Part 1 of 1
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Tonight we return to The Hundred Kingdoms, and the perils that lie within its fantastic borders.
The Skinner Co. Network
FPSE13 - Another Rescue, Part 1 of 1
(music) Welcome to FlashPulp Special Episode 13. This evening we present another rescue, Part 1 of 1. This week's episodes are brought to you by Strangely Littoral. You know what's really wrong with Joss Whedon's television shows? They end. Fortunately, Strangely Littoral, a Whedonverse fanfic podcast, is there to catch you when you find yourself lost and alone after a series finale. Find Buffy, Captain Mal, and all your favorites at http/www.strangelittoral.com Or search for it in iTunes. (music) FlashPulp is an experiment in broadcasting fresh pulp stories in the modern age, 3 to 10 minutes of fiction brought to you Monday, Wednesday, and Friday evenings. Tonight we return to The Hundred Kingdoms and the perils that lie within its fantastic borders. Another rescue, written by J.R.D. Skinner, Art and Narration Biopoponax, an audio produced by Jessica May. (music) In the depths of the Ogre King's enchiest cave, Dutchess Lillian Mildred was weighing the stench that filled her nostrils against the idea of enraging her guards to the point of shortening her life, and thus her current captivity. It was not a serious thought, but her imprisonment amongst the brute lords had been nothing if not dull, and her mind had begun to wander. She'd stood in the cell some 20 hours, with arms pulled high by hanging chains affixed to the rock wall. Despite the ache in her limbs, she considered the accommodations melodrama, implemented only to heighten the price of ransom once a remote sear was engaged to determine the veracity of her captor's demands. This was a frustration, as her uncle, Archduke Mildred, was something of a miser, and would no doubt hold the dead against her until she repaid it, or died. She had not intended to have her caravan hijacked. There was no other route home from the capital, but the Queen's highway, and there was no choice but to take it when the court season had ended. Her party had been no different in size or composure than the Archduke's own daughters, though she'd made her way north to tour instead of heading directly to her father's keep. Lillian sighed at her fate, but it simply forced her to draw in another lungful of her watcher's reek. The tedium ceased, however, when another of the twisted-faced ruffians approached. This one was little more than a youth, and though she could not translate his grunts, her two ripe guardians departed briskly at his words. Within moments, the sounds of bragging and clashing steel could be heard from the corridor beyond. A man appeared, leading a band of stout-armed warriors. The newcomer wore a patch over one eye, and his hair swept back in a tight top knot. The chainmail across his belly had been breached, but his mouth carried a wolfish grin. His blade dripped with the tail of his handiwork. "Dutcheous?" he asked. "Yes," she replied. "The Archduke sent you?" She rattled her chains gently as she spoke, with the notion that her savior might free her as he explained. His reply was not quite. She could see he had the key in his hand, and yet he stalled. Its meaning was clear to the bound woman. Whoever had financed her rescue, whoever would garner the praise for her heroic recovery, would only enter once the area was proven safe. As she waited, she set herself to hoping that the impending "prince" or "duke" or "God's forbid" merchant lord, was seeking reputation and renown, and was not of an appropriate age for marriage. The dutcheous had come by her title by inheritance, and, regardless of her recent wailing, she looked forward to wearing away some of its shine before she was forced to carry its full weight behind the tall stone walls of Baldonkirk, her home. Finally, a thin-faced boy involved at garments entered the room. It was obvious he made some attempt to mute his trumpet's note, but in the tight space, its sounding still left ringing in Lillian's ears. It was to this accompaniment that Prince Cornelius Galen filled her view. He now held the cuffs key in his palm. "Mulady," he said, "even under the duress of this terrible calamity, you are striking." Cornelius was but one of the thousand younglings that stood within the shadow of the crown. Lillian's few interactions with his house had left her cold. And yet, she knew that even now he likely had minstrels out of sight, imposing oaths regarding the perils he'd faced to win her. It would be her own people who would pay highest coin for the swollen tales of his gallantry, and she knew the songs would likely arrive at her borders before she did. She would have to wait the purses of many crooners if she hoped to counteract his nuptial narrative. "It seems your uncle has claimed his call for Zobera," continued the prince, "but do not fear. Your peasants have gathered quite a bounty in their temple bowls." That said, "I'm not here for the silver. I hope to collect a greater reward." Lillian could not deny her gratitude at the rescue, and it was this, and the fact that she remained chained, that kept her tongue steady. "Truly, this is