By Zachary Holbrook
The beat of war drums drives any notion of rest from my bones. I gird on my legendary sword, Jimmy Bob, and stride out of my tent to give my troops an inspiring speech before the battle. Across the torchlit river, the enemy army lurks, human troops intermixed with monstrous daemons summoned from the underworld. Their leader may concoct devious schemes, but his fell words could never inspire soldiers to glorious victory.
My wife, Lydia, joins me as I walk towards the center of camp, keeping pace with me despite my longer stride. “We don’t have enough food for an extended campaign.”
“Good thing I have you to worry about it for me, then.” Although an excellent quartermaster, Lydia tends to focus on the right things at the wrong time. Tonight, legends will be born. Tonight, the army I raised will strike our first blow against the forces of King Snakbron, the tyrant who threatens to enslave our people.
“Besides,” Lydia continues, “you’re old.”
Blast. Wrong thing and wrong time. “I un-retired. That makes me functionally young enough to lead a charge against the forces of evil.”
“Right. But still too old and decrepit to brew your own coffee in the morning?”
“What? I like the way you brew coffee.”
Lydia smirks. “You know, sooner or later you’ll have to give up your foolish pursuit of glory in battle.”
“Sure. After I crush a daemon army and free a few towns from enslavement.”
“Sooner than that, perhaps.”
The bulk of my officers gather around a single campfire, waiting to hear my words of exhortation. I’ll deliver my speech to them first, then dispatch them to repeat it to their squadrons.
“Men!” I bellow, drawing Jimmy Bob and plunging its point into the earth. My cape settles around me like the wings of a majestic dragon. “The time you have all waited for has come. Tonight we strike the first blow against our foe!”
“Wha—what?” One of the officers spits out a bit of chicken. “But I thought—”
Lydia steps out from behind me and glares at him. He shuts his mouth, leaps to his feet, and salutes me. The others around the campfire do the same.
“That is to say, the tyrant’s army has gathered across yonder river!” I fling my arm out, pointing in the general direction of the enemy’s forces. Lydia takes my wrist and gently corrects my aim. “Their warlocks have summoned fierce daemons to terrify us! But will we be cowed?”
The men glance around in confusion.
“Answer me!”
“Oh no, definitely not,” one of them says.
“No!” The rest chant in unison.
“That’s right! Because we will fight them!” I lift Jimmy Bob above my head, its gleaming blade a beacon in the night. “Follow me, to glorious triumph over the dark forces! To liberate our lands from our enemies! We will be victorious tonight, and our children will sing of our valor!”
A trumpet sounds. My instincts kick in, and I swirl toward the sound. “Is that an attack?”
Lydia shakes her head. “No, just a messenger.”
“Our enemy wants to parley, then? Very well, I shall meet him. But he will get no surrender out of me!”
I summon my honor guard and meet the messenger outside of camp. He’s a young fellow, with a tremulous look about him. Probably pressed into service by the foul warlocks. He hands me a scroll and begins to speak.
“His Majesty King Snakbron the Fourth wishes you to know of the peace treaty signed by him and the ambassador from Midora. From now on all hostilities between Midora and the servants of His Majesty shall cease, and His Majesty’s army shall withdraw from all Midoran territory—”
“Wait,” I say. “Read that part again.”
“All hostilities shall cease—”
“And that army camped across the river? Seems pretty hostile to me.”
“The army is in the process of disbanding already.”
“What does that mean?”
Lydia snickers. “He’s telling you the war is over.”
“A trap, to lower our guard?”
“Nope. You would have heard about it from our own messenger if you’d bother to read your mail.”
I sheath Jimmy Bob, then hesitate. Surely there must be something for my army to conquer. “What about the daemons? They respect no treaty. Someone will have to slay those foul beasts.”
“As part of the treaty, the warlocks will banish all daemons back to the underworld and refrain from summoning new ones,” the messenger says.
“Oh.” I turn away and trudge back toward camp. I remember the day I set forth at the head of my army, intending to help a noble cause. Starry-eyed youths mixed with bloodthirsty warriors, all longing for glory.
“What will I tell my men? They’ll be so disappointed!”
“They already know,” Lydia says, taking my hand. That devilish grin of hers tells me I was the only one who didn’t.
“What is there left for me to do, then?”
“Maybe thank God you didn’t kill yourself on some insane venture,” she retorts. “And if you need a hobby to occupy yourself in your old age, you could always learn to brew your own coffee.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Ha! This was hilarious. I especially love the sword named Jimmy Bob. xD
Poor guy. He should take up chess.
Cute story.
Haha – I love how they’re all humoring him.
I loved this short story, although as an old guy I related to the “hero” a bit too much. At least I made my own coffe this morning.
What a wonderful story you have written! Your characters are well-developed and believable. Love the fact that you named the sword! Very enjoyable read!
Haha, excellent humor! I can’t help grinning at how good-natured everyone was through this whole episode.
Fun read…I love Lydia’s comment at the end.
Great story! You have such a creative way with words. I love your descriptions and humor!
I joined the site recently so now I’m reading older stories… Loved this one! You have a great sense of humor and a clever way with words. Can’t wait to read more!