Castle War

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Incarnadine, lord of the western pale, sat in state on the Siege Perilous.

“Bring in the prisoner.”

High in the cavernous chamber, a bat screeched. Something small and furry skittered across the floor and vanished into a shadowy corner.

Wrists manacled, the prisoner shuffled in, dragged by two Guardsmen. He was pushed to the floor in front of the throne.

“Rise.”

Chuckling, the prisoner got up slowly. His frayed gray tunic was filthy, his black tights torn and ripped.

“Your Majesty. How kind of you to grant me audience.”

“We welcome our faithful vassal, Sir Gene Ferraro.”

The irony fairly dripped.

“How does His Majesty fare?”

“It goes well with us.” His Serene and Transcendent Majesty smiled crookedly. “You, on the other hand, look rather pale and haggard. Aren’t my jailers treating you properly?”

“Not a day goes by when I am not the beneficiary of their kind attentions.”

“I am glad. Getting enough to eat?”

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