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

by Ron Smorynski

  “Okay – and make sure word gets back to the mines,” Alfred added.

  “Warn my father too!” said Cory. “I'll stay and protect King Alfred.”

  “And I will stay and protect these two!” Verboden said. Loranna smiled. She hugged and kissed Alfred on the cheek. His face got really red, even in the dark. She hugged Cory as a brother and Verboden as an uncle.

  Verboden quickly spoke a prayer over her.

  Bless this child,

  Bring her strength this night,

  Lead us to do for you,

  Lead us to do what is right.

  Loranna hurried away.

  Dunther and Gorham kept a short distance in front of the marching column of darkly armoured and dark haired soldiers. The Sergeant was on his pony behind them.

  “See those elves anywhere?” asked Dunther, squinting in the dark.

  “No milord,” said Gorham. “Lord Dunther, I feel convicted by the King's words.”

  “What?”

  Dunther was distracted, seeking out the mysterious elven scouts.

  “We have nothing watching our southern border. It is a wide open road to the Keep. I feel compelled to make sure.”

  “To make sure of what?”

  “That King Alfred is wrong – or right. Those elves said these goblins are near the Danken Fuhrs, and that leads us north, a good day from the Keep. One of us should be there with Alfred, just in case.”

  Dunther looked at Gorham, whose expression was earnest. Dunther thought for a moment and then nodded agreement. “Alright, Gorham, I can take on a few goblin raiders. If you feel convicted by our King's misgivings... I agree.”

  Gorham bowed with full respect while on his pony and leaned across, gripping Dunther's armoured shoulder. “May the Father of Light bless us both in our endeavors to fight for the good of the land.” Gorham turned his pony and went past the Sergeant and soldiers.

  Dunther looked furtively as Gorham trotted away.

  The Sergeant squinted at Gorham, who did not return the look. The Sergeant stopped and hand-signaled his soldiers to stop.

  Dunther turned around on his pony. “Sergeant, I did not command you to stop!”

  The Sergeant sat still on his pony, watching as Sir Gorham passed by them heading in the opposite direction. At a gallop, if that is what you would call it on a pony, Sir Gorham then went off the road, into the pastures, through some trees and out of sight.

  The Sergeant looked back at Dunther, trying to decide what to do. The soldiers stood wondering as well what the Sergeant would do – and then what they in turn might have to do. Dunther slowly moved his hand to his sword.

  The Sergeant noticed the elves slip after Gorham into the forest. He gave a slight smile and then turned and waved his men to go forward and follow Lord Dunther.

  Chapter Twenty-Six: A Desperate Mother

  Ethralia was alone in her apartment. The tissues with wiped-off makeup and tears still sat on the kitchen table. The apartment was as it was when Alfred and Tirnalth left a summer ago, but for Alfred's mother just moments had gone by.

  She knelt, putting her hands up in prayer against the cushion of their worn couch. Her emotions were still throttled by the realization that Alfred was beyond her grasp and not safe – not at all. Every moment increased her fear for him, and she could not explain it to anyone in the world and reality she was presently dwelling in.

  She prayed.

  To the Father of Light,

  Where have you gone?

  Why are you lost? Why are we lost?

  Why unleash this magic upon us

  and not say a word?

  Where are you, Father of Light?

  Bring us hope, bring us light,

  to Alfred, bring...

  There was a knock at her door. She rose quickly from her dreadful prayer of lost hope. The person outside repeated the soft knock. She wiped tears and moisture from a furrowed face. She tried to straighten her clothes and hair. She didn't care who was at the door. She just needed to be proper.

  She opened the door quickly, recoiling from the man standing outside. It was Wooly. He stood with a bag.

  “Oh, it's you. Are you here to catch the mice?”

  “Yes, mousetraps.” Wooly raised the bag and then stopped.

  Tears still welled in and flowed from her eyes. She tried a polite smile. Wooly stared at her eyes. She tried to wipe a tear away.

