BULLS CANNOT DEFEAT LIONS, CAN THEY?
RICEROS
“WOOF, WOOF!”
The big dog jerked his head around and sprinted away from Riceros Colbert. He usually didn’t go this far into the woods with only his dog, Jasper, for company. It stayed cool in the Riverfront woods even though the sun blazed above. Riceros quickly realized he had ventured into the area of the woods known as the Blood Tree Forest. The trees had a reddish hue on their trunks and branches that resembled blood. It was also the site for the dire battle of Riverfront two hundred and forty years ago when Ali-Sander Wamhoff had been pushed back by Goldenfield before defeating the enemy and doubling the size of Donegal. The bloody struggle had proved to be the turning point in the war. Most people around the castle thought the woods remained haunted by the ghosts of the war. Legend had it that the trees drank the blood of the fallen soldiers to obtain their color. Almost everyone avoided the woods but Riceros unknowingly followed his dog right into the Blood Tree Forest. He felt a chill on the back of his neck and started to get nervous.
Riceros clapped his hands to call his best friend. They had a special bond despite the fact that they were polar opposites. Riceros was an undersized eleven year old while his dog was enormous. Everyone who saw him considered Jasper, the biggest of his breed, King of the bulldogs. Jasper stood up to Riceros’ neck and could easily lick the boy’s face with his long, leathery tongue. Jon Colbert had given his son the dog as a present on his fifth birthday. Riceros promptly named him “Jasper” in honor of his grandfather.
He clapped his hands again, even harder this time. Riceros kicked a brown rock aside as he looked around the shade-laced forest. He was worried now because he hadn’t heard Jasper for the past few minutes. The sun slid behind a puffy gray cloud in the sky, throwing the forest into more shadow and making it harder to see in the dim light.
Riceros spent more time with Jasper than he did with his older brothers. It all started when he began sneaking Jasper into his room until his father told him that he didn’t have to sneak the pup in anymore. Duke Colbert even made Riceros build a little bed for the dog. Riceros and the rest of the family loved Jasper equally as much as they loved each other. Riceros heard a panting sound behind him and turned around expecting to see his dog.
Instead, there were two slobbering wild foxes eyeballing the small boy. He drew his little dagger, even though he was smart enough to realize that he stood rather defenseless. The two huge foxes, nearly as big as his giant dog, growled at Riceros. He tried to swallow, but his mouth ran dry.
Please, I will never go this far into the woods again.
Riceros’ eyes started to twitch and his knees felt like they were going to collapse but he maintained his composure and stared at the two wild foxes. Count Sproul had told Riceros that it was common knowledge around Donegal that the Wamhoffs bred their domestic foxes until they had got too big and dangerous. Then, they released them into the wild. They had been known to grow to enormous proportions. The foxes started stalking their prey. The larger of the pair licked its lips as the beast stood straight up on its hind legs. The other fox stood up too and Riceros noticed that their eyes turned red as the fearsome creatures approached on two legs.
Oh, no....did coldomores take over the foxes bodies? Please Gods, keep me from the darkness and guide me to eternal light.
Riceros Colbert felt his pants getting warm and wet as he closed his eyes to accept a gnarly fate.
“WOOF, WOOF, WOOF, WOOF!”
His eyes flew open to see Jasper explode onto the scene, just as large drops of rain began to fall sporadically from the darkening skies. The two immense foxes took heed of the warning call, dropped down to four legs, and shot off into the camouflaged forest. Jasper chased them away and returned to Riceros. The boy’s heart was pounding. As he stroked his friend he realized that Jasper’s chest was pumping too. He put his arms around Jasper and thanked the dog for saving his life. They quickly ran back to the castle.
He gazed affectionately at the dog on the rainy walk back to the castle. The dog’s coat canvassed a blend of colors. Black spots blended into brown hair that disappeared into white. His back and tail were brown with black spots and his belly and legs were white. Jasper’s face was white with brown patches around his eyes. The round pudgy face housed an enormous tongue and his brown ears stuck up on top of his head. As they approached the castle the dog’s tail stuck up in the air in the shape of an upside down J as usual. The dog walked right in front of Riceros, like a true friend, shielding his shame. He led the boy straight to his room so he could change his pants and nobody would know he had soiled himself. Riceros changed quickly, hiding his pants, and then going to the library. When he arrived Count Sproul knew he was wearing different clothes but didn’t mention it.
