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  SLAY AND RESCUE

  Copyright © 1993 by John Moore

  All rights reserved.

  Published as an eBook in 2019 by JABberwocky Literary Agency, Inc.

  Originally published by Baen Books in 1993.

  Cover illustration by Ajid.

  ISBN 978-1-625674-53-1

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  JABberwocky Literary Agency, Inc.

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  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Slay and Rescue

  Also by John Moore

  Thanks to the members of Houston Ritual Breakfast, for their support and enthusiasm

  THE WIZARD WAS EVIL. Really evil. Evil with no redeeming qualities. He created plagues that fouled the air of the surrounding countryside. He created pestilences that poisoned the water of the villages downstream from his castle. He murdered lonely travelers, grinding up their bones for his powders and boiling their blood for his potions. He tortured small, furry animals in bizarre necrotic experiments. He pulled the wings off butterflies. Not for any magical reasons. Just for fun.

  He never wrote his mother, not even on her birthday. At the marketplace he always squeezed the fruit too hard, leaving it unfit to sell. He welshed on bets. When he stopped at a local tavern (in disguise, of course), he drank freely of others’ largess but would never buy a round himself.

  The Princess Gloria, on the other hand, was sweet, pure, chaste, and innocent. She was also chained to a wooden table in a locked room in the highest tower of the wizard’s castle. The Princess Gloria was not crying. She had cried continuously for four days and eventually decided that it wasn’t going to do her the least bit of good. Her only hope of survival lay in being rescued by an outside party. In which case, it certainly wouldn’t do to be found with her eyes red and puffy. If she was killed, well, it wouldn’t matter.

  Also present were the wizard’s two henchmen, dimwitted thugs and ugly to boot, but effective enough in the physical violence end of the business. Now that the actual job of kidnapping was over, they weren’t really needed, but the wizard felt safer with a couple of bodyguards around. Besides, seeing a beautiful naked girl in chains was a treat for them. They were kinky that way.

  The wizard Magellan bustled around the small room, setting out knives and beakers and flasks. His plan was to drain the blood from Gloria’s living body; the blood of a virgin princess being very useful for all manner of dastardly spells, particularly if taken between midnight and sunrise. It was a warm night and he opened the small window. A faint breeze made the candles flicker, throwing dancing shadows against the stone walls.

  “It’s not that I like hearing children cry. Oh no, far from it. I’m a soft hearted man and crying really bothers me. Sets my teeth on edge. And the screaming! Between midnight and dawn, that should give us nearly five hours of screaming. You scream, don’t you? Don’t shake your head like that. I can tell you’re a screamer. My nerves are jangling already. I’d much prefer to stuff a gag in your mouth, but it throws off the dynamics of the magic.” Magellan had a tendency to babble when he was doing something really nasty.

  The princess cringed. The wizard laughed evilly. The two thugs chuckled. The stage was now set for the entrance of Prince Charming.

  He timed it beautifully.

  The clock, a tacky ornate thing of copper and brass, chimed the midnight hour. Magellan did not hurry. He always set his clocks a little bit fast so he wouldn’t be late. He picked up a knife, a slender, curved blade whose wicked gleam bespoke a past filled with torture and mutilation. (The knife had actually been designed for cleaning fish and, in fact, the handle was marked off in inches so you could measure your catch.) Magellan tested the irons on the girl’s wrist with a short tug (she cringed again) and slowly, gently, lovingly, placed the blade against her skin. The Princess Gloria closed her eyes. The two thugs leaned in for a better view. There came a knock at the door.

  They all stopped and looked.

  The knock wasn’t a knock exactly. It was louder and more forceful. More penetrating. It was the sound made by a heavy blow on an oak door with a double-bladed ax. The tip of the ax was even protruding through the door, as if to remove any doubt. As the conspirators stood dumbfounded, the blade was withdrawn. Seconds later it struck another shattering blow that left the door hanging in splinters from its hinges. A mighty kick followed the blow and, with a confidence fortified by virtue and righteousness, in strode a tall, well-muscled figure.

