exploit them to my own
purposes.”
The battle outside was gaining momentum: the warrior calls, the overlapping grunts of the dying. A bloodied minister stumbled into the tent. “My liege, Homburg Molly has escaped.” “What do you mean escaped?” Arch shouted. “How could she have escaped when her every movement sent her dizzy to the floor?”
“Pardon, my liege,” said the minister, “she didn’t escape so much as she was rescued. By her mother. And Hatter Madigan.”
“Hatter Madigan is here?” Redd asked.
But Arch was too busy railing and cursing to answer. He stomped and punched the air, and after a particularly forceful flogging of his invisible foes, Redd said, “Your rage is impressive, Archy, but the pressures of ruling are clearly too much for you. I think I’ll take control of Boarderland and let you get some rest.”
Arch’s tantrum was gone in a moment. When he spoke, he had the tone and manner of an indulgent uncle. “Redd, I ask this with utmost respect to your imagination, but…” He made a show of counting The Cat, Vollrath, Siren, and Alistaire. “…I see only four supporters. Even with your imagination, you can’t defeat my forces.”
“Quite right,” Redd said, and with a dip of her scepter, the tents of the entire Doomsine encampment fell to the ground.
They were surrounded. Armed warriors from all twenty-one of Boarderland’s tribes had encircled the camp and stood awaiting their orders.
Redd raised her voice loud enough to be heard by all. “Arch, I introduce you to my army! Army, this is your former king!”
“With Redd at our head, we are all equal!” the tribes called in unison. “This isn’t possible,” Arch breathed. “It’s one of your imaginative tricks.” “Is it?” With the speed of an orb generator exploding from a cannon, she shot a black and thorny rose vine from the raisin-heart crowning her scepter. Seeking a victim at random from amid her new army, the vine wrapped around an Onu and strangled him. “Constructs of my imagination are not able to die,” she said. “So you see how wrong you are, Archy.” “But how?” the king whispered. “How did you—” “You have me to thank,” said a voice, and out from under a collapsed tent crawled Jack of Diamonds. “You?” Arch said.
Jack bowed. “I’m ecstatic to be the instrument of your ruin, Your Former Majesty. It’s the least you deserve for betraying my family.”
“Yes,” Redd sighed, “as much as I like to take credit for other people’s accomplishments as well as my own, in this instance, Archy, I have to admit, it was Jack’s idea to convince the tribes to fight for me and his efforts that brought it about. But all annoying fops must come to an end. I have no more use for Jack,
The battle outside was gaining momentum: the warrior calls, the overlapping grunts of the dying. A bloodied minister stumbled into the tent. “My liege, Homburg Molly has escaped.” “What do you mean escaped?” Arch shouted. “How could she have escaped when her every movement sent her dizzy to the floor?”
“Pardon, my liege,” said the minister, “she didn’t escape so much as she was rescued. By her mother. And Hatter Madigan.”
“Hatter Madigan is here?” Redd asked.
But Arch was too busy railing and cursing to answer. He stomped and punched the air, and after a particularly forceful flogging of his invisible foes, Redd said, “Your rage is impressive, Archy, but the pressures of ruling are clearly too much for you. I think I’ll take control of Boarderland and let you get some rest.”
Arch’s tantrum was gone in a moment. When he spoke, he had the tone and manner of an indulgent uncle. “Redd, I ask this with utmost respect to your imagination, but…” He made a show of counting The Cat, Vollrath, Siren, and Alistaire. “…I see only four supporters. Even with your imagination, you can’t defeat my forces.”
“Quite right,” Redd said, and with a dip of her scepter, the tents of the entire Doomsine encampment fell to the ground.
They were surrounded. Armed warriors from all twenty-one of Boarderland’s tribes had encircled the camp and stood awaiting their orders.
Redd raised her voice loud enough to be heard by all. “Arch, I introduce you to my army! Army, this is your former king!”
“With Redd at our head, we are all equal!” the tribes called in unison. “This isn’t possible,” Arch breathed. “It’s one of your imaginative tricks.” “Is it?” With the speed of an orb generator exploding from a cannon, she shot a black and thorny rose vine from the raisin-heart crowning her scepter. Seeking a victim at random from amid her new army, the vine wrapped around an Onu and strangled him. “Constructs of my imagination are not able to die,” she said. “So you see how wrong you are, Archy.” “But how?” the king whispered. “How did you—” “You have me to thank,” said a voice, and out from under a collapsed tent crawled Jack of Diamonds. “You?” Arch said.
Jack bowed. “I’m ecstatic to be the instrument of your ruin, Your Former Majesty. It’s the least you deserve for betraying my family.”
“Yes,” Redd sighed, “as much as I like to take credit for other people’s accomplishments as well as my own, in this instance, Archy, I have to admit, it was Jack’s idea to convince the tribes to fight for me and his efforts that brought it about. But all annoying fops must come to an end. I have no more use for Jack,