The Passage of Kings

by Anant V Goswami

  “Your beauty will be enough to compensate for my lack of magnificence, sister,” Sanrick said as he went back to reading his book. Elsa sat herself down on Sanrick’s bed and spoke in an annoyed voice, “My beauty will not be enough for them to forget that you are the king, and our reputation is already a disgrace. You will have to act the part today, Sanrick, for my sake, I beg of you.”

  “Or you will have me fed to the rats?” Sanrick quipped, gazing over the map of The Endless Forest inside ‘The Myths and Legends of the Endless Forest’, estimated to be the closest representation of what lay within the forest of the occult.

  “It pains me that you would even think of it. We should trust each other, especially when everything is at stake. Have I not taken care of you, little brother, did I not save our skins when Lord Erling was ready to burn us alive?” Elsa looked exasperated.

  “I only banter with you, sweet sister, I know you would lay your life for our kingdom, and for me.”

  “Yes, I would, and I do not like you thinking otherwise, even in jest.”

  “Then I won’t. Everything will happen according to your wishes, Elsa,” Sanrick said as he put down his book and stared at his sister. He could not understand how she could look so beautiful and fair, while he looked like a potato. Freckles covered Sanrick’s face, and his body was one big barrel, layers of fat hung loosely from his belly and arms, and his small beady eyes were nothing to boast of.

  It wasn’t just books that Sanrick was fond of. Food was high up on the list as well.

  A fourteen-year-old fat king who fought like a jester, brother to the most beautiful woman in all of Aerdon, who is trained to kill a man in not more than three moves. Are we actually the children of the same man and woman?

  “Then listen to me Sanrick, you are to speak as little as possible, and agree with whatever I say.”

  Just as I had anticipated.

  “Henrik will try and mock you and get you to say something that would give him a chance to ridicule us further. And I will not have that cow of a man disgrace the name of the Faerson dynasty. So, keep your calm at all times, we have more friends on the council than you think.

  Who has she slept with now?

  “That’s an insult to cows.”

  Elsa ignored him as she continued, “A vote will most probably be taken, and we might not have a chance to converse beforehand. So, keep your eyes on my hands. If my left hand is on top of my right, then vote no, and yes if my right is on top of my left. And if I am asked to be removed at the time of voting, or if, due to any other reason, I am not able to help you, then do exactly what King Olver does, try and speak with him, he will know what to do.”

  So that’s who she has slept with.

  “So, King Olver,” Sanrick said as he rose from his chair and walked to the huge wooden closet that stood in the corner, engraved with the sigil of the Faerson dynasty, to pick out the clothes he would wear to the council, “why are we supporting him?”

  “Because I am to be the new queen of Indius,” Elsa said, walking over to the closet to help her little brother, the morning rays of the sun falling on her enchanting face, her golden hair ablaze, her lavender gown shimmering, green eyes twinkling with joy “King Olver has accepted the marriage proposal.”

  ∞∞∞

  The Great Council was to be held in the little glade where Olver and Elsa had first met, the dry leaves had been cleared from the forest floor, and the place was now decorated with the banners of the four dynasties of Aerdon. Massive oak chairs were kept in a circle, and small tables laden with food and wine, and blue roses were placed beside each seat reserved for the kings and queens and lords that were to attend The Great Council. It wasn’t difficult to comprehend who was given the seat of importance as King Henrik’s throne, brought all the way from the capital city of Riverhelm, a chair made of gold and silver, its red velvet cushions embroidered with little gemstones, and its massive arms inlaid with diamonds, was kept on a raised platform, while the others were kept on the forest floor.

  Sanrick and Elsa Faerson were the last to arrive, all eyes on them as they went and took their places beside a banner that flew from a lance, bearing the sailing ship of the Faerson Dynasty. Sanrick’s eyes moved from one person to the next, and he tried to guess who each of these mighty royals was. The first person he recognized was King Henrik, garbed in a blue and white velvet robe, his trademark chains hanging from his pudgy neck, and a massive crown on his head. On his left sat a very handsome man, who Sanrick assumed could only be Olver Liongloom, with his red and gold plate armor, and a red cape that fell from his pauldron, a thin silvery crown on his head. A sly looking man with kohl in his eyes and a smug expression on his face sat beside Olver, and an old man in white robes with a long ponytail sat beside him.

