The Stolen Kingdom

“News from the battlefield is not good, Sire,” the squire reported.

  King Peter’s head drooped to the floor, dropping a heavy sigh from the mouth on its way.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  The young servant could not even look the king in the eye.

  “The Dark Duke’s army, I’m afraid, Sire, has advanced considerably.”

  “And our men?”

  The squire’s hands fidgeted over his chest. His mouth trembled.

  “Dead, mostly, Sire. They fought nobly, I’m told. Some were able to escape into the woods with Taylor James and Robert of Roth, but most perished. It was a terribly bloody encounter, Sire. I’m told there were cannon.”

  The king sighed again.

  “Your Highness,” said the young servant, evidently interrupting the king’s sad thoughts, “if you want to live, you must leave now. Otherwise it will be too late.”

  “No,” said the king, his saddened, weary eyes in firm resolve, “I cannot leave. I must stay here.”

  …………………………………………..

  Inside Maber Woods, there was no shortage of blood from the battlefield. Men limped around with arrows protruding from their legs, some breaking them off, some pressing leaves against the wound for clottage, others too weak to bother. Against one tree lay three men, nursed by another three, with stab wounds decorating their bellies in pools of red. Another man sat trying to reattach his nose to his face, while two more grabbed at their decapitated arms with their surviving hands.

  In the center, a fire had been started to warm the injured, but Taylor had ordered that this fire be put out, afraid that it would lead the enemy to them, and so the men reluctantly complied. No fire, though, meant no cooking, which made waste to the deer one man had happened upon on the way, which now lay idly by their feet. Some leaves and berries had been collected, but these were far from satisfying, and Taylor and Robert knew that a new arrangement needed to be reached. That, though, would have to wait; for if they didn’t move quickly, their lives would be as good as gone anyway.

  “What do you think they’re talkin’ about?” a man asked Nome Flag, who sat eating ant-covered leaves.

  Nome glanced to his left, then shrugged and went back to his food.

  “You trust these guys?” the man asked.

  Again Nome shrugged.

  “I trust no one.”

  The man nodded.

  “Personally, I think we’re all just about dead. How ’bout you?”

  Nome, finishing off his gruesome grub, turned upon the man with a fearsome grimace.

  “Is that your bread?” he asked, motioning to a large roll by the man’s side.

  “Brought it from home,” the man said with a nod. “It’s a good thing, too, cause it’s all I got t’ea-”

  Nome’s hand slammed into the man’s face, sending him sprawling a good few feet distant onto his back, unconscious. He grabbed up the bread and shoved it into his mouth. Chewing greedily, he sat staring at the two men before him.

  They sat on rocks, drawing down on the ground with sticks, probably planning some desperate maneuver that would never work. They were boys, both of ’em, neither about Nome’s own age if their years were combined. It was a dastardly situation and he knew it. Maybe it was time to go, to leave off and let the stupid men perish. Bravery and stupidity were two very different things. He stuffed some more bread into his mouth. He hated those two.

  Idiots.

  “Now, see here,” Taylor said. “If we were to take the path through the woods here…” – he drew a line in the sand – “…Then we could probably get to the palace in about two hours’ time…If we’re not stopped.”

  “Which we may very well be.”

  “Right.” Taylor dropped the stick onto the ground. “Even if we were to cut that time in half, with the time that it took us to regroup and the path that we’d be taking, the Dark Duke would still easily beat us there. With his numbers, it would be a certain slaughter, and all would be for naught. Plus, King Peter has probably fled by this point anyway, so the palace is a worthless endeavor.”

  “So, what then?”

  Taylor picked the stick back from the ground and drew out another path on the map.

  “We could,” he said, “head into the villages instead. There we can warn the people, have them collect their valuables, and maybe even take some along with us to safety.”

  “What’s Option Three?” Robert asked.

  Taylor’s eyes danced round the trees.

  “No Option Three.”

  “Well, then,” said Robert, lifting himself up, “I guess Option Two it is, then.”

  A humble Monasterian by the name of Brafton approached.

  “Pardon me, commanders,” he said, “but I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation…”

  “And…?” said Robert.

