Alfred: The Boy Who Would Be King (Alfred the Boy King Book 1)

by Ron Smorynski

  All the training weapons were modified with some kind of padding, a wrapping made of old cloth or leather bits on each end. Many children fashioned their own helmets and skull caps from the pile of goblin armour that Alfred collected from Lady Nihan’s cleaning. Every other morning they paraded out of the castle and onto fields for military exercises. Many of the farmers, most being parents, would come to watch for a few moments during their hard working days.

  Cory and Alfred devised better weapons for the tight corridors in the dungeon. They received the shields with spikes and a pie-cut hole to jab a spear through. The smiths had added small nails on the sticks of the spears, below the heads. These hurt the ratkins when they grabbed at them and hopefully dissuaded them from trying to grab again.

  The shields were large enough to be held by one boy to block a dungeon corridor while another boy jabbed a spear through. There were many corridors with most ending at the doors that led up into the Great Hall. These were the strategic points where the boys needed to hold off the ratkins if Alfred’s plan was to work.

  One day as Alfred was on the wall of the Keep, leaning on the battlement, watching the sun go down and thinking of his mother, Loranna climbed up the steep stone stairs. “Alfred? Milord?”

  Alfred turned toward her. Her presence comforted him in his loneliness. His frustrations seemed to diminish, if but for a moment, whenever she was near. She had her bow and quiver of arrows with her.

  “Are you practicing?” Alfred asked nervously.

  “Always milord.” Loranna smiled, walking close to him.

  “Uh, that’s good. I, uh, I’m sorry about that swing. Are you okay,” Alfred asked.

  Loranna showed a small bruise. “It's just another small bruise. How are you feeling from all those shots you took?”

  Alfred pulled his shirt up to reveal several bruises where arrows had hit him. “Oh, uh, sore but I think it will be okay. Hey, don’t touch it!”

  Loranna smiled, lightly punching Alfred on the shoulder. “I came up to say thank you. You’ve done a lot for us, King Alfred. And I’m glad you forced those rude knights to leave.”

  It seemed to Alfred that with each sentence, she moved a little closer to him. She leaned against the wall, looking out onto the land, as if unaware of how close she was getting with each sigh or stretch.

  Alfred stepped aside slowly. Still, each time she told him something new she drew nearer.

  “The girls and boys are coming along nicely. Broggia has figured out that the goblins string their bows wrong. They don’t use all the bow’s strength. We’re bending them backwards, against the shape, and it is making a big difference!” Loranna slid closer.

  “Oh, that’s great.” Alfred leaned away, just a bit.

  “And we’re getting stronger too. We can shoot twice as fast and twice as far. Look!” Loranna showed her muscular young arm, flexing the small yet strong bicep. She leaned in. “Touch it! Go on!”

  Alfred meekly pinched the bicep, gulping.

  “Still, I think you showed the bigger boys what was missing. They do a lot of huffing and puffing and gallivanting about, but they still need to learn to be strong, to be courageous.” Loranna leaned in close, looking straight into Alfred’s eyes.

  Alfred blinked... and then blinked some more.

  Loranna seemed to notice something on his face and she picked at it gently. She rubbed whatever it was nonchalantly. Alfred backed off, rubbed his own face and looked to see what it was. Loranna began sighing with the evening breeze and smelling the air.

  “I can smell it, Alfred. I can smell what you’ve done.”

  “What I’ve done?” Alfred was confused. She was silent, taking in the scents and smells, breathing in and lifting her arms to the cool summer breeze. Alfred was curious. He stepped close to take in what she was sensing. “What do you smell?” He lifted his arms to smell his pits. His face was not so keen after that.

  But Loranna was talking about something else. She twirled and then stood as if ready to dance. Her eyes were closed, and she was using her other senses. She turned on her toes and landed close to him, opening her eyes and looking at him sweetly. “Life!” She kissed his cheek and backed off.

  Alfred was stunned, paralyzed actually. While he stood still as a stone, she moved about him, dancing with the breeze and twirling in joy. “I smell life, Alfred. For the first time, I feel this land has awakened and is alive.”

