The Sampler Platter: A Little Bit of Everything

by Susan Skylark

An Eye For an Eye

  War had raged between Yar and Nara for over a century. Once they had been one united country, prosperous under the rule of a wise and just King, but he died suddenly not having appointed an heir, leaving his twin sons to fight for the throne. A civil war that nearly destroyed everything their father held dear raged for almost twenty years before the boys came to a tentative peace by dividing the country in two. Still the borders were disputed and raids into enemy territory were an everyday occurrence. Clashes between enemy soldiers on both sides of the border were no cause for alarm or even concern as it was just another day in the divided Kingdom. Increasing the tension was the law on both sides of the border that no wounded or captured enemy combatant would be allowed to live and return to their homeland, thus even those that survived the battle but were unable to limp home before being overtaken by the enemy died.

  The death toll was catastrophic on both sides of the border but neither would relent in their unending war, claiming the other held full responsibility for the incessant conflict and content with nothing but total surrender. So it was that each generation of young men went off to join the army and if they came home at all, they were injured to point that they were no longer useful as soldiers and left to scrape a living as best they could. The women married young men and after fathering a son or two, he was required to enlist leaving many a widow and orphan to survive as they might or returning years later a cripple to beg their support. They were very proud of their soldiers and their courage in the midst of such unremitting heartache, so much so that few could imagine a country without a perennial war.

  So it was that Mrik, the youngest son of the King of Nara found himself leading a raiding party into Yar. He was not eager for this excursion but his father insisted it would be good for him and was absolutely necessary if he wished to avoid exile. Reluctantly he agreed while his father muttered under his breath about boys who spent too much time listening to the idle words of peace mongers and not enough time advancing the cause of their homeland. Whereas Mrik’s elder brothers loved nothing more than to play at war and fighting during their childhood years, Mrik had found no greater love than to listen to the countless stories told by one of the Brethren stationed in Nara as their advisor to the King (who most certainly avoided taking the advice of said peace monger). In his formative years, such a vice was overlooked, but now that he was of age, Mrik could no longer hide behind the naiveté of youth and must take his place amongst the renowned warriors of Nara. So he rode off to war to appease his father though his own heart yearned to be doing anything but. They had not long crossed the border when they came upon a raiding party of Yarans bent on similar pursuit. Battle was met, men and horses screamed in rage and pain, swords clashed, the survivors limped off to relative safety or to seek aid, and the dead, dying, and injured were left for a time to themselves. Mrik’s knee was badly injured and he had taken a hard knock to the head when his horse fell. He woke to find himself lying amongst the carnage of battle. He grimaced in pain as he drew himself up to survey the wreckage. Half of his men lay unmoving as did an equal number of Yarans.

  So much for his place among the renowned warriors of Nara. He knew he would not live long if so much as a peasant came upon him, even they would strike down an injured man wearing the wrong colors. Suddenly a thought came to him, perhaps if he were clad in the colors of Yar he might be able to crawl to the borders before anyone realized from whence he had come. He crawled to the nearest body sporting Yaran blue and exchanged his own red tunic for the dead man’s garment. Overwhelmed with the brief exertion, Mrik lapsed again into darkness. He awoke to find a rather attractive young woman with large, sad eyes holding a cloth to his forehead. She smiled gently when she saw her patient coming awake and firmly held him down when he weakly tried to sit up.

  She said quietly, “your leg is badly wounded and you have taken a fair hit to the head but I think you will recover well save the knee of course. You are quite safe from the grief and trials of war within these walls. Once you are recovered enough to travel, you may go where you will.”

  Mrik relaxed a bit when he realized that no one was waiting with a sword to ambush him and said, “I thank you for your kindness lady, why waste it upon such as me?”

  She said sadly, “no human life is worthless my poor man. We have taken in many wounded men over the years and none of our effort has been vain. Only such a war as this is vain.”

  She glanced around anxiously and her large, frightened eyes drew pity from her patient as he said, “fear not, I love war as little as you. Your secret shall be safe in my keeping.”

  She smiled then and cocked her head curiously, “how is it then that you come to be a soldier if you hate war so much?”