  “Well, I grew up by these woods, sir. I thought perhaps you’d like to know the quickest and safest way to get out and head for the towns – before they burn us out.”

  “That would be helpful,” Taylor noted. “It’s been a long, hard day; I’d hate to add dying to it.”

  Brafton smiled, but only briefly.

  …………………………………………..

  For miles distant the fires could be seen, the smell smelt, the silence heard. Arrows and bodies lay side by side in idle company, while horses tread softly over and around them as if they were mere road bumps. Children, once out and around, playing in great gaiety, now stayed locked in their mother’s bosom, their heads tucked from the scene around them. Tradesmen, vendors, laborers – once out soliciting their goods and services – now packed their things in great hurry and took off for the road.

  The streets became empty, desolate places, with dust and clouds all to show. Even the wind itself, it seemed, had cast itself away, pressing east for a better place. It whipped round into the fires and sent them whizzing into the air, then falling unto the ground, only to whiz back up again. The dirt of the street climbed into view, died like the rest, and fell to the earth to cover the lifeless bodies. Some twitched in distant, desperate hope: a leg kick here, a finger wave there; but soon each one collapsed to meet its end, tears mixing with blood as life extinguished. The last sight to be seen was that of gray shirts rushing by, some stopping to kick and scoff, others pressing over, stepping upon limbs like sticks, never mindful of the body they belonged to.

  Then out of the fire and the smoke and the darkness setting in, a tall figure on horseback could be seen approaching with six others surrounding him. His dress was royal, his robe black, his manner arrogant, his expression cold. With him rode two more men of similar stature, one half-shaven and crazed looking, with black gloves and a long, thick sword, the other calmer, yet just as beastly, with a putrid complexion and meandering red locks. None gave hardly a glance to the bodies before them, passing through as one might the park on a Sunday walk. Their eyes were dry and uncaring, their lips pursed in triumph, their presence disastrous.

  They passed through the palace gate, then paused a moment so that the Dark Duke might digest it all.

  “A fair summer home, I suppose,” he remarked to Farv.

  “Yes, Sire.”

  “And,” said the Dark Duke, removing his gloves and placing them within his royal belt, “what of its previous occupant?”

  “We have him, Sire.”

  “Stupid fool. He should’ve fled when he had the chance.”

  “Will you be present at the execution, Your Highness?” Rahavi asked.

  The Dark Duke turned in astonishment.

  “Why, of course,” he said. “Why should I not?”

  Rahavi nodded.

  “Just checking, Sire. We’ll, of course, ensure for your safety.”

  “Good. Then let us have it done as soon as possible. No need to have the people form any protest to it. The quicker the better.”

  “I have spoken with the king, Your Highness – the – ah – for
mer­ king I mean, of course – and he does seem quite willing to quell the people and to ask them to embrace you, if only we guarantee him that no harm will come to them.”

  “Very well,” said the Dark Duke. “He’ll be dead anyway, what does he know of what will come of them? Tell him it’s a deal, then arrange to have the royal throne brought to the balcony so that I may witness the execution.”

  “Yes, Sire.” Rahavi nodded and was about to be off, when the Dark Duke called back to him.

  “And Rahavi…”

  “Yes, Your Highness?”

  “Collect some village women for me after, won’t you?”

  The redhead showed his ruddy teeth. “Certainly, Sire.”

  He rode off to make the arrangements.

  …………………………………………..

  An hour later thousands of commonfolk surrounded the execution site, there to bid their fair king farewell as well as to see what troubles lie ahead. Most had thought that King Peter had fled, but when they heard he was to be executed, they were quick to make it to the palace courtyard, though many could not find room inside, and so they perched atop the walls or congregated outside of them.

  A gallows station had been set up, with a sole masked man testing the rope as the people made their way in. They poked their heads, searching for their leader, but he was nowhere to be found. For a while, rumors began to spread that he had in fact escaped, and that the Dark Duke had lured them there for other reasons; but soon a loud trumpet blare put these notions to rest, as the Dark Duke emerged upon the balcony. He did not address the crowd, but simply took his seat beside Farv, motioning to Rahavi, who stood before the execution platform, to begin. A moment later King Peter was being dragged out by four armed guards and led to the dreadful gallows, his hands tied by rope like any common criminal.

