CHAPTER I
"O King ... may the swords of the Hosthiles fall upon you to avenge the death of my father," cried a young woman as tears fell from her eyes. Those words echoed in the King's unconscious mind and roused him from his sleep. Lying awake, he pondered upon the spoken words as he wiped the sweat-beads that were formed on his brow. He had had nightmares before,all appeared tempestuous, yet not one caused him fear. But what just visited his soul puzzled him and stole him from his peace. Was his judgment wrongful? Did he spill the blood of an innocent man? He felt as if the air grew thin, filling his breather barely enough, as he sought answers to his questions.
Guided by the faint and yellow-colored light from a lamp on a chest by the wall, he slipped out of bed and walked towards the bedchamber window which was about ten steps from the feet edge of the bed. Midnight wind blew in through the four-sided window and caressed the King's face, enabling him to feel the coldness of the moonless night. Through the darkness of the night, he tried to get a vision of the rocky mountain which stood hugely before him, but,like a looking-glass, the blinding darkness cast back what was in his soul – a man hanging lifeless on a high pole.
"Does something trouble the King?" Queen Erina asked as she raised her head at a slant and wiped the slumber out of her eyes. The King's arising from the bed awakened the Queen. Looking at the King, she perceived that what awoke him was more than just a bad dream. Bad dreams, her memory reminded her, never did draw the King out of bed. Furthermore, his demeanor revealed a look of a distraught man, seemingly laden with a heavy load when upon him was only his nightdress of thin deep-blue linen.
King Rockburry turned around and faced the Queen. For a while, he held his silence, thinking on whether to tell the matters to the Queen or just keep it from her worries.
"A daughter of Oarwell has pronounced a curse upon me," said the King hesitatingly. He could not think of something else to say. "So potent that it even visited me in my sleep."
"Oarwell, ... the man you sent to be hung at Boneshaven is he?" asked the Queen as she rose and set her feet on the floor. Her bare feet were shielded from the coldness of the dressed stones by the furry bearskin that was laid on the floor.
"Yes... the people demanded his blood for sowing a ghastly tale into our streets," the King answered as he laid his sight on the Queen. Even with his worried soul, he didn't fail to catch a momentary fascination on how the faint illumination revealed her comeliness. Her golden hair blended as one with the glow of the lamp, and her eyes, green as the meadow, gleamed brightly, showing no sign of slumber. The night, imposing its presence, shaded the clearness of her skin and the whiteness of her silken nightdress, seemingly respectful of her endearing modesty.
The Queen was for a time believed to be the fairest in all the lands of Eatherland until the comeliness of the rumored Lady of Littlegrove was known and beheld. It happened that when the King heard of the rumors concerning the Lady's exceeding comeliness, he was angered. The rumors came to him as ridicule against the Queen, knowing that there was not a woman of noble birth in the small village of Littlegrove, rightful to be called a Lady. Wanting to put an end to the rumors, he sent for the persons from whom the rumors came and the guards brought before him a fat old woman who sat by the well daily and did her gossips to every one who drew water from it. To show the fat old woman her folly, he gave her an order, telling her to go to Littlegrove with the palace guards and fetch the Lady whom she had been speaking of. Otherwise, if she fails to usher the Lady into the city and before the throne, his wrath will surely fall upon her. Perhaps, the King reasoned in his soul, the old woman's failure to bring before him the rumored Lady would make her regret her senseless deeds. Fearfully, the old woman complied without delay. She led the guards to the village of Littlegrove and to where she heard the rumored Lady did dwell. The next day, the fat old woman returned from the village on a horse-drawn wagon with the rumored Lady and two of her olden handmaids. Straightaway, the Lady was brought before the throne and before the King. Inside the hall where the throne was, everyone who saw the Lady was filled with heart-felt admiration. Perceiving with their eyes, it was evident to them that the Lady's fairness exceeded that of the Queen. Her face was with striking symmetry, seemingly molded by the ablest artisan of clay. Crowning her face was her silky black hair that hung straight down to her shoulder. Her skin, clear and unblemished, revealed the queenly care that was given her by the olden handmaids. Her dreamy brown eyes sparkled noticeably, distracting the stares that tried to approximate
her thoughts. Regardful of the Queen's feeling, the King asked her if she desired to send the Lady out of Eatherland and away from her shadow. But the Queen, with her kind heart, was moved with compassion, seeing that the Lady was without discernment, without her soul. Instead, the Queen bade the olden handmaids who took care of the fair Lady to remain treating her well. Perchance, her majesty had thought, the Lady's soul may someday return and dwell in her anew.
