Six Heads One Crown (The Pearl of Wisdom Saga Book 3)

by Jason Paul Rice

  Lord Kenzy needed clarification, “And they have an army of barbarians?”

  “I hear they are from Histomanji,” Count Sproul said.

  “Strange time in our beloved kingdom. Perchance they will slow the bastard usurper down until we can easily eliminate him and the bastard Wamhoff usurper. There are a few other matters we haven’t yet touched on, my King,” said Count Silzeus.

  “Go on,” Jon told him.

  “During his short reign, Tersen Wamhoff raised taxes on the lowborn many times, many, many times. The poorest of the poor were uprooted during your rush into the city and…”

  Jon cut off the Count, “I’ve heard enough. I realize it’s necessary to ameliorate relations with the common folk. Lower their taxes to be equivalent to Mattingly’s. Send out as many criers as can be spared to report this to all the poorest areas of Fox Chapel.”

  “It shall be handled, my King,” promised Count Silzeus with a nod and a smile.

  Despite insuperable odds, Jon seemed equipped to handle all aspects of repairing the broken kingdom. The new King’s biggest issue was the multiple armies still marching on Falconhurst. He had never been involved in a large-scale war and the debt of the kingdom had nearly wiped out his vast savings. Jon knew the cost of war during cold weather was always higher. More fires, heavier clothing, better footwear, blankets and for some reason men always ate more during the winter season. The King didn’t perceive these challenges as insurmountable and quickly dealt with problem after problem in his early rule.

  As he crossed the bridge, a familiar voice greeted him. Uncle Hambone said, “I come to say I believe its bout time for me to get on back to my Black Hills. Coffee and tea ain’t as good up here. I’ll have to send some of the good stuff up north for my new King,” he smiled. “Look, I know I flung a bunch of my beliefs at you over the years, but I only did it outta family love. Truth be told, I couldn’t be no prouder of my nephew. And even though me and yer daddy had our differences, he’d be proud of you too, boy. You got a chance to make this kingdom something special now.” Hambone tightened his lips and pushed away the emotion as he continued, “So don’t you go doin nothin stupid and get yourself kilt. You hear me now, boy?”

  “I hear you quite clearly, good uncle,” Jon replied. The two tough men shared a brief but genuine hug. Men in the Colbert family rarely hugged each other and Jon took a step back after the embrace.

  “I just want to say…” Jon was cut off by Hambone, “Ima stop you right there. I know what you is gonna say and you know what Ima say back so let’s just skip over all that. You got a beautiful family, you hear? You take good care a them now. I’ll be back to check on you fore too long.”

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Jon responded. Hambone hopped on his horse and took off before things became emotional again.

  Jon’s guards escorted him to the west side of the Capitol. Along the way, Jon recognized the former High Priest of Mattingly. Orian Vangor had decided that the religious system had become too corrupt and resigned from his position but Jon had plans for the elderly man. The older man served and wept for the lowborn of Donegal.

  Orian appeared to be in his early sixties, evidenced by his wrinkles and the frequent grimaces he made while walking. His dirty, close-cut silver hair and unkempt wiry whiskers gave his frail face a pearly glow. His bushy eyebrows were scrunched down to hide his blue eyes that had been dulled by years of seeing injustice and discrimination. He wore a knee-length kirtle of assorted animal hair that rubbed his body raw from the coarse fibers. The kirtle looked battered and blood stained with holes in random spots. He carried a wooden stick that was connected to a leather whip with three metal tips that had been rounded and spiked. True to his style, Orian orated over some citizens who wore cheap, poorly sewn duds.

  Jon listened to the man. “Ofttimes we must pray for the Gods to gain us wisdom and that we shall apply that wisdom to find new homes. However, if need should force it to be, we will surely frolic on Mother Earth and take nourishment from her bosom. The only direction to go is along the path of the Gods and to follow and praise their precious words and lessons. Stay true to your soul, pray, believe. My precious souls, your day in the sun will surely come. Don’t forget, supper can be had at The Mother of Mercy citadel. Now go apply the wisdom of the Gods.”