  He said ruefully, “you know as well as I the penalty for all that refuse to enlist. But you are right, if it were such a dear belief, exile or death would be no small price to pay in the defense of it. Perhaps I am not as strong morally as I ought to be.”

  She laughed then and said, “yes but now you have an excuse to escape legally. You will never walk firmly upon that leg again which will render you useless as a soldier.”

  He smiled at her gratefully and then lapsed again into sleep. She withdrew from his side and spoke quietly to her aged father who sat nearby, “I have bound his leg and tended his head, there is little now that I can do. But I think time will heal much. What do you think of him father?”

  The old man shook his head gravely at his daughter’s eager tone and said, “time will reveal what it will. You have chores to be about do you not?” The girl blushed terribly and ran from the room to attend to her waiting chores while the man laughed warmly at his daughter’s swift resumption of her interrupted duties.

  Mrik was in and out of consciousness for three days until finally he felt rested enough to try to reenter the land of the living. His leg was bound up and with the help of a cane, he was able to hobble about fairly well. He felt awkward around his hosts because he owed them his life yet endangered theirs by remaining with them; neither did he know how to repay their kindness to him. At first they were aghast that he wished to help out around the farm, but he was persistent and they desperately needed the help as the man was feeble with age and the girl could only do so much. Finally they allowed him to do simple things and they found themselves quite amused at his complete lack of knowledge about the very simplest of tasks.

  He laughed at their astonishment and said, “I was once an aristocrat and never had need to lift a finger for I had servants beyond number to do even the simplest task in my stead. However, I am more than willing to aid you as I might around here if only to repay your kindness though you will certainly have to teach me what I must do.”

  The old man laughed, “kindness is no kindness if one bestows it with the wish of repayment. You owe us nothing but if it will make you rest easier, then certainly you may take part in those tasks my daughter sees fit to set you. I am surprised at such a work ethic in a Lord’s son, but I will not laugh at it.”

  Mrik smiled, “I fear I was born to the wrong father for I am a lover of neither idleness nor war, but the aristocracy favors both! Lead on lady and show me what you would have me do.” She took his hand and laughing, gently led him out of the house and off to the barn to indoctrinate him in the fine art of stock keeping. Though lame, it was not long before he became an indispensable member of the household and greatly eased the strain upon his grateful hosts. They had never had a convalescent display quite this fervor and gratitude and it intrigued them both. Finally the day came when the King’s official came to inspect the wounded man and either declare him fit for duty or excuse him from service.

  The official looked over the now healed but quite stiff joint and declared, “I cannot allow such a cripple as you to reenter his Majesty’s service. I am sorry, but I must discharge you. Where are your papers?” Mrik tried to hide his anxiety at being discovered a
nd his joy at discharge by saying, “I have no papers, they must have been lost in the battle.”

  “No papers!” gasped the astonished official, “such is not done in a proper bureaucracy but I suppose in extenuating circumstances these things might perhaps be overlooked. In future I caution you to be far more careful for most of the King’s officials are not as lenient as I. You could very well start a trend that will undermine the very building blocks of society!”

  The rumpled official quickly drew up an official document of discharge, which would excuse him from further military service and also give him an official standing in the Kingdom. Mrik and his hosts bowed politely as the man left and then shared joyous and amused smiles. “Now what?” asked the old man, “I suppose you will be going home?”

  The boy shook his head, “I would rather stay here but I know I try your patience and have long overstayed my welcome.”

  The girl gave her father a horrified glance and beamed when the old man nodded knowingly. He said, “I would not mind you staying on I suppose. You have been some help to me around the farm but you would have to promise to marry my daughter and become my son.”

  Mrik gave the old man a shocked look, in his heart of hearts he had hoped for such a thing but had never dared to once think it might become reality. He gasped, “I would like nothing better sir.”

  “Very well,” said the old man gruffly, “but see that you do not call me sir too often for it makes me feel old.”

  Mrik hugged the old man and said, “very well, father.”

  The old man laughed, “that is much better. Welcome home lad.”

  So it was that Clarissa and Mrik were soon married (now that Mrik was in possession of some official Yaran paperwork it was quite an easy matter). Within a year, the old man welcomed a granddaughter into the family and was more than content with his son-in-law. He did not live long after but died a happy old man.

