The worst part was the High Priest. When the news about orcish invasion got around, some decided to run. Some decided to hide. Some decided to wait and hope for the best. And some decided all was lost and decided to enjoy themselves. The High Priest was one of them. In his case, enjoyment meant heavy drinking. He looked as if he had passed out in a henhouse and then someone dragged him out and forced to do the ceremony. It was almost true. For some unknown reason, he had passed out in the Imperial Pigeonhouse, and after a long search was found there by one of the servants. The Master of Ceremony himself dragged him out just in time. The Codex said that the High Priest had to be the one to perform the coronation, so the High Priest was going do that. No leeway in this matter. No option for a last-minute substitution, no option to fire him and get a new one. High Priest was chosen for life. In view of that, the Master of Ceremony briefly considered murdering the current one. It would certainly be a breach of protocol, but having the coronation performed by someone covered in pigeon crap was surely an even bigger one. It was certainly tempting, but finally the Master of Ceremony decided against it, if only for the reason that finding an eligible candidate and anointing him at such a short notice was next to impossible.
The High Priest was in place, although a bit wobbly. The Emperor-elect was in place, although a bit fidgety. Some High Lords were in place, although a bit restless. Some public was present, also rather restless, but nothing a few nice threats couldn't solve, at least temporarily. The show could start...
"Whattar we doin again? Marriage?" the High Priest whispered. At least he thought he whispered.
"Abortion," Count Blueparrot said in a rare display of morbid humour.
"Virgin birth," Earl Blazingtree seconded. They had no sympathy for the High Priest. The Count basically had no sympathy for anyone, and the Earl felt that the High Priest was disgracing his holy office. Philigree was pleasantly surprised that he won't be the only one making fun of the priest, but then he felt he couldn't allow himself to be outdone by these amateurs.
"You're to marry him to a goat!"
The High Priest looked around in confusion. "Derez no goat!"
"You are one!"
"Please stop that," the Master of Ceremony requested. The drunken wretch deserved all the insults as far as he was concerned, but not during the ceremony. "It is a coronation. Don't listen to them."
"Yeah, carry on!" the Duke said. "Some of us have... fish to catch."
"Yes indeed! We're all going to catch some trout afterwards!" The Hiwelthadt started laughing uncontrollably.
"Shut up!"
"Coronate me, you fool!" impatient Mevrin shouted at the priest.
"Nudsoloud please," the priest murmured weakly. All this shouting made his head hurt even more. "Gimme sum crown and lets do it."
"What about the prayer?" the Master of Ceremony insisted. He didn't even mention the Imperial Mimes, because they had all run away. In a very artistic way, of course. Neither did he mention the psalms. Having the High Priest sing in his current state didn't seem like a good idea. Mimes and psalms were optional in any case, but the prayer wasn't and the Master of Ceremony wasn't going to give up on that.
"Right, right... uh... oh, lurdoflight who... uhhh.... shines... idunremmbr."
"What do you mean you don't remember? You're the High Priest, you have to remember that prayer!"
"Tss not like I do cororonashun evrrday. Myheadhurrrtz."
"I can do this," the Earl volunteered.
"This is highly irre..." the Master of Ceremony started, but the Duke interrupted him.
"Want the prayer or not? Let him do it!" The Master of Ceremony nodded reluctantly. "And don't dawdle! We don't have all day, you know!" Ever since the news about the orcs Duke Thinoak was rather jumpy, which generously contributed to the amount of holes in the corridors of the Imperial Castle.
Earl Blazingtree stepped up and took a deep breath. "Oh Lord of Light who shines on us day and night week and month every year since the dawn of time here we stand your humble servants on this great day!" He gasped for breath. "Please in your great wisdom and general knowledgeableness grant that man who will be made Emperor on this glorious day some of that wisdom so that he will be a good one as opposed to bad one and maybe a bit better than the average one!" Another gasp. "We beg you make his reign long and fortuitous without flood nor famine drought nor tornados locusts nor vermin giant frogs nor reindeer and most certainly not enormous man-eating albatrosses!"
"Certainly not albatrosses!" the crowd replied.