  “No!” cried the people. “Your Highness, we love you! Stop! Don’t do it! Please!”

  But it was no use. The king pressed forth with his head facing the ground, advancing with no resistance as he approached his death. Faces, young and old, pleading for his amnesty, throwing flowers and kisses, and tears, Oh! the tears! Visions of his kingdom. Visions of his people!

  A moment later he was atop the gallows platform, sadly looking out at those faces. The four Guardsmen lifted him to the stool as the executioner placed the rope firmly around his neck.

  “No!” cried the people. “No!”

  “Quiet!” Rahavi cried out. “He has words for you.”

  The king’s eyes, weary and worn, sauntered to Rahavi’s side, then back round to the commoners before him. He had learned much in his life, and he was to share that wisdom with his people now. He was to tell them not to resist, to follow their new king as they had followed him; that in time they would adjust and come to love their new king, whose authority should not be questioned. He was to do this for their own good: to spare them from any evil.

  The people waited for these words.

  His mouth slowly dropped open, limp as the rest of his body.

  “My people,” he said, “I love you, and I know that you love me. Now I must ask a favor of you. I understand that you are distraught, that you are confused, that you hold anger in your hearts; but still, I ask you to do me this favor…” – his eyes wandered from Rahavi to the Dark Duke and back to his people – his poor, desperate people – “I ask,” he said, “that you… that you fight with Taylor James, the true king of Belsden!” The Dark Duke rose. “Fight for him! The man that had his crown stolen! The son of Edmund and Beatrice!”

  “Kill him!” cried the Dark Duke.

  “The Dark Duke is a hoax! He is evil! Fight for Taylor James!”

  “Kill him now!”

  The executioner, slow to react, moved for the stool.

  “Don’t ever give up! Let him take me, but don’t ever let him take our-”

  The stool crashed to the ground, sending the king’s body whirling in pain. The people, charged and aghast, turned in disgust as their leader struggled and ceded.

  A moment later, it was done.

  …………………………………………..

  Rosemarie sat by the table with her mother, father, and Soothie, her brother James perched by the window with his bow and arrow.

  “Did you pack the crystal tureen?” Mrs. Stockwell asked of her husband.

  “Yes,” Stockwell replied, “I packed it all.”

  She pressed her thumbs together.

  “How long do ya think we should wait, John?”

  Stockwell sighed.

  “I don’t know.” He called to the boy: “James, are the Coopers coming up?”

  “No, Father.”

  All were quiet.

  “I suppose we’ll wait a little while longer,” Stockwell said.

  “I’ll wait forever,” Rosemarie declared. “He said he’ll come for me and I’m sure he will.”

  “Rosemarie,” her father said, “I understand how you feel, but the boy went to fight a war. He may not have survived, and even if he did, he may have been captured.”

  “He will come,” his daughter persisted. “I know it.”

  “Honey,” Mrs. Stockwell interjected, “you must prepare for these things. Sometimes-”

  “Look!” James shouted, his finger jutting.

  Quickly, all rushed to his side.

  “Well, I’ll be darned,” Stockwell remarked.

  …………………………………………..

  “Taylor!” Rosemarie cried, jumping into his arms. “I was so worried! What happened?”

  “Did not I tell you I would always come for you, my dear?” he asked, embracing her.

  “But it was so long!” she protested.

  “Yes,” said Taylor. “And it is not over. We must be quick. Time is of the essence. But first…kiss me.”

  …………………………………………..

  Robert of Roth raced over the hill, a dozen soldiers struggling to keep up behind. They cut through the woods and down over the valley, taking a little known shortcut to his cherished home. The castle appeared to them, tall and bold, as they clambered over the final hill, one man after the other, and found themselves staring at its impeding towers.

  But something was different about the castle, something unusual, and, although the other men did not at first notice it, it struck Robert of Roth immediately. He paused at the top of the hill, peering out unto his home, wondering what it was. There was smoke in the air: strange, it was; for they never lit the fire at this time of day. He walked closer, then closer still.

