The Prophesy: Book 1 - Cave Lupus

 

King Samson was accompanying Annabelle, Dunbar and Harold on a tour of the caravan, and was surprised when Harold was invited by one of the cavalrymen to examine the farring of his horse. After a quick check, Harold invited the man to bring the offending horse for treatment right away.

"You seem to know a lot about this art?" he enquired, surprised.

"It is nothing to be surprised about, Sire. I am a Companion of the Iron Cross, the Order that governs Ironsmiths, a farrier, and weapons smith."

"You? A King, do this hard work? What further surprises do I have to face this week?"

"Probably more than you are ready for, King Samson," replied Annabelle.

"I noticed he introduced himself as Legate, when he and his son disposed of the baron and his seedling. I was surprised he did not give his full title, but I figured he did not want to intimidate us."

"Full title?" asked Harold, looking at Annabelle and Dunbar suspiciously. "Have you two been doing some more politics behind my back?"

"I think it's time we set the record straight, for the benefit of everyone," started Annabelle, as she saw the determined looks of Enron leading the boys towards the group.

"What do you mean?" asked both Harold and Samson.

"Harold was elected King the day before he came to visit you with Enron. He knew nothing of the vote. It was held in utmost secrecy, and those that were most likely to spill the beans voted for his election without even knowing they had done so. The idea had come from the combined high officers of the caravan, namely the Masters of the Road, and the Centurions. A delegation came to Grand Master Dunbar and me with the proposal, and we agreed to hold the vote. I must say, Harold, that you won the Crown of the Wolf unanimously. Not a single nay, not a single abstention. The seamstress and others worked all night and most of the morning to prepare the pennants, flags, blazons, and other status symbols for the arrival of the caravan into your village, King Samson. Look at your colours, Harold. They reflect the change of status: they show the crown on the wolf's head! And our son's colours are identical, with the moon above, to mark him as heir."

Harold had to sit down; he was ready to fall over. "And I thought this King Harold this, King Harold that, was a figure of speech!"

"No, my friend," commented Dunbar. "We needed unity of command, we needed a common emblem that would lead us to an uncertain future, and it was you that created the unity we needed, by your leadership. Even I recognize that, and yet, by the books, I outrank you. As Centurion Yamato said, talking about the legions, to the mites with books, I know whom we will follow to Hell and back! And I agree. You have led us in three major battles, and won all three with minimum losses; I have talked with Yamato, whom, as you know, is obsessed with military history. You rank amongst the greatest of the greatest commanders. You even managed to teach me a few good things on the use of caravan rolling stock to defend a position. Need I say more?"

"Samson, help me! I do not know how to be King!"

"Neither did I, but I learned. And you certainly fooled me, so I shall continue seeing you as I saw you before: as King Harold."

"Why me?"

"Why not?" answered, ironic, King Samson.

"Was it what you wanted to talk to your dad about, Prince Enron?" asked Annabelle.

"Why, yes, how did you know?"

"My little finger told me!"

"You got a talking little finger?" asked Harp, amazed and wide-eyed.

"Yes I do, and it tells me when little boys are naughty," replied, all serious-looking, Annabelle.

The seriousness with which Harp examined his fingers and asked them why they never talked to him made everyone explode in laughter.

"Dad, I am a bit surprised at how you took this turn of events," commented Enron. "I was expecting a scene from you. In fact, I was ready to confront you right now on the topic, if needed be."

"Ah? And what would have been your arguments, had I acted like a dumb ass?"

"That nowhere in the prophesy is it stated that the Throne of the Wolf would be held by a King of the kingdoms around us or, for that matter, of this World; that King Harold had earned his legitimacy from his people, not from falling out of a womb onto a Throne, as so skilfully said Paschal; that you implicitly recognized the Throne of the Wolf when you recognized the Day of Dawning; and formally recognized it when you called the Lords to the meeting; finally, Dad, I am ready to swear fealty to Harold. And so are you, and you know it."

"And what do you do about inheritance and blue blood?" enquired, smiling, King Samson.

"Oh that! Paschal made an observation, which, initially, shocked me to the core; but I admit after giving it some thought, I find it makes sense. He asked why people would want as leaders individuals with a heart defect, which deprived their brains of the necessary oxygen to function properly, thus creating idiots. Master Harp supplied the answer, I think: people want idiots because they are easier to circumvent. And Sitar commented about the baron and his son as being prime examples of what blue blood led to, along with Albert's stupidity."

By then, King Samson's eyes were bugling out of their sockets. Then he started laughing hysterically, so hard he had problems breathing. Between bouts of laughter, he asked "Are you sure you're my son? I've never seen such a scathing analysis of Royalty and its weaknesses ever!"

"Are you sure you're my dad?" answered Enron. "The man I left would have cried foul on King Harold, never laughed, and seemed always miserable!"

"Quite true, Enron. But a great burden has been lifted from my shoulders. I am reviving, and this has changed my mood from sour to jubilant. In two hundred years, it is the first spring I really feel, smell and taste."

"Two hundred years?" asked Paschal, who was more attentive to the exchange than Harold, still dumbfounded by his recent election to Kingship.

"Well, yes, since Enron's birth. It will be another hundred years before he leaves childhood and enters manhood. Isn't it the same for you?"

"No," replied Sitar. "And what defines manhood?"

"The onset of sexual maturation, the capacity to father a child or bear one," replied, intrigued, King Samson.

