Jonathon Dunn - The Forgotten King

THE FORGOTTEN KING

Jonathan Dunn

The Complete Serial Novel

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About the Author

CHAPTER ONE

Do not ask mehow he came to be there. Let it suffice to say simply that he was there, deep in a forest of

the grandest trees imaginable, each standing straight and tall, like living towers that watched all in silent

meditation. There he stood, clothed in a ragged green cloth that barely reached his knees and elbows,

with a longsword sheathed at his side and a fierce light in his eyes. It was a light which could mean only

one thing: independence. He walked slowly through the underbrush, looking about himself as if searching

for some hidden beast that might at any moment spring forth and ambush him. Such was the way of the

forest: one against all and all against one, strength against strength, survival of the fittest. Not that the

forest was without law, for law is more than flesh and bone. Yet the law of the forest was this: give no

mercy, for none shall be given you; spare no tactic to conquer, for none shall be spared you; forget no

wrong and allow no insult. Such is the kingdom of nature.

Do not ask mewhy he was there. Let it suffice to say simply that he was there, a solitary human amongst

the creatures of the forest. A human he might have been, but still he was a beast of the field; for there was

no refinement in him, no eloquence, no cultivation. There was, however, a spark within his breast, a light

among the darkness that would sometimes show itself, revealing in its shadows the remnants of someone

who was once there, before he had taken the course of nature and decayed into something inhuman,

something of the forest.

As he stood there, a burst of energy came from behind a few bushes to his left. It was followed by a

howl and a thud, then footsteps -- rapid and coming in his direction. A black bear burst forth from the

bushes and charged toward him, with a swarm of bumble bees close behind, clawing at his backsides.

The man leapt out of the way just in time to let them pass, and they vanished from sight as quickly as they

had entered it.

Most of the forest dwellers would then have quickly slid away, counting themselves lucky to have

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escaped an encounter with one of the black bears, the ruling caste in forest society. But the man was only

an adopted member of the forest, and his natural propensities took over.

“It is not for the sake of pleasure that bees chase bears, but for defense. And what do bees have to

defend besides honey?” Such was the thought process of the man, and it was then that the law of the

forest reared its influence within him. In the deep forest, honey is the most coveted delicacy, a sweet

diversion from meat and roots. The bees congregated to protect themselves, forming a monopoly of such

delicacies in only a few large hives. Such an opportunity as this could not be missed.

The man took the pot that was strapped to his back, emptied it of its mushrooms, and quickly made his

way in the direction from which the bear had come. It took little tracking skill to see which tree the bear

had been in, for its scratched limbs displayed the bear’s exact path of retreat. The man followed them

upwards and soon found himself at a deserted hive of liquid gold. He quickly filled his pot and -- with a

light step -- made his way down the tree, sparing no haste in order to be gone before the bees returned.

He went off to the northwest -- downwind of the hive -- and after half a mile shifted his path to the

southwest, entering a clear, open part of the forest. Ancient trees dominated the area, leaving no sunlight

for any undergrowth; instead, it created a widespread porch: the trees pillars and their leaves a roof. A

soft grass clothed the ground, littered with white bell flowers that smelled of butter -- not that the man

knew they did, for he had not smelled butter for many years.

He walked slowly and cautiously, making enough noise to broadcast his presence to even the most

preoccupied of animals. His task was difficult -- as risky as it was unprecedented -- for the man had

recognized the bear as one of the great hunters of the region, and knew he made his home in the area.

And yet the bear was known to show mercy to his prey: sparing children and their mothers, even though

few other animals would substitute the pleasures of tender meat with thoughts of mercy to the newborn. It

was this strange quality that drove the man onward in his dangerous mission.

At last, the man came to the cave, kicking leaves before him as smoke before the fire. The bear angrily

stuck out his nose, wondering who disturbed him in his pain. When he saw the man, he remembered

passing him in his retreat and turned his head slightly to the left, donning a curious expression. His ears

became erect and his eyes wary. The man advanced a step and placed the pot on the ground, bowing

and stepping back. The bear came forward to inspect the pot. He tasted it and -- seeing it was indeed

honey -- looked up once more at the man, who merely lowered his head to show submission.

The man began making signals to the bear, communicating the recent happenings. First, he imitated how

the bear was chased by the bees; then, how he retrieved the honey; finally, how he offered it to the bear

as a gift. At first the bear was confused, for this was unprecedented in the forest: showing mercy to one’s

enemy. Indeed, under the forest law, the honey was worth more than the man’s life.

The bear thought for a moment. Then -- as if relieved of a burden -- he walked up to the man, snuggling

his nose against his face like an excited dog. He stood upright and let out a resounding howl, a sound that

frightened every animal within hearing. Except the man; for he had nothing to fear.

The forest law was a strange thing, for while it was heartless and wild, there were great bonds that could

be made between two animals -- or between a man and an animal. One of these was the Bond of the

Blood Brother, joining the two as if they were of the same womb. Blood brothers became hunting

partners, sharing the same game and habitation, protecting each other in the face of danger, and

becoming inseparable companions.

