The Secrets of the Wild Wood

by Tonke Dragt

  Then he was silent. Ristridin was about to say something, but the king spoke first.

  “Let me finish!” he said. “Do not reproach me, do not try to intimidate me or to make me see reason with your wise words. I understand my situation only too well! As far as you are concerned, you have yourselves to blame for this situation. You have chosen sides and now you will have to fight on to the bitter end.” Threateningly, he added, “And, if it is down to me, that end will indeed be bitter.”

  He turned away from them and walked around the pool. When he reached the other side, he stopped next to Sir Kraton and addressed them once again.

  “Now heed my words,” he said, raising his voice. “You may tell this to King Dagonaut, although he might understand me better if I killed you and threw your bodies into this pool. Heed me! Now the son of Unauwen speaks! This war is not yours, and it is not up to you to put an end to it. This war is between me and the crown prince of the west. You wish to drive me out of the Wild Wood, while you have allowed him to enter it and even supported him. So be it. But this battle is between the two of us, and there is only one man who can and may stand up to me. That man is…” He faltered for a moment, as if he found it difficult to utter the words. “My brother!”

  He drew his sword and raised it above his head. “I, Viridian, son of Unauwen, King of Eviellan, challenge him,” he said. “I challenge him, my brother, Prince Iridian, son of Unauwen… I challenge him to a duel, to decide the struggle between us once and for all!”

  He sheathed his sword again before continuing: “This, envoys, you may tell His Highness in my name. And you may say to him that, should I lose, every man in my army will withdraw from the Wild Wood.”

  He held up his hand and beckoned to them. “Come here,” he commanded, “and I shall tell you my conditions, inasmuch as I can make demands, for I have little to win.”

  The envoys saw fear, fury and suspicion on one another’s faces. Ristridin, though, simply looked serious, as if he were thinking deeply. Then they obeyed the king.

  He still had the bearing of a monarch, in spite of the surroundings and the absence of any outward signs of royalty.

  “I shall not invite you into my palace,” he said. “We shall conduct our conversation standing, under the open sky.” Again his voice was light and mocking, but his face was dark and grim.

  Ristridin was the one to respond. “Conversation, Your Highness?” he said in a tone of chilly politeness. “You are the only one who has spoken. Why are you challenging the crown prince – what advantage could a duel have, for you or for him?”

  “Our battle will be decided,” the king responded, just as coldly. “And that will not happen as long as we both live. One of us must die at the other’s hand – that is the ultimate consequence of our existence, which by some curse began on the same day. If I lose, my defeated men will immediately leave this place. Sir Kraton of Indigo, here beside me, is their commander, and he will ensure that this happens. If I win, my brother’s army must withdraw from the forest, to within the borders of the Kingdom of Unauwen. Otherwise, the situation will remain exactly as it is now: I will keep my base here. It is then up to King Dagonaut to continue the war or to form an alliance with me. Do you understand? The duel will decide which of Unauwen’s sons may remain in the Wild Wood with his army.”

  “Eviellan has already lost,” whispered Evan. “This is…”

  “Eviellan has not surrendered!” the king interrupted furiously. “And it will not have lost until I am dead.” He was silent for a moment, then crossed his arms and said, “I challenge the Prince of the West to a duel to the death. This duel must take place within three weeks at the tourney field by the Low Bridge. Our two armies will pitch their tents there, both ready for an immediate retreat. And as it is two sons of a king who will fight, our judge may be no less than a king. For this purpose, I shall appeal to Dagonaut, who calls himself the rightful ruler of the Wild Wood. Those are my conditions. Convey my words without alteration. We shall wait here and not raise any weapons until the answer reaches us.”

  It seemed that he had finished speaking and was about to withdraw. But then he changed his mind and, almost in a whisper, he added, “I shall give you a token to take to the Prince of the West. If you hand him this, he will know I am serious.”

  He slid the ring from his finger, the sparkling ring, only twelve of which existed. Two of them – the finest ones – were identical; King Unauwen had given them to his sons. The King of Eviellan slowly handed the ring to Ristridin. But before the knight could take it, Viridian cast it to the ground.

