On Sleeping Beauties: A Foible

For Fear of Little Men

  Beatrice was missing, and none were fain to seek her, save her little brother, Tibbin, but could a mere child go where grown men feared to tread? Perhaps only a little child could. She had strayed up into the hills after her father’s missing sheep and none had seen her for a full three days. No one ventured into those hills, for they were known to be haunted by all manner of folk, strange and fey, and it was folly for mortals to tread thereupon. No, the girl was lost, spirited away or bewitched by some fell being, never more to be seen by mortal men under sun and star, at least not in any natural form; her family might as well accept the truth, embrace their loss, and move on with their lives, or so whispered the villagefolk. But Tibbin was not content to lose his sister thus, but loath were his parents to part with their remaining child, so did he make for those forbidden hills without their knowing or leave, save for a brief note of farewell, imparting his fate. Aghast, his parents asked of their friends and neighbors if any were willing to go after. They merely shook their heads and muttered darkly amongst themselves, who would risk their lives when the boy willingly chose his doom? It was not to be helped. The aggrieved couple went home to wait, perhaps vainly, for news of what had come of their children.

  Tibbin was a child but he was not a fool, he was young but also sensible. His elders all feared the fairyfolk, mostly because they did not understand them, albeit they had little interaction with that mysterious kindred and only a few old tales, likely flawed, to rely upon for information pertaining thereunto, but they were also small-minded and superstitious, little liking anything outside their ken, which was pretty much anything and everything outside the confines of their secluded village. Tibbin was still young enough to be untainted by their blindness and prejudice; for his were the wide, unguarded eyes of childhood that saw things as they were rather than as the viewer thought them to be. He was a little leery of the fey folk, as all creatures are of the unknown, but he was not paralyzed or handicapped by unmerited terror as his elders were. Thus did he hie himself into those mysterious hills, the only hope for his sister. He took with him enough bread, cheese, and water to last him a week of hard scrabbling over rocky ground, hoping it would be enough. He took no weapons, save a little knife, which was tool rather than implement of death. With his meager rations and a stout, faithful heart did he set out upon quest great and daring.

  He left at twilight when his parents thought him abed, creeping carefully out of the house and into the brushy waste behind, clambering over stones and thorny scrub by the light of a slivered moon and a few bright stars. He went as far as he could in the wan light, at least far enough that pursuit would not follow, and then laid himself down under a gorse bush to find what rest he could. An impertinent bird started trilling in said bush at an unearthly hour, wakening the stiff, cold hero into a misty world of gold and rose. He smiled despite his discomfort and drank in the beauty about him, like a connoisseur a rare and delicate wine. He stretched, breakfasted, and was soon off into the mysterious otherworldliness of dawn, feeling that his adventure was well and truly begun. His sister surely waited around the next bend in the path or just over the hill. He whistled as airily as the bird as he set forth.

  His sister was not over the next hill, but a short, stocky man with a prodigious beard sat upon a stone in the thinning mist, smoking his pipe. Asked the boy of the stoic figure, “have you perchance seen or heard of a young girl roaming these hills within the last sevennight, good sir?”

  The dwarfish gentleman smiled broadly at the lad’s boldness, withdrew his pipe, and exhaled thoughtfully, “aye lad, aye. Not a rabbit goes through these hills without my knowing it. How is it you have the courage to come when none of your elders would bestir themselves?”

  Said the boy with a shrug, “none would come, so there was only me. Please sir, have you seen my sister?”

  The man nodded sagely, “she’s taken up with a few of the pixies that haunt meadow and lea, dangerous consorts for a mortal lass.”

  The boy paled, “have they harmed her or is she in great peril?”

  The dwarf laughed, “aye and nay, lad, aye and nay! Those fairies are as feckless and giddy as any lass your sister’s age, but they never grow up or wiser, and neither do they age nor die. They will not hurt a mayfly or aught else, but rather delight in all that is pretty and ephemeral: flowers, butterflies, robin’s eggs, and the like. They have no use or comprehension of the greater, eternal things but are like a brook’s laugh or a dancing little wind in their seriousness and wisdom. The danger lies in the fact Time and Death mean nothing to them. Your sister, if she is not careful, may get so caught up in their whimsical nonsense that she forgets such things herself and by the time she remembers them, may find herself a very old lady with naught of life left to her. It is a tricky thing when mortals think to involve themselves in matters beyond their ken and natural sphere. Your kind is made for eternity, but must enter it through the proper door, not try to sneak in the window.”

  The boy was silent for a long while as he contemplated the little man’s words, and finally said, “can I draw her back?”

  The man nodded, “aye lad, if she will come, but she may be so entranced with the merriment and giddiness of her companions that she will yearn to stay. If she will not go of her own will, no power on earth or beyond it will move her. Take heed to yourself, that you not find yourself also caught up in things beyond your natural sphere. Someday perhaps, such or rather far greater shall be your lot, but do not be tempted into seizing it ere it is time for only trouble will come of it.” The boy heartily thanked the old man and hastened in the direction he was bidden. The dwarf watched after and wondered what would come of the lad and his sister, silently shaking his head at the recklessness and abandon of those silly pixies and the inadvertent havoc it could wreak upon a mortal creature.

  Tibbin had not gone far when he spied a rather curious creature crouching in the shade of a great oak. It appeared to be a lad his own age, but his full height would only reach his father’s knee; he was light of build, eye, and hair and his ears were slightly tapered. He winked at the staring boy, motioned eagerly for the lad to follow, and vanished into the hedge of roses at the base of the tree. Tibbin took two happy steps after the fairy creature but then froze, his quest was his sister, not to be caught up in a fate like unto hers. He sighed heavily but turned staunchly back upon his original path and intent. The little creature watched after, for a moment a little disappointed, but then some other amusement soon caught his attention and his lost companion was immediately forgotten.

  By the time the sun was on its downward journey, Tibbin had come to the little meadow wherein the dwarf said his sister and her merry companions might be found on occasion. He settled down in a thicket of young birches to await their coming. Neither was the wait to be tedious, dull, or lonely. The world, in itself, was young, spry, pleasant, and full of the wonders of spring, but those hills were haunted by all manner of folk and creature unknown to the children of men, and in this varied parade, Tibbin found endless marvel and interest. Most ignored him, some were openly scornful, and a few asked him to follow in their merry wake, but ever he sat and awaited the coming of Beatrice and her fairy companions. So did he wait for three full days, eating from his scant provisions and refreshing himself in the ever singing brook by which he sat, finally on a night of mist and moon and starlight, five bright figures came laughing and dancing into the water meadow, Beatrice as radiant and blithe as her companions.

  Tibbin rose from his place with a joyous shout and for a moment the pixies quivered like frightened birds, but soon they arrayed themselves about him in a merry dance of welcome and curiosity. Beatrice at first did not know him, but as his song joined in their lilting chorus, his well loved voice broke the thrall about her and she joyously left her place in the circle and flew into her brother’s arms with tears of unspeakable longing and delight. The piping and cavorting of the fairies increased tenfold a
t such mirth and delightedly did they share therein, but soon they tired of the newcomer and were rather perplexed and no little troubled by the strange sobbing that now wracked their once gay companion. For nothing did they know of sorrow or death. With a merry call, did they bid Beatrice to flit off with them anew, careless once more, but she smiled sadly, wiped a mysterious moisture from her eyes and cheek, and shook her head adamantly. The pixies shrugged indifferently and capered off into the creeping mist to join the dance of the fireflies, their companion utterly forgotten. Beatrice shook her head ruefully, took Tibbin’s hand, and returned to his place amongst the birches. They slept soundly until roused by the zealous chorus of a morning in spring. Hand in hand, they left that lovely meadow and turned their steps and hearts longingly towards home.

