The Passage of Kings

by Anant V Goswami

  “What do I make of it?” Henrik chuckled, “I am as clueless as you. But Azgun was a dark and evil kingdom in the past, and the reason for the Great War. As you would know, ‘The Beginning of Aerdon’ recounts the tale of how their king, along with its people, even infants, were forced to cross the Serpent Sea and spend the rest of their days roaming the Dreadlands, in search of food and water, as a punishment by the Vizarins. But man cannot survive on sand without food and water, can he? And Dreadlands is nothing but sand in every direction, as far as the eye can see, an ocean of desolation. But the way things have been happening, it would be no wonder if we see their ships docking at our shores, with their banners bearing the three-headed dragon with intertwined heads fluttering in the sea breeze, but what do I know, I am just a fat king who should have been dead by now of excessive wine drinking.”

  ∞∞∞

  Olver Liongloom tossed and turned in his feather bead. Strange visions began to haunt the young king as soon as he drifted off to an uneasy sleep. It had been fifteen days since he had visited the ancient temple, where he finally saw the five statues and the wretched hourglass. He was accompanied by King Henrik, ten soldiers and a knight with a burned hand.

  Queen Ayana and King Sanrick have already witnessed this ancient miracle, King Henrick had told him, and a Great Council will be held in a few days, where the fate of Aerdon will be discussed, and a final attempt to save our beloved realm will be made.

  For a long while, he had gazed upon the five Wizard-Gods, but his eyes lingered on the statue at the extreme right, the statue of Erdoher, the tallest and the broadest of the five, wielding a scepter in his right hand, his face sculpted in the shape of a horse. In thousands of temples scattered all around the kingdom of Indius, he had seen Erdoher sculpted out of stone, wood, clay or any other material that could be given shape, but never had he looked more indisputable than in the Temple of the Five. But just how Erdoher filled him with hope and potency, the hourglass filled him with dread and despondency. The upper bulb of the hourglass was still filled half with the sparkling golden sand, but it did not take long for Olver to figure out that at present rate, the upper bulb would be entirely empty by next spring, or perhaps earlier.

  So, five months are what I have to save my kingdom, he had thought, but how? Perhaps father would have known what to do; he would always come up with an answer, even if the obstacle was insurmountable. Lord Stefan had that quality about him. He should have been the one standing here, taking in the magnificence of Erdoher, battling the dread of the hourglass with resolute. My dear father, who instead lay battling death thousands of leagues away. No, I cannot begin to question myself, especially not now, when my people need me, when Kimbr needs me, when my father needs me.

  His visions were changing rapidly. One moment he was standing in a crumbling castle, the walls collapsing all around him, crushing the people that stood beneath them. Blood flowed from under the collapsed walls, turning the grey floor red. A child trapped beneath the shattered portcullis extended her hand for help, screaming in a language Olver could not understand. But as Olver began to run towards her, the vision changed and now he found himself amidst a raging battle, where instead of the human soldiers, wild dogs howled and barked and tore each other’s necks. Thousands of them, black and grey and white, their teeth wet with blood, a few lying dead, headless and grotesque. A dog sprang at him, saliva dripping from the corner of its mouth, and dug its teeth deep into the side of Olver’s neck, and that is when he awoke, sweating and shivering.

  The night was quiet and calm. The flaps of his tent were gently swaying as the cold wind found its way through the gap in the folds, caressing his sweaty forehead, and making him wish for warmer clothes. It had been fifteen days since he had been sleeping in this wretched tent, and each night the visions became even more vivid and strange.

  The gentle sound of his guards snoring outside was the only noise he could hear, except for the occasional rustle of the trees whenever the wind picked up speed.

  A walk through the forest is what I need, Olver thought as he donned a silk tunic and fastened his breeches and tied his scabbard that carried his longsword to his leather belt. The air felt crisp and refreshing on his face as he strolled out of his tent and into the thicket of trees that surrounded the encampment. He noticed a few guards engrossed in conversation and two others who were busy sharpening the edges of their sword with a stone. Olver made sure he was not seen as he did not want guards following him into the forest. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts and visions.

