bluegargantua

"Hassan!"

The vizier rushed into the throne room, the Sultan's mood boded ill for a peaceful afternoon. Prostrating himself before the pacing potentate, he hoped that the Sultan could be easily mollified. "Yes, your Highness?"

"Hassan, I need a bigger sandbox for the war next year!"

Hassan groaned inwardly. The Sultan, like many military commanders, had a sandbox on which he could recreate battlefields and conduct mock military engagements. Unlike real military commanders, the Sultan had a sandbox that covered several square miles and his soldiers were all real troopers who engaged in combat for the Sultan's enjoyment. He was forever hiring different types of troops, creating more colorful and outlandish uniforms for them, and resculpting the sand into various battlefields from history and his own imagination. The Sultan's personal obsession was making the Sultanate an impoverished laughingstock.

"Bigger, your Highness?"

"Yes, I want to triple the size! Next year I want to re-create the Western Steppes campaign of Warlord Melkoth. It was a wide-ranging front. I've invited nobles from all over the known world to participate as sub-commanders. I've even gotten Ferdinand Stalwart, a descendant of Melkoth himself, to act as the opposing general! It should be a good time. But I'll need to triple the size to accurately model the steppe and these blathering idiots," said the Sultan, gesturing to the privy clerks, "keep telling me I can't do that!"

Hassan shot a deadly glance at the cowardly clerks and then did some quick mental math, "Your Highness, the cost of such an endeavor will be staggering."

"Hang the cost! I want a war!"

"Your Highness, will most likely get a revolution," said Hassan. "There is barely enough money in the treasury to maintain the sandbox you have now. Tripling the size will only--"

"There's lots of money in the treasury, I can see the numbers for myself!"

"That money isn't just for the sandbox, your Highness, it also pays for the roads and wells and public buildings and the salaries of the government and--"

"Just make some cuts."

"There is very little left to cut, your Highness. And to triple the size of the sandbox would drive us nearly to bankruptcy."

"Then raise some new taxes," snapped the Sultan.

"The people are already very angry about how heavily taxed they are now. To ask them for more money might well fan the flames of open rebellion."

"Don't the people care about the prestige of their Sultan? Don't the people want a highly trained and experienced military commander, at the head of a battle-trained force protecting them from our enemies?"

"The people are very proud of their Sultan," said Hassan smoothly, "and rest safe at night knowing he stands guard over them. But the people would also like to be able to buy food for their families. Pride cannot fill empty bellies."

"Then the people are stupid!" cried the Sultan, flopping down into his pillowed throne.

Hassan waited nervously while the Sultan sulked. He dared to hope that perhaps the Sultan's mania had finally run up against hard fiscal reality and that perhaps he might be able to salvage the Sultanate's economy in his own lifetime.

"What I need," said the Sultan, "is for a big pile of money that's all mine. Like those heroes who go out and kill a monster and take their gold."

"The Sultanate has no monsters like that. Certainly we don't have a monster with enough treasure to triple your sandbox."

"I bet a dragon has a big pile of treasure."

"Sadly, your Highness, the Sultanate is not menaced by a dragon."

A slow smile started creeping across the Sultan's face. "Actually," he said, "we do have one dragon."

"We do?" asked Hassan. But even as the words left his lips, he realized what the Sultan was getting at and his stomach dropped.

"Yes! Of course!" said the Sultan leaping to his feet, "That old temple of Korfu! It's been collecting money for that dumb dragon for over 500 years! One percent of the trade running back and forth between us and Altai for the past 500 years...how much is that?"

Hassan struggled to both answer the Sultan's question and somehow find a response that would dissuade him.

"It doesn't matter," said the Sultan, "it's enough. It's more than enough! There's enough cash in there to quadruple the size of the sandbox and outfit two new regiments -- at least!"

"Your Highness," said Hassan, "the Sultanate, like the Caliphate before it, have always respected the many gods and goddesses in this world and have never taken their treasures."

"Ah, but Korfu is the god-to-be. He always has been. That's his only temple and there's no evidence in the slightest that Korfu ever actually became a god. He's not a real god like Sadur, or Ka-Tain, or even those Family Divine freaks. No, he's just a man who tried for godhood, but only got as far as caging a dragon and bilking the Sultanate out of some well deserved tax revenues. That money belongs to me!"

"The dragon might have something to say about that."

"Bah! I've been there before you know. Saw the big lizard. It was one of those formal bagatelles that you have to go through after you become Sultan. He's a brute, I'll grant you that, but he's just a monster and monsters can be killed."

"Your Highness, the dragon is immune to normal weapons, a casual swipe of it's claw will kill a score of men, within the chamber its lightning breath and magical spells are potent and deadly. You cannot send our troops against it, they will certainly die."

"Of course I can't send the troops, Hassan. Besides I need the Army to get fitted out for next year's uniforms. No, it will take a hero to kill the dragon."

"An army of heroes, your Highness."

"And that's exactly what we shall have! Hassan! Summon the messenger corps! Have them dress up as wizened old men and send them to every inn, tavern, pub, ale house, beer garden, dive, bar, speakeasy, juke joint, saloon and brothel in the known world! Spread the word -- the Sultanate is looking to hire an army of heroes to eliminate one dragon! We'll easily pay them out of the dragon's horde and still have plenty left over for the sandbox. Go! Your Sultan commands it!"

Hassan left the throne room consoled only by the thought that at least he hadn't been beheaded.