  They met the little man, still sitting on his accustomed stone and smoking his pipe, perhaps as he had done since the first morning of the world. He smiled joyously at them, waved enthusiastically, and then vanished. They shared a mystified smile and continued on their way. They might have slept another night in the bush but knew their parents were mourning their presumed fate and were eager to turn their weeping to joy. So it was that joy came with the morning. Their father stood aback the house, staring morbidly off into the hills and thought himself in a delirium when he glimpsed his lost children walking blithely back from the land of things forgotten and unknown. He trumpeted his wonder and joy so loudly that the entire village was roused. His wife came disbelieving from the house, took one look at what had so disquieted her husband, and added her own shriek of pure joy to the cacophony of laughing welcome and wonder.

  The grim eyed, fretful villagers gathered round the happy little foursome and muttered darkly about curses, possession, and worse. A few even clutched a kitchen knife, pitchfork, or wood axe in nervous dread. The now grave father stood forth and asked of his disturbed folk, “my children have returned unscathed, why do you not rejoice?”

  Said one distrustful old man, “who are you to say they are unscathed? Who knows what terrible curse might have been laid upon them? None venture into those hills and returns unchanged, if they return at all. They are a threat and a danger to us all as long as they remain among us. Send them back or send them away lest evil befall us all, else we will take matters into our own hands.”

  The man shook his head in grim disgust, but before he could reply to this nonsense, Tibbin took his hand, looked gently into his eyes, and said with a wisdom far beyond his years, “heed him not father, he knows not of what he speaks and no words of yours will change his mind.” Unchanged indeed! The man smiled down at this young sage, caught the eyes of all his dear ones, and then looked once more upon those mysterious hills. A brilliant flicker of gold and white upon a far hill, like a distant star, filled all his vision and called bewitchingly to his very soul. Said Tibbin with tremulous, but joyous finality, “come, come away!” He took his father’s hand, his mother and sister joined theirs also, and the entire family boldly made for that distant vision, the flummoxed villagers parting before them like water around the bow of a boat. They vanished into those wondrous hills and were seen in that village no more. Many and dark were the rumors of the witchery that had taken an entire clan and the grim fate that had undoubtedly befallen them, but I can assure you, they were all of them wrong.

  Sample story from ‘Legends of the Brethren:’

  Of Poets and Heroes

  The screams of horses and men filled the evening air with a chaos and horror ill-suited to the loveliness and quiet of the fading day. Two of the beasts faded away as they fell dead and the third trapped his master beneath his prone form. The trapped rider was himself uninjured save perhaps in the fall but several arrows had embedded themselves in his two companions and their fallen mounts; of the two, one lay unmoving and was likely dead, the other moved feebly but hope dawned as he caught the trapped man’s eye. They stared at one another for a moment, the one with growing hope and the other with a rising fear. The crunch of oncoming feet suddenly drew their attention as their foes approached. His eyes pleading for help, the arrow stricken man suddenly threw some small object into the distant brush and glanced significantly from the now hidden object to his trapped companion whose eyes held reluctance and fear, but a minimal nod of his head brought the shadow of a smile to the stricken man’s face before their enemies were upon them. A small band of vile looking men emerged from their ambush and looked about in delight at the carnage they had wrought. One of them turned over the unmoving man to reveal that nothing remained but a corpse.

  Another approached the hopeful man and called out, “this one’s alive and should suit our purposes well enough. Be done with him.” One of the more vile of the company smiled in cruel anticipation, drew his sword as he approached, and finished that which the arrows had begun. His eyes widened momentarily in pain and then stared blankly as the sword was withdrawn from his unmoving chest. The whole group of them then approached the sole survivor yet trapped beneath his dead horse.

  Said the leader of the repulsive band, “are you one of the Brethren then?”

  The trapped man laughed mirthlessly, “I am simply an ill-fated poet who hoped to write the tale of some great heroic effort but alas, all I shall ever write is a lament to the foolishness of heroic quests if ever I write anything again.”

  “Yes or no,” snarled the leader.

  The poet winced at his tone and said, “I am not one of that fellowship.”

  The man grinned cruelly and asked, “then why do you ride with them?”

  Taking on a professional air the poet said, “as I have already related I hoped to write a firsthand account of whatever adventure my late companions hoped to accomplish. I fell in with them not quite a week ago.”

  “You know nothing of their mission?” queried the leader in some amazement.

  The poet sighed, “I only knew they were bound for Kyra on some desperate quest; I do not think even they knew their appointed task but hoped to find some contact upon our arrival.”

  The sinister man said, “how were they to make contact?”

  The poet shrugged, “they took that secret to the grave.”

  The leader did not seem pleased, “then I have no further use for you.” The poet nodded grimly as the sword was raised again but the leader suddenly laughed, “I however like the idea of a lament against all for which the Brethren stand. I will spare your life poet but only for the promise of your work. Write well, for if you do not it might well be the last thing you do. Search them and their luggage, then we ride for Kyra.” The despots ransacked the living and the dead, but found nothing of interest. They vanished as quickly as they had come, leaving the trapped poet to somehow extract himself from beneath the dead horse. He painfully managed to pull himself from beneath his ill-fated mount, searched the vegetation concealing whatever it was his companion had hoped to hide, and finally discovered a small blue crystal cut in the shape of a star suspended from a satin ribbon of deepest blue. He looked over the trinket and wondered to whom it might belong and how he was to discover its keeper and his destiny.

  He sighed, he was no hero. He sat heavily down upon the dead horse thinking about what had transpired in the last week to so utterly upset the course of his life. He had been a wandering poet who roamed from place to place and entertained as he could to keep his stomach full and a roof over his head. The commonfolk seemed to appreciate his efforts, at least enough that he did not starve. A week gone, the two adventurers had stumbled into the same inn where he was holding forth with his familiar evening oratory. They had listened appreciatively and once the night’s entertainment was finished, invited him over to their table for a mug of ale and some much needed conversation. They had struck up a lively conversation, all three being of a quick and learned mind, and had stayed up long past the time all sensible men were in bed. He had asked after their own travels and their tales amused and amazed him. Whether it was
the late hour or the wine, the poet never knew but he soon found himself asking if he might not accompany them on their adventure. They exchanged a curious look and finally agreed that he could come, but that there might come a time when they might suddenly have to part company. There was some hint of imminent danger and intrigue, but then no story was complete without such so the poet readily agreed.

  So it was that he found himself riding with them to the Southern Realms towards the kingdom of Kyra whose monarchy was suddenly in disarray and from whence had come a desperate note and the trinket that he now held in his hand. No one knew who had sent it, but only that it must be presented to the guards at the castle gates in the great city of Yorka. The owner claimed that the very fate of the country might rest upon this quest and help was needed soon. Kipril shuddered, wondering what strange adventure he had now become a participant in. He looked upon his dead companions and his silent promise to the dying man echoed in his mind. He had ever been an observer of life, a recorder of its wonders and perils, never a participant and now it had been thrust upon him. He was ill-suited to such an adventure not having wielded a sword since his youth and then only poorly, but there was no one else to whom this adventure could fall. He must at least attempt it, if only for the sake of the imperiled people of Kyra. He sighed heavily, stood, and began to salvage what he could from the wreckage. He filled his saddlebags with food and supplies, took up his bow, and then glanced at his fallen companion’s sword. He was perhaps not as skilled with the weapon as some, but it might be useful in his quest. Almost reverently, he took up the weapon for which his companion had no more mortal use. In the gathering dark, he took the road and hoped to put many miles between himself and the sorrow behind him.