  The small crowd of forty people quickly dispersed.

  The King wasn’t wearing a crown and approached Orian, who looked unimpressed. “Aahh, our new King,” said the older man without a customary bow.

  Jon’s guard, Elfson, said, “This man is your King. You need to address your king, your highness, with the proper respect, old man.”

  Orian Vangor turned and faced the guard and spoke slowly, “Highness. That means you see him above all other men. Most men serve kings, this is known to be true. However, I serve the Gods first and all men equally. I don’t give more courtesy to a man who wears gold on his head. For, it doesn’t appear he needs many prayers, but the man who lives in squalor is the one who needs my assistance.”

  Elfson’s voice became sterner, “You need to show the proper respect.”

  Jon spoke up before Orian could get angry, “That’s enough, Sir Elfson. I need some privacy with this man I’ve known my whole life, please.”

  “But I know you better, Jonathan Colbert. Being older, I’ve known you since you were a babe,” Orian said with a smile. All the guards backed away and moved out of hearing range. Vangor asked, “Why don’t you wear gold on your head? You are king, no?”

  “I am the King, yes. A crown is being crafted and sized as we speak but that’s the least of my concerns,” Jon said.

  “I should hope so. Did you see those citizens, your citizens? Innocent prisoners in their own kingdom, being thrown from side to side by the powers that be. Your deeds might ultimately measure as honorable, but I’ve met some displaced citizens that could argue that point,” Orian told him.

  “I didn’t light any of those fires. That was the Wamhoff regime on their way out of Falconhurst. I couldn’t stop them from doing that,” Jon argued.

  “He said, she said, they said, who said? You could have stayed in Mattingly and lived a comfortable life in that region as duke,” the old man pointed out.

  “That is true. I could have easily stayed in Mattingly and lived a very comfortable life. The only problem is that situation doesn’t help the hopeless and lowborn citizens of the kingdom. If the Wamhoff dynasty had continued, do you really believe the plight of the poor was going to improve? I came to you to talk about helping me improve the lives of the poor. The commoners have been put down for too long in our kingdom. I understand the skepticism with your belief that all dukes and kings are corrupt. Yet you know my father to be a man of common birth and you saw with your own eyes how I minimized corruption in Mattingly. I couldn’t straighten out the church but that was the only area I failed in,” Jon said.

  “These words please my ears. I know you, Jon Colbert. I know you are a good man. I know you to be a loyal man. I wish you the best of luck in straightening out Donegal,” Orian said.

  “Wait, I need your help to straighten out the kingdom. I don’t know of a man who is better suited to serve as High Priest of the realm,” Jon offered.

  An extended silence worried Jon until Orian cleared his throat and spoke, “Jon Colbert. I remember saying to myself a long time ago, that’s one of the most intelligent boys I’ve ever encountered and that still holds true till this day. I watched a boy grow into an even more intelligent man and then duke. You now seem to be wise with only one fault of judgment. Surely you know I wouldn’t have the faintest interest in trying to pull all the evil weeds of the church. They grow too many and with no power of repercussion, I am left to lose my soul amongst the demon’s garden,” a disheartened Orian Vangor said.

  “I can give you the proper tools necessary to punish the corrupt priests or parishioners. I need your help. I understand why you wouldn’t be initially interested in my offer, I really do
, but I also know that you want nothing more than to improve the situation for the poor. I am working to do that but I need your help,” Jon pleaded.

  The old man shook his head, “Power on earth can only serve to weigh us down in the heavens. I don’t mean any offense.”

  “I take none. This is your chance to help the poor. If I appoint anyone else, what do you think will be the result? More corruption?” Jon raised his voice.

  “There will be no fancy churches. There will be no salvation for sale. Every man will be judged equally by the Gods without regard to birth status. We will get back to honest services of faith,” Orian demanded.

  “Aye, of course. This is exactly what I want as well. We can burn down the opulent church in the Capitol as a reminder that overindulgence will not be tolerated,” Jon offered.