  Wooly couldn't move. She slowly looked up at his eyes and saw something in them again. She couldn't quite grasp it. Was it a memory or just a polite expression? Something in Wooly's eyes, past his scar-ridden face, made her feel at home. Or did it lead her to feel a memory that brought her closer to Alfred, to the land she fled from?

  She saw a slight swelling of tears in Wooly’s eyes. That was too much. She began to sob. She covered her face with one hand, the other still clinging to the door knob. She waved Wooly away. “Give me a moment?” She carefully closed the door on him.

  Once it closed, she cringed tightly as an uncontrollable force of spasms burst out in pained weeping... “Alfred, you will be hunted... And I let you go...”

  She cried in so harrowing a way that at one point she was frozen in strain. At the very end of the outburst, when her strength failed, a slight howl seeped from her voice. The cry was short-lived and exhausting.

  Then she remembered that Wooly still stood outside her door. Somehow she got a grip of herself and let go of the torrential fear of what could happen. She let it all pass. She wiped her face again. She fluttered her hands to cool overheated feelings. She took in cool breaths of air.

  When she felt decent and calm enough to open the door, she did. She looked out, but Wooly was not there. Left on the floor was the bag of mousetraps.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven: Arise! Assassins Are Among Us!

  Gorham trotted along in the forest. He tried to hurry his pony along, but it wasn't made to gallop, only to trot. The forest was thin with many clearings of pastures. It was a warm clear summer night, the kind right before the cold of fall. The moon and stars shone brightly. Gorham felt comfortable, as he could see where he was going. Still, the shadows of trees and forest canopies provided many hidden spots where two elves could swiftly dart through unseen.

  Gorham was a knight and a weary one at that. Well yes, weary, tired and worn, but with his experience and skills, he was also wary. Yes, wary and keenly aware, noticing the darting shadows on both sides – and knowing the catlike movement of the elves.

  On a stallion, he could outrun them. Unfortunately, those dastardly merchants would sell them only ponies. He began to wonder if the merchants had poisoned the knights’ stallions. When they first arrived a season ago, they said the stallions were sick and that they would take care of them. The knights were elated. But the sickness took all their horses. The knights' mounts were taken right from under them. Was this the devious wickedness they were dealing with? He shuddered to think it. Or was the closeness of elven spies just playing tricks on his mind?

  He saw a farm through the forest and up a hillside. He turned his pony that way and decided to make a run for it, keeping low and tight to the pony.

  He cleared the forest and pushed the pony as hard as he could through the fields. He looked back at the forest and noticed an arrow sticking out from the shield he had flung onto his back. This was for real. The elves were his enemy, and so was the Magistrate and likely the Ambassador! He had to make it no matter what happened. With two evil elves armed with deadly bows racing toward him, Gorham did not think his chances were good.

  He yelled to wake up the farmers or whoever was there. “Arise! Assassins are among us!!”

  Then he heard his pony squeal in pain as it jolted him. He looked down to see an arrow stuck in its haunches. He was proud of the pony as it kept pushing forward. Gorham held on tight as the pony worked hard to get up the sloping pasture to the farm.

  The farm window lit up, it's shutters opening, giving Gorham hope that he had a chance. He looked back d
own the slope to the forest and saw the two shadows appear. He could tell they were shooting based on their silhouettes. He gripped the reins tighter and tightened his muscles. If there were goblins behind him, even a hundred firing arrows, chances were good they’d miss him. With elven scouts of this caliber, he knew the arrows would hit. All he was unsure of was when and where.

  And then he felt the pang of an arrow. It broke through his shield and leather armour, exploding in a fire of pain on his side. Another hit the pony, which stumbled and threw Gorham head first up the slope. Gorham flew through the air and crashed into the wheat field. The pony rolled on its side, jostling to get up. Now with two arrows stuck in it, it could only neigh in pain.

  Gorham pulled his shield around. He looked quickly at the arrow in his side and saw it had already fallen out. He was sure it didn't penetrate deep. Still, the pain was great. After taking a deep breath, he turned to hustle up the slope toward the farm. He kept the shield to his back. Two more arrows landed and poked through the shield, nicking his arm. He could ignore that discomfort for now.