"Is that why we were so easily dismissed by the baron and Albert the snake?" asked Harp.

"Well, yes, you are mere babes in our culture. You have reached status which take a long time for us to attain."

"If my calculations are correct", added Paschal, "Enron is in age equivalence, eight years old. No wonder he was ridiculed by the baron, and Harp scorned by Albert." Taking a pensive posture, Paschal did some more calculations in his head. "You live twenty-five years for each one of ours, which means, let me see, if you lived the equivalent of 76 of our years, it would mean your life expectancy is one thousand and nine hundred years!"

"These speculations are nice," noted the Seer, who had walked on them as Paschal was exposing his thinking, "but you yet do not know how old you will really live, nor does Enron. You have matured quickly, relative to us, it is true, but never fear, I sense in all of you there is a change that will come into play in a short time, for both our timescale and yours. I sense your fear of dying on Enron and leaving him alone to deal with the burden. Fear not, it will not be the case."

"King Harold, just by curiosity, how old are you?"

"I turned eighteen last fall equinox. Why?"

"Eighteen? That doesn't add up, your son Sitar looks on the verge of manhood, and, by applying the numbers so diligently supplied by your other son, Paschal, you would have fathered him when you were but six! I know you grow fast, but that fast?"

"Dad, that's the other thing I needed to talk to you about. Sitar, Paschal, and Harp aren't his sons! They are children rescued from orc attacks, like I was!"

"What now? Another surprise?"

"More than that, I think Harp wants to ask something to King Harold. And I am here to witness the request and his answer."

"I see, and what is the request that requires the witnessing of a Prince?"

"Harp?" replied Enron.

"Harold, I asked you a few days ago if you wanted to be my dad, and you said you wanted but that I had to ask Sitar too. Do you still want to be my dad, now that you have your own son?"

"Yes, Harp, I do. What about you, Sitar?"

"Do you want to be our dad?"

"Yes, I do, Sitar, with all my heart."

"Come on, Paschal, ask too!" chimed in Harp.

"I want to ask, but I am afraid of being a burden. And I always hold the hope of finding mom and dad again."

"You have never been a burden since I have met you, Paschal. To the contrary, your actions have made me proud. I would gladly accept you as my son."

"Do you want to be my dad, Harold?"

"Yes, Paschal, I do, again, with all my heart. Now, boys, you need to talk to Annabelle and ask her if she wants to be your mom."

The three boys turned to Annabelle, and repeated the ritual, again getting a positive answer.

"Than so it is!" stated, formally, King Samson. "I, King Samson of the Throne of Nature, stand witness to the formal request of adoption by Harp, Paschal, and Sitar, and stand ready to testify of their acceptance by King Harold and Queen Annabelle."

Enron took a formal posture, and stated, loud and clear, "I, Prince Enron, heir to the Throne of Nature, stand witness to the formal request of adoption by Harp, Paschal, and Sitar, and stand ready to testify of their acceptance by King Harold and Queen Annabelle."

Dunbar followed, and taking a similar posture, stated, "I, Grand Master Dunbar, member of the Order of the Road, stand witness to the formal request of adoption by Harp, Paschal, and Sitar, and stand ready to testify of their acceptance by King Harold and Queen Annabelle."

"So shall be recorded in the Royal archives!" noted Harold's scribe.

"So shall be recorded in the Royal archives!" replied Samson's scribe.

"One thing that surprises me is why you boys waited until now?" asked Harold.

The three boys looked at each other, and Sitar answered for all. "We did not want to be in conflict with the baby Annabelle was carrying. That way, he will be considered the hereditary Prince, none of us. It solves a lot of issues, including the question of age. Otherwise, who would have been heir? Paschal because he was the first rescued? Would it be me, because I am the oldest? Or would it be the then yet to be born child, because he is your first-born? We resolved the issue for you."

"It seems there was a lot of thinking from these three boys, Harold. The more I see them at work, the more I am impressed. Enron, you told me something about learning by example. If you learn from these three, you will outsmart even King Axel, our legendary King that set up the Elvin kingdom."

"That's all nice boys, but prince or not, you boys got work to do. I need to shoe a horse from the cavalry, and that means finding some coal, or dried woods for the forge."

"Maybe you could use our forge?" suggested Enron.

"Yes, that would help, however I will bring my tool set. I do not feel comfortable using someone else's tools."

"That is fine. I'll go with you and guide you to the village forge," offered Enron.

"And we'll go help with keeping the fire hot," said Paschal. "Tomorrow, I will go see the tanner to get more skins for scrolls, since I need to continue mapping the trip. And I'll go see what colours are available for my art."

"I would like to see what types of musical instruments you have, and maybe help Paschal in finding new colours," completed Sitar.

"And you, Prince Harp?" asked King Samson, "What will you do tomorrow?"

"Oh, I think I'll go hunting with the hunters. I need to practice with my bow; and an unused knife rusts!"

"Given what I have seen, I feel sorry for the rabbits!"

***

The morning was quickly spent with Harold fixing the horse, and the boys helping him. King Samson and his son Enron watched from the side how the four seemed to work seamlessly at the forge, each seemingly able to anticipate the need of Harold. Then a cart was brought in to have its steel ring around one of the wheels replaced. That took a little while since the cart had to be lifted off the ground and set on wood blocks for the wheel to be removed, fixed, and reset.

By sext, two more jobs were expedited, and everyone retired for a quick lunch before the afternoon exercises.

