Plains of Obon, and he would return triumphant.
A hissing voice jolted Cyril back to reality.
‘Your Majesty?’
The King swung around to see Faydon at the entrance to his chambers. He had snuck in silently, sliding along the shadows. There was a smile on Faydon’s pointed face. He looked like a little rat, with his squinty eyes and long, sharp front teeth. No tail though. He didn’t have fleas either … as far as anyone knew.
‘Faydon. Must you always sneak up on me?’
‘My apologies, Sire. I wanted to congratulate you on the reception to your speech.’
The King’s smile returned.
‘Yes. Yes, they loved it didn’t they?’
Faydon nodded then slipped up close to his ruler, speaking quietly.
‘You are their King, Sire, and they do love you now. Perhaps you should stay here and rule your people and I shall retrieve the flower for you.’
The King thought for an instant, then with a smile decided against Faydon’s idea.
‘I see what you’re trying to do Faydon, and I like it. You want me to stay safe here, away from any danger. It is a nice thought and you are a fine advisor, but I will be coming along on the journey. I want that flower and I want that wish.’
Faydon nodded, backing slowly out of the room as the King began admiring his profile once more, oblivious to all but his reflection. A wicked grin spread across Faydon’s face as he slipped further into the shadows, speaking in a low voice intended only for himself.
‘Yes, your Majesty, you and your men may be required, but perhaps it will not be you who gets the flower in the end.’
The shadows consumed him.
Back at the Main Stage, the Tellings were getting into full swing. Pete McGee was having a ball. The most recent Teller had spoken of meeting a creature so small that it sat in the palm of his hand. He spoke of the fear he saw in the tiny creature’s eyes, fear that was replaced first with false bravado and finally kindness. They had spoken of their respective species, their families, and had promised to meet again. Pete imagined himself as the tiny creature. How would he react if a giant picked him up? If it ever happened, he certainly hoped the giant would be as kind as the Teller, and not one of those giants that just crushes you and eats you on toast or something.
The next Teller was a woman. Well, a girl really, for she couldn’t have been over eighteen years of age. Her clothes were dirty and brown, rags hanging loosely over her thin frame. Pete wondered what she could possibly have been through to get in such a state, so he edged to the front of the stage to hear every word. In a small voice, the girl began to speak.
‘My name is Ashlyn and this is my story,
A story of our King and his grab for glory.
My love was stolen from out of my grasp,
And my mortal breath gave its very last gasp.
Just one week from now the King will go,
On a journey about which this I know.
He will search for a flower that cures all ills,
Better than medicine, better than pills.
Its pollen does this, while its magical smell,
Will grant to its sniffer one wish as well.
But if a thorn touches your blood, it’s enough,
To kill you dead, your life it will snuff.
My life is forsaken,
My love has been taken,
By the evil man that we call King,
Marloynne’s life he’ll be sacrificing.
The King is foul, and cruel, and mean,
And will do anything for the flower Wilderene.’
The crowd was silent. Although deeply touched by Ashlyn’s tale, no-one dared clap. Pete wanted to, but the sound of one hand clapping isn’t exactly thunderous applause. Ashlyn stood on the stage, staring at the crowd as if pleading with them for some sort of response. When none was forthcoming she dropped to her knees, her eyes filling with tears. It was too much for Pete, as nothing seemed to compare to the pain this girl was experiencing. He threw his pack up onto the stage then climbed up after it and helped Ashlyn stand. She rose meekly, gratitude showing in her sad eyes. Suddenly there was a gasp from the crowd. Striding onto the stage were three of the King’s guards. Ashlyn’s heart dropped. She had committed treason, which carried a sentence of death. But she had not counted on the courage of young Pete McGee, who gently pushed her behind him and faced the guards. He willed his voice to be strong.
‘Guards! Stay where you stand and let this fair maiden go, lest you feel the wrath of Sir Pete McGee!’
The guards stared for a second before throwing their heads back and bursting into laughter. The crowd joined in, partly because they thought they should, to appear on the guards’ side, but mainly because the sight of the small, one-armed boy facing up to three hulking guards was so ludicrous. People from the crowd started calling things out. Some were cleverer than others.
‘Don’t worry about him, he’s ’armless!’
‘He’s given her a real shot in the arm!’
‘Hey look, that kid only has one arm!’
‘By the beard of Merlin, that mule is eating a cabbage!’
Pete ignored them and stood tall, although his heart was beating wildly. He saw Larson Smithers standing in the front row, grinning from ear to ear. It was obvious he expected something bad to happen and couldn’t wait to see it. Pete had never really worked out why Larson bullied him so, but there were more important things to worry about at this point in time. He turned back to the guards. As scared as he was, this was something he had to do, not just for the girl but for himself.
‘Laugh away, wretched ones,’ he continued. ‘You will laugh to your graves if you do not respect me.’
This just led to more hysterical laughter, and more jibes from the crowd. Finally one of the guards calmed down enough to speak.
‘Well, little one, you with that treasonous wench behind you, what is it that you think you will do to us?’
Before Pete could answer, he felt a presence at his shoulder. He spun around and his eyes grew wide. At his side, looking down at him, was a knight. Dressed in chain mail, helmet in one hand, head held high, he was the proudest, strongest, most confident-looking man the young boy had ever seen.
