Much time had passed as the men sat by and debated the next course of action. The King had stood mysteriously silent, seemingly apprehensive to exercise his hand in the next step. “My King, what shall we do now?” One of the king’s advisors had approached him after almost an hour of despair had passed. The King gave no answer.
Instead he let his broad shoulders drop and his gaze stare blankly as rain drenched his thick mop of dark, brown hair. “My lord, there is nothing here but if we turn back now, we can make it to our spot from last night where we left our meat and wine that we had to leave behind a couple days past before it spoils.
The squire Terran realized he had been standing there staring at the King’s advisor. His name was Horvat and he had never been liked by Horvat for a reason he did not know. “I think his grace needs more time,” replied a timid Terran. Horvat didn’t like it one bit, and it was clear he was about to snap soon. He stepped an inch from Terran’s face, looking down on him by about a foot and a half.
“I should slice you in half like a worm and feed you to the Gorillas. Your worthless now, don’t you get it? Without what was promised, the King has no need of you.”
Horvat spit at Terran’s feet and walked away. The servants-at-arms stood staring hungrily, clearly roused by their mentioning.
For the next hour the fear from what had been beyond the great hedges had completely faded and men were at each other’s throats, or otherwise become completely dejected. The King sat with two of his advisors, wordless in the rain. Horvat was in the thick of all the arguing and brawling. He rounded on one plump and short knight who had taken to eating the food supply at will. He slapped the food from his hands and landed a blow to the plump knight’s rosy cheeks, sending him plummeting to the ground with a thud.
It was a cruel thing when their expectations met reality upon reaching the Magical Meadows of Mestrane. It had a fruitful history, but a history was only recorded through word of mouth and not by scrolls. Men were scattered in groups and clusters of four’s and five’s when one by one their gaze turned.
There was a rider way off in the distance. The sight of the rider was still a speck lost in the swaying yellow grasses of the dead marsh meadows. The white of the horse gave small contrast to the stinging yellow grasses. The King of the group had a new sparkle in his eye as he watched, his men frozen in place behind him. There was a chance. The glory they had come all this way for wouldn’t be in vain.
All the women that had come along that they had to murder to feed the mountain dogs and wild hogs hadn’t been for nothing. The countless acts of greed and jealousy that had been committed were instantly forgotten. All grudges against the king for leading his people into peril was forgotten—for the moment. That one speck in the distance that grew gradually a little larger in more of a dot gave them all the hope they could wish for.
The rider was still not distinguishable. Terran the squire gaped in awe beside his master, not knowing whether he should be excited or scared, or perhaps both. He could make out a jagged crown on the head of the rider. He was a lanky figure, but he couldn’t make out any other details.
He suddenly realized how silent it was. There was not a single noise to be heard bar the sound of the breeze running through the thick forest behind them. No way in the seven hells am I going back that way again, at least not for a while.
Terran had stared death in the face far too any times along the passage to even begin to consider heading back that way. He wondered If he was the only one who wasn’t still mesmerized by the sight of white stallion a league and a half away. He looked to the servants-at-arms and they had taken up either side of the King with their massive clubs in their right hands. Their plump lips were puffed out and their eyes squinted at the intriguing sight.
The rider descended below their line of sight down the crest of a large hill. Men shifted uncomfortably, unsure whether to move forward to track the rider closer or to stay put and wait for his arrival. The King held out his hand up to steady his men and they moved no closer.
The King matted his frizzled beard down and removed his helm, revealing his flowing locks of hair, though his widows peak was much farther back than one would expect for a man with hair of his health and length. He thought he was dreaming. He had lost his wife, his only daughter, a finger and countless loyal men because of his own desire to adventure into this land that was seen by most as mostly seen as fairytale. It was only one of the five wonders, but it had the most credible evidence of being real. He had never known a man to have made it here and returned.
The King thought back to a week prior. The men were in low spirits, there was no game to be hunted and the men were starving. The forest had suddenly seemed bare when they needed food the most. Just a day ago there were countless wild dogs and tree monkeys, but they had figured they could obtain their meat farther down the passage through the jungle where there was an opening to set up camp. That moment had come, but with no game to be hunted. His trusted advisor Vonkqvist had taken a man’s head because he had cursed the King silently when it was established there would be no fresh meat for yet another night.