  The years passed quite blissfully and Clarissa had not long ago borne another daughter when her husband saw her sneaking into the abandoned shed he had thought was long since boarded up and unused. He followed after, thinking their eldest child might perhaps be up to some mischief. He opened the door not long after she had closed it and gasped to see his wife not alone in the musty room. A man lay upon a rough cot obviously sick or injured gravely. She turned around in horror at his discovery and tears welled in her eyes but determination was strong on her face. Mrik glanced again at the stricken man and this time the significance of the matter and the reason for his wife’s secrecy were quite clear: the man was a soldier of Nara. They had nursed half a dozen injured men since Mrik’s arrival in similar fashion and they lodged quite comfortably in the house, but she feared he would think ill of her or even kill her patients if he knew she were nursing wounded enemies.

  She bowed her head and said, “I wanted to tell you but I was never quite sure what your reaction would be.”

  Mrik said quietly, “this is not the first?”

  She shook her head, “I have helped several others of his allegiance without your knowing. Forgive the subterfuge but I thought it necessary.”

  He drew her close and said, “I understand but it still hurts to know you do not trust me wholly as I hoped you would. Why do you do it and put your own life in danger?”

  She sobbed, “I care not what color coat they wear! They are men, living, breathing human beings who are suffering and would die else. Do they not deserve the same love and compassion that our own sons receive? I will not stop until forced, for I think my cause more worthy than even life itself!”

  Mrik laughed ruefully, “then you are certainly braver and stronger than I was the day I rode to war for my father. I will never ask you to stop love, nor will I betray your secret. You are right in saying that all men deserve such love, not just our own countrymen. We will fix this place up a bit that your guests may recover in more comfort than the current situation affords, but I must also tell you a secret that I have long kept, both for fear at your reaction and also for fear that if you knew and evil befell me, you would be drug down with me into ruin. I was born and raised in Nara; I am the King’s youngest son. I fell injured in battle and swapped coats with a fallen Yaran fearing for my own life at the hands of those who found me.”

  Her eyes were wide with astonishment and hurt but she said, “it seems we both have kept things back that would have been better shared with one another. Let us agree to no more secrets betwixt us!” He laughed then and held her close and she cried in relief and joy. Her patient slept on. So it was that the years passed and they and several likeminded neighbors took part in the plot. One of their invalids recognized the late prince for who he truly was though kept this secret to himself until he was healthy enough to cross the border and tell the King that his lost son was yet alive.

  Rumor had already reached the King that some of his injured soldiers were being nursed back to health by the Yarans and allowed to return home. The return of the man who had identified his lost son started hopeful thoughts running through the King’s head and he soon dispatched messengers to seek out Mrik and inform him of his father’s plans. The spies were not long in discovering his hiding place and waited until after dark to knock upon the door. Mrik opened it slightly and held his sword in his free hand fearing some trick at this time of night.

  “My Lord Mrik,” said the one, “we mean you no harm, your father the King sends his greetings.” Mrik exchanged a horrified look with his wife who was sitting nearby, heavy with their third child. He sighed, knowing he could not leave the men loose alone in the night. Reluctantly he opened the door and the men made their bows and entered. “Your Highness,” began the one.

  Mrik said, “I no longer claim any rank nor title. I am naught but a crippled peasant farmer and wish to be nothing more. What is it you want?”

  The man said, “your father has become aware of your exile and also of the compassionate treatment of some of his injured soldiers by folk in these parts. He is hopeful that such compassion can be used to turn their hearts towards Nara and that this whole border country might perhaps cede itself willingly to your father’s Kingdom.”

  Mrik stared in astonishment and disgust, “my father thinks that the only reason these folk occasionally take pity upon an injured Naran is to gain his favor because they wish to become Narans themselves?”

  The man nodded smugly, “precisely.”

  Mrik shook his head in absolute amazement, “we have no wish to subvert the laws of Yar but by abiding by that wretched dictum we violate the laws of conscience and the Master himself, which we will not willingly do. We show compassion upon these men for they are simply men and worthy of such regard. We care not whose colors they wear but simply that they are thinking creatures and beloved of their Maker.”

  “I do not understand,” said the spy.