"Cannui coroborobonate now?"
"Yes. Bring the crown!"
A servant appeared. He was holding a red pillow, upon which the crown rested. He seemed a bit overwhelmed by his task. He stepped on the dais and froze, not knowing what to do.
"Bring it here," the Master of Ceremony urged him on. The servant tried to do that, but he apparently couldn't decide which leg to move first and he fell down. The crown rolled on the ground.
"Clumsy oaf!" the Duke roared.
"Have him beheaded!" Mevrin seconded.
"Can't get decent servants these days," the Count complained. The servant stuttered some sort of apology, backed out and ran away. Meanwhile Philigree grabbed the crown.
"Hey, look, I'm the Emperor now!" He laughed crazily and put the crown on his head. Upside down.
"Stop fooling around!" the Duke berated him. "Give the crown back and let's end this farce!"
"This is highly..."
"Irregular, yes, I know." The Hiwelthadt laughed again. He took the crown off. "Hey, priesty, catch!"
The crown flew towards the High Priest. He tried to catch it, but fumbled horribly. It fell on the ground again, and he with it.
"See what you did!" the Count complained.
"Yeah, nice going, newtbutt!" the Duke agreed.
"Will someone coronate me?!" Mevrin wasn't sure what was going on, but was getting quite upset. He suspected that people shouldn't be throwing the crown around and falling down. The Master of Ceremony picked up the crown and helped the High Priest to get up.
"Gonna puke," the priest muttered. The Master of Ceremony paid no attention to that. He handed him the crown.
"Don't drop it! Coronate him!" He pointed him in the direction of the Emperor.
"In the name of Lord of Light and for the glory of the Empire, I declare you our new Emperor!" High Priest said surprisingly intelligibly and put the crown on Mevrin's head. There was some cheering. Mevrin waved at whoever cared. The High Priest went to the side, bent over and puked.
"As my first edict, I sentence that priest guy to be kicked in his butt for puking during the coronation!" Mevrin declared and promptly carried out the sentence. The High Priest fell into the puddle of his own vomit. The Emperor turned around, hoping for some applause, but all he got were a few giggles from the guards. The public had already scattered in search for good hiding places and the High Lords were nowhere to be seen. Only rhythmic thumping was being heard, as if someone very overweight was attempting to run.
***
The dark lord wasn't too keen on getting burned alive. He used one of the most basic spells, which at the same time was one of the most useful. Magic shield. In theory, it could deflect just about anything. In practice, its effectivity depended on the caster's power. Abracabrachupacabra's spell was strong enough. The flames roared around him, yet he was unharmed.
"KILL HER!" he screamed above the noise, apparently unsure how long his arcane protection would last.
The guards fired at the sorceress, but that wasn't too bright on their part. The arrows burst into flames from the heat before even getting close. Upon seeing that, they spread around the room to aim from a less heated angle. Meanwhile five of them approached Vannard, swords in their hands.
"Fry, you bastard!" Saalteinamariva screamed. The dark lord so far wasn't complying, but he was under some strain.
Vannard smiled at his opponents. "Hi!" Two knives left his palms simultaneously. One of the guards fell b
ackwards with a knife in his eye. The other one managed to dodge, but that made them hesitate. The assassin didn't wait. He ran towards the door the sorceress had entered through. When he was behind her, he grabbed her by the right hand and pulled her after him.
"What are you doing?!" she shouted angrily just as some arrows hit the wall, exactly where she had been standing a second ago. "You saved my life!?" she asked incredulously, while being dragged down the corridor and still shooting flames from her left hand.
"I did. Thought that would annoy you," he replied, turning a corner.
"You thought right. You can stop dragging me now!"
"Aww, and here I was enjoying myself," he replied, but let her go.
"Do you think they'll come after us?" she asked, running on her own now.
"What are you waiting for?! After them! Don't let them get away!" a voice came from the distance.
"Yes, I think they will," Vannard replied. "That's nice."
"Nice?! We're running away from them!"
"Yes. They had advantage in the open space. Here they don't. You can now turn around and fry them."
"Oh. Right."