  “It’s Prince Charming!” cried the Princess Gloria, combining adulation and relief with recognition.

  “It’s Prince Charming,” echoed the two thugs, though not with the same joy as the Princess.

  “Oh shit,” said Magellan.

  Prince Charming gave the Princess a smile that was meant to be reassuring. It was. He had a great smile. She warmed right down to the tips of her toes. The prince was young, just seventeen, and his golden hair hung in loose curls to his shoulders, the result of an hour with an iron curling wand. His boots gleamed — hard rubbing with pig fat. His right hand lay negligently on the hilt of sword, his left hand displayed a gold ring with the royal seal. His silk shirt was open to his chest, just enough to display a light growth of blond hair and clearly defined pectoral muscles, while his silk-lined cape hung from his broad shoulders. His beardless face was bright with boyish charm and enthusiasm, but his eyes were gray as a winter’s sky and just as cold when they set on the Wizard.

  “Well, hello Maggie. What are you up to?”

  “Don’t call me Maggie,” snapped the Wizard and immediately got angry with himself for letting this kid get him angry.

  “You know you’ll never get those bloodstains out of a white pine table.”

  “What are you talking about? That’s beechwood. I paid forty shillings for it.” Magellan got even angrier for letting himself get sidetracked into this stupid digression.

  “Pine,” said the Prince. He walked over casually and scraped the table with his dagger, revealing a faint white streak. “See. It’s been stained.” He winked at the Princess. She giggled.

  This was quite enough for Magellan. He was a great and powerful wizard, feared throughout the land, and no young punk was going to make a fool out of him in his own castle. Prince or no Prince. “Kill him,” he snapped.

  Reflexively his two henchmen drew their swords and descended upon Charming. Almost immediately however, discretion got the better of valor and both they stopped after one step, each with a foot in the air. “Uh, Boss,” said one. “It’s, uh, you know. It’s Prince Charming.”

  The Prince breathed onto his nails and buffed them against his shirt. His sword still rested in its scabbard.

  “Oh, get him,” snapped the Wizard. “He’s not so much. There’s two of you, after all.”

  His minion nodded, gulped, and leaped forward, sword raised to strike. His stroke never fell. The Prince moved like quicksilver. His arm swept in a fluid arc, blindingly fast yet completely relaxed. With one liquid motion he drew his sword and sliced a thin red line across the henchman’s throat. Then he stepped aside. The thug lunged past and collapsed against the table, his neatly severed head following his body to the floor by only a second.

  The Princess Gloria was totally grossed out.

  The dead man’s partner opted for a sudden career change. He dropped his sword and bolted
for the door. The sound of his boots could be heard clattering down the long spiral staircase. Then there was silence.

  Magellan and Charming considered each other. Magellan knew a dozen spells that could have vaporized the young prince instantly. He knew spells that could have left him in constant agony for a year before letting him die. He knew spells that did things far worse than death. Unfortunately, all these spells had one thing in common. They required advance preparation. Some required only a little, but none could be inflicted right now. The wizard had been too busy setting up the bloodletting, relying on his now departed cohorts to provide security.

  The Prince was holding his sword at shoulder height. The tip was angled slightly down, straight at Magellan’s heart. It was not a friendly gesture. Magellan decided that a strategic withdrawal was called for.

  “You haven’t heard the last of me, Charming,” he said menacingly and immediately decided that it sounded hokey, which it did. “I’ll be back,” he added, which sounded even hokier. “Fuck it,” he finished, and dove out the window.

  “Oh,” said the Princess.

  The Prince calmly sheathed his sword and leaned out the window. Magellan was falling quite slowly, his cloak streaming up behind him. Then suddenly his clothes seemed to collapse inward. Then they separated, the robe, boots, socks, and hat floating to the ground of their own accord, while from their midst a large black bird appeared. It beat its wings and flew off into the cloudless sky.

  The Prince was unperturbed. He called, “Wendell!” and a boy appeared.

