The Forgotten King

by Jonathan Dunn

  The other brothers were subdued by the thought, and left their fun with Horatio. When the meal was finished, the travelers parted ways: the Fardys headed west and Willard and Horatio east. The brothers had a tab with the Innkeeper, and went their way with the understanding they would pay on their return. Before they left, the black Fardy pulled the Innkeeper aside and whispered:

  “You will travel to Eden with the news, then? Be wary on your way, for one of our ships saw The King’s Arm passing the channel, and William may be about.”

  The Innkeeper nodded and the Fardys left. Willard, however, had to wait while the Innkeeper reckoned his account.

  “Two beds for the night, and for breakfast a bite – of plentiful stock from the downs; dear sir, it comes to three crowns.”

  Willard paid the liberal price from the thieves’ purse and bid the odd man farewell. The Innkeeper returned it full force, holding his overwrought features tight beneath his bushy eyebrows. With their faces to the east, the two resumed their journey. The forest was lawless in those times, ruled only by its own edicts: power over weakness and strength over justice. The Inn was a small oasis amidst the desert of civilization that was the forest, but it could not hold back the tide of trees which pressed upon it with ever increasing pressure. As soon as the road bent away, therefore, the insecurity of the forest returned.

  Only a short, trampled grass marked the road, while on either side loomed a cross-section of the forest. The trees were mighty towers and kept watch over the scarce undergrowth, a cloud of purple wildflowers that spread across the ground. Rather than travel in a straight line, the road wound through the forest to avoid the trees, which were too large to be cut down for a mere path. Yet, also because of their size, the trees were spaced at least twenty feet apart, and the forest was naturally open.

  Willard and Horatio had abandoned their hunting formation, and now walked side by side. The inn set them to civilization, and led them to think themselves in safety. But the forest was never safe, and a shriek of horror, coming from south, reminded them of their danger.

  Willard had drawn his sword before its ringing passed away. “Mind yourself, Horatio, for there is danger afoot! Fall back to the forest and hide yourself.”

  The bear obeyed and in a moment was invisible in the forest, though close enough to join Willard’s side in an instant. Willard, meanwhile, stood in the middle of the road with his sword in a defensive position, waiting for something to happen. But nothing did. The scream was alone, and nothing followed it but the songs of birds. A moment passed, and Willard replaced his sword onto his belt. Just as he did, however, a noosed rope was thrown from a tree to the south, catching his arm and pulling itself tight.

  “Remain,” he whispered to Horatio, and grabbed the rope with his forest hands. His feet bit the ground, and he pulled the rope toward him with tree-limb strength. Three men tumbled out of the tree, revealing a platform fifteen feet above the ground.

  “Forward, Horatio,” and the bear came up.

  Willard, meanwhile, had drawn his sword once more and freed himself from the rope. Then, before the three men could recover themselves, he charged them and raised his blade to strike.

  “Why do you harass me? Speak, fools, or I will kill you.”

  “We are followers of Alfonzo of Melborough,” and they hesitated to see his reaction to the name, but saw none. “We have word that you attacked Lord Milada and so can guess your partisan feelings. Slay us if you must, but you yourselves will not last long in that case.”

  “Longer than you, at least,” and Willard menaced them with his sword.

  “Let them go!” a voice cried from the forest.

  Willard turned his head but not his sword. The voice came from a noble man with a lofty forehead and a short, pointed goatee. His hair was tied back in a single ponytail, his eyes large and perfectly spaced between his temples, though too near the bridge of his nose.

  “Let them go,” the man repeated. “You have a mark against you, but kill them and add three.”

  “So I have heard,” was Willard’s reply. “And yet we are in the forest, where the only voice of authority is the voice of strength. As it is, I reign over you; and if you would give ultimatums, first reveal the force which backs them. Otherwise, I despise you.”

  “Wretched brute!” the man moaned, “Is this what infests our forest, the scourge of our castles? No, I am not weak,” and he whistled.

  Twenty armed men revealed themselves from hidden posts around the road. On the platform, several archers came through the veil of the trees.