The guards might have been skilled, but they lacked foresight. Their logic was simple: if enemies were running away, it meant that they were weak, and it also meant that they would be defeated if caught up with. The dark lord himself also fell victim to that simplified thinking and he urged them forward. What they didn't consider was the fact that in the chamber they could have fired at the sorceress from multiple angles, and also that she was focused on trying to turn the dark lord into a human torch.
The result of this tactical inability was a corridor filled with guards and also filled with fire. The guards underwent some rapid changes, first turning into burning and screaming guards, then into guards deep fried in armour, and finally into smouldering corpses.
"Very nice," Vannard said.
"What would you have done without me?"
"Killed them one at the time, I guess. Maybe not as efficient, but way more fun."
"Speaking of efficiency... let's go get that bastard before he runs away!"
The bastard didn't run away. Apparently the screams of the burning guards didn't give him a hint.
"So, you defeated my guards. It matters not. You are strong, but you are only the master of fire."
"And what was that supposed to mean?" Saalteinamariva asked.
"That I am the master of water. Water beats fire." The dark lord lifted his hands and a stream of water erupted from them.
"Hey! It's not my bath time yet!" Vannard complained as he moved away.
Saalteinamariva on the other hand didn't move away. She struck back. Water and fire collided in mid-air. Hot steam filled the chamber.
"If you wanted to go to a sauna, you could have said so!" the assassin joked.
"I want roast chicken!"
"Oh. Clever."
The dark lord's magic was clearly not up to par. His water evaporated quickly, yet the flames refused to be extinguished. He ended up crouching on the floor, trying to protect himself with his magic shield once again.
"Enjoying yourself, mister Roasty?" Vannard asked.
"I'm not dead yet! Emergency zombie guards!"
A portion of the walls opened and a bunch of zombies armed with swords stepped forward. Or slouched forward to be exact. Very, very slowly.
"Zombies? Seriously?" Vannard approached the lead zombie and knocked its sword out of its hand. And pulled its head off.
"Muuuuurgh!" the zombie head complained. The assassin threw it at another zombie's head, which also fell off.
"Headshot!"
"Stop playing with zombies! They are enemies, not toys!" Saalteinamariva berated him.
"You always spoil my fun!"
"That's because I hate you! Now get rid of them or I'll burn them!"
"Oh very well. You just keep frying lordy here."
"No worries. I like them overcooked."
Zombies attacked the assassin, but they were dreadfully slow. Why would anyone choose for guards things that moved in slow-motion and occasionally lost body parts was a mystery. Vannard grabbed another zombie, tore off its hands and proceeded to beat the rest of the undead with them.
"That's not the fastest way to get rid of them!" the sorceress complained.
"You're right, unfortunately. My arms seem to be broken." He threw away damaged zombie arms, grabbed a sword from another zombie and efficiently sliced the rest of his opponents into pieces. "Done. Still playing with your food?"
"Actually, I want to interrogate him."
Vannard sighed. "Stop frying him, then." She did. The dark lord was lying flat on the ground and sweating profusely. The duel tired him out. It didn't seem like he was willing or able to do anything, but the assassin hit a few of his sensitive spots, just in case. Or just for fun. "So, why did you want him alive?"
"I think it would be interesting to know why an Imperial Mage is playing some sort of an evil dark lord." She looked at the defeated man expectantly. The only thing he produced were some noises indicating that he was in pain.
"I SAID," she repeated louder, "that it would be interesting to KNOW, why were YOU playing that Abrasomething person!"
"I was bored..." he said, weakly.
"I'm bored, too," Vannard said.
"Better tell the truth before he gets really bored. Or before I get angry."
"The Archmage... told me to do it... to show how weak the Empire is... so he could... save the day... and take over."
"Now that's just silly," Vannard said.
"I think he's saying the truth," the sorceress said. "It would be a way too stupid lie."
"He could think you'd think that," the assassin pointed out.
"And you think too much. We should bring him to Ducky."
"What for?"
"So he can question him too. He's better at this."
"True. Oh well. What if he tries to escape? I'm no good with prisoners."
"Knock him out, duh. Then drag him out and put him in the carriage."
