“I must go back, mom! I must! I must help them!”
“You must stay here where no magic can come, where the gods do not come. We are safe here, and the fate of men is decided only by men! Here is where you must stay. Here is where destiny hath no power.”
So pleading, his mother fell to the floor.
“The same can happen there, mother, the same!” Alfred bent down and took her hands. He looked into her eyes to reassure her. “Now I know my purpose there, mom. I know why I must go back.”
He looked closely at his mother. She was drenched not only in her emotions, sweat and tears but in the love she felt, however lost, for her son and for her land. She was beside herself at what he had learned and what he wanted to do. It was her weakness.
“No son, no,” she said softly and closed her eyes.
“I'm sorry mom, I can't help it... I have to...” the darkness shrouded Alfred. He blinked but once and was gone.
Chapter Twenty Eight: Return of Alfred
Alfred sat up in bed and looked around. He was back in the castle. From his old flea-ridden cot he could see cold stone walls and the simple basin that held water near his bed. He got out of bed, stood up and stretched. His modern pajama shirt and pants were gone or magically replaced with his medieval tunic and pantaloons. “Hmm... I wondered about that, about changing, and it worked!”
He bent over the bowl of water to wash his face. He placed his hands in the bowl and threw water on his face as he had done many times before. But this time, all he threw was air. He blinked and was shocked that he felt no cold water.
He looked at the empty basin. He lifted it and turned it over, thinking that water would suddenly gush out. But none did. He set it down and wondered. He looked out the window. It was night, quiet and dark. A sliver of yellow appeared on the horizon. The sun was rising. A ray of light shone on the window and Alfred’s face. What joy he felt from the warmth! He just felt great.
Then he heard the door open and turned quickly to see Lady Nihan, who seemed in a trance as she entered. She went to the bed and patted it as if she was making it. She then lifted a pitcher of water and tilted it to pour its contents into the basin, but nothing came out, as the pitcher was empty. Was she a ghost or in a strange dreamlike state or under a spell? Alfred was not sure.
He went up to her and touched her shoulder. She turned to see him and suddenly gasped, screamed and fell back upon her bottom.
“Oh, Alfred! Oh, Alfred!”
“Are you okay, Lady Nihan?”
“Alfred, are you a ghost?!”
Confused, Alfred asked, “What’s wrong?”
“It is you! You’re back!” She became emotional from the joy of seeing him again with wonderful emotions of hope rising within. She hugged him tightly.
Having been awakened by her scream, Verboden rushed in. He saw Alfred and leaned against the wall as if he was about to faint.
Alfred smiled. “Hello, Verboden.”
“Beyond all hope,” said Verboden, glancing up.
Abedeyan came in carrying a thick candle. “Hey, what is amiss here?”
Upon seeing Alfred, he looked him up and down. “Are you a ghost?”
“I don’t think so?”
Lady Nihan looked at Abedeyan with disdain.
“Can’t be too sure,” Abedyen said with a grimace towards Lady Nihan. “Well then, good to have you back. We have lots of work to do today. Since we are up now, might as well get started.”
Verboden shared a smile with Alfred as Abedeyan left. Lady Nihan, bowing many times as she left, rushed out and proclaimed the good news down the halls and outside the Keep. All were awakened to the news that Alfred had returned.
“How long was I gone?” Alfred asked Verboden.
“One hundred and four days,” Verboden said rather hastily. “Though no one was count...”
“One hundred and four days!?” Alfred gulped with disbelief. “Well, the timing sure is off from... well, what have I missed?! What of the goblins!?”
Verboden stopped Alfred with his hands. “All will be revealed. Come, let us get some morning meal in us and speak.”
So over bread and cheese and with a warm fire, Verboden spoke. “Since your sudden departure, winter set in. All that was once on the move had come to a standstill. Even in winter, the powers of evil cannot move. Spring is now near. We were beginning to think we were alone and all was lost. Even Tirnalth has been in hiding. When Gorbogal came in her shrouded mist, many became sick. Even though her powers are great, she was not able to use them fully here. Word has reached us that her armies are in the South, that she was in need of her powers against revolting kingdoms in Telehistine. I have spent my time fighting the evil plagues of her mist. Not a life was lost to her vile presence, but I am also not my former self in strength yet.”
