"All the King's Horses and All the King's Men" Art Prompt Writing Contest #9

Artwork lovingly done by @azbeen

Art Writing Entry for https://steemit.com/contest/@gmuxx/htym9-art-prompt-writing-contest-8

Over the horizon an ecstatic, shrill voice pierces the sky and bounces sharply between voluptuous velvety violet hills, past the fertile fields of Fenmoriarch, zipping and zapping the ears of the unfortunate peasantry without much pleasantry.

“This watch is far too large!
I’ll show them who’s really in charge.
Control o’er the cat, they’ve not,
For their tool of power I’ve got.”

Furiously fiddling and failing to secure the massive strap to his undersized, wimpy wrist the cunning, conniving Keldork resigns himself to holding onto the Watch of Power with all the might a micro-maniac hand his size can muster. Distracted and rather flustered is he who’s romping and roaming, for today’s the day he’s sneakily snatched two watches and a cat from a king who’s well-known for clomping political enemies as far as the eyes can see.

“Get off me you fiend!” a voice shouts.
“Who was that?!?!” a scared Keldork softly pouts.
“’Twas me, you thief!” the nimble Catoling sneers.
“Why the smile then?” the stout elf jeers.

For some reason Catoling willingly continues to march at a breezy clip despite his discontent.

“Your effort was for naught, an average beast you have caught,” retorts the ridden.
“I’ve heard you’ve slain sixty soldiers with a swipe!” replies the rider.
“Tall tales are those, ‘twas not more than fancy prose,” she says gentle as a rose.
“But on your last campaign they claimed you devoured dozens of demons an hour!” gasps a confounded outsider.

The pace of her strides slow and they reach a river where bubbling springs flow.

“’Tis a rumor to imply we’ve military power, I’m really more gentle than a dewy flower!”
“If not you, then who?”
“Who what, the wights?
“That’s right!”
“They were but sprites, and the king took great delight in clipping their wings and pointy antennae things!”

As they come upon the town of Supperesion the shuttering of windows and slamming of doors can be heard.

“I have to give you some disturbing news, it surely might give you the blues. Our king is a fraud, but the fools still applaud, and thus he continues the ruse.”

“That much is clear, this chance I held dear, and this all seems a bit much too queer.” says a vexed being.
“You’ve hope you’re slain without much delay, I’ve heard the pain of the last man he flayed,” she says with heavy meaning.

“For the follies of a foiled fool I’ll be boiled by a jolly tool!” he exclaims.
“If we can despoil his rule, ye might escape an oil pool,” the cat claims.

Two lances block their way, it is the king’s guards you say. They’ve come to reclaim, and possibly to maim, the rebellious duo of the day. A rhythmic drum begins to pound, an ominous, unsettling sound. The trumpets blare right in their ears, encouraging all of their fears, their ends could possibly be near. With a monarch so ruthless, you might end up toothless, with an arrow shot right at your rear.

A knight approached the trembling pair, walking proud amid town square.

“Could it be we’ve found the coward? It seems you are quite overpowered. Relinquish the beast without a fight, and see tomorrow’s day you might.”

An eerie silence befalls the domain, the king’s company parts without refrain. The first glimpse of his majesty we see at last, the hoof-steps approaching fast. Prancing with a gleaming coat of red, the noble steed instills deep dread. The king has arrived, yes run for your lives, lest it be off with your head.

From doorways and windows and alleys they creep, curious eyes stare out from the shops that they keep. Filled with emotion at the sight of commotion, for they know what they sow they will reap. The townspeople are hesitant at the sight of their president, and tonight with one eye open they will sleep.

Carried upon the shoulders of measly minions is the royal throne, it meets the earth as they meekly manage to mistime the descent of the old krone.

The king’s mouth curls into a toothy grin, the ghastly epitome of sin. His gaze befalls the elf, dripping vengeance itself.

“It seems you know my secret, I doubt you’re one to keep it,” with a tone designed to rattle the bone he continues, “and if you moan and beg and plea I’ll spare you decades of misery. Over the pit of fire you’ll have to walk, to live you’ll have to leap it.”

An assuredly absurd task for a being who’s barely able to cross a street, let alone a vat of tar that sears fresh meat.

“You should be careful how you speak to me, for you look awfully meek to me. For it is I who holds the power, this could be your final hour,” Keldork remarks with a glower. He lowers his voice, “You’ll have to play along or expose your ploy, we know this watch is just a toy.”

Face turning beet red, Sir Pouir can’t believe what he said. “I’ll have you know that by daylight’s glow you’ll be as the grass sheep mow, gnashed and trashed and six feet below.”

Catoling futilely pushes back tears of anguish and regret as she recalls years past, “To whole towns you’ve laid waste, the fear on the faces of the lives you’ve effaced, people gone with a trace and hopes extinguished without tact or grace.”

Quizzical looks adorn their brows, the townspeople’s interest is aroused, was not the king’s domain to protect us from evil plains, what sayest of they of human remains, what’s this that the elf and cat explain?

The warrior cat continues, filled with disdain, “For too long has gone on your bloody show, the time has come, the truth they know. These things I say are not empty refrains, I pierce truth and to you I explain.”

“Come, come now loyal servants and trusted vassals, these are but scoundrels and cloths without tassels, no substance of worth lie in words that they’ve spoken, for they’re nothing but worthless tokens,” a clearly distraught king pleads with his people.

Riotous and riled are the peons who’ve toiled for eons, they’ve come to see the pitiless king who’s to be reviled. They’re at the end of their rope, but for the first time they see some hope, and judgment doled out swiftly by the masses who’ve been conned thriftily. “It does not matter if we’re poor, we all agree the king can be no more!” a voice shouts from amongst the crowd.

They close in on the dastardly forces, carrying their glowing torches. Make way, make way, it is a new day, the townspeople will have their say.