This is a story story I wrote for a writing class in 2008. It has been critiqued there and now you guys can critique it. It is completely finished. Enjoy
Beldrin in Peril
“Send one of these to every corner of the land,” King Impolius told his trusty messenger, handing him a bundle of rolled letters, “and with haste!”
“Of course, my king,” the messenger nodded and then galloped away on a fastened steed.
A blur of moon light attempted to penetrate the cloud cluttered sky, but only made it half way. King Impolius watched his messenger hasten away until the horse rider became swallowed in the void that was night.
There was no longer a reason to stand in the rocky field, so this mid-aged ruler returned to the inner walls of Beldrin, a grand castle situated in a horseshoe of mountains, with neighboring forests to the east. The king made way to his court and slouched in his cushioned throne, rubbing his wrinkled eyes that refused to rest and tugging on his graying bronze hair in distress. For nearly twenty years I’ve ruled this castle and never have I faced such a problem, he thought to himself. My letters – will they make it on time? Will they make it at all? The king had poured all of his hope into these letters. Each of them was the same:
Noble heroes of the land, I plea for your aid! The castle of Beldrin is threatened by a gluttonous turtle of great size. This giant turtle has come every day for the past month and it has been eating my people! I’ve sent some of my best soldiers to kill it, but they were all eaten, too! There is nothing I can do to stop it. Those of you willing to challenge this giant turtle, come to Beldrin. Come in all your power and valor, and come quickly! Whoever slays the beast shall be rewarded a handsome sum of silver. That I promise by the crown that governs Beldrin.
–King Impolius
Each day there was no response to his letters, King Impolius grew more and more uneasy, and each day the giant turtle would come to feed on his people. This shelled monster always came at midday. The king warned his people to stay inside Beldrin’s stone walls during that time, but the beast bashed through the fortifications and so no one was safe.
This creature was huge, with tremendous jaws that could take a bite out of a mountain and each step it made rattled the ground. Its elongated neck and highly mobile head were concealed inside its shell. When its prey was near, the turtle’s snapping snout thrust from its shell like a cannon. The worst part was that there was no end to its appetite. It would only leave when it couldn’t find any more people to eat. Then it would return to its home, the eastern forests, where its voracious appetite would continue on other hapless creatures.
The messenger returned five days later with news that all the letters had been delivered to remote cities, and all they could do was hope. A few days later, three heroes from afar arrived and presented themselves in the king’s court, the largest and centermost structure in the castle. It towered over the cathedral, market, and residential districts. A great audience of Beldrin’s people, fortunate enough to not be eaten, was seated in the court aside an elaborately designed carpet that trailed down the middle and all the way to the throne. Although only a few heroes showed up, King Impolius was ecstatic to see them – they looked promising.
“Noble heroes, thank you for coming,” King Impolius stood up from his throne. He had to present himself to the heroes as well, wearing his majestic fur robe, diamond crown, and his gray beard was smoothly groomed. “Beldrin has been menaced by a giant turtle that eats people. I am offering ten thousand pieces of silver for whoever can kill it.” The heroes’ faces went wide with grins. “Now tell me, who are you and how will you slay this giant beast?” asked the king, eager for their responses.
The first hero, a brawny man wearing no shirt to show off his musculature, stepped forward, smirking.
“Have you not heard of me, your majesty? I am Wayndoro the Warrior. I’ve killed dozens of creatures like this turtle. I will drive my sword into its flesh and impale its heart! You should be worried for the turtle, not I!” exclaimed Wayndoro. He looked more monster than man, with scars from five hundred battles, cinnabar eyes that have seen all kinds of sin, and his arms possessed inhumane power. His whole body was a weapon, plus the masterfully forged sword sheathed at his waist.
Perhaps this is what it takes to bring down the giant turtle, King Impolius thought, rubbing his chin, another monster.
Next, a wizard whose head was bald like a pale marble stepped forward. He wore a somber cloak dotted with sizzling symbols of another world and his stern expression gave the impression that not even the most skilled jester could amuse him.
“You’ve summoned Magorius the Magician. I command fire,” he spoke and then demonstrated his magic; a vivid flame ignited in his left hand. The king’s lavender eyes popped in surprise. Magorius continued, “I ask you, your majesty: can this turtle withstand my power? Can it withstand the fires of the stars themselves? I think not.”
Marvelous! That monstrous reptile will burn before it eats again!
Lastly, a suave nobleman stepped forward with the most charming grin King Impolius had ever seen. He bowed with grace, patting his slick, luminous black hair.