  Suddenly a smell met his nose: a horrid, putrid smell. It was a smell that he knew all too well from battle, and it pushed him to race ever closer to the castle, the men following suit behind. The smell worsened as he neared, and presently he could make out a fire burning toward the rear of the castle. Bodies surrounded the hillside and filled the moat.

  “No!” he screamed. “Noooo!”

  His mind envisioned the most horrid atrocities as his legs carried him toward them.

  The castle gate was down, the tower empty. The bodies reeking.

  “No,” he cried, searching around frantically for what he hoped not to see, “No.”

  “Robert?”

  In a start, he turned to see Evony, the very servant who had united him and Taylor, limping his way. Her face was beaten and swollen, her eyes nearly punched closed.

  “Robert, is that you?”

  “Evony…”

  “Robert! Oh, Robert!” she cried, sobbing into his arms. “They’re dead. All dead.”

  “Where is my father, Evony?”

  The poor woman shook her head in tears.

  “Evony, where is my father!”

  She wiped her face with her palm.

  “He, too, I’m afraid.”

  The thought struck Robert like a blast of thunder. The blood drained from his veins and pulled the life out from under his eyes.

  “No,” he said. “Oh, God, no!”
br />   He shook the woman by the arms.

  “You lie! Tell me you lie!”

  “No, Robert,” she whimpered. “No.”

  “Where?” he cried. “Where is he?”

  But Evony could speak no more.

  “Where, Evony?” he cried.

  “By…By the tower, I believe…with his sword drawn.”

  Robert let go. He ran for the tower, his eyes rummaging through the bodies. He stopped and spun round, frantic and panting, then advanced a few more paces to a body some feet off.

  He dropped to his knees before it.

  “Father…”

  Some of the men rushed up behind, remaining a safe distance back, afraid to approach the suffering son as his head fell onto his father’s chest.

  …………………………………………..

  Outside the Stockwell house, Tibbie and Brianna, overhearing the noise, had joined with Rosemarie and the others in welcoming the only son they had ever known. The soldiers, somewhat re-energized from the food both families had provided, helped to ready the wagons for travel, while Taylor thought up his plan for the journey. Some food was stored away, as were what weapons they had, and room was made for the women to ride. Mrs. Stockwell was just being placed into the wagon, when suddenly all of those present, as if conquered by silence stopped what they were doing and looked off over the hill.

  There walked a man with another in his arms. The body lie limp, dangling, much like Robert himself. As they got closer, a woman, bruised and beaten, appeared with them, aided by two soldiers at her side. Over two hundred citizens of Roth, those men women, and children who were willing to leave, followed behind.

  Robert proceeded up to Taylor, the tears still in his eyes as he looked down at his father’s face.

  “They killed him,” he muttered. “My father.”

  Taylor’s head fell. He put his hand on Robert’s shoulder.

  …………………………………………..

  The burial was quick, but honorable. They dug the hole up by the highest hill, and marked it with a simple cross of wood. Robert stood for a moment afterwards, gazing down at it with Taylor, Rosemarie, and Evony by his side.

  “He was a great man,” Taylor comforted, “and we will seek justice. Be sure of it.”

  Evony walked off crying into a cloth. Taylor took Rosemarie by the hand and gave Robert some time alone.

  For a while he said nothing. He couldn’t bear the thought. Then, crouching down with his head to his knee, he said a silent prayer. Rising, he looked to the south, where he could just make out the top of Roth Castle.

  “Beg for their mercy, Father. They will need it.”

  …………………………………………..

  “Are the borders closed?”

  “Yes, Your Highness,” Rahavi reported.

  “Good,” said the Dark Duke. “Then you can begin raiding the towns.”

  “Already, Sire?”

  “No, fool. Instead wait till they’ve hidden all of their valuable possessions. – Yes, already!”

  “As you wish, Sire.”

  Rahavi bowed and stepped away from the throne, exiting through the two enormous doors at the end.

  “Fools,” the Dark Duke scoffed. “All fools.”

  He looked around the room, tapping his forefinger to his chin. News of King Peter’s warning would surely spread quickly, but truly it made no difference. He was king now, and only what he said mattered. He took a deep breath. But still…

  “Taylor James…” he pondered, “…Taylor…James…”

  …………………………………………..

