When the time of the feast finally arrived, Princess
Gabriella entered the Great Hall of Dining without stopping to look up at the
vastly high ceiling far above her. In previous years, she would not have been
able to help but to turn her eyes upward each time she entered this cavernous
ancient hall, and admire all the ten-foot-long royal banners displaying the
names and crests of all the great kings, queens, lords, and nobles who had
eaten there during ages gone by. She used to think that she would always be
intimidated by a feeling that all the ghosts of all the great Kings and High
Queens of Astadia still feasted there.
But in recent weeks, she had no time for such
thoughts. She walked straight to the elongated table, crafted long ago from a
great red oak that had grown for a thousand years in the Forest of Giants, and
scanned the table all the way to its end, seeking the wizard. Tonight, just as
on all other nights, she was met with disappointment. The only people seated were the usual
allotment of generals and lords of Castle Blackrock and the same few guests who
had been there for the last several days.
She took her proper seat, the third from the
king’s right hand. Duke Arwin of Chamberlin, High General Martok, and Lt.
General Garron, being high ranking military or castle officials, all got to sit
closer to the king than she, a mere Second Princess. Cassandra, as First
Princess, normally sat one seat closer to the king, to Gabriella’s left. But
her empty chair stood this night as a reminder that she was too sick to join
them. Directly across from Gabriella was another empty seat, designated for the
feast’s honored guest, where she was convinced the wizard would sit. For many nights, she had sat and stared at
the empty oak chair, imagining it filled with the man with the great red beard.
The seating of the king’s guests began just to
Gabriella’s right. The current guests
were a group of wealthy entrepreneurs who had been staying in the castle for
some conference with her father. From
what little she knew, it seemed as though the gathering involved a bunch of
squabbling businessmen who came to beg the crown give its backing to whatever
pointless project they were developing.
They spent every evening boasting and talking over one another about the
greatness of their businesses. Not a one of them listened to any of the others,
but Gabriella could not fault them. She did not want to listen to any of them
either.
Tonight, however, they avoided the usual pattern.
One of the entrepreneurs, a man named Lord Tawson of Dunderlin, turned to
Gabriella’s end of the table, looking past her to the man sitting two seats to
her left, Duke Arwin of Chamberlin, Head of the Royal Guard. “So, Duke Arwin,”
he announced in a shout, “I understand you invited a wizard to the table
tonight.”
Gabriella instantly jerked her neck sharply to
her right and looked at Tawson in astonishment.
The duke meanwhile grumbled under his breath and
refused to make eye contact, as if he could ignore the question. But it was
hard to miss the silence that overtook the room, as the guests awaited the
duke’s response.
“He is most certainly not a wizard,” the duke was
finally forced to reply. “And I had
nothing to do with inviting him.”
Duke Arwin was not liked by many, least of all
Gabriella. His hairless head and old shriveled face with oversized ears and a
silly little mustache should have made him appear harmless, if not downright
goofy, and yet, one could not ignore the constant scowl he wore upon it.
“Oh, come now, Duke Arwin,” Tawson continued. “Do
you deny that there’s an easterner here in this castle who’s come to save the
King’s daughter? My steward tells me he’s a man of great power and wisdom.”
Tawson chuckled as if he found the very idea of the man amusing, and this
annoyed Gabriella to the core.
“Oh there is undeniably an easterner here,” the
duke replied. “An Afran peasant my guardsmen found wandering around the castle
aimlessly.” Gabriella scratched her
chin, attempting to hide the look of astonishment she surely wore upon her
face. An Afran peasant? Afrans were the darker skinned people of
the Southlands who produced most of the agriculture for Astadia. Gabriella had
learned that the term ‘Afran’ had been derived from the Afranian Isles in the
East, though in truth many Afrans had come from many other islands besides just
the Afranian Isles. She couldn’t believe it hadn’t occurred to her before that
the wizard, if he were from the distant east, would resemble the Afrans she had
seen in the Southlands.
Duke Arwin continued: “There’s no telling how the
man got in. I wanted to arrest him for unauthorized intrusion upon the King’s
grounds. But General Martok foolishly counseled
the king to take this peasant and his claims of magic seriously,” the duke
scoffed.
High General Martok, who sat across the table
from the duke, acted as though he had not heard the comments and continued his
private conversation with Lieutenant General Garron, seated beside him. But Martok could not avoid the fact that all
eyes at the front of the table, including Garron’s, were looking to him for a
rebuttal.
General Martok was less outwardly cruel and nasty
than Duke Arwin, but not much more likable in Gabriella’s estimation. When he
said nice things, it somehow seemed that he meant the opposite. He looked old enough to be Gabriella’s
grandfather, though his stout, muscular build and curt demeanor made one forget
the balding wrinkled head and bushy grey beard.