too rough a place to speak of love, my lord," she replied. He hadn't spoken of any such thing, of course, but she was released from the wall nonetheless. The prince in Duchess's ascent was a stroll behind a thrashing screen of steel, as the hired arms made short work of any rotund brute who was sleepy-eyed enough to stumble from the burrows that branch from the shaft's main column. A second force of mercenaries and balladiers greeted them at the tunnel's mouth, while scanning the surrounding hills and fingering the tools of their occupation. All were soon mounted, but the ride was a harried one. The ogre king had hastily mustered his troops, and their legs held fury enough for them to keep a pace with the fleeing stallions. It became plain that combat was imminent by the time they made cannibals hollow, a mountainous protrusion of the bottom of a wide rim valley that was known largely for its desolation. As Lily climbed the path to the bottleneck that marked their only chance of organizing a defense, she took some solace in the knowledge that a premature death would at least save her from a premature marriage. Dying a martyr would also make for much better songs. The patch wearing captains strode the line, slapping shoulders and lifting spirits, as Lillian and her unwanted prince watched from nook above. Their perch also gave them a clear view of the approaching horde, although she found their battle chance more than sufficient warning. She guessed them at ten leagues, then five, then two. Her husband to be his voice became like sugar, and the duchess soon realized that he sought a kiss to lessen his sense of peril. She'd bust worse, and yet she withheld her lips with indignation. Her greatest danger in her cell had been her escort's stench. "I'm pleased, at least, that my last sight shall be of you," he said. "Wincing," she replied. "Ease your words. It's more likely we'll both be soon held against ransom." He coughed. "Well, I might, but your uncle has already turned down the offer, as I've mentioned. Still, I will stand and fight for you, should it be necessary." Oh, certainly not. The cost would be too high. Lillian's gay is held on the riding mass of clubs in poorly concealed flesh. They were no further than half a league. Cornelia smiled. "Perhaps you might make some down payment, then? With an embrace?" His brazen phrases were cut short, however, by the shadows of a hundred kites breaking over the vista's edge. They were the frames of the royal contribers, the queen's engineers. Under their gliding shade came on a host so immense, it stretched the horizon, and at its lead, cantered the warhorse, Guelmir, who had once pulled straight the crooked tower of the sorcerer Al-Min. On the beast's back rode the woman who'd broken him, Sophia Esperon, queen of the Hundred Kingdoms. Though not but the fury in her eyes was visible behind her plate and mail, it was obvious she was displeased. With arrays of her own rushing hand, the wicker and canvas structures let loose from the marching strings that made up their only earthly bonds, and catching the wind, their creaking and pondering passage carried them into the ranks of the surging ogres. Each impact delivered an explosive wrath. Holding high her ebony spear, the queen summoned ten thousand arrows, then ten thousand more. Behind her, the roar of the royal guard's warbearers was enough to drown the wild drums and chorus, which had now shifted to a rhythm of retreat. As the savage multitude moved up and beyond the distant crest, Sophia Esperon did not follow. Instead, she turned her attention to the prince and his supposed prize. Removing her helm, the monarch strode through the untested line of hired swordsmen. For the first time that day, Lillian felt true relief. Cornelius only smiled and waved at his regent. Sophia Esperon's voice easily cut the distance to their airy post, and the hired singers and sword arms averted their smirks to avoid risking their pay. "Oh!" said the queen. "Quite please that you're out of danger, are you?" The prince ceased his greeting. "Has he made overtures?" Sophia asked the former prisoner. Lillian nodded. "I did not come," continued Esperon, "to deal with those foul-melt gluttons. I unfurled my banners because I knew such blue-blooded scoundrels would be skulking about, looking to capitalize on a hostage's distress. What sort of man seeks to bind the hand of a woman while her wrists are still aching from the manacles of her kidnappers?" It was the Duchess's turn to grin. As well, she might. As the queen's poets would be profoundly inspired by her tenacity. From months to come. FlashPulp is presented by flashpulp.com and is released under the Canadian Creative Commons' attribution non-commercial 2.5 license. Text and audio commentaries can be sent to skitter@skitter.fm or the voicemail line at 206-338-2792. But be aware that they may appear in a future flashcast. We'd also like to thank the free sound project found at freesound.org. For a full listing of effects used during the show, as well as credits for the users who provided them, please check this episode's notes at flashpulp.com. And thanks to you for listening. 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