proudfoot
17-06-2004, 23:35
An unmanned one-horse chariot wound slowly to a stop in front of the centurion as he stood in the road and polished his sword with a ragged black cloth. His favourite black dragon stood menacingly behind him, breathing on his armour, which shone in the brilliant morning light. Far above the hawks circled like vultures, awaiting a bloody climax to the past night’s events. The centurion stood and called out.
“Who goes there?”
No reply came.
“I say, I’m getting bloody impatient,” cried the centurion, louder this time.
A warm spurt of air crept across the back of his neck. He turned and gave the dragon a nasty glare. It looked sheepish.
“If thou do not show thyself, I will comb the desert until I find thee, and it will go badly for thee, believe you me!” shouted the centurion, surveying the even horizon broken only by the narrow path and the mysterious chariot.
Then a white flag peeped up over the edge of the chariot and began to move precociously side to side. The centurion leapt backward, nocked an arrow and let fly through the center of the flag with an alarming shriek. The flag withdrew.
“You curse me with your insolence!” breathed the centurion. “And don’t expect me to believe that you didn’t know I’m allergic to the colour white!”
“Well it was worth a try,” came a mumble from inside the chariot.
“And now, oh devious one, show yourself and let us do epic battle for the hearts and minds of all present, past, and future! And I will vanquish thee like the fell magician thou art!”
No one moved.
“Fell magician!”
Nothing.
“Fell magician, I say!”
A cough.
“Well are you coming or not?” said the centurion. “I don’t have a magician’s patience. What is your reply?”
Two eyes and a hooked nose peeked around the side of the chariot. “I’m not a magician.”
“What?”
“I’m not a magician,” said the eyes again.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I’m no magician.”
“I beg your pardon?”
The eyes rolled. “I. Am. Not. A. Magician.”
“You’re casting a spell on me, aren’t you? Well it won’t work; I’m well protected!” The centurion held up a mish-mash of assorted religious symbols and pendants as proof of his claim.
“I’m not casting a spell. I don’t bloody know any. I’m not a magician for Dirth’s sake.”
“So, what you’re saying is… You lied to me?”
“What?”
“You admit to your grievous sin of misleading me in the direction of believing that you are a magician.” The centurion grinned confidently.
The eyes narrowed. “I admit to nothing, you royal buffoon. I never said I was a magician.”
“You ride in an unmanned chariot with a magical horse; I hear the bells ringing as its feet break the barriers between our world and the next with every step. I am well versed in the signs of witchcraft. I will not be fooled, fell magician! For now I see that once again you attempt to mislead me with a spell of false assurance!”
A mouth emerged behind the nose, opened wide in frustration. “Those are bells, you idiot! Look on the bridle! And this isn’t an unmanned chariot. For the love of God, I’m in it!”
The centurion took a quick glance at the bells attached to the horse’s bridle, frowned, and looked nervously at his dragon, who shrugged. “So you are.”
“Look, can I go now?”
“Ah ha!” cried the centurion. “If the chariot is not unmanned, why could I not see you in it as you approached? You must have spirited into it with black magic!”
“I was sleeping! Is that a crime?”
“Um.”
“That’s what I thought.” The head withdrew, and moments later the man stood. “Now, all I want to do is go back to sleep and let my horse take me and my companion through to Sunrise City.”
“Your companion?” The centurion leapt forward with a jubilant laugh of triumph.
“Good grief,” said the man in the chariot, moving off at a quick trot.
The centurion watched the chariot pull away disappointedly. “Why,” he asked the dragon, “do I get the feeling that I was just deceived?”
“Who goes there?”
No reply came.
“I say, I’m getting bloody impatient,” cried the centurion, louder this time.
A warm spurt of air crept across the back of his neck. He turned and gave the dragon a nasty glare. It looked sheepish.
“If thou do not show thyself, I will comb the desert until I find thee, and it will go badly for thee, believe you me!” shouted the centurion, surveying the even horizon broken only by the narrow path and the mysterious chariot.
Then a white flag peeped up over the edge of the chariot and began to move precociously side to side. The centurion leapt backward, nocked an arrow and let fly through the center of the flag with an alarming shriek. The flag withdrew.
“You curse me with your insolence!” breathed the centurion. “And don’t expect me to believe that you didn’t know I’m allergic to the colour white!”
“Well it was worth a try,” came a mumble from inside the chariot.
“And now, oh devious one, show yourself and let us do epic battle for the hearts and minds of all present, past, and future! And I will vanquish thee like the fell magician thou art!”
No one moved.
“Fell magician!”
Nothing.
“Fell magician, I say!”
A cough.
“Well are you coming or not?” said the centurion. “I don’t have a magician’s patience. What is your reply?”
Two eyes and a hooked nose peeked around the side of the chariot. “I’m not a magician.”
“What?”
“I’m not a magician,” said the eyes again.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I’m no magician.”
“I beg your pardon?”
The eyes rolled. “I. Am. Not. A. Magician.”
“You’re casting a spell on me, aren’t you? Well it won’t work; I’m well protected!” The centurion held up a mish-mash of assorted religious symbols and pendants as proof of his claim.
“I’m not casting a spell. I don’t bloody know any. I’m not a magician for Dirth’s sake.”
“So, what you’re saying is… You lied to me?”
“What?”
“You admit to your grievous sin of misleading me in the direction of believing that you are a magician.” The centurion grinned confidently.
The eyes narrowed. “I admit to nothing, you royal buffoon. I never said I was a magician.”
“You ride in an unmanned chariot with a magical horse; I hear the bells ringing as its feet break the barriers between our world and the next with every step. I am well versed in the signs of witchcraft. I will not be fooled, fell magician! For now I see that once again you attempt to mislead me with a spell of false assurance!”
A mouth emerged behind the nose, opened wide in frustration. “Those are bells, you idiot! Look on the bridle! And this isn’t an unmanned chariot. For the love of God, I’m in it!”
The centurion took a quick glance at the bells attached to the horse’s bridle, frowned, and looked nervously at his dragon, who shrugged. “So you are.”
“Look, can I go now?”
“Ah ha!” cried the centurion. “If the chariot is not unmanned, why could I not see you in it as you approached? You must have spirited into it with black magic!”
“I was sleeping! Is that a crime?”
“Um.”
“That’s what I thought.” The head withdrew, and moments later the man stood. “Now, all I want to do is go back to sleep and let my horse take me and my companion through to Sunrise City.”
“Your companion?” The centurion leapt forward with a jubilant laugh of triumph.
“Good grief,” said the man in the chariot, moving off at a quick trot.
The centurion watched the chariot pull away disappointedly. “Why,” he asked the dragon, “do I get the feeling that I was just deceived?”