“…and no one. Olver shall be king,” said Krastin, as he swirled the Fornhornian red in his goblet.
“My dear Lord Krastin, if you would have let me complete, then you would have heard me say that Calypsos,” King Henrik’s voice rose as he took his kingdom’s name, “the wealthiest, the strongest, the largest kingdom of Aerdon will never be ruled by an OUTSIDER!” King Henrik spat chunks of meat as his face turned red in rage and his voice thundered across the glade, “my son Garen shall be king; otherwise we go back to our castles and wait for the end of all things.”
Whispering and murmuring broke out, as the lords and ladies of Aerdon began discussing King Henrik’s offer amongst themselves.
“My father battles death at Wildemere, and I have already lost my mother to the White Curse. Families die of starvation and fathers bury their sons and mothers weep for their daughters. Aerdon, that has been home to our kingdoms, to our fathers and their fathers before them, slowly withers away,” Olver Liongloom finally spoke, his voice starting out as a whisper, but slowly rising with each word, causing a hush to fall over the council once again, “you may surround us with five thousand men or a hundred thousand, it does not matter King Henrik, because in a years’ time, no kingdom will have an army with which they can wage wars, and no king will have bodyguards to protect him, all that will remain will be white bony corpses, and eyes that will weep blood. I do not care for stones, and I do not care for kingship, I care for my people. Indius is ready to support any man that wants to be king, as long as we enter the Endless Forest and cross the damn forest, once and for all.”
Sanrick actually heard Elsa take a sharp intake of breath. He glanced at her and saw her look away, and her hand clutch the arms of the chair tightly, and he knew Olver had made a grave mistake.
Then he looked at Krastin and finally saw the smiled wiped away from his face.
“So, you willingly lay down your claim for the kingship of Aerdon?” King Henrik looked pleased as he leaned back in his throne, and wiped wine from the corners of his mouth.
“Yes, I do.”
“Then I put forward the name of my son, Garen Swolderhornn, to be the last king of Aerdon. I have been training him for all these years, preparing him to ascend the throne of Calypsos, he is brave, and he is just; the king of Aerdon should be someone from the Swolderhornn dynasty, the gods know we deserve it.”
Sanrick could feel the tides turning, the crown slipping from his sister’s fingers, and his heart ached for her, for ‘The Empress of Roses’, the woman who had endured torture for two years and had survived it all, just for the sake of her kingdom.
“I do not agree with this,” Elsa Faerson spoke firmly.
“The matter rests with the Queen of Maeryn, it’s up to her now, and if she decides to support our claim, Your Highness, then it will not matter whether you agree or not.”
All eyes turned to Queen Ayana, who had mostly been silent throughout the course of The Great Council, and now, everything rested on her words. The power to decide who will be the last king of Aerdon, the power to unite the four kingdoms for the first time since the creation of the world, and the power to save the people of Aerdon.
“Although I do not like the way things have turned out to be, as my preference had always been young Olver Liongloom, but as he has so selflessly denied taking the crown, knowing that the Swolderhornns will never agree,” she looked at King Henrik with a gaze that would have split a stone, “I am left with no other option but to support the claim of Garen Swolderhornn of the Swolderhornn dynasty, and to lead the expedition into The Endless Forest, to find a passage for our people, for King Sanrick is still too young to take on such a serious responsibility. And so, this is my decision, may the Vizarins have mercy on us all.”
Sanrick had stopped listening to Queen Ayana midway through her speech as he already knew what she was going to say, and fixed his gaze on Elsa, and as Queen Ayana told her decision, he saw a drop of tear escape the emerald green eyes that the people of Harduin had come to love, and for the first time since the rebellion of Lord Erling, and for the first time since she had been wed to Lord Erling, and raped on her wedding night, he saw his sister weep openly.
