man at all, but liked to think himself a particularly great one. Yet, seeing as he knew no other men, this illusion – though unhampered – was meaningless. Willard was neither tall nor short, but somewhere in the middle. His appearance was not at a loss for this though, as his face was strikingly beautiful. His nose was long and angular, his eyes reflective. His hair was as black and as long as night, hanging down to his shoulders. There was a thick beard upon his face that masked most of his features, and made him seem secretive. He looked like a beast, but also like he could have been a prince.
The sword he wore at his waist was also beautiful: carefully crafted, with a golden handle and blade, each wrought with pictures that told the story of some ancient family. By all appearances, it would have cost the lives of as many men under human law as honey under forest law. As to how a wild man came to be in possession of such a costly weapon, that will be seen later.
The black bear, whose name was Horatio, was gigantic: six feet tall when he stood erect on his feet, which he could do with surprising ease. His fur was black and his eyes brown, though strangely gentle. While he could not talk, he could grunt in such a manner that people could be persuaded he was speaking some foreign language. He was bright, as well, and could communicate through gestures. There was something strange in the forests of Atilta, which gave the animals a greater intelligence than mere brutes, and there was also something strange between the man Willard and the bear Horatio. They could understand one another, and communicate through signs which others could not decipher.
These things happened right at the time of year when spring gives way to summer. The region of the forest in which Willard and Horatio lived was in the center of Atilta. Its trees were grand and spaced far apart, and the underbrush sparse and mostly of a short, soft grass. There was a perpetual twilight below the roof of the woods, leaving life and leisure to linger in the shade. The air was dense and damp, a drought of water at every breath.
A few roads pierced the forest, and the main one stretched from the center of the western coast to the far eastern side of the southern coast. The forest rangers lived apart from the main population, with a system of roads that ran among the branches of the canopy in which they lived; but, for now, it is the road between Thunder Bay and the capital city, Eden, which concerns us. Willard and Horatio were hunting near it one day, making their way silently along its edge and tracking the animals that lingered there.
Their usual method of hunting was this: Horatio crept up to an animal and frightened it away in a certain direction, where Willard sat in ambush. It worked well. They were doing this, with Willard hidden by the roadside and Horatio some way off into the forest, when the sound of a carriage came from around a bend in the road. The bear gave Willard a questioning look, which was answered by a gesture to hide. They both knelt behind a tree, Willard alongside the road and Horatio some way back from it.
The carriage that came up was a stately conveyance, made of wood and designed to be both comfortable and defensive. This martial attitude was on account of the bandits which had arisen after the coup, sanctioned by the usurper’s Elite Guards. Inside the carriage was a man in his late forties, dressed nicely and having the look of a feudal lord. Around him were three guards, generally intimidating with their sharp countenances and sharper swords. The lord in the carriage was conversing with one of the guards, when, from the trees on the side of the road directly opposite Willard, a group of bandits leapt out and struck at the guards. The latter put up a fierce resistance to the outlaws, but eventually the guards were overcome without slaying any of the six thieves, who were each armed with a sword and covered with a tough leather jerkin.
When he saw they were defeated, and the lord in the carriage harassed and mistreated, something arose in Willard – from he knew not where – that made him indignant to see authority treated in such a manner. His blood quickly came to a boil, and without thinking he jumped up and onto the road.
“Hold yourselves, bandits,” he cried, “And do not mistreat the innocent traveler – or I will hold you myself, and I trust you will not like my grip!”
The bandits were somewhat taken aback at the sight of a wild man brandishing a gloriously crafted sword and commanding them to relent with an intelligent and forceful voice. For a moment, they stared at him in confusion. But their leader, a tall man with a noble countenance – looking more like an officer or an educated man than a bandit – spurred his men forward, their swords drawn and extended before them. The leader reached Willard before his men, and the two engaged in a brief melee before the others arrived.