  “Here!” he spat. “And tell him he can keep it.”

  It was Tiuri who bent down to pick up the ring. As he wiped off the mud, he looked at the king. And he understood: by renouncing this ring, he had broken the last link that connected him to his father, King Unauwen.

  As the king met his gaze, his face became so twisted with hate and cruel fury that Tiuri gasped and took a step back.

  A while later, on the return journey, he realized that he was still clasping the ring in his hand. He opened his fingers and looked at it.

  Piak, who had come to ride beside him, asked in a whisper, “Why does he hate you so much?”

  “I don’t know,” said Tiuri. He handed the ring to Ristridin, who answered Piak’s question, “It’s because he could see in his eyes what Tiuri was feeling at that moment,” he said quietly. “Not just disgust, but also pity.”

  “Pity!” repeated Red Quibo. It was the first thing he’d said since they’d left the valley. “That man’s soul is as black as his armour. I won’t set foot on this unholy ground again for as long as he lives, not for all the gold in the king’s treasury.”

  “And now, Quibo,” said Ristridin, some time after that, “you may leave us and go your own way. The hills are behind us.”

  Red Quibo stopped, gave a sigh, shook his head and said, “But the tourney field is still ahead of us, my lord! You don’t want to send me away without a conclusion, with an unfinished tale, do you? Terrible though it is, I feel obliged to remain your follower until the duel has been fought.”

  “Permission granted,” said Ristridin.

  Evan asked, “Do you think the prince will accept the challenge?”

  No one responded to this question, but Evan did not appear to expect a reply. He bowed his head and remained silent.

  Then Ristridin said, “Sir Ardian’s camp is close by and he must hear about this, too. Tiuri and Piak, would you like to ride there?”

  The two friends immediately agreed and they rode together to the Wild Wood Way.

  “This is a false challenge,” said Piak. “Eviellan has lost; everyone says so. The king wants only to snatch one last chance to kill his brother. The crown prince will surely understand that, won’t he?”

  “I’m sure he will,” said Tiuri.

  “And yet he will accept the challenge,” said Sir Ardian when the friends had told him the news. “He will want to face his brother in the arena – even if only to put an end to the war and to prevent further bloodshed.” His expression was mournful as he added, “Perhaps it had to come to this, no matter how horrific it is.”

  “Why?” said Piak. “I mean… why does everyone seem so sad and afraid? Prince Iridian is sure to win – he has to win, because he is fighting for what is right.”

  Sir Ardian nodded. “Indeed, pray that he will win, my boy,” he said. “In any case this will be a fair fight between two equally strong opponents.”

  “Prince Iridian is better,” whispered Piak.

  “He will fight with all the strength he has in him,” said Sir Ardian. “May God grant that he wins, even though it will give him no joy. He will, after all, have killed his own brother, whom he loved in spite of everything.”

  12 SINGLE COMBAT

  “Not much longer now!” Tiuri said to himself. He was standing, with Piak beside him, at the edge of the tourney field, where the conflict between the sons of King Unauwen was about
to be settled.

  Their tents stood at opposite sides of the arena, with their banners beside them. The banner of Eviellan was blood red; the crown prince’s banner was the seven colours of the rainbow.

  Many people were gathered around the field; in their midst was King Dagonaut, who would be judge. It was a strangely colourful spectacle in the gloomy forest – all those knights, horsemen and soldiers. Some Men in Green had also come. Tehalon stood across from King Dagonaut in the shade of a tree.

  He must also wish for Prince Iridian to win, thought Tiuri. In spite of himself, Tehalon chose Iridian’s side when it came to it. And only Prince Iridian can bring back peace to the forest and beyond.

  Murmurs and whispers passed through the crowd and then died away. Here they came, the king’s sons! They had not yet put on their helmets; the sun was shining on their hair. Both were on horseback. Iridian was wearing a pale-grey suit of armour and carrying his white shield; the King of Eviellan was, as always, in black with a red shield. Prince Iridian was followed by Sir Ardian of the Rainbow River, and his squire was Tirillo the jester. His twin was accompanied by Sir Kraton of Indigo and had a Red Rider as a squire.

