One day, King Alas Danor had been traveling and noticed Galagar playing his lute in front of a small crowd. The king had been impressed with the boy’s skill. He had approached the boy and asked him if he would like to play for him at the Castle Keep. In exchange, he would provide the boy a place to sleep and food to eat.
Galagar, of course, did not hesitate to accept. He had never thought he would ever play for a king. He would play while King Alas ate, while he thought, and even while he slept. And he even got to play at some royal gatherings and parties. Most importantly, he was able to play freely in the courtyards for the common folk.
What Galagar really ended up enjoying, however, was playing for the Princess Isabella. She was two years younger than Galagar and very beautiful. Galagar described her as prettier than any sunset falling behind the Western Mountains, prettier than the pink and orange clouds that would swirl like candy during sunrise, and prettier than the millions of diamonds that would sparkle off the Farrest Sea.
He was in love with her.
One dark and humid night, while the castle was sound asleep, outlaws had found a way inside the castle. They had snuck their way into Princess Isabella’s bedchamber. No one heard them enter and no one heard them leave: except for Galagar.
Galagar had heard struggling outside of his window that night. He looked out and saw the outlaws carrying an unconscious girl across the courtyard—the princess! Galagar lifted his mattress and picked up the sword he kept hidden underneath. The one that he had stolen from the armory so he could practice in his spare time, and use if he ever needed it. He sprinted down the steps and burst open the doors that led to the courtyard. He ran after the three outlaws.
Some tales say he killed all three with a single stroke of his sword. Others say it was one, clean stroke per outlaw…but it didn’t matter. Galagar Poole killed the outlaws and saved the princess. The entire castle had woken up at that point to discover the new hero. The king had rewarded Galagar with his knighthood the very next morning.
Some years later, Galagar proposed to Isabella and was warmly invited into the royal family. After King Alas was murdered by Sible, Isabella and Galagar were named the new queen and king of the land. Zala, the Queen Mother, became heartbroken over the demise of her family and soon passed away. Isabella, now with no family left, took Galagar’s family name and became known as Queen Isabella Poole. The now king, Galagar, renamed the land and castle, Astenpoole, after his own father, and brought back the worship of Zalus.
Kalukians began to reappear from the forests of Kaluk when King Galagar promised their lands would be untouched and no more trees would be removed. That was how Galagar Poole got his nickname—the Uniter.
Jahrys leaned back and stared at the ceiling after reading the story. He daydreamed about saving a princess and killing outlaws with his own sword. He wanted to be just like Palor A’kal and Galagar P—
“What are you reading?”
Jahrys shot forward, frightened at the sudden voice. Jahrys’s father popped out from the back of the shop. Miller was circling his legs. His father leaned over to look at the cover of the book. “The Knightly Tales of Astenpoole?” his father laughed. “Why are you wasting the space in your head with these silly fantasies, O’Jahrys?”
“For the thousandth time, call me Jahrys!” he yelled at his father. “And they aren’t fantasies. These are real stories about real heroes,” he said, irritated at his father for not understanding.
“Ha! If you want a real hero, you should read this…” His father walked behind the counter and pulled out a drawer. He handed his son a book.
Jahrys read the title. “Govad’s Guide for Building the Perfect Chair?” Jahrys rolled his eyes. “Really?”
“The man knows his stuff, I tell you! The man knows his stuff.” His father pointed a finger at Jahrys as if he was teaching him a lesson.
When he noticed Jahrys’s disinterest in his choice of book, he changed the subject. “You know, I met King Leoné a few years back when you were just a little boy.”
Jahrys’s ears shot up. “You met the king?”
“I sure did. When I started selling wine, word spread quickly into Astenpoole. King Leoné sent a messenger directly requesting I personally bring him an order of my wine so he could try it. So I made my best batch of wine and carried it to the southeast tower in the center of the Castle Keep to deliver it to the king directly.” His father stood up proud.
“What was he like?” Jahrys asked curiously. He had never seen the king before.
