Jonathan Dunn - The Forgotten King

“Why do you harass me? Speak, fools, or I will kill you.”

“We are followers of Alfonzo of Melborough,” and they hesitated to see his reaction to the name, but saw none. “We have word that you attacked Lord Milada and so can guess your partisan feelings. Slay us if you must, but you yourselves will not last long in that case.”

“Longer than you, at least,” and Willard menaced them with his sword.

“Let them go!” a voice cried from the forest.

Willard turned his head but not his sword. The voice came from a noble man with a lofty forehead and a short, pointed goatee. His hair was tied back in a single ponytail, his eyes large and perfectly spaced between his temples, though too near the bridge of his nose.

“Let them go,” the man repeated. “You have a mark against you, but kill them and add three.”

“So I have heard,” was Willard’s reply. “And yet we are in the forest, where the only voice of authority is the voice of strength. As it is, I reign over you; and if you would give ultimatums, first reveal the force which backs them. Otherwise, I despise you.”

“Wretched brute!” the man moaned, “Is this what infests our forest, the scourge of our castles? No, I am not weak,” and he whistled.

Twenty armed men revealed themselves from hidden posts around the road. On the platform, several archers came through the veil of the trees.

“So you see, I am not to be despised.”

“Perhaps, but these men are cowards, and cowards do not palpitate my heart.”

“Cowards? Say the word and they will give proof to the contrary. Why are they cowards?”

“Cowards or villains, either way – but to me, the two are equal. A strong man does not harass the weakest, and a multitude does not plunder the minority. To do so shows weakness of spirit, and that is a weakness of strength. I have heard the scream of a single man, and is he not held by your men? Thus, I say they are cowards.”

As Willard spoke, he leapt at Alfonzo of Melborough, brandishing his sword above his head. The latter, however, had his own sword drawn and repulsed the attack with a simple sidestep, leaving Willard to his right. But Willard pivoted on his left foot and threw himself across Alfonzo’s front. Their swords met again, crossing between them. They grappled for a moment, then each stepped back, unable to overcome the other.

“You are not weak, in body at least,” Alfonzo said, “But your mind I still doubt. Look about you: you are outnumbered greatly.”

“I have overcome such odds before,” and Willard drove forward with a series of blows, each of which Alfonzo parried while retreating into the forest. It seemed at first that Willard took the advantage, yet the forest was filled with Alfonzo’s men.

“You allude to the assault on Milada. Yet while you escaped, so did he,” Alfonzo fell back.

“Indeed, and I am pleased in that,” Willard said.

Alfonzo probed Willard, and weighed the meaning of his words. Willard bravely returned the look, but as he did Alfonzo tripped him and he tumbled to the ground. He was not used to fighting creatures who could do such things. Alfonzo bound his hands before he could recover, then helped him to his feet, standing him against a tree. He paced before him for a moment, distracted, then suddenly stopped before Willard. He took his hand and struck his cheek with an open fist. Willard was enraged, but conquered his anger and did not add to his injury with insult.

“That was for the ambush involving Milada of Erlich,” Alfonzo said with a sharp smile.

“Then you mean to revenge the noble looking man? He would have lived, had he known to respect authority.”

“A fitting epitaph, traveler, and perhaps one which will soon find its way onto your own tombstone.”

“A man of the forest needs no marker but his own bones, to adorn the earth where he is buried.”

“And are you a man of the forest, monk? Yet your sword is honored by your skills with it.” Alfonzo took Willard’s sword from the ground, and held it up to the light. “Tell me, wild peasant, from whom did you steal this sword?”

“From no one.”

“From a grave, then? These markings are from the royal house of Plantagenet.” He tried to pierce Willard with his eyes, but Willard’s gave a sharp riposte. They struggled for a moment, then Alfonzo retreated. “You seem more than a petty grave thief, Willard, or else I would slay you here and now. I was once tutor to the youthful Prince Willarinus Plantagenet, and for any man to wield his sword and mock his name in so doing invokes my wrath. Yet I will allow you to live, for you do not know what you do. If you did, my curse would find its end in you.”

“You are an outlaw and a vagabond, even if once an attendant to a noble house. How is it that you can call curses upon any head but your own?”

“For fifteen years I have made my home in this wilderness, battling the corruption of our fair land; fifteen grueling, forsaken years filled with hardship and loneliness, undertaken willingly in penance for my sins. How much of an eternity is needed to be forgiven?”

“Time is not forgiveness. And philanthropy does not use the wealth of another. Lord Milada, whom I rescued from your fellow bandits, was he an evil man?”

Alfonzo paused. “Your lies almost deceive me, with your flawless delivery. Yet I know the ways of deceit, and I know it was you that attacked Milada. I have word directly from Hismoni, the captain of the guards.”

“I am a man of the forest,” Willard answered, “And if I am wronged, in action or in word, I can only rebuke it a single way. Yet I am proved weak, so I will not release the vanities of speech in my defense.”

Alfonzo paused, then, “You seem otherwise than I would have thought, not the crude ruffian of evil you were portrayed as. Still, there are those who are both noble in bearing and evil in heart; but you, perhaps, are not among them.”

“You say that with contempt, with the passions of hatred against a man. A common bandit cannot hate with the virtues of revenge, whether he be evil or not. If you were in noble service, you have lost it long ago.”

“I have said that Prince Willarinus was my ward and I was with him when he was taken. A choice presented itself between my own love and my duties, and I hesitated. Both were lost. Yet I do not hate the man who did it, for some things cannot be stopped. They are determined beforehand.”

“You speak in riddles, Alfonzo of Melborough.”

“So I do, but you will gain nothing else from me. For now, there is silence.”

With that, the other men brought Horatio forward, bound at the wrists in such a way that his paws were not revealed as such. The two were blindfolded and led for an hour through the pathless forest, headed south – though the rangers disguised it with a crooked path. Such devices were lost on Willard, though, for a man of the forest can see without seeing. At length, they came to a stop near the sound of a waterfall.

“Be still there, Horatio,” Willard whispered. “We will have them yet!”

Chapter 5

Willard and Horatio were freed from their blindfolds at the entrance to a cavern.

“Follow me,” Alfonzo said as he started in.

It was a large underground labyrinth, long used as a base for the rangers: the tunnels were equipped with fireplaces delved into the walls and furnished with tables and chairs. They were unable to see its true extent, though, for Alfonzo led them into a small chamber adjacent to the entrance, not twenty feet within and set apart from the main cavern by a tightly fit wooden door. Inside was a table and two chairs, upon which sat as many guards, with a man tied in the corner. Alfonzo said nothing as he committed Willard and Horatio to the guards; he had left before they were placed on the ground beside the first prisoner. After a moment, Willard spoke to the man: