The Medievals 1, page 11
part #1 of The Medievals Series
“I understand your pain,” the King says.
Suddenly, as if these words have broken the leash holding back his anger, Ivanhoe launches himself at Richard’s father.
In a blink, Ivanhoe has his hands at the King’s neck. But Richard’s father leverages his own weight -- and Ivanhoe’s momentum -- to send them backward into the dilapidated wall, the head of a buck jostled loose, sending it crashing to the floor along with the two men.
For a moment, Richard’s shock roots his feet to the ground and hollows out his legs. He has never seen anyone strike the King before. It is an offense punishable by death. But here is Ivanhoe, a knight of days past, his life sworn to the King, now choking his father.
Richard looks to his father’s face, turning a deep shade of red. Ivanhoe is squeezing the life out of him.
“Father!” Richard yells.
Blood finds Richard’s legs and he springs onto the back of Ivanhoe, who is pulled away from the King. Not knowing what else to do, Richard wraps his arms around Ivanhoe’s neck, holding on tightly as Ivanhoe swings about trying to throw Richard off. Richard has been trained to fight by Master Cheng; but then again, so has Ivanhoe, as Richard now recalls.
As Richard squeezes Ivanhoe’s neck, he realizes that he has not been trained for such a fight, for this is no ordinary man. He is a massive wild animal.
Richard knows that if this bear can shake him loose, Richard is done for. So he simply holds on with everything he can muster, his face pressed into the furry pelt around Ivanhoe’s head.
Whatever you do, do not let go. Richard repeats these words over and over again, a mantra that he hopes will give him the strength he needs.
As the King catches his breath from the floor, Richard and Ivanhoe become a swirling storm within the cottage, destroying a table and chair in their wake, Richard’s legs swinging out behind him.
Meanwhile, Ivanhoe grabs at Richard’s arms that are squeezing his windpipe, trying to tear him from his back so that he can breathe again. Richard’s strength has never been tested like this. But Richard manages to hang on because all of his desperation and energy is focused into his arms around Ivanhoe’s neck.
But then Ivanhoe throws himself backward, slamming Richard into the wall behind them. Richard holds on, but just barely as his back cracks against the wooden surface. And then Ivanhoe does it again. And again. Richard chokes back yelps of pain as his body is being crushed between the immovable wall and the unstoppable force of Ivanhoe.
Don’t. Let. Go.
And then, as suddenly as it began, it is over.
Ivanhoe stops completely. And Richard, still holding on, is pulled from Ivanhoe’s back by his father. Richard looks to Ivanhoe, who is being held captive by two of the Constable’s men, Clyburn wielding his sword at Ivanhoe’s neck.
“Son, are you okay?” Richard’s father asks him, genuine concern in his voice.
Richard can still feel the wall at his back even though he is no longer against it. And his knee, bruised from the fall on Mount Saurian a few weeks earlier, is now throbbing with pain once more.
Richard’s weakened body tells him to fall to the floor, but his mind refuses to allow it, wanting his father to see his strength; to believe that Richard can and should lead the mission to rescue the missing Descendant.
And so he shrugs off his aches.
“I am fine,” he says to his father, trying to appear unflappable.
Reassured, his father then turns to Ivanhoe. and, without warning, the King punches the man, his knuckles connecting with Ivanhoe’s whiskered jaw. The hit is powerful enough to send Ivanhoe backward, the guards nearly losing their hold of him.
“Do not ever lay a hand on my son again,” the King commands, and Richard notes a pique in his father’s face he has not seen before.
Meanwhile, the punch was serious enough to break Ivanhoe’s stoicism, if only for a moment. Since Ivanhoe is restrained and cannot reach his bruise, he moves his mouth around to massage the pain in his jaw.
The King looks to Clyburn, saying, “Now, let him go.”
The Constable can not believe the order to let Ivanhoe go free, and neither can Richard. The King was only seconds from his death had Richard not stopped the crazed man from strangling him, and now he wants to just pretend it never happened?
“By law, this man shall be put to death,” Clyburn argues.
“You can not kill this man,” says Master Cheng, standing close to the doorway.
The Constable furrows his brow, confused. “Why not?”
“Because he is already dead. Or believes he is, anyhow,” Master Cheng muses.
The Constable protests, looking to the King: “Your Highness, he assaulted you!”
“Yes, this man assaulted me, a truth that we would all be wise to keep within the walls of this dwelling. But Constable, there are greater things at stake here than the pride of a King. We must find that girl. And this man is more capable than any other in that effort.”
Clyburn sighs, then nods to his guards, who relinquish their holds on Ivanhoe.
The King looks to Ivanhoe. “You were not only the greatest knight within my ranks, you were also the most skilled tracker I have ever known. I dare say, there is not a better tracker in all the Realm. And this is why I need your help.”
The King pulls a torn cloth from his pocket and holds it out. Richard recognizes it as the same dirtied cloth that the Caemon clutched in his fingers as he lay dying in the Throne Room.
“This is a swatch of the girl’s clothing. It bears her scent. If anyone can track this girl and her captors, it is you. I want you to lead a team, find the girl, and bring her back to the kingdom.”
“Why is this girl of such consequence to you?” Ivanhoe asks.
Richard watches as his father and the Constable share a look, and Richard wonders how much his father is willing to reveal to Ivanhoe -- how much he trusts a man that just tried to choke the life out of him.
His father chooses his words carefully. “The girl possesses a power. And if that power falls into the wrong hands, the Last Fate will surely visit us at our door.”
To Richard’s surprise, Ivanhoe shrugs off this prophecy of doom and asks, “If it is true what Master Cheng says -- that I am a man who believes he is already dead -- then what does a dead man care about the fate of the Realm?”
Clyburn shakes his head at Ivanhoe’s soulless response, then turns to the King: “Your Highness, we are wasting valuable time here. I know a dozen men more qualified, and far more willing.”
Yes, Richard thinks. Like me.
The King puts his hand up to silence Clyburn and then focuses his gaze on Ivanhoe, seeming to look deep within the man that stands before him.
After a long moment, Richard’s father puts his hand on Ivanhoe’s shoulder. And, as if the King and Ivanhoe are the only two people in the room, he says in a considered tone, “I had no right to tell you that I understand your pain, for I do not. I do not know what it is like to carry the hurt you have carried all these years; or what it is like to cling to ashes instead of a heart. You are right: while you kept the devils away for the sake of the kingdom, I failed you when you needed the same from me. For that, I offer you a profound apology. "
Richard looks to Ivanhoe to see his reaction, but the tattered knight seems a wall to his father's words of contrition.
The King continues: "But I need you to hear me now. Your wounds were deep, but they were not mortal. You still have the capacity to heal, as do all of us. You can again be the Ivanhoe I once knew. The Ivanhoe that would not allow a young girl to be harmed. That would not let evil prevail inside the walls of the Realm, no matter the cost.”
His father pauses and points to the door of the hovel. “If you want us to walk out that door and not return, that is your right as a free man. But I beseech you: forgive all of my tragic limitations that spoiled our friendship and help me save this girl.”
The King’s entreatment hangs there in the air between him and Ivanhoe. Richard is stirred by his father’s sincere appeal to his old friend. And he can only imagine that Ivanhoe is equally moved. Richard studies Ivanhoe’s countenance, and he sees a glint of emotion growing in his eye.
But then Ivanhoe blinks and it is gone, as if he has forced any and all sentiment away, his eye returning to its cold, stoic state.
And then, to Richard’s surprise, Ivanhoe laughs contemptuously.
“You always did believe in the romantic power of your silver tongue,” Ivanhoe says to the King. “But I am not stirred. I care about one thing, and one thing only. Vengeance. Everything else is noise.”
Ivanhoe shakes loose the King’s hand from his shoulder and then motions to the door.