  He ran up the slope as fast as he could. He was still several hundred paces from the farmhouse when he saw not just a light in a window but the door open. He was breathing hard, hustling through knee-high wheat.

  Two more arrows landed. This time Gorham fell. One glanced off his helmet and twirled high across the field. The other struck his leg and pierced through. He would never make it to the farm.

  He screamed in anguish, covering himself under his shield poked with arrows. He had no hope and felt an explosion of sorrow. “Not the farmers!” he grimaced. If the elven assassins felled him, they would have to take out any witnesses too.

  He wasn't sure if the moon shined brighter or he was nearer to death, but his vision became more clear. Up the slope, silhouetted against the light of the farm's doorway, was a girl holding a bow and notching an arrow.

  Were the elves already there? Or was it the girls, the girls of his kingdom, the very ones?

  It was Loranna.

  “Loranna, I'm sorry,” he said, barely audible. She arched her bow, fired an arrow off and then darted back into the doorway.

  Gorham nodded and said to himself in his delirium of pain, “Good girl! Get away! Don't stay!”

  The arrow fell at the feet of the elves, which gave them pause. They looked up at the farm. Each notched an arrow. Then they spread left and right, quickly advancing up the slope.

  “Crawl, Gorham! Crawl!” a screeching voice yelled from the window. It was Loranna's mother, who ducked as an arrow flew into the window. “They fired at me! What wicked elves!”

  Gorham crawled as best he could, but there was still a good distance to get to them.

  The farmer's door opened again, and out came two large wooden boards floating in the air, one in front and one in the rear. Several small figures crouched between them. They advanced down the slope.

  The elves from both sides crept closer, staying low and aiming at the boards. One was a shield of old. The other a table top.

  The elves had not heard of how the goblins were defeated or of the epic decimation of the ratkins. They had not heard of the girls of the Westfold and the deadly feats they had accomplished. There might even be the question of whether these elves had actually shot and felled as many enemies as the two girls they targeted. When the younger brother of Loranna, Noren, lowered his shield just a tad, Loranna and her younger sister, Niranna, fired not one arrow each but three in quick succession at one elf. The other elf saw only the back side of the table still held up by their father.

  In his painful state, Gorham saw in slow motion as the arrows flew in rapid succession at an elf with no cover and no awareness of what was coming his way. All this elf knew was that a small kingdom full of farmers and families was about to be defeated and taken over by the Merchant Lords and that he was to be paid handsomely for his service. And that was his downfall. He instinctively dodged the first arrow. He noticed the second and third and used his elven swiftness to maneuver. Then shock spread across his face as the fourth, fifth and sixth arrows came his way. He was woefully unprepared. Not all the arrows met their mark. But not all were required. The elf fell.

  The girls turned to face the other elf as their father plopped the heavy table top on the ground. It was an admirable wall shield. The girls stepped out while firing arrow after arrow, walking forward. The elf was long gone, having disappeared into the woods. Loranna got closer to Gorham.

  “Do not come any closer, Loranna!” Gorham yelled. She stopped suddenly, holding her sister back.

  “His range is slightly farther than your own.” Gorham grimaced as he grabbed both ends of the arrow in his leg. He snapped one end and ripped it out the other way while hollering in pain. He stood up and rushed over to them, yelping with each step. He dropped where Loranna was and looked back.

  Loranna's father and brother came up to help him get to their abode. They carried him in to a chair. Loranna's mother brought wrappings for his leg and a cup of ale for his troubles. He grabbed the goblet and saw her face, sadly noticing, “They cut your face?!”

  They paused. The mother had a small cut where the arrow narrowly sliced her cheek. “It's fine, Sir Gorham. It's fine! Drink up!”

  He drank it heartily to cool his heated face and calm his nerves. He felt his vibrancy return and nodded for her to wrap up his leg tightly. She worked quickly.

  “It's not bleeding much. It just pierced through the flesh,” the mother said in a comforting way.

