The Mantis King

The Mantis King

A Novella

By Paul Weber

Copyright © 2012 by Paul Weber

Smashwords Edition

Artwork by Misty Tang

Copyright © 2012 by Paul Weber. All rights reserved. This e-book may not be reproduced in any form, including but not limited to printed books, audio books, or film, without the express written consent of the author. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

On the Cover: Leif the Red battles one of the green women.

Chapter One

The newlyweds, Leif The Red and Nuala of the White Hair, rode on the backs of their dragons, Halldor and Hjoerdis, towards the unknown lands on the far side of the Western Sea. Well, I suppose they were unknown to those who hadn’t been there yet. Certainly, those who were already there knew all about them. But to Leif and Nuala, they were indeed quite unknown.

The couple had vanquished the evil Queen Elisar, abolished the institution of royalty, and brought their beloved land of Thulia a thousand-year period of peace and prosperity. They now looked forward to a honeymoon adventure in lands across the sea. Before Leif killed a dragon and brought up her pups as his own, such travel would have taken years of planning, and fleets of ships. Now, they could cross oceans in a matter of days.

Upward and upward they rose, until the land below them was but a sea of green pastures interspersed with the blackness of Thulia’s many sacred groves, or the tiny clusters of tiled roofs that signified the many Thulian villages. Then, the land was replaced by the vastness of the sea.

Nuala raised her fur collar around her neck, as the air grew cold with altitude. The dragons, with hard scales of green and gold and leathern wings spreading thirty feet on either side, glided through the air like albatrosses, effortlessly riding the currents of air. For dragons, as is well-documented, do not like to exert any unnecessary effort if they can avoid it. They were, as one might expect of creatures capable of breathing flame, quite oblivious to the cold.

Leif also girded up against the cold wind, pulling on a pair of fur-lined gloves and a woolen cap that covered his ears. Upon his right shoulder stood the raven Huginn, who also seemed completely unbothered by the cold, even though his blue-black feathers ruffled constantly in the wind.

How far must we fly before we hit land? asked Leif.

The raven Huginn croaked lightly next to Leif’s right ear. We fly two hundred miles across the sea. Then we land on Heronia--the Isle of the Heron.

Leif, having tasted the blood of a dragon, had acquired the ability to understand the language of birds, and the hidden thoughts of men--an ability he sometimes wished he did not have. Birds, he found, almost always gave him useful information, but he often cringed in horror when he learned the true thoughts of men. Fortunately, he was able, by sheer mental effort, to repress his wonderful ability, lest he find out more than he wanted to know when in the company of his own species. Though guile was an art not exclusive to the human species, no other creature had developed it to such extremes. Certain other animals--ravens, foxes, snakes and the like--had a passing familiarity with the art of lying, but their skill was pathetic in comparison with that of the noblest of species.

By the end of that long first day--for they had been chasing the sun on its westward journey--they landed on Heronia. Leif helped Nuala descend from her mount, then freed the dragons to fly over the sea and skim fish from the surface, for they were quite hungry. Of course there was no need to tether an animal as loyal as a dragon, and since Leif had been the first large creature the dragons had beheld as whelps, their loyalty to him was complete and unquestioning.

The island itself was well-named, as the natives held all birds in reverence, with special homage paid to the magnificent heron. The tall, fish-eating birds seemed to be everywhere, wading into streams and ponds to capture fish, or simply standing on rocks by the water and ruffling their blue feathers to show off their striking beauty. For herons surpass all birds in vanity--even the peacock.

Nuala and Leif walked hand-in-hand to the edge of a pond that lay before a mighty castle. Standing on a rock perhaps twenty yards from shore stood a heron, ruffling its blue feathers and raising its long beak high in the air, the better to show off its long and glorious neck, as well as its distinctive, black-feathered crest.

What can you tell me of the people of this island, my friend heron? Leif called out across the water.

The heron turned its head and looked sideways at the two travelers. Surely, the bird thought, the red-haired man must be mad, for birds can understand the speech of men, but men cannot understand the speech of birds.

The heron answered in its loud, raspy voice, flapping its wings for show but staying rooted to the rock.