  The two princes stopped; they stood next to each other before King Dagonaut, so similar and yet so very different. The king stated the conditions again, and the rules of combat, and asked in a loud, clear voice, “Are you ready?”

  The brothers nodded. They looked at each other, but did not speak; they had no words left to say.

  “Then wait for my signal,” said Dagonaut.

  The two men rode to opposite ends of the field. They put on their helmets, and their squires passed them their lances.

  Sir Ristridin sounded his horn once.

  “May God judge over you,” said King Dagonaut, raising his staff.

  Now they rode, with their lances low. They stormed at each other and met with a resounding crash.

  Tiuri couldn’t help closing his eyes, but when he looked again they were still sitting upright in their saddles and neither appeared to be injured.

  They separated, then approached each other again, fierce and fast. And this time they hit each other with such force that the King of Eviellan’s lance shattered and the impact sent him tumbling from his horse.

  A murmur ran through the Red Riders.

  Prince Iridian calmed his trembling horse. His brother stood up, drew his sword and shook it furiously, as if he wished to kill his enemy’s steed. Iridian moved out of the way and cast his lance aside. He sat high on his horse, bright and glorious. Looking down at his brother, he gestured at him to get back on his horse. But the King of Eviellan adamantly refused, so Iridian let go of the reins and jumped to the ground.

  Then they were facing each other, on foot, two men, silent and alert. Motionless, they both clutched their swords. And no one could know what thoughts they might be thinking.

  Eviellan was the first to attack, but the white shield absorbed the blow. Then Iridian went on the attack; and the clanging clash of swords rang out over the tourney field.

  Then they fought furiously. Splinters flew from their shields, the blades glanced off their shoulders; with a great din, they knocked dents in each other’s helmets. They whirled around each other, the dust flying up around their nimble feet until they could hardly be seen.

  But still the fight went on. And the tension squeezed Tiuri’s throat shut, as he watched them with fear and awe.

  Then they suddenly parted and stood still again. Leaning on their swords, they looked at each other. But Tiuri did not know what expression they wore, as the helmets hid their faces, which must be dripping with sweat.

  Then they both raised their weapons at the same time as if in a final salute, and stepped towards each other, irresistibly drawn together. Again the fighting flared up, and they fought even more furiously, matching blow for blow. Never before had Tiuri seen two knights fight so fiercely, so wildly, but without breaking any rules.

  The sparks flew from their swords, their shields started to crack, and blood trickled through their chainmail, as red as the shield of Eviellan.

  Tiuri felt as though nothing else were happening in the world but this fight.

  One staggered… the other stumbled, but got back up. Now both were covered in dust. Iridian struck, and his brother’s shield shattered.

  The King of Eviellan grasped the hilt of his sword with both hands and hacked ruthlessly at his opponent. But he missed and, for the first time, he spoke, his voice hoarse and rasping: “My sword is damaged. Squire, bring me another!”

  Prince Iridian took a step back and handed his battered shield to Tirillo. He waited for the Red Rider to give Viridian another sword, and opened the attack again.

  Now the end is approaching, thought Tiuri. They have only their swords and both must be exhausted… The king pounced; he struck his brother between the arm plates… No, he hasn’t won. But Prince Iridian was only slightly injured, and recovered quickly. The King of Eviellan went on the attack again, but Iridian was stronger now, and his strength seemed to be growing… Oh, let him win!

  The sword in Iridian’s fist was like a flash of lightning; it shone brightly above his dark brother’s head, glanced off his helmet and ripped open his hauberk, and went up again for the final blow…

  That final blow hit the king in the shoulder, a sharp slash. That final blow cut him deeply, and brought him to his knees.

  Viridian fell, and his brother leant over him. The king tried to sit up, but when Iridian knelt to help, he roughly pushed him away. That seemed to cost him the last of his strength, as he fell to the ground and lay there without moving.