  It was when he was a little way into the denser part of the forest that he heard a noise among the trees. It sounded like a sword cutting the air with great speed, or an arrow that had just left a bow. There were no braziers here to help Olver see clearly, as he had come a long way from the encampment, and the moon was hidden behind grey clouds that were threatening rain any moment. Olver strained his eyes to make out a figure among the trees, or the glint of a sword, but he saw nothing. He began to move in the direction of the sound, hiding behind tree trunks every now and then, concentrating on any noise that might help him in the darkness that surrounded him.

  Must be a deer. Or a bear. But what if it's not? An arrow from the depths of this darkness and Indius will be left without a king.

  For a few moments, everything was silent, and then he heard the noise again, this time directly behind him, however, he was too slow to turn as he felt the cold blade of a dagger on his neck.

  The bastard got me from behind.

  “A little slash and Harduin will have its vengeance,” a girl’s voice spoke from behind him.

  Olver noticed the pronunciation and guessed that it was no mere soldier, but a highborn lady that he was dealing with.

  “A noose around the neck will not suit you, my lady, perhaps a necklace will be more to your liking?” said Olver, as he tried to grasp the hilt of his dagger, undetected.

  “I have enough necklaces to last me a lifetime, in fact, I have enough necklaces for several other girls’ lifetimes. However, a noose around my neck for killing you would be something I would wear proudly, only if I had been any other soldier from Harduin.” Olver’s hand was already on the hilt, and he was about to pivot and thrust the dagger into his assailant’s chest when the girl continued, “ however, you are lucky that you are dealing with the princess of Harduin, sister to the king and daughter to the mighty Gavin of East Shade, and I do not believe in vengeance, but forgiveness,” and with that, the dagger left Olver’s throat and he turned around to look at the most beautiful face he had seen in his life. At that moment, the clouds parted, and moonlight came rushing, as it spilled into the little glade where the two found themselves, standing inches apart. In the soft milk like glow of the moonlight, Olver could make out the long straight golden hair that fell down to the heavy bosom of the girl. A thin, almost translucent flowy gown covered her body, leaving her shoulders bare, and a threadlike silvery chain adorned her neck. But it was the girl’s eyes that really caught the young king’s attention. They were emerald green, and as big as a rabbit’s, looking up at him with a fierceness that he seldom found in the women of his court.

  “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lady, although if you would have held your words for a moment longer, then it would have been my blade that you would have met.”

  The princess chuckled.

  “Never say never, Your Grace, and who knows, perhaps I am waiting to be introduced to your….blade,” emerald green eyes traveled down to Olver’s breeches, and the young king felt his cheeks redden.

  “But allow me to introduce myself properly, I am Elsa Faerson, and I am the king’s sister and his chief advisor, and it is an honor to finally meet you, Your Grace.” Elsa gave the king a little bow and a slight smile.

  “You are very pretty, my lady.” Olver blurted out.

  You are very pretty? That is what you could say, you dumb fool? No wonder that shrewd Krastin thinks you will die alone.

&
nbsp; “Well, then why reject the marriage proposal?” Olver was not prepared for such a question, at least not so early into their meeting, and he found himself searching for words.

  “Do not tell me you still linger on the scars of old, for we have forgotten them, and I think it is time Indius did the same, especially when the fate of the realm has become a frightening mystery,” Elsa continued, sensing Olver’s hesitancy. A wolf howled in the distance and soon was joined by a few more.

  “Anyways, what drags you out of the comfort of your bed, so late into the night?” Elsa asked, sheathing her dagger in the small scabbard that hung from her belt.

  “I could ask you the same. A forest is the last place for a princess to take a stroll in, especially when wolves howl all around us.” Olver said, sitting down on the grass that was wet with dew.

  “A question for a question? Are you being secretive, Your Grace, do you plan to murder us in our sleep?” Elsa sat down beside Olver, uncomfortably close for Olver’s liking.