Dunbar and the caravan did the first part of the exercises. Different dispositions of displacement, defence, quick turns, and other moves were practiced, until Dunbar, Harold, and Annabelle were satisfied.

The cavalry did the second part. These included complex moves, sidesteps, charges, changes of direction, and regroupings. The infantry did the third part, displaying their means of charging, grouping, retreat, and evasive manoeuvres. Finally, the three groups did combined manoeuvres; such as letting the cavalry enter combat from the rear, and return safely back. The archers were also involved as a unit, first as front offence, then as back defence.

"So, gentlemen, how do you feel about this?"

"Impressive, very impressive. I am surprised you have three sets of archers. The arbalest seems the most accurate and long ranging, but slow to load. Your long bow seems quite formidable and effective as well. But why the short bow?"

"This is used in forests, and for hunting. A long bow is too cumbersome in dense underbrush. And, as you noted, priming a crossbow is too long to be effective in that context. By the time we would have one reset, the enemy would be on us," explained Annabelle.

"Let us not forget, too, that the legions are best suited for open spaces; they are at a disadvantage in a forest. This is why we emphasise individual combat skills, after group combat. That, you will see tomorrow, as vespers is almost on us," completed Harold.

"I see. I am already growing impatient to see this part of the training. Given what your sons have shown me, it must be gruelling!"

"You will have to ask them. Maybe it's the legionnaires that find the exercise gruelling!"

"Dad, maybe we should organize a competition?" suggested Enron.

"That is a marvellous idea, son! But let's wait for the others to have arrived at the Lords' Assembly. There will be present the best the Elvin Kingdom has to offer. And, as I said earlier, I think some inflated heads on our part will get deflated."

"We do not wish to impress or humiliate your people," replied Harold.

"Far from me to think that! It will serve my purpose that you would win hands down. See, even with my support, Enron will face an uphill battle to sit on the Throne of Nature. We, as people, are stiff-necked, and hard to change our views, probably because of our long lives. Enron has been labelled a weakling, a negligible entity. Quite a few will not take well the new Enron and being proven wrong, thus reducing to dust their chance at the Royal Seat. By clearly demonstrating incontestable superiority to these long-winded narrow-minded idiots, and by supporting Enron and me in this endeavour, you will put an end to the numerous rat races going on in my Kingdom, while they wait impatiently for my demise! I even suspect some tried to hasten it. The baron and his dropping were but the latest attempt. Your sons quite clearly identified the problem when they mentioned the idiocy produced by the obsession with blue blood. The number of dimwits that have titles is appalling, and I suspect the reason is too many are inbreeding in an effort to maintain their views on the Throne. Mind you, there is a weeding out. The dumbest get killed by the smartest."

"When do you expect the first arrivals?" asked Paschal.

"Probably by nightfall in the middle of the week. After all the messengers had to reach the villages, the people get ready, and then come here. Messengers may be quick, but knowing the Lords, I suspect they will want to delay coming yet not be too late to battle for the Throne as they anticipate. They think I invited them to crown my son because I'm dying. They will be sorely disappointed!"

"Why the delay then?"

"Conventions. They would look power-hungry if they rushed to the Throne, and would be at a disadvantage. On the other hand, if they come too late, the crown could well have been awarded before they could do anything to influence the outcome."

"Politics seems to smell worse than an ill-tended latrine!" commented Sitar.

"Yes, and when you think you got to have a fine nose for it, imagine the conundrum!"

Everyone laughed and made their way to the Throne under the Tree.

As they walked, Harp turned to Harold. "Dad, what happened to all the wolves that came to visit our baby brother?"

The question warmed Harold's heart. "I do not know, son. I wish I knew."

"I can answer that one for you, Harold", replied Samson. "The elves kept track of the wolves. About a hundred stayed close, but most returned to their former hunting grounds. Something tells me the news is spreading as we speak within their community about your newborn son, Harold. He seems to have gathered an extensive family, and knowing wolves, beware those who might try to harm him. The wolves are animals of the Pack, very strongly family-oriented."

"That might be of great use, if only we could communicate with them effectively," noted Harold.

"Let's eat, I'm starving, dad!" interrupted Harp.

"And push me to bankruptcy!" added Samson, smiling. "I wonder where you put all the stuff you eat. Are you sure you don't have a hole somewhere in your tummy?"

Harp pulled his shirt up and looked. "No, the one I had seems closed!"

***

The next day was spent doing different thing, with Harp bagging a dozen rabbits, eight partridges, four beavers, and a couple of fat turkeys. Paschal worked on his map, and searched for colours around the area; he found some beautiful rocks, which he could reduce to powder to get brilliant yellows, and a flower that gave a beautiful magenta, although the colour extraction process seemed to be a mess. Sitar found a beautiful small harp, and played it for a while. The shop owner was so moved by the music Sitar got out of the instrument, he insisted on giving it to him.

"Take this as a thank you for letting me listen to the music of Heaven, Prince Sitar. Never have I heard such a beautiful piece played on any of my instruments! The gift is but a small token of my real appreciation."

"But this is how you earn your living. If I do not pay for it, how will you live?"

"Prince Sitar, play it, and tell people where you got it. I shall be selling so many harps I shall run out of strings!"

"Lucky my little brother is hunting, you would put yourself on the straw. He has always wanted a violin, but never found one. The creation of viols, violins, and other instruments of that type seems to have been lost, since no caravan ever had one in its cargo."

