Jonathan Dunn: The Forgotten King

The three brothers heaved all the weight and force they could muster against the monk’s arm, and for a moment it seemed they would win, for they slowly pushed his hand toward the table. The crowd became silent and held their breath, hoping the monk would overcome the odds and defeat the rowdy Fardy brothers. Further and further down the monk’s arm was pushed, until his hand rested only an inch from the table. The crowd screamed air in suspense, and the brothers began to smile at their victory. But then Willard winked at the bear, who winked back. Suddenly his arm stopped moving downward, and no matter how hard the brothers pushed, they could move it no further.

The crowd trembled with impatience. Then, after a moment of such suspense, the bear began to move his hand up, and slowly it rose, despite the brothers’ desperate attempts to stop it. With an expensive suit of armor on the line, it was more than personal to them. The bear’s arm reached a perpendicular angle with the table and continued on, without the monk losing his breath. He did not tire, though the brothers were wheezing, with little waterfalls protruding from their brows. Then it was over. The bear swung his paw down in a fury and crushed the brothers’ hands beneath his. The crowd let out a loud, jubilant roar, cheering for the victorious underdog, without having any idea that it was not a man at all, but a bear.

“Who could have thought that it would be, that a single man should vanquish over three!” shouted the Innkeeper.

The three brothers were in a state of awe, and though they opened their mouths many times to speak, nothing came forth. Their eyes hung open like their mouths. At last, the black Fardy whispered, as if his voice would never return, “Let us make a receipt for the goods.” The others assented, and they fetched a piece of parchment and some ink and wrote out the following:

The Three Fardy Brothers, merchants of the city of Eden, do here give to Willard a receipt for a suit of armor, it being the one once owned by the King of Atilta, before he was deposed. To be given over upon the presentation of this receipt at the brother’s store in the aforesaid city.

Signed, the Fardy Brothers.

The paper was given reluctantly over to Willard, as the brown and black Fardys looked angrily at the blond, whose idea it had been to wager the priceless armor for the priceless sword. In fact, the idea had come into his head because the metalwork on the sword matched exactly that on the armor. How was it that such a sword came to be in the hands of a monk, or a wild man? That is for later in this history.

For now, let me say that the brothers, though quick to anger, were also quick to leave it – in spite of what they claimed – and they became friends with Willard and Horatio after the arm wrestle was history, exchanging amiable good nights before each went off to his own bed.

Chapter 4

Willard and Horatio had just finished their morning repast in the main room of the inn, and were reclining to let it digest, as was the custom at that time. The smoke had slowly fled the room during the night, and by morning the air inside was fresh by comparison. The other guests had also dissipated, with the exception of the Fardy brothers, who now took breakfast with the two false monks.

The blond Fardy was the first to break the silence which had come down with the third plate of bacon. “I know a man when I see one, Horatio, and you are surely the most man-like of all men. Now, I will admit to eating more of this food than can safely dwell within, but you have had enough to fill me thrice over – and that disregarding the bacon. I have heard the preacher talking about the great abyss where all is consumed, and before now I thought he was talking nonsense and rigmarole. Now I know,” and he laughed heartily, joined by his brothers.

The brown Fardy laughed, “Horatio does not condescend to speak Atiltian with us laity, my patient brothers, but I suggest he will speak it soon enough with our Atiltian Scotch. Heave ho, there, Horatio: will you take this round for good, old King Plantagenet?” whereupon he poured Horatio a glass of scotch, which the bear downed without hesitation, to the brothers’ great amusement.

“He is the living well itself, my brothers,” cried the blond Fardy, “How else could he take so much without unseating himself? The living well itself!”

“Perhaps he has been so long without the pleasures of the table he cannot help himself?” suggested the black Fardy. “Has he not been secluded in a hermitage these last fifteen years?”

The other brothers were subdued by the thought, and left their fun with Horatio. When the meal was finished, the travelers parted ways: the Fardys headed west and Willard and Horatio east. The brothers had a tab with the Innkeeper, and went their way with the understanding they would pay on their return. Before they left, the black Fardy pulled the Innkeeper aside and whispered:

“You will travel to Eden with the news, then? Be wary on your way, for one of our ships saw The King’s Arm passing the channel, and William may be about.”

The Innkeeper nodded and the Fardys left. Willard, however, had to wait while the Innkeeper reckoned his account.

“Two beds for the night, and for breakfast a bite – of plentiful stock from the downs; dear sir, it comes to three crowns.”

Willard paid the liberal price from the thieves’ purse and bid the odd man farewell. The Innkeeper returned it full force, holding his overwrought features tight beneath his bushy eyebrows. With their faces to the east, the two resumed their journey. The forest was lawless in those times, ruled only by its own edicts: power over weakness and strength over justice. The Inn was a small oasis amidst the desert of civilization that was the forest, but it could not hold back the tide of trees which pressed upon it with ever increasing pressure. As soon as the road bent away, therefore, the insecurity of the forest returned.

Only a short, trampled grass marked the road, while on either side loomed a cross-section of the forest. The trees were mighty towers and kept watch over the scarce undergrowth, a cloud of purple wildflowers that spread across the ground. Rather than travel in a straight line, the road wound through the forest to avoid the trees, which were too large to be cut down for a mere path. Yet, also because of their size, the trees were spaced at least twenty feet apart, and the forest was naturally open.

Willard and Horatio had abandoned their hunting formation, and now walked side by side. The inn set them to civilization, and led them to think themselves in safety. But the forest was never safe, and a shriek of horror, coming from south, reminded them of their danger.

Willard had drawn his sword before its ringing passed away. “Mind yourself, Horatio, for there is danger afoot! Fall back to the forest and hide yourself.”

The bear obeyed and in a moment was invisible in the forest, though close enough to join Willard’s side in an instant. Willard, meanwhile, stood in the middle of the road with his sword in a defensive position, waiting for something to happen. But nothing did. The scream was alone, and nothing followed it but the songs of birds. A moment passed, and Willard replaced his sword onto his belt. Just as he did, however, a noosed rope was thrown from a tree to the south, catching his arm and pulling itself tight.

“Remain,” he whispered to Horatio, and grabbed the rope with his forest hands. His feet bit the ground, and he pulled the rope toward him with tree-limb strength. Three men tumbled out of the tree, revealing a platform fifteen feet above the ground.

“Forward, Horatio,” and the bear came up.

Willard, meanwhile, had drawn his sword once more and freed himself from the rope. Then, before the three men could recover themselves, he charged them and raised his blade to strike.