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

by Ron Smorynski

  Alfred visited Verboden, who was still healing the many wounded. All were in good spirits. Verboden seemed at ease in the ward of the wounded. Alfred came to talk to all the boys and girls, peasants and ex-bandits to see how they were getting on. All hailed the king as best they could with their bandages, coughs, pained ribs and dry throats. It took Alfred and Verboden a while to settle them down.

  Alfred and Verboden sat on a bench in Verboden’s small chapel for a quiet moment.

  “Will Tirnalth return?” Alfred finally asked.

  “Yes, he will.”

  “When?”

  “Oh, I don’t know for sure. I think he was reading and studying his many tomes and scrolls, preparing for the worst.”

  “Was?”

  “Oh… well, right now I’m quite sure he’s in his great librarium of tomes and scrolls, his great hall of books. I do not believe he is reading, though. I suspect he is dancing around like a crazy hooligan.”

  Verboden turned toward Alfred with a great and very rare smile. Alfred could not help but smile back. Both could hear a faint whooping and hollering, a joyous ruckus echoing in the magical hall far, far away.

  At night as all were resting, Alfred felt safe hearing the sound of Captain Hedor’s guards walking the walls. When he slept, he often dreamed of his mother. He wondered how she was doing in that small apartment and if she was still alone. He tried to remember when he saw her last.

  Yes, she had to let him go. She sat beside him in bed and gave him a fated farewell, and just like that, in an instant, he was back here.

  He wanted to see her again but was unsure how. He tried to will it, expecting each morning to awaken in the apartment. Instead, he woke up in his castle bed. As the cool days of autumn came, he had many meetings and discussions about the kingdom and about repairs and improvements in the Keep. He made many decisions. When he would have quiet moments, as King Alfred and as a boy amongst friends, he thought of her. As time passed and he kept waking up in his chilly castle bed, his disappointment grew. He worried that he might never be able to return and how that would impact his mother.

  As his dreams of her increased, so did his distress. He knew he had to find a way to return to her.

  One day, Alfred was walking on the castle wall with Loranna. He found comfort in her presence and sought it more often as time passed. On this occasion he was unusually downcast.

  “You seem sad today. What is troubling you?”

  “I miss my mom. I worry about how she is doing since I’ve been gone.”

  Loranna wore an earthy wool dress and a cloak. It was a chilly night of fall. The battle had changed her internally and externally. She was young in age but now seemed and looked older, like a woman. She looked close at him. “You should go. You should see her.”

  “But how? I don’t know how?”

  “I’ll let you go. I want you to go.”

  And with that, Alfred was gone before her eyes.

  Chapter Thirty Five: Alfred Returns Home

  Alfred ran from his room into his mother’s arms. She was sitting in a chair and sewing. She dropped everything and hugged him tightly, tears streaming down her face.

  “Mom, mom I missed you!”

  “I missed you too.”

  “How long was I gone?”

  She looked deep into his eyes. “Only moments, but it felt like a lifetime,” she said. And she wept.

  Alfred held her.

  “Then we battled the ratkins as long as we could. They kept coming, and eventually we directed them up into the Great Hall. Loranna and the other girls fired tons of arrows and killed even more. I was stuck in the small corridors down in the stinking dungeon. The knights and all of us fought a whole mess of ratkins. When it was over, we had to freaking help clear them out.”

  Alfred was hunched over, munching on sweet cereal in a bowl of cold pasteurized milk.

  “I know, I know. You’ve told me so many times,” his mother said, filling the bowl again.

  “Just keep it coming! There were so many dead ratkins, mom. You wouldn’t believe it! I even said to Abedeyan: ‘Hey, let’s just burn the whole hall,’ but he smacked me on the head.”

  “That Abedeyan, he always was an old bugger.”

  “You knew him!!!”

  His mother fell silent. It was now in the open between them that she came from that land. Somehow she had put it so far back in her mind and heart that actually acknowledging it was painful. And it almost seemed like a dream. Something in her did not want to face the grief and loss from long ago.

  “Mom, they need you.”

  “Haven’t they taken enough from me already? I’ve come this far only to find that they are taking my son too? It is not a game, Alfred! You could die there! You could die the most horrible death!”

