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

by Ron Smorynski

  “I bid thee farewell, Ambassador. May you escape the evils of this world without ever having to confront them.” Alfred left his carriage.

  At first, the Ambassador smiled warmly, but as the whole set of words sunk in, he was humiliated and then angry. Cowardly people can be easily angered, especially if they are called out or revealed to be as such. They run away from true evil or pretend it doesn't exist.

  Alfred walked up to the Magistrate. The Royal Captain of the Guard turned and stood by him as if Alfred was a possible threat. Nubio, even with his dark skin, visibly showed bruises and swellings from a beating. He quivered next to the Magistrate.

  “I see you are leaving,” Alfred began.

  “I'm most sorry for the predicament your kingdom is in. If only we had negotiated a proper alliance, then you could have benefited from our superior royal guardsmen such as this warrior by my side.” The Magistrate nodded to the Captain, who merely smirked. “These slave raiding ogres, I hear, are most vile and brutal and give no quarter, no mercy. They are thick skinned. I fear little children's arrows won't do – no, not at all. The ogres are not ones to show compassion. Brutality is their calling.”

  Alfred looked at Nubio. “There's plenty of brutality to go around, Magistrate,” he said with a level gaze.

  The Magistrate noticed this and glared back.

  Alfred continued, “I have seen nothing of your overdressed and running away guards to make me want to sign any alliance with greedy selfish Lords who lord over nothing but their own wealth upon the backs of others!”

  The Royal Captain grabbed his sword. The Magistrate put his hand on the Captain and nodded that it was not worth it.

  “Yes, Magistrate, you expect my fate to be far worse under these ogres. Killing me now wouldn't be as fun.”

  “Your disregard for proper veneration of those who can save your kingdom, with the powers of the Merchant Lords of Telehistine, is... unbecoming. And now, we shall see the result of your choice inflicted upon your people. That is where I will find my fun.” The Magistrate's eyes suddenly burned with a red fire.

  “Off with you then! I have a war to fight!”

  King Alfred backed off defensively to avoid any sudden slashes of the sword by the Captain. He ran to the Great Hall and got to the door to go inside. Before he entered, he looked back at The Magistrate and Captain and saw them laughing at him one last time.

  “Oh, Magistrate, one last thing!” he yelled.

  “Yes, one last thing before the end, boy king. What is it?” The Magistrate bowed.

  “Don't wait for your elven scouts. They will never return.”

  Alfred watched as the Magistrate's eyes widened beyond that of a confident conspirator. Alfred knew not the expectations the Magistrate had for these elves. He must have often used their skills and experience for many wicked endeavors. They likely had done his bidding in some of the most powerful kingdoms, felling important people by poisoning, assassinating, sabotaging and incredible feats of treachery. To hear that in this small kingdom of ragtag farmers and children his two masterful assassins and devisers of dark schemes fell was too much for him. It was not possible. How? Where? When? Who?

  As the Magistrate showed a stunned look of terrified doubt, Alfred closed the door and shuttered it. He sighed and smiled and then shook it off, hurrying to Abedeyan, who laid out his goblin-like armour. He put it on quickly.

  “How many loyal men do we have to man the walls?”

  “Well, uh, about a score of working men,” said Abedeyan, calculating thoughtfully. “They're actually the husbands and brothers of the seamstresses. Several are the cooks and cleaners, a mason and stone cutter, and uh, my aids. And myself!” Abedeyan bowed.

  They walked out into the Great Hall, where the score of men stood. All were wearing leather armour and leftover goblin pieces in one fashion or another. None looked thrilled to be there, nor were they really ready for a fight. The seamstresses hugged and cried over their not so stalwart men. Quite a few were older.

  “Lady Nihan, you must take the women through the tunnels now,” Alfred said.

  Lady Nihan tugged at the women, indicating that they must depart. Abedeyan and the husbands handed them oil lamps. The women gave hugs to their men.

  Cory quickly handed them a simple map. “Follow this. It leads to the Sanctuary.”

  Loranna and Cory remained with the men.