  Mrik sighed, “and neither will the King of Nara. Go back and tell him that his plans are folly and will not avail him. I will not aid him in his scheme neither will the Yarans. Tell him I am quite content and wish to be left in peace.”

  He shoved the protesting men out into the darkness and they had no choice but to ride back to their thoroughly displeased master. A neighbor passing upon some late errand saw the strangers ride away and quickly went to speak to someone in authority about the strange midnight visitors. Over the next week, the farm was closely watched and it was soon discovered that treachery was rampant about the place. It was not long before a half dozen of the King’s soldiers stood outside the house and made their presence known with much banging and shouting. There was no answer from within but the wail of a newborn child. The midwife had just placed Mrik’s son in his arms when the soldiers came into the house and drug him away on charges of treason. The startled midwife snatched back the infant and did her best to calm the very agitated mother. They took the man by the shoulders and forced him to march towards the derelict shed
and infirmary. They forced open the door and killed the two invalids in Naran blue within, taking the bloodied tunics as proof against their prisoner.

  They would not speak to the prisoner for the entire journey to the capital where he would stand trial before all of Nara that could be gathered to watch. He did not know if they knew his true identity, if they only knew of his aiding enemy soldiers, or if there were other charges real or contrived against him. They reached the castle and took him to the dungeons where the King himself waited to interview the prisoner. “Why boy?” demanded the King, “why defy my laws and aid our bitter enemies? But worse, why consort with known spies of Nara?”

  Mrik looked up in surprise, “I have done nothing wrong in giving aid to wounded men; it would have been far more grievous to leave them without aid or worse kill them. As to consorting with spies, I was accosted quite unexpectedly by two men of Nara and quickly sent them packing once they had made their allegiance and plans known to me. I have done nothing to undermine the authority or safety of Yar and if I have violated the law for tending the wounded, then it is the law that is unjust and not my actions.”

  The King scoffed, “we shall certainly have an interesting trial tomorrow and if you are found guilty I fear your entire family shall share your fate.”

  Mrik’s heart dropped at the thought of his wife and children suffering such an end but that was yet to be seen. He nodded grimly and steeled his heart for the morrow’s trial. He spent a sleepless night in the grim, rat-infested cells and was taken to the city square quite early, unwashed and unfed. A large and hostile crowd had gathered for the day’s spectacle. The only glimmer of hope was the presence of a man in the uniform of the Brethren amongst the officials who otherwise looked grim and almost eager for the day’s event.

  He was made to sit bound in a rickety chair facing the officials, behind which the ravenous crowd booed and shouted obscenities. The King himself presided over the affair and intoned, “my fellow Yarans, welcome to this grim proceeding which may well reveal a terrible traitor in our midst. This man stands accused of not only defying Yaran law in allowing enemy soldiers to live but also of harboring Naran spies in his own house.” The King then called forth the soldiers who had captured Mrik and also his neighbor who had seen the men leave his house at such a dangerous hour. The crowd grew even more rabid as each witness gave his testimony. Finally the King called for silence and said to the condemned, “have you anything to say in your defense? Your guilt appears quite certain but you are allowed to speak, perhaps a confession will garner mercy for your poor children.”

  Mrik stood shakily and said to the gathered crowd, “I do not deny that I nursed several wounded men of Nara back to health, but what has also been overlooked is that my family has done the same for twice their number of Yaran soldiers. Why is it treason to render aid to one’s fellow man, no matter what side of the border he was born upon? A hundred years ago we would have been countrymen! In the eyes of the Master we are all brothers and his dear children. What right have I to deny a man aid when I can give it? If I have defied the law it is because the law is unjust. The law itself violates the deepest laws of the human heart and the Master as well.”

  A grizzled general stood up and yelled at the prisoner, “that law has been in effect since those wretched Narans began the grim practice, we are simply repaying their own heartlessness!”

  Mrik said, “the Narans say it was Yar that began the evil practice. Does it matter who began it if we all continue it? It was put in place by men no longer living yet the cost is borne by those who had no part in its making. We perhaps had no choice in making the law but we do have a choice in its continuance. Evil begets evil until it is ended with love. The Narans must do as they see fit, but must Yar continue to have innocent blood on its hands because of a tradition begun long ago? How many young men have died in the last century because no one was strong enough to stand up and say that enough is enough? Perhaps if we end the vile practice, Nara will soon do likewise?”

