"The Iron Crown of Gamulkor"

"The Iron Crown of Gamulkor"

12/2-12/4/1219 DR

I.

Trudging through a grey cheerless dawn that was stealing over the rocky coast came a middle-aged fisherman. His feet were wrapped in rough cured leather and a single garment of deerskin scantily outlined his body. Over this he had wrapped a coarse wool cloak that was heavy with the damp. The wind swirled snow crystals restlessly, obscuring his view but he spotted another man looming up out into the gloom.

This stranger was nearly a head taller than the stocky fisherman, and he had the bearing of a fighting man. Two inches over six feet and he stood, built as powerfully as any blacksmith. Shaggy black hair was roughly trimmed. From under heavy black brows gleamed eyes of a dark blue shot with strange amber flecks.

Even on this bitter winter night, the man had his travel cloak thrown back instead of wrapping himself in it. He wore no armor, not mail nor the chestplate common to the Skandorans, but simple black breeches and a long-sleeved shirt of heavy cotton. The high boots were well-worn from travel. Sheathed at his left hip, supported by a baldric running down from his opposite shoulder, was a three-foot-long straight sword of recognizable Signarm crafting.

"Who are you?" asked the fisherman, with the bluntness of the west.

"Do you not know the answer even as you ask?" answered the other.

"In truth, yes. You are no Dartha nor an Eldanar. Yet no other Race shows ears such as you bear."

Indeed, exposed by the hair swept back, the stranger's ears rose to distinct points. And it was true, that only one Manlike being other than the Darthim or the Eldanarin had such ears.

"It seems legends walk in the flesh tonight," said the fisherman. "Are you not Romal?"

"I am! It is Romal the Mongrel who greets you tonight. Born of no woman, bearing traits of all Seven Races yet belonging among them. I am indeed Romal."

The fisherman did not immediately reply. He had heard many tales of Romal... a strange, bitter man who wandered from nation to nation, ever alone as no normal Human could be. "It's a hard world for a lone wolf," said the fisherman at last.

"True words indeed," Romal answered. "I see you have a boat."

The other nodded toward a small sheltered cove where lay snugly anchored a trim craft built with the skill of a hundred generations of men who had torn their livelihood from the stubborn sea.

"It's small and not meant for war," said Romal. "Yet need presses me. I'll buy it this moment."

"You'll do not such thing. What kind of talk is this? Skandor is less than thirty miles from this coast. Are you not pals with the Skandorim?"

Menace growled in the Mongrel's deep voice. "Have a care, fisherman. It is well known I quarreled with the Skandorim and they now count me as their bitter enemy.
Have you seen a longboat beating up from the south in the last few days?"

"Two days ago! The hated longship with shields lining its hull went sailing by ahead of a storm. They did not stop. Little enough have we here to entice them."

"That would be Bagrok the Fair," muttered Romal, gripping his sword-hilt. "I knew it."

"Ah, you have news of a raid?"

"A band of reavers fell by night on the castle on the promontory at Wyakit. The slaughter was brutal. The Skandoran pirates took Evalyn, daughter of Thul, King of Green Skandor."

"I've heard of her," muttered the fisherman. "Before I was born and before my father was born, the kingdoms of Red Skandor and Green Skandor have been at each others' throats. Do you owe allegiance to either, son?"

"Barely a thread holds me to any Human," said Romal. "I am like no other, alone in this world with all hands against me. Yet, it was King Thul who gave me lodging and paid me to fight with his swordsmen. For nearly a full year, he treated me fairly and the princess spoke to me with kindness. I have sworn no oath to go to her rescue, I do so freely."

"King Thul gathers his forces to asault the stronghold of the Red Skandorim, yet I think he wastes their lives in doing so. There are hundreds of uncharted isldes in this Cold Sea, many no more than rocks sticking up out of the water. I have explored them. Bagrok the Fair had built a hall on the Isle of Slyn in the freezing waters. There he has taken her and there I follow him. Lend me your boat."

"You are mad!" cried the fisherman sharply. "What are you saying. From Connacht to the Hebrides in an open boat? In this weather? I say you are mad."

"It's been said before," answered Romal absently. "Will you lend me your boat?"

"No."

"I might take it by force," waerned Romal.

"You might," returned the fisherman stolidly.

"Don't you understand, it is not for my sake?" snarled the Mongrel in sudden rage, "A princess of Green Skandor is prisoner of a bloody-handed Reaver of the Red and you will not help?"

"Should my own family starve?" retorted the fisherman just as passionately. "Without my boat, how can I feed my wife and child? Where can I get another boat that is not in use?"