“Your royal highness, perhaps violence isn’t the answer. What if we could make peace with this turtle? I, Percival the Peacemaker, have tamed insane savages and belligerent brutes. I have halted great wars from ravaging the lands. I have even tamed the wildest of dragons. All living things can be brought to peace, and I shall do so with this giant turtle. It will no longer menace your people when my work is done.” Percival rose to his feet and stood sincere with his words, pulling on his wiry mustache.
Tame it… I never would’ve thought of that, thought the king. Delighted, the king seated himself at his throne and spoke. “Very well, I am impressed. You, Peacemaker, shall go first to challenge the beast, if you believe it can be tamed. If not, one of you must kill it. You must be cautious, noble champions. The turtle eats anyone on sight.”
The wood and metal doors to the king’s court slammed open against the interior stone walls and a stocky character entered the room. Everyone in the court turned to see who was trudging down the prolonged carpet; a man who stood slightly taller than half the king, with skin that looked like rusted iron, and olivine green eyes glancing around the room.
“What is the meaning of this? Are you a dwarf?” asked King Impolius, one brow higher than the other.
“I be a dwarf. The name’s Borgal, pleased to meet you, good king.”
“What is that smell,” someone in the court asked. Everyone near Borgal backed away, for this dwarf smelled like he had bathed in an abominable bog. Borgal was dressed in worn leather and his slimy beard was hued mud brown, blotted with dried snot.
“What are you doing here?” King Impolius asked, folding his arms.
“I’ve come to challenge the turtle,” Borgal spoke, patting a fist to his chest. The room suddenly filled with everyone’s laugher and ridicule – a noise that echoed off the walls, up the heightened ceiling of the court, and bounced back down. Borgal tried his best to ignore it, but he grunted with a fury.
The king raised a hand indicating silence. “You would face a creature of great size that eats anyone who goes near it. I’ve lost some of my best soldiers to this beast, and now a puny dwarf wants to fight it? Don’t be foolish. This turtle will devour you!”
Borgal produced a wrinkled letter from his pocket. “Says here those of you willing to challenge this giant turtle, come to Beldrin. I be here and I be willing!” Borgal roared.
“Fine!” barked the king. “But it is your life to waste.” Borgal grunted again and then left the room as everyone began laughing again. When the repulsive dwarf was gone, everyone had settled down and the king spoke. “I have faith that you three will succeed tomorrow. The turtle has already come and gone today. It comes at midday to feed, but tomorrow will be different. Now go get some rest. Tomorrow you will rise early and prepare yourselves.”
That night, King Impolius shared a delicious feast with Wayndoro, Magorius, Percival, and offered them ornate guestrooms to sleep in. Borgal, however, was forced to sleep outside because not even the most generous could bear his odor. He said he didn’t mind and crawled into a pile of hay in Beldrin’s streets and slept with surprising comfort.
That next day the heroes woke at sunrise and prepared themselves as King Impolius had ordered. Wayndoro put on plated armor and practiced swinging his sword around. Magorius meditated beneath the sun to harness its heat. Percival and a few of the king’s cooks made delectable steaks that could serve fifty people – or one giant turtle.
“This turtle is hungry, no doubt,” Percival spoke. “We must satisfy its needs before we tame it. This, my friends, is how you pacify beasts.”
Midday came sooner than the king had hoped, but the heroes said they were ready. Confident that his champions would protect him, King Impolius stood outside Beldrin’s walls on the rocky field that surrounded the castle. Borgal showed up late armed with a shoddy war hammer.
“You call that a weapon?” Wayndoro chuckled.
“It be just as much of a weapon as yours,” said Borgal, angered were his green eyes.
“Stand away from me, little dwarf,” Magorius guarded his nose. “My magic cannot shield me from your stink.”
“Please leave, dwarf. I say this for your safety,” Percival spoke. “Go back to the comfort of your home and let us heroes deal with the beast.”
“Agreed,” King Impolius said. “I don’t need you, dwarf. Just go home.”
“I have just as much a right to challenge the beast as any of you!” Borgal growled.
“Like I said before: it is your life to waste,” spoke the king.
There was an enduring silence before Borgal spoke, “It be coming. I hear it.” This dwarf had a keen sense of hearing with his bulgy ears protruding out of his scruffy hair like mug handles.
The ground began to shake and it became clear the horrendous reptile was near. It plowed through a cluster of distant trees and onto the open field, extending its savage head out for another meal. The turtle’s thundering steps and spiked shell were enough to shatter the morale of any ordinary man, but its size – this behemoth was like the pet of a god.