Richard’s father holds Ivanhoe’s eyes with his own, making one final plea: “You should know that the girl was taken by saurians.”
Ivanhoe drops his hand by his side as he hears the word ‘saurians.’ Richard notices that Ivanhoe’s demeanor has changed all at once. It is as if his mind has leaned forward, taking a sudden interest in what the King has to say.
Ivanhoe’s one eye weighs the King with a suspicion. “Is this your clever way of manipulating me?”
The King shakes his head. “The girl’s guardian claimed she was taken by a man in a silver mask -- a man he called Waldron. And he was accompanied by two saurians. He said one of the saurians bore a scar that ran the length of his face. The same marking you have said your enemy bore years ago. You could help me and get your vengeance with one swing of the blade.”
But Ivanhoe still appears skeptical. “Why did you not lead with this? You could have saved some time.”
“I had hoped I could convince you by speaking to your angels, not your demons.”
“Demons are all I have left in this world,” Ivanhoe says before asking, “Where did they take the girl?”
“A spotter at the Northern Barrier believes he saw the man in the silver mask, along with two other men, travelling through the Mori Gates during his watch. From there, our best estimation is that they absconded into the Eternal Forest.” Then, with hope in his voice, the King asks, “Does this mean you will lead the search?”
Ivanhoe gives a slight nod. “I will need fifty of your most able men.”
The King hesitates at this request. “The uncharted woods of the Eternal Forest are filled with the claws and fangs of beasts not yet known to us. You will need to stick to the shadows as you make your way. This will be impossible with fifty men marching. Also, we do not want this unknown enemy to know you are coming. Your profile must be no more than a whisp.”
Ivanhoe grimaces at this constraint.
Meanwhile, Richard’s mind is charged with wonder at the thought of the beasts in the Eternal Forest that are not yet known. Richard wishes desperately that his father would grant him permission to join the search party and journey into the Beyond.
Ivanhoe alters his request: “Then I will need one man who can fight like fifty. And I will also need a guide. Somebody who knows the Beyond.”
The Constable balks at this request. “The only people foolish enough to go into the Beyond are outlaws.”
“Then find me an outlaw,” Ivanhoe replies, unconcerned.
Before Clyburn can argue, the King speaks: “You will have what you need.” Then, Richard’s father holds his hand out to Ivanhoe to shake. “Thank you, my old friend. You have made your King happy.”
“Make no mistake: I do this for Rowena, and nothing else,” Ivanhoe says solemnly, not returning the King’s outstretched hand, and leaving Richard to wonder who Rowena is.
◆◆◆
The next morning, the guard outside the Royal Bedchamber opens the door for Richard, who has requested a private audience with his parents.
Richard enters to find his mother at the window, framed by the morning light. As he moves further into the room, nerves swirling in his stomach, Richard sees his father reclining in the chair by the imposing stone fireplace.
Richard has come to ask one final time that he be allowed to join the effort to rescue the Descendant. This will be his last opportunity, as Ivanhoe and his small cohort are scheduled to depart this evening after the sun blinks over the horizon.
In the day that has passed since Ivanhoe agreed to lead the search, two more men have been enlisted for the mission.
One is a giant Spaniard named El Cid, a warrior exiled from his homeland and imprisoned here in the dungeon three years ago. He is enormous; without doubt, the largest man that Richard has ever seen. He is the size of at least three men, his legs as big as tree trunks. He has regaled his fellow prisoners with his exploits from his days in Spain; and he claims to have fought off a hundred men at once.
The other recruit is a wisecracking thief named Loxley, one who swears an intimate knowledge of the Beyond. The outlaw, who bears a dark complexion and a roguish smile, says he holds a map of the Eternal Forest within his mind; and Ivanhoe, left with no other volunteers from the dungeon, has selected him to be their guide.
Richard wonders if either man is being truthful about their merits, as both men stand to gain from the mission. In return for the delivery of the Descendant to the King, the two men have been promised not only their freedom, but also rewards of their choosing: for Loxley he has fixed his desires on a chest of gold; and for El Cid, the return of his ship, which is docked in the Royal Port.
