Growing Storm: Journey to the Throne

“ Time is like a great ocean. Each second is a ripple in the waters, each day a single wave lapping on the beach of eternity.”- Dwarven Proverb



CHAPTER 1
A Hero’s Funeral


Flames licked at the dry wood as it glowed gracefully, a great funeral pyre illuminating the mountainside. The orange and red strokes greatly contrasted the dark robes worn by the crowd of mourners. The mourners sang softly as they walked towards the great cascade of flame;

Mana, nu has duren-a,
Menon-diyl avot,
Teron al sentarel, me dy hast.

The same words bestowed upon King Arthur by the Countess Arwam of the Elves during his coronation were now being recited at his funeral. After a brief pause, the mourners sang once again, in English;

O great king,
Ruler of rulers,
Father of fathers,
Warrior of warriors,
You lived bravely,
And died honorably.
May your name be a beacon,
Shining light on your friends,
And bestowing darkness on your enemies.
Farewell, oh great protetcor,
O Arthur-King,
Your people weep for you,
And they remember you.
Amen!

At the forefront of the mourners, carried by Lamorak and Galahad, the only Knights of the Round Table not dead or an officer of darkness, was King Arthur Pendragon. His striking green eyes were still wide open, and his grey hair was still stained with blood from his battle with his own son. He might have been sleeping, had it not been for the dagger lodged in his chest- from a blow dealt by Mordred. It would have been some comfort to the people if Mordred had been slain for this awful deed. Instead, near death, Mordred sold his soul to the Dark Lord Hinthor in return for immortality- no death by old age or illness, only by blows in battle.
And so with the hearts of Arthur’s people broken, they wept freely as he was carried to the pyre- and so the mourners gathered to say the final words Arthur had requested be said; words from the Psalms of the Soul;

“ We cannot stop the sword of fate from striking,
nor the hammer of destiny from crushing. But we can keep the winds of life blowing.”


And so, with that, the two Knights said the final word of farewell for a great king;

“ Medatha”- hero.


And Arthur was lowered onto the pyre. And he was no more.


Chapter 2
Council of Comrades



It was a small room, with floors of ancient stone and a statue of King Arthur himself adorning the entryway. In the center of the room lie four chairs- for the four comrades. Each time a king died, four of his closest friends, selected in his will, were called together, and a Council of Comrades was held- a council to decide the next king. The doors of the room bolted shut behind them as the four comrades entered. The first to sit down was Lamorak, followed soon after by Galahad. Next came Sir Nyrne, who had saved Arthur’s life in battle not once, but twice. The last of the four comrades was Merlin. He walked into to the room with the grace and tranquility possessed by only the wisest men. His long hair, of the purest and silkiest white, had been neatly braided, and he had exchanged his usual dress of faded, tattered green robes for a white outfit and cloak. He carried in his hand a great oak staff- the staff of a wizard. The four of them sat in the chairs, and spent a few moments in silence before the crisp and clear ring of a bell echoed throughout the room- the Council had began. Sir Nyrne first spoke. “ We are here to debate the issues related to the successor of King Arthur Lyone Pendragon. Do we all agree to tell nothing but the truth when speaking of this subject?” “ Aye” said all four men, Merlin much quieter than the rest. “ Than we begin. Who shall replace King Arthur Lyone Pendragon as King?” Lamorak spoke first; “ I believe we should let the people decide. Hold a congregational meeting- after all, who knew Arthur better than the people?” “ Yes!” ,said Sir Nyrne, “ An excellent proposition!”
“ Nay!” interrupted Galahad. “ Though some of Arthur’s people wished him well, there are still those, even after his death, who hold his name in ill will. Democracy could turn into civil war!”
“ Things shall never come to that!” replied Galahad.” Democracy is the best policy here, and always.” And so the arguments continued for hours, until at lest, the bickering stopped, as, for the first time in the council, Merlin spoke. “ I have an idea.” “ And what would that be, wizard?” asked Sir Nyrne. “ I believe we should attempt the test.” “ No!” cried Lamorak and Sir Nyrne in union. “ The test has not been attempted since the days of King Bhyrsmit!” “ I believe it will work.” “ Nonsense” interjected Lamorak. “ Hmmm…..” said Galahad. “ Maybe…. It would be time consuming……hard…. But possible. It would be the fairest way-“ “ Surely you jest!” cried Sir Nyrne. “ Wait a moment….” said Lamorak, “Arthur himself was chosen with the sword and the stone- which was itself derived from more ancient versions of the test……. It is possible…… it would be easier than risking a blood feud…..” “ So, do we all agree?” “ Yes” said Lamorak, Galahad, and Merlin. “ No!” cried Sir Nyrne. “ I am sorry, Nyrne, but it appears that three of us have decided. You have been overruled.” “ NO!” cried Nyrne. After a moment, Nyrne got to his feet. “ Very well. You have by far made the wrong decision. You will have no support nor defense nor shelter from me, treacherous usurping snakes!” And with that, Nyrne stormed out of the room. Lamorak stood. “ This council is adjourned.” And so it was.