Many years of forest life had given Willard great strength and dexterity, and he seemed to have some innate knowledge of swordplay, as if he had been trained in it some time in his distant youth. The swords of the two men met between them, each pushing with his strong wrists and eying his antagonist with raw determination. Willard made the first offensive by pivoting on his left foot and withdrawing his sword from the grapple it had been engaged in. But he did not leave it disengaged for long, for he thrust it at the bandit’s stomach. The latter whipped his wrist to the side and diverted Willard’s blade from its intended course. Then, pressing down upon his lips, he drove forward with an overhand swing at Willard’s head. But the forest man was too quick for him, and was already to the bandit’s left, behind the swing of his blade. Thus, he had the man’s undefended side turned to him.
Willard’s forest nature allowed him to show no mercy, and he ran his blade through the bandit’s belly. The other five bandits reached him just at this moment, however, and Willard – unable to parry five blows at once – fell back into the forest. Seeing his protector thus forced back, the lord in the carriage hung his head, so as not to see his demise.
What he kept himself from seeing, however, was Willard draw them into the forest and a black bear suddenly leap from the bushes, bringing down two from behind with his giant claws. The others soon followed them, surprised and out-maneuvered by the partners of the forest. All this took up only an instant of time, and when the lord again looked up, he was amazed to see the dead bodies of his antagonists deposited half in the forest and half on the road. He could see no one but Willard, for Horatio had again vanished behind the bushes, and he was astounded at the wild man and his marvelous sword. Willard advanced and asked the man if he was well.
“Am I well?” the lord answered, his arms flaying about in agitation, “What a question from a god to mere man! If I were rude, I should ask you how a wild man could wield such an exquisite sword, and do so with such surpassing skill. But I am not, so I will not ask, nor what type of being you are, a king or a prince?”
Willard smiled at the man’s indiscreet questioning, and opened his mouth to reply.
“My lord, I am indeed a prince,” was the first thing to enter his mind, and so he said it. “Prince Willard of Bombay, and heir to the throne of the same.” He lied, but the vigors of battle took up office in his tongue and gave him the resonance of truth. The feudal lord, in his excitement, believed him.
“Tell me, Prince Willard,” he said, “How is it that you came to be here, to all appearances a barbarian of the forest? If it is by treachery that you find yourself exiled to the wilderness, know that I share your fate, and that what is mine is yours as well,” and his arms moved back and forth in wild gestures. “Bombay is a great kingdom, but have they fallen to the depth of regicide, even as our great Atilta has?” The lord had never heard of Bombay, but at that moment, Willard’s word was canonical.
“Your kindness disarms me,” Willard said, and he bowed lowly and sheathed his sword. He saw the length to which his words of whim had taken the feudal lord, and so decided to diffuse the situation with a greater falsehood. “Your kindness disarms me,” he said, “But I cannot accept your gifts, for I am on a voluntary exile, which every crown prince of Bombay has taken. We must learn to live as the poorest of the peasants, to face the gravest of dangers, and to feel the grandest of loves, before we can take the throne.”
The mind of the lord turned over within his head. He looked at Willard’s tattered clothing and said, “There is none poorer than yourself, and just now you have faced the gravest of dangers. Is not your exile fulfilled, and the throne yours?” He knew there was a missing requirement, but that was his reason for asking.
“No, good man. I must also find love.”
“But can something be found if it is not sought? Come to my castle with me – my daughter is very lovely to the eyes.”
“It is not for the eyes that one seeks a woman,” Willard said, growing anxious, “But for the heart.”
“True, yet my daughter is also one of great heart. Come with me, then, and fulfill the last requirement of your exile.”
Willard grew worried, and only a single way of escape presented itself to him. “Very well, but not until my other duties have been fulfilled. Only then can I seek out love. When it is time, I will come.”
The lord smiled, “I am Lord Milada of Erlich,” he said, “And I will await your coming with great anticipation.” He bowed his head respectfully.
Willard did the same and, bidding the lord farewell, turned toward the forest to depart. But Lord Milada beckoned him back, “Surely, you will not go your way dressed in old rags. Let me clothe you as best I can, for I have
