Jonathan Dunn - The Forgotten King

“There is a tale in the house of the King of France, the other branch of the Plantagenets,” said Vahan, “That Atilta is a magical land, the last of the magical lands of earth, like an isolated bubble of myth in the middle of the medieval world. It was said that before mankind had traveled from their origins, the land was filled with dwarves, dragons, fairies, and all such creatures. But as the human population grew, the others declined. When the populations of Egypt and Greece grew too large, the magical creatures moved to the island of Atlantis. Their magic made it prosper and gave it defenses against the encroachments of mankind, the legends say, until at last the avarice and lust of the humans effected them as well, and their land was sunk in the sea under their self-oppressions. The tales say Atilta is the same, that some day it too will sink beneath the sea.”

“Yes, but that is a fairy tale, Vahan,” Alfonzo said, “And such things are not to be believed. We must focus on ending the oppressions on Atilta, without thoughts of the mythological.” He paused and looked anxiously at the forest around them. “Did you hear that?”

Alfonzo unsheathed his sword and leapt to his feet as he spoke, cocking his head to the side as he listened to the sounds of a man running through the forest. At length Casper appeared, with a look of wild fear in his eyes.

“Be alert! There is an ambush at hand!”

Alfonzo looked him over closely, then turned to Vahan and said, “Arm yourself.”

“Be quick about it,” Casper gasped from his running, “For Montague is coming!”

Chapter 15

Mere moments after Casper came out of the forest, fifteen men followed him into the clearing which surrounded the giant oak tree. Jonathan Montague led them, his dark hair combed forward at the temples as before, his gait strict and emotionless. They emerged at a brisk run, and, like a well-trained legion, circled around the three freedom fighters. Montague pulled back to a walk as his men did this, and entered their circle with an air of victory. He waved his hand and they drew their swords, forming a wall of steel around Alfonzo, Vahan, and Casper.

Montague was the first to speak.

“Alfonzo of Melborough,” he laughed deeply, “Who would have thought the King of the Forest would find himself surrounded? Surely, not I. What of you, Casper? Does it strike you as ironic, as unexpected?”

“No, but you will be struck with the irony in my steel blade, if you dare advance another step,” the ranger retorted.

“We will see soon enough whose words are gold, and whose are mere grass, my friend, to be thrown into the fire.” He paused. “Casper, have you switched your allegiance once more? You must know that I do not play with the fickle.”

“My allegiance remains where it ever was.”

“Indeed?”

“Am I not at Alfonzo’s side? Why would I follow you, who offers pain instead of comfort, and power instead of consolation? Let the fools be fools, I say, but I will not join them in it.”

“Ah, Casper, you surprise me. What are the rewards, you ask? To the victor go the spoils.”

“And you would spoil me in your victory,” Casper said. “Do I not remember de Garcia?”

“Very well, if that is how it is,” Montague said. “Yet I will not forget our bargain,” and he took a bag of coins from his pocket and threw it at Casper. It hit him and fell to the ground, and thirty silver coins came out upon the grass.

Alfonzo’s eyes glared with anger for a brief instant, before he could extinguished them.

“Casper!” he wailed, “Casper, you are the traitor!”

Casper turned to him with an open mouth, but he could not speak, for his emotions were overcome with surprise.

“There is forgiveness on earth,” Alfonzo whispered, “Yet earth is not eternal.”

“No!” Casper cried, sinking to his knees and raising his hands toward Alfonzo in supplication.

“Have mercy, Alfonzo, for it was not I. Gladly I would die for you and for the cause; for Atilta and for its people. He speaks lies,” and he gestured to Montague.

His face was sincere, and Alfonzo was silent for a moment as he looked him over. Montague was indignant with the silence, however, and grew angry.

“William Stuart was a cowardly traitor to all that is good, as are you, Alfonzo.”

Alfonzo looked up from Casper, who remained prostrate before him.

“And what would you know of that which is good, Montague? Your schemes here will not work, for I will not disown those who call me master. They will be punished, if they do wrong, even as you and your master Gylain will be. But only when such wrongs are shown clearly. I will not judge before the matter is known, but rather, I will wait and fate will judge us all.” Alfonzo’s face flushed with passion.

Montague broke ranks with his men, advancing toward the three prisoners.

Vahan was trembling with fear and muttering under his breath, “I am loyal to Atilta, I am not a Frenchman.”

Casper still knelt before Alfonzo, anxious to be exonerated.

“If I am false to you, Alfonzo, it is not by my design. I only followed the orders I was given by you, in the letter.”

“I gave you no letter, Casper,” Alfonzo said slowly.

“You did not give it to me yourself, sir, but you wrote it. I was handed it by—”

But Casper did not finish. Before he could, Montague stepped forward briskly, and raised his sword. With a slow, calculated swing he broke the alliance between Casper’s head and his body. The severed head rolled off to the left and the body fell limp at the feet of Alfonzo.

The latter was overcome with grief and dropped to his knees, hiding his face in his hands in desolation and despair. Then he slowly raised his moistened eyes to Montague’s.

“I surrender,” he whispered, and let his sword fall from his hand onto the ground.

Montague stood silent, marinating in his victory. He raised his sword above his head, and prepared to bring it down upon Alfonzo, to finish off his stalwart enemy. But he stopped himself, with a strange hate gleaming from his eyes, that kind for which it is not enough to merely kill.

“No,” he said, “No, you will not be slain Alfonzo of Melborough. We must first let you soak in your dishonor. We must let you live and watch as your foolish followers are hunted down and slain, one by miserable, wretched one.” He paused, then, turning to his men, he went on, “Bind them. Then we are off to Eden, to the castle dungeon, from which there is no escape.”

He turned his back to Alfonzo and began to walk toward the edge of the clearing.

His men bound Alfonzo and Vahan Lee, kicking the decapitated body of Casper from their path. Montague did not wait for them, but started off in the direction from which he had come: east, toward Eden. The soldiers followed soon after, with the two prisoners between them.

When they were no longer in the clearing, but in the skyless forest once more, Alfonzo let out his grin, smiling from ear to ear in a simplistic way. Vahan turned toward him and opened his mouth in surprise.

“My friend, what is there to smile about at this sad juncture? Can you possibly be relieved that the fight is finally over? Can the end of the war, however horrible the defeat, bring with it rest from worries?”

“No, for the war has just begun, Vahan. Perhaps you do not realize what we have accomplished?”

“No, I do not see what is good in this.”

Alfonzo looked forward at Montague, but he was too far away to hear him, and the soldiers did not seem to care.

“We’ve cleared the forest of Gylain’s men,” he whispered, “For the safe passage of His Majesty, the King of Atilta, and his loyal protector, Horatio.”

He laughed silently as he spoke, as did Vahan, both grown men giggling to themselves. Yet they could not contain it, and soon they laughed ferociously, without giving any thought to what their captors would think.