  “I won’t lie, the thought did cross my mind once, or maybe twice, as you see, I have had trouble forgetting the past. It seems I am not as forgiving as you, my lady.”

  “So, I was correct; it was because of the Battle of Lies that you rejected me. I took you for being a little more discerning than that.”

  “I would rather not discuss the Battle of Lies now, my lady, as one night will not be enough for that conversation. Yes, I did reject the proposal, but I did not reject you. I rejected the notion of my kingdom coming into an alliance with another kingdom that inflicted pain and misery on my people.”

  “Oh, how you have been brainwashed!” Elsa exclaimed, as she plucked a few blades of grass from the ground.

  “I could say the same,” Olver whispered, “I bear no ill will towards the people of Harduin, or the royal family for that matter. In fact, I admire the way King Sanrick has taken over the role of a king, and that too at such a young age.”

  “Then why such rigidity? Why be bound by thoughts that serve no purpose?” Elsa probed, staring deep into Olver’s eyes.

  Because it was my father’s command. He asked me to say no, and how could I not obey a dying father’s wish?

  “It doesn’t matter now, does it? Our marriage wouldn’t have stopped the ticking of time or turned the hourglass on its head. We are all on the same boat now, sailing towards a fate we do not know how to escape.”

  “Oh, but we do know,” Elsa remarked, as she shifted and sat directly in front of Olver, “be the king that would unite the realm, be the leader that the gods want from the race of men, and then, for one last time, lets try and cross the Endless Forest, and see what lies beyond.”

  “The Swolderhornns will never agree.” Why is the girl so adamant about making me king? And why is she being so supportive? Have the Harduinians lost their mind?

  “Marry me, King Olver Liongloom, and let us join our kingdoms. My brother will lay down his crown and accept you as his king, only to rule East Shade in your name. The Maeryns do not care who becomes king as long as they do the right thing, and the right thing would be accepting you as the king of Aerdon in order to save the realm. And when three of the four kingdoms agree on one king, the Swolderhornns will have no other option than to bend their knee.” Olver could see that Elsa Faerson was excited, a fire burned in her eyes, and the beautiful petite princess of the Faerson dynasty looked like a lioness ready to pounce on her prey.

  What has the world come to? Thought Olver, A Harduinian princess desperately desires to marry a king from Indius, while the king of Swolderhornn ridicules the king of Harduin, once regarded as strong allies. Is this all a ploy? Are the Harduinians and Swolderhornns working together to rid themselves of Indius? Has the final war for the throne of Aerdon begun?

  “Why not the Swolderhornns? King Henrik has a young son, and they are twice as large and powerful as Indius. Why didn’t you take your proposal there?”

  “Because we share boundaries, Your Grace, your kingdom and mine. It is easier to rule one unified kingdom than a patchwork of them. And also, Henrik’s son is just seventeen, and I have already been a nursemaid to my brother for years now, I do not plan on being one for a few more,” Elsa explained, as she shuffled closer to Olver, their faces only a dagger apart from each other, “and I have come to grow fond of you from afar, Your Grace.”

  Olver stared back at the emerald green eyes, their ferocity now replaced by a mischievous twinkle. The howling of the wolves had stopped, and the clouds had disappeared entirely. Stars littered the blackness of the sky, shining above the hills of Eravia, above hundreds of colorful tents scattered all around Olver and Elsa, and the two just stared at each other for a few enchanting moments, before Elsa whispered, “Now walk me back to my tent, Your Grace, I can sense wolves in the shadows, wanting to rip open my gown.”

  More like a wolf than wolves, thought Olver.

  Chapter Two

  Sanrick Faerson

  THE TENT WAS bathed in the soft glow of a candle that stood flickering in a candle holder on a massive wooden desk, where Sanrick Faerson was finishing up reading the last few pages of ‘The Myths and Legends of the Endless Forest’ for the tenth time. A pile of books already read were kept on the far corner of the table, consisting of ‘The Races Unknown’, ‘D’ran and Other Forgotten Languages’ and ‘A Brief History of the Harduin Dynasty’. Having slept little during the night, Sanrick had spent the remaining time going over the most important pieces of text written in the history of Aerdon.