“King Leoné was taller than any man I’ve ever laid my eyes upon. His sword was twice the size of my arm, and he was as large as an ox. But! He was nicer than any man I’ve met.
“He took a sip of my wine and was astonished. He shook my hand and told me to bring him a hundred more cases so he could share it with his family and friends inside the castle.”
“That’s…I never knew,” Jahrys said, ashamed he didn’t know this about his own father.
“I guess my point is…heroes don’t always have to wear armor and carry swords, O’Jahrys. A hero can be anyone who simply makes a king’s day by a taste of his wine.” His father smiled at Jahrys and turned to look at the windows. “Well, I have to say, you did a good job on the windows.” He turned back to Jahrys. “Thank you, son. I know I was a bit hard on you earlier.”
Jahrys watched his father’s eyes examine his face. “Your eye is looking better.” His father pointed out. “You know, son, your mother doesn’t like your sword fighting with Kevrin. And by Zalus! All this talk about becoming a knight…you’re going to give your mother a heart attack.”
Jahrys turned his head, not wanting to hear what his father had to say.
“But I remember when I was your age,” his father chuckled and continued, “yep, I remember I used to dream about being a sailor. That I would build my own boat with my bare hands and sail across the Farrest Sea to distant lands and adventures that were beyond the horizon, just like King Alas Danor had done.”
Jahrys turned back to look at his father. He didn’t know his father had any dreams. “Why didn’t you?” Jahrys asked curiously.
His father placed a hand on Jahrys’s shoulder. “I grew up. And those dreams faded. Now, I have your beautiful mother and you as my wonderful son. That’s the best dream Zalus could have given me.”
Jahrys’s head dropped again, disappointed.
His father wasn’t done, though. “Don’t grow up, Jahrys.”
Jahrys looked up, surprised at this sudden change and how his father said his name.
“Keep dreaming. The world needs people like you now more than ever. People who believe in themselves.” He pointed a finger at Jahrys’s chest. “Because when the world goes dark, the dreamers will be the ones who find the light.”
There was an awkward silence. Jahrys had never heard his father speak this way before.
Laughter came from outside as more kids ran up the road as the last bit of sunlight was hanging onto the day. Jahrys stared out the window, wishing he could join them.
His father must have noticed the disappointment in his eyes. “Look at the time,” he said. “Why don’t you head on out and join your friends. I’ll close up shop tonight.”
Jahrys’s head spun back to his father. “What?” he couldn’t believe what he just heard.
“Go! A kid your age shouldn’t be cooped up inside the night of a royal wedding.”
Jahrys jumped up from his chair. “You really mean it?” He still couldn’t believe it.
“Yes. Go! Before I change my mind…” His father waved a hand towards the door.
“Father—”
“No need. Miller will help me close up.”
“BUCUUUUUUCK!” Miller yelled when he heard his name. He had the keys to his father’s shop already hanging from his beak.
“You see?” his father waved a hand at Miller.
Jahrys laughed.
“Thank you, Father!” Jahrys threw his book back inside the
drawer and sprinted around the counter. He gave his father a hug, patted Miller on the head, and threw open the front door. But before he walked out, he turned back to his father. “You should build your boat.”
His father looked at him and smiled. “Perhaps I will…perhaps I will.”
Jahrys turned to walk out the door.
“Hey, Jahrys…” his father called out before he left.
Jahrys turned back again. He was afraid his father had changed his mind.
“Don’t tell your mother,” his father said chuckling, but then he gave him a serious look.
Jahrys motioned his fingers across his closed lips, letting his father know his secret was safe with him. He turned and walked out of his father’s shop.
The sun was almost gone behind the Western Mountains, but the night was young. He traveled up the road, towards The Arcalane. Music filled the air along with drunken laughter, shouting, and yelling. The city was alive.
He couldn’t wait to see Elyara, Gabe, Kat, Tarl, and all his other friends at The Arcalane. He was also hoping Kevrin had made a recovery and would join them tonight. It was going to be a night to remember.