  “We will fight only long enough to hold out for Gorham and Dunther, for their return,” said King Alfred in a commanding voice. “When we cannot hold out any longer, you are all free to escape to the tunnels.”

  The portly cooks and gangly cleaners and old craftsmen sighed relief.

  “That's right! We are to man the walls for show. Pretend you are great warriors! Okay? You can all pretend, right? Shouting and yelling like you're going to fight, right?” Alfred encouraged them. “Grrrahah-hhahh!! Okay, you try it!”

  They meek crew lifted their measly weapons and whooped and hollered not so virulently.

  Loranna and Cory posed in unison. “Yahhhhrrrr!!!”

  “Okay, okay, try and copy them!” Alfred pointed to Loranna and Cory.

  They watched as Loranna and Cory repeated their war cry, “YAHHHRRR!!”

  The cook and cleaning crew tried again. “Yeeeeeee..”

  “Yeah okay…” said Alfred, shaking his head. “To the walls!”

  Chapter Thirty: Gorham's Struggle

  Without much notice, Verboden passed through the ramshackle village. Everyone was packing up and hurriedly escaping.

  “Come on, rats. We're leaving this sinking ship!” someone yelled as wagons and carts and braying ponies scattered in all directions. Well, in all directions except south. None went south! Only the lone figure of Verboden headed south. He hurried along past the open fields and headed into the bushes that dotted the Southern Road. He moved much faster off the path than on.

  He was a cleric of sorts who felt most at home surrounded by greenery and in the forests. Some might call him a druid, but he wasn't into worshiping the trees as much as appreciating their creation and ultimately their Creator. He did not revere trees or animals as gods or souls, but looked at the natural world as a garden of beauty and creatures as created for mankind.

  There were plenty of enchanted trees to fear or admire, just as there was good and bad magic unleashed in the world. In the scrub around him, these bushes and scattered trees were of the typical silent and steady kind. He passed through quickly. If his path crossed a bramble of branches, he merely waved his staff and the lattice would part to allow him to pass and then close behind him.

  He waved his staff in the air and sensed the surroundings. He prayed silently as he looked at distant knolls and into the shadows of faraway groves. He was searching the land to find the path of Gorham.

  As the rays from the morning sun sparkled the cold crisp water flowing between rocks and tree roots, Sir Gorham lay exhausted under a riverbank. Hidden in mud and reeds, he listened intently. He heard the bark and growl of hyenas and hobgoblins. They were a distance away. He continued his punishing and frantic swim down the roughshod river.

  The creek’s flow had grown to a river of sorts. In some areas it was wide and rippling along. In others, where it narrowed, there were swelling white-water rapids and deep bubbling pools. He grabbed a log to float on as the river deepened. He clung to it but kept low, spotting hobgoblins on hyenas racing back up the valley.

  Gorham gained some distance, making his way through the rough waters. The log gave him respite from swimming, but holding on was also tiring.

  The hobgoblin scouts were ever returning to the river's edge, barking orders at each other as they searched.

  He still had his sword and dagger but had discarded the rest of his armour so he could swim. He was exhausted with no energy to fight. He prayed for deliverance. It was all he had left.

  The hyenas made haste to the flowing river. Two back-tracked up the river while the other four came closer and followe
d its tumultuous terrain downstream. There were places along it with rock outcroppings to cross over. A pair of hobgoblins on their mounts traversed each side. The erratic terrain had them hopping and leaping from rock to log to mound to see where their prey might be swimming or floating along.

  Sir Gorham’s hands were exposed as he held on to the log. Eventually, they would be within distance to see him and bark out. He decided that fighting two now was better than all later. So he veered to one side and found rocky ground where he could set his boots in the water. He would leap up and swing with whatever strength he had left.

  He lodged the floating log against a massive rock and hid behind it as the hyenas bounded his way. He could sense one of the beast’s arrival, just on the other side of the rock. It was sniffing frantically. He was extremely wet and probably not at all odorous at the moment, but the giant hyena's heightened sense of smell would still draw it towards him. As it crested the rock, Gorham leapt up and poked it in the eye. The hyena yelped in pain, its rider barely maintaining control as it backed away. The second rushed up, bearing its teeth, ready to chomp. Gorham fell back into the water and raised his sword. He could not bear a full charge by a ferocious creature.