  “So you see, I am not to be despised.”

  “Perhaps, but these men are cowards, and cowards do not palpitate my heart.”

  “Cowards? Say the word and they will give proof to the contrary. Why are they cowards?”

  “Cowards or villains, either way – but to me, the two are equal. A strong man does not harass the weakest, and a multitude does not plunder the minority. To do so shows weakness of spirit, and that is a weakness of strength. I have heard the scream of a single man, and is he not held by your men? Thus, I say they are cowards.”

  As Willard spoke, he leapt at Alfonzo of Melborough, brandishing his sword above his head. The latter, however, had his own sword drawn and repulsed the attack with a simple sidestep, leaving Willard to his right. But Willard pivoted on his left foot and threw himself across Alfonzo’s front. Their swords met again, crossing between them. They grappled for a moment, then each stepped back, unable to overcome the other.

  “You are not weak, in body at least,” Alfonzo said, “But your mind I still doubt. Look about you: you are outnumbered greatly.”

  “I have overcome such odds before,” and Willard drove forward with a series of blows, each of which Alfonzo parried while retreating into the forest. It seemed at first that Willard took the advantage, yet the forest was filled with Alfonzo’s men.

  “You allude to the assault on Milada. Yet while you escaped, so did he,” Alfonzo fell back.

  “Indeed, and I am pleased in that,” Willard said.

  Alfonzo probed Willard, and weighed the meaning of his words. Willard bravely returned the look, but as he did Alfonzo tripped him and he tumbled to the ground. He was not used to fighting creatures who could do such things. Alfonzo bound his hands before he could recover, then helped him to his feet, standing him against a tree. He paced before him for a moment, distracted, then suddenly stopped before Willard. He took his hand and struck his cheek with an open fist. Willard was enraged, but conquered his anger and did not add to his injury with insult.

  “That was for the ambush involving Milada of Erlich,” Alfonzo said with a sharp smile.

  “Then you mean to revenge the noble looking man? He would have lived, had he known to respect authority.”

  “A fitting epitaph, traveler, and perhaps one which will soon find its way onto your own tombstone.”

  “A man of the forest needs no marker but his own bones, to adorn the earth where he is buried.”

  “And are you a man of the forest, monk? Yet your sword is honored by your skills with it.” Alfonzo took Willard’s sword from the ground, and held it up to the light. “Tell me, wild peasant, from whom did you steal this sword?”

  “From no one.”

  “From a grave, then? These markings are from the royal house of Plantagenet.” He tried to pierce Willard with his eyes, but Willard’s gave a sharp riposte. They struggled for a moment, then Alfonzo retreated. “You seem more than a petty grave thief, Willard, or else I would slay you here and now. I was once tutor to the youthful Prince Willarinus Plantagenet, and for any man to wield his sword and mock his name in so doing invokes my wrath. Yet I will allow you to live, for you do not know what you do. If you did, my curse would find its end in you.”

  “You are an outlaw and a vagabond, even if once an attendant to a noble house. How is it that you can call curses upon any head but your own?”

  “For fifteen years I have made my home in this wil
derness, battling the corruption of our fair land; fifteen grueling, forsaken years filled with hardship and loneliness, undertaken willingly in penance for my sins. How much of an eternity is needed to be forgiven?”

  “Time is not forgiveness. And philanthropy does not use the wealth of another. Lord Milada, whom I rescued from your fellow bandits, was he an evil man?”

  Alfonzo paused. “Your lies almost deceive me, with your flawless delivery. Yet I know the ways of deceit, and I know it was you that attacked Milada. I have word directly from Hismoni, the captain of the guards.”

  “I am a man of the forest,” Willard answered, “And if I am wronged, in action or in word, I can only rebuke it a single way. Yet I am proved weak, so I will not release the vanities of speech in my defense.”

  Alfonzo paused, then, “You seem otherwise than I would have thought, not the crude ruffian of evil you were portrayed as. Still, there are those who are both noble in bearing and evil in heart; but you, perhaps, are not among them.”