  Kipril awoke early and crawled from the small dell in which he had taken shelter for the night. He walked as fast and as far as he could that day, knowing full well that his quest was a hopeless one unless he soon acquired some swifter form of transportation. Evening was falling and the lights of an inn ahead drew his weary gaze. He felt that hope waited within, even if it were nothing more than an hour’s repose from the weary and lonely road he walked. He took a seat, ordered a mug of a nameless brew, and glanced about at his fellow patrons. He saw nothing but farmers and merchants until his eyes fell upon a young woman just entering the inn. She was well dressed and moved like a cat, making him wonder if she were not some minor noble’s daughter set out in search of adventure. Perhaps here was a chance to fob this foolish quest off upon someone else. She caught his gaze and curiosity drew her to the stranger’s table. He bought her a mug of his own nameless ale and she asked, “whither is your road sir and what quest lays at its end?”

  He laughed in spite of himself and said, “it seems I am not the only lonely adventurer upon the road. I am currently walking to Kyra as my mount and companions have fallen upon the way but I shall not make it in time at the pace I currently set. What of you fair lady?”

  She smiled at his words and said, “I too am upon a noble quest though perhaps one far less dire. I ride for fabled Astoria and seek there to join the Brethren. Are you perhaps one of those storied knights who has ridden forth in noble pursuit?”

  Kipril could not help but laugh, “lady, I am simply a wandering poet that has had unwanted adventure thrust upon him for there is none else to carry on the task which my late companions had begun. They were of that noble calling but alas they have fallen by the way.”

  She smiled curiously and said, “then at least your quest is a vital one and perhaps your heart nobler than you know. Perhaps I can aid those I hope to be my benefactors ere I ride to their country. If walking is too slow a pace, then let me lend you a horse upon the way.”

  Kipril smiled gratefully and said, “that would be a great ease to my journey but I am still unworthy of this task. I have a borrowed sword but little skill with it. Could I beg your aid as well for I see you are not yourself unarmed?”

  She smiled gaily at him and said, “I was afraid you would turn me away for I am a woman, but I shall joyfully aid your task. What is it we must do?”

  Kipril laughed, “I know almost as little as you but I shall gladly accept your company. I have only a token to show at the gates of the castle and there our adventure may perhaps begin.”

  Alia soon told her story of how her father, a minor noble, had given her the choice of a loveless marriage or taking her small inheritance and forever leaving his presence. She would not doom herself to such a grim fate and thus took her pittance and left behind all that she knew and loved. She had heard many strange tales of the Brethren in her youth and set out in search of the mysterious adventurers of song and story. She was eager to take part in a story of her own, even before ever she reached Astoria.

  By common agreement they were saddled and upon the road ere the sun was up and it was not many days before their hurried pace brought them within the borders of Kyra and soon to the castle in the midst of the bustling city of Yorka. Kipril left Alia at an inn in the city that he might approach the gates alone. If he should not return, she was to make her own careful inquiries and if he discovered the nature of their adventure, he would swiftly return to tell the tale. Both knew well the cost of this errand might well be their lives, but Kipril pressed on out of duty and Alia in hopes of righting some wrong. The streets of Yorka were abuzz with the recent demise of the King in a hunting accident, the ascension of his brother to the throne, and the impending birth of the late King’s child and hoped for heir. What part the dark men would play in the matter was yet to be seen. Kipril approached the castle gates and proffered the charm to the guards posted there. They eyed the trinket with some curiosity but could not decide if the man was trying to sell it or simply asking after its owner.

  A servant stationed nearby however gasped and said, “this man must immediately accompany me.” The guards glanced in wonder at the man who had silently stood watch for so many days and now finally spoke. They nodded grudgingly, but this was a personal servant to the Queen and not to be questioned nor gainsaid. They let the man pass and the servant led him deep into the castle to the private chambers whence the Queen had withdrawn to mourn her husband and await the birth of her child. It was she that had sent the urgent message and who now desperately awaited its answer.

  Kipril was amazed to be presented before so distinguished a personage and was speechless for a moment as he made his bows. She smiled deeply and a glint of hope shone in her troubled eyes as she said, “so the Lady has sent my savior at last.”

  Kipril blushed crimson and studied his feet saying, “I am no hero lady but a simple wanderer who has taken up a quest whose true heroes have already fallen in its course. I will do what I can, but I am no warrior but a poet.”

  She nodded sadly and said, “then to you my brave poet will the duty fall. This then is my plea: if a male child should be born, to Astoria you must bear the infant in safety and secrecy, there to await the day when he can challenge his uncle for the throne of Kyra. For only a man can sit upon Kyra’s throne and this child is the only one with a rightful claim save my brother-in-law who has already taken the title of King upon himself. He was ever jealous of my husband and his demise was no accident though such is claimed, and if an heir should be born my son will not live long past his birth. But should a girl child be born, she is no threat to his rule and we may depart in peace to my family’s estates and he is forever free to rule Kyra as he sees fit.”

  “When is the child due?” asked Kipril awkwardly.

  She smiled and said, “any day. I had hoped for your arrival sooner due to the legendary swiftness of unicorns but alas your mounts are mortal horses.” As if in answer to his question a wince of pain crossed her face as she said, “perhaps even today!” The Queen winced again as she said, “I think that you arrived only just in time. Tonight will reveal whether your quest is a vain one.”

  Her ladies escorted her to her chambers, t
he midwife was fetched, and Kipril was left in the sitting room with a silent servant. The night passed slowly and only occasional sounds of pain and frustration came from the adjoining room to break the silent vigil. Finally the unmistakable cry of an infant was heard and not long after it was repeated. The midwife rushed out all in a flutter and beckoned in the man who had waited so long; the Queen wished to see him without delay. He made a rather flustered bow and she smiled tiredly at his discomfiture. She said, “twins!” He looked at her in anticipation as she continued, “a boy and a girl, of course the boy’s birth shall remain an absolute secret and you shall bear him to safety until the appointed time. Are you ready to ride?”

  He said, “I need only fetch my confederate and my luggage from a nearby inn and then we shall leave at once.”

  “Confederate?” asked the Queen.

  Kipril said, “a young woman I met by chance upon the way who was on her way to Astoria and agreed to this slight detour.”

  The Queen smiled, “excellent, a man traveling with an infant would arouse suspicion. I do not think your encounter chance young man. Why did she not accompany you?”

  Kipril said, “this mad adventure has already cost two men their lives. I was concerned about pursuit and did not want both of us to fall afoul of some unknown foe ere we knew our errand. She remained behind in case something happened to me.”

  The Queen said, “you have acted wisely. Return to your inn, pack your things, and come to the small gate the servant shall show you as quickly as you can. Haste will ensure secrecy.”

  He bowed again, met the servant in the adjoining room, and followed him on a twisting path out of the castle. They emerged in a dark alley and the small door shut silently behind Kipril as he dashed off in search of his inn. He had just stepped out into the main street abutting the alley when he felt a sharp pain in his abdomen. He clutched at the wound as his knees buckled and he fell to the ground in agony; the air was filled with strangely familiar and sinister laughter. The dark voice said, “I told you to leave well enough alone boy! This is the price of meddling in business not your own. Who did you meet within the castle and to what purpose?”

  “That I shall never tell,” groaned the stricken man.

  “We shall see,” snarled the sinister voice as the man dashed off to investigate where the meddler had been.