  I need to be prepared for the council; he had thought, although Elsa will just shut me up whenever I will try to speak.

  After having become the king of Harduin, Sanrick had spent barely any time in the Great Hall, preferring to surround himself with books in Timehall instead, the greatest library in Aerdon, while his sister held court, sat on his throne and ruled in his stead. And Sanrick was happy to let his sister have her fame and fame she did have. The smallfolk had forgotten that a king still lived in the castle of East Shade, preferring to acknowledge Elsa as the true ruler of Harduin, giving her the nickname ‘The Empress of Roses’ and lining up on the streets, just to catch a glimpse of their gorgeous ruler. However, each night after holding court, Elsa would walk into Sanrick’s solar and brief him about all that happened in court meetings, and then she would leave, without listening to what Sanrick had to say. And each night, Sanrick would make a mental note of all the things that could have been done better, of all the money that could have been saved, of all the people that could have been spared, but were beheaded by his sister, or were fed to the rats.

  Ever since the rebellion of Lord Erling, Elsa had had a hard time trusting people, and a seed of doubt against a person usually meant his days being numbered.

  But not everyone deserved to die. Young Frans did not deserve to die, and neither did his mother. Thomas the cook, Mille the serving girl, Olivia the bakester, none of them deserved to die. But she had them all killed. She does it because she fears for our lives, she fears going back to the nightmare she had escaped from. She kills these people because she wants to protect me. She kills them because she loves me. Or I hope she does.

  And thus, time passed, and Harduin prospered. While harvests all over Aerdon declined, Harduinian fisherman thrived, catching more fishes each year, and feeding the entire realm. It was as if the gods were finally rewarding Harduin for the harsh times it had endured in the past. For the wars it had lost, and for the betrayals it had experienced.

  The tides are changing brother, Elsa had once said to him, we may have held our own, surviving amidst kingdoms three times our size, but this invitation from King Henrik changes everything. It is time for you to finally start practicing with a sword and taking some blows. Start spending more time outside, start acting more like a king. Books will not win us battles, swords and men will. And the men don’t follow you, because they never see you out under the sun.

  It wasn’t for the lack of trying that Sanrick was abysmally unskilled wi
th a sword. But whenever he had held one in his hand and marched out to duel another person, a cold fear had always gripped his heart. The sight of steel made him shiver, and blood made him puke. Being ridiculed for being a craven did not help and crying openly always made things worse. And after having tried for the hundredth time and failing, Sanrick had given up all hope at being a good swordsman and tried his hand at archery. But after a stray arrow took out an eye of a poor serving wench, Sanrick gave up on that as well.

  It’s not just swords that can win wars. I need to prove that books can be lethal as well.

  And from that day onward, Sanrick began to read about all the battles that had ever been fought in Aerdon, and how they were won. He began to read about battle formations and siege weapons, about castle architecture, about the forging of swords and mining of metals, about the varieties of crops and animals of the world.

  And he also began to read about the Endless Forest and all of the failed attempts to cross it, and the Wizard-Gods that created it. And it was the knowledge and wisdom he had gathered over the years, the books that he had consumed, that he hoped would help in saving his kingdom and its people.

  I might finally win their respect.

  “Still buried within your books?” Elsa Faerson entered the tent, her long golden hair tied in a bun, a beautiful diamond necklace around her neck, shining bright even in the soft glow of the candle.

  Sanrick peered from behind the massive book he held in his hands, only a hint of his face visible from behind the pages of the text.

  “It is time you began getting ready for the council. Make sure you wear the most exquisite of garbs, and the brightest of jewels. The magnificence of the Faerson dynasty should not be lost on these lords and kings, because I can wager, we will be judged in every possible way.”