Satraps and Nightcrackle Tails

"I didn't sign up for this," Sir Neville said as he sat astride his warhorse, looking at the vast forest ahead of him.

"You most certainly did," Croyden said. Smoke curled from the dragon's nostrils as he regarded the knight.

I stood beside my horse and regarded the two of them. Sir Neville looked dashing upon his black warhorse, blue eyes glinting through his upraised visor, while Croyden was trying his best to look menacing, but I could see the worry in his eyes.

"You have to take the bad with the good," Croyden continued. "We got found out. It could have been worse, the Satrap could have killed us all."

Croyden, Sir Neville, and I have been running a scam for five years. I would sneak into a small village or hamlet and pick targets for Croyden to come in and destroy, stirring the townspeople into a frenzy. Then, Sir Neville and I would arrive and offer to kill the dragon. The grateful folk would accept our offer, Neville would kill the dragon, collect the reward, and suggest a celebratory feast. The key to our scam was that dragons were hard to kill, as they went into a death-like torpor once they suffered enough damage. The feast was to keep the locals busy while Croyden recovered and slinked off.

It had gone exceedingly well until we arrived at the Satrapy of Souc. A young shepherd stumbled across Croyden as he was making his escape and quickly told the elders, who in turn informed the Satrap. Sir Neville and I were arrested soon afterward and brought to the Satrap's palace for punishment.

The Satrap looked down at us from his ivory throne. He was short, running to fat, with steely grey eyes and brown hair. "So these are the so-called dragon hunters that fleeced the good people of Vynar."

"Yes, O Great One," replied the Strap's vizier.

"I applaud your ingenuity, but cannot let your fraud go unpunished. I order you to return the gold you took from the village. Any other gold you hold over that amount is to be paid to the village to rebuild what you destroyed."

He turned towards the delegation from the village. "I trust this is sufficient recompense?" The villagers nodded their assent. "Good. Speak of this to no one, I wouldn't want anyone to think that my subjects are so easily duped."

The villagers bowed as the guards relieved us of our money bags and handed the money over to them. We watched them go with sadness, it would take months to earn that back.

Once the door closed on the retreating villagers, the Satrap turned again to us, smiling a smile that sent a shiver down my spine. "For defrauding my people, you should be put to death. However, I have another idea. Fox Grove Forest lies on my western border, where lives a nightcrackle. Legends say that if you are in possession of its tail, it will obey your every command. I want you to retrieve its tail and bring it to me. Do this, and I will forget this unfortunate episode ever happened."

So here we were, staring into the forest where the nightcrackle lived. Croyden coughed, sending wisps of smoke into the air and jolting me out of my reverie. "How do we handle this?" he asked, turning away from the forest.

"I hear their gaze can turn you to stone. How can we fight something like that?" Sir Neville replied, giving his warhorse a reassuring pat and turning to face Croyden.

"That's medusas moron," Croyden answered. "Trolls turn to stone if caught in the sun."

Sir Neville looked hurt. "No need to be harsh," he said as he dismounted.

"Just what are nightcrackles?" I asked, shading my eyes against the afternoon sun.

Croyden shifted his bulk. "I've only heard of them in tales told by my elders. They stay away from other creatures, living in dense forests, deep caves, or atop hard-to-access mountains. Fiercely territorial, they'll attack trespassers without mercy, tearing them limb from limb."

"A simple execution would have been preferable to dismemberment," I said.

"Speak for yourself, Joffrey," Neville replied. "What about the notion that taking its tail makes a nightcrackle your slave?"

"The tales never mentioned that aspect," Croyden stated.

"Dat's because it's a load o' bloody lies!" cried a voice from the direction of the forest.

We whirled around to see a seven-foot-high creature covered with thick black fur. Three crimson eyes were set in a rough triangle on its forehead, above a mouth bristling with sharp teeth. Four arms ended in fingers tipped with razor-sharp talons.

"Did da Satrap send yous?" it asked as it leaned back, using its thick tail as a seat.

"He did," Croyden confirmed. "As punishment for defrauding the good people of Vynar." He then explained what brought us to Fox Grove Forest, which elicited laughter from the nightcrackle.

"You've been doin' this fer five bloody years?" the nightcrackle asked. "Dat's bloody brilliant."

"Well, it was until Vynar," Sir Neville said glumly.

The nightcrackle looked at us with respect. "Don't sell yourself short, mate. I don't fink too many people could pull dat off, ya know? Takes some right brass balls to go at it for five bleedin' years."

"How did you know the Satrap sent us?" I asked. "By the way, I'm Joffrey, the knight is Sir Neville, and that's Croyden."

"Right pleased to meet yous. Call me Bazza. Dat Satrap sends someone out 'ere every few months or so. Usually some young pup from 'is court lookin' to make a name for hisself. 'E must be runnin' out of volunteers, sending out criminals, no offense to yer fine selves."

"None taken," I replied. "Why does he want to control you?"

"And why haven't you torn us limb from limb?" Sir Neville interjected.