∞∞∞
The council stretched on for longer than what Sanrick expected. Dawn had given way to afternoon and evening was not too far away. The shadows cast by the lances bearing the banners lengthened, and the food on the tables lessened. Olver had still not touched the beef pie, or the roasted chicken or the rabbit stew with spices, contenting himself with the spiced red wine of Fornhorn. Sanrick had consumed everything on the menu, and then had ordered some more, with only King Henrik matching the amount of food he had eaten.
The woods had grown silent, as if the trees themselves, standing green and massive all around them, listened intently to what was being said. The birds had ceased their chirping, and an occasional gull would fly overhead, heading to Lake Aerdos, in search of a fish. And it wasn’t just the woods or its inhabitants which had grown quiet; Elsa Faerson had not uttered a word ever since Queen Ayana voiced her support for Garen Swolderhornn’s kingship.
I wonder what she is thinking, what plan is she hatching amidst the chaos that unfurls all around her?
But as the sun began to set behind the hills of Eravia, and the sky turned crimson, like a battlefield after a bloody war, the council had finally come to a decision. Everyone had finally agreed that the answers to all their problems lay hidden somewhere deep within the dark and mysterious woods that never seemed to end.
The Endless Forest had served as the eastern border of the world of Aerdon ever since the days of the first kings of the four kingdoms. And no king or army had ever been able to cross the massive labyrinth of trees and streams and cliffs that seemed to stretch forever, like a sea that has no shore, and then there were the stories. Tales of beasts and ghosts unknown to man, and of magic thought extinct, and of a world beyond, more beautiful than Aerdon, ruled by magical beings, had turned The Endless Forest into something of an enigma, a place thought to be as magical as it was dangerous. And into these woods, the men of the four kingdoms were to venture, for one last time, to find an escape from the end that drew nearer with each passing heartbeat.
“And now, we must decide on the participants for this journey into the Endless Forest,” said King Henrik with a tired voice. Sanrick himself felt exhausted, as his muscles cramped and his back ached. Beside him, Elsa Faerson sat with her face resting on her hand, her eyes gazing absent-mindedly into the thick entanglement of trunks and branches and aerial roots which defined the forest of Eravia.
“I believe the bravest and the most fearsome knights from each of the four kingdoms, along with their commander of armies, would be most suitable for this expedition,” said the old man with the ponytail, who was called Bernard.
“I will not send my warriors alone. My daughter will join this expedition,” said Queen Ayana.
“And so will I,” Olver declared.
King Henrik looked at his son, who was quick to look away.
“My son, and your future king will join you as well so that the men can see what a brave king he will be.”
Sanrick glanced at Garen, who looked as if he had just retched.
All eyes now turned to the Harduinian section of the council. Sanrick could feel the heat of their gazes and could hear his own heart thumping in his chest. He looked toward Elsa, but her expressions were hard to read.
If only we had decided on a hand position for this sort of a situation, dear sister.
“I do not know how wise it is for all the kings of Aerdon to venture into such a dangerous place. And I am not willing to put Harduin at the risk of losing their king, for we have just begun flourishing. Therefore, I will represent Harduin on this historic expedition.”
She saved me from certain death, and made me look like a coward at the same time. No. This will not be my legacy.
Sanrick could never understand what made him say what he said next, an
d for a long time to come, he would rue these words, and curse the moment he uttered them, “Harduin will still flourish without me, for it is the hardworking people of Harduin who are the reason for its progress, and not a king who sits on a throne and reads books day and night. I will join my sister as well, and together, we shall find a way to end the misery of our people.”
Krastin sniggered, and King Henrik sighed. Olver appeared unaffected, and Queen Ayana looked sad. But the one person whose reaction he wanted to see, was the one person he was too scared to look at.
“And so, it is decided,” King Henrik said, rising from his throne, crumbs of chicken falling to the floor, “I will lay down the crown for my son, and in three days’ time, the three kings of Aerdon and the princess of Maeryn will enter The Endless Forest, and search for whatever it is that will aid us in our survival. A black stone will be given to each of the kingdoms, and if the time shall arrive, when the king of Aerdon will have to be proclaimed, then it will be Garen Swolderhornn who will wear the crown and become the first king of Aerdon.”