  There was much booing and upset from the crowd and the King scoffed, “fine words for a Naran loyalist. It will certainly be to your benefit to spare the lives of so many of your soldiers while ours continue to die by Naran hands. What of the accusation that you play host to enemy spies? Can you prove yourself a loyal Yaran? You have no proper papers, only a discharge order from one of my officials but nothing before. Are you not a spy yourself?”

  Mrik said, “I am a loyal Yaran, my wife and three children are Yarans. I have spent the last seven years working the land, cripple though I am, to feed my family and pay my taxes. I have never raised a hand against anyone and have aided countless Yaran soldiers in distress. I however was not born in Yar though here my heart has ever been. The men who briefly paid me a visit were emissaries from the King of Nara who had heard rumors that some of his men had been treated with compassion by the Yarans ere they returned home. He hoped this meant the Yarans would be willing to cede the borderlands to Nara but I informed them otherwise. We were simply compassionate folk helping our fellow men, not caring upon which side of the border they were born.”

  The King laughed derisively, “and why did they come to you in particular?”

  Mrik looked in anguish upon the crowd, hung his head, and said, “they had also heard rumors that their King’s youngest son was still alive though long thought dead in a border raid.”

  There was much astonishment from the crowd and the officials and the King asked, “and is this true?”

  Mrik looked deeply into his eyes and said, “my father is the King of Nara and seven years ago he sent me quite unwillingly upon a raid into Yar. I was injured and stole the colors of a dead Yaran that I might save my own life. Your loyal subjects nursed me back to health quite unknowing of my origins and I have lived among you ever since. I have been nothing but a loyal peasant of Yar since that day and had no intention of ever again returning home or having any contact with my homeland, but I fear one of the men I succored recognized me and informed my father.”

  The King was quite astonished and turned to the Brother beside him, “does he speak truly? Can such an enigma truly be? Tell me he lies and is simply a traitor.”

  The man in the uniform of the Brethren said, “he has spoken truly throughout Highness. The only crime he has committed is against your own vile law, which as I have told you countless times is quite unjust and a violation of human conscience.”

  The King said dryly, “I did not ask for your appraisal of our laws, however I must apparently drop the charge of collaborating with enemy spies but he still stands guilty of defying that particular law. He is too valuable a prisoner to kill outright as our laws demand. What do you suggest be done boy?”

  Mrik said, “I perhaps stand guilty by your laws but I die with a clear conscience. I would have that awful law changed and perhaps begin to renew peace between the divided nation. Either you must change the law and release me, kill me for a traitor, or send to my father and ask him to come that you might negotiate peace or at least a decrease in hostility between you.”

  The King scowled, “I will not relent until your father does, and it is he that must apologize and surrender to me. I will keep you alive as a hostage and perhaps he will bend to my will.”

  Mrik laughed grimly, “with the message I sent him via the spies I am afraid he will certainly never do anything to save my life. I was never his favorite son even before my exile, but now I shall certainly be of little value to him. I have defied him and he shall certainly deny me.”

  The King said grimly, “then we shall have ourselves an execution.”

  Mrik went to his one good knee with tears in his eyes, “shed my blood if you must but spare my wife and children. This bestial law has resulted in enough blood shed on its behalf. Do not repay their good with evil. When will it end if you do not end it? How many young lives must be lost? How much of a nation’s wealth must go
to fight a useless war? What matters who started it when both are guilty beyond doubt of crimes beyond number? When will the slaughter end?”

  The King growled, “you have willingly violated a law of Yar, not to mention are a soldier of Nara and thus a sworn enemy. There is no good reason why I should spare your life. Your wife shall be dealt with according to our laws, her future I think shall be no happier than your own.”

  “Happy?” Mrik said grimly, “as long as needless war rages between our nations I shall never be happy. Perhaps it is a small mercy that I not have to endure life much longer in such an unjust country!”

  “Take him away,” said the King, “we shall watch him die publicly tomorrow.”

  They led the prisoner away and the King closeted himself with his closest advisors and most powerful lords. He paced back and forth before them and said, “should we change that law? It has been in force for over half a century!”

