“I will provide for myself, so have no fears there,” Willard answered.
“We must begin our preparations now, for the true queen may arrive at any time. The sooner we begin, the better.”
“I will enter Eden, to scout the land and collect some belongings. Blaine will join me.”
“I also need to set up a netting within the inner courtyard of a city circle,” Blaine said.
“What the heavens for?” and Clifford raised his eyebrow.
“You will see soon enough. I will enter by the secret passage while Willard and Ivona pass the main gate disguised as the queen and her entourage. We will need the netting to escape, and I will say nothing more of it now.”
“We must part, then.”
With that, they went their separate ways: Blaine and Willard to Eden, the others to the rebel city.
It was a short walk to the stone wall that separated the city from the wilderness: fifty feet high and ten thick, a formidable wall among men. Yet beside the forest, it was dwarfed. Only two gates led into the city: one in the west and one in the north. Both were heavily guarded, but that was no matter to the rebels, who had long ago discontinued using them. Between the wall and the forest was a valley: a short, empty clearing. Blaine walked up to the wall – miles from either gate – and knocked against it three times. There was a scraping sound, as of a tightly fitted door opening, then the wall swung open into the clearing. Standing in the doorway thus revealed was an older man with a fish hook nose.
“Coming in?” he asked.
“Of course, Templeton,” Blaine answered as he stepped in, followed closely by Willard. The door was shut behind them.
“Who is this?” asked Templeton, poking Willard in the stomach with his index finger.
“He is your king, you disrespectful fool. Where is your loyalty?”
Templeton looked up at Willard and fell to his knees in submission, for no longer was Willard a wild man from the forest. His beard was shaved and his handsome face allowed to show. His hair was trimmed, set back in a dignified manner. But his monk’s frock still shrouded his grandeur.
“Arise, friend. I desire service, not servitude. We have much to do.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Where is it you need to go, Willard?” asked Blaine.
“To the Fardy brothers’ shop.”
“Very well, off we go.”
They left the building and set off through the streets of Eden to the Fardys’ shop. Eden was a very dense city: its buildings were made from the trees of the forest and equally tall. The city was divided into circles of buildings, each self-contained with a private garden in the center. Between the circles were open triangles of space, housing a statue or memorial to the heroes of the past. The streets were made from a white, chalky marble that came from the northern mountains, and built like a mosaic out of foot-long bricks. The lanes wound between the circles, narrow and compressed into the space as if an afterthought.
In all, Eden was a large semi-circle, with the back opening into the ocean. There were four distinct sections of the city: the harbor area, called the Floatings; the castle area; the wealthy and commercial area; and the western area. The first of these, the Floatings, was a collection of floating buildings and structures that covered most of the harbor, each floating freely. Its layout changed everyday, and even every moment. The castle area was directly in the center of the city, surrounding the castle, which was nestled within a dense collection of other buildings. The Western section was the closest to the forest, in both geography and feel. It was almost a wilderness itself, for the buildings were rougher and more natural, with thicker vines and less marble. The Eastern section, on the other hand, was the most civilized. The buildings there were sometimes of brick foundations, and occasionally walled with brick or stone instead of vines. It was in the Eastern section where most of the wealthy citizens lived, among them the Fardy brothers. Their shop served as the base of their commercial operations, which were largely carried on in the Floatings. They were the principal merchants of the city.
“Here we are,” announced Blaine, as he and Willard came to a particularly large and impressive building, “The Fardys’ Shop, as they call it.”
Inside the building was an entry room with doorless walls on every side except the back, on which was a counter. Behind this sat a young man, the clerk, who controlled access into the back rooms of the store.
“Hello there, Blaine Griffith,” he said as they entered, “How can I fix you today?” He looked at the two warily, as if afraid they would take too much merchandise for too little a price.
“It is not I, but my companion here, who has business.”
“Yes,” said Willard walking forward, “The Fardy brothers and I have already made the deal, I have just come to pick up the goods.”
“I will have to see a receipt, sir.”
“Of course, here it is.” Willard pulled a rolled up piece of paper from his frock and handed it to the clerk, who read it aloud:
The Three Fardy Brothers, Merchants of the city of Eden, do here give to Willard a receipt for a suit of armor, it being the one once owned by the King of Atilta, before he was deposed. To be given over upon the presentation of this receipt at the brother’s store in the aforesaid city.
Signed, the Fardy Brothers.
The clerk’s eyes opened wide when he was finished reading, surprised the Fardy brothers would sell their prized armor. Blaine’s face was occupied only by a wide grin.
“How did you pull that from them?” Blaine laughed.
“Let’s just say I had to twist their arms a little,” was the reply.
The clerk went into the back of the store. A few minutes later he returned with a fancy leather satchel in his hands.
“Here you go, sir.”
Willard opened it and pulled out a helmet of pure gold, with silver as decoration upon it. Detailed figures were carved onto its surface, a mural that told the history of Atilta and the Plantagenets. A quick look through the bag assured Willard the whole suit was there, and he replaced the helmet and closed the satchel.
“Thank you. I am glad there was no need to smack you, as the brown Fardy prophesied.”