The huge Mongrel loomed up menacingly over the short, sturdy fisherman. He dug inside his belt and came up with a single gold coin tied by a string. Snapping it loose, he said, "Here! An Eagle Coin of Signarm, good anywhere in the known world. All I am left in the world is what I wear now. Will you take it?"

The fisherman hesitated, then held out his open hand. "So be it. But I will hold the coin as long as I can. If you return the boat before my family goes hungry, then I will hand this back to you."

"I will return with Evalyn or not at all," promised Romal. "And, if I have my way, I will gift you with a gold trinket or two from a Reaver who needs it no longer."

( Read more... )

"No More Djinn For Me, Thanks"

"No More Djinn For Me, Thanks"

8/24/1944

I.

Kelly O'Connor felt unbearably smug that hot summer afternoon. Her new lightweight yellow dress set off both her red hair and her slender legs perfectly. For once, all her bills were paid up because she had gotten a bonus for the Dockside Burglaries story she had scooped all the other papers on. And Jim had been a complete sweetheart all day, trudging through little boutiques in Greenwich Village as if he actually enjoyed looking at old clothes. Soon, they would pick a bistro for lunch and the thought of tucking away some Italian food at the Hungry Bambino's appealed to her immensely.

Just one more antique store, she thought. A new lamp for her room at the boarding house had been on her mind for weeks. The redhead paused in front of a grimy window on Bleecker Street which read CURIOUS CURIOS in ornate Germanic script. What an odd assortment of items were displayed. Wavy-bladed daggers with gold hilts. A crystal ball six inches across on an ebony base. What WAS that skull? A fox or a bat or what? She couldn't tell. And those weren't regular Tarot cards, they had pictures of stars and planets on them.

Leaning over her shoulder, big Jim muttered, "Haven't you had enough of the supernatural in your life lately?"

"Oh, this junk isn't Midnight War," she laughed. "It's just silliness for the tourists. Real, no-fooling Midnight War talismans aren't on public display. Come on, let's snoop for a minute and then wrap ourselves around some spaghetti and meatballs. With garlic bread."

"All right," he replied without enthusiasm. They entered, setting off a jingling bell over the door. The interior was dimly lit but had a pleasant pine wood aroma instead of the mustiness she had expected. Behind a counter with a cash register, a little old man rose.

Even for Greenwich Village, he was flamboyantly dressed. Baggy black trousers and a long-sleeved white blouse with a brilliant scarlet sash around the bulging belly. A red fez with a tassel added contrast. The weathered, cheerful face was adorned with a white handlebar mustache. "Come, come. Enter freely and stay as long as you like."

"Well, hi there!" she called out cheerfully. "I don't think I've seen this shop here before. Wasn't this a Chinese restaurant last week?"

"We are here now," answered the old man. "My name is Mohallet. Please, take your time and browse as you wish." He settled back down into his chair and began writing in a ledger with an old-fashioned fountain pen.

"Hey, red. I'm stepping out for a smoke, be back in a jif." Jim had already stuck his last Lucky Strike in his mouth and was heading for the door. Kelly muttered something compliant and went back to studying the shelves. Such odd items. Curved swords, oval mirrors in cast iron frames, ornate gilded jewelry boxes. And so many big old books, so faded that the words on their spines could hardly be deciphered. THE SKULL BENEATH THE SKIN. LOST SCIENCE OF THE ANCIENTS. SPIRIT GUIDE OF WALES. Intriguing stuff, but not the lamp she was looking for.

Then she saw it sitting by itself in a corner, atop a neat pile of folded coats. A brass lamp with a coiled handle and long snout. She hadn't seen an oil lamp like that in ages. Kelly O'Connor picked it up and smiled that it felt warm to the touch. Whatever was inscribed on its surface was beyond her ability to read.

"Hee hee. Say, Mr Mohallet, if I rub this, will a Genie appear?" she laughed. Hearing no answer, she turned to find the old man was not in sight. Must have gone into a back room, she figured. Studying the lamp, she gave in to a puckish impulse and rubbed the side of the lantern briskly with one hand. "If there's a Genie in there, come on out!"

Considering her career as the Green Devil the past three years, what followed should not have been any surprise to Kelly. From the snout of the lamp, thick black smoke poured out to rise and form a vaguely humanoid shape. Two glowing red spots appeared like eyes and a deep sepulchral voice asked, "What is thy bidding, oh my mistress?"

II.

Kelly made some incoherent squawking noises. The black cloud snorted and exclaimed, "I may only manifest for a few minutes, little mistress. Hast thou thy wishes three ready?"

