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

by Ron Smorynski

  The knights returned to honor his sacrifice. They went to their knees and gave a quick prayer of thanks.

  “Father of Light, honor...”

  “Oh stone and iron, that is gonna HOIRT in the morning!” Gib said, coughing and sitting up. The heavy iron ball rolled off and dropped heavily against the stone, rolling to Gorham's knee and tapping it. It made Gorham grimace in pain.

  “By the Father, you're alive?”

  “Oooooh... but I've got a stomach ache for sure,” Gib said. “You may have to help me up on this one. My core is sore.”

  Dunther and Gorham nodded crazily and complied, helping him up.

  “It didn't crush you?”

  “Me, iron and stone? Noooo, my friend. Iron and stone is what gnomes live by. Neither can crush us! Although this one was a doozy!” Gib tottered a bit as if drunk.

  “Let's go!” Dunther said.

  Gorham nodded as they helped Gib along.

  The War Chief, bent over, roared again as he saw the knights and a small critter get up from his cannonball toss and hurry away in the tunnels. He pulled out another cannonball and yelled at his ogres. “Takez a tunnel! Throw them in!”

  Loranna and the girls were still within range. Dunther and Gorham carried Gib along. It seemed he was definitely affected by the crushing cannonball. “Bring it on!” Gib yelled in a weird drunken state.

  The War Chief and ogres lifted their cannonballs. As they were going to throw them a giant triceratops came crashing down upon them. It roared a bullish howl and stampeded amongst them, tossing them aside and goring a few in their legs and arms. The dungeon confines made for a horrendous corral that had the ogres bashing into one another and knocked about by the crazed dragon. It slammed against the War Chief, forcing him to grab its horns and push with all his might.

  He looked up to see Alfred and Verboden on a hyena. Verboden was directing the dragon with thunderous words. The War Chief yelled in furious rage and twisted the dragon’s horns to break its neck.

  Alfred looked down at the War Chief. “I am King Alfred! We'll be back!”

  The War Chief wanted to speak but had no words.

  “Prepare for war!” Alfred yelled.

  Verboden spurred the hyena, and off they went.

  The War Chief and his ogres lifted themselves up from the dungeon floor onto the rubble-strewn grounds of the Keep. Many were limping and mangled. The War Chief saw dead ogres, more than he had ever seen. He saw dead goblins and hobgoblins and dead dinos. He had never seen the loss of his raiding party – ever. A tear formed in his eye. He grabbed frantically at it, knowing that only humies could cry. Many throughout his hundreds of years had he seen crying, but never had he or any ogre seen an ogre cry. This was what separated ogres from weak men. Ogres were all-powerful and brutal, unwavering in strength and ferocity.

  Until this day, until the meeting with the boy King Alfred, it was never known throughout the land, even as far as the Orient, the shaking, quivering truth that ogres could cry. It now became a truth that shattered the very foundation of their evil tyranny.

  The ogres stared at their War Chief. He sniffled and looked at his stubby fingers moistened with is own tears. He was well aware, from the thousands upon thousands of human slaves he had seen crying in agony and loss, that he now finally experienced it. “Impozz ubel... imposs..ubel...” The tears cascading from his eyes and onto his hands were a terrifying revelation. He roared in anger to try to fight off the curse. He fell to his knees and looked blankly at his shattered war party, lying strewn and dead across the grounds of Grotham Keep.

  Chapter Fifty: The Light of Day

  Verboden and Alfred, on the hyena, easily traveled the countryside of the Westfold to the mines. Alfred instructed Verboden how to get to the entrance that led down to the gnomes' city.

  Verboden breathed the air. “The air of freedom, Alfred… it is invigorating. It is within our very souls, given to us as a gift from the Father of Light, to know it, to want it and to hope for it.”

  Alfred smiled, holding on dearly as the hyena seemed frolicsome and almost doglike in its gallop. Verboden comforted the beast and spurred it on with soft taps and joyful whistles. “Freedom!”

  “What do you mean to know it? Like a gift?”

  “Evil can entrap and enslave you. It can wear down your soul with lies and fear. But evermore, the soul still yearns for something. Sometimes we are so lost that we do not know what it is. But it is always freedom. Freedom to fly, freedom to breathe, freedom to choose our hope and faith in him.”