We brought a hundred men-at-arms with us, and Indius and Maeryn brought even fewer, and three days is a short time to call for reinforcements. It seems we will be outnumbered by Calypsian soldiers in The Endless Forest as well.
The Endless Forest. I hope we find an end to it and change that accursed name, once and for all.
Chapter Three
Garen Swolderhornn
HE HAD NAMED the horse ‘Shatterhooves’, for the ground seemed to tremble and shake whenever the white stallion galloped. He remembered the first time he rode the wild and unruly animal. It was when he was wild and unruly himself, and much like how he had eventually tamed the horse, his father had tamed him.
And as he combed the silvery mane of his horse with long gentle movements, he reflected upon the events of the past twenty days. From being awed by the magnificence of the Vizarins, to discovering the hourglass and understanding what it stood for, to becoming king in a ceremony that was bereft of any pomp and hullabaloo that he had dreamed as a child. It was all so surreal and yet so believable. And on the morrow, he was supposed to journey into the most dangerous place known to man, where he might become the lord of all Aerdon, and lead his people beyond the Endless Forest, far away from the death and despair that the Vizarins had destined for the four kingdoms.
Shatterhooves neighed happily as Garen began combing the tail of the mighty beast. Amidst the quiet of the night, and among the horses in the stable, grooming his beloved Shatterhooves, Garen finally started to relax and calm down. No one could have guessed that the fearless and gallant Garen Swolderhornn could ever be nervous or uneasy. But on this night, he had felt something he had only felt once in his life; he felt fear. The last time he had felt fear like this, was thirteen years ago when he was only nine. On a stormy night, when lightning roared in the sky and rain splashed down like arrows from the gods, young Garen had sneaked out of his bedchamber and tried to make his way to the stables, because he feared for the horses that whinnied wildly in the stables. But he had lost his way in the darkness of the castle and stumbled into the dungeons. Darkness had engulfed him, and he had felt his heart sink, and fear grip his bones. The prisoners in the dungeon had heard him, and that is when they began shouting for him, saying words that would haunt him in his sleep for years. Hands started to grab him, rotten and bloody, calloused and bruised, from behind bars made of iron. But just before he opened his mouth to scream for help, a hand had turned him around, and a man had embraced him.
There is nothing to fear now, son, I am here. Shh…don’t weep. I am here…, his father’s voice echoed in his head. The darkness…the men…I was lost…I am sorry father…I hate the dark…I hate it, he had wept as he held on to his father, his silken robes feeling soft on his face. Don’t hate the dark, Garen, for nothing is ever lost in the dark, but only found. Men find courage and strength when they are surrounded by the dark, strength and courage that they never knew existed within them. Darkness makes men out of boys. Embrace it, my son, and you shall never know fear. And when the night is darkest, do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Rage!
His father’s voice rang in his head as he felt strong once again. He gave Shatterhooves’s tail one last sweep with the brush, patted the horse on his back and walked out of the stables.
A drop of rain fell on his forehead as he emerged out into the open and hid his face behind the hood of his cloak, and as he was about to walk toward his tent, his eyes fell upon a short, stout man that stood beside a brazier, a hood hiding his face as well.
What is he doing out? Are we all out of chicken?
Garen changed his course and walked towards his father, bereft of his crown and chains, clad only in an ordinary woolen cloak, a two-handed greatsword in his hand.
“Father, having trouble falling asleep?”
“I have that difficulty every night. If I started taking walks to solve it, I would be a thin man and your mother would finally enjoy my company in her bed.” King Henrik pulled back his hood to reveal a smiling face.
He looks more like a king when he smiles. He used to smile more when I was a kid. What happened to him?