  Alfred looked down at his scrumptious bowl of modern sweet cereal. He put his spoon down and wiped his milky mouth. “Lord Dunther and the knights came up to us when we were piling the dead goblins. He gathered Loranna and the other girls around. Then he placed a pole in the ground with a red cloth on it.”

  Alfred paused, seeing a wrinkle of confusion in his mother’s face.

  “It was weird. The knights stood there and saluted Loranna and the other girls. They were so scared, all of them hugging each other. You wouldn’t believe it. Then the knights went down on one knee and were silent. It was pretty cool, mom. Turns out, Dunther is a nice guy. He even told me some stuff about… well… about you. He said that he was sorry.”

  His mother sat in a chair next to Alfred. She did not know what to do with her hands. She tried to restrain herself, to hold her head up, but again the tears flowed. She finally stood up. “Oh, I do too much crying over the past! I see death and war everywhere, even on the news here. All lands are in struggle, and all people are at war.” Her anger seemed to strengthen her, steadying teary emotions.

  “Well here, aren’t the wars about man versus man? I mean, there, you have witches and goblins and dead guys on giant vultures. You know, man is barely hanging on there. They needed outside help. Not that I’m all powerful like Gorbogal or that dark god but…”

  His mother looked at him. “What do you know of the Dark One? And Gorbogal? Tell me, Alfred.”

  “Well, I think she is your sister? Ooh, then that means she's my aunt!?”

  His mother gasped, “I should not have asked that…” She grew angry and began to pace around the room. “Dunther! He told you much, didn’t he?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “It is his way of getting back at me, knowing he has our son!”

  “Our son?”

  She suddenly turned away. He could tell she was unnerved by his question. “Well, I mean, yes, our son, your father and I. Your father served under Lord Dunther.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “Well, Dunther had it out for us. Perhaps he is getting his revenge through you?”

  “Mom! Please! He was plowing farmer’s crops, for crying out loud. I don’t think this is the same Dunther you knew!”

  “Plowing? Crops?”

  “Yes. And like I told you, he bowed to peasant girls. Heck, they saved his life in battle. He is plowing crops, playing with the kids and interacting with the farmers and peasants. A lot can happen in twelve years of famine and distress to change a knight, mom.”

  Alfred tilted the bowl to get every drop of sweetened milk.

  His mother seemed confused. She tossed her head in disbelief, with too many thoughts, too many memories. She shook her head to clear it of past memories. Then she looked at Alfred. His mouth was bulging with sweet cereal, and milk was dripping out. She almost smiled.

  “Well, I gotta go to school! Ooh, and I might stop off at the library tonight. I want to get some more books on agriculture, castle defenses, military tactics—you know, the typical stuff any growing boy wants to read.”

  Just before Alfred left, he looked at his mother sitting there silent, smiling to herself. “What are you thinking about, mom?”
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  She turned and blinked. At first, she thought she wouldn’t say anything. But then, as she saw how alive Alfred looked, she reconsidered. “Your father,” she said softly. “I’m thinking of your father.”

  Alfred smiled and then left.

  He hurried down the apartment steps with his backpack on, ready for school. He could easily have carried five times the weight with all he had been through. Out on the street, other kids were walking along, nodding and greeting each other, as they did every morning. Alfred had changed. He was walking with a happy, strong willed gait, ready for anything.

  He was so preoccupied that he slammed into Wooly, who was coming out of his shop. Both fell back as if each had hit a brick wall. And both tumbled, landing on all fours, ready to get up. Alfred had been trained by the knights to do this instinctively. Wooly’s face suddenly seemed familiar to Alfred, and he didn’t know why, especially given all the scars on it. Oddly, Wooly was solid and took the fall well, recovering just as Alfred did.

  “I’m sorry, Wooly. I was distracted.”

  “No harm.”

  For a moment, they looked at each other, puzzled. The sounds of the street snapped them back to focus on what they were doing. They stood and dusted off.

  They saluted each other as knights would and continued on their separate ways.

  A few blocks later, Alfred had a thought and turned back to see if Wooly was still there. He was gone. Alfred figured he could ask him later. He turned back and headed to school, his mind churning with all that he wanted to learn before his next journey back to the Northern Kingdom and the land of the Westfold.

  So ends the first book of Alfred the Boy King.

  Next Up:

  Alfred

  And the

  Underworld

  Volume Two