  The hyena snapped its jaws where Gorham had been. Fallen in the water, he swung his sword with skill. It slashed the hyena. The creature retreated. The hobgoblin would have none of it. He jumped off the mount into the water, crashing down with its heavy mace. Gorham rolled away and swung back to cut the hobgoblin's leg. The hobgoblin squealed as it fell into the water, unable to swim. It thrashed about as its leg bobbed away. Gorham stood up as quickly as he could just as the hyena returned to bite down on his boot.

  Gorham yelled as the hyena dragged him roughly across river rocks. He jabbed his sword down to kill the biting beast. It dropped in the water, creating a river swell. He cried out as he was strewn across a rock with a mangled leg and painful contusions. The other hobgoblin dismounted his blinded hyena and quickly hobbled over. He pulled out a club.

  The other mounted hobgoblins vaulted over rock outcroppings to get to them, pulling out ropes and hooks of the scariest sort.

  Gorham drew his dagger and aimed it at himself. He was too late. The hobgoblin clubbed him, and he was out.

  Chapter Thirty-One: Verboden Meets the Ogres

  The hobgoblins headed back to the ogre caravan with their prize, Sir Gorham, tied to a hyena. They raised their weapons in victory, seeking approval as they approached along the road. The ogres in the lead, sitting on their wagons, watched as the hobgoblins trotted toward them. They looked at their prize and grunted approval.

  A lone figure stood out from the trees and bushes with staff drawn. In a hooded cloak, Verboden stood between the gangs of hobgoblins and the ogre caravan. The ogres stood up in their wagons, confused. What lone puny man would stand there in their presence? The hobgoblins stopped and barked at him. The hobgoblin, that had Gorham strapped to its hyena, charged.

  Verboden pointed his staff, and the hyena contorted, biting its rider and throwing him onto the ground. Verboden then waved his staff and leapt up, seating himself on the hyena. The other hobgoblins yelled and growled and began to charge him. Verboden waved his staff. The hyenas rolled like dogs, throwing and crushing the hobgoblin riders. Verboden took the reins of the hyena and quickly checked Sir Gorham. He then looked back at the ogres and their caravan, which was only a short distance away.

  One ogre roared in anger, pounding an awesome warhammer. Another leapt off his wagon and walked to the front of the caravan. He picked up a large boulder and tossed it. It just missed Verboden, landing in an explosion of dirt. They were certainly in range to do some damage.

  Verboden pointed his staff toward the ogre. The riderless hyenas charged in full fury toward him. The ogre, with his big menacing jowl and thick tusks, stood silent and brooding.

  As the hyenas approached, the ogre merely smacked them away or punched them to the ground. None survived its powerful bashes. All the while the ogre kept its hateful black eyes on Verboden, who brought about his hyena mount and took off with Gorham. He gave one last look at the ogre before disappearing from their view.

  Other hobgoblins on hyenas raced forward, but the ogre raised its fist and ROARED for them to stop. They cowered back as the ogre turned. Familiar with the brutal anger of an ogre, they kept their distance. The ogre climbed back on the lead wagon and waved for them to move forward.

  All along the caravan, in and out of the wagons, were many smaller goblins furtively clinging to the spikes and horns, riding along as servants and pawns. The fat ogres sat atop the grotesque slave wagons. One ogre rode a brawny rhino adorned with bloodied chains and spikes. Another was on top of a fat lumbering triceratops dragon with the same aberrant adornments. All of their accouterments, collected over hundreds of years and countless tragic victims, were meant to terrorize those they met. Just seeing ogres was frightful enough. But to see their horns and spikes, and their hooks and chains, was most disturbing, to say the least!

  Worst was seeing dark-skinned captives, mostly Khanifians, huddled in their cages. These were the ogres’ slaves, taken from their homes in faraway lands. By the look in their eyes, you could see they had no hope. And by the confident look in the ogres’ eyes, you knew that they have never been defeated in the course of their enslavement of humans.

