“No… Well yes… The truth of the matter, Alfred, is that the only one who knows what happened or why you are here, the only one who really knows what to do, is this man.” Verboden pointed at Tirnalth.
“Ha, ha, and I have no recollection, no idea of what that is,” Tirnalth smiled and patted the bed, trying to reassure Alfred.
Alfred was not sure whether to laugh like a crazy freak or cry with real sobbing tears. When he did both, Verboden and Tirnalth looked at each other in confused dismay.
“Guhhhar hah... I wanna... guhhh... gooohhh... sniff snorf... home!!! Guhhhh...hahr hahhh...guhhhh...”
“Why is he here, Tirnalth?”
“He is in the line of kings. I feel this. His mother is a queen, I believe.”
They looked at Alfred as he continued crying.
“How do you know?” Verboden asked.
“My father’s name is Bedenwulf,” said Alfred, tapering his hysterics to a sniffle.
Tirnalth nodded in approval. “Yes, that was the word the boy spoke that awoke me from my long lost dreams. It was Bedenwulf.”
Verboden, becoming more dejected, stood up and walked away. He leaned against the stone of the fireplace, staring deep into the small crackle of fire.
“If my memory serves me right, this boy is not from the line of kings,” Verboden said with disdain.
Tirnalth and Alfred looked at Verboden, both uncomfortable with the tone.
“He is born of a princess, not a queen. And he is not from a Lord Knight. His father was not an ordained knight of the Realm. Nor was he of any royal house. He is... a liability... a shame upon the crown.” Verboden's expression was stone cold. “Their love was forbidden!”
Tirnalth looked at Alfred with a compassionate smile. Alfred did not like what he heard. He did not feel welcomed.
Tirnalth looked back at Verboden. “If all I have are my feelings, and no memory, than it is with my feelings I know.” He pointed at Alfred. “This boy is to be king.”
“The Knights of the Realm will never hear of it. They remember Bedenwulf’s betrayal all too well,” Verboden met Tirnalth's gaze. “I remember his betrayal.”
“Betrayal?” Alfred and Tirnalth asked together.
Alfred looked at Tirnalth for reassurance. Tirnalth smiled and leaned in. “I have only good feelings about Bedenwulf and about your mother,” the wizard said. “He was a great warrior and a knight. He was there to the end. This I can feel.” Though his words were an attempt to reassure Alfred, they conveyed a sense of sadness and pain.
“You speak of Bedenwulf as if he were a hero,” said Verboden, throwing a new log onto the fire, creating a small explosion of embers. “He took the princess as his own when the kingdom was under siege by Gorbogal. He took her and was never seen or heard from again.”
“I can not argue with you, Verboden. I have no memory of what you speak of. I know only that this is Alfred and that he is to be king.” Tirnalth trembled with wizardly conviction.
Verboden was unmoved. “The Council of Knights will accept only a knight, not a boy, to lead the kingdom. And not a boy of a disgraced line.”
Alfred gritted his teeth.
“Forgive me, Alfred. This is not your fault.” Verboden finally looked at the boy. “I do not mean to offend you. It is not our way. But I must speak plainly with Tirnalth.”
Alfred, his face reddening, nodded.
“The kingdom is in a desperate way. There is no kingdom but in name. The land has suffered since you were taken, and there has been no king. A plague has ravaged the countryside. Foul beasts appear in the forests and take weary travelers. The knights bicker amongst themselves. Most died long ago defending their king. The king knew Bedenwulf took the princess. He knew his daughter was kidnapped.”
“She was not kidnapped!” Tirnalth clenched his fists and shuddered, trying to remember, but he could not.
Alfred’s eyes were wet with tears. Tirnalth put a hand on Alfred’s knee to comfort him. “She was loved.”
“And you remember this?” Verboden rubbed his face, trying to soften his clenched jaw.
“I don’t know. I suppose I feel it, even now.”
Verboden returned from the fireplace and sat down beside them. “You are Tirnalth. I can sense this in your presence, in the tone of your voice, and in your manners. But if you have no memory, then you do not have your powers, and therefore can not confront Gorbogal.” He bent over and rubbed his hair. “You can not be exposed with your frail limitations.”