“I see no reason to answer to you, Arwin,” Martok
remarked in his usual deep, throaty voice.
“Oh come now, General,” replied the duke. “Half the King’s table is waiting on your
retort. You wouldn’t want to disappoint them.”
“First of all,” said Martok appearing to
acquiesce to the demand. “I never said
he was a wizard, nor did the man himself.
He made no claim to be anything other than a great eastern healer. And
since we have no renowned physicians left from our own land who have not
already failed, how can we refuse his generous offer of help? What harm can he
possibly bring? Kill the girl? She is all but dead already.”
Martok turned back toward General Garron, as if
he had done his duty to the guests and could now resume his previous conversation.
The guests however, did not take their eyes from him, as if unsatisfied.
“Have you all forgotten the importance of the
Princess’s survival?” he demanded.
“Surely you all know that the Princess must carry on with her scheduled
marriage to Lord Maron. For the first
time in ten centuries we would have Halthrop’s Army at our disposal. What kind
of threat would the Succreans be to us then?
As leader of the Astadian Military, I must ensure that this happens no
matter the cost.”
The general’s description of Gabriella’s sister
as just a pawn in his silly war games made Gabriella glad she had not begun to
eat, for she would probably be close to spewing her food right back onto the
table.
“With due respect, Sir,” said Lieutenant General
Garron, Martok’s second in command though many years his junior. “As you and I
have discussed many times, the Succreans have not attacked us in over three
hundred years. I’m not entirely certain that they’re even a threat.” Garron was by far more pleasant company for
Gabriella than either Martok or Arwin. Being a younger man with deep brown
eyes, long, well groomed dark hair, and a perfectly groomed thin beard upon his
chin, did not hurt his case. But his appeal went beyond looks. He was the only adult who ever treated
Gabriella and her sister as if they were capable and intelligent. She had
always appreciated that.
“Yes, we have debated this before, General
Garron,” Martok replied. “And I continue to insist that we can never let our
guard down against the Succreans. That is exactly what they want us to do, so
that they may cross south over the Border Mountains and invade us once again.
With Halthrop’s Army on our side, I’d like to see them try.”
“Even if that were the case,” Garron replied, “if
all the greatest physicians in Astadia could not cure the princess, what makes
you think that this savage, one who comes from a backwards island nation with
not nearly the medical knowledge of Astadia, can do any better?” Garron’s subtle smile indicated to Gabriella
that he might have been describing the healer in opposite terms to what he
actually believed.
“Perhaps,” replied Martok, who seemed calm once
again. “But he comes to us highly
regarded by his queen. And truly, you know nothing of the medical knowledge of
Dinia, my dear General Garron. I, myself, have heard tell of great healers from
the eastern isles.”
His calm demeanor did not change as he shifted
his eyes toward Duke Arwin, and continued to espouse to all the guests seated
at the table. “And besides, the king has charged Duke Arwin and his Royal Guard
with hawking the stranger while he works. Surely they would not let a mere
foreign peasant cause any harm.”
Though Duke Arwin sat as still as a boulder,
Gabriella could tell by the particular scowl on his face that he wanted to
lunge across the table and stab General Martok with his fork. “We most certainly will not. But it is a task we should not have to
undertake, were the king to ever receive sensible advise from his military
leaders.” Martok began to tie his napkin
around his neck, in preparation for the feast, apparently ignoring Duke’s
Arwin’s jab.
In the next moment, the blaring sound of brazen
trumpets echoed throughout the Great Hall.
Two trumpeters marched through Rutherford’s entranceway near the head of
the table. They stopped in front of the
doors, and then behind them came four servants, each carrying a large covered
silver platter containing a side dish, followed by two more servants, carrying
between them the largest silver plate of all: the night’s main course. Next
entered young Benson, the King’s personal page, who stopped and stood between
the trumpeters to make his announcement.
“Lords and Ladies, tonight’s main course, the great royal stag of the
Forest of Giants, hunted and killed so valiantly by King Rutherford himself, is
served with Chef Barducci’s finest apple-pepper sauce, such a perfectly
delicate balance of the sweet and the spicy.”
Stag and apple-pepper sauce were both rarely
served, but Gabriella could not be excited for them, because she was too busy
lamenting that Benson’s presence did not bode well for the wizard. No guests
were permitted to enter the Great Hall after the king, no matter how honored
they might have been. One guest was actually jailed for the offense. Gabriella
clinched her fists and closed her eyes. Oh Mesis, Great One of the Heavens, ruler of
all the Living, please let the wizard eat with us tonight, Please!