  “Verboden, who is the Father of Light?”

  They crossed fields full of sprouted wheat and barley, fruit and nut trees awaiting harvest. Bugs and butterflies, birds and beasts roaming about the land. Verboden spoke, “He is the Creator of all things and us, of our souls and of freedom. He is the provider and keeper, the law maker and giver.”

  “I think we have someone like that too, where I come from.”

  “You do? Of course you do! He created everything.”

  “They call him God,” Alfred recalled.

  “That's a short name.”

  “I don't know much about him. We have churches and things.”

  “Maybe you should learn more about him. After all, he created all this for us.”

  Verboden stopped the hyena suddenly, seeing what appeared to be a group of naked little people frolicking under a waterfall and pool. “Oh, uh..”

  “Let me out!” a gruff voice called.

  Alfred and Verboden turned to see, in an open and sunny field, a little bearded man who was partially made of stone. Or was he?

  “That's the Artofessor!” Alfred gasped.

  “It's a wretched beast, I say!” another voice called out from beneath shade trees. They were pointing their javelin shooters at the hyena.

  “That's Alfred aboard that beast?!” one of the semi-naked gnomes said, pointing.

  “I've heard of these horses. Didn't know they were so ugly!” said another.

  “Who are these small folk?” Verboden asked Alfred quietly.

  “Gnomes, but I don't recognize them... this way.”

  Alfred and Verboden looked at more frolicking gnomes in the pool nearby with a quaint waterfall. Many were relaxing under the shade of trees. All had their armour or grey dreary clothes off as they lay in sun or shade.

  “Are you the gnomes from the Underworld? Is that you, Gup?” Alfred nimbly leapt off the beast.

  Gup, in white pasty skin, almost completely naked, came out from the shade of a grove, holding up one of their spring loaded javelin shooters. He opened his arms to Alfred, who gave him a big hug.

  “My boy, you retreated on this foul beast and all your people are lost to the ogres?” Gup said in a strange mix of joy and gloom.

  “Uh, why no, we saved them all, and they should be returning through the tunnels to our Refuge. And Gib is with them.”

  “Oh, I see?” Gup said with a smile. “It's always best to proclaim the worst news first. Then it can only get better!”

  “Oh, okay...”

  Verboden walked up and had to introduce himself. “I am Verboden the Cleric, servant of King Alfred.”

  “Oooh a cleric! We be a bit suspicious of your ilk!” said Gup, both smiling and gritting teeth.

  Verboden nodded, unsure of what to say. He looked to Alfred for assurance but saw that he was distracted by the scenery. Naked and near-naked gnomes swam and splashed in the pool. They were scrubbing off their stone skin and had dirtied the pond to a dark cloudy goo. They didn't seem to care. Others were cautiously trying fruits and nuts. One was sniffing a flower. Still others were rolling in grass and chewing it. This was incredible to see – squat, pasty-pale little gnomes, still squinting, embracing the light and the land.

  Verboden rummaged through tree branches and broke one off to create a perfect staff.

  Alfred saw the group of gnomes shackled together in the sun behind the Artofessor. They were all stuck in various postures within dr
ied stone skins, and all were of the stone trooper, Artofessor guardian type.

  “I see the flash-bang plan worked!”

  “Marvelously, King Alfred, it worked marvelously! You saved my people.” Gup hugged Alfred again. Tears formed in his eyes. He hugged and hugged.

  Alfred coughed, “So what are you going to do with them?”

  Gup looked disparagingly at the shackled gnomes, each one was stuck in various stoned poses. Many still had their armour on, crusted in dried stone skin. Some had broken free in parts – an arm, facial muscles, a leg. But they were shackled together and still held in their imprisonment. “Those are the hold-outs. Waiting for them.”

  “Waiting for them what?” Alfred asked impatiently.

  “To give in.”

  One finally raised a loose arm. “Okay, I'm in.”

  Gup nodded to his personal troopers in shiny clean skin. Using a key, they unshackled the gnome. He cracked out of his armour and dried mud covering, and raced to the pond, leaping in and coming up as a mud sloshing fool. His skin was now pasty white and as clean as a newborn baby’s.

