retorted.
“We will see soon enough whose words are gold, and whose are mere grass, my friend, to be thrown into the fire.” He paused. “Casper, have you switched your allegiance once more? You must know that I do not play with the fickle.”
“My allegiance remains where it ever was.”
“Indeed?”
“Am I not at Alfonzo’s side? Why would I follow you, who offers pain instead of comfort, and power instead of consolation? Let the fools be fools, I say, but I will not join them in it.”
“Ah, Casper, you surprise me. What are the rewards, you ask? To the victor go the spoils.”
“And you would spoil me in your victory,” Casper said. “Do I not remember de Garcia?”
“Very well, if that is how it is,” Montague said. “Yet I will not forget our bargain,” and he took a bag of coins from his pocket and threw it at Casper. It hit him and fell to the ground, and thirty silver coins came out upon the grass.
Alfonzo’s eyes glared with anger for a brief instant, before he could extinguished them.
“Casper!” he wailed, “Casper, you are the traitor!”
Casper turned to him with an open mouth, but he could not speak, for his emotions were overcome with surprise.
“There is forgiveness on earth,” Alfonzo whispered, “Yet earth is not eternal.”
“No!” Casper cried, sinking to his knees and raising his hands toward Alfonzo in supplication.
“Have mercy, Alfonzo, for it was not I. Gladly I would die for you and for the cause; for Atilta and for its people. He speaks lies,” and he gestured to Montague.
His face was sincere, and Alfonzo was silent for a moment as he looked him over. Montague was indignant with the silence, however, and grew angry.
“William Stuart was a cowardly traitor to all that is good, as are you, Alfonzo.”
Alfonzo looked up from Casper, who remained prostrate before him.
“And what would you know of that which is good, Montague? Your schemes here will not work, for I will not disown those who call me master. They will be punished, if they do wrong, even as you and your master Gylain will be. But only when such wrongs are shown clearly. I will not judge before the matter is known, but rather, I will wait and fate will judge us all.” Alfonzo’s face flushed with passion.
Montague broke ranks with his men, advancing toward the three prisoners.
Vahan was trembling with fear and muttering under his breath, “I am loyal to Atilta, I am not a Frenchman.”
Casper still knelt before Alfonzo, anxious to be exonerated.
“If I am false to you, Alfonzo, it is not by my design. I only followed the orders I was given by you, in the letter.”
“I gave you no letter, Casper,” Alfonzo said slowly.
“You did not give it to me yourself, sir, but you wrote it. I was handed it by—”
But Casper did not finish. Before he could, Montague stepped forward briskly, and raised his sword. With a slow, calculated swing he broke the alliance between Casper’s head and his body. The severed head rolled off to the left and the body fell limp at the feet of Alfonzo.
The latter was overcome with grief and dropped to his knees, hiding his face in his hands in desolation and despair. Then he slowly raised his moistened eyes to Montague’s.
“I surrender,” he whispered, and let his sword fall from his hand onto the ground.
Montague stood silent, marinating in his victory. He raised his sword above his head, and prepared to bring it down upon Alfonzo, to finish off his stalwart enemy. But he stopped himself, with a strange hate gleaming from his eyes, that kind for which it is not enough to merely kill.
“No,” he said, “No, you will not be slain Alfonzo of Melborough. We must first let you soak in your dishonor. We must let you live and watch as your foolish followers are hunted down and slain, one by miserable, wretched one.” He paused, then, turning to his men, he went on, “Bind them. Then we are off to Eden, to the castle dungeon, from which there is no escape.”
He turned his back to Alfonzo and began to walk toward the edge of the clearing.
His men bound Alfonzo and Vahan Lee, kicking the decapitated body of Casper from their path. Montague did not wait for them, but started off in the direction from which he had come: east, toward Eden. The soldiers followed soon after, with the two prisoners between them.
When they were no longer in the clearing, but in the skyless forest once more, Alfonzo let out his grin, smiling from ear to ear in a simplistic way. Vahan turned toward him and opened his mouth in surprise.
“My friend, what is there to smile about at this sad juncture? Can you possibly be relieved that the fight is finally over? Can the end of the war, however horrible the defeat, bring with it rest from worries?”
“No, for the war has just begun, Vahan. Perhaps you do not realize what we have accomplished?”
“No, I do not see what is good in this.”
Alfonzo looked forward at Montague, but he was too far away to hear him, and the soldiers did not seem to care.
“We’ve cleared the forest of Gylain’s men,” he whispered, “For the safe passage of His Majesty, the King of Atilta, and his loyal protector, Horatio.”
He laughed silently as he spoke, as did Vahan, both grown men giggling to themselves. Yet they could not contain it, and soon they laughed ferociously, without giving any thought to what their captors would think.
Montague turned and gave them an incredulous look.
“What is this?” he cried, “You are defeated, and your followers slain. How can you laugh in this defeat, you fools? The end draws nigh, but not in your companions’ favor.”
“It does draw near, but it is you who has lost, Montague. The days of Gylain the Wicked are numbered short.”
“And how do you know this, Alfonzo?” Montague asked.
“I can hear it in the wind.” This was all Alfonzo would say, and Vahan added nothing more.
With an indignant countenance, his victory confused by his enemy’s rejoicing, Montague turned once more and set off at a double pace.
“To Eden,” he shouted to his men, “To Castle Plantagenet!”
Chapter 16
Meanwhile, there was action in another part of the forest, to the north of the camp in which the rebels had spent the night. Willard, the king of Atilta – though he did not know it – and Horatio, heir to a long line of black bears – the kings of the forest and the guardians of the house of Plantagenet – traveled together. The two kings of Atilta, one of man and one of beast, were together as blood brothers, though neither knew their true importance.
The forest was as ancient there as elsewhere, and it was still under the broad canopy that they walked, clothed in a soft, mellow shade and cooled by a slight breeze that wisped around the trunks of the massive trees. In this section of the forest, the trees had vines growing on them thickly, stretching all the way into the upper branches. There was a heavy fog that sweetened the already wholesome air, and nothing could be seen more than ten yards away. Even within that range everything took on a smoky, shrouded appearance, as if the air had just woke up, and its eyes were still too tired to let things show through.
The first leg of their journey was entirely uneventful, until the noon hour. It was only then that the two reached the road, which they took in the eastern direction, toward the city of Eden. Their pace was slack, for they were in no hurry. It was as though they gave adventure a chance to overtake them. And sure enough, within a few minutes, Willard and Horatio – once more disguised as monks – spotted an odd, clerical figure coming toward them from the west.
“Look there, Horatio,” Willard said, “An odd man approaches, and I should count myself amiss if I did not take the chance to speak with him. Let us take our rest in the shade, therefore, and wait for him to reach us. He is going the same way we are.”
The two sat down at the base of a large oak, enjoying the cool shade for a few moments. Soon the man drew near enough to make out his features. He was a little above the average height, very slightly overweight, and had a blazing red mustache that stretched from ear to ear like a lightening bolt attached to his face. It was apparent he