“AHHH!”
Someone was screaming. Jahrys turned his head. It sounded like it was coming from a market square off to the side. He heard the sound of struggling.
“HELP!” It sounded like a girl.
Jahrys didn’t hesitate. He ran towards the yells.
Chapter 6
Piller
DEVAN RAISED HIS wooden mug from across the round table with his stocky arms. “Cheers to good friends and peace in Astenpoole,” he cheered. He was already drunk.
The other five knights joined Devan at the center of the table. The mugs collided with a loud clunk. Beer spilled over Piller’s mug and onto his left hand. He flicked his hand to the side, getting as much beer off as he could. He lifted his drink to his mouth and took a sip. He placed it back down on the table as the others did the same.
“Ah. Now that’s refreshing after a long day.” Devan leaned back in his chair with his arms behind his head—his long brown beard, flicked with gray, was lying on his chest. Piller glanced at Devan.
At forty-two, Devan was the oldest knight in the Poolesguard. He had been next in line for captain after Landerin Raneir was forced to resign. However, Devan had turned down the opportunity. He claimed he had seen what the role does to great men and wanted no part of it.
So that was how Piller had become the ninth captain of the Poolesguard at the age of thirty-four. Maybe I should have turned it down, too, Piller thought, as he rubbed the pin on his leather tunic with his fingers. The metal pin was shaped into the palms of Zalus, signifying him as the captain.
“This would be a great night for a game of Pooles and Palms, don’t you think?” Devan asked the question around the table.
“Ha,” Krist laughed, waving his muscular arms into the air. “So you can just cry again when you lose all your pooles? I don’t think tonight is the night for that. We’re here to celebrate the new marriage.”
“I agree,” Arnold, the youngest knight of the Poolesguard, chimed in. “I don’t want a repeat of the other night to be quite honest. I don’t think my ears could handle that much yelling and antagonizing again.”
“Maybe if you all weren’t a bunch of rotten cheaters trying to rob me.” Devan spat. He took another sip from his mug, white foam covered his beard when he brought the mug down. He wiped it clean with one of his large hands.
Piller turned his head towards Devan. “We weren’t cheating you. And besides we’re down a player anyway.” Piller scratched the scar on his left side that ran from his forehead down to the right side of his jaw.
“Where’s the princess lover anyway?” Martellus said sarcastically, as he moved a strand of black hair from his eye.
“Benjamin is guarding the princess’s bedchamber,” answered Piller, as he stressed Benjamin’s name.
“That poor girl,” Hollow shook his head. “Must be a lot of pressure on her with her mother gone and all.” He took a large gulp from his mug. Hollow was the second youngest knight in the Poolesguard and like Arnold, this was his first year.
“I knew she wasn’t taking her mother’s death lightly. Heck, I didn’t take my own mother’s death lightly. But to collapse at your own father’s wedding—” Devan pushed a hand through his thinning hair. “By Zalus, who would have thought it was that bad.”
Piller looked down. He thought about his own mother and how he had felt when she had died. He felt pity for the young Princess Alana.
“She has been the talk of the party tonight. I don’t think any of us were prepared for that. Who is taking care of her?” Arnold asked. He had to raise his voice over the noise inside their tent.
“Galla went to her tower shortly after the incident. She has been giving the princess some fresh herbs to calm her down,” Piller said, as he looked around at his brothers. All their eyes were sitting on their drinks, cupped between their hands. “The princess is resting now.”
A serving girl approached the knights at the round table. “Would you good sirs like another round?”
“My good dear! Do I look drunk yet?” said Devan hotly, waving his empty mug into the air. “Fill us up again with your finest ale!”
“I would like a water actually, miss,” Krist said politely.
Devan turned to Krist and spat. “When are you going to be a real man and drink with us?” He turned back to the serving girl. “Get this muscle man an ale, will ya?”