"Wishes? Wishes? Oh right, I get wishes." The green eyes snapped back into focus. "Okay, maybe this is a dream or maybe I've just lost my marbles completely like Jim always said I would. But I better go ahead. Okay, okay. I wish this terrible war was over!"

"Thy first wish is granted!" A newspaper drifted down from the ceiling and Kelly caught it without thinking. It was the paper where she worked and the headline screamed, 'US SURRENDERS!' Beneath that, 'Heavy Losses In Europe Lead to US Surrender To Empire of Germany!'

"What?! No, no, not like that. Undo it, Genie, I take it back."

"Alas, little mistress, what is done is done. What is thy second wish?" asked the cloud.

For a moment, Kelly couldn't think straight. What could she do? How could she fix the disaster. "Can I wait a while and think things over? Maybe I can talk to Jim about this?"

"Alas, no. I must return to the lamp within the minute. What is thy wish?"

"Hell. I guess I better ask for something smaller. Umm, okay, I wish for enough money to buy that little cottage Jim and I were looking at."

"Thy wish is granted, little mistress!" answered the drifting cloud. Again, something fell from the ceiling and she snatched it out of the air. A thick bundle of documents stapled together at the upper left hand corner. Her heart missed a beat. It was a life insurance statement about James Peter Harkins, and the attached letter informed her that she was being paid twenty-two thousand dollars because of his death....

His death! Kelly found herself sitting on the floor without realizing she had dropped down there. She couldn't catch her breath. It hurt worse than anything she could have imagined. Jim. She had finally opened up and allowed herself to really fall in love, to make plans for the future and now... One wish had ruined everything.

"I wish Jim was alive again!" she screamed as loud as she could.

"Alas, what is done is done. The writing cannot be erased, little mistress."

Kelly wiped her eyes and glared up at the smoke as it shifted about. The glowing red spots seemed to be smiling in mockery. "You bastard. Oh, I get it. My next wish is for YOU to die!"

"That cannot be, little mistress, we Djinn are sadly immortal. Thou still hast one wish left."

Despite all the life and death crises she had been through the past few years, she had never been stricken so hard. Tears were still running down her face and she was sobbing in short pants. "Oh what difference does it make? What does anything matter? All right, I wish I win the Pulitzer Prize for Journalism."

This time it was only a single scrap of paper that came floating down from overhead, a newspaper clipping. Sniffling, she grabbed it. The story told how THE MESSENGER's prize columnist Kelly O'Connor had indeed won the Pulitzer Prize... for reporting on how Japan's use of its new 'atomic bomb' had repelled American landing forces and was reversing the tide of war.

Crumpling up the scrap of paper and sobbing so hard her body shook, Kelly wailed, "What have I done? Millions dead. Freedom lost around the world. Oh my God, this can't be happening. Make it stop."

"Thou hast been given wishes three, as was thy right," mocked the cloud of smoke as it began to withdraw back into the lamp.

And even in her utter despair, Kelly thought of something. The sharp mind that had created the Green Devil snatched at hope. "Wait! Wait, I wish... I wish I had super-powers like the Sceptre or the Jupiter Man."

Deep booming laughter echoed throughout the shop. "Thou art wise beyond thy years, little mistress! For only learned mages know that a fourth wish unmakes the three. Fare thee well!"

White light flashed as bright as lightning striking close at hand, but without sound. Kelly wiped at her face and found it was dry. The papers were gone.. the clipping, the edition of THE MESSENGER, Jim's insurance form, all gone without a trace. She got to her feet and smoothed her dress down. How her head ached!

The door swung open and Jim stepped in, big and alive and solid, "Say, doll-face, I don't have any matches..." He was cut off as Kelly leaped over to embrace him fiercely. "Hey, what's this all about?"

"Oh, Jim, I love you so much. I couldn't live without you."

"Huh? I was only outside for a few seconds. But I love you, too, Irish. You know that."

She stood up on her toes and gave him a quick gentle kiss. "It never hurts to say so."

"The missy speaks words that even the Wise need to hear," said the shopkeeper. He was behind the counter again.

"You're right, sir." Jim rubbed Kelly's back as she began to disengage from the hug. "So. Find anything or are we ready to go get supper?"

Kelly glanced over. Behind the counter, the old shopkeeper had placed the brass lantern in a cupboard, which he closed with a decisive click. The shrewd eyes smiled at her behind their wrinkles. "I guess there's nothing for me here," she said at last. "Come on, Jim, let's get some Italian food and talk about our plans."

3/27/2023