The Boy From The Forest

Norman rolled out of bed. He was closer to the edge of the bed than he realized, so he had to react quickly to land on his feet. Quick reflexes can help you in many situations.

Eric stumbled out of bed. Eric was Norman’s older brother, and he did not roll. Where Norman was slender and quick, Eric was thick and stout. He did have a lot of upper body strength, which was considered a good thing.

“Good morning, Eric.”

“Go to hell, Norman.”

The boys went downstairs. There was some cold meat and stale bread, which was their breakfast. It did not take them long. They ate the cold meat and stale bread in silence, wolfing it down like starving dogs.

They got up and left the kitchen. Norman knew to stay out of arm’s reach of Eric. The front door was only a couple of steps away.

“Prince Eric.” This was Esqueir deBoudinot, Chamberlin to The King. Their Father, The King. Eric could have broken the Chamberlin in two and thrown away the pieces before anyone could say one thing about it. But this prissy little man spoke with the authority of The King. Eric did not want his Father displeased with him; that would not do at all.

“Prince Eric, you have your lesson on Fusion MacroEconomics. The tutor is waiting.”

“Chamberlin, I don’t even know what that is!!”

“Then you had better come to your lesson.” Esqueir deBoudinot had him there, and Eric knew it. He stomped off to the small, stuffy classroom, where he would be taught by a small stuffy tutor.

Norman went out the front door of the castle. Chamberlin deBoudinot looked at him without interest. Norman was the Second Son, no big deal. No need for him to learn… whatever it was.

What to do today? There was his bow and quiver. Norman was quite good with a bow and arrow. He went into the orchard. There was a pear tree! Today, he would shoot pears off the tree. He had to hit just the stem. If he hit the pear itself, it did not count.

Whoosh!! The arrow clipped the pear off the tree without damaging the fruit.

Whoosh!! Again, the pear fell undamaged to the ground, but the tree branch had a small nick on it. If he clipped the tree branch he lost all his points for the day.

Norman was kind of bored. I forgot to tell you that.

“Prince Norman!!” The voice used the proper feudal title, but there was no respect in it.

“What is it, Maggie?” Maggie was the main cook for The King. If you made her mad, your food would suddenly taste very terrible.

“Quit shooting the pears like that! I have to use those pears to make the pear cobbler that Your Father likes so much.”

Norman knew that he had better beat a retreat. He did not want to be responsible for ruining the pear cobbler. He gathered his arrows and went further out into the castle grounds. There were many interesting things that a boy could do.

The Royal Apartment, about the same time.

“So we have finalized our treaty with King Beauford of the Kingdom of Prudoe.”

“Yes, Your Majesty, this will join the Kingdom of Prudoe with the Kingdom of Narrython in a mutual defense pact. We will give them a breeding stock of thirty cattle with curly horns, and they will give us twenty pear trees suitable for immediate planting.” Secretary Kerryson had spent much time in correspondence to iron out the details of this treaty. He was quite proud of it.

“And what else?” The Queen spoke for the first time.

“Hmmm?” Secretary Kerryson was for a moment at a loss for words. “Oh yes, Princess Icelandia, elder daughter of King Beauford, will marry Prince Eric, crown prince of Narrython.”

“Is she a pretty girl?” The Queen asked.

“That is just like a woman; always wanting to know something that is completely irrelevant. It is Eric’s duty as crown prince to enter into this marriage. I, his Father and King, have given him orders, and it is his royal duty to obey.”

“Is she pretty? I want my little Eric to be happy.”

“Yes, she is pretty. I saw her two years ago when I was visiting in Prudoe. She was still kind of a child then. And I have sources that tell me she has grown into a lovely young woman.” The King had an answer.

Secretary Kerryson wondered if The King had spies that gave him reports about all the pretty girls. It was not really fair for him to think that, since this particular girl was a princess and her Father’s favorite to boot.

“That will be all, Secretary. You have done well in this matter.”

Prince Eric had finished his lesson. Finally. School was hard for him. As far as he could tell, his elders made him sit and listen to complete and utter nonsense for hours at a time because they just hated him. Now, at last, he could go to the armory and practice swordsmanship. A king had to be able to handle a sword. Norman had his sissy little bow and arrows, but a real man had to know how to handle a sword.

“Ummph!!” Eric had run into somebody.

“I am Johanaston, Sorcerer of The King. I know mysteries past, present, and future.”

“Hello, Johanaston. I hope you are having a good day.” It paid to be polite to Johanaston, even if you were the crown prince.

“I am a Sorcerer. Sorcerers do not have a good day.”

“Of course. And I hope you were not offended when I ran into you. How thoughtless of me.”

“Sorcerers are not offended. That is for lesser beings.”