  “All grown up but you still think like a boy. It would make little sense and prove quite wasteful to burn down that building. Instead, make it a sanctuary for the poor. In every decision we make, we must think of those that need the most help and put them above ourselves. Only then will the Gods truly smile upon us. I trust you more than most men so I am cautiously going to accept your offer,” Vangor said.

  “I understand the hesitation. We can meet soon to forge out the details,” Jon promised.

  “I’m sure you’ve been lied to, yes?” Orian asked.

  “Most men can attest that I have been,” Jon responded, showing his missing pinkie fingers.

  “The most difficult task we face in life is deciphering whether a man is lying or telling the truth. That is why we trust, but do so with reserve. When the green serpent sleeks in the summer grass, we can all be judged as fools. We can only fully trust our Gods and principles,” Orian closed the conversation and walked away without bowing.

  Two days later, Jon lay in bed with his wife. He asked, “Why haven’t you been wearing your crown?”

  Camelle shook her head in disgust and replied, “That blood crown? Is that what you mean? No, thank you.”

  Jon questioned her with a calm demeanor, “There was blood on the crown?”

  Camelle turned and looked out the window before saying, “Not physical blood. It’s the fact that the gaudy circlet that represents the royalty of Donegal has been steeped in the kingdom’s blood for years. This entire castle has for that matter.”

  Jon talked to the back of his wife’s head, “Then we will have it cleaned or a new one made like they are doing for me. It’s tradition for a queen to wear a crown.”

  Camelle kept looking out the window and said, “Well, there are many long-standing traditions like murder and rape that need to be broken.”

  Jon tried to defend himself, “That is totally different. The citizens expect to see their queen in a crown. It uplifts them.” Jon knew the words weren’t true, but he was running out of things to tell his wife to cheer her up.

  She snapped at him, “The citizens are only worried whether they will be able to make it through a harsh winter with enough supplies to survive. Seeing someone wearing an object on her head that could be sold to solve all of their problems doesn’t uplift anyone. You have lost your priorities, Jonathan Colbert. We need to put a stop to these silly traditions that are followed just for the sake of doing so. We must instead be critical of supporting everything because it has been done before. Blindly supporting dissenting traditions is the epitome of stupidity and I have always thought you were a smart man.”

  Jon had never heard his wife go off like this before and hoped it was only the stress of taking over the entire realm. He said, “I thought all this might make you happy again, after all we’ve been through.”

  Camelle finally turned and faced her husband with tears running down her cheeks. She uttered, “I can never be fully happy again unless our entire family is together and back in Mattingly, our only home. This will never be home. I had thought I would never love Riverfront when I first arrived, but it only took me a few days to realize it was my true home. I’ve tried to like this castle and city but you can only have one true home and it will never be here. “

  D-MARIAH

  Mariah Colbert and Torvald Malik held each other’s hands as they walked into the King’s audience chamber. As they sat down on a red cushioned bench, Mariah knew something was amiss by the troubled looks on her parents’ faces.

  Jon and Camelle sat across from the young couple and the patriarch spoke, “I originally summoned you both to discuss plans for the wedding. Those thoughts were swept aside when a dark raven just arrived with some terrible news. There have been dragon attacks around the kingdom and I am sorry to say that one of the beasts hit Housemont. Torvald, your parents are believed to be dead. I am so sorry.”

  Mariah felt Torvald’s hand tighten and his breathing become deeper and faster. He didn’t cry. He looked like he was about to burst into tears, but instead, Torvald Malik stared blankly at a painting of Jasper Colbert hanging on the wall behind Jon and Camelle. “Are we certain?” Torvald asked with pain in his words.

  “I hope not, I really do, but these sources have scarcely been wrong before. We have accounted for all of your friends’ families,” the King tried to console his future son by wedlock.

  “We can put the wedding on hold if you need to return home, of course,” said Camelle.

  “If a dragon cooked my home, there is no reason to return immediately and risk a repeat performance. I will make sure it is safe before I go look for my parents’ bodies. They loved Mariah, especially my mother, and I know she would want the wedding to proceed as scheduled. They will look down from the heavens on our special day. I’ll return home after the wedding,” Torvald said as he still kept his composure.