  Kipril struggled to his feet, holding his hand to his wounded side; he dashed off in a stumbling run towards the inn. Alia gasped when she saw who the ashen faced man was who nearly fainted as he entered the door of the inn. She had been speaking quietly with a man in the uniform of the Brethren. Both ran to aid the injured man on the verge of collapse. “What happened?” she gasped.

  Kipril glanced about nervously, “we must talk quickly and privately. There is no time.” They wasted no time in helping him to sit on the edge of the bed in one of the guest rooms. Once they were alone he said, “as you know there are rumors about that the late King was murdered by his brother who made it look like a hunting accident. The Queen was concerned for the safety of her unborn child, should it be a boy and potential heir to the throne. If the child was a male, she wished one of the Brethren to carry him safely to Astoria to wait until he came of age to challenge his uncle for the throne. The Queen gave birth tonight to twins, a boy and a girl. She will withdraw quietly to her estates with the girl and waits for us to bear her son to safety. Alia, you must meet the servant at a small side gate and take the infant to Astoria.”

  “What about you?” whispered she.

  Kipril drew back his tunic from the wound and said grimly, “I am in no condition to travel nor do I think I shall long survive this wound. One of the men who ambushed my late companions fell upon me as I was leaving the castle. He must have seen me go in and waited for me to come out. He attacked me, questioned me, and then ran off to see what I would not tell him. He will be on the watch so you must be careful.”

  The Brother spoke for the first time, “these are grim tidings indeed. I am the Lady’s Advisor to the King, or I was until the new King banished me from the castle, save for court functions, which is why I now haunt this inn. The child must reach safety at all costs. Take my mount, he will bear you swiftly and safely to Astoria.”

  Alia’s eyes were wide, “me ride a unicorn?”

  The man nodded grimly, “I cannot accompany you for I am needed here and neither is your friend in any condition for such an adventure. It must be you. Go, and may the Master ride with you.” She nodded grimly, bid farewell to her companions, and dashed from the room.

  “Will she make it do you think?” asked Kipril of the other man. He only shook his head in wonder and helped make the stricken man as comfortable as he could.

  Alia rode swiftly towards the small gate, astonished at the speed and silence of her mount. He was reluctant to so abandon his master but he knew this task was of the utmost importance. They arrived swiftly and nearly unseen for the unicorn had draped himself in darkness. Alia knocked upon the gate, it was opened by a cautious servant, she showed the crystal star as instructed, and soon received the child into her keeping along with those things that might prove his identity at the proper time. They dashed off together into the night bound for Astoria. Not far out of the city, the unicorn stopped and whinnied in fear but his master bid him run all the harder and he could not disobey. Some time after he screamed in rage and grief but continued on his course, faithful to his master’s last command.

  The dark man left his injured foe and ran off into the darkness to see from whence he had come. He could not yet gain access to the castle and could learn nothing more upon a second investigation. He dashed back to find his nemesis fled and followed quickly after. Not long after the girl had left, the dark man burst through the window of the room in which his quarry lay helpless upon the bed. He had not expected to find one of the Brethren within, but all the better. The two men whirled about in a dance of death and steel while Kipril watched wide-eyed from the bed. The two were fairly evenly matched and it was hard to tell who had the upper hand. The dark man snarled in glee as he clipped his opponent on the shoulder and knew his victory was assured, but in his moment of triumph he dropped his guard for a brief second allowing his foe to strike a mortal blow. The man fell to the floor laughing through his pain and panted, “you think you have won but neither of you will long survive me.” He coughed a few times before succumbing to his wounds and then dissolved into an oily puddle on the floor.

  The two survivors shared an astonished look and the Brother leant heavily upon the bedpost, clutching his injured shoulder and breathing heavily. Kipril asked in growing concern, “what is wrong? What did he mean you would not survive?”

  The man said quietly through teeth clenched in pain, “I think there was some vile taint upon that blade of his and that it is quickly killing me. I doubt you will long survive me. That being the case, have you thought about what lies beyond death?”

  Kipril stared at the man in astonishment, “you are nearer death than I and you want to talk philosophy?”

  The man winced as he laughed and said, “I have no such worries but you might spend all eternity ruing these last few hours.”

  Kipril frowned, “you Brethren are all fanatics on this topic. I suppose if this Master of yours does exist then I have naught to fear. I have lived a good life, or as good as any man could in my circumstances. Besides, I have gotten myself killed on his behalf, for which I think he owes me much.”

  The dying man’s breathing was ragged and darkness was ever on the brink of overcoming him, but he fought against it saying, “with an attitude like that you are sure to spend an eternity apart from the Master and thus in utter darkness and despair. The Master is no man with whom you can bargain in the market place. He owes mortal man nothing. We are all rebels against his perfect way and we all justly deserve condemnation. Our best efforts are nothing to him. What can a
ny mortal do that could impress or indebt the One who made us.”

  “Then we are all doomed?” asked the skeptical Kipril.

  The man was fading fast but said, “the price of rebellion is death, but the Master took that penalty upon himself to spare us if only we will accept his sacrifice on our behalf. He need not have known death, but he suffered death for us.”

  “What must I do?” asked the stunned Kipril.

  With his last breath the man said, “believe, trust, and give yourself utterly to him.” He toppled over and moved no more, leaving Kipril alone to contemplate eternity.

  These Brethren were mad, absolutely mad! He had now seen three of them die for no good cause. Could they be right? In all the excitement he had forgotten about his own wound and now remembrance came crashing agonizingly back to the front of his mind. He was deathly weak and each breath became more and more a struggle. He glanced desperately at the dead man and idly wondered how long before he himself was naught but a corpse. His mind returned to those uneasy things of which the dying man had spoken. All his life he had heard the tales of the Master but had never felt inclined to think of them as more than just stories. What if there was something beyond humanity? Beyond death? It certainly made sense but how to know what was truly out there? He glanced again at the dead man and remembered how certain he had been even to the point of being able to proselytize upon the brink of death. Worse, his own heart seemed to tell him that here was the truth he had ignored all these years. His mind protested not wanting to admit that up until this moment perhaps his life truly had been lived in vain. The weariness deepened and darkness gnawed at the corners of his vision; the maw of eternity gaped before him and yet he wanted to protest, drag his feet, and hesitate.

  Finally, the moments running out, he gasped, “I do not know you but I know I need you. Forgive my rebellion, my ignorance, and my hesitation. I have nothing to offer, but I am yours to use as you will.”

  A voice like echoed thunder said quietly beside him, “I certainly shall.”

  Alia rode swiftly to Astoria, her heart near to breaking for her fallen companions. The infant traveled well for one so new to the world and she wondered what hope rested upon the shoulders of one so small and innocent. The unicorn revealed his true form as they ran through the streets of Astoria that none might bar their way. The guards upon the castle gates watched curiously but allowed the strange woman to pass unhindered. It was not often that one not of the Brethren ever rode upon the back of so legendary a creature. They gaped even more to see the stranger clutching a very young child to her breast. She slid from the saddle and glanced about in near desperation, “I must see your Lady immediately concerning happenings in Kyra.”

  A servant ran immediately to ask after the Lady’s availability and returned swiftly to lead the strange young woman to stand before their legendary leader. Alia told her story and presented the child and his accessories to the astonished Lady who replied, “these are certainly tragic tidings and we shall tend to the child as his mother wishes. Now what of you my dear? You who have traveled so far and risked so much; what is your part in this tale?” The infant was given into the care of a childless woman and her husband who were delighted to have such a charge. Alia was finally able to realize her goal of joining the Brethren.