Chapter 3
The Boy and The Beggar

Kadlyn sat on his hard wood porch, the afternoon sun illuminating his pale face and short brown hair. His light brown eyes gazed out into the grassy plains of his home town of Maudlinshyre. Maudlinshyre was a town of small houses and green, long grass, surrounded by two rivers, the Byrsmythe and the Laenon. The clear water of these ran across the borders of the town. Very few people in Maudlinshyre could tell you what lie beyond those rivers. The people had an unearthly fear of the outside world. Very few non-residents came out ( or in) to Maudlinshyre- so it was very odd indeed when Kadlyn saw, out of the corner of his eye, a tall man walking towards him.

The man was gangly and balding, with his eyes only half open, and his nails long and yellow. Every time he passed someone, he seemed to stop, as if asking something. But apparently, whatever he wanted, he was being refused, as he continued to walk on. This occurred many times, until, at last, the beggar arrived at Kadlyn.
“ Sir!” he cried, resting his hand on Kadlyn’s shoulder. “Sir- I been journeyin fer a long way…….. A band o’ Olpirs pickpocketed me, and I be needin nourishment.” Kadlyn sighed. Food was extremely scarce at the time, due to a recent infestation of aphids, most food was scarce, if not sacred. If Kadlyn’s parents had been alive, they would have told him that he should have given the beggar some food……but Kadlyn had no guardian anymore……a house fire had made sure of that. What should he do? It was then he remembered something his father had told him, an old Faerie proverb;

Give to yourself and you will feed your stomach,
Give to those in need and you will feed your soul.

With this saying in mind, Kadlyn realized that the beggar needed food and drink more than he ever would. “ I will be right back”, said Kadlyn, going inside his home. He fetched some bread and cold pheasant from his kitchen, and then brought it outside to the beggar. “ Here you are”, said Kadlyn, handing the beggar the food. The beggar smiled. Kadlyn studied the beggar suspiciously. It was an odd smile, a borderline delirious one. And then, the beggar’s eyelids shut, and he fell to the ground. “ No!” cried Kadlyn. What was wrong with this beggar? He kneeled down, leaning close to the beggars face. “ Are you well, sir?” asked Kadlyn. Kadlyn jumped as the beggars eyes burst open- but these were not the beggars eyes!!!!!! The beggars eyes were a hazel color, but these eyes were a serene light blue. He noticed that the balding scalp of the beggar had become a streaming river of white hair. The clean face of the beggar became a wrinkled one, with a goatee of white. It was then that the once beggar’s identity became clearer- he looked as a hero had in the books Kadlyn had read. He bore such a resemblance to him………….to Merlin.


Kadlyn moved back instinctively as the once-beggar stood up.
“ You have done it!” exclaimed the once-beggar with a smile.
“ Done what, sir?” inquired Kadlyn. “ Passed the test!” exclaimed the once-beggar. The once-beggars smiling lips slowly slid into a frown. “ I suppose you would not know of it. Then I shall tell you, assumed you have graciously invited me into your home” said the man, walking inside Kadlyn’s house. Kadlyn could do nothing but stand back as the old man entered the kitchen. “ I do thank you for your generosity…..but I am allergic to pheasant, would you be so kind as to fetch something else.” Muttering a curse under his breath, Kadlyn snatched a few morsels of salted pork from a cabinet, and handed it to the once-beggar. “ Ah…thank you. Now, were to begin. Ahh, yes…..and you are…..” “ Kadlyn” replied Kadlyn, “ Kadlyn, son of Brehyol.” “ Pleased to meet you, Kadlyn. I am Merlin, son of Gameginen.” Kadlyn gasped- he did indeed look like Merlin……but why was Merlin here…..to find out , he would have to assume that this once-beggar was indeed the greatest wizard alive. He decided he’d play along. “ What would you be doing in Maudlinshyre?” “ Ahh….yes…..I do not believe this news has reached you, but Arthur-King is dead.” “ No!” cried Kadlyn. Surely not! “ Yes. He has fallen. Struck down by his son’s blade.” And so Kadlyn was told the tragic tale of Arthur’s death, and how Camelot had no heir. “ And so”, continued Merlin, “ It was decided that we would attempt the test. The test was forged long ago- a test of kindness and valor. This test was what just occurred. I took the form of a beggar in a time when food was scarce. The one to offer me food would be Arthur’s successor. That, Kadlyn, was you.” Kadlyn threw back his head, howling with laughter. Such antics! “ I find your laughter peculiar.” said Merlin. “ It’s a hoax!” cried Kadlyn. Suddenly, Merlin’s face turned solemn. He pulled up his sleeve and revealed a tattoo of a staff intertwined with a snake- the wizard’s symbol. “ Do you believe me now?” asked Merlin. Kadlyn’s laughter ceased immediately. If one attempted to tattoo his symbol on himself, and he was not a wizard, it would immediately disappear. Merlin or not, this man was a wizard. He deserved respect.
“ Yes, sir.”