Jonathan Dunn - The Forgotten King

“Your kindness disarms me,” Willard said, and he bowed lowly and sheathed his sword. He saw the length to which his words of whim had taken the feudal lord, and so decided to diffuse the situation with a greater falsehood. “Your kindness disarms me,” he said, “But I cannot accept your gifts, for I am on a voluntary exile, which every crown prince of Bombay has taken. We must learn to live as the poorest of the peasants, to face the gravest of dangers, and to feel the grandest of loves, before we can take the throne.”

The mind of the lord turned over within his head. He looked at Willard’s tattered clothing and said, “There is none poorer than yourself, and just now you have faced the gravest of dangers. Is not your exile fulfilled, and the throne yours?” He knew there was a missing requirement, but that was his reason for asking.

“No, good man. I must also find love.”

“But can something be found if it is not sought? Come to my castle with me – my daughter is very lovely to the eyes.”

“It is not for the eyes that one seeks a woman,” Willard said, growing anxious, “But for the heart.”

“True, yet my daughter is also one of great heart. Come with me, then, and fulfill the last requirement of your exile.”

Willard grew worried, and only a single way of escape presented itself to him. “Very well, but not until my other duties have been fulfilled. Only then can I seek out love. When it is time, I will come.”

The lord smiled, “I am Lord Milada of Erlich,” he said, “And I will await your coming with great anticipation.” He bowed his head respectfully.

Willard did the same and, bidding the lord farewell, turned toward the forest to depart. But Lord Milada beckoned him back, “Surely, you will not go your way dressed in old rags. Let me clothe you as best I can, for I have some monk’s robes with me that will suit you well, and keep you warmer than those when the night grows chill. Besides, who is poorer than a monk? Fetch them, Hismoni.”

He said this latter part to one of the guards, all three of whom had recovered their senses; for the bandits had – for some mysterious reason – left them alive with little more than scratches. The guard went to the rear of the carriage and grabbed two frocks from the trunk that sat there, bringing them humbly to what he seemed to view as a mighty warrior.

“Two I give you, my lord, for you are surely twice a man.” The guard said this to show his respect, and it was well received by the so-called Prince Willard, who bowed and gave him a friendly nod before turning and disappearing into the forest, anxious to be gone. Lord Milada and his guards then continued on their way, making haste to avoid any other criminals that might be lurking there, though there were none.

When they had gone, Willard came back and looted the bodies of the slain bandits. The laws of the forest held no dishonor for those who took that which they had proved their right to by strength of arms. Willard felt no shame, for while he displayed at times an embedded sense of man’s law, he was also at times entirely devoid of such concepts as an honorable burial. In his world, the dead were eaten – and why not, for it provided life for those scavengers that partook of them.

Without a thought, therefore, he took the leather armor from the leader and the gold pieces which filled his purse. Then he set off into the forest with his blood brother walking beside him, both exalted after their great victory, a proof of their might. Willard, especially, was excited, for he had gone from being a mere wild man, to a noble prince who was fated for marriage and the throne – if those things were even blessings. It was then that thoughts of power and pleasure outside of his beloved forest began to fill his mind. He thought of living in a castle, with servants and luxuries and honor among men. When a person has no desires, he is content; but when he is given a little, he must have more. This is what happened to Willard at that moment, when all the possibilities of life opened up to him, and he became eager to try himself outside the forest, among men such as himself.

Chapter 3

Willard and Horatio had walked twenty yards into the forest when the young man had an idea. It was an idea that could not be suppressed, an idea to which he soon yielded and resolved to carry out: he had better go and make his way in the world, to make himself worthy of the great honor that had been bestowed upon him. He stopped walking and beckoned to the bear to come back to him, for he had wandered some distance ahead, as was their habit while hunting.

Willard had Horatio stand on his hind legs, which he could do with extraordinary dexterity. Taking one of the monk’s frocks, he slipped it over the bear’s head, pulled it down to his feet, and brought his arms through. It worked wonders, for with the hood pulled over his face – in a way not uncommon among monks – the thick, brown robes gave Horatio the physique of a very tall, fat man. The bottoms covered most of his feet, and the parts that showed did not look altogether inhuman. It was the same with the hands – or rather, front paws. Yet they took on the form of hands when he stood erect.

Once the robes were on, Willard walked around Horatio and looked him over from head to toe, then whistled a tune and laughed, “Horatio, you were born to be a friar.” He took one more trip around the bear and then put on his own frock, fastening his sword around the waist. It was a little out of the ordinary for a monk to wear a sword, but in those places monks did whatever they pleased.

With their disguises in place, Willard led the way back to the road, and they began to walk in the opposite direction as Milada and his entourage had gone – east. They made a good pace, and Horatio easily walked upright, making a convincing a monk. They were three days on the road, and nothing important happened until the third night, when they came across an inn – the first sign of civilization as they began to grow near to the capital city of Eden. The city was still a hundred miles away, but there were several inns and small settlements along the road as it drew near. The rest of the forest roads were deserted.

Willard still had the bag of gold coins he had looted from the bandits, so he decided he would spend the night there and see what he could see. The inn itself was small and made of wood, a low rectangular building with white walls and yellow trim. Upon the door, and again on the sign, was painted a coat of arms, though done by a trembling hand. The windows were bright and cheery from the fire within, but the light was dimmed by the smoke of the same. It was already growing dark and the forest fast becoming solemn, so Willard and Horatio entered and were greeted by a blast of warm air from the rooms, carrying on it the smell of smoke and ale, the characteristic scents of a frontier inn.

The main room was almost the same shape as the building itself, for the only separate rooms were the kitchen and a private bedroom for the innkeeper, both of which were cramped. The main room served as the dining and sleeping room. A counter ran along the wall opposite the door, a few tables sat adjacent to the left wall, and the other space was outfitted with little beds of hay, upon which the traveler could lay his bedclothes. In addition to the proprietor and his wife at the counter, there were three stubby merchants with short hair and long noses sitting at one of the tables. There were also a few half-drunk lumberjacks and peddlers congregated in the far corner.

Amidst the smoke, Willard could see the fire was burning well, so he led Horatio over and took a seat at one of the nearby tables. He talked to Horatio in a pretending sort of way, to allay any suspicions that the bear was not human. With that done, he rose and walked to the counter.