Vonkqvist had a tendency to go to the extreme, and for that the King felt bad—but it was necessary in order for people to fear the King. As long as he didn’t have to do those deeds himself—that’s what he had his advising council for anyways. To protect and advise; that was the mantra that his trusted advisors were expected to carry with them.
Vonqkvist had used his six-foot five brute strength to lift the cursing man from his feet. It was burned in the King’s head—the image of the man squealing and pleading with the King to make the inevitable stop. He had locked eyes with the man, but it only made it harder for the King to pretend Vonqkvist wasn’t butchering a somewhat innocent man. However, he knew what could happen on missions like these when men turned against you. There was no recovery, once men realized what they could do. Power is only what you make it, he was just another mortal man like his subjects, it’s just that he held a title spoken in word that gave him authority. It was quite odd when he had thought about it. His thoughts were taken back to the present when he heard the squabbling stop from the cursed man once his head was taken clean off with Vonqkvist’s icy sharp blade.
The King raised his neck to try and see over the crest of the hill to track the progress of the rider, but the rider was too deep in the gully to be seen until he arose from its depths. His eyes remained a cool and deep brown. He was not panicked or nervous, he had envisioned this situation and talked it out so much with his advisors that he had played out every scenario already. In the worst case, they would all be dead before he even had an opportunity to take what they came for—which he figured was a decent chance that could happen. However, if the rider recognized him as if he hoped that he would, he would have no worry about sharing his wealth with his people, they would all be dead no matter what outcome was about to occur. They didn’t know that, of course. Yet, it did not matter. They would probably die a quick death, maybe. Everyone dies at some point…unfortunately for them, that may be sooner than they had imagined. And longer than I could have foreseen.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
The winds seemed to have picked up. The dark clouds swirled in the sky and the rain had stopped though. The air had become dry, and the temperature dropped substantially from hours prior when they had initially emerged from the forest into the meadows. Vonqkvist and Horvat approached the King warily. It was Horvat who broke the silence, “My King, what are we to do if the rider recognizes you?”
Vonqkvist let out a huff of agreement, his large presence looming over the King and adding to the shadows of the clouds. “I have a special place for you at my side, regardless of what occurs. Be calm, and do not forget that I am your King.” His tone was unshifting with his words as always.
Horvat knitted his eyebrows and briefly noted how the King was never fazed by anything, even when his wife had been swept off that cliff by that night hawk on their third day of voyaging. He had simply clenched his jaw and continued on without word after an hour of reflecting in silence. It was quite odd, and something was definitely off about the whole voyage. Horvat had shared his concerns with Vonqkvist who had not seemed on board with what he was trying to get at.
“Keep your voice down you maggot,” Vonqkvist had said. Horvat had pulled himself closer to Vonqkvist inside the enclosed tent. “You listen to me; the King is in this for himself. I can feel it. If I wasn’t a part of the King’s close council, I would be halfway to Bryasor right now, teaching my boy how to hunt squirrels and wild geese. You’re an idiot if you think that whatever lies within those meadows is meant to bring wealth and glory to everyone who is journeying this far.”
Vonqkvist had laughed, “Think too much. You go sleep after a wine or two.” Horvat stared in disbelief at Vonqkvist’s seeming naivety. Maybe he was becoming paranoid—especially after travelling for so long without any substantial nutrients or meats. But what did the oaf know of the King. He would dance naked in the King’s court for him if asked by the King.
Horvat had always been more aggressive; more willing to question the King’s motives.
The rider had finally ascended upon the gulley of the large valley and became visible again, but he was much closer now. His appearance could be made out much more clearly. The squire Terran stared in awe—he had never seen someone, some thing, like this before. He wore the crown upon his head and his skin was dry and cracked with shades of dried blue paint upon his face as some sort of markings. His eyes were a dead gray color, unlike any eyes he’d ever seen. The rest of the men were removing their helms to get a better look.
Jaws dropped, and swords fell from hands. Terran was puzzled. Was he missing something here? This was one interesting rider, but certainly not one of beauty or elegance. He looked around at the men behind the King, and they stood in amazement as if they were looking at God himself. The rider was a hundred yards away. His white horse was gallant, however, and it rode beautifully through the swaying yellow meadows.