"Ah, but I do have a few. They are in my backroom. I will bring them to the Throne room tonight, so your brother can try them out."

"OK, But I insist you ask a fair price for any instrument that Harp may be interested."

"Agreed, Prince Sitar. I will do so."

The skins that had been summarily tanned during the voyage were more thoroughly treated by the village tanner, and soaked in different chemical products to remove residual fat, hair or other impurities. The skins became soft and flexible, taking on a slightly brown, tan colour. Even the clothes already made were tanned anew and stretched, before being sawn back together. The whole process would take the rest of the week to complete, but this did not create any problem, since the caravan was not to leave for a fortnight.

Another benefit of a long stay was the possibility of drying meats and salting them. One of the richness of the Elvin kingdom was a couple of salt mines, one of which was located less than a day's walk from the King's village. The result was a profusion of barrels filled with meats, and fish. Other barrels carried salt in its raw form, for either future use or for trade.

New barrels were made to replace those that showed signs of damage. This kept Williams busy as well as Harold, who had to ring some of the barrels with steel collars. Some of the new barrels got filled with coal, others with tar, and still others with sulphur, all of which seemed to be found in natural deposits. Harold explained the use of the products in the firebombs, to the amazement of the Elves.

The afternoons were spent in weapons training and individual combat. Needless to say, the Elves wanted to see that part more than anything else, and all activity stopped to watch the legionnaires fight it off with each other, first in pairs, then in threes, then fours, up to a decade. Apparently, the technique changed depending on how many legionnaires were involved in a skirmish. The other thing that really interested the Elves were the training of what amounted to toddlers, babes, in their eyes. The Elves were shocked by the ferocity the children showed in their battle, and the frequent need to remind them this was an exercise, not a real battle.

Harp, particularly, stuck them as someone not to take lightly. His fearless charges against whole decades, his speed, agility, and willingness to hit where it hurt the most got them thinking. Quite a few legionnaires got out of the confrontation with Harp showing a serious limp, blues everywhere, and cringing faces.

"This is a killing machine!" exclaimed King Samson, at one point.

"Don't I know it!" replied Annabelle. He has broken enough bones to build a mausoleum."

"Now you know why I did not oppose his battle with the Snake. The man was dead the moment he defied Harp."

"And look at who taught him all this," added Dunbar. "Sitar is as bad or good, depending on which side of the battle line you are, and Paschal doesn't leave much behind either. These three together could well be worse than Attila the Hun, Genghis Khan, Napoleon and Hitler combined according to our military historian, Centurion Yamato."

"Who are they?"

"Conquerors of old," replied Annabelle.

"It is my turn to practice, please excuse me, Sire. I will use the blade of my Companionship, the other, Mitsuko, is way too dangerous for practice." With that, Harold took position to warm up, did some stretching, and then engaged a single legionnaire, the Centurion in charge of training.

"Is he always as dedicated?" asked Samson, watching Harold fighting with determination and unabated ferocity the Master of Arms.

"Oh yes, he is. Watch him progress from this to more legionnaires. You will see where the boys get their qualities. They may not share blood, but it might as well be the same," commented Annabelle.

Harold progressed from one to two, to three legionnaires attacking simultaneously. It kept increasing until he was dealing with a full decade, and the decurion. The blade was but a continuous, uninterrupted, flash of moving light, while Harold seemed to dance and parry. Finally, after thirty minutes of this insane dance, the legionnaires disengaged at the blow of a whistle from the Master of Arms. Harold was covered is sweet, but he did not even show a single scratch, or a single mark on his body. On the other hand, most of the legionnaires showed signs of a violent confrontation, ranging from a razor-thin scratch by the tip of the blade to fallen pieces of armour where the blade had cut the leather straps, to some bluish-purple bumps where the side of the blade had hit their body with a resounding smack.

Everyone was stunned, and suddenly a roar of applause erupted from all quarters. Cries of Long live King Harold could be heard from everywhere.

"Ah, now is the moment I prefer," commented Dunbar. "It's target practice!"

"Target practice? After all that effort?" asked, astounded, King Samson. "I would miss a one-hundred foot wall from the shakes!"

"Well watch Harold, Sire," asked Annabelle.

At that moment, the dummy used to practice for the kill of a priest was brought out, and prepared.

"What is that?" asked Enron who had yet to see the dummy used in practice.

"That, Prince Enron, represents a priest. You haven't seen the drawings Master Paschal made of a priest's corpse yet. We shall remedy to this as soon as possible. Notice the green triangle visible at the base of the neck? That is the only vulnerable place these monstrosities have. Anywhere else, and a projectile bounces off."

"But this is ridiculously small!"

"There, I must agree with you, Enron. But watch, now. Each time a projectile enters the dummy in the triangle, there will be a gong sound as the tip of the projectile hits it."

The first to aim at the target was Harold, with his long bow, at maximum range, that represented the entire length of the agora. He had ten arrows, and ten times the gong resonated with the impact of his arrow. Then came the crossbow, at the same range, because the agora couldn't be bigger. Again the gong resonated ten times. Then Harold took his short bow and ran within range. The moment he was within range of the dummy, he let go arrow after arrow, so fast that four could be seen in midair at the same time, to the astonishment of the Elves. And ten times, the gong resonated. Harold continued getting closer to the target, and picking up two pila as he ran he threw each one at the target, first with his right arm then with his left arm. Two more times the gong resonated. Finally within range of poniards, Harold threw the three he had on his belt in quick succession, to the song of the gong registering a hit for each blade. By then Harold was getting within range of the sword and, sliding to a clean stop, inserted his blade cleanly between the very packed triangle to score another resounding hit.

King Samson was whiter than a ghost, and turned to Annabelle. "Is this a man I see?"

"Oh, I can assure you his attentions to me are all gentle and caring. Now you know where the boys want to be. And he hasn't used his destrier today, nor his quarterstaff, or his slingshot. These are as deadly as anything you have seen so far."

By then Harold had recovered his weapons, and was walking towards the Master of Arms. "Centurion, I need three arrows replaced. They broke on impact."

"Yes, Sire. Right away. You! Replenish Harold's arrows."

A young boy ran off to the storage cart, returning with the required arrows.

While Harold did stretches to cool down, Annabelle pointed to Sitar, Paschal, and Harp getting ready.

"They will use short bows, long bows require too much strength. Even Harp has his own, made for him by Harold, to fit his size and strength. Watch!" asked Annabelle.

As Samson and Enron watched with fascination, an incomprehensible scene was unfolding in front of their eyes.

First came Sitar who moved rapidly in a zigzag pattern towards the dummy. Then he started firing arrows at the figure, and nine out of ten made the gong resonate. Then came the three knives that resulted in three perfect hits, and finally the light blade, which also made a hit.

"One miss Sitar. Do you want to try again?"

"Yes Master of Arms!"

The arrows were recovered, and the miss, whom had broken, was replaced. Sitar had been dancing as he waited, and as soon as the field was cleared, he tried again. This time he scored a perfect ten, and then another perfect three, followed by a beautiful hit from the underside, getting into the triangle just right to pierce the lizard's brain.

Another round of applause erupted, as Sitar recovered his weapons and moved besides Harold to do his cooling stretches.

Then came Paschal, who had another bow adapted to his diminutive size. This time none of the arrows missed, none of the knives, and Paschal elected to use his slingshot. Five rocks flew, five hits; finally a fine, needle-like sword was produced and Paschal slid it in the triangle at full run, jumping high at the last moment to slide it downwards towards the heart. As he uses his feet to kick back from the dummy, he pulled the sword out, to the astonishment of the crowd.

"Could someone recover my arrows and knives, please? They are out of reach for me!"

There was a rush from the Elves to do so and offer Paschal his weapons back. A few minutes later, Paschal stretching besides Harold and Sitar to cool down, while Harp got ready.

"Now watch that one!" commented Dunbar. "Watch carefully!"

"Surely you will not tell me I shall see more miracles!" replied Samson.

"Decide for yourself, Sire," replied Annabelle, with a mysterious grin.

"You are scaring me, Queen Annabelle."

"It's his enemies that should be scared."

By then, Harp had begun his approach. He too used a constant change of direction to prevent a predictable target, and let out his arrows at his bow's range. The ten arrows made a continuous bridge between his bow and the target, eliciting ten gong reports. There were rarely less then two arrows headed towards the target at the same time, sometimes three. As the arrows ran out, there followed a cacophony of gong hits, from Harp's constantly reloaded slingshot Finally six blades made their way to the gong, three from each hand. Harp was not finished, for he had four more blade which he threw at the target while facing away from it, scoring four hits, and two more blades went flying as he did a back flip. Then he came charging with his short dagger-sword and slid it in the hole, for a final hit, doing a summersault with it in his hand to recover the blade.

Pandemonium erupted in the agora. No one ever thought this possible. Harp, who couldn't be heard over the noise, walked briskly to the Master of Arms, and two apprentices quickly ran to the dummy to recover Master Harp's weapons and bring them to him. Harp joined his father and his brothers to cool down with stretches.

"Why are they doing that?" enquired Enron.

"So as not to suffer from muscle cramps," replied Annabelle.

King Samson sat there, totally speechless. As he watched, legionnaire after legionnaire, caravan member after caravan member took turn at the dummy, but none matched the three boys and their dad.

The final straw was Harold and his cavalry coming to charge the dummy at full gallop to enter a pilum into the target. Most succeeded, including Harold, and a few failed. Those that failed tried again, and a few had to try another time. Eventually all succeeded.

Finally the training was over. Harold took his horse to the open pasture, brushed, fed and watered him before delivering the destrier to the care of an apprentice. Returning to the agora, he found King Samson and Prince Enron still sitting at their place, looking totally lost and dumbfounded.

"King Samson, Prince Enron, may we retire to the bathhouse? I feel tired after the day's exercises!"

"Sure, King Harold. In fact, just watching you do all that tired me so much I shall join you. And looking at Enron, I suspect he will too. Are you coming, son? Enron?"

Taken out of his reverie by his dad calling his name, he replied "What, dad?"

"Would you like to come with us to the bathhouse?"

"Yes, definitely. But, dad, I feel so inadequate, so like a baby."

"You need not feel like this, Enron, we have been training for a while, and you have yet to begin real training. Do not fear, you will be good," replied Paschal, feeling sad and close to Enron.

They moved to the bathhouse, which was very busy with all the trainees soaking up in the hot water. Harold simply slipped his weapons and clothes off, followed by his boys and Annabelle. Everyone found a place to soak and talk while the hot water did its job.

Finally, the soaking session was interrupted by a loud grumble and Harp saying loud enough to cover the din, "It seems my tummy has opened a hole for King Samson's food again!"