“Come, walk with me for a while,” King Henrik said in a soft voice. And for a long time, father and son walked among the tents and among the trees, among sleeping guards and snoring sentries, in silence which was rarely broken by the bark of a dog in a kennel, or the howl of a wolf, until they were far away from the encampment, and deep into the woods. The rain was falling steadily now, and the sound of raindrops pitter-pattering on the leaves of the forest was all around them. The ground felt soft and mushy under Garen’s leather boots, and he was enjoying the smell that accompanied the rain.
“We might as well walk into The Endless Forest if we have come this far,” Garen jested.
“And discover the secrets of that horrendous forest all on our own? Won’t that make a great song? A fat father and his handsome son, the saviors of the realm!” King Henrik stopped to catch his breath, the walk was obviously taking its toll on the king.
“You used to be handsome as well,” Garen reminded, “a long time ago, when you liked to duel more than you liked to eat.”
“Watch your tongue, boy, I called myself fat, not ugly,” King Henrik roared in mock anger, “although that boy Sanrick is well on his way to be the fattest king in the history of the realm.
“It’s not the boy that worries me, but his sister. She did not look pleased when you put forth my name to be the king of Aerdon.”
“She is a cunning girl, that Harduinian wench. She took over as the ruler of Harduin when she was just sixteen and look how that shit of a kingdom has prospered under her authority. And that is why I must ask you to do something, once you are deep into the woods of The Endless Forest.” King Henrik’s voice turned grave, and Garen knew what his father was about to ask of him, although he prayed that he was wrong.
“I want you to kill the girl and his brother, and all of their men. I want you to eradicate the name of the Faerson dynasty while we have the chance.”
“But father, we would be called traitors, and although I would very much like to see the girl dead, I am not sure I am willing to be called a traitor for that. And also, didn’t you tell me yourself that us Calypsians are too strong to resort to treachery, that the might of our army and weight of our gold is enough to vanquish any foe? And anyway, she has agreed to support our claim. Do not make me do something we have no need of,” Garen almost pleaded.
I will not be known as the king who killed a child to win the throne. That will not be my legacy.
“And who will praise your honor when there are none left to praise it?” King Henrick said, almost as if he heard what Garen was thinking. “My spies tell me of a growing closeness between the girl and King Olver. And the boy is still young, full of lust and love, the wench only has to open her legs, and the young king will forget all about his people
and his kingdom, that he whines so much about. I cannot take that risk, Garen. I will be sending three hundred swords with you inside that forest, more than enough to take the Harduinians unawares.
“And what of King Olver and the Maeryns? In one stroke we will be losing their trust, and I will not blame them if they decide to withdraw their support as well.” Garen said in an irritated voice. “Father, I know you want to see me as the king of Aerdon, but at what cost?”
“I could care less if you become the king or not. I only wish to see you survive the wrath of Vizarins. I want to see you breathing when the last grain of sand falls into that hourglass. And if Indius and Maeryn withdraw their support, well then you kill that pretty boy and that daughter of Queen Ayana. You will have enough men, but rest assured they will do no such thing, they know what is at stake.”
Garen could sense that his lord father was close to being annoyed with his reluctance. For years, Garen had made it a point to obey every command that left his father’s mouth, even if it meant his humiliation. But to kill a child was a sin unforgivable in the eyes of the gods, and at a time when the gods were seething with rage, Garen did not want to add to their wrath.
The rain pelted the ground as it fell in torrents. The wind roared angrily, and Garen’s cloak swirled around his ankles. It became harder to see as raindrops lashed his face, and lightning flashed across the night sky, like swords unsheathed, ready for battle.
“You always taught me to honor my word. You always taught me that a victory acquired through deceit is a coward’s victory. One that should be loathed, and not celebrated,” said Garen as he tried to study his father’s face, looking for a hint of the man he once knew, the man that raised him, “but now, you ask me to kill a young boy? I have no qualms about killing Elsa, perhaps I might even enjoy it, but I cannot kill Sanrick. My sword will not be raised to slaughter boys incapable of defending themselves. What has happened to you?” And as Garen said that, he knew he had crossed a line, and he waited for his father to rage like the thundering clouds above.
The Passage of Kings Page 7