The man had made a gamble that was quite daring, but in the end rewarding -- for he made an alliance

between a being of great strength and one of great wit. The pot of honey, seemingly meaningless to those

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outside the forest, represented his life -- for its value was more than his own. It was as if he had

sacrificed himself for the bear. There is no greater thing that one can do, and so they became blood

brothers. It cleared the way for the man to become the king of all the forest, and eventually of all the land.

How does he do this? Well, you shall see soon enough.

CHAPTER TWO

The ancient forest covered all of Atilta, an island some distance off the coast of France. Atilta was

several hundred miles across, and the forest hung heavily upon it, to the extent that the entire country was

simply referred to as “The Forest.” There were but few castles and fiefs within its borders, the lands of

the more independent nobles. Some fifteen years before this time there had been a coup. The man who

ascended the throne punished his enemies by sending them away from the center of power, and thereby

away from hopes of riches and glory. As for the interior of the forest, it was ruled only by its own laws.

There were a few inns along the principle roads, and a number of rangers, or forest dwellers. But these

men kept to the canopy of the forest, rather than the ground. Our man, however, was not among them.

“Who was this man?” you ask, “Dwelling away from humanity in his own little kingdom?” And I could

easily answer that question, yet I will not. For it is my duty to relate to you only such information as was

known at the time. This is a history which until now has been unknown. Its presence was purposefully

concealed by the royal families of Europe, until -- just as those families themselves -- it has faded away

and is forgotten. With it is missing a great link between the modern and the ancient times, the light which

fills what we call the Dark Ages. It is this history that I tell.

The man’s name was Willard, and he knew it, though he didn’t know where it came from or why it was

so. It was simply Willard -- no reason, no explanation. Willard was twenty years old, which generally

means he was no man at all, but liked to think himself a particularly great one. Yet, seeing as he knew no

other men, this illusion -- though unhampered -- was meaningless. Willard was neither tall nor short, but

somewhere in the middle. His appearance was not at a loss for this though, for his face was strikingly

beautiful. His nose was long and angular, his eyes reflective. His hair was as black and as long as night,

hanging down to his shoulders. There was a thick beard upon his face that masked most of his features,

and made him seem secretive. He looked like a beast, but also like he could have been a prince.

The sword he wore at his waist was also beautiful: carefully crafted, with a golden handle and blade,

each wrought with pictures that told the story of some ancient family. By all appearances, it would have

cost the lives of as many men under human law as honey did under forest law. As to how a wild man

came to be in possession of such a costly weapon, that will be seen later.

The black bear, whose name was Horatio, was gigantic: six feet tall when he stood erect on his feet,

which he could do with surprising ease. His fur was black and his eyes brown, though strangely gentle.

While he could not talk, he could grunt in such a manner that people could be persuaded he was

speaking some foreign language. He was bright, as well, and could communicate through gestures. There

was something strange in the forests of Atilta, which gave the animals a greater intelligence than mere

brutes, and there was also something strange between the man Willard and the bear Horatio. They could

understand one another, and communicate through signs which others could not decipher.

These things happened right at the time of year when spring gives way to summer. The region of the

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forest in which Willard and Horatio lived was in the center of Atilta. Its trees were grand and spaced far

apart, and the underbrush sparse and mostly of a short, soft grass. There was a perpetual twilight below

the roof of the woods, and all was slow and meditative, smelling deeply of life. The air was dense and

damp, a drought of water at every breath.

A few roads pierced the forest, and the main one stretched from the center of the western coast to the

far eastern side of the southern coast. The forest rangers lived apart from the main population, and had a

system of roads that ran among the branches of the canopy in which they lived, but we will speak of

these roads later. For now, it is the road between Thunder Bay and the capital city, Eden, which

concerns us. Willard and Horatio were hunting near it one day, making their way silently along its edge

and tracking the animals that lingered there.

Their usual method of hunting was this: Horatio crept up to an animal and frightened it away in a certain

direction, where Willard sat in ambush. It worked well. They were doing this, with Willard hidden by the

roadside and Horatio some way off into the forest, when the sound of a carriage came from around a

bend in the road. The bear gave Willard a questioning look, which was answered by a gesture to hide.

They both knelt behind a tree, Willard alongside the road and Horatio some way back from it.

The carriage that came up was a stately conveyance, made of wood and designed to be both

comfortable and defensive. This marital attitude was on account of the bandits which had risen after the

coup, sanctioned by usurper’s Elite Guards. Inside the carriage was a man in his late forties, dressed

nicely and having the look of a feudal lord. Around him were three guards, generally intimidating with

their sharp countenances and sharper swords. The lord in the carriage was conversing with one of the

guards when, from the trees on the side of the road directly opposite Willard, a group of bandits leapt out

and struck at the guards. The latter put up a fierce resistance to the outlaws, but eventually the guards

were overcome without slaying any of the six thieves, who were each armed with a sword and covered

with a tough leather jerkin.

When he saw they were defeated, and the lord in the carriage harassed and mistreated, something arose

in Willard -- from he knew not where -- that made him indignant to see authority treated in such a

manner. His blood quickly came to a boil, and without thinking he jumped up and onto the road.

