The Forgotten King

give yourself so easily to faith and hope, Innkeeper.”

“My presence means hope, then?” and William Stuart removed his hood. “Meredith, it is I! How many years has it been now, since we were parted on the decks of The King’s Arm ?” He stepped forward to Meredith’s side. His face was broad and powerful, emanating authority.

The Admiral continued his remembrance: “The sky above was clear, and the sun came down like fire to the ground. Below us the water was rough from the wind, but in the shelter of Thunder Bay there were no waves. It was only the swell that moved us. There were two ships on the side of freedom, and six on the side of oppression – a small battle, but an important one. Yet all around the shore stood the great trees of Atilta, entirely oblivious to the petty struggles of man which they witnessed.”

He went on: “The King’s Arm was alongside The Merry Forester , each drawn to quarters and ready to battle. Gylain held the land and his ships the neck of the bay. If we could not break though his line, the forces of the true king would be lost.”

The memory of that glorious day surfaced in Meredith’s mind, as if it were happening once more. He caught the strand of the Admiral’s narrative and threw it forward. “All was silent as both sides waited for the other to begin. Then, without warning, Gylain’s ships started toward us. You took your ship, The King’s Arm , to the left; and I took mine, The Merry Forester , to the right. We planned to split the blockade to allow at least on of us to escape. If they split, their center would be left open. If they did not, we would flank them and send a volley of arrows down their throats.”

The Admiral broke in: “Fortunately for us, the navy had been true to the rightful king, and Gylain was forced to man his fleet with pithy land-lubbers. At first, the enemy commanders could not decide what course to take. It would have been a sad defeat for Gylain, had not Nicholas Montague threw the captain overboard and taken the fleet into his own hands. His hatred was equaled only by his vigor, and though he was no seaman, he made himself one during the battle. He commanded the fleet to follow The King’s Arm , and they were upon us in a moment. There was no way of escape – they completely surrounded us. They were too close for arrows or missiles: in the confusion they would hit their comrades on the other vessels. Yet we could, and for a moment we gave them hell at half price. Soon, however, they repaid us double, and we found ourselves being boarded simultaneously by six frigates.”

Meredith took over the narrative: “On The Merry Forester , we were left in the open, able to flee to safety. Yet our comrades in The King’s Arm were doomed, stuck between the enemy ships and the woody shore. I stood upon the board, facing the open sea and freedom with one side and my beleaguered comrades with the other. Every face was turned my way, waiting my command and knowing the fate of the rebellion rested in our course. ‘Men,’ I cried without hesitation, ‘We must decide whether to save our own lives or the lives of our comrades. We must die, yet will we die for ourselves or for others?’ ‘For others!’ rose the shout. We came about and sailed into the battle.”

The Admiral resumed the story from his vantage point: “The battle was thick upon the decks of The King’s Arm . A hundred and fifty of us stood against Gylain’s four hundred. We could not hold them back, but were overpowered. It looked as though we had no chance to survive, and I cursed myself, that I could not take Gylain down to death as I went there myself. But as I looked up, I saw The Merry Forester quietly boarding the enemy’s ships. Montague had left the ships without a guard, thinking nothing of it in the battle. In the chaos, your men sneaked into the ships, killed the guards, and broke the boards that crossed to the deck of The King’s Arm . We were defeated. But The Merry Forester and all six of Gylain’s ships were stolen away, out of Thunder Bay and the reach of Gylain. This is the first I have returned to Atilta since.”

“And it is a great joy to see you, Admiral!” cried Meredith, embracing his old friend tightly.

“Do I not feel the same? But tell me, Meredith, what became of those liberated frigates? I hope they were sunk at once, and not allowed to fall into Gylain’s possession again?”

“No, Admiral. Too many of our friends were killed for us to reverse our victory by such a foolish mistake as returning them to Gylain.”

“Then they are sunk? It is good.”

“No, not sunk.”

“What?” the Admiral asked, “Then what have you done with them?”

“We have hidden them in our hidden harbor,” Meredith laughed. “A harbor in the middle of the forest.”He paused for a moment to give his words greater drama, then explained. “We took an inlet that flowed into the forest, and deepened it to allow the passage of ships. Then we covered its mouth with camouflage. They are only a hundred yards into the forest, but completely invisible from the water.”

“Meredith, you amaze me – though I should know better. Yet why do you not use them?”

“We do not have the men or officers to man them, and we cannot train more in the present situation.”

“I am returned. Let us begin! But first we must visit Lord Milada. The Innkeeper tells me his life is in danger from traitors and spies.”

“What? First Ivona is taken, and now the same is attempted on Milada himself. Let us be off at once!” Meredith exclaimed.

“Have no fears for Ivona, for she is safe. I will explain on the way.”

With that they began their march to Milada’s castle at double pace. Yet before they had gone a dozen yards, a man – panting heavily – came running up from behind them.

“Admiral, Admiral!” he called, “I bring news.”

“Speak it then, Forsmil,” the Admiral responded, for the man was one of his crew.

“Montague has escaped!”

There was a moment of silence.

“We have been discovered,” the Admiral whispered at length. “Onward, then, to the Western Marches. Before it is too late!”

Chapter 29

Meanwhile, in the Western Marches, the day went on as well. In the second floor of the castle, the Fardy brothers sat in counsel with Milada. They were in the family room, which covered most of the second floor, with passages to each of the upper towers contained in a circular pillar in the center of the room – thirty feet in diameter – with each door leading to a different tower. The outside walls of the room were walled entirely in glass, with several bookshelves and tables standing in front it. Part of the room was sectioned off as a training room for the guards, and another part as a storage room for the same. The rest of the room was furnished as a family, or sitting, room.

It was unusual to see a castle with walls of glass, yet the beauty of the surrounding land was also unusually potent. At this time, the sky was cloudless and the sun nearing the end of its daily pass. The castle itself sat in the center of a circular meadow that stretched for a mile in each direction. The village was nestled between the meadow and the castle, circling entirely around the latter. The ground sloped downward as it came toward the castle and the village, and the farmers took advantage of this to irrigate their lands: all the rain ran down to them. The trees cast a shadow over half the meadow, as the sun sank lower, and in the shaded portion it was already night. Yet in the rest of the meadow, it was late afternoon.

Milada looked out of the window absently, murmuring sometimes to himself, and sometimes to the others. His manner was frightened, as it had been when Willard rescued him: though his body still danced strangely, his limbs seemed more to writhe than to waltz. The Fardy brothers looked at each other anxiously. They wished to be briefed on the situation with the nobles and the rebellion from Milada’s viewpoint. Yet Milada did not help their efforts, and the brothers did not have the tact to steer him along.

“Look there, my friends,” Milada said gloomily, pointing to the shaded meadow. “Look there, where the night meets the day. See the contrast between the depression and the joy? See the contrast between the cold complacency and the zealous enthusiasm? Such is the state of my heart. Indeed, such is the state of Atilta: divided between the night of tyranny, and the day of freedom. And look friends, is it not the day which wanes?”

“Does not the dawn replace it, though?” asked the blond Fardy.

“Yes,” Milada sighed, “Yet the dawn gives way to the noon; and noon once more to the evening. What good is freedom, if it cannot be kept? Have we freed anything but the blood of our compatriots, and that only to spill out on barren ground?