“Good morning, my sweet boy,” his mother says endearingly, her face always a kind invitation. Richard only wishes that she had not used the word ‘boy,’ as it seems to undercut his forthcoming request.
As Richard stands there in the company of his parents and their attendant silence, he struggles to remember the formulation of words he had practiced over and over in his room as he lay awake in bed the night before. Through the early hours, he had constructed a convincing argument, and then committed it to memory. But now that memory is nothing more than a shy ghost.
“Richard, I can not let you go,” his father says, answering Richard’s question before it is even voiced.
“Why not?” Richard asks, his argument holding to his throat.
“As I have already explained, your absence would create too many questions,” the King says.
“It is tradition for a Prince to embark on his first diplomatic mission in a time that follows his Triumph Day, is it not? Tell the people that I have traveled to the Lands of the East. You could even send Master Cheng with me to strengthen the story,” Richard suggests, remembering his planned speech from the night before.
“Jun Cheng is too old for this mission. You know that.”
“And you know that you are only creating reasons to deny my request!”
“Richard,” Queen Soraya says softly, trying to calm his tone, which edges on insolence.
Even though Richard is speaking to his father, his father is still the King, and therefore demands respect.
The King rises from his chair and moves to Richard. “Son, you have the heart of a lion. But the rest of you is not ready.”
Richard protests: “Yes, father, I am.”
“One day, I promise, you will roar. And that roar will echo over the Nine Territories and throughout the Realm, and men will heed your words. But today is not that day. There are things out there -- dark and dangerous things -- that are beyond your imagining.”
“If something threatens the Realm, it is our job to protect it. Those are your words,” Richard says, hoping to trap his father in a logic of his own design.
But Richard can see that he has failed to convince his father. And his heart sinks.
“I can not explain it,” Richard says, almost too quietly for his father and mother to hear. “There is a voice, deep within me, and it is calling to me, telling me that this is what I am meant to do. And I fear what will happen if I do not listen to that voice. Father, mother: I swear to you that it has infected my bones. Like a sacred purpose. I am meant to save this Descendant. It is meant to be part of my story.”
Richard’s voice trails off, leaving them in silence.
And in that silence, standing there in the yellowing light of the morning, Richard allows himself to believe that his father will grant him his request.
“That you live to see another day -- that is the only story I want for you, Richard,” the King says. And then, like a door clanging shut: “You will not go. That is my final word. We will not speak of it again.”
{Wendolyn}
Fire fairies coming out
Fire fairies dance about
Bringing us your light.
On nights when Wendolyn would awake from a bad dream, her father used to lie next to her, tucking her into the sanctuary found between his chin and chest, and he would softly sing this song to her. She could imagine the Fire Fairies emerging playfully out from the cupboard, or dancing in through the windows. And she felt safe.
But right now, Wendolyn does not feel safe. The words to her father’s lullaby float through her mind, beckoning the light, calling to her father. But neither light nor her father appears as she endures the darkness of this prison cell.
The last time she saw light was in the forest when she attempted to escape her captors, but failed. One of the saurians knotted the blindfold around her eyes again, and then it was only removed just before she was imprisoned in this windowless room.
That was eight days ago, or so she thinks.
For the first few days, Wendolyn’s body had felt the rhythms of the waking hours: morning moving into the afternoon, then dipping into night. Her mind knew when to sleep and when to wake.
But her grasp on the meaning of an hour has slowly loosened. And since she is beyond the reach of the sun, day and night are quickly becoming conniving twins, sniggering at Wendolyn’s inability to tell the difference between the two.
And so it could be that she has been here for eight days; but it could be more; or maybe less.
Wendolyn has never experienced such utter darkness, blacker than a starless and moonless night. Even without the moon, there is always the thinnest suggestion of the new morning being born on the horizon. But not in this room. In here, there is no light; not even a hint of it. There is only the complete and terrifying absence of light.