  To Sanrick’s right sat a goddess of a woman, tall and mighty, golden caramel covered hair fell in waves from her head, and she too wore a crown, which held a topaz in the middle, matching beautifully with the color of her hair. Her eyes were the bluest of blues that one could find, and her lips were plump and red like blood. She donned a dark blue gown with a wide neck that barely covered her shoulders and floor-length draped sleeves trimmed with metallic gold laces. Sanrick could not take his eyes from this wonderful creation of the gods that sat mere inches away from him.

  The woman looked at Sanrick as he took his seat and gave him a smile and a tiny nod. Sanrick could only reply with what could be described as a combination of half a smile and half a nod, simultaneously.

  My sister must be burning with envy at the moment, looking at the queen of Maeryn, and her daughter, rivaling her beauty in all aspects.

  The daughter sat beside her queen mother, almost a copy of the queen of Maeryn, except she did not have a crown on her head, and her hair were fiery red, and her gown was turquoise instead of the dark blue that her mother wore.

  The only person that Sanrick had trouble placing, and who was decked up in so much gold and glinting stones, that he looked like a thinner, more handsome version of King Henrik himself, was a boy, not much younger than Olver himself, with long golden hair tied in a bun. He had a narrow face which ended in a sharp jaw, and a pointed nose that looked sculpted by a hammer. He was sitting beside King Henrik, wearing a blue doublet with golden buttons, a war horn emblazoned on his chest.

  It’s a wonder how King Henrik fathered such a handsome son.

  A few other men sat at the council that appeared less important, and Sanrick assumed them to be advisors or commanders of the armies of the four kingdoms.

  And here we sit, without our advisors and commander, because my dear sister thinks she is all of them combined into one.

  “It fills my heart with great joy to see the two kings and the lovely Queen of Maeryn,” King Henrik spoke with authority, as he looked at the Queen Ayana of Maeryn, “come together for the first time in a thousand years, although that joy does not linger for long when I think of the reason for this coming together of the four kingdoms and the dynasties that rule them.” King Henrik paused, caressing his beard with fingers that had more rings on them than ever before.

  Sanrick noticed the guards that stood on the edge of the glade, all of them bearing the colors of the Swolderhornn dynasty.

  Henrik only needs to give the order and this council will turn into a bloody massacre, much like the one ordered by King Jornag of Azgun, thousands of years ago, thought Sanrick.

  “I would like to begin by asking all present here if they believe in what they saw, and if they understand the danger we find ourselves in.”

  “I don’t want to lose another hand in the process, Your Grace,” a man with a charred hand spoke, the sigil of the Liongloom dynasty on his breastplate.

  This elicited a chuckle from King Henrik. “Sometimes it takes a little pain to realize you had been living in pleasure all this time, I am sure your hand will heal in time, Sir, but I am not sure we will be alive to see it happen,” King Henrik took a big gulp of wine from the enormous goble
t that stood on the table beside him, and continued, “So, what do we do? I say we have until spring next year, although my advisors tell me it will be earlier than that, and as far as my understanding goes, it is in the Endless Forest that we will find all our answers, but who will dare venture into that wretched place, from where no man has ever returned to tell the tale?” King Henrik drank from the goblet once again and spilled some wine onto his beard.

  “Except for Toren The Traveler.”

  Why did I have to open my mouth?

  “Yes, Toren The Traveler, the man who also wrote about Giants and talking animals that roamed Aerdon thousands of years ago. I don’t see any talking animals in Indius, the only lions that talk are the lions of the Liongloom dynasty.” The man with kohl in his eyes, spoke in a velvety voice, almost feminine in its texture.

  “I think we can all agree that Toren’s texts are a good source of knowledge, it was a part of his book that we found in that trunk, hidden among the statues of Vizarins, and do not forget, the gods we worship were mentioned for the first time by Toren in his book. I don’t think we can question the legitimacy of such a pious piece of text, which many Aerdonians hold dear to their heart.” Queen Ayana’s daughter said in a rigid voice.