“I have learned,” the clerk laughed, “That one should not trust to their patience. Will you not try it on?”
“Not here. It is not safe within the city.”
“Ah, of course,” the clerk answered, showing his understanding.
Willard and Blaine left the store, setting off once more through the narrow city streets.
“Now we must set up the netting,” Blaine said.
“Yes, and I think I have guessed your game. Onward, then, to hope and to freedom!”
Chapter 28
The Innkeeper led his two companions down the road, through the forest from which they had long been absent. The first man was William Stuart: six feet tall, with oxen shoulders and tree branch arms. A long white beard clung to his face, but the hair above his head was closely cropped. He wore leather armor, which – though not as tough as his face – could keep away the blade of a weak man. Beside him walked Barnes Griffith, his first lieutenant. He was not yet twenty-five, with low tide lips and sand castle hair. When they were away from Willard and Ivona, the Admiral spoke:
“Fifteen years has wrought a change in Ivona, from babe to beauty. Time is a universal phenomena – it passes in all places though it seems to pass only where you are, yourself. I return to Atilta, thinking to find it where I left it. But Gylain and the tide have blown it far off course.”
“If you cannot see what you left behind, what of me?” Barnes asked. “Your daughter and Alfonzo were already what they are today, though to a lesser degree; and your wife,” he hesitated, then by-passed the subject. “But when I parted from my brother, we were too young to be ourselves. I fear I will not know him.”
“Though far apart, of kindred heart,” rhymed the Innkeeper.
“We will see when time reveals itself to us, not befor
e,” the Admiral said.
“Your years bring patience, whereas mine bring zeal.”
“No, though my years bring the appearance of patience. Within I am more zealous than even you, for there are those whom I have not seen for many years.”
“Celestine awaits, do not fear.”
“I do not speak of her. I am zealous for Gylain. It is he who my eyes cannot depart from, nor my mind set aside. He is my goal, and I will have his life, yet.”
“Look, there is a man approaching,” and Barnes pointed down the road.
There was an older man coming toward them at a quick pace, as if he recognized them. He was dressed in a monk’s frock and seemed to truly be one: the top of his head was not covered by his hair, his middle was rotund, and his nose hooked. It was a moment before they came together. When they did, the Innkeeper was the first to speak.
“Good heavens! What is this? Erwin Meredith back from the abyss,” he cried. “Many days it has been, since news of you traversed the wind.”
“Hail, Innkeeper,” Meredith answered. “I am glad it is you, for it has been too long since I have seen a friendly face.” The monk furled his eyebrows and glanced over the Innkeeper’s crooked nose, ruffled hair, and seagull eyes. “That is to say,” he muttered to himself, “I am glad to see a friend.”
“I am not your only friend here,” replied the Innkeeper, “William himself is near.”
“Silence, there, I will have none of your fanatical ejaculations! How could the Admiral have returned? You give yourself so easily to faith and hope, Innkeeper.”
“My presence means hope, then?” and William Stuart removed his hood. “Meredith, it is I! How many years has it been now, since we were parted on the decks of The King’s Arm ?” He stepped forward to Meredith’s side. His face was broad and powerful, emanating authority.
The Admiral continued his remembrance: “The sky above was clear, and the sun came down like fire to the ground. Below us the water was rough from the wind, but in the shelter of Thunder Bay there were no waves. It was only the swell that moved us. There were two ships on the side of freedom, and six on the side of oppression – a small battle, but an important one. Yet all around the shore stood the great trees of Atilta, entirely oblivious to the petty struggles of man which they witnessed.”
He went on: “The King’s Arm was alongside The Merry Forester , each drawn to quarters and ready to battle. Gylain held the land and his ships the neck of the bay. If we could not break though his line, the forces of the true king would be lost.”
The memory of that glorious day surfaced in Meredith’s mind, as if it were happening once more. He caught the strand of the Admiral’s narrative and threw it forward. “All was silent as both sides waited for the other to begin. Then, without warning, Gylain’s ships started toward us. You took your ship, The King’s Arm , to the left; and I took mine, The Merry Forester , to the right. We planned to split the blockade to allow at least on of us to escape. If they split, their center would be left open. If they did not, we would flank them and send a volley of arrows down their throats.”
The Admiral broke in: “Fortunately for us, the navy had been true to the rightful king, and Gylain was forced to man his fleet with pithy land-lubbers. At first, the enemy commanders could not decide what course to take. It would have been a sad defeat for Gylain, had not Nicholas Montague threw the captain overboard and taken the fleet into his own hands. His hatred was equaled only by his vigor, and though he was no seaman, he made himself one during the battle. He commanded the fleet to follow The King’s Arm , and they were upon us in a moment. There was no way of escape – they completely surrounded us. They were too close for arrows or missiles: in the confusion they would hit their comrades on the other vessels. Yet we could, and for a moment we gave them hell at half price. Soon, however, they repaid us double, and we found ourselves being boarded simultaneously by six frigates.”