  The years passed and the child grew into a boy verging on manhood. For ten years, he grew up quietly at home thinking no more of himself than any other peasant’s son. At ten years of age he was allowed to go to Astoria to further his education with the renowned knowledge and teaching skills of the Brethren. At fifteen, he was convinced he wanted to become one of them. He stood before the Lady that day, nervous but hopeful to have his request granted. She looked at him quietly for a few moments and a small sadness seemed to flit through her eyes for a moment but was soon replaced with dead seriousness. She said, “Ian, I cannot grant that which you ask.”

  He gaped and without thinking asked, “what have I done or not done that you will not allow me to join you?”

  She smiled and said gently, “it is nothing of your doing but concerns a greater duty you must first fulfill.” He looked at her in absolute confusion as she continued, “as you are well aware, the Brethren cannot rule even a city, let alone a country save perhaps the Lady of Astoria. You cannot take your Oath because you are the rightful heir to the throne of Kyra and the time has come for you to journey thither and claim your birthright.” He looked at her as if she had gone mad.

  She continued, “your father, the former King of Kyra was killed upon a hunting foray and many suspect his brother in the crime. Your uncle now rules Kyra with an iron fist and oppresses your people severely. Your father died before your birth and your mother feared for your life so sent you hence that you might grow up in safety. Your twin sister and mother yet reside upon your family estates in Kyra. Nothing is known to anyone outside the Brethren and a few faithful servants of your existence. My hope, and the hope of all Kyra, is that you return to the land of your birth and claim the throne that is rightfully yours and rule your people more justly than their current King. This is why I must deny you the Oath.”

  He gaped at her and finally said, “I understand and know I must take this quest upon myself if only for the sake of the suffering Kyrans, but how am I, a mere boy to challenge a King?”

  The Lady smiled warmly, “I will send several of the Brethren with you along with certain proofs of your valid claim to the throne. You must know this is a very dangerous quest; four men and two unicorns have already died in the events surrounding your birth. The King has many dangerous servants and advisors who will aid him in thwarting your efforts at all costs.”

  Ian bowed deeply and said, “it is a risk I must take. What if I fail?”

  The Lady smiled, “short of death I do not think you shall fail.”

  He smiled weakly, “my only regret is not being able to serve you as one of the Brethren.”

  She smiled warmly and said, “if you survive this ordeal and still have the interest in sixty years or so after you have passed your reign onto your children, I see no reason why you cannot yet join the Brethren.” He smiled deeply at her sincerity and wondered if his zeal could be so strong as to last six decades.

  Alia and three others were dispatched to accompany the aspiring prince to Kyra. He carried with him a letter written by his mother and sealed with the royal signet ring, the crystal star charm, and his late father’s sword. It was early autumn and the weather was perfect for travel; the party made excellent progress and was soon nearing the borders of Kyra. It was at this point in their travels that Ian felt the adventure was about to begin; until now, he had been in a blissful half-dream but now was not the time for childish fancies when the fate of a nation rested upon his very inadequate shoulders. It was late afternoon and the sun had set all the world afire in shades of richest gold when a lone traveler approached the party upon the road. He drew rein and waited patiently for the party to approach.

  One of the men asked as they drew nigh, “why do you bar our way stranger.”

  The stranger suppressed a smile of secret amusement and said, “I do not bar your path but simply wish to join your party. I have come to aid you in your endeavors.”

  The Brother laughed, “and what could you know of our errand?”

  The stranger replied, “I have come to see finished the errand I began fifteen years ago.”

  “And what errand would that be stranger?” asked the Brother cautiously.

  The man smiled sheepishly and said, “to see a proper King restored to Kyra.”

  “What part did you play in that sad tale,” asked the Brother in confusion, “I thought there were none living, save those in our party, to finish what was begun so long ago.”

  “Alia can testify to my involvement,” said the man strangely.

  All the while, Alia had been staring at the stranger in astonishment and
could not quite believe her eyes. With his statement she said in doubt and horror, “Kipril? Is it truly you? I thought you long dead! What became of the Advisor to the King, his mount certainly felt him die.”

  Kipril glanced towards the ground and then ruefully met her astonished gaze, “you know me for truly myself. Not long after you left, my attacker came to finish me only to find me not alone. They fought, the sinister man was killed, and my valiant protector did not long survive him. I was on the brink of death when I finally realized sense and surrendered my life, failing as it was, to the Master. The Master himself was in that room and took me at my word. He healed my wound and set me immediately upon this task. To you it has been fifteen years; to me it has been only a few minutes! I do not know what shall become of me once all is ended. I may perhaps live on for years or I might fall to dust the moment the King is crowned. At least my life will not have been lived completely in vain.”

  The little company stared at him in astonishment, but the Brethren knew he spoke truly no matter how hard it was to believe. Alia smiled at her long lost friend and said, “then welcome back my friend. What counsel can you give us about matters in Kyra?”

  Kipril said, “as you know, the King is a vile tyrant and sorely tries his people. What you may not know is that the men behind the deaths of three of your comrades fifteen years ago secretly aid and advise the King. The Queen and her daughter still live quietly in the country but the King has his eye on the girl as a prospective bride for his own son and heir. I suggest we break into two parties. Alia, the boy, and I shall ride to the former Queen’s estates and the rest of you shall ride to Yorka and assess the situation there. We shall meet you as soon as we have apprised the Queen of her son’s return.” The others quickly agreed and they set off immediately for their assigned destinations.

  As Alia and her companions made camp that night, Ian asked, “how can this be?”

  Alia laughed, “how can you have spent so many years among the Brethren and not believe in miracles?”

  Ian smiled ruefully, “I suppose I do but I thought they only ever happened to other people. The Master truly does work in wonderful and mysterious ways!”

  They rode on, avoided the patrols once they crossed into Kyra, and soon found themselves upon the Queen’s estates. Alia presented the star trinket to the guards at the great gates before the ancient house and a servant was quickly sent to inquire after the Queen. The astonished servant quickly returned and ushered the strangers into his lady’s presence. All three bowed and the aging woman stared in wonder and joy at her long sundered son. Finally each found the courage to embrace and a quick round of wondering questions and excited chatter followed.

  After Ian met his sister and mother and all their curiosity and joy had momentarily been satisfied Alia asked, “how go things in Kyra? Are they as bad as we have heard? Any idea how the boy is to retake the throne?”

  The queen said, “things are bad enough, especially for the commoners. In usual circumstances, Ian would present himself to the royal lawyers who would then decide whether he was the legal heir to the throne, but these are far from usual circumstances. I fear his uncle will kill him regardless.”

  Kipril said, “I think secrecy will not avail us. Let us present ourselves before the entire court that a knife in the dark will not end all their worries. With enough witnesses perhaps the King will step down as he rightfully should. If he will not, then we will do what we must. He may challenge you to a duel for the crown and I am sure there will be treachery in the mix.”

  Ian said firmly, “I will do what I must.”

  They all agreed to the sketchy plan and the three set off at once with the Queen to follow after with the intent of attending court on the following evening when Ian would make his claims. They reached Yorka the following morning and met with the three that had gone ahead who agreed completely with their suppositions. The Brethren could not take the throne by force, but neither could the current King legally deny the claims of his nephew. His only recourse would be to have the upstart murdered, a dangerous task since all the city would soon know of the challenge to his throne or to challenge him to and best him in a duel.

