Alfred 2: And The Underworld (Alfred the Boy King)

by Ron Smorynski

  Hedor looked at Alfred. “Well, why didn't you say so!”

  “We're going to mine,” Alfred quickly responded.

  “Uh whah?” Hedor pulled in his fishing pole and lifted the cork. The hook was empty. “Oh, just like my life, empty.”

  “Hedor, I need you to start a mine. Well really, I need you to start mining!” Alfred spoke with great enthusiasm. “We need to start a mine and get ores. I know how to make steel.”

  “Steel? You know the secret ways of those in faraway places, of sorcerers and warlocks?” Hedor sighed, as if the effort was pointless. He pulled up his measly fishing pole, string and empty hook.

  “I researched it. I mean, read up on it while I was gone. We just need iron ore nuggets. We need to dig for it and get some. I need you to get your men together and start immediately.”

  Alfred tossed the grass and stood up. Then Hedor stood up, trying to roll up the dangling string and hook.

  “Steel? Yes, steel, we do need it. That is what was lost to us. And you know its magical secrets?” Hedor, unable to gather up the string and hook, tossed his measly fishing pole into the creek.

  “I do! And they're not magical. I know how to make it! Well, at least how to get Broggia and Boggin to do it.” Alfred watched the fishing stick float lazily into nearby reeds.

  “But the mines… Digging deep can lead to some awful things—foul beasts, goblins, poisons, traps and those vile picts, who reign supreme in the depths.” Hedor rolled up his tattered sitting mat.

  “Let's start easy. Okay? Dig only shallow mines for now, and we'll figure it out.” Alfred watched as dark shadows of fish swam under the floating cork, pecking at it.

  “Okay, shallow mines, near the surface, easy to escape into the sun if needed. Sure, sure, when do we start?” Hedor was thinking of too many things at once.

  “Well, now!” Alfred motioned with wide arms.

  Hedor took it as the beginnings of a hug and embraced him.

  Hedor knew of mines once dug long ago to the west of the Keep and farms. It wasn't too far away, just an afternoon's journey. He gathered his men from the various farmsteads. Some men he persuaded to help while others stayed put. Alfred didn't mind because the farms were just as important.

  Hedor, Alfred, the knights Gorham and Murith, and some of Hedor's ex-bandits camped outside the mines. Alfred was impressed with how quickly, on short notice, these medieval men had gathered exactly the cookware, tents, ointments, foods, sleeping rolls and other gear needed.

  Some men set up the tents. Others created the fireplace. Others hung pots along a wood branch. Still others made hospitable a space near the fire to eat, talk and work. Alfred felt as if he was in the middle of a well oiled machine made of Dark Age men. It was something he suspected not many from his modern world would have expected, let alone experienced. He certainly had not read about it in his history books.

  They began eating cooked fish and sipping a warm broth flavored with the fish's fins and bones. Herbs plucked along the encampment were added as well. They had what Alfred thought to be a partially spoiled white bread. He sniffed it and told them so. Ruig, Hedor's handyman, sniffed it and said that it was the effervescence of drink they all loved to remember. Alcohol is what he was referring to! Alfred wanted no part of spoiled funky bread. The others gobbled it up greedily, dunking it in the fish broth and enjoying themselves. Soon enough, after all the food was consumed, they began smoking pipes.

  Molger brought out a small barrel of wine he made. He was strong and fat, squat like a fantasy dwarf but acted dopey and cheerful. He had married a widow and raised her children as his own, two being part of Loranna's crew of archers. He came to help settle them in and make their work a little more cheerful. He was friendly and charitable with his wild cherry wine.

  They offered Alfred some, not because he was a boy but because he was the King. Alfred declined, commanding that none of them drink too much, for they had plenty of work to do in the morning.

  They sat about the fire looking at the hillside where the mine was. It was just up a path, past a series of rock crags and thick brambly trees. It was getting darker, so the hills were turning into large dark shadows. Hedor told of how they mined here years ago. There were sure to be some veins of ore left, he said. The mining era ended because of the goblin raids that overran the area. Since the victory at Grotham Keep last year, however, no goblins had returned, at least not yet.