The figure wore beige clad robes and a necklace with a shining blue emerald pearl on it. His fingers that grasped the rein were white and dead. Were they just bone? Did this creature have bones? His face was almost a perfect rectangle. His cheeks swelled out a bit from face, but not from fat—rather his facial structure was just…different. The King took a couple steps forward and Terran wanted to stop him, but something froze him. He just watched. The King knelt and bowed his head, his sword laying within the deep blanket of straw and grass. The clouds let out lightning and the sky flashed brilliantly. No thunder ensued the flashes. The rider stopped ten yards short of the King. Men were struggling for breath at whatever sight they were seeing. Terran wanted to scream, to shout at the men! He trembled though and became afraid. He felt alone, was anyone experiencing what he was? Wait, where is Horvat? He was nowhere to be seen.
The rider dismounted and removed the crown from his head as he approached the King. The servant-at-arms seemed just as dazzled as the rest as their canine jaws gaped in amazement at the strides the rider took as he made way on foot towards them. Vonqkvist was nodding approvingly and smiling a stupid smile that Terran wanted to smack across the face. He was the King’s advisor, yet he was no help to him now. Terran was just a squire, but maybe he should end this. He should grab that sword that was laying five feet to his left in front of the king. He should slay the rider; this is a trick! His mind flashed a hundred possibilities, he thought of all those who had come here in the past, to receive the eternal calling and safe haven from the Meadows of Mestrane. None of them had someone like him to save the day. He must be that one—he will have stories written about him. The Brave Squire Terran. No, it would be Terran the Terrible—the one who ruined the chance for the men of Adrossi to find eternal safe haven from the terrible rulers of the east. This was it, his face matted into a fierce determination. The rider wasn’t armed, he hadn’t even look at Terran the whole way over. He was getting close to the King.
Time was frozen for what felt like a year. The sky light up like fire against the sky as lightening whipped across the darkened sky. A shiver went through Terran. It was now or never. He took a step forward, and another. All he had to do was reach and slice. One quick motion. He had done it before when he stole jewelry from the commons. It all seemed so easy, until he wasn’t moving.
The grasses wrapped his ankles. He was stuck, it felt like a dream when he would get stuck right at the pivotal moment. And then the arm came around his neck and hand clasped his mouth shut form the other side. The body pulled him back and held him tight. He could tell from the grip and the smell of his breath. It was Horvat. Curse him, they are damned for eternity now. He struggled against his grip. He tried to kick back a leg towards Horvat’s groin, but it was in vain.
The rider continued in slow motion. And this time the world really did slow down. It wasn’t Terran’s imagination. The rider raised both his hands up to the King’s head to place the crown on. It was like watching a movie that you can’t do anything about. Horvat’s grip remained strong. Was he seeing the same thing as himself?
Sound was different. He could hear a blur of words coming from the rider’s mouth. It was incomprehensible, maybe another language too. The crown touched the King’s head. The world flipped upside down. The world returned to full speed. The grasses turned bright green and the breeze died instantly. The clouds parted and warm sun hugged Terran’s skin. The King’s face turned a pasty white and slits replaced where his eyes had been. His mane of beautiful brown hair disappeared. The rider’s body dissolved and then entered into the King as a mist. The King smiled and looked to the skies in pure ecstasy.
This was wrong. It was all wrong. Terran bit Horvat as hard as he could and jutted his elbow back into his jaw. He was scrawny, but he was feisty when he needed to be, experience had told him. In one swift motion he picked up the sword and without hesitation raised it and slashed it through the King’s chest. The King’s pasty, rock hard skin cracked and shattered, right before him. The rest of the men faded—dissolved into the grasses. The meadows were yellow again and everything had returned to its former state as if nothing had happened.
Was this supposed to happen? The whole host of King’s guard and knights had disappeared. This was dark magic; it was an allusion. Terran backed up, unsure of what he had done. Could he undo it? He hadn’t backed up more than two steps before he stumbled backwards over the heap lying on the ground that was Horvat. Horvat pushed Terran aside and got to his feet. His eyes opened in a fear so deep that Terran had never seen this in a man’s eyes before. He did not know what Horvat was seeing that caused such fear, but he did not want to know. Horvat hesitated a moment, “What have you done?”