A Crown Without a King

The wizard's staff struck the flagstoned floor of the Great Hall.

THE KING IS DEAD. LONG LIVE THE KING!

Prince Robin could feel his own blood flowing before he felt the cold sting of the pointed blade pressed against his throat.

Son of a worm infested dog! Hissed a voice in the darkness. Am I not enough for you?

Now. Now. Soothed Robin. There's no need for...

Silence! How dare you speak to me as if you were my equal. I am a QUEEN!

Yes, your ahhh... Majesty. But aren't you forgetting something?

Such as?

Your uncle. The Maharajah.

The Princess Saavi arched a perfectly plucked eyebrow. That old fool?

That old fool, said Robin, was wise enough to send you away before you could smother him in his sleep. Or prick him with your needle.

You! You are no better than a sun baked pile of maggot infested camel dung!

Sticks and stones, laughed Robin. Realizing his mistake when the stiletto's tip dug deeper.

Robin had grown from a child to a young man. As tall as any man, and with a man's strength, and he caught the Maharanee's wrist and pushed her hand holding the dagger away easily.

What did you mean by am I not enough? He asked her.

I saw the way you looked at my lady-in-waiting.

I'm sure she's a wonderful person, said Robin, but the scrubber of your royal chamber pot has a face that could strip varnish.

Anything else he might have said was cut off abruptly by a kiss.

But not just any kiss. As kisses go, this one was a tropical monsoon.

Aldhyrwoode the wizard repeated his message for Robin a third time, and then had Orpheiu say it back to him, to be sure the raven remembered it correctly, word for word.

You are needed here, quoth the raven. Your father lies in state. The crown has no king. Ride like the wind. Or all might yet be lost!

While he had a vague idea where to find Prince Robin, Aldhyrwoode couldn't be more precise than the city fortress of Jal Naghrahar. Far to the East.

Just look for trouble, he told Orpheiu. If I know Robin, he won't be far away.

The duke's army was camped less than a day's march from the kingdom's southern border.

We ride the minute I hear from Bjern Bearskinner, Don Sebastian told his generals.

The jarl of the northern raiders had already sailed with several

hundreds of longships. He would burn them where they lay beached. Let the runes fall where they may. There would be no retreat.

That Alejandro and his father had argued was no secret. Prince Robin was Alejandro's friend. He thought they should wait for Robin to return.

Anything other than that would be dishonourable.

And while we pretend to mourn? The duke had asked his son. What? Others will claim the crown for their own! That's what! We cannot wait!

The kingdom is not yours, Alejandro had told his father, and nor will the crown ever be!

And who is going to stop me? The wizard?

No, said Alejandro. I will.

By yourself?

If I must.

You would see me in my grave? Your own flesh and blood?

I would see my friend succeed to that which is rightfully his!

I do not doubt, said Don Sebastian softly, that you mean what you say. But I warn you... This old lion still has his claws!

The captain of the castle guard didn't command legions. But the men in his service were well trained and well armed, and they had sworn an oath to defend the realm and protect its people. Loyal to the old king, they loved Prince Robin.

We will fight to the last of us, the captain told Aldhyrwoode. There will be no surrender.

Such a noble sacrifice might not be needed, said the wizard. My agent at the court of Don Sebastian tells me the Marshall of Navarre is on our side.

The blood red knight? But that is excellent news!

The duke would snatch the crown in a heartbeat, if he wanted it for himself, said Aldhyrwoode. But a throne of cold hard rock is no seat for arthritic bones. And no matter how pretty the bow, an unwanted gift might just as well be an empty box.

The duke wants the kingdom for his own son? Asked the captain.

He does. Aldhyrwoode nodded. If Alejandro would accept it. Which he will not.

And the raiders from the north?

Are still at sea. And the ocean can be... Unpredictable.

So we pray for a storm?

A prayer, said Aldhrywoode, is a waste of breath. If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.

Bjern Bearskinner had skinned more than his fair share of bears, but that wasn't how he'd earned his name. The bear was Bjern's totem animal. He always wore the grizzled pelt of an enormous brown bear into battle. He bore no shield, and carried no sword nor axe nor spear. He could break a man in half with his bare hands. Or tear one from limb to limb as easily as a monk might tear a sheet of parchment. Bjern was a berserker.

He was also gut wrenchingly sea-sick.

Bring me more ale! He roared. And row faster! Blow in the bloody sail if you have to, but get this floating turd onto something more solid than...

More solid than what he didn't say.

He was too busy puking into Harald the Hard-arse's helmet.

Do not look now, said the Princess Saavi, but there is an ugly bird on the window ledge.

It's not your lady-in-waiting is it? Asked Robin. Who then did exactly what he was NOT supposed to do, and looked. Orphieu!

You know it?

Certe, said Robin. I know him well.

What news? He asked the raven.

When the bird had delivered its message, Robin sat on the floor of the Maharanee's private quarters and wept unashamedly. Firstly for his father. Secondly because he would have to leave the princess, whom he loved. And thirdly because he couldn't see how he was possibly going to return to the kingdom, his kingdom now, in time to save it.