  Hedor said it was good for men to get out into these areas, especially the mines. If they didn't, the goblins would most definitely return sooner. He pulled out tools that they had gathered from the many helpful farmers: hammers, picks, and buckets of various sizes and shapes.

  They sang songs into the night—ballads of the Crusades, of fallen heroes, of knights and men, songs of love and honor, songs of silly heroes and brave ones always foolhardy yet heroic. Most of their songs were of champions in one form or another, sacrificing whatever they had to do good. As the night went on, the songs became softer and more melancholy, but they still were about heroes doing good at all costs. Alfred thought about this Under Realm, or Underworld as they called it, and what was in store.

  Chapter Fourteen: The Return of the Children

  The next morning, Hedor and his men suited up with hammers, picks, oil lamps, ropes and some minor provisions of food and water. All were stiff from the cold morning but loosened up as they moved around and felt the warmth from the rising sun. Tea and buttery biscuits were served to all. Several farmers’ wives from nearby showed up, providing cheese and eggs. They also cleaned up the area around the fire and set things in better order.

  Sir Gorham and Sir Murith were preparing to set off to do their own tasks, including rallying the children back to training. Alfred wanted to explore the mines, but he also longed to see Loranna again – and hang out with Cory, his second in command, Wilden and the spearboys.

  Hedor saw his anxious expression as the knights were starting to depart. “King Alfred, you should meet with your people first. That will give us time to explore the mines to see if they are safe and to determine what direction the work may take us. When you return, you can then enter and see for yourself.”

  “Ah, I really wanted to go exploring.”

  “There will be plenty of mines and caverns left for that! Go on!”

  Relieved, Alfred hurried along to catch up with the knights on their ponies. Murith took him upon his stout pony.

  As they turned the road up toward Loranna’s farm, they saw her practicing with a bow and arrows, the ones she was supposed to have given up, to be sold to the merchants. When she saw them coming, she quickly tried to hide the weapons. Gorham and Murith shared a glance as they dismounted and then entered the grove where she had been practicing.

  “How have you kept bow and arrow?” asked Gorham. “Those were part of the deal with the merchants, for our ponies!”

  “If they knew you kept them, they'd surely take back the ponies,” added Murith.

  Gorham saw where she hid the bow and arrows. He knelt down to examine the cache, lifting up a woven mat. His eyes bulged at all that he saw.

  “How have you kept so many?! We handed over a large stock.”

  “Broggia and Boggin made replacements to appear as these,” Loranna said.

  “You mean, inferior replacements?” Murith asked, irked that even he was fooled.

  Loranna shrugged, looking at no one.

  Alfred looked at the impressive collection. “It seems the merchants don't care about trading as much as disarming the people who saved Grotham Keep.”

  Loranna hid her face in her hands and trembled.

  Sir Gorham and Murith looked at each other again.

  “The desire to disarm people in a land, knowing evil exists, that would be most wicked indeed,” said Murith.

  Loranna cried silently for a moment as the knights stood, unsure what to do. She reached down and picked up her bow and three arrows, holding them tightly in her hands. They knew her deadly
skills, even if she was only a girl.

  “I knew, Alfred. I knew... They came to somehow pretend and take over in their own way, to tell us what to do, to make us part of their realm and not our own! And Dunther let them. He let them take whatever for false promises of security and men. Men whom we do not know or trust! That is why I hid these and kept the girls trained and ready!”

  Loranna quickly turned and fired off an arrow, hitting its mark with deadly accuracy. Before Sir Gorham and Murith could turn their heads back from looking at each other, two more arrows joined them.

  Sir Murith's jaw lost all muscle control.

  “Shall I do it again?” Loranna stared at the knights.

  “By all means,” Sir Gorham motioned.

  Loranna pulled out three more arrows, and before the men could focus on the target forty paces down, all three were buried comfortably next to the first three.

  “By the Order of Light, what have you done?” Sir Murith gazed at the quite dead haystack stuck with arrows.

