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"Hi, kingly guy." said Nomscul as he joined them. "Good
fight!"
"Thanks," Flint muttered, growing more confused.
"What's this about Fester being queen?"
"Yup. She my queen! Me new king, you know."
"New king?" Flint was too surprised to immediately do
the sensible thing, which was to heartily endorse the idea.
"Sure. Now that you got no queen, it good idea." Noms-
cul sighed, apparently with real regret. "You one nice guy,
though," he amended. "But just not work out as king. Real
nice guy, all right!"
Flint chuckled, feeling a lump growing in his throat. He
wanted to laugh aloud, and he wanted to cry, so he just
stared in bemused wonder at the new king of Mudhole.
"Just not work out," Nomscul said with a shrug.
* * * * *
The general stood high upon the temple platform, look-
ing over the still-smoldering city. Sanction was not so empty
as before, as thousands of ogres and human mercenaries
gathered. Legions of hobgoblins formed vast camps on the
ashen slopes around the city.
Across the valley, beneath the seething Temple of
Luerkhisis, the rest of the general's army was born -
draconians, hatched by a corrupting process from the se-
cretly hoarded eggs of good dragonkind
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