain was flooded with a torrent of recollections. Sir Michaels was rushing about in the yard with wild roars, frightening servants and poultry with loudly clanging armor. Sir Geoffrey together with Galahad spent hours rumbling in an amusing brawl the winner of which, however, appeared to be a gray tom-cat which fell down onto the helmets of the glorious knights, making them fall to their knees. Sir Brian was scowling and loudly singing merry songs attracting kids from the nearby village. The great baron stuffed his big stomach with so much ale that he had to be mounted onto his steed sleeping. Sir Richard was assailed by a sudden bout of diarrhea, so that the brave knight spent the whole morning in terrible suffering. And only Sir Nigel was as grim as a thundercloud.

Swinging, howling a cheerful song, the baron’s glorious army went out of the gate and headed southeast to where Voldemar’s castle spiked up its tall towers.

The only beings unhappy with the beginning of the crusade were the four doleful horses that hauled the heavy cannon.

* Voldemar the Hairy was purposelessly roaming in the yard of his castle enjoying the good weather. He adored the smell of flowers from his flower beds. Carelessly gazing into the sky, he watched birds fly. That was the way rangers from different worlds found him a few months ago… The sun was brightly shining promising the beginning of a lucky day. However, the mood of the baron was impudently disturbed by a melodious call at his belt. Voldemar took the flashing thing in his hand.

“What?”

“My lord, there is an army approaching the castle.”

The baron yawned. “Again? Who is it this time?”

“Looks like Hledwig has come.”

Voldemar hardly restrained another yawn. “How many are there?”

“Eh, seems like all of them.”

“Clear, Reginald.”

The baron turned off the phone, quickly rushed up the stairs of the castle wall and drew out a field glass. Slightly screwing up his face, Voldemar put away the optical device and came to another staircase, which led to the inner courtyard where his personal tank stood. The battle machine was already growling – one of the knights carefully prepared the metal monster for battle. The baron climbed onto the cannon turret; paused near the manhole and after thinking a bit turned on the cellular phone again.

“Reginald, it’s me, Voldemar. Tell Potter to go to the roof and start the chopper. Just in case. I don’t want these numbskulls spoiling my walls with nasty scratches. You know, we painted them only a month ago…”