  His page was ten years old and staggered under the weight of a huge knapsack. The fully packed duffel bags he held in each hand didn’t help either. He piled the gear on the floor, glanced disinterestedly at the Princess, and sat down on the knapsack, breathing heavily. He said, “One hundred and eighty-one steps.”

  “Peregrine,” said Charming.

  “Right.” In spite of his fatigue, Wendell got right to work. He untied the knapsack and removed a small, covered cage. The cage proved to contain a falcon, which he handed to the Prince, exchanging it for Charming’s sword. Charming removed the bird’s hood, stroked it twice, and brought it to the window where it disappeared into the night. He then turned his full attention to the Princess Gloria.

  The Princess Gloria was occupied with two conflicting trains of thought.

  One. She was going to live.

  Two. She was going to die of embarrassment. He was standing right there beside her, the brave, the handsome, the legendary Prince Charming (wait till she told the other girls) and he was looking at her body. And she was totally naked. Not only that but her hair was a mess, she had no make-up on, and (oh my God!) her toenails were dirty. She wished she were dead, right now.

  The Prince was not, however, looking at Gloria’s nubile body. With a great effort of willpower, he kept his eyes fixed firmly on her face. Then in a gesture of theatrical chivalry, he swept his cape from his shoulders and covered her from feet to neck. The Princess Gloria gave an audible sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

  “It is my pleasure to be of service, dear lady,” the Prince said solemnly. “Wendell!”

  Wendell finished wiping down the Prince’s sword with an oily cloth and rummaged through one of the duffels for a hammer and chisel. With these he attacked the princess’s chains. Charming, meanwhile, came up with a silver-backed hairbrush and mirror. As soon as her hands were free, he passed these to Gloria. It wasn’t the first such rescue he’d performed, and he was getting to know the ropes. First, though, he gave himself a surreptitious glance in the mirror to make sure his own hair was still perfect.

  There was a beating of wings at the window. The falcon returned bearing a dead bird in its talons. A raven. The Prince examined it without surprise, dropped it into a leather bag, and fed the falcon a piece of meat.

  Wendell had freed the Princess Gloria’s arms and was making short work of her leg irons. When he was finished, she stood up. Although she was small, her regal bearing impressed the two boys. With the cape wrapped around her, her hair brushed back, and her chin held high, she was the very picture of good breeding. She curtsied once and then spoke to Charming. “Your Highness, may I speak to you in confidence?”

  “Wendell!”

  “On my way out,” said Wendell, vanishing down the stairs. Charming gave the girl what he hoped was his most dazzling smile. “Proceed, dear lady.”

  The girl returned Charming’s smile with a weak smile of her own. Then she cast her eyes downward and twisted her hands. “Your Highness, you have saved my life.”

  “Well, I’m glad I was able to arrive in time.” Charming did not mention he had scouted the place out and waited in a nearby wood for three hours just to make a dramatic last-minute rescue.

  “I owe you a debt of gratitude that I can never repay.”

  The Prince let his eyes flicker to her breasts. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” he said hopefully.

  “I come from a small kingdom, your Highness, and although I am a true princess, I am the last of many sisters whose doweries must be established before mine. I have no jewels or treasure to offer you.”

  Charming’s pulse beat faster. “Think nothing of those. The knowledge of your happiness is reward enough.”

  “Still, I have been taught since birth that a debt of honor must be paid, that a favor accepted must be reciprocated, and that courage and” — she blushed — “virtue should be rewarded.”

  “Sounds good,” said the Prince. “I mean, if that’s the way you feel, I won’t argue with you.” A slight beading of sweat broke out on his upper lip. He moved closer to the Princess. She looked up at him with limpid eyes. Her breathing now came fast and shallow.

  “Still, there is but one favor I can offer you.”

  “Oh yes.” The Prince took both her hands in his and looked deep into her eyes.

  “Honor demands that honor be sacrificed,” she murmured. “Do you understand what I mean?”

  “Yes, darling,” breathed the Prince, pulling her close. “I have long waited for this moment.”

