Thread: A Thread of Lies / Best of Letters to the Editor.

The Art of the Deal Today ... A human engineer company had levelled a not-insignificant portion of the Magic Forest. Although they were careful in site selection and left standing an ancient grove of beloved Mallon Trees, the trees were not doing well under the continual assault from diesel and gasoline fumes and appeared to be dying. They were doomed anyway after the accidental spill of 5,000 gallons of hi-test aviation gas into the formerly pristine River Running. After the not-suspicious-at-all incident, the Elven Queen approved a new tank farm at cost-plus to her recently chartered Royal Construction Guild to replace the grove. But that was a minor setback. Even before the engineers completed the main airstrip and a satellite field, a steady stream of transports began landing the material and personnel for the facility soon to be commissioned Air Base Gilthoniel. Finally, the wondrous day arrived. After a night of thunderous rain squalls and violent winds, the morning dawned and Sun broke through the cloud banks as water drained off the sealed runways and steamed in Her rays, bathing Elf Land in a sublime morning light. Radiant Dawn danced across the mountain tops and high frequency antennas. Then, joyful cries rose in song when sharp elven eyes spied, roaring out of the Far West, the first of many flights of Ara-planes called Gru-mmans, all dressed in Elfish Star-n-Moon livery. A year ago The human Traveler and his aide kept their poker faces waiting on the King as he examined the model ara-plane. Their well-worn, faded cloaks covered air force blue uniforms. He had been, in civilian life, an attorney and top contract negotiator for Standard Oil Company, the aide was on temporary assignment from an unnamed security service. While they had surrendered their swords and daggers all of suitable elven lineage for the royal audience, the aide's .45 caliber semi-automatic ceremonial hip buckler rested snug in its holster. And this is just a ... small version, a toy as it were, the real ones are ... Fifty-four feet two inches, wingtip to wingtip, capacity 2,000 pounds of bombs or rockets, Your Highness, all things considered, well worth their weight in True-Silver. Indeed, said the King to his Elf-Queen. Well worth it, if they give us a way to put an end to the Dwarf Menace and end these insufferable Dwarf Wars once and for all. Moria delenda est, said the Queen reflexively in unison with the rest of the Elf Court. But a succession of shady arms-salesmen hawking the alleged latest improvements in magic arrows and triple-headed-spears resulted in dead Elfs on the battlefields and dead arms-peddlers on the gibbets had made the Queen deeply suspicious. Whilst fingering Elmoreleonard, the white-stoned Ring of Trvth, the Queen fixed the Traveler with her deep and mysterious wolf-gray eyes, and her mind pierced his, probing his deepest thoughts, and weighed the measure of his heart. Her presence grew until it filled the audience hall with a blazing, yet invisible white light. But years of experience facing down banana republic war-lords and government prosecutors stood him well. Concentrating instead on baseball statistics, he did not flinch or look away. He returned her gaze, struck a heroic pose and let her read his mind of the thoughts of pleasures that lay ahead for her. Her will weakened, she blushed ever so faintly. Within her heart swirled deeply buried emotions that she had not felt in Ages. Tell me, she said, recovering her breath and making the subtle but universal sign of rubbing her thumb across her index and middle fingers, about 'kick-backs' and 'sweetheart deals.' Last edited Mar 20, 2019