“Arise, heroes,” King Impolius spoke, “show me the meaning of courage!”
A mound of steaming steak was piled in a cart once used for mining. With no hesitation at all, Percival pushed the cart of steak out onto the field. When the peacemaker got close enough, he placed the cart in front of the turtle and backed away.
“You are a magnificent creature – like nothing I have seen before,” Percival said. The beast sniffed the steaks with its gargantuan snout and gobbled it up – it even ate the cart. “What an appetite you have, great turtle. I am Percival the Peacemaker. I am your friend. I can give you more if you like, but you got to –” Percival was unable to finish his sentence, for he, too, was gobbled up.
“I was afraid of this. It cannot be tamed,” King Impolius said.
Magorius was next. He approached the turtle on the field holding his wrinkled hands up to the noon sun. Eyes flaring with the supernatural, the spell caster began speaking in a peculiar language that could only be understood by other magicians. Two seconds later, both of the magicians’ hands ignited into multi-colored flames. The turtle thrust its snout forward but Magorius then released a dazzling wave of fire like the sun would release a solar flare. The blast combusted wildly and the beast growled in pain.
“Excellent!” King Impolius cheered. “Burn you gluttonous fiend!”
When the blaze faded, the monster was furious, shaking its head, and snapping at Magorius with great vigor. The magician prepared another wave of fire, but before he could release it, the turtle’s snout opened wide and struck forward. Magorius, too, was gobbled up.
With sudden dismay, the king turned to Wayndoro, who felt the same way.
“This is suicide!” the warrior panicked. “Forget about the silver and what I said before. I’m out of here!”
“You can’t leave!” The king exclaimed, but Wayndoro took off. The turtle was drawing nearer, and King Impolius felt like spiders crawled up his spine. He looked at Borgal, hopeless.
“Have faith, good king,” Borgal patted a fist to his chest and then rushed into the field as fast as his puny legs could take him. When Borgal approached the turtle, he readied to swing his hammer, but he, too, was gobbled up.
“We’re doomed,” King Impolius said to himself. “All of Beldrin is doomed.” He was reluctant to run away, immobilized by his own despair. The king turned around to see the precious walls of Beldrin. There was a breach in one section of the walls, courtesy of the giant turtle; fragmented stones toppled over each other and a space this beast could easily pass through. The turtle will keep coming back until my castle is reduced to rubble. And my citizens – they will all become food!
Suddenly, the giant monster growled with discontent and spat out Borgal. This dwarf may have smelled bad, but he tasted even worse. Borgal was drenched in a blob of saliva, still wielding his war hammer. The sight of this made King Impolius’s heart jump. The turtle snapped at Borgal, but the dwarf dodged this attack and clasped his hands on the beast’s nostrils. It tried to shake him off, jerking its head around in the air for its dear life. The more the turtle swung its head around, the more Borgal refused to let go, keeping his eyes closed to avoid dizziness. The turtle’s vigor slowed and eventually its energy stopped. Growling with exhaustion, the monster glared at the little dwarf hanging from its nose. Borgal was quick to act: he climbed atop the beast’s domed head and slammed an incredible blow right in the space between the beast’s infernal orange eyes. With a final weak cry, the turtle’s legs gave out and its colossal body stumbled to the ground.
At that moment, King Impolius felt a chill of awe, like seeing a clear sky after being underground for twenty years. With a great gust of relief, the king made his way out to Borgal who was wiping the saliva off his clothes and beard.
“Ugh! This be disgusting,” Borgal growled, goop oozing from his hands, “even for me.”
King Impolius smiled. “You’ve done it! How could I have doubted you?”
“It be ok, good king,” Borgal said and started walking away.
“Where are you going? We must celebrate! And I owe you ten thousand pieces of silver,” spoke King Impolius, so full of cheer.
“Keep it. I didn’t do this for silver,” said the dwarf. “Besides there be plenty of that back home. It’s far away so I best be going.”
“Then at least I can give you a horse,” King Impolius spoke.
“There be no need for a horse,” Borgal said, wiping the last bit of saliva off his shoulder.
“Then all I can give you is my utmost thanks,” the king spoke. “Go if you wish, but I shall tell everyone how the giant turtle was struck down by a dwarf. I have witnessed true heroism today.” A smile appeared through Borgal’s bushy beard. The stocky dwarf then treaded into the distance with his hammer resting on his shoulder. King Impolius watched him until he vanished in the mountainous horizon.