  Gorham grunted and swigged again. “I must go southward. I must see for myself what is amiss.”

  “We've got a pony in the barn, fastest of the farm steeds!” the father proffered.

  “I'll take it now!”

  Gorham stood awkwardly, feeling a bit dizzy. They caught him. He straightened and puffed air. He took a step expecting to feel immense pain shoot from his leg, but it wasn't that bad. He gave the mother a thankful grip.

  At the barn, Gorham lept upon the pony. It seemed almost like a stallion, and Gorham liked the feel of it. He swirled about. “No elf will keep up with me now. You must warn the farmers. Goblins are possibly to the north, or it may have been just a ruse, a decoy. If there is any other danger, it will be coming from the south. I will head there now.”

  “What of the Keep?!” Loranna asked. “And Alfred?”

  “The Keep is lost!” Gorham replied. “Whatever place you came out of, let us hope Alfred returns to it soon! As soon as I know the truth, I will return to the Keep and Alfred, whether he is there or not, whether I am in time, or not!” He tugged on the reins and took off across the field.

  “What shall we do, Loranna?” Noren asked, holding his spear and shield. Loranna looked to the forest. “Is he still in there?”

  Loranna nodded to him and Niranna. Her eyes gave away her intent.

  “No, Loranna!” her father pleaded.”He's an elf, an elven assassin! They have those mystical ways of the forest!”

  “That's our forest, and I will have no elf murderer in there,” Loranna said.

  The elf watched with hateful eyes as the tall girl and a boy came slowly down the slope. He waited impatiently, as they seemed overly cautious moving within his range. The boy carried a large shield and held it up as stalwartly as a man. The girl followed closely behind. The elf notched an arrow and waited till they got closer. He wanted to shoot in the range where the arrow would be strong enough to pierce the shield and take the boy down. Then he would quickly fire at the exposed girl and exact his revenge.

  The girl dropped her arrows in the wheat field and was frantically picking them back up. The elf giggled to himself. What foolish children, thinking they could challenge him. It took her awhile to gather them. The boy, probably her brother, he thought, tried to bend over to help, but the girl smacked him back to keep up the shield. The elf could have taken the shot but was entertained by their bumbling.

  Finally, they came close enough for him to fire a piercing shot.
He aimed and tightened his bow.

  Elves' ears are highly attuned and can hear the most subtle of sounds and movements. The forest was the perfect place for elves to spot the different warnings of creatures traversing the natural grounds. However, in this forest, well known by local children who played and trained there on a daily basis, the softest of a young girl's feet pitter-pattering along may have never been heard, especially if the girl knew exactly where the softest of grounds were and was as light as a feather. This elf had never encountered a foe actually lighter than himself.

  Loranna had deliberately delayed their approach by dropping her arrows, giving enough time for her younger sister Niranna to sneak through the wheat fields. Unknown and not sensed by the elf, she scurried down a gully that separated the fields and where a stream flowed to a pond at the end of the grove. She ran, reaching the forest to flank the place where the elf was hidden.

  They had guessed his location simply by the fact that it was where they often hid because it had a great vantage point. From that outcropping of trees and the thickest of bushes, one could see all the nearby fields. The girls knew every leaf and branch of the outcropping where he was secluded. His cloak was of highly elven enchantment, able to look like a bush to conceal him. But for the girls, seeing a whole new bush in their secret grove—well, to them it was most obvious.

  The elf heard the flanking feet much too late. He knew at that moment that he had been outwitted by a superior foe. He still had not come to terms that it was children. As he sought to spot and aim at whatever secretive assassin was upon him, he could see only a young girl crouched behind the most ornate thick rooted tree. He could not get a clear shot. She was fully covered in thick living wood, easily able to shoot him, while he was hidden only by leaves and thin branches. His ears sensed that arrows were fast approaching him not only from the flank, but also from the field where the taller girl and young boy stood.

  His magical cloak had hidden him in many successful assassinations and murders and he was in his element – the forest! These thoughts raced through his faerie mind in complete denial that the half dozen arrows coming at him were on mark.