  “Okay, we're in. We're in too. I'm in!” rang out voices from the other troopers.

  “Ah Alfred, just in time to see the Great Awakening!” Gup said as they freed all the troopers. Some of them needed help cracking out of their mud skins. All yelped and hollered as they raced to the pond, leaping in and muddying it even more.

  There was one lone hold out separated from the rest. It was the Artofessor. He stood shackled in his dried mud skin in a sunny field, cringing with his eyes shut.

  “What about him?” Alfred asked.

  “Let'm get that sunburn you folks talked about.”

  “I want to question him.”

  “Be my guest.”

  Alfred walked out into the field on the bright sunny day. The cave entrance the gnomes just came out of wasn't far away. A few, of the older type, sat in there, scared but showing faces of hope and encouragement. Younger gnomes tugged at them. An old lady gnome stuck her hand out far enough for her fingers to feel the warmth. She cried.

  The Artofessor opened one eye, spotted Alfred, and then closed it quickly. Alfred came near him with Verboden and Gup.

  “The gnomes now know that the curse you spoke of is not true. There was never any curse from the sun. What the Merchants of Silver said was a lie. It was used to control you, to control the gnomes and weaken them so they wouldn't be able to defend their people and they'd die off slowly in their own filth, deep down in a dark prison!” said Alfred.

  Verboden nodded with a satisfying smug look as Alfred spoke well.

  Even with his eyes closed, the Artofessor seemed to turn and look away.

  “What I want to know,” said Alfred, stepping closer, “is if you knew of the deceit and lived off their suffering? Did you get people to believe in the fear and hatred of others, so they would just imprison themselves?”

  Slowly, the Artofessor seemed to turn back to them. Just as slowly, he opened his eyes and stared up at Alfred, even in the glaring sun. His strange gaze seemed to mesmerize Alfred, who swooned a little.

  The Artofessor suddenly spoke in a very deep raspy tone, “I... put... a... curse... on... PFFT...umph...”

  The Artofessor's mouth was suddenly muzzled by a gooey soppy mudpack. Verboden used his staff, topped with mud, to silence the guilty.

  “I think he knew,” said Verboden.

  “Well, I'm so very glad that was a short conversation,” said Gup. “He will spend the rest of his days in that lair of his, imprisoned! He and his Prison Warden shall make for a wonderful pair!”

  Chapter Fifty-One: An Underworld Alliance

  The first snowflakes of winter started falling as the farmers quickly harvested what fields they could. They kept a keen eye out for hobgoblins on hyena mounts but saw only mist and the cold stillness of fall. They loaded up wheat and barley. Many had gathered bushels of berries and nuts. It was a quiet affair, as many periodically stopped to listen.

  Verboden was with Derhman and Cory when they heard the soft pitter-patter of feet and a beast coming toward them. They breathed a sigh of relief to see Sir Murith appear from the mist.

  Knight Murith came to them with several farmers and their wives and young children. A mother and child were on his farm horse. They were bedraggled and worn but alive. Hugs were shared.

  “We had to hide all this time on the outskirts of Danken Fuhrs until the hobgoblin patrols ended!” Murith said, tearing up as he greeted Verboden.

  Hedor and his men chopped as much wood as possible. They knew they would need it for many winter projects in the Underworld Refuge and for many fires. One fire they knew they would not need it for, luckily, was that for smelting of iron.

  Broggia and Boggin became great friends with the gnomes. They held each other in mutual admiration. The gnomes, having lost the art of smelting, had relied on ancient contraptions to keep their metallurgy and alchemy going. To have Broggia and Boggin revitalize their knowledge of smithing and bring forth a resurgence of the craft was a great moment.

  Gnome craftsmen helped Broggia and Boggin in the Dragon's Maw, as they called it. This was the lava pit they had discovered, surrounded by stalagmites and stalactites that gave the appearance of teeth. It was an unlimited source of fire and heat, of the hottest kind, for the smelting of their iron ore. It enabled them to smelt the ore down to steel.