The comment brought bouts of laughter, and everyone left the water to find plush towels ready to be used to dry up, and their clothes replaced by clean ones. It seemed the Elves had been busy while the soak occurred.

That evening, the instrument-maker came to the Court with four violins, and had Harp try them. Harp was elated; he selected one with a rich sonority that reverberated under the tree. In no time at all, the Court was enthralled by music that touched their heart.

"This instrument is adapted to your size, Harp. As you grow older, you will need to replace it. But do continue taking care of it, since your own children could use it should they feel interested. I also brought you a flute to add to your collection of instruments. As for you, Sitar, I found this trumpet. It should be good with you. You have powerful lungs, and this is a requisite for trumpets."

"How much do I owe you?" asked Harold.

"It is out of the question you pay!" thundered King Samson. "The cost of these is on my personal cassette! Just listening to these two play is more than compensation for the cost of the instruments! It has been years since we had real music around, even the birds keep silent when they play!"

"Thank you, Sire. Prince Enron, I have replaced the string to your harp, and cleansed it up. The orcs did a piece on it, sadly. But I think it is now back to its old self."

"Thank you sir, I was missing the relaxation of the harp."

***

The next few days brought more training, this time with more mobile targets, while the mornings continued to be focussed on preparing the caravan for its second part of the trip to Lois. The Elves supplied Paschal with their own logbooks and sketches to complement those supplied by the Masters of the Road. The measuring wheel was examined and found of great interest. Paschal promised a copy of the consolidated data and map to King Samson. In exchange, he got one of the compass, as he had learned the magic box was named, and a book on a form of mathematics called trigonometry, a very ancient book at that, whose title left him thinking: Basic Trigonometry and Surveying. It took seemed to feel like silk to the touch, like it had a magic protection.

One thing that bothered Enron was the loss of his Seal of Recognition, which would let the King's weapons be released to the messenger on that fateful day where Enron would take the place of Samson as King of the Elves. He searched his pack, and asked the boys and Harold about it. Finally, he talked to his dad about it.

"Dad, I can't find the Seal of Recognition. I am sure I was wearing it on me when I was captured."

"This is worrisome, son. And you say none of your friends found it?"

"No, they cleansed up the rotunda completely, and thoroughly searched every orc corpse before disposing of them; none had the Seal."

"Could it be that Victor took it to his dad?" suggested Harold.

"We have not searched his properties, but it could well be so. It certainly wasn't on him the day your son sent him on his last voyage. The creep was stripped and searched, inside and out. And so was Victor. I shall send a search party to his home, with orders to dismantle the place brick by brick to find the Seal."

"You said properties, as plural. Does he have many?" enquired Paschal.

"Yes, but he had not left the village since my son disappeared, and I doubt he would have entrusted that Seal to anyone. Its form is well known, the meaning even more, and if he planned a coup, it was essential to have it at hand. It has to be within the premises of his home at the Court, which so happens, is an isolated structure. I shall see it disappear with relief, its grace is fitting to the inhabitants, more suited for pork than men."

Baron Volta must have been sure of himself. There was no need to dismantle the house brick by brick, as ordered by King Samson. The Seal of Recognition was found under his bedroll, easily accessible. By the time the first Duke and his Barons showed up at the convening, Enron was displaying the Seal of Recognition around his neck, clearly claiming for all to see his status as Heir to the Throne.

One good thing did come out of this: Baron Volta's home was requisitioned to lodge the most probable opponents to Prince Enron.

"Let's give the pigs a pigsty!" commented, ironic, King Samson.

The evening of the Duke's arrival, something strange occurred. A group of ten wolves came to Harold's cart and howled until one of the boys came out with Harold. The noise alarmed King Samson, who made a dash for Harold's cart post-haste, with Enron behind him.

"I think they want to tell us something," remarked Paschal.

"You may be right, Prince Paschal, but what?"

"I feel an urge to sit, close my eyes, and relax," commented Harp.

"So do I," replied, in unison, Sitar, Paschal and Enron.

"Let us sit with the wolves, in a circle, holding hands!" asked Harp, in a no-nonsense tone.

The boys did as suggested, and closed their eyes. After a few minutes to empty their minds, images began to form, feelings to engulf them, and suddenly a voice was heard, more like a chorale, saying the same thing. Understanding the concepts was difficult at first, but as the concept harmonized itself with the images and feelings, the words became clear. A few minutes later, the boys opened their eyes and turned as one towards King Samson.

"The wolves report an important concentration of two-legs just over the hill. We asked what kind, and their reply was like those that live here. Elves."

"Then the Duke and his barons came prepared to fight it out with other contenders for the Throne," replied Harold. "Please thank the wolves for their information."

"We serve the King of the Wolf Throne," replied the four boys, in an altered, animalistic, voice.

With that the ten wolves stood up and proceeded to the village's exit. As the last wolf left the area, the boys stood up and saw the awed looks of the adults.

"Hey, we did what we thought was best. So, what now?"

"What now? Only what now?" asked, troubled, Annabelle. "How are you boys feeling?"

"We feel fine," replied Sitar, with approval nods from the others.

"And what do you remember?" wanted to know Dunbar.

"A feeling of multitude, every wolf seemed to be involved, and it took time for their thoughts to become one. Once this was done, once their emotions, their minds, their concepts became unified, we could understand them. We had to do the same with our own, and become one to be able to understand and be understood."