  “And aren’t you the folks who worship the god with a horse face?” Henrik added bluntly.

  Krastin’s smile left its curves, and his lips straightened into a thin line, “how have we traced the parchment to his book, princess, was it mentioned somewhere?” he finally spoke in his velvety voice.

  “No, but for anyone who has studied the ancient texts of Aerdon, they would recognize the unique way in which the forgotten language was written, the way only Toren wrote, and because we have the entire text of ‘Beginning of Aerdon’ and this parchment does not belong to it, it can only mean that it came from ‘The End of Aerdon’, the only other book written by Toren. But unfortunately, men who study the ancient texts are far, and few, and those who do are not respected.”

  I like this girl, although she errs, thought Sanrick.

  “Another book called ‘The Myths and Legends of The Endless Forest’ was written by Toren, although many people wrongly accredit it to Torhin, his brother.”

  “Because he compiled his brother’s work.” The girl shot back.

  “Work that was done by Toren, and not Torhin. It was Toren that went into the Endless woods and wrote about his experiences.”

  Elsa is surely going to feed me to the rats after this. What has gotten into me?

  For a moment, it looked as if the girl would retaliate, but she was stopped by her mother. “Diyana, who wrote what is not a subject we should concern ourselves with, and as to your concern Lord Krastin, I can assure you that the only way this realm can survive is if we try and cross The Endless Forest, or at the very least, try and find the place where the last king of Aerdon will be anointed. For years uncountable, our warriors have searched the deep valleys and the hidden caves of the mountains of Zaeyos. We have even scaled Mount Shadowhorn, and climbed into its fuming crater, to depths no man has ever reached before, and we have unearthed books and artifacts, and things that all speak of a realm beyond the Endless Forest. My lord and ladies, for years, us Maerynians have lived among the mountains, and never meddled in the affairs of the plains, but this time, the end is near for us all. The realm is dying, and nothing can revive it. We can only escape, we can only run, and our path leads us through the Endless Forest, toward a new realm, toward a new world.”

  A hush fell on the council, and Sanrick noticed an air of unease surrounding the gathering of Aerdonian royalty. And then he saw his sister take a sip from a golden goblet, her other hand tucking a strand of loose hair behind her ear, as she opened her mouth to speak, “Did you bring these books, these artifacts that you speak of?”

  “Only Maerynian warriors and scholars are allowed to view them,” said Queen Ayana curtly.

  “Then your whole argument is as useless as a blind man’s eye.” Elsa’s eyes spoke as much as her mouth did.

  “Careful with your words, princess, you speak to a queen,” said Diyana, Queen Ayana’s daughter

  “Who refuses to share information that would be helpful for the realm,” Elsa replied coolly.

  “You are much too young to demand anything from Queen Ayana, Princess Elsa, and I am much too old to sit and listen to girls less than half my age bicker like some peasant’s daughters,” barked King Henrik, “I believe the queen of Maeryn, for the evidence is there for all to see. The temple, and the stones, the hourglass and…the White Curse. The gods are trying to tell us something, even the horse-faced one,” Henrik shot Krastin a look, and continued, “we must leave Aerdon, and find new lands, beyond the Endless Forest.”

  Sanrick saw Elsa bite her lips and lean back into her chair, her face cold and expressionless.

  She does not like this one bit.

  “Why don’t we try and cross the Serpent Sea?” Garen Swolderhornn, eldest son of Henrik Swolderhornn chimed in.

  “The Serpent guards the crossing, and even if we did manage to fool the creature, there is nothing beyond the sea except miles and miles of golden sands, and dunes as tall as hills, and dreadful beasts that roam the desert,’’ said the old man sitting next to Olver, with a long ponytail and a braided beard.

  “The Dreadlands. I don’t think we need to go to the place where the gods sent the people of Azgun to suffer and die,” said Diyana.

  “But did they all die?” Garen asked with raised eyebrows, “I saw five statues in that temple, and five black stones, among which was a stone bearing the three-headed dragon of Azgun. What if, in a far desolate place in the Dreadlands, the kingdom of Azgun survived?