"My King ... let not the dead man deny you of your needed rest," the Queen spoke as she held her hand out towards the King, "the city of Eathercrest delighted on your judgment."
The King held the Queen's hand and followed as she led him back to bed. Lying beside the Queen on the four-sided bed, he hardly felt the comfort that was tendered by the soft mattress which was filled with gathered curly hair of sheep ... for the curse lingered strong in his soul.
"I must send for the woman," he declared, trying hard to stay afloat amidst the drowning distress in which he was drawn.
"Do so if it would restore your peace," the Queen consented. A tone of concern attended her otherwise soothing utterances, "but let not your strength be consumed. You must prepare yourself for the campaign against the nation of Hostho."
"The Good Spirit who breathes life for Eatherland will lead us to victory," he assured the Queen, an assurance which he needed as well, and desperately so. "With His great power," he proceeded, "he can turn even the rain into a mighty army. I shall keep my confidence in Him."
Moments passed. Silence seized what remained of the night and the sun kept its promise of another day.
The morning greeted the King with a message from Lord Limbstrong, the Captain of the tenth army division; a division consisted mostly of slaves and lowly peasants, formed to provide a supplement to the nine divisions of the royal army. The sun rose and, as it were in the days that recently had come to pass, depicted a terrestrial splendor with sightly details. The rocky mountain that stood with one dark shade during the night appeared during the day in various shades of gray and amber, denoting each of its curves and rough edges. Viewed from the elevated palace, through the four-sided window that faced the morning sun, green-shaded patches in distinct shapes and sizes were strewn across the seemingly endless tract of wavy land, hinting the presence of life and growth. At a far distance, a long and winding body of water traversed the tract of wavy land, passing by most of the green-shaded patches. Overhead, white-colored clouds were stretched in varied lengths. They glided across the pale blue sky in an unchanging pace, heading away from the morning sun. From the sunny sky, warm wind blew down against the mountain walls and, with renewed strength, rebounded towards the city below, discomposing those found outside their brick-layered dwellings.
From his bedchamber on the second of the five-leveled palace, the King headed down to his throne that was in a spacious hall at the first level. He paced through the stone-layered stairway that ran along the stone-layered wall. He appeared that morning not in his usual elaborate kingly guise, exhibiting his preoccupation of other thing than his appearance. On his uncrowned head, hair flowed down to his shoulder, a color of gray with traces of blackness beneath. His strong jaw was adequately covered with thick gray beard, skillfully trimmed to match his equally thick gray moustache. Glares of confidence were in his blue eyes, a confidence which inferred that he had lived half a man's life.
As he entered the hall in his crimson gown of fine silk, embroidered artfully with gold-shaded threads, the scribes and the custodians lowered their heads and knelt down, showing a gesture of respect.
Rockburry was the only begotten child of King Rockfuller, a mighty king of Eatherland. In his youth, he lived with good favor from his king father who dutifully taught him the fine ways of kingship. Likewise, his mother, the Queen, nourished his soul with the virtuous oracles of old Cluemaeler, a seer whom the Good Spirit had given enlightenment. As he grew, Rockburry learned the skills of a swordsman and lived the life of a warrior. He was a prince seasoned by wars and was edified by victories. Previous to his ascent to the throne, he used to lead the by-named 'Second Army', a division of Eathen warriors which, in several battles,had marched separately from the hosts of the royal army and then joined the fight without warning, charging against the weak side of the enemy. Alongside his father, they enlarged their dominion through peaceful treaties and bloody wars. Their boundaries extended north, to the great sea, and south, to the valley of Thorrah which met the north border of the nation of Hostho. Like his father, he was a revered ruler. His will was founded on justice and was reined by good reason. He was wise and through his keen understanding, he broke riddles and won the heart of Princess Erina, a daughter of the sovereign of the nation of Seaby. Knowing his wisdom, the people willingly obeyed his decrees ... and delighted on his judgments.
Sitting on his throne of marble, finished with gold and precious stones, the King gave audience to the messenger that was sent from the tenth army division.
The messenger - a man with manners like that of a warrior but with a countenance that revealed his youth - was led by two palace guards before the King. Through the outermost doorway, closed by a huge door of thick iron, he entered the palace and followed the palace guards that came to meet him. Wanting to hide his mixed feeling of awe and fear, brought about by the very thought of speaking before the King of Eatherland, he walked uprightly with his left hand holding his brass helmet against his leather-vested upper body. His wavy dark-brown hair hung freely down his shoulders.