"From what we remember," commented Paschal, there is an army of Elves waiting over the hill. We thanked them for the information, as you asked."

"I still feel connected, as if I could see, taste, smell and hear through the wolves as they patrol the forest!" added Enron.

"I do too!" exclaimed the others.

"And I like that!" added Harp. "But there is more, I think. I can actually see myself in your eyes, Paschal, when I close mine. It is very weird!"

Each boy did the test and began giggling. "The new prince needs his nappy changed! We can smell it from here!" they exclaimed.

Annabelle verified and came back to them. "You boys are right, I found out he did need a nappy change. But how in the World did you know? He is in his bed, a good fifty yards from here!"

"The smell!" they exclaimed again, giggling.

"I sure wish I could understand what is going on!" worried King Samson.

"We are many, we are one, we protect the Throne of the Wolf!" stated, in a single voice, the four boys.

"I think the fusion of minds with the wolves has left traces. The four boys are now sharing their thoughts, their feelings, their emotions, and their senses. But more than that, they can communicate with each other without speech," replied Harold.

"It goes further than that, dad. We are the pack. We feel what the wolves feel and we hear what they hear. We are wolves. The pack is one, and covers the entire wolf population."

"Paschal is right, dad," continued Enron. "But it goes further. I feel the dogs, the pups, the coyotes, and every canine. And the number of consciousnesses involved is increasing constantly. It is like someone threw a big rock in a calm lake. It is spreading around from this point, at the speed of the wolves connecting with the other wolves, the dogs connecting with the other dogs, every member of the pack becoming one with us."

"I just wondered where the orcs' nest was located, and the information travelled right back to me!" added, amazed, Sitar. "And there are more than one nest, as we had anticipated."

"And I got feedback on their movements, the Priests' and their Hunters, and Elves, and humans. It's incredible. We have a whole spy network on four legs. Even the dogs tell us about their masters!" completed Harp.

"Will you lose your identity, boys?" asked Dunbar.

"No, each consciousness retains its identity, its unique signature, but we can talk to each other, like I talk to you now, over huge distance. I ask, and I get answers. I think about something, and I get thought replies," informed Paschal.

"Well, what is done is done," said Harold. "How will we deal with these Elves?"

"Let them think all is fine. They will not take any initiative until they get a message from the Duke. Let's keep that vulture off balance. I'm not dead yet, and he will find my hide a bit hard to pierce, believe me!" replied King Samson. "I think the wolves would do good interceptors of messengers!"

"The request has been sent," replied Harp. "No messenger will cross the lines and get away with it. And Paschal's idea to keep the factions isolated is also implemented. They will be allowed to send their delegations, but their troops will be kept separate and incommunicado."

"A big word for a four-year old!" remarked King Samson.

"No Sire, I now have at my disposal the vocabulary of my brothers. What they know I know, what they learn I learn."

"The loss of intimacy must be terrible!" noted Dunbar.

"We never felt the need for it before, so we cannot feel its loss. By the way, Harold, you no longer need to explain the meaning of the word procreate to me. I found it in the mind of my brother Sitar, and the wolves confirmed it. It must be fun to procreate, since everyone seems to want to play that game! When can we play, Sitar, Paschal, Enron? I want to discover that pleasure for myself as soon as possible!"

Dunbar, Harold, and Samson blushed profusely, but they had to admit the truth of the comment. And the new boys were certainly unable to isolate themselves from each other's emotions and feelings, so it was impossible to keep Harp separate from these feelings.

"Let's go to bed, it's past matins, and I don't want to give that duke any ammunition to justify his pretence to the Throne," said King Samson.

***

The next few days saw the arrival of more and more Lords, as the hills around the village got progressively filled by camps of each and every contender, legitimate or otherwise, to the Throne of Nature. A few Elvin messengers got the fear of their lives when they tried to communicate with other camps or, for that matter, with their leaders in the village. The number of wolves also increased proportionally, making for some very nervous and unhappy campers!

The Realm's leadership was also finding the accommodations inadequate, as the number of rooms available in the village was totally below the needs. The situation enraged Archdukes, Dukes, Barons, Counts, and what not that constituted the numerous courts that represented the Royal Hierarchy. The situation clearly amused Samson, who was heard saying the amount of gold far outweighed the volume of brain around.

Enron stayed with the three sons of Harold, both to ensure the protection of the Heir to the Wolf Throne, and for his own safety. The number of wolves in the caravan did not go unnoticed, and deeply disturbed the crowned heads, who protested to King Samson.

"The wolves are welcomed, and will stay. They are responsible for the security of this village. If you do not want to be converted to steaks by the wolves, just behave yourselves!" thundered Samson.

"But these strangers take too much space! What got to you to let humans enter our land?"

"These strangers saved my son from the orcs, something none of you would have done! Furthermore, they are my guests! I strongly recommend you shove your complaints were your brain seems to be residing, that is, below your belt!"

The frictions mounted between the caravan members and the mounting number of Elves coming into the village, and some incidents were bound to happen. The Elves were seriously alarmed when the members of the caravan began being escorted in their displacements by packs of wolves, ranging from a few to two or three dozen at a time. It was clear as day that the wolves would protect the members of the caravan against any assault.

