some monk’s robes with me that will suit you well, and keep you warmer than those when the night grows chill. Besides, who is poorer than a monk? Fetch them, Hismoni.”
He said this latter part to one of the guards, all three of whom had recovered their senses; for the bandits had – for some mysterious reason – left them alive with little more than scratches. The guard went to the rear of the carriage and grabbed two frocks from the trunk that sat there, bringing them humbly to what he seemed to view as a mighty warrior.
“Two I give you, my lord, for you are surely twice a man.” The guard said this to show his respect, and it was well received by the so-called Prince Willard, who bowed and gave him a friendly nod before turning and disappearing into the forest, anxious to be gone. Lord Milada and his guards then continued on their way, making haste to avoid any other criminals that might be lurking there, though there were none.
When they had gone, Willard came back and looted the bodies of the slain bandits. The laws of the forest held no dishonor for those who took that which they had proved their right to by strength of arms. Willard felt no shame, for while he displayed at times an embedded sense of man’s law, he was also at times entirely devoid of such concepts as an honorable burial. In his world, the dead were eaten – and why not, for it provided life for those scavengers that partook of them.
Without a thought, therefore, he took the leather armor from the leader and the gold pieces which filled his purse. Then he set off into the forest with his blood brother walking beside him, both exalted after their great victory, a proof of their might. Willard, especially, was excited, for he had gone from being a mere wild man, to a noble prince who was fated for marriage and the throne – if those things were even blessings. It was then that thoughts of power and pleasure outside of his beloved forest began to fill his mind. He thought of living in a castle, with servants and luxuries and honor among men. When a person has no desires, he is content; but when he is given a little, he must have more. This is what happened to Willard at that moment, when all the possibilities of life opened up to him, and he became eager to try himself outside the forest, among men such as himself.
Chapter 3
Willard and Horatio had walked twenty yards into the forest when the young man had an idea. It was an idea that could not be suppressed, an idea to which he soon yielded and resolved to carry out: he had better go and make his way in the world, to make himself worthy of the great honor that had been bestowed upon him. He stopped walking and beckoned to the bear to come back to him, for he had wandered some distance ahead, as was their habit while hunting.
Willard had Horatio stand on his hind legs, which he could do with extraordinary dexterity. Taking one of the monk’s frocks, he slipped it over the bear’s head, pulled it down to his feet, and brought his arms through. It worked wonders, for with the hood pulled over his face – in a way not uncommon among monks – the thick, brown robes gave Horatio the physique of a very tall, fat man. The bottoms covered most of his feet, and the parts that showed did not look altogether inhuman. It was the same with the hands – or rather, front paws. Yet they took on the form of hands when he stood erect.
Once the robes were on, Willard walked around Horatio and looked him over from head to toe, then whistled a tune and laughed, “Horatio, you were born to be a friar.” He took one more trip around the bear and then put on his own frock, fastening his sword around the waist. It was a little out of the ordinary for a monk to wear a sword, but in those places monks did whatever they pleased.
With their disguises in place, Willard led the way back to the road, and they began to walk in the opposite direction as Milada and his entourage had gone – east. They made a good pace, and Horatio easily walked upright, making a convincing a monk. They were three days on the road, and nothing important happened until the third night, when they came across an inn – the first sign of civilization as they began to grow near to the capital city of Eden. The city was still a hundred miles away, but there were several inns and small settlements along the road as it drew near. The rest of the forest roads were deserted.
Willard still had the bag of gold coins he had looted from the bandits, so he decided he would spend the night there and see what he could see. The inn itself was small and made of wood, a low rectangular building with white walls and yellow trim. Upon the door, and again on the sign, was painted a coat of arms, though done by a trembling hand. The windows were bright and cheery from the fire within, but the light was dimmed by the smoke of the same. It was already growing dark and the forest fast becoming solemn, so Willard and Horatio entered and were greeted by a blast of warm air from the rooms, carrying on it the smell of smoke and ale, the characteristic scents of a frontier inn.