  “Nothing grows, nothing thrives, and nothing survives in the Dreadlands, Prince Garen, it is a place created for torment. Only the ghosts of Azgunians may haunt the desert, but even they can never cross the Serpent Sea, for the Serpent kills all, ghosts and men alike,” explained Diyana.

  “I never knew ghosts could be killed,” Krastin chortled.

  “Anything can be killed, Lord Krastin.”

  “Especially if it is facing the wrath of Princess Diyana of Maeryn, isn’t it,” Krastin winked, and Sanrick saw Olver bow his head in embarrassment.

  “I see only one choice left with us. To enter the Endless Forest and find an end to it. I know kings and entire armies have perished trying to cross that damned forests, but this time, we will enter on the Vizarin’s command, and if we perish, then we perish. Death is coming for us all, it is better we die fighting, and not on a bed, weak and gaunt, with blood in our eyes,” said King Henrik, his small beady eyes sweeping the gathering.

  “And who will carry out this heroic deed? And who will be the king of a united Aerdon? Or have we forgotten that the gods ask us to demolish all our boundaries, and come to the temple as a realm united under a single banner, a banner that will not fly the horse of Indius, or the horn of Calypsos, nor the ship of Harduin, but a banner with all of them on one field, so I ask again, who will be king? Who among us will win the support of all the others?” asked Elsa.

  No one answered. A silence fell over the council. Sanrick could feel the uneasiness in the air as each person sat staring at the other, hoping for someone to speak. King Henrik tore into a chicken leg, bits and pieces continuing to fall on his robe, and the handsome King Olver, his hand on his chin and his elbow on the arm of the chair, sat staring at the ground, deep in thought or waiting for someone else to speak.

  When no one spoke, Elsa continued, “before we discuss that, I would like to have the stone bearing the sigil of our dynasty, as it only makes sense that each of us have their stone with them,” Elsa said, and hastily added when she saw King Henrik scowl, “and I would also like to thank King Henrik for being honest with us about the stones. A selfish king would not have never disclosed their existence to us.”

  Selfish or clever?

  “Don’t you fret, Your Highness, you will have your stone given to you.” Ki
ng Henrik said through gritted teeth.

  “It would make us a lot happier if we could have them now, your grace, why delay something inevitable,” Krastin spoke, his thin lips curving into a smile once again.

  Sanrick sat, staring at Henrik, waiting anxiously for the king to finish drinking from the goblet. Sanrick knew that King Henrik did not like being ordered around. He was too proud for that. And he had already drunk enough wine. Olver still sat motionless, his food and wine untouched.

  “You want your stones, Lord Krastin? And you too, Your Majesty? What if I say no? What will the great kingdoms of Harduin and Indus do then? Sitting in this forest, surrounded by five thousand Calypsian swords, you are in no position to order me, Lord Krastin!” King Henrik said, as he shuffled in his seat, and sat up straight, pointing a long chubby finger at Krastin.

  Krastin did not stop smiling. “I beg your forgiveness, Your Grace, but we thought we were invited to a friendly council to discuss the future, and not have threats thrown at us. But if I have offended you, then I apologize from the bottom of my heart.”

  Elsa warned me to keep my calm against King Henrik but looks like no one gave the same advice to King Henrik about Lord Krastin.

  “And we will accept your apology, Lord Krastin,” Garen Swolderhornn said, matching Krastin’s smile with his own, “if you support my father’s claim to the throne of Aerdon.”

  Krastin guffawed, “I would rather have your five thousand Calypsians stab me one by one, and then piss on my corpse…one by one.”

  A few men laughed, while the majority frowned.

  “I would love to be the first in that line,” Garen stood up and unsheathed his two-handed greatsword, as the guards who stood at the edge of the glade began closing in.

  “Garen, sit down before I slap you like a fucking child,” King Henrik roared, “This is what happens when you have more boys measuring cocks in a council such as this, than wise men talking sense. I do not want to be king. Who wants to rule a dying realm anyway? However, we know King Sanrick is too young to take on such a responsibility, and I know Queen Ayana doesn’t want the crown as well. That leaves us with King Olver, and…”