Tirnalth took a deep breath. “This all sounds very true – I must be weak.”
Verboden lifted his head up. His face was distraught. “You must stay hidden!”
“Yes, I agree. You must take Alfred to the people, to the knights.”
“What? Me?” Verboden looked away, rubbing his reddening hands.
Tirnalth puffed his pipe. Alfred was frightened but also in a state of wonderment. Though he kept with the conversation, he couldn’t help glancing about. The dwelling was everything he imagined a small medieval cottage would be – the rustic wood, the heavy black iron spikes and hooks, the woven baskets and tapestries, the rough textured linens and clothes, the simple dirty floor with thrown rugs, and the thick blurry glass windows.
“You! Boy! Alfred!” Verboden shook Alfred’s shoulder to get his attention.
Alfred leapt to his bare feet and began to pace, weaving in and around Tirnalth and Verboden, mumbling… “I’m in a dream. I’m in a world that is a crazy fantasy place with witches and werewolves and dark ones and wizards! Right?”
Verboden and Tirnalth looked at each other and shrugged. “Yes, of course… it seems so,” they said in unison.
Verboden continued, “But it is not fantasy. What other kind of place is there?”
“My place, my kind of place. And it doesn’t have any of this -- no magic or weird fantastic creatures, certainly no real ones. We pretend they exist, but they really don't!” Alfred kept pacing. The wizard and cleric followed him with their eyes.
“What kind of a world do you come from?” Verboden asked. “It must be a nice place to be without witches and sorcerers and foul beasts.”
“No, it isn’t exactly that,” Alfred said. “I too live in a harsh world.”
“Then why did you go there?” Verboden asked. “Why did your mother go there?”
Alfred did not know. Nor was he even sure who his mother was or what she did.
“To protect him,” Tirnalth said, pointing at Alfred.
“I can not conceive of a princess, burdened with an unborn child, leaving us in our time of need and abandoning her father,” Verboden said.
“Was it to protect the unborn child, the next king, from your witch, from the dark one?” Tirnalth puffed his pipe. His eyes were wide with fresh insight.
“If it were so, it was a harsh blow,” Verboden said. “Her father never recovered. He was slain where he sat. He had not the strength to lead nor fight. That day was the day of defeat for a long line of kings.”
“Who was my dad? I mean my father then?” Alfred sat near Verboden on the bed.
Verboden felt uncomfortable having to explain to a possible king, a heathen and an unwanted child, who his father was. “He was a good knight. Really, he was the best knight. Those who did not know him called him the Black Wolf or Black Knight, Bedenwulf. He was incorrigible and contemptible. He was frustrated that he came from a fallen royal house. It had failed the king and was no longer ordained.”
“So he was a knight then?” Alfred asked. “He was a real knight in this place?”
“Yes, but not a Royal Knight. In all respects he was a mercenary. He worked for Lord Dunther, the Baron Knight. In times of war and and in times of struggle, the Royal Knights would seek out and use as many mercenaries as they could, even from fallen houses.”
“Fallen houses?” Alfred asked.
“Yes, well, your fath…Knight Bedenwulf was from a fallen house, one where debt or failure to heed the rulings of the king cause
d them to lose status, land or… or duties. The king, your grandfather, King Athelrod, wanted your mother to marry a merchant lord from the south, to bridge two kingdoms to unite against the Dark Lord. But Bedenwulf was caught courting your mother secretly, and his house was further demoted. The Telehistine emissary to the Merchant Lord ended the fragile allegiance. Our kingdom became isolated.”
“What about the witch?” Alfred asked. “Who is she?”
“Her name is Gorbogal. She is a foul abomination, a beast living in a tomb far to the East under the shadow of the Black Spires. They say her flesh is always hungry. She was once a sister to the Royal House, but she turned to sorcery and made a deal with a demon of the Dark One. Now she wants only to shroud the land in darkness and rule it with malice. Many armies, great armies, have challenged the witch, and all have been defeated.”
“Hmm… they sound like all the villains I’ve fought in 'Grim Wars' – my computer game,” Alfred said.
Verboden and Tirnalth’s eyebrows rose.