"Da answer to da first one is power. Da Satrap heard the legends and finks to hisself, If I had me dat creature's tail, I could put da hurt on those who stand in me way. So, he sends some poor git into me forest and I have to deal with da poor sod.

"As to da second question, we really aren't bloodthirsty hooligans. Once upon a time, there were a great many of us around dis great, big world, living our lives and minding our own business. Then, some git started talking about how choppin' off our tails gave 'im control and next fing we know, everyone and his mudder's out trying to lop off our tails. A lot of us died during dat time. We had to spread dat rumor to protect ourselves, didn't we?"

"But what happened to those who came before us?" Croyden asked.

"For da most part, they're alive, those dat didn't come crashin' in swingin' swords and the like. We aren't bloodthirsty as I said before, but we don't shy away from killin' those dat wish us ill. Da ones that let me talk to 'em decided to leave the area rather than return to face da Satrap's wrath."

"And so he keeps sending people into for all he knows is certain death, all for the sake of power," Sir Neville noted. "He needs to be dealt with, and no mistake."

"I know that conniving look, Sir Neville," I said. "It's the same look you had when you proposed our scam."

"Verily. Bazza, what say you to pulling a scam on the Satrap that would stop him from pestering you?"

Bazza rubbed his chin. "What are we waitin' for?"

Sir Neville smiled. "You wouldn't happen to have an old tail lying around?"

The next day, as the sun began to set, we rode into the courtyard of the Satrap's palace. A guard ran inside, and after a few moments, the Satrap lumbered out to greet us.

"So, you have returned," he said. "Have you brought what I seek?"

"Verily, we have," Sir Neville replied, tossing a bloodstained bag onto the ground. "It was a fierce battle, my squire suffered great wounds in the waging thereof. After a time, I cut off the creature's tail and made a hasty retreat."

My "wounds" were caused by me twisting my ankle and falling into a bramble thicket, but lent an air of credibility to Sir Neville's story. A few well-placed dents in Sir Neville's armor by Bazza didn't hurt.

"But something was amiss, and I fear for myself and my squire."

"Why is that?" the Satrap asked, opening the bag and pulling out a bloody chunk of flesh.

"Last night, as we prepared camp, we heard an otherworldly voice. 'I wants me tail,' it said. I must admit that I, who had braved many dangers in my career, was sore afraid. Joffrey here was positively beside himself with fright."

At this, I shuddered as if exposed to sudden cold. "That voice would frighten anyone, Sir Neville," I said through chattering teeth.

"I dispatched our dragon to deal with the nightcrackle. He chased it back towards the forest, but he hasn't returned. I fear that he is dead."

"Did you not use the tail to command it?" the Satrap asked.

"We did not think to try," I replied. "Fright had addled our wits."

Sir Neville clutched at his chest. "I hear it again! Listen!"

Out in the distance, a voice could be faintly heard. "I wants me tail back!' it said.

The Satrap blanched for a moment before regaining his composure. "Close the gates!" he cried. "Everyone to their stations!"

The guards scrambled to get to their places. The voice grew louder. "Give me back me tail!"

Guards began turning the massive wheel to close the massive wooden doors to the courtyard. Just as it was about to close, four taloned hands reached into the crack and ripped them asunder.

"Where's that slimy git what cut off me tail?" Bazza roared, throwing down the doors and stalking into the courtyard. "I wants me tail!"

A set of guards ran up to Bazza, their swords flashing in the red sunset light. The nightcrackle swung his arms this way and that, sending the guards flying. Still more guards rushed him to meet the same fate. Soon, the courtyard was filled with unmoving bodies.

Seeing Bazza in all his fury caused the Satrap to blanch again. He held up the tail as if it were a talisman to ward off evil. "I command you to stop!" he cried in a shaky voice.

Bazza turned to the Satrap. "Give me back me tail!"

"I command you to stop! You must obey!"

Bazza showed no signs of stopping. Sir Neville stood between Bazza and the Satrap. "I shall protect you, Your Excellency!"

Bazza swiped at Sir Neville, sending him into a hay wagon. He once again turned to the Satrap, who was beginning to realize that the tail held no power over the nightcrackle. He threw down the lump of bloody meat and turned to run.

The nightcrackle reached out and grabbed the fleeing Satrap. "Take back your tail! I no longer want it! Please don't kill me!"

Bazza held the Satrap in front of his three red eyes. "No," he said, stabbing a talon into the Satrap, who went limp.

"I thought we agreed not to kill him," I said.

"Don't worry, 'e's not dead, no more than any of that lot," Bazza said, indicating the guards littering the courtyard. "I just gave 'im an incentive to leave me alone. Didn't hit anything vital. 'Ere, patch 'im up."

Bazza gingerly set the Satrap down. The talon had only gone through his shoulder. He'd live, and maybe he'd think twice before sending anyone into Fox Grove Forest.

Bazza picked up the lump of meat and turned to leave. Croyden, who had been hiding in reserve in case things went wrong, landed in the courtyard, his tail bandaged. "Where are you going with that?"

"Can't let this go to waste, can I? Never 'ad dragon meat."