  “You say that with contempt, with the passions of hatred against a man. A common bandit cannot hate with the virtues of revenge, whether he be evil or not. If you were in noble service, you have lost it long ago.”

  “I have said that Prince Willarinus was my ward and I was with him when he was taken. A choice presented itself between my own love and my duties, and I hesitated. Both were lost. Yet I do not hate the man who did it, for some things cannot be stopped. They are determined beforehand.”

  “You speak in riddles, Alfonzo of Melborough.”

  “So I do, but you will gain nothing else from me. For now, there is silence.”

  With that, the other men brought Horatio forward, bound at the wrists in such a way that his paws were not revealed as such. The two were blindfolded and led for an hour through the pathless forest, headed south – though the rangers disguised it with a crooked path. Such devices were lost on Willard, though, for a man of the forest can see without seeing. At length, they came to a stop near the sound of a waterfall.

  “Be still there, Horatio,” Willard whispered. “We will have them yet!”

  Chapter 5

  Willard and Horatio were freed from their blindfolds at the entrance to a cavern.

  “Follow me,” Alfonzo said as he started in.

  It was a large underground labyrinth, long used as a base for the rangers: the tunnels were equipped with fireplaces delved into the walls and furnished with tables and chairs. They were unable to see its true extent, though, for Alfonzo led them into a small chamber adjacent to the entrance, not twenty feet within and set apart from the main cavern by a tightly fit wooden door. Inside was a table and two chairs, upon which sat as many guards, with a man tied in the corner. Alfonzo said nothing as he committed Willard and Horatio to the guards; he had left before they were placed on the ground beside the first prisoner. After a moment, Willard spoke to the man:

  “Hello, fellow prisoner, I am Willard of the forest.”

  “And I am Vahan Lee of the northern shores, Friar Willard,” returned the other, frightened and morose in his rich garments. “Trust me, fellow prisoner: I am a loyal Atiltian, and neither a spy nor in the employ of a foreign monarch. I am accused of things that I cannot understand.”

  “I said no such thing, and much less thought it, friend. We must be comrades in our difficulty. But how did a man as noble in appearance as yourself come to be imprisoned in these forsaken caverns?”

  “I am a loyal Atiltian from Eden,” began the gentlemen, although Eden sat on the southwestern shores of Atilta. “I cannot hide that I am wealthy, but I will contest the charge that I am of an evil disposition. Before my abduction, I was on a journey begun for the liberation of Atilta. I cannot divulge the secrets of my expedition – lest I betray the interests of certain powerful persons – but there is no conspiracy against the well-being of Atilta. No one loves their country more than myself.” The speaker’s face was confident, as if he wholly believed what he said and caused Willard to wholly believe as well.

  There was a prolonged silence, until the guards left the chamber for a moment to attend to something else. In their absence, Willard whispered to Vahan Lee, “Have you seen a way of escape?”

  “The guards sometimes leave and the entrance is nearby, but we are tied.”

  “Not anymore,” and Willard showed his hands, unbound. Horatio had removed the ropes with his claws.

  “Undo mine, if you please,” said the surprised gentleman.

  “Of course, but keep them wrapped around your wrist, for appearances.”

  “As you wish. Thank you.”

  Just then, they were interrupted by the return of the guards, with Alfonzo before them.

  “Do not think me impolite, Willard, but I must leave you while I attend some urgent tasks which I suspect will reveal more of your past than you would like. As for me, I think there is more to you than even you, yourself, know. When I return, we will see. Until then, farewell,” and he left the room again.

  Alfonzo’s footsteps joined those of a dozen rangers and together they faded into the forest, only two remaining to guard the prisoners. Willard waited, unwilling to put them on warning with a failed attempt. Half an hour, then his time came. The guards had turned their backs and were engaged in a game of dice, but chance would not fall their way: Willard and Horatio slipped their bonds and, the first taking a rock and the second his claw, they dispatched the guards with a thud. Their luckless dice struck the floor alongside their luckless bodies, unconscious.

