The Stolen Kingdom

Taylor could not help but feel proud. He rode atop Courage with Robert by his side, reviewing the small army of men who had come to them from Sarbury. They had been commissioned by King Peter to transfer these men – this army of disarray – into the Monasterian army; a very difficult task, indeed.

  The first regiment, a group of about a hundred men, had been transferred successfully, joining the ranks against the Dark Duke. Now Taylor and Robert prepared the second group, a band of about eighty, most of them worn-out and reckless. They were to be delivered to Sir Matthew, to be placed around the mountain and valley areas which lined the border. Monastero needed as many soldiers as it could get, and it was Robert and Taylor’s job to convince them to join in the cause.

  “Listen, men,” Taylor began, “Monastero and Sarbury have always gotten along…But now it is not simply a matter of diplomatic relations…It is a matter of survival. If you ever want to be able to see the green hills, or the beloved valleys of what is now our shared land, then you must be willing to fight…for our united land and our children. The Dark Duke will come for you…the only chance we have is to band together. Otherwise, defeat is certain. The choice is yours…”

  It was a practiced, measured speech, but a good one.

  …………………………………………..

  The choice was obvious. The Sarburian men knew that if they did join the Monasterians and the Dark Duke were to conquer them as well, surely he would come looking for all those that had once opposed him. It was either fight and risk dying, or die later in the streets. Perhaps even more pressing on their minds, though, was the chance to recover their national pride by rallying against the man who had vanquished their homeland.

  Taylor could see right away that the men were with him.

  And Sir Matthew wasted no time in putting them to use. He stationed as many as he could around the mountaintops and brought the rest up to help protect his left flank. Taylor and Robert, meanwhile, took their places beside him. There they would wait through nightfall, with not even the sound of a stick snapping to break the silence.

  But paranoia grows in dark and silent places. The clear cool air somehow became as frightening as the enemy within their minds. It whisked around their heads and into their ears, settling in their minds, where it played funny games of what if.

  Soon Sir Matthew began to become uneasy. He worried that the Dark Duke was moving up around him, through some hidden pass, though his scouts told him that this was not possible. The northern side was protected by the mountains of Rybere, and surely the Dark Duke would not waste his time getting himself trapped amongst its rocky terrain. But still, this did not tell Matthew where the fight was to be, and so he continued to worry, rebuilding his fortifications well into the next day, until finally a messenger arrived from his scouting commander, Major Talkund.

  It seemed that the Dark Duke was in retreat, leaving some of his men to take up fort, while the rest accompanied him back to Belsden. This rather surprised both Taylor and Robert as well as their superior, and it was decided that they would hold their positions until further news arrived. Yet, not two hours later another messenger came, this one from Sir Kilkin, reporting the very same. Taylor trotted slowly off with Courage. Robert quickly came up behind him.

  “What is it that troubles you?” he asked, striding up beside his friend.

  “I do not trust the Dark Duke,” Taylor replied.

  “Yes, yes,” Robert interrupted. “This I know. But there is something else.”

  “I am worried about Rosemarie.”

  “This I do not doubt,” Robert said. “But it is twice now that you have evaded me.”

  Taylor turned abruptly.

  “Robert,” he said, “can you keep a secret?”

  “I am your dearest friend,” Robert replied. “Who can you trust more than I?”

  “What if I told you that I have a more personal interest in these affairs because I am the son of King Edmund and Queen Beatrice of Belsden and that the Dark Duke tried to have me killed as a baby, but I was rescued by my current parents and that the Dark Duke would very much like to see me dead?”

  Robert considered all this for a moment.

  “Say again?”

  “I said: What if I told you that I have –”

  “- No, no. Not necessary.”

  Robert rubbed his chin, trying to absorb it all.

  “Well,” Taylor persisted, “what would you tell me then?”

  “I would tell you directions to the nuthouse,” Robert replied.

  Taylor sighed. “You don’t believe me, then?”