  Mariah on the other hand, started weeping when Torvald talked about Lucille. She couldn’t believe that two of the greatest people she had ever met were now dead. Mariah wept because she knew Lucille would have loved Falconhurst and the King’s Castle. She didn’t even realize she was talking when she said, “Are you sure, my love? We can wait until we return from Bottomfoot if you wish.”

  “I’m sure we should move forward as planned. This is sad but my parents lived a great life, much better than most. There are so many great times to remember that they will never be truly dead to me.” Torvald fidgeted in his chair but never shed a tear.

  “In times of need, I find it helps to stay close to the Gods. Let them guide you and remember, we will always be here for you,” Jon said.

  “I appreciate the advice, my King. We need to go tell the others,” Torvald whispered to Mariah. “If you would excuse us,” the well-mannered Torvald said to Jon and Camelle.

  Mariah wiped away her tears and tried to put on a brave face before going to meet the others.

  “Of course, if there’s anything you need, be sure to ask. We’re family,” Jon reminded him, and Camelle added, “Anything, Torvald, anything.”

  The couple walked to the east end of the castle and found the Bottomfoot crew eating dinner in the great hall.

  “Wait until you hear this one,” Chopkins cheerily said until he turned around and noticed Mariah and Torvald looking distraught.

  “It’s going to have to wait, my friend,” Torvald said. The mood tensed around the long table and everyone stopped eating. Torvald looked around and spoke, “There’s been a dragon attack in Bottomfoot. Ridgetop and Housemont have been burned to the ground. None of your families were in either of those areas, so they are all safe. However, everyone near the top of the mountain is suspected to be dead, including my mother and father.”

  “Bullshit,” screamed Sir Bastion as he slammed his hand on the table and bellowed, “I’ll slay the damned dragon that did this. I’m leaving right now.”

  Torvald had to grab and forcefully push Sir Bastion back into his seat as he screamed, “Sit down. Nobody is going anywhere. We will all go back after the wedding to inspect the situation for ourselves. Until then, I know this is sad, but we will carry on. We will enjoy a great wedding the way my parents would have w
anted us to do.”

  Despite the encouragement, Chopkins was bawling and J. Everson had to blink away a salty stream from his eyes. Callice started singing a soft requiem as his lips quivered in sadness. After about an hour of crying, Mariah and her friends from Bottomfoot began to drink in honor of Lucille and Edword. They drank, danced, mourned, consoled and told stories of the late Duke and Duchess of Bottomfoot with Callice softly playing the psaltery and singing in the background. Mariah finally went to bed only a few hours before sunrise.

  The next morning, Mariah’s handmaid was already cleaning her quarters when she woke up. Jon made Torvald and his daughter wait until they were married to share a bed. The young woman rushed a silk robe over to Mariah and hurriedly lit some more candles around the room.

  The handmaid spoke with her accent, “I hear about what happened. I am sorry for your loss, my Princess.”

  “Thank you, Deydranna,” Mariah answered. The exotic young woman from a far-off land had been assigned to Mariah’s service. She had told Mariah that she expected to die the day Jon Colbert took over the castle.

  “Can I ask you a question?” Mariah asked.

  “Yes, my Princess,” Deydranna answered.

  “Please don’t think I am trying to be rude, but are you pregnant?” Mariah pointed at the bump on her handmaid’s midsection.

  Deydranna became defensive, “No. I just…I just eat too much, too fast.”

  “You don’t have to hide it. We won’t have you punished for being pregnant. My father isn’t like any of the previous Wamhoff kings, except for maybe Ali-Ster,” said Mariah. Deydranna looked down and avoided eye contact. Mariah pressed her, “You can tell me.”

  “If I tell the truth it could be very dangerous for my baby. Many people will want the child to die, even your father,” Deydranna pleaded.

  Mariah was intrigued by these words and said, “There are many things that I am downright lousy at. One thing I am good at is keeping secrets. You can tell me. I can see it is weighing you down.”