  “Taylor James!” cried a villager. “King Taylor!”

  “Taylor James! Is it really you?”

  “Be brave, King! Be brave!”

  As the small procession made its way through the tiny village of Tobani, villagers from all sides came to gawk at the man in front who they had been told was indeed Taylor James. With those rounded up in Roth, the group now numbered over four hundred people, women and children included. But the villagers, some of whom joined in the procession, were making it difficult to advance, and Taylor was forced to stop and demand an explanation to the matter.

  A tall, robust man, with arms as big as barrels, stepped forward to address him.

  “Are you the one they call Taylor James?” asked the man, his round face barely visible in the dark.

  “Maybe. Who are you?” Taylor asked.

  “I,” said the man with a bow, “am Cosko. And your expression tells me that there is some confusion about, if I’m right.”

  Taylor looked round at the villagers, who had surrounded him in an arc of awe.

  “Possibly,” he admitted. “What news have you?”

  The crowd gave way as Cosko approached the young man.

  “Will you take me with you?” he asked.

  “I will take any who wish to go. Now, tell me what you know.”

  “I know no more than any other. The king is dead and the Dark Duke crowned, but ’tis you who is the proper king of Belsden.”

  Rosemarie turned to Taylor in astonishment.

  “Where did you hear this?” Taylor demanded.

  “It came from the king’s mouth himself – right before they forever closed it. Boler,” said the man, pointing, “was there to see it himself.”

  Taylor turned to see a tall, skinny man nodding regretfully.

  “Taylor, is this true?” Rosemarie asked.

  He turned to her. He could not lie to those eyes.

  “Yes, my love. It is.”

  “What – I – I don’t understand.”

  “I’ll explain it all later. For now we must get on.”

  “Then do we come?” said Cosko.

  “So long as you are not afraid,” Taylor replied. “I promise you nothing better than you have here.”

  “We have nothing here,” Cosko returned. “At least not for long. I, for one, choose to go.”

  “Then prepare your belongings. By tomorrow the Dark Duke’s men will be ransacking this town, for sure, and possibly even by tonight. We leave in fifteen minutes’ time.”

  Quickly the crowd scampered off to their tiny huts and houses. Perhaps two dozen settled into their homes for the night. Some of these were elders of the village – those who had spent lifetimes there and couldn’t bear to leave. Others were simply unconcerned, the comfort of their surroundings convincing them that no harm could come to them. These people would later be sorry.

  The rest packed their things with little hesitation. Fathers threw children into wagons beside food, weapons, and jewelry, while mothers packed blankets and clothing for the coming journey. People squabbled in the street over debts, a horse here, a turkey there. “Two donkeys, Mueller! Two donkeys!” “Take the porcelain.” “The candles, Charlie! The candles!” “Grab the baby!” “Children, into the wagon! Into the wagon!” Around Taylor James they ran, taking whatever rations they could collect, their life’s possessions in fifteen minutes. Taylor, meanwhile, had other matters to tend to:

  “Why did you keep this from me?” Rosemarie asked.

  His eyes drooped to the ground, then lifted to find hers.

  “You are right, my love. I am sorry.”

  “Do you not trust me?”

  “I do, my love, I do. But I wanted you to love me for the man I am, not for my throne. And I wanted to protect you.”

  She slapped him hard across the face.

  “That is for your insult,” she cried. “To think that I would ever love you for anything more than yourself! And to not trust me so!”

  Taylor, still much in shock from the hit, stuttered out his words.

  “I – I – I don’t know why I did it. It was a mistake, and I regret it. But I promise it will never happen again.” He took her hand in his. “From here on in we share everything. Everything. Like one body.”

  Tears entered into Rosemarie’s eyes.

  “Oh, Taylor! How did this happen?” br />
  And so he told her as best he could in the time they had: about his parents, about the Dark Duke, about how Tibbie and Brianna had rescued him. When it was over she cried into his arms.

  “Taylor, what are we going to do?”

  He let his hand drop from behind her head.