  She ended her dance close to him, arms spread out as if ready to accept his embrace. Never has anyone seen a boy in such terror and fright. A horde of goblins or a giant spider could have been rushing at Alfred, or evil darkness closing in on him, but none of that would have frozen the young king with such terror as this young girl standing open armed before him.

  Embarrassed, Alfred turned and looked down at the workers and peasants. Abedeyan and Lady Nihan, from the inner ward, were looking up at them. As Alfred met their gaze, they immediately turned and began arguing about something, as if they were working and had not noticed. Both suddenly became angry at each other, huffed, and turned to go about their business.

  Alfred blinked and turned to look another way. He saw Cory and the children staring up, but when their eyes met Alfred’s, they suddenly turned away and began wrestling and tumbling and rolling. Cory was barking out odd orders and cheering them on. Soon they scattered out of view, heading back inside the Great Hall. Alfred blinked again. His gaze drifted out into the hills, dotted with farmsteads and fields of rich green crops. The scene was illumined by a warm crimson sunset. Farmers strolled about, talking with each other while smoking pipes. Sheep grazed in pastures.

  “Uh, how’s your mother and father?” asked Alfred, feeling a bit crowded.

  “Oh, they are fine!” Loranna said, twirling again as she glanced at Alfred. “They’re happy and in love. They’re working hard on the land and have strong, growing children.”

  Alfred wiped his mouth and loosened his already torn and loose collar. “Yeah, that’s good.”

  “Tell me Alfred, what would make you happy!?” Loranna asked, spinning blithely again.

  Alfred didn’t know it would happen, but it did. It came out so suddenly that he could not contain it. “To see my mom.” And with that he began to cry, nearly falling as he folded to hide his face.

  Loranna, being so close, caught him and hugged him. He was embarrassed again and wanted to turn away, but Loranna would not have it. She held him quietly for a long time.

  Chapter Twenty Two: The Harvest and Looming Threat

  Alfred felt better. His mood improved every time the children were near. He felt part of a family and a greater cause when the children came to the castle. There were sounds of laughter and talk about what was in store each day. Loranna's presence was comforting to him. She would touch his shoulder or give him quick hugs. They were kind and gentle, almost motherly. He knew there was something growing between them that was difficult to explain, even in this story.

  Loranna kept everyone’s spirits up. She would say encouraging words. “The harvest will be soon! We’ll have plenty to eat! All will be good and fair!”

  “Yay! Woo hoo!” the children would sing out.

  Alfred found his shyness around the girls his age perplexing. He couldn't stop sweating and gulping.

  The girls were practicing archery at one end of the Great Hall. They moved in formation, firing at the targets. The boys were taking a break. They had climbed out of the great hole with their spears and shields and were sitting around. Alfred and Cory sat at a bench, drinking herbal brewed water.

  Loranna often danced around Alfred, and today was no different. Cory and the boys rolled their eyes and giggled, elbowing each other. “There will be a great feast, a fall feast at harvest,” she sang as she circled Alfred. “I think this will be the grandest one of all. Many farmers have returned to the land. Many crops are full and ready to be harvested. The sheep, goat and pigs are bearing young. All is growing again. Love is in the air.”

  Cor
y and the others stared wide eyed and open mouthed at her.

  She stopped her dance, curtsying in front of Alfred. “How old are you, Alfred?”

  The boys looked at each other.

  “Me!?” Alfred gulped his water, trying to make it seem as if his throat was dry, very, very dry. “Uh, I’m eleven.”

  She shrugged, “Me too.” Loranna danced slowly, humming as she drew ever nearer.

  Cory could not help but jab Alfred.

  “Wait, what did you say?” Alfred straightened up.

  Loranna stopped and smiled. “Yes, Alfred?”

  “Harvest?”

  “Yes, King Alfred, harvest,” she chimed.

  “Harvest? When? How soon?” Alfred stood up.

  “The harvest will be at the end of this month. After the hay has been cut and dried, we will harvest all the food!” Loranna continued dancing as she spoke.