  Prince Iridian stood up and King Dagonaut walked towards him, with Kraton and Ardian. The two knights looked at the fallen man. Then Sir Ardian removed his cloak – black on the outside, blue on the inside – and covered him with it.

  The King of Eviellan was dead. The Prince of the West had won.

  King Dagonaut’s voice rang out loudly through the tense silence: “The battle is decided, justly and fairly.”

  Prince Iridian slowly picked up his brother’s sword. He would, of course, return it to the dead man, fold his fingers around the hilt, and have him buried with it.

  Dagonaut went on speaking, but Tiuri did not hear what he said; his attention was only on Prince Iridian, who was examining his brother’s sword.

  And suddenly there was silence again; now everyone was waiting for a word from the victor.

  But Prince Iridian said nothing; he clasped his brother’s sword in one hand and his own sword in the other. He swayed and Sir Ardian put out a hand to steady him. A gasp passed through the crowd, a whispering that quickly died away. But now the prince was standing again, although he was still silent. Sir Ardian took both swords from him, and Tirillo removed the prince’s helmet. Iridian’s face appeared; he was as pale as death. He turned to King Dagonaut and thanked him. Then he glanced around, but his eyes seemed to see something other than the tourney field.

  Tiuri felt Piak’s fingers around his own, and he knew everyone else must be holding their breath, too.

  A number of Red Riders approached across the field; they stopped beside the defeated man. Sir Kraton was about to join them, but Sir Ardian stopped him with a sharp “Wait!”

  Then Prince Iridian raised his voice – that captivating voice that no one could help but listen to.

  “I have ended the battle,” he said. “The victory is for my father, Unauwen, and now peace may return to the Kingdom of Dagonaut. Eviellan surrenders, and everyone must lay down their weapons.”

  That was all he said, and so it would happen. Prince Iridian was victorious and the war was over.

  No one dared to cheer, though – they all looked at him with trepidation, reverence, awe and fear. His face was calm and serene; there was almost a smile on it, and yet it was full of melancholy. He turned to the knight beside him, Sir Ardian of the Rainbow River, who gravely returned his gaze. They appeared to be having a silent conversat
ion. Sir Ardian briefly shook his head and handed the prince his sword. But he gave Eviellan’s weapon to King Dagonaut and he spoke to him, this time out loud. No one could hear what he said, though, except maybe Tirillo, who was standing close beside them, with Iridian’s white shield. The jester looked shocked, and the prince laid a hand on his shoulder. Then King Dagonaut gave orders and instructions. The King of Eviellan’s body was carried away to his tent, and everyone bowed their heads to pay him their last respects. Everyone – except for King Dagonaut, as Tiuri was startled to see.

  Prince Iridian, with Tirillo beside him, slowly walked in the other direction; everyone watched him until he disappeared into his tent.

  “Tiuri!” whispered Piak.

  The two friends looked at each other. “I’m afraid,” said Piak. “And I don’t know why. It feels as if it’s not over yet…” His words echoed Tiuri’s own thoughts.

  Ristridin’s horn sounded, preventing any reply. It was a sign. The king had something else to say.

  King Dagonaut stood in the middle of the field, with Sir Ardian beside him. Ardian beckoned to Sir Kraton and the Red Rider who had been Viridian’s squire.

  “Hear now my words!” King Dagonaut spoke loudly. “The sons of Unauwen have fought and the best man won. But you should know that the other man did not fight fairly; even his final act was one of wickedness and treachery.” He turned to Kraton and the squire. “Here, in my hand, is the king’s sword,” he continued gravely, “the instrument of his vengeance, as you surely know.”

  “Sire, what do you mean?” exclaimed the Red Rider. “It is a good sword, one of the two that belonged to him.”

  Sir Kraton said nothing, but frowned threateningly.

  “So you do not know where it came from?” asked Sir Ardian. He took the sword from the king and held it out to the rider, who cowered away. “No!” he exclaimed. “My king gave it to me to keep ready and to give to him if…”