He said to the boy, “Perhaps we shall start with the religions of Gama Traka, if you like?”
“But why must I know about the religion of faraway lands?” Riceros Colbert scribbled on his wipe away “paper”.
He had a flat black slab and a white rock shaped like a small quill. He used a hand towel to erase the words and write on it again. Riceros had shaggy golden hair and green eyes that matched his father’s, but while Riceros had a scrawny body, Jon Colbert had always been husky.
Count Sproul explained, “Well, my young Lord, knowledge can be a powerful thing. It may aid a man in ways he may not see now.”
The Count lived all of his seventy-six years in the region of Mattingly. He articulated with a soft voice and many pauses. He had long white hair that curled up at the bottom. Donegal required the counts to grow a long moustache for identification purposes and Count Sproul’s hung over the sides of his mouth and down past his neck. The counts wore them like a badge of honor, each one trying to grow his the longest.
The old man slowly continued, “My little Lord, life in Donegal can be fragile. Bonds that are strong today may be broken tomorrow. Men are inherently evil and unpredictable by nature. Power can be a great thing. When placed in the right hands it can help all the people. But when waved in front of the wrong person, it can have disastrous results. I have heard such sad stories of fathers killing sons, brothers killing brothers, even daughters killing mothers. They did all these things for filthy lucre and power that did not bring true happiness. I plead to our Gods every day that this doesn’t happen to Mattingly or any other region for that matter, but if that day should arrive you must be prepared. Do you understand?”
The young boy drafted something on the board and held it up to show the Count. Count Sproul cleared his throat and continued, “You will need that finely forged Dragon-Steel, there is little doubt, but that may be only half the battle, my boy.”
Riceros suddenly got up to stretch his legs. He couldn’t sit for long periods of time because of the lump on his back that often caused him pain. Right now he was just being fidgety, but because of his physical limitations he spent most of his time indoors, gaining wisdom. He had gained the respect of his brothers as a sharp shooting archer, but most other physical activities didn’t suit Riceros’ skill set very well.
He sat back down as the Count went on, “You see when death comes knocking at ones door, it is best not to answer. A live coward may help in many more ways than a brave, dead hero in most scenarios. You may even be forced to relocate someday. And extensive knowledge shall aid a man in as many ways as the finest sword in all the lands.”
Riceros had attained a wide wealth of knowledge in this library but still retained the impatience and inexperience of an eleven year old.
The Count continued, “Life is as unsure as the sea. We from Mattingly navigate the wild waters better than almost all, but even so the sea has funny, unpredictable patterns. I have known of boys younger than you who left with a great captain never to return to their weeping mothers. And life is much of the same. We can predict matters up to a certain point, but estimating the amount of evil a man possesses can prove a difficult task.” The long-winded Count gather
ed his thoughts, waited several moments, and carried on, “You see, I cannot precisely tell you how knowing the religions of far off lands will help you right now. But if the unsure Sea of Green that we always travel were to hurl you into some unknown land, this instruction just may save your life, my Lord. So what is it you would like to hear?” Count Sproul asked.
The two often sat together at the circular, stone table in the library. Books and documents were on shelves, lined all around the room. Maps were unrolled and fastened to the walls, like fine art covering all the vacant space. The library trained the young boy’s mind and had become Riceros’ most treasured place in the castle. Riceros learned to read at age three and by eleven he showed quicker mental skills than most grown men. He finished printing on the board and spun it toward the Count.
“Aah,” the old man sighed, “I am afraid we may not have enough time to talk about the elusive Pearl of Wisdom. Perhaps you would like to listen to a quick story about your grandfather?”
Riceros eagerly nodded his head up and down with an immense grin on his face.