  “I noticed you fired from the wrong side of the bow,” said Sir Gorham.

  “Reaching across to the left side wastes precious time,” said Loranna, winking at Alfred. “I fire as soon as I lift the arrow on the side I lift it from. I have widened the notches so it’s quicker to draw. We have been practicing to increase speed and numbers fired while all the time moving...” She fired three more arrows running to and fro. They weren't as close in the haystack but close enough, within inches of the first six.

  Gorham and Murith guffawed and smacked each other's leather armour on the back. “An army of goblins could not contend with that!” Sir Murith snickered.

  “Exactly! While you have fettered away our defenses to foreigners who are not friends, but foes in disguise, we have been preparing for goblins that will undoubtedly return and outnumber us!” Loranna continued to pull out her arrows with efficiency and speed, shooting arrow after arrow at the target.

  Sir Gorham and Murith straightened up, gulping. They felt guilty that their days at the Keep may not have been as fruitful as her days hidden in this small grove in lowlands at her father's farm.

  Her mother showed up. “Would you like some tea?” She hobbled down the narrow path into the grove. Setheyna and the other girls were behind her. “We heard the news that the knights have finally figured out who has been right all along.”

  “Who has said that?” Sir Gorham asked indignantly while trying to stare sternly at the girls, who were trotting down to gather their goblin bows and arrows from the cache.

  “Oh, just all the girls, and boys.... and farmers...” Setheyna said with a shrug. “Practically everyone.” The scar on her forehead was a constant reminder of the dangers they face, having received the first major wound by goblins in Danken Fuhrs and showing proof of her bravery. She had grown into the disfigurement.

  Their bows were goblin weapons scavenged when Alfred had first come, with many refinements having been made over time. They had been polished, revealing the wood and thread filaments. Oils and stains of wondrous flower inks and dyes had been applied liberally. Tied on to them now were subtle small attachments with tiny feathers and beaded jewelry. There was nothing done to unbalance or encumber the bows. There were just small girly touches added to the deadliest of weapons.

  Sir Murith, deciding tea was quite proper at this time, bowed graciously to the diminutive mother and held a tiny cup as graciously as he could. He sipped and held his tongue.

  Gorham's face was a bit reddened at being called out. The expression on it turned to amazement as he watched the girls running and swirling in faerie-like drills, firing dozens of arrows, each hitting the haystack down the lane. He elbowed Sir Murith, causing him to spill his tea. Guffawing and gleeful chuckling returned. They deserved every criticism of their failure to see what was wrong. And they were overjoyed to see before them what was definitely right.

  Alfred watched as Loranna, making sure he was watching her, ran into the crisscrossing girls and let off another trio of arrows. She reached the haystacks, which had dozens of deadly arrows in them – turning them into grotesque cactus-like arrangements. The girls stopped at the stacks and joined Loranna in pulling arrows.

  Loranna looked back at Alfred. They stared at each other a bit too long. Sir Murith elbowed Gorham, who was now sipping his own tea. He fumbled his cup with puckered lips. They recognized the meaning of the looks. Murith's brows jumped. Gorham rolled his eyes.

  “Retreat and fire!” Loranna suddenly said. The flurry of girls hissed as they leapt into action. They swirled and twirled in and amongst each other, retreating in all due haste as arrow after arrow flew back into the haystacks. By the time they reached Alfred, the haystacks were once again very, very, VERY dead.

  Alfred raised his arms as if to hug her.

  She turned away, saying, “Go, Alfred, and be the king we need!”

  The girls giggled.

  Murith and Gorham grimaced in embarrassment for their king, who was left with open arms in the air. Alfred blinked out of it and looked at them.

  “Heh, heh...”

  Cory, it appears, was not as focused or prepared as Loranna. He was attending to cows and butter and cheeses with his father Derhman when they arrived. They were in their newly built barn – more of a small shed than a great structure. The knights were quite interested in testing their cheeses, but Derhman wasn't so charitable. Only by the order of that miserable Lord Dunther would Derhman relinquish any cheese.