  Alfred paced in front of everyone, “I remember something about harvest—that, well… that is when the goblins raid. That is when they come to take the food!”

  Loranna stopped dancing. Cory stood next to Alfred.

  “Is this right?” Alfred asked.

  Loranna and Cory looked at each other. Both nodded.

  “That is when our fathers take us to hidden caves with what food we can carry, and we wait in the darkness hoping not to be found.” Loranna and the rest bowed their heads, as if remembering a distant nightmare yet from not so long ago.

  Alfred walked off.

  Loranna went after him. “Not this time! Now that you and Verboden are here, things will be different. Not now! Things are better!”

  Alfred looked into Loranna’s eyes. “I don’t think so. This is the first harvest since I’ve been here. We don’t know what will happen. I must go talk to Verboden.”

  Verboden was in a white robe, kneeling in the small chapel, a small stone room at the rear of the Keep. A servant was patching one of its walls when Alfred hurriedly entered.

  “Verboden, harvest is soon,” he blurted out.

  “Yes, I know.” Verboden kept his eyes closed, praying.

  “Didn’t you say that the goblins raid each year after harvest?”

  The servant looked up from his work and gulped.

  “Yes,” Verboden said while continuing to pray.

  Alfred stood before him. “Well, what do we do?”

  Verboden opened his eyes, reached up and grabbed Alfred’s shoulder. Then he pulled him down to the bench. “We pray.”

  The servant set his trowel and pot down, and began praying too.

  Alfred imitated Verboden, praying to the Father of Light, his eyes going to Verboden and then the altar. He was not sure what Verboden’s beliefs were or what sort of god this Father of Light was.

  The altar, a simple post with a small wooden loop at the top, looked like a magnifying glass. It bore a resemblance to the Christian cross in where it was placed and how simple it looked. There were no statues or figurines. He recalled seeing churches with simple crosses on the altar at home. He also recalled other churches with angels and a mother named Mary. He wasn't sure what it was all about. They prayed to the son of God, Jesus?

  He was not familiar with this kind of worship. His mother kept away from churches and the like. Most of what Alfred knew about religion was from his fellow students and what was taught at his school. Most teachers were of the opinion that religion is based on fairy tales, oppressive and not to be trusted. They said it was old fashioned and not necessary for a modern world. Of course, Alfred was not in a modern world now. The people here seemed more alive, under such fear and hardship. Religion and fairy tales were quite true, and necessary. He shrugged out of his thoughts.

  “What do the goblins do?” Alfred asked in a whisper.

  “The goblins will raid. They attack, take the food and burn all else.” As he spoke, Verboden kept his eyes closed as if still praying.

  “Well, what do we do?” He glanced over to the servant, who had one eye open and was staring at them through it. He quickly closed it when he realized Alfred was looking at him.

  Verboden prayed for a long while. Finally, he stopped and said, “We will gather as much of the harvest as we can, store it in the castle and have everyone stay there. We will defend the castle and survive till spring so we can plant again.”

  “What about the farms and people’s homes?” Alfred squeezed his praying hands.

  Verboden opened his eyes and looked at Alfred. “They will be destroyed.”

  Alfred’s jaw clenched. He knew how important the farms and homes were to the people. He stood up and left. Verboden watched as he went, turning back to prayer but not closing his eyes. Instead, he gazed at the symbol on the altar for a long time.

  Then he spoke aloud in frustration. “Why have you abandoned us? Why have you let the dark magic and powers unleash? You know all things and must have a purpose that I do not understand.” Though spoken with intensity, his last words had a tone of obedient acceptance. “How do I remain faithful?” he added.

  Alfred found Gylloth, the only knight left, sharpening his sword on Boggin’s stone wheel. Alfred nodded to young Boggin and Broggia, the venerable old smith, each busy as ever.

  “Gylloth, did you know the goblins will raid soon—that they’ll raid the harvest?” Alfred stood very close to the man, leaning in to hear his response.

  “Yes, milord, I did.” Gylloth raised his sword, a motion that led Alfred to step back. Gylloth tested the sword’s sharpness with his fingers.

  “Well, I don’t want the farmers to lose their homes.”