The old man knew Riceros loved listening to stories about his family. He reflected for a moment before starting, “Jasper Colbert lived in a different time. The Colberts were not exactly wealthy and the nasty Beverly family tried to hold them back even further. Patrick Beverly had a personal hatred for Jasper. He used his social graces to turn people against the Colbert family. But you see my young Lord, there comes a time in a man’s life when he has been pushed around just a bit too much. When he has to stand up and fight, not only for himself, but for his family and flag holders. And that is what happened to your grandfather. Everyone said that to revolt would be to die,” the Count revealed with a wry smile. “The odds were stacked to the stars against your grandfather. Bulls cannot defeat lions, can they?” The old man played with his moustache as he stared off into the distance.
“Well my boy, willpower, unity and determination can defeat raw numbers in certain situations. After the first few battles, Patrick Beverly quickly realized this was not going to be an easy war. The King even provided reinforcements from the Capitol to thwart the advance of your grandfather. However Jasper Colbert was destined to sit as Duke of Mattingly. They called him the Noble Bull, I’ll have you know. You see, there are two ways to obtain power in Donegal. One is by birthright and the other is to wrest it by force. You, Riceros Colbert, have the influence of birth that your grandfather didn’t possess. Once he had pinned the Beverly men to their homes in Portview, Jasper made them an offer – more in the nature of an ultimatum. To the detriment of the Beverly family, Patrick refused the offer. The soldiers were slaughtered with ease, and Jasper Colbert obliterated the Beverly name from the lands of Mattingly. Jasper spared the rest of the city, he was compassionate, the man didn’t ravage and rape as most expected. King Ali-Baster still demanded that Jasper move the Capitol of Mattingly to Riverfront. Jasper accepted, recognizing he couldn’t defeat the whole realm in battle.”
One of the servants entered the library, startling the Count. She said, “Riceros, your father and mother are calling you for supper now.”
“Alright my boy, next time I shall finish telling you about how the King’s son deceived your noble grandfather in the end.”
Riceros sprang up and hugged the Count on his way out of the library.
The Colbert family ate dinner at a simple round, red-oak table that had three square legs beneath. His three brothers, sister, mother and father were present. And Brehan Castaway, a knight sworn to defend the Colbert name, always sat next to Riceros. A lot of chatter bounced around the room until Jon Colbert tapped his silver chalice with a spoon. Everyone ceased talking, bowed their heads, and folded his or her hands over their hearts. Jon Colbert stood while everyone else remained seated.
“Great Gods in heaven, we thank you for this bountiful harvest we are about to partake of. We walk as mere mortals, but we do our best to be righteous in your honor and glory. All we do on earth is in the name of the Gods. Please help us to be forever humble and follow the right path of life. Keep us from darkness and guide us to the light.” Jon opened his eyes and sat back down.
Everyone resumed talking, except for one person. Riceros Colbert had yet to speak a word at eleven years of age. He wasn’t dull. He could spell and write better than most learned men. He had a peculiar gift for knowledge that was manifested by absorbing everything he heard. He wasn’t worried about what he was going to say like most people, he just listened. The Count believed he surpassed every one of his brothers in book intelligence, but for some strange reason he just wouldn’t talk.
Mouth-watering smells beautifully intermingled in the dining room. The servants began to send the shared cuisine around. First up was a split roasted pig smothered in mushrooms, apples and spring onions with long green tops. Numbles were served separately and Riceros loved the flavor but hated the texture so the kitchen workers always gave him sliced, crispy bread fried in lard. He would smash the offal on the bread with a clove of roasted garlic and enjoy the crunch and delectable taste.
Next, smoked sturgeon showed up with a brown butter sauce and peppered beet greens over the top. The following course consisted of a salad of dandelion greens, purple asparagus, sliced carrot coins and chopped onion splashed with vinegar. Riceros ate his salad quickly and sat back in his chair.
A huge rack of stag chops came to the table and the head cook sliced down along the bone and passed out the juicy cuts. Gravy made with pig liver reserved from the first course was poured over the meat by a serving girl. Riceros cut off a piece of stag, sopped up some liver sauce with it and enjoyed the hearty flavor. The salted water he sipped made a perfect complement. Riceros enjoyed the fine sampling of what early spring harvest had to offer in Riverfront, Mattingly. He ate his food and listened as usual.