"I'm too lazy to drag him all that way!" Vannard complained.
"If you cut some bits off, he'll be lighter."
"Now that's an idea! Wait... what's that smell?" They looked around. The smell was coming from... their prisoner.
"Erm, oops," the dark lord said apologetically.
"That settles it. I'm not riding with this stinker!" the sorceress decided, visibly disgusted.
Vannard shrugged. "It was you who wanted to lug him with us anyway." A dagger flashed in his hand. At the same moment fire erupted from Saalteinamariva's fingertips.
***
Emperor Mevrin the First was sitting on the Imperial Throne, wearing the Imperial Crown and the Imperial Cape, holding the Imperial Sceptre and trying to be as Imperial as he could. One thing he was lacking were Imperial Advisors. They had all run away. So did the High Lords. He was left with a few guards, servants and such. Those too dumb or too loyal to run away, and not useful enough to go with the army. He also had the Master of Ceremony, his nanny and a castleful of commoners trying their best not to get thrown out of there.
"So, tell me, why there's nobody around?" he asked.
"The army went to fight the orcs, Highness," the Master of Ceremony replied, "and many people decided to leave. They were too afraid of the orcs to stay."
"Did I order them to?"
"No, Highness."
Mevrin considered that. He didn't like it. What does an Emperor do when the people don't do what he wants? Ah. Simple. "Order them beheaded."
"No need to be like that, dearie," the nanny said.
"Shut up. You, get on with the beheadings," he told the Master of Ceremony.
"It is difficult to behead them if they ran away, Highness," the Master of Ceremony pointed out. He wasn't too happy about this entire thing. "I can prepare a proclamation."
Mevrin had no idea what a proclamation was, but it sounded important and official. "Good enough. Now
, why aren't there more guards around?"
"Most went with the army, some ran away, and only a few are left, Highness."
"The army? What army? Why?"
"General Roseduck, Baron Oxrabbit and Marquis de Shaggysheep left with the army to fight against the orcish invasion," Master of Ceremony explained. Again. The new Emperor's memory wasn't good. Probably it had to do something with him being an Oxrabbit.
"Ah. If uncle is there, they'll win," the Emperor decided. "But meanwhile, we need more guards. Hire some."
"I'm sorry, Highness, there aren't many people left to hire, not to mention we will be hard-pressed to pay the army if it is victorious."
"When it is victorious," the Emperor corrected. "Not enough gold? Well, then we should... What's it called?"
"Highness?"
"You know, do that thing... that peasants don't like?" Mevrin hazarded.
"Peasants don't like many things, Highness," the Master of Ceremony replied, but he already knew where this was going. He was probably the most loyal person around, but it took him very little time to have quite a few doubts about this new Emperor.
"The one they hate the most. Heard my mother speak about that. They hate it when you... train pixies? Raze foxes?"
"Rise taxes?"
"Yes, that's it! Let's do that, and we'll hire more guards. And servants. And..." he hesitated. "And whores! Do we have any?"
"No, Highness, not really..."
"Shame on you, dearie!" the nanny spoke up. "Why would a decent young man like you want whores?!"
"Shut up, woman!" the Emperor shouted. "Ow! Ow! Ow!"
Enraged nanny produced her wooden spoon and started hitting Mevrin the First on the head. He stood up and tried to cover his head with his hands. His crown fell on the ground and rolled away.
"Guards! Guards!" he shouted, and two rather scrawny and scared guards entered.
"Raise the taxes, will you?! Hire whores, will you?! Bad Emperor! Bad Emperor!"
The guards tried to pull the nanny away, but they weren't doing a good job. They were the sort of guards that are left behind when everyone else goes fighting. They were supposed to overpower a woman hired to babysit young Oxrabbits. There was pushing, shoving, screaming, but it wasn't really a contest until reinforcements arrived. It took six guards to pull her away from Mevrin. They all received some vicious spoonwounds in the process.
"Take her to the dungeon!" When the nanny was dragged away, the Emperor picked up his sceptre and looked around for his crown, which had fallen down during the scramble. It was nowhere to be seen.