  The servants of evil had not been lax these many years either. They had a spy in the midst of the Queen’s servants and the moment he saw the star trinket he knew the game was afoot. He made his way to the city and swiftly reported his suspicions to his dark masters. So it was when the young renegade came to make his claims, the King and his sinister advisors were not taken unawares. They could have barred the youth an audience but then he would have made a scene in the street. He was too well protected to be silently murdered and it would be good to show the court exactly how such rebels were dealt with. The King actually looked forward to the confrontation and his associates would make sure that he was the victor. As expected, he made his appearance at court the following evening.

  There was much gossip amongst the bystanders as the King had allowed word of the imposter to be spread abroad. Alia, Kipril, and his mother accompanied him to stand before the King; the rest of the Brethren spread out to make sure no ambush was imminent. Ian said in a voice for all to hear, “I hereby lay claim to the throne of Kyra held unjustly these fifteen years by the murderer of my father.”

  The King laughed, “have you any proof boy that I killed your father or that you are even the late King’s son?”

  Ian stood his ground and said, “I have no proof you murdered my father save the certainty in my heart. But I have ample proof I am the son of the late King.” He proffered his proofs and the royal lawyers examined the documents and artifacts for authenticity.

  The King said, “I thought this woman bore a girl child.”

  The former Queen spoke, “I gave birth to twins that night. The boy was safely hidden until he was of an age to claim his birthright.”

  The King scoffed, “a likely story, you simply found a youth of the correct age and indoctrinated him.”

  Alia spoke, “nay Sire, it was I that bore this very child to Astoria fifteen years ago. Know by the Oath that it is true.”

  The King looked to the lawyers, “well?”

  They nodded grimly, “the artifacts and proofs seem to be quite real. Can anyone bear testimony to the Queen’s story?”

  An aged woman emerged from the crowd and the ancient midwife said, “she speaks truly. I was there when she gave birth and delivered a boy and a girl that night.”

  “Very well,” said the King in much glee, “who is to say that you are the legal heir to the throne? Why must I vacate that which is lawfully mine?”

  Alia spoke, “Kyran law states that in the presence of an immature heir, a Steward may be appointed until the boy is of age at which point he will assume the throne. Your reign is legally at an end. You are also accused of gaining the throne through treacherous means which would also nullify your right to reign.”

  “You have no proof,” snarled the King, “and I will not relinquish the throne to this no name upstart. If he wants the throne he must step over my dead body to gain it; I challenge him to a duel.”

  Ian looked concerned, “must I fight him?”

  The royal lawyers looked grim, “under these circumstances it would violate all our customs not to. You have no legal requirements as such, but the people would not respect you if you declined. I also think your uncle would prove a dangerous enemy were he allowed to live.”

  The King gave him a dangerous look and the lawyer replied, “I was only stating the obvious Sire, no insult was meant on your behalf.”

  The King glared at his nephew, “well?”

  The boy drew his sword in answer, the audience drew back to give them room to fight, and the King grinned as he drew his own blade and approached the boy. The lawyer intoned in a dreary voice for what seemed a decade the various rules before allowing the combatants to bow and face one another. The boy was yo
ung but skilled, the old man experienced but out of practice. They whirled about in a deadly dance while the dark aides of the King drew their own weapons to aid the King by treachery should such be necessary. The Brethren held their own swords at the ready seeing what the sinister men intended. It was the stamina of the younger man that won the day as his weary uncle knelt before him with chest heaving wildly for air. He mocked between breathes, “finish me boy or they shall think you too weak to rule.”

  The boy shook his head, “no, you shall stand trial for my father’s murder. I will not make you a martyr or give you the honor of a swift death.”

  At that moment, the sinister men in the crowd made to fall upon the boy but were met by an equal number of the Brethren. The King seeing his future looking bleak and his treacherous friends fighting for their lives, lunged forward with sword drawn upon the distracted boy. The blade buried itself deeply in Kipril’s chest as he leapt between Ian and his murderous uncle. Seeing his own doom near to hand, the vile King took his own life rather than losing it justly to the headsman. His vile henchmen did likewise rather than reveal their sinister allegiance.

  The court was in uproar and confusion until the Brethren and heir apparent finally managed to calm them. No one understood why the dark men had dissolved into an oily puddle of goo upon death but the matter was soon forgotten as the lawyers proclaimed Ian the rightful heir to the throne now that his uncle was most certainly dead. Some of the more treacherous nobles made to sneak out but the Brethren barred their way until the new King could deal with them justly.

  Ian stared down in dismay at Kipril’s shattered form, “I should be the one lying dead.”

  Alia put a reassuring hand upon his back and smiled sadly at her fallen friend, “he was already assumed dead in your service Sire; it just happened a little later than we all thought. He knew well his duty and carried it out faithfully. We can all only hope to die so nobly. We will mourn a little, but grief should not be our constant companion, for we shall meet again beyond time if we remain faithful until the end ourselves.” The King was crowned and ruled his people justly for many years and once his own son was well established upon the throne, Ian quietly vanished and only his nearest kin and the Brethren knew what became of him after. The poet who thought himself no hero lived on in song and story long after Kyra itself had passed out of memory.

  Excerpt from ‘The Greylands: Volume I:’

  Prince Bryant sat in the common room with two sons of the greater lords of Ithamar; they all had older brothers and very little chance of ever taking their fathers’ places of import and influence unless their elder brothers succumbed to some mysterious illness or fell in battle. Thus they were relegated to the privileged but socially obscure branch upon which they perched. Much was expected of them by their noble parents but they would win little glory, wealth, or renown for anything they did, though their elder brothers seemed to accrue acclaim simply by getting out of bed of a morning. It was a seductive glue that bound them together: jealousy of their elder brothers and anger at fate for placing them in such an insignificant position. Most nights they could be found drowning their woes among the city’s many inns and drinking houses. When they gathered in such a place, the natives inevitably relocated so as not to find themselves in an awkward confrontation with such important and often drunk personages; the consequences of such an experience never favored the peasants. The boys would drink their fill and complain even more of the hardships of the world while the innkeeper listened and shook his head thinking they knew little of hardship and nothing of real life, at least not life as experienced by the vast majority of humanity throughout history.

  Ithamar was not the worst of countries in those days in its treatment of its peasants but the taxes were high and common men had few rights in a conflict of interest with the nobility. So they drank and complained and bonded over their seeming sorrow. Then they would stumble home drunk, fall into bed while servants cleaned up the mess, and begin anew their tedious lives on the morrow, succored only by the hope of the coming night.

  Bryant’s father the King, his elder brother, his mother, his numerous aunts, his grandmother, and everyone else in the Kingdom with the nerve often scolded him about his dissolute habits but he ignored them or scoffed or yelled back, all to no avail. Why did he not lead his father’s soldiers as his younger brother did or marry the daughter of some foreign King? Could he not learn something from all the philosophers and sages in the Kingdom and be of use to his father and brother in matters of state? Could he not quietly disappear to his country estates and hunt contentedly in obscurity and not cause a scene? Could he do anything but embarrass all his nearest relations? Deep within he found the whole thing somehow amusing, if only for the consternation it caused his elders; irritating all his nearest relations seemed the only joy he had left in life. On the outside he was all strut and show but within he yearned for meaning and direction and purpose. He was a boat adrift at sea without anchor, rudder, or sail while a storm raged around him with no end in sight. At least he felt as if he had something to look forward to in his nightly carousing though he always came away feeling small and empty and alone as he wandered home to bed in the small hours of the morning.

  Dark were his thoughts that night, darker than his usual wont, for he felt if he continued to do nothing he would soon do something drastic, whether to himself or others he did not know. He said to his companions, “I am tired of this tedious life we live. Let us do something great or terrible, that we might end the tedium and do something to be remembered; even if we do not succeed, it is better to die in the attempt rather than die in obscurity. Shall we be famous or infamous?” His friends laughed drunkenly, for the night was far gone and much wine had passed their lips.