“Com-puh-tah game?” Verboden asked, confused. “You have much to learn, boy! You should respect the fallen and leave us to our own fate.”
“Now, now, Verboden. It was not his choice that brought him here, but mine. I feel you have respect for me and some allegiance to me! So respect my... err... notions... ” Tirnalth gripped Verboden's shoulder.
There was a long moment of tension. Verboden trembled and finally sighed, nodding in agreement.
“This can only be a dream,” said Alfred, holding his head with his hands.
As Verboden nodded smugly, Tirnalth's brow furrowed and he shook his head.
“Then I’ve been living in a dream all my life,” said Verboden, turning his chair toward the fire to attend to it.
Tirnalth began to stroll around the cottage, trying to remember all the knickknacks he saw, puffing thoughtfully on the pipe. “Well I certainly feel that way now,” he said.
“This can only be a dream, and I must wake up!” said Alfred with a whimper. Then he pounded his head against the wall.
Verboden stood up, clearly concerned. Tirnalth coughed on his pipe.
“Ow!” Alfred rubbed his forehead. “Dang that hurt!”
Verboden and Tirnalth watched in dismay.
“Tirnalth, this is crazy. Even he does not believe in this land or the role you feel he is fated for.” With that Verboden hooked a kettle above the fire.
“I do not have the answers, Verboden. I only feel what I feel. Other than that, I suppose I am quite useless,” Tirnalth sighed. His eyes drifted out the window.
Alfred pondered the situation -- sitting down again, standing up again, pacing, mulling, reviewing, considering, reconsidering… “You’re a wizard, Tirnalth?”
Tirnalth nodded absently, “So I’ve been told.”
“And you’re a cleric?” Alfred motioned to Verboden.
“A cleric of the Order of the Light and a healer,” Verboden declared with some contempt, bowing in his chair.
“And there are knights?”
“Yes,” Verboden said.
“And a castle?”
“Well, what remains of the castle,” Verboden shrugged while packing a small clay infuser with tea leaves.
“No king or royalty then?”
“They have all been hunted down and killed, or have fled,” said Verboden, concentrating on pouring hot water through the infuser into a small wooden cup.
“There are lots of peasants or people still?” Alfred asked.
“Scattered, living in hidden squalor and fearing for their lives. Gorbogal has goblin raiders who look to steal farmers’ harvests each fall and kill the peasants. She keeps everyone near ruin, starving and disease ridden.” Verboden sipped contentedly at his perfect tea.
“May I see the castle?” Alfred asked.
Tirnalth’s eyes sparkled. Verboden looked up with surprise, spitting out a little of the tea.
“Are you mad, boy?” Verboden asked.
“Well, it doesn’t seem like it could get any worse,” said Alfred, pouring himself a cup of tea.
Tirnalth laughed, knowing the idea was utterly appropriate. Then he shook his head in disapproval at his outburst.
Between sips Alfred said, “Let’s see now. There are foul beasts in the forests. The knights are all dead or lost. The line of true kings is gone. I am the son of a fallen knight. There is disease and death everywhere. Goblins hunt the humans. A werewolf lurks about in the forest…”
“Alright, alright, let us go to the castle,” Verboden gulped his tea and stood up again. Tea dripped down his chin. He wiped it quickly.
Alfred took a long full sip of tea. Tirnalth watched tilting his head.
Verboden put his hand on Tirnalth’s shoulder, “You must stay here! If Gorbogal knows you have returned, she will hunt you down. You will have no way of defending yourself!”
Tirnalth nodded agreement, frustration clearly visible on his face.
“But Tirnalth is a wizard and was once a great wizard, right?” Alfred asked.
“Yes, but without his memory he has no powers,” Verboden replied too quickly.
“Well then he must relearn his powers. Isn’t there some way for him to learn spells again? You know -- memorize them or read about them in a book? A spell book? Don’t you have spell books here?” Alfred stood up, wiping tea from his own chin.
Verboden was not impressed with Alfred’s youthful impatience. “He speaks with such insolence!”
“But he’s right.” Tirnalth stroked his beard. “I can relearn. I may have lost my memory, but I still have my mind.”