Behold the man who speaks with birds! This one is madder even than the rest of them! Several other herons, also posing on rocks, roared with raspy laughter.

I may be mad, heron, but no more so than any other man. And unlike other men, I understand every word you say. So I repeat the question: What can you tell me of the people of this island?

The heron cocked its head in the universal gesture of disbelief.

I am Leif, who tasted the blood of the dragon Valdis. Look to the sea and behold her son and daughter skimming the waves. They are Halldor and Hjoerdis, two dragons totally loyal to me.

Nuala, standing at Leif’s side, struggled to understand a conversation to which she could gather but one side.

Several of the herons rose and flew the short distance to the shore, talking in hushed squawks among themselves. Leif grinned broadly, as he understood every word.

What’s this? said one. A human who understands birds? They’re not smart enough to do that!

Some sort of Norn-craft, hissed another. Look at the young female accompanying him. You recognize the jeweled braids of a Norn, don’t you?

I think not, clattered another. Surely she would have given the same power to herself. But it’s obvious she has no idea what we’re saying.

Finally, one heron--the first whom Leif had addressed--deigned to answer his question.

The people of Heronia will treat you well. They will give you provisions for your journey, should you choose to leave.

We travel westward from here, heron. Any news from the West?

No news from the Western Isles. Naught but silence for many years.

Leif was quite perturbed at this news. What could have happened in the Western Isles, that they should be cut off from Heronia, and all other lands of the East?

Silence from men, the haughty heron rasped. But we birds know better. An albatross spoke to me, several weeks ago, of strange things in the West.

What strange things?

The heron only made a clattering sound that Leif knew was laughter.

You will find out soon enough, Thulian.

Though Leif tried for several minutes to get more details, the birds ignored him.

The people of Heronia were just as the bird described them. They were a jolly and friendly folk, with a tendency to be slightly plump. Their language presented some minor difficulties, but Nuala recognized it as a dialect of the language spoken in the highlands west of her homeland of Thulia. She had studied the language as a child, and was able to communicate with them reasonably well. And of course, Leif was able to understand them through his strange gift of hearing their thoughts, though he understood not a word of their actual language, so he was able to fill in any gaps in communication when the Heronians used words with which Nuala was not familiar.

Leif recognized an unusual trait in the Heronians almost immediately: their total lack of guile. Among Thulians and Phalians--the dominant cultures of his own native region--there were always some people who sought continually to gain some advantage over others through deceit. But this trait seemed entirely lacking among the Heronians.

Heronia was indeed a blessed isle, too remote and small to arouse the interest of larger and more powerful kingdoms. Thus the Heronians could devote their days to making life comfortable. The land was fertile, and the ocean around them gave of its abundance freely, so that Heronians never lacked for food. In their spare time--something they always had in great quantity--they would pursue such useless amusements as poetry and music.

The Heronians worshipped the heron, whose grace and beauty was a common subject of their poetry. Leif thought this amusing, since he knew the heron from personal experience to be a conceited snob of a bird, but on the other hand, who was he to criticize a system in which both the people and the bird they worshipped lived long and happy lives?

Long ago, the Heronians would trade with ships from the Western Isles, but trade had ceased suddenly a few years back. Nuala asked her hosts if they had any news at all from the west, but there was none. The Heronians had enjoyed many years of trade with the Western Isles, but they had no long-range ships of their own. The ships from the west had suddenly stopped coming, a fact that caused some pangs of regret among Heronians, who enjoyed trading precious metals and stones mined from their central highlands, in exchange for a wide range of western goods. There were rumors that a revolution of some sort had occurred in the Western Isles, but this was sheer speculation.

After two days of rest, Nuala and Leif prepared, with pangs of regret, to leave Heronia. The people gathered in wonder around the two dragons, Halldor and Hjoerdis. At first, they were somewhat afraid of the creatures; after all, they stood some ten feet at the shoulder, had mouths big enough to swallow a man whole, and powerful tails that could easily smash a wagon to splinters with a single blow. They were, however, tame and gentle as well-trained dogs, so the Heronians