  He continued, “as you will not choose I shall have the honor then. Let us be infamous! There are many failed adventurers and heroes and none know their names. I say let us be remembered in infamy, for a villain never truly dies though he live only in legend. We could be bandit kings but why stoop to such a level when we can reach far higher and take what fate herself has denied us? I say we reach for the crown itself my friends! Let us supplant my brother and even my father the King!”

  He continued to draw heavily from the mug of nameless liquid before him and was lost for many minutes in his treasonous expostulations. Whether he was serious or not, his friends could not tell but his words greatly disturbed them. They continued to listen and ape interest but the plot (what little of it there was, it was mostly grand words and misty aspirations) had quickly sobered them even as it chilled them to the bone. They were as empty inside as the prince but where they were content to enjoy all the privileges their rank could bestow, he had long ago failed to be pleased by such vapid entertainments. He was desperate for something to change and he had almost convinced himself that this was the only way. He finally finished his diatribe and drained his glass. He wandered home and his friends followed at a distance. They saw him safely to bed and then waited sleeplessly for the hour when the King would be abroad.

  After an eon, dawn finally revealed her glory and they saw the crown prince emerge from his chambers; they hurried to tell him of his brother’s embryonic treachery. He listened gravely to the miserable pair; they did not wish to betray their friend, but their friendship was not such that it would be worth their lives if they did not tell and were considered traitors by their silence and seeming complicity. They finished and the crown prince said, “let us to my father that he may hear these ill tidings.”

  They hastened to the King’s chambers, awakened the slumbering monarch, and told again their terrible tale. The King began to fume and rage while the Queen begged him to be reasonable and speak with Bryant first, before calling for his head, which of course started a Royal argument.

  The prince and the two lordlings quickly withdrew from the Royal bedchamber and the prince asked, “is my brother in jest, a drunken fo
ol, or a true traitor?”

  They shook their heads, “my lord, we know him little when he is sober; you had best ask him yourself.”

  The prince said, “I shall.” He turned sharply on his heel and went to find his brother before their father could do something rash. Bryant was not happy to be so awakened, his head throbbed terribly, but he soon quit complaining when his brother told the reason for his visit. The elder said, “father may very well banish you for such talk if he does not simply call for your head! Are you in earnest?”

  Bryant said quietly, “I am not sure, I need something to change and this is as good a scheme as any I can think of.”

  His brother said, “if it had been a drunken jest, perhaps father could be appeased but I am afraid his anger shall fall swiftly and harshly upon you.” Bryant paled, said nothing, grabbed his sword belt and cloak, and fled the room. His brother silently watched him go. He did not wish to see his father’s wrath realized but neither could he acknowledge this cold-hearted stranger as his brother. By the time the argument was settled and the guards were sent to bring the errant boy to face his father, he was long fled.

  Bryant ran for his life. He was astonished to realize that he might perhaps be a murderous fiend if given the chance, at least if it granted him the end he sought. He had hoped it had all been the ravings of a drunkard but he was horrified to realize that under the right circumstances he might be capable of doing just as he had boasted. He fled his father’s wrath but he could not flee the monster that was his own soul. He ran to the stable, found a saddled horse awaiting his rider, flung himself into the saddle, and galloped out of the courtyard. The servant that had been saddling the beast tried to pursue the prince with warning but to no avail; he had stolen a wild and dangerous animal that was stubborn beyond belief and resistant to even the cruelest methods of training. How he even stayed in the saddle was hard to imagine. He was a magnificent animal and had been brought as a gift to the crown prince by rich merchants as something of bribe, that he might remember them with favor when he succeeded his father. The creature was physically perfect but had a will of iron and would let no man on his back. The prince was the first to attain such a feat and that unknowingly. So they ran, and with the speed of the creature any other horse in the King’s stables would have a hard time catching them. The beast would deign to be led and saddled but would carry neither men nor burdens. The crown prince had ordered him saddled and hoped to break him that very morning, hoping to succeed where all others had failed.

  They ran hard all day on the shortest road out of the country. As night was falling they finally stopped, the prince collapsed against a tree just over the border. His heart sank and his hand reached for his sword as he heard the sound of galloping hooves drawing swiftly nigh. Six of his father’s guards drew rein a bowshot from the prince and one aimed his arrow at the weary boy. The bowstring sang as the prince dove to the ground; the arrow embedded itself in the tree just above where his head had been. The guards then turned and rode off slowly into the dying day. Cautiously the prince stood and pulled the arrow from the tree. He found a small piece of paper attached to the shaft, which read, “know you now that you are henceforth banished from all the domains of Ithamar and all title, privilege, and rank is hereby denied you. If you should ever return, it will be as a criminal and an outlaw and your life is forfeit unless spared by the mercy of the King.”

  Bryant sighed and said to the night air, “I wanted things to change and they have, but not in the way I intended. I am now an exile, a wanderer, an outlaw, a fugitive, with no home, people, or place to call my own. I am a fool.”

  The sweat-lathered horse snorted and said, “you are certainly all of that, as am I, but you need not be a fool.”

  The prince sat down hard in surprise and exhaustion, saying, “horses do not talk.”

  The horse eyed him patiently and said, “perhaps, but then again it may be that just the horses of your acquaintance have never spoken. Either that or I am not a horse.” He snorted wryly in amusement, as if he had said something rather clever.

  Taking the hint, the former prince said, “if you are not a horse, then what are you?”

  The unhorse said, “let us just say I have been banished from amongst my own noble and glorious people and reduced to the state in which you currently find me. I have been stripped of all that makes my people unique and left a mortal nag.”

  The unprince said, “and what did you do to become as you are? Who are your people and where do they come from?”

  The unhorse said, “perhaps one day I shall tell you all the tale but for now you must suffice yourself with what I have already revealed. What of you?”

  The boy sighed, “last night in a drunken rage I spoke of doing terrible things only to awaken and find that all know of my theoretical treachery and that some part of me is not averse to such acts. I can flee my father’s wrath but I cannot run from my own wretchedness.”

  The horse looked at him thoughtfully and said, “until now I have revealed myself to no one, but trapped as I am, I shall go mad if I trust no one and soon shall think myself nothing but a silly horse in truth. Seeing as we are both rebels and outlaws, perhaps we can travel together for a time? I will allow you upon my back in exchange for your aid in keeping me out of the hands of strangers who would happily confiscate a wandering horse as I will seem if I travel alone.”

  The boy laughed weakly, “I admit to you that I am a traitor, willing to do murder and yet I alone of all men am the man you choose to trust?”

  The horse said, “you have not yet killed anyone and the fact that you are horrified at your own thoughts means there is yet some hope for you. We are both rebels and outcasts, perhaps together we can find redemption upon the road. Besides, you are alone and desperate and need me as much as I need you. You shall not get far afoot.”

  “Where then shall we go?” asked the former prince.

  The horse shook his head, “I do not know. Even if I returned to the lands of my people I would not be allowed to or even capable of entering that wondrous land. You have no skills or relations that might benefit you in the wide world?” The boy shook his head. The horse sighed, “then let us go north for now until something draws us elsewhere.” The boy nodded his agreement, for one direction was as good as any other at the moment. They wandered off the road a short distance and the boy was soon asleep.