  “Good.” And with that word the Princess Gloria screwed her eyes shut, clenched her jaw, stood up on tip-toes and kissed Prince Charming.

  On the cheek.

  She quickly ducked out from his arms and scooted over to the stairs, giving him the satisfied look of one who has just completed a noble deed. Then she blushed deeply once more, and giggled.

  Not a word of disappointment escaped the Prince’s lips. Not by the slightest frown, not by the merest twitch of an eyebrow did he show that he had hoped for something more substantial than a single chaste kiss. No, neither by word nor deed did he ever betray the expectation that the Princess Gloria was anything but sweet, pure, chaste, and innocent in every way.

  After all, they didn’t call him Prince Charming for nothing.

  THE SUN ROSE ON A LAND verdant with green fields and lush pastures, a land whose swollen streams swam with trout, whose tall, deep forests ran with deer, a land whose cobblestoned roads and well-tended hamlets bustled with trade and the cheerful activities of a happy populace. It was the Kingdom of Illyria, not the biggest, but certainly the most prosperous of the many kingdoms that lay along a broad corridor between the mountains and the sea. It was, as were all the twenty kingdoms, an ancient land, replete with history and legend. There were families with lines of descendency unbroken for a hundred generations, wells that had given water for a thousand years, castles whose very stones were crumbling with age. They were lands steeped in tradition, lands whose people much valued honor, justice, and family. They liked men who were strong and brave, women who were beautiful and loyal, kittens that were warm and fuzzy, maidens who were sweet, pure, chaste, and innocent, and dogs that didn’t drool too much. Anyway, Illyria was, above all, an enchanted land, a magic land (as were they all in those days), a land brimming with the strange and wonderful. And it was a land that made heroes.

  For despite Illyria’s general prosperity, its cheerfulness an
d good humor, its strong moral code, its close-knit fabric of family and social ties, there were still citizens of evil intent. There were those of sick minds and deviant behavior. There were those who let a lust for wealth and power overcome them. And there were those who were just kind of pissed off at the world.

  Prince Charming harbored no evil intentions, but this morning he fell into the category of pissed off at the world. His boots echoed against the polished oak floor of his father’s castle and his leather game bag slapped against his side. He was preparing to have an argument with his father and, in his mind, he was already rehearsing the bitter retorts he would make to the king’s refusal of his request. For the moment, however, he made what he considered a valiant effort to keep the conversation light and pleasant. “Did you see the mammaries on that girl, Wendell? They were perfect. And the way they held their shape when she walked! I’ll bet they’re firmer than my biceps. And my God, the way her nipples stood out! They practically poked right through the cloak.”

  “Sire,” said Wendell, “may I speak frankly?”

  “Sure, Wendell. Go ahead.”

  “Shut up! You have spoken of nothing but the Princess Gloria’s breasts the whole four-day ride back to the castle!”

  “They were great breasts, Wendell. When you’re older you’ll appreciate breasts like that.”

  “Yuck,” said Wendell. “I hate girls.”

  “Not for much longer.”

  “They always want to muss my hair. I hate that.”

  “You’ll change your mind.”

  “Hah! Anyway, let’s talk about something interesting. Like fishing. Or eating. Peaches are coming into season. I’ll bet Cooky makes a peach pie for dessert tonight. What do you think?”

  “Speaking of ripe peaches,” said the Prince in his best deadpan, “did you see the…”

  “Oh Lord,” said Wendell. “Just stuff it, will you?”

  They reached the end of the great hallway and were faced with a massive carved oak door, with a smaller, newer carved oak door in its side. The big door was decorated with deep relief scenes of a hunt in progress. There were men on horseback, dogs, archers, stag, boar, and bear. The smaller door showed either a cannon and a stack of cannonballs, or a mermaid eating a sea turtle; it was hard to tell which. There were pieces like this scattered throughout the castle. Charming had once commented on them to the castle decorator and had been rewarded with a forty-minute lecture on “non-representational art.” It had taught him to keep his mouth shut about art.