“If there are no spell books here, would there be something in the castle, like a library or something where spell books are kept? Did Tirnalth have a wizard’s tower or something like that?” Alfred asked.
Verboden stood a moment, thinking. “Well, yes there was a small library and resting room for Tirnalth when he came to the castle.” Verboden's eyes lit up, and he hurried in donning belts and cloak. “Yes there is! And perhaps there are some books left, if it has not been raided!” Then a weight seemed to lower his shoulders. “Traveling there will be dangerous.”
“We could use a disguise? We could dress as peasants or something?” Alfred suggested.
Verboden never had such a thought. Tirnalth smiled in glee.
The countryside of the Westfold, for that was what the land was called, although this particular area was noted as the Northern Kingdom, was dreary at best. A cold foggy mist blanketed the land like a slow flowing river. Grass and dirt were gray. The ground was soggy. Verboden’s and Alfred’s suctioning footsteps echoed in a hollow wind, and slippery goo thickened on their shoes and the hems of their ragged peasant garments.
Alfred, disguised with dirty rags and a mud painted face, spoke quietly, “Tirnalth, you shouldn’t walk so upright.”
Tirnalth turned to him. “I don’t believe anyone can see me.”
“Well I can see you,” Alfred said, whispering.
“That is because I wish for you to see me. Here, now, I do not wish for you to see me.” And with that, Tirnalth disappeared. “You see, I am a ghost, a former shadow of myself.”
Verboden walked up to them, “I do not think that will work with Gorbogal, Tirnalth.”
Reappearing, Tirnalth said, “Yes, I believe you are right. If she defeated this land, then she must have defeated me. I will use discretion with my presence and hide whenever possible.” Tirnalth bowed and continued walking, deep in thought, seeming to fade a bit, looking truly like a ghost.
They passed a few farms that were barely noticeable until Verboden pointed them out -- small thatched hutches in the mist. Alfred saw no fields or crops. Verboden said the farmers out tilling the soil would hide whenever anyone passed by. And it was not yet spring. He feared many were starving now for any food stores would be at their lowest.
“Do they have horses to till or plow?” Alfred asked.
“Horses?” Verboden smirked. “They’d choke on the
reins. We use ox to till.”
“Why not horses?” Alfred skipped along the mud to keep up with Verboden.
“As I said, to yoke a horse would choke it.”
“A yoke? What is a yoke?” Alfred asked.
“It is a piece of wood you put on the shoulders of an ox,” said Verboden, rolling his eyes. “The yoke is attached to the rake. The ox pulls the rake along the ground to till the soil. The ox has a thick neck and broad shoulders, so it can handle the pressure. The straps would tighten around a horse and choke it. Understand!?”
Alfred thought for a moment. “I read in one of my books on farming that horses are much better and faster at plowing, not tilling. In the dark ages... well in these times... a special sort of collar was invented that rests more on its shoulders. And the plow isn't a rake but is a sort of blade, curved to one side so that as it cuts the ground, the earth is turned over, exposing the roots of the weeds. Plowing the soil deeply is better than just tilling or raking the surface.”
Verboden considered what he was hearing as he peered at the barren landscape, at the fields yet to be tilled.
“I also read that they rotate crops,” Alfred continued. “Do these farmers rotate the crops?”
“I’m not sure what you mean?” Verboden looked at the barren gray pastures.
“I mean do they, you know, do they plant a different crop in each field each year?” Alfred had to hopscotch along, as the road was pocketed with puddles and coated with slippery mud. “This helps the ground, uh, not get drained of its nutrients by the same crop year after year.”
“Noot rey-ents? What is that?”
“Oh, ah, nutrients are what's in the ground that the plants, you know, eat to grow big. I read that cow crap or rather manure is a really good nutrient for crops.” Alfred could not really notice Verboden's furrowed brows as he was too busy skipping from dry mound to dry mound and keeping up. “So if you grow, say, wheat in one field, the next year you’d grow oats or peas. Then the next year, you’d leave that field alone and let the sheep or cows graze there and leave their droppings. That way the soil replenishes. At least that’s what I remember reading.”
Alfred: The Boy Who Would Be King (Alfred the Boy King Book 1) Page 6