  Chapter Thirty-Two: The Failure of Knights

  Alfred, Lord Tahnwhithe and twenty or so cooks and servants stood on the castle walls by the main gate. They watched as the foreigners fled in all directions from the castle – all directions except south.

  The Ambassador's caravan slowly but methodically meandered its way along the West Road.

  “They must be going a safe distance that direction and will find a route southward back to Telehistine,” Lord Tahnwhithe said.

  It was a large group of people, caravans, wagons and carriages. There were soldiers riding horses, donkeys hauling loads and farm animals and folk walking along. It appeared that these people were used to such hurried departures.

  Loranna and Cory stood with Alfred under one of the spiky wooden battlements unfinished by the very group of laborers who were departing.

  “Well, it's just us again,” said Alfred, bemused.

  “Just the way I like it.” Loranna tapped her bow.

  “They said ogres are coming,” noted Cory, looking at his small spear... “I don't think my spear is going to be very effective against ogres.”

  “I've never seen ogres!” Alfred said.

  “Neither have I. What are they?” Loranna asked.

  “They are the most hideous and foul of beings, my child. Veterans of war!” said Abedeyan, traversing up the steep stairs.

  Lord Tahnwhithe added, “Smallest of the giant folk, but the most insidious! They have many dealings with the vilest of men. They are slave raiders and usurpers of the weakest folk. Their skin is as thick as leather armour, and their limbs as round as trees! They are as strong as bears, trolls and magical beasts! Our weapons will be useless against them!”

  “Alfred, shouldn't we flee now?” Cory tried to be brave but was very pale.

  “Don't worry,” said Alfred. “We just gotta hold out long enough for Gorham. I'm pretty sure these ogres can't fit into the tunnels.”

  “Correct!” said Abedeyan. “However, they have goblins, servants and slaves that can. They'll use them for sure.”

  “Well those we can dispense with!” Loranna aimed her empty bow into the air, at imaginary goblins.

  “I'm just here to advise!” Abedeyan said. Then he waved off and headed downstairs – where to they did not know.

  “Where are you going?” Alfred asked.

  “To close the gate! Unless you want the ogres to just walk right in.” Abedeyan stomped down the stairs.

  “Look! A foul creature!” Loranna pointed across the field southward beyond the empty village. She notched an arrow.

  Alfred and Cory spied the dog-like creature. It had a rider and s
ome sort of baggage.

  “What is that?” Cory asked. They didn't look all that menacing. Alfred stood and stared. Many of the cooks and cleaners pointed. One fainted. The others had to attend to him. The rider reached the empty village and galloped through on a strange beast. Alfred felt something odd about the beast and rider.

  As Loranna aimed her bow, the stretching tension of the wood and string was easily heard. “In range.”

  Alfred raised his hand. “Hold it!”

  “Oh, I really want to test out my elven bow on a live target, soon to be dead!”

  “I think that's Verboden,” said Alfred, waving.

  “And what's he got on that wolf thing?” Cory asked, pointing over the wall.

  “It's a skinny feller tied to it,” Loranna said.

  “It's Gorham! He's rescued Gorham!” Alfred leapt down the stairs.

  “More like caught him, right? All tied up?” Cory followed.

  Loranna waited on top, spying out the landscape.

  “Keep an eye out for anyone else!” Alfred yelled when he reached the bottom of the stairs.

  Lord Tahnwhithe stayed with Loranna, peering into the distance.

  “Exactly,” Loranna said, scanning the distant forest lines with her bow.

  Verboden raced up the open slope from the empty ramshackle village to the castle. He waved his staff to keep the gate open. Abedeyan was right in the middle of closing it. His small stature was overshadowed by the large wooden wheel.

  “Hold the gate open!” Alfred yelled, running by.

  Abedeyan grimaced, holding the wheel in mid-pull. Though it was on a pulley system, the weight of the door still taxed the old man.

  Verboden leapt off his beast and began to untie Gorham from it. Alfred and Cory rushed out and stopped suddenly. The foul hyena growled at them. Verboden said a quick word, and the hyena whimpered and sniffed an apology.