To her great dismay, the sound of the trumpets
once again filled the hall. Her father’s
page made the announcement: “Now Lords and Ladies, please stand and honor the
Son of His Late Majesty King Rutherford II, great grandson of the founder of
his line, King Rutherford I. Please honor the Noble, the Powerful, the Wise,
the Ruler and Father of all the great citizens of Astadia, His Royal Majesty
and Grace, King Rutherford III!” As the
trumpets began to blow once again, Gabriella watched her father slowly march
into the hall. He looked just as
majestic and awe inspiring as ever. His golden crown of sparkling red rubies
complimented the large, octagonal emeralds that lined the seams of his fuzzy,
golden robe. His premature gray hair made him look distinguished, and gave him
the appearance of someone with wisdom beyond his years —as did his fluffy yet
well treated beard, which hid most of his face but could not disguise the grace
and confidence that always exuded from his towering body. He commanded such
incredible power that his subjects could not help but bow and admire him.
In that
brief instant, Gabriella felt deeply disappointed that the wizard was too late
to enter the hall. She imagined Duke
Arwin would soon be convincing the king to throw the wizard into the dungeon
simply for being late. But just as she
thought this, she looked across the table and, to her amazement; she saw that a
short, skinny, elderly man with brown skin was sitting right where the wizard
should have been. She would have sworn on her life that he had not been there
when her father first entered the room, and he could not have possibly passed
by without being seen. Yet, there he
was, right before her eyes. She wanted
to get a better look at him, but that would have to wait, for all those seated
at the king’s table were required to keep their eyes on the king until
permission was given for them to eat.
King Rutherford took his place on a jewel-covered
golden chair. As was tradition, all
others at the table remained standing until he gave them permission to
sit. Two servants rushed over and tied
either end of his large royal napkin around his neck. He squirmed around in his chair, finding just
the perfect spot, for what felt like several minutes until he eventually
motioned for everyone else to sit. He
still had not given the servants permission to serve anyone else. He would
typically make an announcement or two before doing so.
Rutherford cleared his throat and began to
speak. “Friends, Family, Honored Guests.
You are all well aware of the horrendous tragedy that has struck our great
kingdom several weeks ago. My dear,
sweet daughter, Princess Cassandra....” He paused as if unable to find the
words, then continued. “But now myself, my second daughter Gabriella, and all
of our countrymen, do have one last hope that Astadia’s first daughter will
survive. His name is Ja-Ded, and he is a
member of a highly important organization the Dinians call the Jaal-Alik. He has been sent to us across the great Areon
Ocean by Her Majesty Queen Roja-Lij of Dinia, and he is renowned in his country
for his healing abilities.” He motioned
to the man across from Gabriella. The
man bowed his head elegantly to the people at the table, who seemed to pay no
respect to his gesture at all.
“Now before we begin the serving. I feel that it is my duty as your king to
make a few things clear. First and foremost, I must clear up the confusion on
this ‘wizard’ business. You see, when Cassandra had first taken ill, one of my
royal sea traders returned from the Distant East with news that a man with
mystical powers of healing was to be coming from Dinia to aid Astadia. Of course, we civilized men in Astadia know
that no such powers exist, so I as king could not take this news seriously.
This is why I had not informed Duke Arwin of Ja-Ded’s impending arrival, thus
causing great confusion, for which I must once again apologize to Ja-Ded.” The
king looked toward Ja-Ded, seeking his acceptance of this apology, which the
foreign man happily gave with a nod and a smile.
“Then of course word of this man with mystical
powers made its way to the servant folk, and as they are wont for exaggeration,
it was not long until this man was spoken of as if he were a storybook wizard.
“But in truth, this man has denounced all links
to wizardry and admitted himself to be a legitimate healer. He has sworn to it under the name of my great
grandfather, the Great and Wise King Rutherford I. And so my friends, regardless of what you
might have heard, and regardless of his looks or his dress, I ask that you
treat him with as much respect as you would any of my guests. And now, my friends, family, guests — the
serving may begin!”
Unlike most of the King’s pre-feasting speeches,
there was no applause or cheering.
Instead, the speech transitioned into the immediate sound of clanging of
spoons and plates as the servants began to serve the dinner patrons, beginning
with General Martok and the Duke of Chamberlin.
At long last, Gabriella had the perfect
opportunity to get a good look at the man across the table. She had been greatly disappointed to hear her
father say that he had officially denounced his wizardry. Looking over him, she could see why. This man
could not possibly be the man of magic that she and Barton had anticipated. She saw no golden robe, tall pointy hat, or
staff of jewels.
Instead, here was an extremely short, painfully
thin, elderly man. What little hair he
had left on his head was white, and his ribcage as well as many of his other
bones were visible through the opening of his old dusty cloak; he wore no shirt
underneath. Worst of all: he had no white beard, nor red beard, nor even a
black beard. He had no beard at all. How much magic could a beardless man
possibly wield?
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