“Alfred, soon, when the frost seeps away and the sun is strong in the sky, her army will come. If she considers us a pest, a few ragtag people inhabiting a ruined castle, then hopefully she will only send a small... horde. Though our harvest was good and our wants are little, we are only a few compared to those under her command.”
Verboden sat silent. He really was a shadow of his former self. He looked gaunt and older, as he had seen the darkness of Gorbogal and been weakened by it. When Verboden met Alfred’s concerned look, he smiled back with warmth, revealing that his spirit was still ever strong.
“We must prepare for battle against an army of Gorbogal’s,” said Alfred. “We should assume an army of greater size than before.”
Verboden nodded.
“Good, then I have a purpose.” Alfred stood up.
Verboden was surprised at his calmness and determination.
“Where are the children, my archers and spearmen?” Alfred asked.
“They are at their homes, most likely,” Verboden replied. “Shall I call for them?”
“No. I want to go visit each and every one myself.”
“Wear warm clothes. It is still bitter cold out there. I will get my cloak.” Verboden stood up with some effort.
“No, Verboden, you stay and rest. I will go alone.”
Verboden sat back down and smiled. “I’m glad you’re back, Alfred. And, I’m sorry I doubted you before.”
Alfred waved his hand. “Ahnnn... forget about it!”
Alfred walked on the frosty ground making crunching sounds. In some places the ground was muddy from the sun melting the frost whenever its rays poked through cloudy skies. A cool mist rose from the warming ground. Drips of water trickled from thick oak branches. Alfred liked the bitter cold feel of the land. He liked the fresh clean air that came from the mist. Whenever the vast northern winds shifted, he would get hit with the smell of dung coming from farm livestock. Phewee! Mmm... a smell that is a sign of a healthy farm. Then the winds would shift, and the air would be fresh again.
Picking up an odor, Alfred looked up. A big orange furry bull was looking at Alfred with bored eyes. Behind it, sloshing through the mud and forking out hay, was Cory. He had grown a bit, or at least his hair had. Cory looked at Alfred, not recognizing him for a moment. Then his eyes suddenly widened with joy.
“Alfred!” Cory sloshed through the mud, leapt over the small fence and rushed to hug Alfred. “Verboden said you’d return! He did say it, and I believed him!”
They hugged tightly. “I’m sorry I was gone. I did not know the time. I don’t know how the space time continuum warp thingamabob is…”
“It’s that magic, isn’t it?” Cory said.
“Yes. And if I could explain it to you, I would.” Alfred smiled.
“It’s okay. My father tells me stuff that I don’t understand. He tries to tell me stuff about your mother and the brave knight.”
Alfred's eyes widened. Cory tightened his lips. He put his hand on Alfred's shoulder.
“Alfred! King Alfred!” Cory’s father Derhman yelled as he rounded the bend. He gave out a deep resonating laugh and opened his arms. Alfred felt odd but slogged th
rough the mud and cow dung to reach and embrace Derhman.
“You must come inside and have some morning meal!” Derhman said.
“Oh no, I already ate back at the castle. I want to see everyone and let them know I am back. I must let everyone know that we must prepare. All who can fight, all who can help, must gather at the castle tomorrow.”
This dampened the mood. Derhman and Cory shared a sad glance. Derhman gave a deep sigh.
“It is good to have you back, King Alfred,” Derhman said. “You have done us all well, and we will all do our part. As is likely that war is upon us, I will assemble the farmers. After that great victory at harvest, the goblins will surely come in the spring to disrupt our planting and try to starve us out. I guess it is better to fight them as soon as possible.”
Alfred nodded. “Thank you for your support. I must go. I will talk to you again soon.”
Alfred trudged along small roads to each thatched farmstead and was heartily greeted by each family. The children, many grown strong, danced about him. They had all kept up their archery and spear skills and were ready to return to the castle. They were so happy to lead Alfred into their small cottages and show how busy they’d been all winter. There were bundles and bundles of arrow shafts with goose feather fins. Everyone seemed to have become a fletching master.
“Wow,” is all Alfred could say.