  “Well then, if I understand you correctly, you want me to go out and protect the dozen or so farms spread out along the hillsides. Is this correct?” Gylloth peered down the length of blade.

  Alfred thought for a moment, hands on his waste and tapping his foot. “No.”

  “As soon as harvest is done, everyone will come into the castle, and we wait it out till spring. Raiding goblins will not attack the castle.” Gylloth turned the blade to look down the length of the other side, shaking it to sense its strength and balance.

  Alfred thought a moment while looking at Gylloth’s unconcerned expression. “When did you and Verboden and Abedeyan decide this?”

  Gylloth’s eyes widened and finally met Alfred's.

  “I’m the king,” said Alfred. “Why are you guys deciding things behind my back?!”

  Broggia whispered to his son. “Sounds like a king alright.”

  Abedeyan rushed in. “Milord, milord, what is all this fuss?”

  Alfred turned his gaze to Abedeyan, who suddenly stopped and chose his stance carefully. He tried the obedient stance first, bowing his head and clasping his feeble fingers. “How may I be of service, milord?”

  “You all have gone behind my back to decide what to do about the goblins! Why didn’t you talk to me?!”

  When Abedeyan tried to steal a secret glance with Gylloth, Alfred noticed. This angered him all the more. His face reddened. Now Abedeyan became defiant. Standing straight up and crossing his arms, he spoke boldly, “Well milord, if you are going to continue to play games with peasant children and gallivant around with a commoner’s daughter, then as adults we must take it upon ourselves to make decisions to protect us all.”

  Stunned, Alfred said nothing. With anger dissipating instantly, he hid his new feelings. His eyes stared at nothing. Abedeyan and Gylloth glanced at each other with knowing eyes. Then, seeing Alfred slowly walk away, they became unsure.

  Alfred walked around a corner and saw the children, all of them, including Cory, Wilden, Setheyna, and Loranna, huddled together. Loranna ran off with tears in her eyes.

  There was a strange tone, hushed, hurried and apprehensive, to the harvest time. All were busy with scythes and sickles, cutting and bundling wheat, rye and barley. The men cut and hacked, the women followed behind to gather and bundle, and the children picked up any leftovers that were missed by the women. Abedeyan had the castle workers carting as many
bundles as they could to the castle, returning quickly to get more.

  In peaceful times, before Gorbogal, it was said that harvest was a time of celebration and much merriment. The fields, towns and castles were alive with joyous festivals. The crops were distributed as part of an orderly business arrangement passed down from generation to generation. The king would get the lion’s share, dukes or lords would get their cut, and farmers and peasants, would have the rest to live on, sharing some of it with the local church. Even with large portions going to their feudal lords, there was enough for everyone.

  This harvest was different. There were no festivities. With the foreboding of goblin raids in the air, everyone was in a secretive rush. A few yelled out or barked orders. Most talked in whispers and under their breath. Though the sun was out, the clouds were ever present. Many days were gray with fog, and mist rolled in early each night. People moved about in fear, flinching at any sound from the nearby shadows and dark forests. Even Loranna, eager to dress and partake in celebratory harvest activities, was constrained by her folk. Alfred was in a somber mood as well. He sensed everyone’s fear.

  Alfred was hurrying along a road one day when he came upon Gylloth. He was fully armed on his horse on a hill overlooking the hard working farmers harvesting the crops. “Where are you off to, milord?” he asked.

  “What’s it matter to you?” Alfred said as he passed by him.

  “I am your knight, milord. It is my duty to know where you are to protect you and the land.” Gylloth had a polite if dull demeanor.

  “Well, I don’t need your protection. I am your king, right?” Alfred paused only a moment.

  “Yes, milord.”

  “Then mind your own business.” Alfred continued on his way.

  Gylloth’s left eyebrow rose. Under his breath he said, “You are my business.” His horse snorted. He kept his eye on Alfred as long as possible from where he was.

  Alfred darted through hedges and came out on the other side to see Derhman and his son Cory. They were busy with their harvest. Alfred rolled up his sleeves and began to work along with them.