The cherry on the cake, or in their view, the grain of sand that broke the dam, was the attention the humans were getting, especially what they considered the three brats. Harold was not in their books, anywhere, and no one could find where he came from. Furthermore, his attitude was way too common to represent Royal demeanours. Not only was he not standoffish, but also he talked to everyone, even the stable boys, as if they were long-time friends. His boys were as liberal with the commoners as Harold was, and did not act pretentious, above others or any other expected behaviour of aristocracy.

The mystery deepened by the very apparent friendship between King Samson and Harold, his wife, the three brats, and Dunbar.

And what about the boy who pretended to be Enron? Who was he? It just couldn't be Enron, who, everyone knew, did not have the next day guarantied because of his weak health. It just had to be an imposture! If Samson thought they would buy into it, he was sorely mistaken! Some decided to play the game, and vowed to themselves they would dispose of the impostor as soon as convenient; others wanted to confront Enron right away; and another faction decided to wait on the opening of the Assembly of Peers to deal with the heir presumptive.

Those that tried to deal with Prince Enron by disposing of him found they had an unexpected problem. They met an early demise in the hands of the companions, or from sudden death by wolf bite.

Those who lost henchmen to the wolves raised the loudest protests, but Samson was not buying into it. His acidic comment was best resumed by this statement, done to an Archduke: "When a man, be he Elf or Human, enters Harold's cart with a drawn blade, I doubt any demands as to his intentions need be asked, especially at lauds, wearing black suit and mask. The she-wolf that guards Harold's baby clearly understood the intentions of the man, and acted accordingly to protect her family! Now, knowing how you disposed of your own brothers and sisters to sit on the ducal throne, I do not expect you to understand family principles! And no use trying to convince me to have Enron moved back to his apartments in the Elvin Palace; he is a lot more secure with Harold and his family than here! As for trying to have me killed, as did one of the dimwits this court is composed of tried to do, forget it! I have about ten wolves around me at all times, now, all thanks to Harold!"

There were numerous attempts at poisoning Samson, Enron, Harold, and the boys, but the wolves intercepted the would-be poison activists before they could do any harm. Quite a few got their ham bitten off, and quite a few met untimely demises through the blades of the boys. Their heightened sense of flair told them immediately if someone carried poison, felt fear and anxiety. It was then only a matter of tracking the individual until he tried to do his deed. Harp, due to his age, was easily overlooked, and disposed of a fair share of the would-be regicides. The ultimate refinement Paschal thought of was recovering the poison and sending it back to the assassination sponsor, with a nice letter telling the person that some had been lost during transport through their kitchen, and that the boys regretted the incident, but what could they do about it!

The number of suddenly sick Lords rose dramatically, and the consumption of food dropped accordingly. It did them good health, given that quite a few suffered from excess fat.

"Isn't it funny how the court walruses seem to be losing weight rapidly!" commented King Samson, a few days before he opening ceremony. "I never thought they could show such restraint, especially when it comes to eating on my reserves! Maybe they are more disciplined than I thought!"

The comment was heard by the boys and had them in hysterics.

Samson looked at them suspiciously, and asked, a sparkle in his eyes, "Do you boys have anything to do with this sudden effort at parsimony with food and drink? Some of these people are drier than a sponge in the desert sext sun, and I have never heard of them being sober since their nanny took them off her breast!"

Harp sat on the King's lap and whispered the boys' secret recipe at terminating the flood of poisoning attempts. As he talked, Samson's eyes got bigger and bigger, until he could no longer hold it. He erupted in thunderous laughter! "You boys are terrible! But you did well!"

Harold and Annabelle looked at Samson wondering why the sudden hilarity. He winked at them and invited them to listen to the confidence he had just heard. Annabelle and Harold began giggling as the story unfolded, until, finally, Annabelle had to make a dash for the closest latrine to relieve herself.

Harold then told the story to Dunbar, who immediately erupted in laughter, looking at the terrible quartet. It took less than an hour for the story to tour the caravan, and another hour for the villagers to be involved in the secret. No one betrayed the boys, for they all had been peeved by the newcomers' attitude towards the visitors and the King.

***

Finally the day so long to come dawned. The opening ceremony would start at sext, and would last until vespers, after which an official supper followed by a ball would be organized. The real work would start the next day.

The day promised to be nice and warm, with only occasional clouds in high altitude, so no rain was expected to trouble the proceedings. Man and Elves were wearing their best clothes, and the dogs, the wolf guards, and the pups were carefully brushed and cleansed of any ticks or other parasites. The she-wolf sat in the carriage carrying Harold's baby, keeping watch over him as he babbled in the crib. The pups walked besides the carriage, three to a side, while the boys covered the close protection of Harold's baby, forming a defensive square. They were armed to the teeth, which drew some snide remarks from those that did not know how deadly serious the boys were when it came to using weapons.

Harold and Annabelle sat behind the baby's crib, as attentive to the crowd as the She-Wolf. Besides them sat on an equal footing, King Samson. The passage leading to the Throne was kept clear by a row of guards, in a three-tier way, one legionnaire, one wolf, one elf. The arrangements surprised the outsiders, but seemed expected by the residents of the village.

At exactly sext, the legions' drums were heard and a centurie preceded the carriage into the throne room, accompanied by a wolf for each legionnaire. Then the trumpets of the Elves rang and it was the turn of the King's Elvin guards to enter, again accompanied by a wolf for each elf.

The carriage made his way to the main entrance, and the wolves and dogs made a tight hedge to get Harold, Annabelle, the Heir to the Wolf Throne and Samson a secure passage.