  Morning came and the boy rose damp and stiff but much refreshed, but he had brought nothing to eat or to start a fire with. Neither did he have a bow. He had his sword and dagger upon his hastily grabbed belt; his belt pouch was full of coins but there was nowhere to buy breakfast. He refreshed himself in a swiftly running creek, saddled the horse, and they were soon off though the boy’s stomach complained bitterly. The horse remarked, “it would be a far easier journey if you could sate yourself with grass as all sensible creatures do.”

  The boy laughed and said, “you are the only sensible herbivore I have ever met. All other creatures that go on four legs have remained thankfully silent.”

  The horse retorted, “that only proves their sense, for only man opens his mouth and makes sounds for no reason. At least doubt remains as to whether the silent beasts are truly fools or not; man has proved himself thus time and time again by his speech.”

  About midday they stopped in a small village and the boy purchased what he would need for the journey and some much appreciated food. They continued on until nightfall at which point, the boy made a rough camp as the horse wandered off for his nightly meal. They continued on in this manner for several days and nothing truly remarkable happened. They were traveling north through Sebeka: the neighboring Kingdom to Ithamar, a peaceful and prosperous country that welcomed strangers and most especially their coin.

  The horse said one day as they rode along, “what know you of happenings in the wide world?”

  The boy said, “I paid litt
le attention to world events, current or historic, save for a little about our closest neighbors. Now I begin to regret my inattention to my studies, for now I see the use of them when previously I thought it all nonsense.”

  The horse said, “I know little of the countries of men, but I shall tell you what I know of your world in general. It is a vast place and there are many kings and kingdoms; some are prosperous and peaceful, others are evil and warlike, and there are all shades between. There is also much unclaimed and wild land wherein all manner of beasts and folk strange to men are to be found. Much of what you consider myth or legend is actually true and flourishes in such places. In the far south dwells an Evil Prince with much sway in the world. His minions ride wherever they will and do as they please, causing much grief amongst innocent folk. His kingdom is called the Infernal Realm and is separated from all else by impassable mountains, though any who wish can freely enter his gates. All is sere and waste within a hundred miles of those vile peaks and he holds sway over all within their shadow. Many of the Kings closest to his domain are his vassals and nearly as vile as he. He is a rebel against the Great King, who dwells far to the north in the Brightlands and once was His greatest servant. A great chasm in the earth, called the Rift by men, separates those dear lands from all others.”

  He continued, “it is said that the Rift is a actually a rift in time and space, having no bottom. No mortal can cross that chasm save by the will of the Great King or His dear Son, the True Prince whose will is always that of His Father. It is from the Blessed Mountains that rim the Brightlands that my own kin come and from thence was I banished. Between the Brightlands and the Infernal Realm are the Grey Lands, in which mortal men dwell and that encompass all you know as real. It is in this strange plane that you are born, live, and die. After you pass the gates of death you must enter either the Brightlands, if you are a willing subject of the Great King, else you come under the dominion of the Dark Prince and you will never more come forth from the Infernal Realms. One day the Great King will reclaim the Grey Lands and forever banish the Dark Prince beyond his own mountains and seal the gate that none may pass out again. Then will all the world be as it was meant to be, before rebellion brought death and sorrow upon the face of the earth.”

  The boy paled, “I have heard stories and legends of such things but never thought them more than tales. You tell me this is the truth! Whatever is a rebel of my standing to do? Am I doomed to dwell in that terrible place for all eternity?”

  The horse shook his head, “I am a rebel myself and doomed to the same fate unless we can find a way out. My people are immortal, true and willing servants to the Great King, but alas I refused the duty He asked of me and I was thus banished. We never spoke of redemption, for we had no need of such a concept, but on these shattered shores on which I find myself the need is truly great. We must seek out one who can tell us this mystery.”

  The boy nodded glumly and hoped with all his heart that a way could be found out of this pit of his own making. At least he knew now why they rode north; he had no wish to be nearer those awful lands than he absolutely had to be. “What or who are we looking for?” asked the boy.

  The horse said, “there are supposedly men abroad, servants of the Great King, knowledgeable in all things pertaining to Him and His dealings with fallen men. It is one of these learned men that we seek, to learn what must be done to redeem ourselves.”

  “Where are such folk to be found?” asked the boy.

  The horse snorted in laughter, “an excellent question. I know little of mortal lands and know only what I have personally observed since my arrival in this dismal sphere and that which I have overheard men speak in my presence. Sadly, I seem to know more than you who were born in this place.”

  The boy nodded glumly, ashamed of all he had failed to learn in his life and of all the time he had spent drowning himself in a mug of ale. The boy said, “perhaps instead of isolating ourselves of an evening, I should visit the local tavern and see if I cannot learn something of these mystics you speak of?”

  The horse nodded in approval, “an excellent proposition.” They stopped early that evening, for they would not reach the next village before dark. The horse said to the boy, “be careful, for there are men who do not hold the Great King in high favor. The Dark Prince has spies and servants everywhere.”

  The boy smiled slightly, “you are worried for my safety?”

  The horse smiled, “let us just say it would be a far more difficult journey alone.” The boy’s smile deepened as he entered the inn while the horse wandered off into the night.

  The boy took a seat far to the back and watched quietly from his private corner. The innkeeper eyed him speculatively but said nothing, for he caused no trouble. The boy watched the quiet conversations, tavern games, and the comings and goings of the various patrons. He marked out several shady looking characters but saw no one who seemed an ideal source of information. Full dark fell outside the grimy windows as a ragged traveler traipsed into the inn and wandered to the back of the common room. He surveyed the men scattered about the establishment and his eyes fell upon the boy, obviously a fellow stranger in this place. He made his way to the back and asked if he might share the boy’s small table. The boy was intrigued by the stranger and nodded eagerly. The man took a seat, the serving girl brought him a bowl of stew and some bread, and as he ate his meal he said, “what brings you to this place lad? One does not often see such youngsters wandering alone, save perhaps a few adventurous lads looking to be heroes.”

  The boy said, “I wander because I must. My past is behind and all my unknown future lies ahead. I seek hope in a hopeless world and peace for a disquiet heart.”

  The man smiled secretively and said quietly, “the world is not quite as hopeless as you might think, though sometimes it is dangerous to speak of that which is a light in even the darkest night. I am willing to speak with you but perhaps in a place less obvious?”

  The boy nodded gravely and said, “my companion and I have ridden far in search of such knowledge. We are both wanderers seeking rest. What do you suggest?”

  The man smiled, “let me finish my meal and then we shall talk for a time of trivialities to allay the suspicions of all here. Then you can wander off into the night and I shall follow when convenient. Wait for me along the road but well out of sight.” The boy nodded and they proceeded as planned.

  Half an hour after the boy had gone, the man trudged wearily out into the dark, a man obviously too poor to afford a bed in such a place. A few eyed him speculatively but returned to their drinks, seeing nothing obviously to their benefit in yet another penniless traveler. The man wandered out into the road and waited silently until the boy crawled out of hiding and drew his attention. They vanished down an overgrown trail into a little clearing. The moon stood high and gave enough light to cast their faces into shadow. “Where is your companion?” asked the curious man. The boy smiled silently in amused anticipation as a horse stepped out of the shadowed woods and stopped before the man, looking at him as if awaiting some reply. The man looked from the horse to the boy and back again.

  “Well?” asked the horse, “I have been told that this little interlude shall be worth missing part of my evening repast.”

  The man gaped, “I have not had the pleasure of meeting a talking horse before, unless of course you are not actually a horse?”

  The horse smiled in pleasure, “finally a man with some sense! Long have I hoped to meet such a specimen. I of course am no horse, save perhaps in appearance. And who pray tell are you and how come you to know more of wisdom than most men I have encountered?”