  “I don’t know. The Dark Duke will come after us for sure, and we have little to defend ourselves with. For now we’ll have to seek safety in the woods – at least until we can find refuge somewhere else.”

  “Taylor,” Robert said, approaching, “we must leave now. We haven’t any time to waste.”

  Taylor looked round, pensively.

  “Cosko!” he called, noticing him some distance off. “Are you the declared leader of this town?”

  “As good as any other,” the portly man replied.

  “Fine then. You are the leader now. Make certain the people are ready. We leave in two minutes.”

  …………………………………………..

  It is difficult to observe complete silence in the woods with over five hundred people by your side, but that is what Taylor requested. The wagons creaked, the feet rustled, the horses neighed, but still the birds could be heard chirping amongst the quiet of the people. Occasionally, when a baby cried out, a mother was forced to stifle it with a hand cloth, but even this was rare; for it seemed that even the babies knew something of the danger they were in. At the sound of an animal scampering, or a stick snapping, every nerve went on end, and the men all reached for their arms, only to find that fear was a weapon in and of itself, and one that cut deep, too. Taylor, perhaps, was the worst one of all; for all responsibility now seemed to rest upon his shoulders. Robert, still unrecovered from the shock of his father’s death, was of little help, though he of course walked by Taylor’s side; for each had given their horses to others in greater need. Stockwell and Tibbie, meanwhile, had been asked to help guard the rear.

  “Where do you think he’s taking us?” Stockwell whispered to his friend.

  “I don’t know,” Tibbie admitted, “but he knows the woods as good as any other, that I’m sure of: he used to hide in them when he was in trouble.”

  “And I suppose he’s doing just that now,” Stockwell remarked.

  “Indeed,” Tibbie said. “Let’s just hope there’s not more trouble in here than out there.”

  Around the path they went, narrowing here, bending there. At times there was no path to go by, and they had to clear their own; but Taylor pressed forth, confident that he knew the way, relentless through the hours. The trees bent and swayed, releasing birds from their arms, almost embracing our travelers at times. Though their wooden heads kissed the sky, their knobby eyes seemed to fix down upon those below, watching in their way as the breeze whispered them forward.

  At last our travelers came to a clearing: a green, hilly area with a pond off to their left, surrounded by woods on to the left and the right. As they passed over one hill and to the next, yet more woods came into view before them, even thicker and darker than the last. Taylor approached them without hesitation, but soon realized that the rest were not so quick to follow.

  “What halts you?” he asked, addressing the inert crowd.

  “We can’t pass through there!” cried one woman in front. “Them’s Cheshire Woods. Only a fool would enter.”

  “I don’t plan to pass through,” said Taylor, his hands to his hips. “I plan for us to settle there.”

  “Are you crazy?” the woman asked. “What about the Ashen cats?”

  Cheshire Woods was famous for the ferocity of its fierce inhabitants: the Ashens. These were cats over six feet in length and four feet in height, with teeth as sharp as razors and an appetite for human flesh. They were very territorial, seldom leaving the confines of their terrible home, but should any enter into it, they then would become prey to these beasts, and seldom did the Ashen not capture its prey.

  “The Dark Duke is close upon us,” Taylor said. “Be sure of it. He will track us. We must seek shelter from his forces.”

  “But the cats!” cried Cosko. “What say you for them?”

  “The cats are much fewer in number than the Dark Duke’s men,” Taylor replied, noting the Ashens low reproductive rate. “We can guard against them much more easily than we can against the Dark Duke, and, trust me, both are just as beastly. We’ll set up posts and have night guards. If we stay out here, though, the Dark Duke’ll ride us out in a day’s time. I promise you it’ll only be temporary. We’ll find a better place for you as soon as we can, but for now this’ll hafta do.”

  Rosemarie stepped forward, with Robert close at her heels. They stood behind Taylor and faced the crowd. A moment later, Tibbie, Brianna, Soothie, and the Stockwells joined them as well, then Cosko and a few of the villagers. The rest lingered for some moments, but eventually all crossed over the imaginary line to Taylor’s side. With worry unpresent in his eyes, Taylor turned and again took the lead.

  It would be a long walk.

  Chapter 22

  Miglene’s Meeting