The Lachrymose Quest

Chapter 1

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Contains action sequences and some fantasy violence

In a single moment, one hundred years of peaceful rule were crushed like a damp block of tofu. Leif Ellis strode with a cavalier strut into the throne hall beside Beam, his mage, and Umbra, his enforcer. Well rehearsed, the royal guard leveled their prickling halbards towards the monarchs Barlowe and hauled them off like yesterday's cabbage. The once-proud rulers clamored and flailed in their confusion and rage as their bodies and robes were dragged over the floor in disgrace. The Halted Highlands had been experiencing famine, driving up the price of everything from bread to heather ale. His being one of the wealthier and more powerful lineages in the highlands, this desperate hunger had enabled Lief to line the pockets of the guard and secure their fickle loyalty. It is astounding how quickly a grumbling stomach and an empty cup can turn one's mind to thoughts of regime change.

Settling into his new throne with a smug countenance, Leif wasted little time beginning his rule: "Every member of the Barlowe family is to be chained to the Locked Plow and made to haul it as long as the sun shines."

The plow was something of a local legend. It had been wedged in a field for as long as the eldest farmers could recall, locked to the earth. Some said it was fused to a vein of iron below the soil. Some said it had been placed there by a dunnie as a trick. Whatever the case, no horse nor human could move the locked plow.

Snickering at the thought of his former rulers treading dirt aimlessly under the hot sun, Lief, now King Ellis, issued further orders: firstly, that he should be presented with a feast accompanied by a choir singing praise of his genius. Second, that his personal scoundrel Alex Umbra should be sent to track down every last Barlowe.

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Scurrying about her hut in a panic, Zelda Furi attempted to pack for a three day's journey in about as many minutes.

"Can't we just hide on the other side of town? Or wear disguises maybe?" asked Zephyr, who was not exactly known to travel. In fact, this was the first time he had left Castle Barlowe in perhaps months. The sharp end of a knife was about how much it took to get him moving.

Without interruption of her frantic packing, Zelda shot him an irate look.

"Don't you realize you're in danger? You're the last free royal and the town is crawling with guards!"

A shop stall was toppled over outside by uniformed traitors, as if to emphasize her point.

"I don't know, getting captured doesn't sound all that bad really", said Zephyr, his stomach churning with irrational anxiety at the thought of travel. The bumpy roads, if you could call them roads, were bad enough. But then there was the whole business of navigation, rationing hardened biscuits, and what if he had to ask someone for directions? It was untenable, really.

"Get moving!" hissed Zelda, jolting him by the arm straight out of his train of thought.

A heavy pack was thrust into the young prince's apprehensive grasp as they hurried to the rear window and checked for guards. Zelda gracefully darted through the window; Zephyr came tumbling behind, nearly breaking his royal rear on the ground.

Ignoring his muttered protests, Zelda led the already travel-weary prince through back alleys and corridors to their freedom.

===

Hurtling down-road at the breakneck pace of about three miles-per-hour, our brave prince made his escape.

"I'm getting seasick," was his most recent complaint.