  Alfred explained to Derhman that Gorham and Murith regretted the decision to disarm the boys and were now coming to help fix the problem. Unfortunately, Derhman was still angry. After all, he actually got into a fistfight with Dunther over it. It was Gorham and Murith who tackled him and kept him in a cell until Abedeyan released him without their consent. Dunther overlooked Abedeyan’s disobedience, but Derhman was sure it was only because he did not want to cause a row with the farmers while the merchants where there plucking at the best of the sheep and cows.

  Alfred was shocked to learn that the merchants not only obtained weapons and horses but also took some of the best of the seeds and stock as payment. Gorham and Murith shivered in their armour, knowing now that another bad deal had been struck right under their noses. Alfred couldn't believe it.

  Derhman added, “It will take years before the farmers can grow crops and raise livestock to match what they only recently gained and had to trade away. The cheese is not yours!” He sniffed a large wheel then wrapped it up tight. Cory was squeezing curd out of a pail and avoiding eye contact.

  The knights were stuck once again with some stale tea from the farmer's wife.

  “Derhman, we need Cory to return, to drill and to prepare the boys for defense.”

  “No sire, I won’t allow him to return. And the other farmers will not allow their boys near that Keep with all the dreaded outsiders... inside!”

  Cory would not look at Alfred, for he agreed with his father this time.

  “Derhman, I'm sorry for all that has happened. Lord Dunther is sorry.”

  “Bah.”

  “But I need Cory. I need the spearboys!”

  “We farmers are all in agreement.”

  Gorham stepped forward, “You will do as your king commands!”

  Derhman, and even Alfred, flinched at Gorham's authoritative voice.

  But Derhman used all the courage he could muster through tears. “I won't! I can't! Traitors are in our Keep! They are in the place we sent our very children to defend! Whom you honored at the field and then YOU kicked out!”

  As Derhman spoke and made erratic gestures, Gorham was ready to pounce on him again.

  Alfred raised his hand yet gave Gorham an appreciative look. Gorham stood back as Derhman composed himself, tending to cheeses on a shelf.

  “You are right, Derhman. We can't have the kids there. Gorham?”

  Gorham blinked out of his focused gaze on Derhman, “Yes, milord?”

  “Could Gorbogal do this? Coul
d she be running the merchants? In control of them somehow?”

  “Not possible,” said Murith. “They've been at war with her since the beginning.”

  Gorham looked again at Derhman, who though silent was wrought with tension.

  Then Gorham spoke, “Gorbogal, the witch, was known to enslave even the vilest of men, but she has never laid siege to Telehistine. The mercenaries they brought are of the Southern Coast, which includes many different kingdoms and factions. There is no telling who is of the Order of Light and who perchance follows darker or more insidious cults or barbaric ways. There is also known to be a large force of pirate raiders who hide in crags and secret bays, raiding the villages along the coast. Who knows if what we have in our walls are pirates or victims enslaved long ago?”

  Derhman wanted to respond but huffed and waved away an invisible fly from his shelves containing newly made cheeses.

  Alfred paced and thought. The others watched intently. “With so many in the Keep that we can't trust, Derhman is right.”

  Derhman looked up from his cheese, having cut slivers for him and Cory to taste. He then handed a piece to Alfred, who chewed it while in thought. Gorham and Murith noticed.

  “We'll have to keep training them. Loranna has the grove, but I want them near our, uh... operations…so they can defend us. Goblins could raid. Ratkins could show up. Who knows? It would be better to train the boys and girls in a place where we can hide our activity and have defenses set up!”

  Derhman and Cory nodded agreement – on the cheese that is. Both tasted more morsels as the knights looked on with only earthy watery tea in hand. The farmer's wife was also given a tasty wedge.

  “Oh, this is real good,” Alfred mumbled, trying to speak with a large chunk in his mouth. Murith's stomach growled, but only Gorham noticed.

  “They need to be with us, and Sir Murith must make sure they are ready but not where the merchants or anyone else knows. Hmm... I know!”

  Gorham blinked out of his cheese stare. “No, Alfred, not there!”