Eric looked closely at Johanaston. When he was going to say something, he would take a breath, like anyone would. But otherwise, did he breathe at all? Eric was not sure. The court sorcerer wore a bulky robe. The voice of reason told Eric that this was just a bony old man. But in odd corners of the castle, you heard things. Like this same Sorcerer had been here for as long as anyone could remember.

Johanaston turned and walked away. If it was anyone else, it would be thought rude, but Eric was glad to be rid of him.

Eric finally entered the armory. His Father, The King, was there, apparently waiting for him.

“Eric, today you get to practice with Cumberfordtte, the Sword of The King. There is nobody like it anywhere. Remember, Cumberfordtte is not a thing, it is a person.”

In the gloom of the armory, Eric could see that The King was wearing a short scabbard, no more than three feet long. The King drew the sword from the scabbard. This sword was now easily six or seven feet long, and it reflected the light of the noonday sun. Even in the gloom of the armory, it reflected the light of the noonday sun.

“This is Cumberfordtte. It may only be wielded by The King or his righteous male heir. You are old enough now to use it under my direct supervision. “

Eric grasped Cumberfordtte with some misgivings. That much steel had to weigh a ton. He hoped he was strong enough to handle it easily.

It weighed no more than a small piece of wood. The balance in his hand was perfect. Eric twirled Cumberfordtte above his head, accidently nicking a stone doorway. A stone chip rolled to the ground.

“Father, I am really sorry, I have made a nick in Cumberfordtte.”

“Eric, Cumberfordtte does not get a nick in it. But move outside before you chop down the whole castle.”

Out into the practice yard, they went. The practice yard was bare earth, hard-packed from many feet and much practice in the arts of war. In the center of the practice yard, Timmy the drunken blacksmith was holding an immense iron pole. He put one end of the immense iron pole into a hole he had just dug. It took him a while to get the pole straight and to pack the dirt back into the hole. It looked like a very ugly flagpole with no flag.

“Father, Timmy has put together anything and everything made of iron to make this thing. I see old swords, plows, and armor. What is going on?”

“That’s what she said,” shouted Timmy. He was drunk.

“Eric, you need to experience for yourself the power of Cumberfordtte. An ordinary sword, if swung against this iron monstrosity would break or bend. I want you to swing Cumberfordtte against this great iron pole while believing it is the ‘Sword Of The Righteous’”.

“I will say ‘Sword Of The Righteous.’ That is easy.”

“NO Eric. You have to believe. Say it out loud if you want to, but you have to believe when you do it.”

“Yes, Father.” Eric swung Cumberfordtte, and yes he really did believe. Cumberfordtte went through the great mass of iron like a hot knife through butter. Eric felt it about as much as you would feel wiping away a spider web. The severed pole fell to the ground with a great crash. Eric had to sidestep to keep it from falling on top of him.

“Par-tay!!!” Shouted Timmy.

“Eric, imagine fighting a man with Cumberfordtte in your hand. It will go through the other man’s sword, armor, and his whole body. Your Great-Grandfather The King wielded Cumberfordtte at the Battle of The Stone Tree. None could stand before him. That was the last war we have had. After that, every other kingdom was happy to sign a treaty of friendship with us.”

Eric was thrilled. For as long as he could remember, people had been telling him that he was going to hear great and dreadful secrets, things that ordinary people had no idea about. Come to think of it, Bill the Storyteller was always telling tales about how kings in days of yore would strike down their enemies like a reaper cutting ripe wheat. It was true!! This was so great!! No way was he going to tell this to Norman. No way at all.

Johanaston watched from the shadows. Another generation was being told about the incomparable power of Cumberfordtte. He hoped Eric had enough sense not to cut off his foot. Too bad The King and The Queen did not have Norman first. No help for that now.

Sir David walked along the dusty road. He walked because he had no horse. His horse had died some ten miles back. Sir David had selected a few items from the dead horse’s saddlebags, but he was not keen to carry very much stuff.

Clank, clank, Sir David clanked down the hot, dusty road. He still had his sword and armor, there had been no thought of discarding those. Now he was coming to a small nameless village. There was a well, which was good. He did need water. He also needed food, but he had no money to buy any. These nameless villagers were not at all eager to share their food with a wandering knight.

He came to the well and drew himself a bucket of water. He filled his canteen and took a long drink from what was still in the bucket.

“What’s your name?” This was from a ragged little urchin standing a few feet away.

“Sir David.”

“Where are you going?” A persistent ragged little urchin.

Sir David somehow did not mind talking to this filthy creature for a minute. “I am going to the court of The King.” Sir David pointed vaguely in a westerly direction.

’Hey, wow, do they have knights and nobles and ladies and dragons and everything?”

“They have all that and more. Everything civilized and bright and beautiful and shining and lovely, they have at the court of The King”.

The ragged urchin seemed to think of something. “Hey, where’s your horse?”

“He didn’t want to come.” Sir David started walking on the westward road. There was still a ways to go.