After walking about a hundred paces directly away from the outermost doorway and passing through six pairs of round-shaped pillars of stone, they reached another doorway, the entryway to the spacious hall where the throne was. It was a smaller doorway closed by two panels of neatly dressed lumber that was adorned with cut designs of curves and twirls and circles. On his right hand side, facing the second doorway, he saw a stone-layered stairs that rose up to the upper chambers of the colossal palace.
Inside the hall, the three men went in and walked on a red woolen fabric of four steps wide that was fixedly laid straight from the door to the stone-layered dais that lifted the throne with seven small steps from the rest of the floor. They passed through six pairs of pillars of stone that stood hugely across the hall with a stone bench surrounding each pillar. The murkiness of the dressed stone walls that surrounded the hall was covered from view by the heavy curtains of color gold, scarlet, and blue.
Upon reaching the stone-layered dais, the messenger knelt on his right knee and then lowered his head.
"Speak," the King commanded. His voice was firm, sounding a tone of urgency.
"Your majesty, King of Eatherland, I bring tidings from Lord Limbstrong, the Captain of the tenth division of your mighty army," the messenger spoke as he raised his head and stared at the King's sandal-shod left foot which was rested on a footstool. His voice was wavering. It was his first time to speak before his majesty, the King of Eatherland. "My Captain, Lord Limbstong, wants the King to know that his men are now numbered and are fit for war." Momentarily, he paused and waited for the King's response.
"Continue," said the King as he motioned the four scribes to write the numbers that the messenger was to recite.
The scribes were sitting behind a four-sided wooden table that stood right beside the first step of the dais that elevated the throne. The table was on the right hand side of the throne and fronted the window that did let the morning sunlight in.
The scribes were in their white inner cotton gowns and cream-colored open outer cotton gowns that hang loosely down to their shins. White-colored hair that receded farther, at a varied degree, from the brow of each of the scribes blended with their similarly colored facial hair.
At the King's gesture, each of the four scribes promptly unrolled a scroll wherein the numbers of the other divisions were written, and took hold of a tiny twig and then dipped its sharpened tip into a small vessel of black ink.
"These are the numbers according to the leadsmen of the tenth division," the messenger recited. Aware of the worthiness of his message, he made certain that the numbers that were spoken to him were well kept in his memory. "Five thousand able men. A thousand armed riders, a thousand spear-bearers, and ... three thousand swordsmen, a thousand of which are also archers." The messenger then took a deep breath, hinting that he had rightfully set forth the numbers that was entrusted to him and that he has nothing else to say.
"Very well," the King concluded. He was rested to know that despite the considerable want of time, Lord Limbstrong was able to find and gather a substantial number of men who were willing to take up swords and fight for the crown. Moreover, he was pleased to learn of their fitness to fight. He had had misgivings on whether fine warriors could come out of the slaves and peasants, and the tidings of their readiness to fight somewhat lifted his soul.
"Go tell your Captain that his tidings gave good pleasure to the King. With you I send stewards to deliver grains and malt for your sustenance."
The messenger then rose with his head remained lowered, took a step backwards, and turned around for the door.
The scribes, after they had written those which were narrated by the messenger, compared with one another the writings on each scroll. When they found the writings to be one and the same, they gave the scrolls to the custodians for sorting and custody. Thereafter, the scribes and the custodians asked the King's consent for them to leave and then left.
Still seated on his throne, the King cautiously thought on which person to send for the daughter of Oarwell so that her offense will be confessed and that she will recant the curse she did cast upon him. It must not be the palace guards, he decided, lest she will be frightened and flee. Patiently, he put in remembrance all his trusted men and palace officers, one after another, by their names and offices.
When his remembering came to the name of Abid-nego, the overseer of the servants and maidservants, his face brightened. "Perchance his demeanor would mislead the young woman," he mused, "and would consider him a bearer of the King's summons to serve the royal household." Thusly, the King called for Abid-nego.
Abid-nego, a eunuch of good repute who rose from the ranks of slaves, came in through the wooden door and presented himself to the bidding of the King. Before the King, he knelt on his right knee and then lowered his bare head as he waited for the King to speak. His light-brown woolen skirt that hung down to his knees gave contrast to his dark skin, and curls of black hair added blackness to his uncovered chest. Upon his shoulders were short strips of brass, sewn together on thin round-shaped leather that loosely surrounded his neck. About his upper left arm was an ornamental band of brass with a shape and form that resembled that of a curled serpent. Servants with esteemed offices like that of Abid-nego were given privilege to wear such crafty ornaments for they were enjoined to maintain an estimable demeanor.
Convinced that Abid-nego was fitting to be sent for the search, the King told him the matters concerning the curse and the young woman. Then with urgency, he bade the eunuch to prepare for the search of the young woman, telling him to have success before the battle with the nation of Hostho comes. Else, the woeful utterance will surely come to pass.
