Kingdom of the Snark: A Tale of Randall the Rambunctious

By Melanie Hatfield

Randall the Rambunctious is a mighty (but aging) Quester known by the maidens of Quaal for his moniker—and that is the way Randall likes it. His fun loving lifestyle comes to a sudden halt when his brother forces him back to his home kingdom of Turrack under the command of the king and queen. The royal couple orders Randall to rescue their stuck-up daughter from mutant dandelions bent on taking the kingdom for their own. Can Randall save a princess he does not actually care about and return to his care-free loving ways, or shall everyone perish at the petals of man-sized dandelions?

“A Tale of Randall the Rambunctious” is a stand-alone novella in the “Kingdom of the Snark” series. Other tales (thus far) of this adult oriented fantasy/comedy series include:

“The Quest for the Sword (Being the First Part of the Righteous Trilogy)”
“An Affair with Wizards (Being the Second Part of the Righteous Trilogy)”
“Three Snarky Tales (A Short Story Collection)”
“Tragedy in the Wine Cellar”

• Language: English
• Publisher: Melanie Hatfield
• Release date: Nov 2, 2013
• ISBN: 9781311215178

Melanie Hatfield

Melanie Hatfield spent a decade in Los Angeles with hopes of becoming a television sitcom writer. That dream did not come true, but she learned how to write like a pro. She wrote her first fantasy series, Kingdom of the Snark, to incorporate her two favorite genres of comedy and fantasy. Her second fantasy series, The Chronicles of Turrack is an action-adventure spin-off from Snark. Ms. Hatfield currently lurks in her hometown of Kansas City and writes whatever she pleases!

Book preview

A TALE OF RANDALL THE RAMBUNCTIOUS

A KINGDOM OF THE SNARK NOVELLA

BY

MELANIE HATFIELD

A Tale of Randall the Rambunctious

By Melanie Hatfield.

Copyright 2013 by Melanie Hatfield

Smashwords Edition

Cover art by Rachael Mayo

http://rachaelm5.deviantart.com

Digital edition produced by Maureen Cutajar

www.gopublished.com

All ye fools who choose to ignore the following legal disclaimer shall die a terrible, shameful death involving venomous penguins in frilly, pink tutus. Beware of their pom-poms!

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, taping, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner except in the context of reviews, quotes, or references. To obtain permission, contact the writer through her website at www.melaniehatfield.com.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Anything in this novel that is anyway similar to your own life and/or work is coincidental (and a bit sad).

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and 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 person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

Table of Contents

The Prologue

The First Chapter

The Second Chapter

The Third Chapter

The Fourth Chapter

The Fifth Chapter

The Sixth Chapter

The Seventh Chapter

The Eighth Chapter

The Ninth Chapter

The Tenth Chapter

The Eleventh Chapter

The Twelfth Chapter

The Last Chapter

About the Not So Humble Narrator

The Prologue

The princess’s lungs pounded as she dashed through the field. The area was not typical of the Turrack terrain, known as the kingdom of flowers in the land of Andra. Most of its fields were covered with flowers as tall as a steed, but whatever beauty that once bloomed in this particular range was decapitated, and all that remained were the stems that emulated an ocean of green. The princess was surrounded by walls of such shoots, but that did not stop her from running without guidance. The full moon’s light was her only source for direction through the darkness as she tore through the blades without thought—her assailants were hot on her tail.

She glanced over her shoulder, and nearly froze when she saw the stalk behind her sway to and fro. Her pursuers seemed to have sprouted from the ground when they attacked her carriage and slayed her guards along with a suitor she hoped to turn into a proper husband (although, the way he screamed in the heat of battle was enough to make her roll her eyes at her misjudgment). But that was a fitting arrival for what the princess deemed to be mutant dandelions.

The two lumbering flowers who followed her would have been a fright to those unaccustomed to such plant life, for they were twice the height of an average man and armed with weaponry that sprung from their bodies. One of the dandelions threw a curved petal at the princess, and it tore through the stalk like a reaper’s scythe, ripping the side of her yellow silk dress. One of her matching slippers flew off her foot, but she was not in the mindset to retrieve it. She had witnessed such razor petals tear through the flesh of her men and knew better than to slow down within the flowers’ range.

Only fear gave her the strength to increase her speed. Although she could see nothing but a wall of wild stems before her, she seemed to know where she was going. Although no living person was around, the princess thought she heard a soothing lullaby in the distance, as if her nursemaids were coddling her after a bad dream like they did when she was a child. The princess was a grown woman with thirty years of life under her belt, but terror made her long for the safety of a nursemaid’s embrace, and she knew in her soul that safety was beyond the field.

At least, that was what the princess thought before the ground disappeared beneath her feet.

In an instant, she realized too late that it was the soothing song of the ocean that called her. Her wit returned just in time for the tips of her fingers to grab the edge of the cliff. Below her, thunderous waves crashed upon giant slabs of rock, the white foam bubbling as if the water was salivating in anticipation of a human snack. The princess did her best to pull herself up, but the ground in her grip crumbled. Every grab at the earth only disintegrated in her hands.

The princess screamed, tumbling into the emptiness below her.

The air was crushed from the helpless woman’s lungs as a vine wrapped around her waist. She flipped upside down when she came to an abrupt stop, and another vine wrapped around her legs. The slipper on her other foot slid off as she struggled, but the princess caught it just before it could slam into her face. Her heart ceased to beat for a moment as she saw two shadows loom from the edge of the cliff above her: the goons had caught her.

The princess’s mind raced for ideas of escape as her dandelion assailants pulled her back up. The moonlight reflected her torn dress, the white lacing stained with dirt, and torn in numerous places so that her ebony skin glistened with the scratches of her ordeal. She had never been in a physical state more disarrayed than the occasional morning’s bed head, and her lilac-colored eyes became like ice as she glared upon the giant dandelions.