Setheyna and her mother had made the most, for they stood in a sea of them, bundle after bundle. All the geese of their farm shared nests inside the cottage to keep warm since none had any feathers.
Alfred was most anxious to see Loranna. He was walking up the lone country road to her father’s farm on a hill when he saw her. She stood with a bow in hand, practicing on a target in a grove of trees. They stood and looked at each other from a distance for quite some time. The sun shone on Loranna. The tears upon her face glistened. Alfred came up, wiped her tears away and hugged her. She hugged him back. Though she wanted to speak, overwhelmed by her emotions, she let it all out as muffled cries and a great sigh of relief.
He had lunch with her family. He didn’t speak much. Loranna’s younger sister and brother, Niranna and Noren, spoke the most. Niranna was an archer under Loranna, and they were the best in marksmanship and speed. They bragged to Alfred about their skills and how much each practiced over the other and how each was so much better than the other. Loranna and Niranna giggled with each boast. Noren reminded them of his spear practice. The parents were a bit uncomfortable about their children being skilled at fighting. Regardless, they did their best to show pride and appreciation. After all, the king was in their home eating a fine porridge from their wooden bowls.
Loranna’s father finally said something to change the subject, bringing a serious disposition to Alfred. “So will Lord Dunther and Gorham be in charge of defenses?”
“What? Who? What do you mean?”
Loranna’s father Doren looked a bit worried. “Well uh, they came back when winter set up on us. Quite starving, they were. Brought some other knights they found.”
Alfred’s eyes widened, “Verboden didn’t say anything!”
“Ah well…” Doren gulped.
“Tell him, father!” Loranna said.
Doren shirked. The wife smacked him on the head. “Well, now you’ve gone and done it. Go on and tell him everything!”
Doren gulped again. “Well, they were quite starved and meek looking. So us farmers figured it may not be such a bad idea to have them around. So Dowuhr took them in. We all shared in feeding them. They’re quite nice now, you know, for knights. And they could come in handy in a fight. It's too cold for them to cause any trouble, I think.”
“They’re nice because they’re starving and too weak to take what they want! Knights are brigands wearing banners!” said Loranna’s mother. “They’re gluttonous sods with no respect for hearth and home!” She was in such an upset state that all froze in various positions of eating until she finished talking.
Alfred finally broke the silence, “Where are they? At Dowuhr’s, you said?”
“Well, I think so. There is not much elsewhere to go in this weather,” Doren replied.
Alfred said his goodbyes to them and gave Niranna and Noren a hug. He looked at Loranna and then gave her a long hug, longer than each realized until the mother and father cleared their throats, and the children giggled. Alfred’s face was exceedingly red. He hoped they thought it was from stepping back out in to the cold. He left.
Being late in the afternoon, much of the frost had melted, and the sun shone with a bright glistening aura. Alfred quite liked it, but he knew it meant the armies of Gorbogal would come soon.
Dowuhr’s place was a quaint little farm. He lived alone after his wife died during the dark years. Alfred never really got to know Dowuhr for he was a quiet, old farmer. Alfred approached the door and knocked.
Now to Alfred, it was normal to walk up to a farm. But to Dowuhr, the visit was a big thing, as it was the king himself at the door knocking. Dowuhr knew the king had cast out the Knights and considered any who harbored them as outlaw. So after lifting the window cover and gazing wide eyed at Alfred, who smiled back, Dowuhr ran back into his cottage and hid under his sheets, pretending nothing had happened. Nothing at all.
Knowing Dowuhr was there, Alfred was a bit dismayed that he didn’t open the door.
“Dowuhr? It’s me, Alfred. I’ve come to see the Knights!”
“You don’t need bother him,” a gruff voice resounded from the adjacent barn. There, standing in a tattered blanket, was Lord Dunther. He held a sword in his hand.
Alfred backed away, realizing he was not armed. Dunther walked up to Alfred, gazing at him with gray eyes set deep within sockets surrounded by a sallow gaunt face.
Several other men emerged from the barn blinking their eyes. All were aged and worn. They looked like bandits—far worse than Hedor and his lot ever looked. All wore remnants of their former royal tunics and banners, worn and torn, dirty and stained, wrapped like beggar blankets. None wore the group’s burdensome filthy rusted useless armour. Each had a weapon at hand.