  “Taylor, you are my best friend. If you tell me something, then I know that it must be true. But to tell me such a thing so suddenly and without explanation…”

  “Well, you do recognize the discrepancy between me and my parents, do you not?”

  “Well, yes,” Robert said. “It was not that part that set me back, you see.”

  “Let me explain it to you, then, as it has been explained to me. For the purpose of clarity, I will refer to my current parents as Tibbie and Brianna.”

  They began to trot off again as Taylor recited the entire story:

  “It seems that Tibbie found me one day wrapped in a royal cloth inside of a barrel, coincidentally the same day that Her Majesty, the Queen Beatrice, passed on, supposedly while giving birth to a still-born baby. Me.”

  “You?”

  “Yes. Me. Let me go on:

  “The Dark Duke searched everywhere for me, but Tibbie and Brianna were able to sneak me across the border to Monastero somehow, where I’ve lived ever since.”

  Robert, with a perplexed look upon his face, ceased in his trot.

  “You do not believe me?” Taylor asked, ceasing as well.

  “No. It’s not that,” Robert responded. “It is simply that all this time I’ve known you, I always thought that it was only I who possessed royal blood, when in fact you are a king!”

  Taylor’s face relaxed.

  “Not unless I can reclaim my throne,” he stated dryly. “Truly I don’t wish for royal amenities anyhow. But the Dark Duke…”

  “We must tell my father.”

  “Your father?”

  “Yes. He can help you.”

  “How so?”

  “His word is gold to all. And your word is gold to him. He can verify that what you say is true.”

  “And the cloth?”

  “You still have it?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Then we must tell my father and use his help along with it to help you reclaim your throne.”

  “It would be of no use, though,” Taylor said. “The Dark Duke is too powerful right now anyway. He’d never give-up the throne without a fight. – And that’s if the people believed my claim.”

  Robert sighed. “You are right. But still, we must tell my father. At the very least, his advice is invaluable.”

  “True.”

  “Then we will tell him?”

  “Agreed.”

  …………………………………………..

  The Duke of Roth leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chin just as his son had a tendency to do. Taylor and Robert sat before him in his den, a fire whimpering out behind them.

  “That is quite a story,” he said.

  “But it is true, Sir,” insisted Taylor.

  “I do not doubt its veracity,” Sir Roth replied, sipping at his wine, “but what do we do now? is the question.” He paused in reflection. “Do you still have the cloth you spoke of?”

  Taylor had been prepared for this. He produced the cloth from under his shirt. Sir Roth took it in his hands for a moment, examining it. He sighed and let it fall to the table.

  “That is why we have come to you, Father,” said Robert. “I think that it ought to be known.”

  “No,” Sir Roth asserted. “I am disappointed in you, Robert. You should know better. If I have strived to teach you anything, then I have strived to teach you patience.”


  “Then what is it we should do, Father?”

  Sir Roth’s eyes stared down unto the table before him.

  “The Dark Duke is too powerful now,” he said. “Alerting him to Taylor would only put Taylor and our country in danger. We must wait. When the time comes, dear Taylor, you shall make your move. Until then, you must continue to train yourself for that moment.”

  “But when will that time be?” Taylor asked.

  “Who knows?” his mentor replied. “It may never be. But that it is not now, we know for certain. Your only chance is through patience, Taylor. The angry man will almost always lose to the sophisticated one.”

  Taylor James sighed in exasperation. He let his hands drop to his lap.

  “Should I tell the King?” he asked at last.

  “No,” came the answer. “It is not necessary as of yet, and the King has enough on his plate to worry him. And certainly no one else should be told. The more people you tell, the more danger you open yourself to. In time, maybe, but for now we shall keep this between us and us alone.”

  “Yes, Sir Roth,” Taylor replied. “You are right. I know it.”

  “Thank you, Your Highness.”

  There was a moment of silence. At last , Taylor spoke:

  “There is, however, one more person I feel I should tell.”

  Chapter 15

  A Quick Fight