  An aged lord said, “we would be giving Nara a distinct advantage in number of casualties sustained. Who is to say if they shall reciprocate? Nay, I say it is a necessary evil.”

  The advisor from the Brethren said, “perhaps if you offer the first sign of peace, Nara will see it and begin to wonder if this is truly a just war. Why must so many die needlessly? Who cares who started it when each atrocious act causes more enmity and strife and soon all is awash in blood and anger and none can see anything but red.”

  The King snarled, “do you want to join the traitor in his fate? Long have you lectured me about that particular law and the war in general. My father had your predecessor executed for just such a statement. Now be quiet unless you can say something productive.”

  Another lord spoke up, “this war has cost us much in both resources and population. We should be the richest nation in the south but alas we are the most destitute and likely to decline even further. We shall destroy ourselves if we do not change our ways.”

  The King stared, “but is it not age old tradition and the source of all our pride and courage?”

  The Brother spoke, “he speaks truly my Lord. Nara and Yar are both in decline and within a few generations will vanish as independent states unless something is done to rectify the situation.”

  “I will not repeal the law!” screamed the King, “now who is going to stand against me? Any who continue to defy me will find their neck on the block with that traitor on the morrow.” He looked grimly at his advisors and all save the Brother and the rebellious lord bowed their heads in acquiescence. “Well?” demanded the King.

  The lord said, “I will not repent Highness.”

  The Brother said, “I stand by what I have said.”

  The King said with a voice of dangerous quiet, “when did you grow a rebellious spine Lord Higgle? I expect such inanity from the Brethren but not from a loyal lord of Yar.”

  Lord Higgle said, “I am an old man and this war has consumed my six sons. My house shall perish as so many have before it and as will others after mine. It matters little if it falls tomorrow or in a decade, all is come to naught. If this boy is worthy of death, then I think we all must be.”

  The King sighed, “what if I relent and the Narans do not repay us kindness for kindness? I may have a civil war on my hands!”

  The Brother said, “that is the risk you must take if this war is ever to end. Why not send an emissary to the King of Nara and ask his response?”

  The King laughed bitterly, “he would send the messenger’s head back in a box. You saw what the kindness of this rogue and others like him produced; the man thought they were becoming sympathetic with Nara and suggested a revolt! No, Narans are not to be trusted and therefore less than human so it is no crime to murder them. My edict stands. I shall certainly send an emissary. The boy’s head shall be returned to his father. Let us see what he thinks of that.”

  The King sighed, “I do not like this rebellious talk of yours Lord Higgle. I think it best if you withdraw to your estates and refrain from ever showing your face in public again. And as for you Yoric, I tire of your ill advice and almost wish to send your head back to your precious Lady as a warning but I know it will do no good. If you cannot keep silent, I cannot promise that your life will be a long one.”

  Yoric smiled grimly, “I cannot but speak my mind Majesty so you must do as you must to me, but I ask that you spare the poor man’s wife and children.”

  The King laughed dreadfully, “she knows the law as well as everyone else. She is as guilty as her husband and will no doubt share his fate. Mind your own business Yoric and you may live a little longer.”

  Yoric bowed and said, “things shall be as they must Highness.”

  They withdrew from the chamber and after all had left, the King drew one of the guards aside and said quietly, “I fear treachery this night, have Yoric watched and if he tries to leave the castle, arrest him.” The guard saluted sharply and disappeared down the corridor to carry out his orders. Yoric knew he could do nothing for the captive but perhaps he could spare his wife and children. He knew the King suspected something and he had little time to act. He quickly wrote a letter and ran to the stables where his unicorn was stabled. He tacked up the creature, secured the letter to his harness, and let him out a side gate before the guards caught up with him.

  “Going somewhere?” asked the suspicious soldier.

  Yoric grinned, “not without the King’s leave of course.”

  The guard smiled sardonically, “and that you certainly do not have. I would watch myself if I were you.”