Meredith took over the narrative: “On The Merry Forester , we were left in the open, able to flee to safety. Yet our comrades in The King’s Arm were doomed, stuck between the enemy ships and the woody shore. I stood upon the board, facing the open sea and freedom with one side and my beleaguered comrades with the other. Every face was turned my way, waiting my command and knowing the fate of the rebellion rested in our course. ‘Men,’ I cried without hesitation, ‘We must decide whether to save our own lives or the lives of our comrades. We must die, yet will we die for ourselves or for others?’ ‘For others!’ rose the shout. We came about and sailed into the battle.”
The Admiral resumed the story from his vantage point: “The battle was thick upon the decks of The King’s Arm . A hundred and fifty of us stood against Gylain’s four hundred. We could not hold them back, but were overpowered. It looked as though we had no chance to survive, and I cursed myself, that I could not take Gylain down to death as I went there myself. But as I looked up, I saw The Merry Forester quietly boarding the enemy’s ships. Montague had left the ships without a guard, thinking nothing of it in the battle. In the chaos, your men sneaked into the ships, killed the guards, and broke the boards that crossed to the deck of The King’s Arm . We were defeated. But The Merry Forester and all six of Gylain’s ships were stolen away, out of Thunder Bay and the reach of Gylain. This is the first I have returned to Atilta since.”
“And it is a great joy to see you, Admiral!” cried Meredith, embracing his old friend tightly.
“Do I not feel the same? But tell me, Meredith, what became of those liberated frigates? I hope they were sunk at once, and not allowed to fall into Gylain’s possession again?”
“No, Admiral. Too many of our friends were killed for us to reverse our victory by such a foolish mistake as returning them to Gylain.”
“Then they are sunk? It is good.”
“No, not sunk.”
“What?” the Admiral asked, “Then what have you done with them?”
“We have hidden them in our hidden harbor,” Meredith laughed. “A harbor in the middle of the forest.”He paused for a moment to give his words greater drama, then explained. “We took an inlet that flowed into the forest, and deepened it to allow the passage of ships. Then we covered its mouth with camouflage. They are only a hundred yards into the forest, but completely invisible from the water.”
“Meredith, you amaze me – though I should know better. Yet why do you not use them?”
“We do not have the men or officers to man them, and we cannot train more in the present situation.”
“I am returned. Let us begin! But first we must visit Lord Milada. The Innkeeper tells me his life is in danger from traitors and spies.”
“What? First Ivona is taken, and now the same is attempted on Milada himself. Let us be off at once!” Meredith exclaimed.
“Have no fears for Ivona, for she is safe. I will explain on the way.”
With that they began their march to Milada’s castle at double pace. Yet before they had gone a dozen yards, a man – panting heavily – came running up from behind them.
“Admiral, Admiral!” he called, “I bring news.”
“Speak it then, Forsmil,” the Admiral responded, for the man was one of his crew.
“Montague has escaped!”
There was a moment of silence.
“We have been discovered,” the Admiral whispered at length. “Onward, then, to the Western Marches. Before it is too late!”
Chapter 29
Meanwhile, in the Western Marches, the day went on as well. In the second floor of the castle, the Fardy brothers sat in counsel with Milada. They were in the family room, which covered most of the second floor, with passages to each of the upper towers contained in a circular pillar in the center of the room – thirty feet in diameter – with each door leading to a different tower. The outside walls of the room were walled entirely in glass, with several bookshelves and tables standing in front it. Part of the room was sectioned off as a training room for the guards, and another part as a storage roo
m for the same. The rest of the room was furnished as a family, or sitting, room.
It was unusual to see a castle with walls of glass, yet the beauty of the surrounding land was also unusually potent. At this time, the sky was cloudless and the sun nearing the end of its daily pass. The castle itself sat in the center of a circular meadow that stretched for a mile in each direction. The village was nestled between the meadow and the castle, circling entirely around the latter. The ground sloped downward as it came toward the castle and the village, and the farmers took advantage of this to irrigate their lands: all the rain ran down to them. The trees cast a shadow over half the meadow, as the sun sank lower, and in the shaded portion it was already night. Yet in the rest of the meadow, it was late afternoon.
Milada looked out of the window absently, murmuring sometimes to himself, and sometimes to the others. His manner was frightened, as it had been when Willard rescued him: though his body still danced strangely, his limbs seemed more to writhe than to waltz. The Fardy brothers looked at each other anxiously. They wished to be briefed on the situation with the nobles and the rebellion from Milada’s viewpoint. Yet Milada did not help their efforts, and the brothers did not have the tact to steer him along.
“Look there, my friends,” Milada said gloomily, pointing to the shaded meadow. “Look there, where the night meets the day. See the contrast between the depression and the joy? See the contrast between the cold complacency and the zealous enthusiasm? Such is the state of my heart. Indeed, such is the state of Atilta: divided between the night of tyranny, and the day of freedom. And look friends, is it not the day which wanes?”
“Does not the dawn replace it, though?” asked the blond Fardy.
“Yes,” Milada sighed, “Yet the dawn gives way to the noon; and noon once more to the evening. What good is freedom, if it cannot be kept? Have we freed anything but the blood of our compatriots, and that only to spill out on barren ground?
“We are patient men, Milada,” said the brown Fardy. “But there is a time for peace and a time for rising up. It cannot always be one or the other.”
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