Dutifully, Abid-nego went forth to prepare for the search and did so without delay. With him, he took a brown-spotted white horse that was laden on both sides with small sacks of grains; bread and some other things which he deemed were needful for the appointed undertaking. Then, learning that Oarwell was brought by the people before the King to be judged, onto the city streets he commenced his inquiry.
Eathercrest, the heart of Eatherland, was a glorious city located near the foot of a rocky mountain. It was surrounded by four high stone-layered walls that were joined on four corners by four tall stone-layered towers. Its wide gate fronted east, welcoming the morning shine when clouds weren't there to cover. A huge iron door that was slid up when the dawn came and was slid down when the night had gone to its deepest closed the wide gate. On the other walls of the city, low and narrow gates were also made to provide passages for the people whose routes were far from the wide gate. To pass through the narrow gates, horses had to be stripped of their loads and then made to droop. A foothill that was dwarfed by the rocky mountain lifted from the other parts of the city the royal palace - a colossal structure made of dressed stones and carved timbers.
The city was a trading place of many sorts, from grains and apparels, to every pleasure of men and women. Led by the winding overland routes, merchants would come to trade or make a purchase with their pieces of silver, and wayfarers would come to show off their acquired learning.
The weather was mostly fair in Eatherland. The cycle of seasons started with rains, sometimes heavy but often brief. Then followed the long warm season where farmers till their lands and grow their crops. Harvests anteceded another season of rains.
On his descent from the palace, riding on his horse, Abid-nego could see clusters of dwellings which stood across the walled city with their tiled roof glinting under the sunny skies. Like leaves to a vine, a maze of narrow streets connected those dwellings, enabling the dwellers to go on their lives and affairs in the city with order and facility. On the foot of the hill that elevated the palace was the market place, the busiest part of the city with all the traders, the wares, and the purchasers.
As Abid-nego passed through the busy street of the market, the small sacks which were laden on the sides of Abid-nego's horse jolted occasionally as they hit against men who were rushing to their chores. Just like what he had heard many times before, the vendors made all sorts of noise to steal the ears of the buyers. Some belted their wares in unchained melodies and others shouted warranties to feed the buyers' fancies.
Wearing a friendly demeanor, he inquired about Oarwell: to the vendors and to every obliging man he met. However, his inquiries were without success. What the people knew were only that of Oarwell's decreed death and of his ghastly tale. Not one was able to tell him of Oarwell's home or origin. Weary of the people's futile replies, he headed to the well that was central to the market place, to fill his bag - an animal hide made into a vessel - with water.
Along the way, he met a group of maidservants, ten in number, each one carrying on her shoulder a vessel that was fully filled with water. Before him, they bent their knees halfway, showing a gesture of respect, and then resumed their walk to the palace. Down the cellar of the palace, a deep well was dug and from it water was drawn for the use of the royal household. However, whenever the middle of the warm seasons came, where the sun commonly did unleash its hottest glares, the water often would settle much deeper down the well and appeared impure and not fit to drink. Thus, in such days, the maidservants would go down to the marketplace and fill their vessels with pure water from the common well.
As he drew near the common well, he saw an old man sitting on the dirt with his back leaning against the layers of bricks that enclosed the body of water. Pungent smell of barley ale flown from the old man and his demeanor showed that he had drank to his full.
"He thought he's so bloody wise, eh!" the old man spoke and then spat which landed on his lap. "He thought he could fool the King," he proceeded as he took hold of the left portion of his faded outer garment to wipe his sweaty face.
"To ... to whom do you refer?" asked Abid-nego impassively as he lowered his bag into the water, believing that nothing fruitful would come from the idle talk of the drunken old man. He had to lower his upper body and then stretched his right hand fully downward to reach the water. The peak of the warm season had pushed the body of water down, barely to the reach of the people. During the rainy season, the body of water would rise up, nearly reaching the brim of the brick-layered enclosure.
"So wicked thinking he had," the old man continued as if he heard nothing from Abid-nego. "I wonder what sort of soul men have in Yokefiled."
Upon hearing what the old man had spoken, Abid-nego's heart leaped. The man speaks of Oarwel, he figured. He shook his head in disbelief and on his face was formed a smile of cheer. Invaded with an appreciable feeling of relief, he tore a portion of bread that was made of finely ground grains of wheat, handed it to the old man, and then left for the town of Yokefield.
"May inspiration shine above Eatherland," he heard the old man shouted with delight, "… for the Eathens are gracious."