  An old gnome began reminiscing about days of old. As Broggia was showing them a crude blade he was crafting with the red hot steel, the old gnome, without asking, using tongs, quickly took the piece from him. With the roaring underground waterfall and rapids adjacent, he put the blade in the water to cool it quickly. Steam spewed forth.

  Broggia was beside himself. “What are you doing?

  The other gnomes knew the old gnome’s intent was good.

  Boggin calmed his father down, and it didn't take long for Broggia’s and Boggin’s interest to perk back up.

  The old gnome brought the cooled ingot back to the Dragon's Maw and reheated it slowly. Soon the ingot-sword swirled with blue hues as the gnome gently tapped out the blade’s sharpened ends. He then set the hot glowing blue blade down. Not long afterward, Broggia and Boggin saw the strongest, sharpest steel blade they had ever seen.

  “I remember long ago my grandfather doing this. At the time, it was just what we did. Hot, cold, then blue steel... And now, my dear tall folk, that is the secret of steel.” The elder gnome was speaking in triumph. “A secret we almost lost, living in our prison down below. Thank you, thank your king, for freeing us.”

  Broggia and Boggin nodded, staring wide-eyed at the blade.

  “What else can we make?!” Boggin asked.

  The gnomes clasped their hands in excitement.

  Many gnomes helped farmers move their goods from the secret surface cave opening to their Refuge in the Underworld. Gnomes could carry as big a load as any human and do it much more nimbly. They were used to the uneven rocky terrain in tunnels and caves.

  All helped to prepare for winter. The few gnome children that survived to this day were amongst the farmers in their Refuge. They were being slowly fed good soups and fruit cakes. Their mothers and fathers saw the light of life returning to them. A gnome mother worried why her son's greyish cheek was turning cherry blossom red. Lady Nihan laughed and cried, hugging them both. Hope was returning too.

  Gup was crowned the King of the Gnomes. It was a simple ceremony performed under the giant blue mushrooms in the Refuge. His crown was a simple steel cap with intricate bands.

  The gnomes fled their underground dwelling and chose to live in the Refuge and close to the surface. It wasn't that they were abandoning their deep dwelling. Rather, as they spent time near the surface, they sensed the strengthening of their vigor. They felt a healing and awakening within their souls that made them yearn to learn as much as they could and as quickly as possible. They were eager to join in cautious excursions to the surface led by Hedor and the fa
rmers.

  During the coronation ceremony an alliance was formed, a treaty etched in stone between the Gnomish Kingdom and the Men of the Northern Kingdom in the Westfold. This created a true mutually beneficial partnership – to work and trade, to teach each other of steel and food, and to fight their common enemies together.

  Lord Dunther hobbled through the Refuge with a cane. He visited Nubio and his people, the Khanifians, who all resided in tents close to the water's edge. The water seemed to have healing properties. Many black-skinned folks were sitting and lying in the still clear waters.

  Abedeyan was with them, floating along while Lady Nihan held his dry clothes at the shore. He saw Pep lying near the water and Gib sitting next to him, being tended to by Verboden. His grievous bolt wound was healing nicely under the spells of the cleric.

  Many Khanafians looked old or gaunt and needed assistance. The farmer's wives went to and fro, carefully feeding them soups and soft breads. It seemed like a hospital in a strange watery ward.

  Nubio was massaging an old man's legs, trying to reinvigorate them as he floated in the water. The man moaned in pain. Nubio spoke soft words from an ancient tongue.

  Dunther put his cane aside and stepped into the water, going in waist deep to help Nubio. He felt awkward but did his best. Nubio nodded and showed the knight how to run his fingers along the course of atrophied muscles.

  “He is getting stronger,” Nubio finally said. “Soon, he will be able to walk.”

  The old man gritted his few teeth and moaned more.

  “Are you sure this is helping him? It looks painful.”

  “Oooick ahh new wee bi... I be rubbing the pain out. That is what we are doing. It helps move the pain through the blood and away.”

  Dunther didn't quite understand. He re-positioned himself in the water to balance on his good leg. Nubio noticed and let the old man float about. He motioned for Dunther to rise up and float on his back as well. Dunther nervously nodded no. Nubio insisted.