“Family, there are matters we need to discuss. I will need to go to Gama Traka for a few weeks this summer, and Krys, I bid that you go with me. I shall introduce you to the land of my friend, Anders Ahitni. You know him from his visits here,” Jon Colbert announced.
His wife immediately responded, “Why, why do you have to go there now?” “I just told you why. You know that Anders has come to Mattingly many times. I have to return the favor, it is practical business. He is our biggest trading partner, helps keep our people happy and is a genuine friend. That is a rare feat in these crazy times,” Jon told his wife.
I don’t trust Anders for a moment, Riceros thought as the conversation continued.
“What about me?” “And me?” Ryno and Ruxin asked respectively. Jon gazed over at his sons, “I bid that both of you sit in on the council meetings and help make decisions for your future region. Mattingly is going to be under your control someday.” The two boys confidently nodded in silence. Ryno was sixteen and Ruxin fifteen but they had been trained for this their entire lives.
I could run those meeting better than my two brothers put together if I could just talk.
“As for you, young lady, I bid that you help your mother in her state,” Jon told Mariah. “Aaww, that’s all I get to do. The boys get to rule, and I get to brush hair,” she said with a snotty look. “If the person who brought you into this world is not important enough...?” Jon Colbert let the question linger. A sour Mariah finally replied, “That’s not what I meant and you know it father. Of course I can help my mother. I would just like to help with other family responsibilities too.” “Alright Mariah, talk with your mother about these boring council meetings while I am gone. She has sat in on enough of them to tell you all you want to know. When I return from Gama Traka, if you still desire to attend meetings, then we shall find a seat for you at the table,” Jon responded.
That’s why they call him the Deal Maker.
Riceros’ brothers had told him about the many nicknames Jon Colbert possessed but people widely knew him as the Deal Maker because of his sharp negotiation acumen. Mariah concurred, of course; Jon always struck beneficial deals for both sides. Most
men of the day were wholly unreasonable and trust was a dying breed in this world.
“And for you, little man, I have a task for you too,” Jon said as he looked at Riceros. “I bid that you help Count Sproul run the local arbitration meetings. What be your thoughts? Can you do it?” Riceros smiled with a look of assurance.
Sweet, sugary rhubarb scented air teased Riceros’ nose. Excitement circled around the family table as the delectable pastries were placed before them. The entire family enjoyed the rhubarb pie. He would need someone to go to the kitchens with him later to read his thankful words to the cooks. They loved him for what a humble highborn lad he was. Riceros acknowledged those who deserved credit, regardless of birthright. But because they couldn’t read and Riceros didn’t speak, he required an interpreter. He was already ever gracious at eleven because of his upbringing, even though it could be difficult to communicate. He bit into the pastry and instantly dragons crashed into the imagination of Riceros Colbert as they often did, but they weren’t angry dragons. The warm rhubarb filling ran down the side of his mouth as Riceros daydreamed about riding a golden dragon.
THE COUNCIL MEETING
ALI-STER
ALI-STER WAMHOFF SAT to the right of the King, across from Ali-Varis. Prince Ali-Varis, his forty-seven year old brother, stood in line as heir to the throne. He occupied the seat of the King’s Falconer, working as the top advisor to the King. The Falconer needed to be strong, questioning the King’s unwise decisions but Ali-Varis barely even paid attention during the meetings. His mental fires burned dim and the successor to the King spent most of the meetings daydreaming while staring out the window.
In comparison, the eighteen year old Ali-Ster was a solid six feet tall with the fire red hair of a true Wamhoff. Ali-Ster had brown eyes and a chiseled body. He scratched his long, lightly freckled face. The young man known as Crimson-Thunder reveled in bloody battle rather than drab council meetings. But he also understood a king controlled the realm with mind and might. He spoke with a deep, manly voice and acted with equal grace toward a court member and a common man. He paid attention as the meeting progressed.
Plight of the Perfect Prince Page 16