  “Come, Vahan, bring your bonds to me,” and the guards were tied as they had tied.

  “Now, to the forest! Come quickly and make no noise.”

  No rangers were in sight, and the three left the cave without a fight, recovering their weapons from the table beside the entranceway. Willard was a man of the forest, so to the forest he fled. He turned south, further from the road, and led them away in haste. For an hour they continued the pace, though their direction slowly shifted to the west, as did Vahan’s chipmunk eyes, leaping from one tree to the next.

  Then, in a voice even smaller than himself, “The road is in the other direction, if I remember correctly.”

  “You are a sharp man, Vahan,” Willard winked.

  “Should we not be heading for it, then, as the surest means to safety?”

  “Only if you seek safety in a bandit’s hands. You are lucky to have been captured by this Alfonzo, for I have seen others that are not so merciful. But you are with me, now, and even Alfonzo will not find us where we are going.”

  “Nor will we, I fear! I am no enemy of Atilta, yet I would rather be its friend in the open than in the wild.”

  “A man who travels with a bear is not so easily lost.”

  “But who travels with a bear?” Vahan looked at Horatio. “Perhaps we should ask for Horatio’s opinion?”

  The bear growled lowly, like a newly woken bass.

  “I did not catch what he said,” Vahan was confused.

  “He speaks only Latin, and he said simply, ‘To the forest.’ Since he agrees with me, that is where we will go.”

  Vahan nodded absently, thinking it the worst Latin he had ever heard. Yet he said nothing, for he knew it would not have mattered. When they had traveled three hours and were beyond fears of Alfonzo, their pace slowed and they entertained thoughts of food and drink. Vahan grew discontent with the silence, and yet could think of nothing to break it with. His face began to blow with the doldrums, his eyes to grow shady with the passing sun. Willard saw the discontent beginning, and, knowing they had many miles yet to cross, plucked a dozen acorns from the forest floor and hid them in the folds of his frock. For a moment, he walked on as before; then he threw an acorn against a nearby tree, from which it ricocheted into the far side of Vahan’s head. And the latter did not see Willard’s discreet throw.

  “Willard!” he cried in alarm, “There is someone there, lurking in the forest!”

  “Nonsense, there are no men here.”
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br />   “But there is!” Vahan grew excited. “Someone threw an acorn into my head.”

  Willard laughed. “Where do acorns grow, but on the trees? They do not reach the ground without falling.”

  “But it struck the side of my head!”

  “The wind blew it over as it came down.”

  Vahan submitted to this opinion, but kept his eyes and attentions on the forest beyond. Thus occupied, he kept the pace and did not grow worrisome about their course. If he forgot his troubles, Willard was quick to remind him with another acorn, and the gentleman was left a pleasant companion.

  In the ancient forest, the sun sets early, for it falls behind the trees long before it falls behind the horizon. Soon it became more twilight than daytime in the forest. While the tree trunks were far apart, their canopies connected above: the forest was a shaded meadow, covered with grasses and wildflowers. But if the day was dreamy, at night the wilderness awoke. Just as twilight stretched its arms, they reached a campsite which Willard had used before: a circular clearing forty feet across, with berry bushes growing in the sunlight and a pile of rocks and branches collected by the river running along its southern side.

  Willard was a man of the forest. Within a quarter hour a fire had been born, and a ring of logs, rocks, and pickets formed into a rude wall against the forest beyond. While they prepared camp, Vahan Lee gathered berries, and when the labor was finished they sat down on the grass to enjoy their repast. Once they had filled themselves, all three leaned back on a log parallel to the river, facing the northern side of the clearing.

  “Today has gone strangely for me,” Vahan said.

  “Nothing that happens is strange,” answered Willard, “For what is strange but that which does not happen?”

  “Still, it is a terrifying place: the labyrinth of a bandit, whose occupation is theft and murder. No one loves this country more than myself – I would never betray nor sell its secrets to a foreign monarch – and it pains me to see such lawlessness.”