  The unicorn ran with all the speed of his kind, reluctant to leave his master but certain that this task must be done. He came to the farmstead and found Clarissa grieved to her heart and nearly sick with worry. She nearly dropped her infant son when she saw a unicorn looking in her kitchen window. She gave the baby to his eldest sister and slowly approached the magnificent creature. He stared significantly at the message in his saddlebags and she eagerly obliged him. She gasped to learn of her husband’s impending doom and that her own arrest was imminent. The letter also advised her to flee with her children aback the unicorn and seek refuge in Astoria. Yoric also asked that she warn any of her neighbors involved in similar pursuits that they should also consider flight ere the King’s wrath came upon them.

  She had already packed for a journey, not quite sure if she had the heart to make it but for her children’s sake she had to go on. She felt she was abandoning Mrik, but the note also said that if the poor man somehow survived Yoric would direct him towards Astoria. She wrote a quick note to one of her neighbors who had also taken in injured Narans warning her of their plight and asking that she inform all of their accomplices. She then secured the infant to her chest and placed one child before her and one behind. There was not much room, but the patient creature somehow accommodated his awkward burden. They stopped just long enough to pass on the letter Clarissa had written and then vanished into the night not long before the soldiers came to arrest her. Heartbroken, hungry, tired, but determined to go on, the refugees arrived in Astoria still wondering what had become of Mrik but thankful they had arrived safely.

  Very early in the morning, a soldier on an exhausted horse rode madly through the castle gates with urgent news for the King: the woman was fled. The King was horrified that such a traitor might escape justice. The soldier was given a fresh horse and he and his men were to ride in pursuit. Another group of soldiers was dispatched to comb the neighborhood and see if they could find anyone else involved in such activities. The King would see this problem rooted out and the perpetrators destroyed before it could grow into full scale rebellion. Clarissa’s note arrived none too soon. Hasty preparations were made and all who had been involved in the plot quickly fled Yar, along with many who felt the King’s justice quite unjust. By the time the soldiers arrived to root out evil, they found only the faithful remaining of which several were put to the sword
just to show that something had been accomplished for the soldiers feared for their own lives should they come back empty handed. Those who failed to find Clarissa also refrained from returning home for the same reason.

  Yoric was called to the King’s chambers despite the late hour and it was not long before a full confession was had. The King sighed, “I warned you Yoric and now you will suffer for your temerity. You will die alongside the traitor.”

  Yoric said grimly as the soldiers came to take him away, “as long as life is so little valued in this Kingdom it will never prosper. We die innocent of all blood, but your reign and that of all your fathers is stained with the blood of countless men, ours is but the latest.”

  The King laughed, “we shall see who it is that prospers.”

  Dawn crept slowly over the rim of hills in the East but the sun failed to show her face and a steady drizzle accompanied the morning. Yoric and Mrik were roughly pushed up the uneven stairs of the quickly erected platform in the midst of the city. A grim crowd had gathered for the morning’s amusement and many uncomplimentary things were yelled to the condemned. Mrik was quite surprised to find himself with such a companion but grateful that at least his family was far beyond the reach of the murderous King. It saddened him to know that his pleas had gone unheard and that the King was resolute in keeping that dreadful law in place.

  “Are you afraid?” asked Yoric of the boy.

  Mrik grinned like a child finding that he knew something his mother did not, “I am disappointed in the King and grieved that I shall not see my children grow up, but long have I trusted the Master and know that one day beyond all sorrow and tears, in the Master’s bright country we shall meet again.”

  Yoric smiled deeply, “as long as we trust in the Master, we need worry about nor fear anything for all things shall be one day set right. We shall not be long parted my friend, for death is but the beginning of greater things for all who hope as we in the Master’s great promises.”

  The charges were read, the prisoners were forced to their knees with their necks upon the block, and one after the other fell to the swift stroke of the axe. Yoric and most of Mrik were quietly buried but as promised, the King of Nara soon received a rather distressing package compliments of his mortal enemy in Yar. The King had little affection for his renegade son but this affront was beyond humiliating.

  He increased his raids upon the border villages and ordered his men to not simply steal, but to also burn all in their path and kill every man, woman, and child they encountered. The King of Yar reciprocated and soon a full scale war was raging. Many fled the embattled nations as the war escalated and the brutality increased on both sides. Within a generation, the warnings of Yoric and Lord Higgle soon came to pass and both Yar and Nara collapsed, having consumed themselves in an endless cycle of violence and revenge.