Do not fret so, said Princess Saavi. There is a way. The rug under the bed, can you drag it out? I will summon the guards to help you.

The bed was a huge monstrosity carved from teak, and weighed nearly as much as an elephant, but huffing and puffing, Robin and a dozen of the palace guards were finally able to lift it just enough for two more guards to haul the dusty old carpet out from underneath it. As soon as the rug was free, it rose into the air, and floated all by itself!

Being as familiar with magic as he was, Robin wasn't surprised, or at least not as surprised as the guards were. And seeing that the carpet was large enough to carry two comfortably, he swept the princess up in his arms and spun around the room, his mouth planted passionately on her equally fervent lips.

Faith! He exclaimed, when he could speak again. I've met giants and nymphs and trolls and unicorns, but I never imagined in my wildest dreams that I would meet a girl with a flying rug!

Thunder and lightning. Howling gales. Waves taller than a ship's mast.

Bearskinner and his fleet of piratical pillagers are driven further and further south. None are lost or sunk, that's not a part of the wizard Aldhyrwoode's plan. He needs them to still be a threat when they finally land, somewhere, though the raiders don't know it, on the western shores of Don Sebastian's dukedom.

The rider didn't bother to dismount, but charged straight through the open flaps of Don Sebastian's campaign tent.

My Lord! He cried. We are invaded!

My Lord! Roger was yelling, when he skidded into Aldhyrwoode's workshop.

They're here!

Who's here?

Robin!

Robin's here? Already? But...

What would have taken Robin and the Princess Saavi weeks by ship, or even months on horseback, was shortened to only a day and a night of flying first class on the magic carpet.

There's a girl with him, said Roger. And you should see her rug!

Eh? What? I don't... Girl's rugs aren't... Robin's here?

Yes! Roger laughed. Come on!

For an old man, Aldhyrwoode had no trouble keeping with the young knight, and even shouldered past him as they ran up the turret's stairwell to the courtyard, where a company of the Castle Guard were struggling to keep the carpet grounded.

My Prince! My Prince! The wizard wept tears of joy. Throwing his arms around Robin, and even dancing a little jig. You are come! Oh, my boy! My dear sweet boy!

Robin shared his friend and mentor's happiness. As pleased to see Aldhyrwoode as the wizard was to have his Prince home.

My father, said Robin. Where is he?

Oh! Yes! You must... He is... Forgive me, said Aldhyrwoode, for an old fool... Of course you... And here am I... But come... And you... So beautiful you are... We must... But later...

In the captain's quarters, a small group of squires listened, all ears, to the story of how the late king had fought, and won for himself, every rock and tree and river and valley from the towering snow-capped mountains to the endless forests.

In those days, the lands of Don Rafael, the present duke's older brother, had stretched as far as the horizon in every direction. In the third year of the great famine, a horde of savage tribesmen rode out of the plains on their unshod ponies. They were like a plague, destroying everything in their path. Leaving nothing behind them but the dead. The frontier outposts were the first to fall, one after the other.

Rafael's brother, Sebastian, was there too. Brawling with the best of them. Up to his knees in the mud and the blood and the shit. But a blow on the helm knocked him out cold.

Of all the Don's men, none were braver, or fought more valiantly, than Rafael's young squire. And just as a heathen spear was set to spill the duke's guts...

Who was there to save his life?

The boy who would be king! The squires all shouted as one.

The tribesmen were first rate fighters. But they had no discipline. No order. And the tide of battle soon turned in the duke's favour. They were wiped out, down to the very last of them. No more than a stripling.

A child. But no sword or lance could touch him.

There was some kind of force, some sorcery, protecting him. That no blade could breach.

We could be here all day, Roland D'Arturian called to him, and every day until world's end. But I have better things to do. Will you share a skin of wine with me?

I will die of thirst before I surrender!

A truce, then! Called Roland. There's no disgrace in that, surely!

On your honour?

On my word. One friend to another.

We are not friends!

Not yet. But we could be. What say you?

Don Rafael, being relieved to still have his innards, bade his squire kneel and knighted him right there on the spot.

Arise, Sir. A servant no more, but a king in your own right!

And who did D'Arturian choose to help him rule his new kingdom?

None other than the feral boy.

The last of his tribe.

The necromancer's child - Al Den Whyr.

King Roland was laid out on a tall block of black marble. He'd been dressed in a simple blue tunic with a belt of gold, and his silver hair and beard had been brushed. He wore no jewellery other than a plain band of bronze on one wrist. As forthright and unpretentious in death as he had been in life.

Holding his father's hand, Robin kissed him on the unwrinkled brow.

There were no words to express how he felt.

I wish you could have met him, he said to Princess Saavi. You would have liked him. And he you.

He would have loved you, said Aldhyrwoode.

They hadn't even been formally introduced yet, but the wizard could clearly see for himself how much Robin thought of Saavi. And if Robin loved her, that was enough.

Robin looked at Roger and said, Bring him his crown. We will bury him with it.

No king should be without a crown. Or a crown without a king.

But, my Lord. You are king. How are we to... ?

The kingdom is all the crown I need, said Robin, and the people more precious than any metal or gems.