The serving girl gave a nervous chuckle, took their mugs, and walked away before Krist could protest. She walked towards the bar underneath the tent.
“Will you look at that,” Devan was staring at the serving girl as she walked away. “She has curves as wavy as the Farrest Sea.”
“Leave her be!” Krist yelled at Devan.
Devan gave Krist a bold look. “Are you telling me you don’t find that”—he pointed to the serving girl who was pouring them drinks—“remotely attractive?”
“I…yes…I mean—”
“Ha! Then shut your trap. She’s coming back now.”
When she returned, she handed them all new mugs. Krist was pleased he had received the water he had requested, and a little wink to go along with it. He blushed.
Devan didn’t notice. He gave her an innocent look. “What does a knight like myself have to do for a dance with a pretty girl like you?” Devan asked, drunkenly.
She smiled at Devan. “I’m flattered, sir. But I’m working until the end of the party. But”—she placed a hand on her hip—“you can start by referring to me as a lady and not as a girl.” She turned and walked away, giving him a sassy smile over her shoulder.
“By the palms of Zalus,” Devan didn’t take his eyes off her. “I think I’m in love.”
Piller rolled his eyes. He’s a drunken fool, he thought to himself.
While the brothers continued to discuss the princess, Piller let his eyes wander around the courtyard. They were seated in one of the five large tents that surrounded the dance floor.
The water that flowed from Zalus’s palms glowed in the slowly setting sun. A beautiful mixture of pink and cream orange swirled in the sky. As the day transformed into night, the courtyard began to glow in the warm candlelight.
A blend of talking and yelling flowed throughout the yard. Women flirted with men, children ran and giggled under tables, dogs barked and chased other dogs, and old men told stories of their younger years to all that would listen.
“Aye! Zatum!” Piller’s attention was brought back to the table as Devan shouted to a boy who was hurrying out of the tent. “Who invited you to this wedding?”
The boy was shaking from head to toe. He looked nervous and out of place. “I…I…the king…invited me, Sir…I am…his messenger…S-S-Sir.”
“Har! Just be messing with ya, kid,” he slapped Zatum on the back. “Now get runnin’ off. Don’t be keepin’ the ladies awaitin’.” He waved Zatum
away. The boy hurried out of the tent, giving a nervous glance behind his shoulder.
The dance floor was picking up as the band began to play their third set of the night. The newly weds entered the dance floor. King Leoné twirled his new wife around as people gathered around to watch. The band felt the vibe of the crowd and increased the tempo of their song. The dance floor soon became wild. All the women from Piller’s tent piled out onto the dance floor.
“Well,” Devan sat up from the table. “I don’t know about you lot, but it isn’t every day I get to be a free man.” He took one last, large gulp to finish his mug. He wiped the foam off his beard and then patted down his cherry colored robes. “Now if you excuse me, I’ll be out there looking for a woman to warm my bed tonight. Har!” Devan stumbled off to the dance floor, mumbling drunken nonsense to himself.
Two lovely ladies, who looked to be identical twins, approached their table. They were both wearing the same yellow sundress. They both skipped over to either side of Martellus and leaned into his ears—whispering something too quiet for Piller to hear.
Martellus laughed. “Woo! Sheila! Nayna! Let’s start with a dance first.”
The twins giggled and each took one of Martellus’s hands.
Martellus rose. “Well boys. Looks like I’m being summoned.” He gave a farewell smile. “Watch my beer,” he winked at Krist, as the twins dragged him to the dance floor.
Krist chugged his water and slammed it onto the table. “Damn him. I don’t know how he does it.” He shook his head in disbelief.
Piller, Hollow, and Arnold exchanged glances across the table, laughing silently.
The four remaining knights turned their gaze to the dance floor, watching their brothers make fools of themselves. Devan was talking to a thin, tall blonde at the corner of the squared floor. She looked young, but she was at least a full head taller than he was. He would have to get on his toes to even attempt to kiss her.
Junkland (The Hoarding Book 1) Page 6