You mutant flowers have some audacity! the princess shouted when they had pulled her back into the field.

Without a true weapon (or even the proper skill the wield one), she threw her slipper at them. It landed squarely in the dandelion’s chest, but it did not grunt or wince.

I am not some common highborn lady to pillage. I am Princess Yamita, the daughter of King Numerio and Queen Leatrix from the house of Sunflower. My parents shall claim your heads for this assault!

The dandelions’ yellow faces had no expression, nor did they have any eyes or lips to create such expressions upon their countenance. They released vines from their arms around the princess so that she was wrapped from head to foot like a caterpillar in a cocoon. All her muffled curses were for naught as they dragged her through the field.

The dandelions stomped their roots in a circle, dragging the angry princess along the way. In a few moments, the dirt sunk where they stomped, and they were lowered underground as if they were riding a mechanical lift. When they disappeared underneath the earth, the field went back to its original shape.

The wild blades billowed in the soft evening breeze, and there was no sign that the Princess of Turrack was ever there.

The First Chapter

The bar wench’s pale chest jiggled as she moaned. She gripped the bed’s plain oak headboard and flashed what few teeth remained in her rotten gums. The springtime sun bled through the drawn teal curtains as the wench enjoyed the pleasures of her womanhood in a simple bedchamber. Sweat beaded upon Randall the Rambunctious’s bare mahogany skin as he thrust himself inside the busty brunette over and over again.

The wench panted as though she were a foot messenger when it was over.

For certes, she said, you are the mightiest of any man I have spent an afternoon tryst with.

Um, hum, was all Randall uttered as his marigold eyes scanned the room for his discarded Quester’s outfit.

The wench’s hazel eyes took in Randall’s body as he clothed himself. When shall we do that again?

She smiled as she ran her fingers through her sweat soaked hair. Her fingers became stuck in a rat’s nest, and she yelped when she yanked them free, pulling out a fistful of her hair in the process.

I pass through this village from time to time, Randall said, avoiding eye contact as he laced the crotch area of his black leather pants. I am not certain when we shall cross paths again, but such an encounter shall not be impossible.

I do not think I could suffer another minute of life without you, the wench pouted.

She flew from the bed and wrapped her arms around Randall’s waist from behind. She inhaled the floral pheromones that steamed from his skin and released a cry as if she were underneath him again. He gently pulled her arms off so he could put on his crimson and gold tunic. The wench made it difficult for Randall to tie up his boots as she kept kissing his lips while he performed the task.

My dear lady, Randall said, taking the wench’s hands into his own, it is not up to us to decide when we shall meet again—if ever. That is in the designs of fate, for it brought us together, and, by its will, shall determine if we are meant to be.

I do not require a higher power to determine such a romantic destiny, the wench said before she shoved her tongue into Randall’s mouth.

Randall did his best to push her away, but she only threw herself into him as though their lips were magnets. A thunderous pounding upon the bedchamber door was the only thing that made the wench recoil from him.

Why is this door locked? a man’s voice bellowed from the other side.

You seem a bit too old for your father to protect your maidenhood, Randall grumbled as he searched for his belt and sword.

I am no maiden, the wench said, and that is not my father.

More thunderous pounding of a boot upon the door shook the room before the man on the other side broke the door wide open. He was a broad man, and although a foot shorter than Randall, the Quester had no doubt that the man possessed the strength to throttle him. The man wore the simple garb of a blacksmith, his skin stained with the soot of his handiwork. His black hair cascaded down to his shoulders, and his brown eyes burned like the fires in his workplace.

In his hand, the blacksmith pointed the tip of a freshly-crafted sword to Randall’s throat. Although it barely touched his skin, the heat from the blade was enough to singe the Quester.

So this is whom you constantly make a cuckold out of me with, my supposed wife? The man’s eyes did not leave Randall as he spoke to the wench.

Do not harm him! she blurted. He is far too fair to die.

I must agree with the wench about that. Randall flashed a cautious grin before he whispered to her, You never mentioned you were wed.

If this were your husband, you would not brag either, the wench whispered back, although not quietly enough, and her husband heard all.

I did not want to believe Sergey when he informed me that he witnessed you taking in a male guest into our home, the blacksmith said, turning his blade toward his naked wife as she cowered back onto the bed. But it would seem as though my friend has more love for me than you ever did.

I am sick to death of your talks about Sergey! the wench screamed. Since you two ‘friends’ love each other so much, then maybe you should put this ring upon his finger.

She threw her wedding band into the blacksmith’s face, and Randall silently cursed his aging eyes for not seeing that token back in the pub.

He discovered his black belt and matching scabbard upon the dresser and made a quick dash for his weaponry. The blacksmith was faster, and this time he pressed the flat side of his sword against Randall’s chest. Smoke emitted from Randall’s tunic, and he bit his lower lip to stifle his cries of pain.

I am truly sorry, Randall said as he held up the palms of his hands. He had hope that his floras pheromones would have calmed the angry husband, but the blacksmith was too enraged to be entranced by Randall’s intoxicating scent. Although I was led up here under false pretenses, he shot a nasty look at the wench, I can see plainly that I have become wrapped up in an affair that is none of my concern. I shall depart from your home immediately.

Yes, you shall, although not upon your feet.

The blacksmith swung his sword at Randall, but did not aim carefully in his rage. Although Randall had at least thirty more years of life under his belt than the blacksmith, he was a well-seasoned Quester and avoided the deadly blade with a simple side step.

Randall grabbed the blacksmith from behind, and twisted the younger man’s arms around his