“You’ve come to the right place, though, boy,” Lord Dunther said under his breath. “I have returned to make my claim.”
Alfred backed away from Lord Dunther and his blade.
“Put that down, milord,” Duwohr said from his doorway, holding a rake.
Dunther paused and looked at Duwohr, the feeble farmer. He then looked down at his blade, which he sheathed. “I wasn’t going to do any harm,” he said, smiling with rotted teeth and gums. Alfred was not sure if it was an evil smile or one of assurance.
“I’ve come to ask for your help, Lord Dunther,” Alfred said.
“My help? You hear that, my fellow brave Knights!? The bastard boy king needs my help!” Dunther hissed.
Duwohr stood by Alfred’s side with his crooked wooden rake in hand. He nodded reassuringly to Alfred. Alfred did not feel so assured. A half dozen ragged gaunt ugly men, well armed and vicious looking, stood before him. Gorham looked the worst with bleeding gums and a grizzled visage. By the mad look in his eyes, he did not seem all there.
“Well, well, so this is the boy, hey?” another knight said, poking at Alfred with a crusty rash-ridden hand.
“Back off, Murith. I fed you all winter,” Duwohr said, pointing his bent rake at him. Murith waved it off. His long hair, scraggly and greasy, hugged his face. His deranged eyes showed a young knight with impudence.
“I am Lord Tahnwhithe,” said another knight, bowing as nobly as one could bow. He was taller than the rest, with a hawk-nose and what was once a majestic moustache and goatee, now curled and badly cut with a rusty blade. “I am at your service.”
“Don’t be so hasty, Tahnwhithe,” said Dunther. “You still follow my orders.”
“And you follow the king’s,” Duwohr said.
Alfred was stunned, as Duwohr said more in the last few moments than Alfred recalled the old farmer ever saying.
&nbs
p; “And you best hold your tongue or I’ll cut it off!” Murith said to Duwohr, leaping in with aggressive energy. He was skinny to the bones, but in a goblinesque ruffian way.
Duwohr stepped back flinching but kept up his bravery as best he could.
“It’s okay, Duwohr,” Alfred said to him. “These knights are here to help us. I know that.”
“And how do you know that, boy?” Lord Dunther hissed. “I came to reclaim what is mine. No bastard child is going to take over this realm.”
“You had twelve years to reclaim it. Now I am here. We are rebuilding, and we are making a stand,” Alfred said bravely.
Murith pulled out a dagger and began to pick his nails. Two other knights stood near the barn and peered at Alfred from down-turned heads. There was Lord Byrom, easily the size of two men, with raging red hair and forearms that could wrestle down a bull. And there was Lord DuLocke, an elder knight, worn and obedient, barely carrying on in shape and form, as if all spirit had left him.
Dunther paced. Clearly he was pacing between war and peace, between outright killing and biding his time. Something besides hunger gnawed at his gut. He could not place it. The young rascally knight Murith was ready to impose the will of Dunther in a split second, killing both Alfred and Duwohr, dispensing with the problem once and for all.
“I need good knights,” Alfred said. “The land and people need you.”
Murith eyed them with the conviction of a vicious weasel. Tahnwhithe’s countenance was the most revealing. The tall honorable hawk-nosed knight feared imminent bloodshed. The gentle red-haired giant Byrom, unspoken, stood uncaring, as he never knew the boy and had been living as a hermit in a bear’s cave for years. Old DuLocke looked as if death and despair were all around him, and he was just waiting for the former. He was short but seemed to have a solid build. And his long white moustache and beard seemed to give him a dwarvish look. Gorham had a strange despondent look, gazing with bloodshot eyes at nothing. Dunther, rubbing his cheeks, grew tired of what little conversation there was.
“I feel like conversing no more,” he said, waving his hand, as if that was all that mattered to him. The dispensing of a boy’s life, along with that of the farmer who fed them all winter, was worth that much to him, a wave of his hand. Murith quickly leapt at the unarmed Alfred, his rusty yet sharp blade flashing at the upstroke then the down. Alfred’s stunned eyes teared as he mentally tried to retreat back home to his mother.
Alfred: The Boy Who Would Be King (Alfred the Boy King Book 1) Page 22