The main room was almost the same shape as the building itself, for the only separate rooms were the kitchen and a private bedroom for the innkeeper, both of which were cramped. The main room served as the dining and sleeping room. A counter ran along the wall opposite the door, a few tables sat adjacent to the left wall, and the other space was outfitted with little beds of hay, upon which the traveler could lay his bedclothes. In addition to the proprietor and his wife at the counter, there were three stubby merchants with short hair and long noses sitting at one of the tables. There were also a few half-drunk lumberjacks and peddlers congregated in the far corner.
Amidst the smoke, Willard could see the fire was burning well, so he led Horatio over and took a seat at one of the nearby tables. He talked to Horatio in a pretending sort of way, to allay any suspicions that the bear was not human. With that done, he rose and walked to the counter.
“Hello there friar, is your throat dry or – are you looking for something to eat? Some ale, some meat?” The innkeeper hailed him in a gruffy, sing-song manner, wrinkling his stump of a nose like a charging bull, and running a hand through his greasy hair to make it stick upwards in a haphazard manner, which he apparently thought made him handsome.
“A little of both, and some bread – enough for two, if you please, sir.” Willard sat calmly down in front of the man, remaining polite despite the other’s comical mannerisms and rhyming speech.
“Bread, beef, and beer for the gentleman here!” He called to his wife who was working in the kitchen. He then played his eyes back and forth like two rolling balls, trying subtly to ask Willard where he was from. But it was unintelligible to Willard, as it would have been to most who did not know the strange Innkeeper. Eventually the middle-aged man grew impatient and chimed at his customer once more, “I don’t recall having seen you at all, or are you new these parts, come to save some old hearts?” This allusion to missionary work among the isolated forest dwellers was brought on by Willard’s appearance, for he was still dressed as a monk.
“No, good sir, I have just finished a very long period of hermitage with my friend over there,” here he pointed to Horatio, “So we are headed toward the coast and the more civilized areas of Atilta for the first time in years. More than that, I cannot remember – though I would be pleased to here some tales while I wait for my supper.”
“Who was king when you left, the man of right or the man of theft?” The Innkeeper pointed one of his long, slender fingers at a picture of a man in royal garb that hung on the wall behind him. He had a thick black beard, sensitive eyes, and a Romanesque nose – apparently the ‘man of right’ to whom the Innkeeper referred.
“He was king.” Willard paused a moment and looked at the painting with curious eyes, for it was very familiar, like something he had seen so many times. Yet he could not place it. “But you seem to imply that he is king no more? How can this be?” His deep voice was driven through with emotion.
The Innkeeper was doused in emotion himself, and could only turn his head to hide his leaking eyes: a pedantic patriot. “Gylain has taken the throne, and Atilta left to mourn its own.” Then silence came on the Innkeeper, and he fled to the kitchen in a passion. Willard sat in silence as he waited for the matron of the house to finish preparing his supper.
Meanwhile, not twenty feet behind him the three stumpy merchants came up to Horatio, sitting beside him at the table and hoping to have a drink with the gigantic monk. They were identical, but that one had blond hair, one brown, and one black. Their other features were the same: a long, crooked nose; two beady eyes that their big sockets made look like pearls in an oyster; and an over-sized mouth. They sat down and offered Horatio a drink, but he could only grunt, not knowing what to do.
“Have a drink with us you big brute! We are the Fardy brothers, men of patience and virtue. But though I could not care more if you despised me, I will not let my brothers be spurned. Now drink, or I will pour it down your throat like so much water down a river,” said the blond Fardy.
“He is no liar, you overgrown preacher. Mother always said I was a patient man, but when I am insulted more than it is right to bear, I can become angry,” said the brown Fardy.
“No one can steal your steel tempered temper, brother, but have you not taken into account that this monk might have taken a vow of temperance, not to take a drink for the sake of the church? That would make us his