“Hold yourselves, bandits,” he cried, “And do not mistreat the innocent traveler -- or I shall hold you

myself, and I trust you will not like my grip!”

The bandits were somewhat taken aback at the sight of a wild man brandishing a gloriously crafted

sword and commanding them to relent with an intelligent and forceful voice. For a moment, they stared at

him in confusion. But their leader, a tall man with a noble countenance -- looking more like an officer or

an educated man than a bandit -- spurred his men forward, their swords drawn and extended before

them. The leader reached Willard before his men, and the two engaged in a brief melee before the others

arrived.

Many years of forest life had given Willard great strength and dexterity, and he seemed to have some

innate knowledge of swordplay, as if he had been trained in it sometime in his distant youth. The swords

of the two men met between them, each pushing with his strong wrists and eying his antagonist with raw

determination. Willard made the first offensive by pivoting on his left foot and withdrawing his sword from

the grapple it had been engaged in. But he did not leave it disengaged for long, for he thrust it at the

bandit’s stomach. The latter whipped his wrist to the side and diverted Willard’s blade from its intended

course. Then, pressing down upon his lips, he drove forward with an overhand swing at Willard’s head.

But the forest man was too quick for him, and was already to the bandit’s left, behind the swing of his

blade. Thus, he had the man’s undefended side turned to him.

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Willard’s forest nature allowed him to show no mercy, and he ran the man through the stomach with his

blade. The other five bandits reached him just at this moment, however, and Willard -- unable to parry

five blows at once -- fell back into the forest. Seeing his protector thus forced back, the lord in the

carriage hung his head, so as not to see his demise.

What he kept himself from seeing, however, was Willard draw them into the forest a few yards, and a

black bear suddenly leap from the bushes and bring down two from behind with his giant claws. The

others soon followed them, surprised and out-maneuvered by the partners of the forest. All this took up

only an instant of time, and when the lord again looked up, he was amazed to see the dead bodies of his

antagonists deposited half in the forest and half on the road. He could see no one but Willard, for Horatio

had again vanished behind the bushes, and he was astounded at the wild man and his marvelous sword.

Willard advanced and asked the man if he was well.

“Am I well?” the lord answered, his arms flaying about in agitation, “What a question from a god to mere

man! If I were rude, I should ask you how a wild man could wield such an exquisite sword, and do so

with such surpassing skill. But I am not, so I shall not ask, nor what type of being you are, a king or a

prince?”

Willard smiled at the man’s indiscreet questioning, and opened his mouth to reply.

“My lord, I am indeed a prince,” was the first thing to enter his mind, and so he said it. “Prince Willard

of Bombay, and heir to the throne of the same.” He was, of course, entirely making this up, but he was

so invigorated with the power of battle that he said it with power and authority. The feudal lord, in his

excitement, believed him.

“Tell me, Prince Willard,” he said, “How is it that you came to be here, to all appearances a barbarian of

the forest? If it is by treachery that you find yourself exiled to the wilderness, know that I share your fate,

and that what is mine is your’s as well,” and his arms moved back and forth in wild gestures. “Bombay is

a great kingdom, but have they fallen to the depth of regicide, even as our great Atilta?” The lord had

never heard of Bombay, but at that moment, Willard’s word was canonical.

“Your kindness disarms me,” Willard said, and he bowed lowly and sheathed his sword. He saw the

length to which his words of whim had taken the feudal lord, and so decided to diffuse the situation with a

greater falsehood. “Your kindness disarms me,” he said, “But I cannot accept your gifts, for I am on a

voluntary exile, which every crown prince of Bombay has taken. We must learn to live as the poorest of

the peasants, to face the gravest of dangers, and to feel the grandest of loves, before we can take the

throne.”

The mind of the lord turned over within his head. He looked at Willard’s tattered clothing and said,

“There is none poorer than yourself, and just now you have faced the gravest of dangers. Is not your

exile fulfilled, and the throne yours?” He knew there was a missing requirement, but that was his reason

for asking.

“No, good man. I must also find love.”

“But can something be found if it is not sought? Come to my castle with me -- my daughter is very lovely

to the eyes.”

“It is not for the eyes that one seeks a woman,” Willard said, growing anxious, “But for the heart.”

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“True, yet my daughter is also one of great heart. Come with me, then, and fulfill the last requirement of

your exile.”

Willard grew worried, and only a single way of escape presented itself to him. “Very well, but not until

my other duties have been fulfilled. Only then can I seek out love. When it is time, I will come.”

The lord smiled, “I am Lord Milada of Erlich,” he said, “And I will await your coming with great

anticipation.” He bowed his head respectfully.

Willard did the same and, bidding the lord farewell, turned toward the forest to depart. But Lord Milada

beckoned him back, “Surely, you will not go your way dressed in old rags. Let me clothe you as best I

can, for I have some monk’s robes with me that will suit you well, and keep you warmer than those when

the night grows chill. Besides, who is poorer than a monk? Fetch them, Hismoni.”

He said this latter part to one of the guards, all three of whom had recovered their senses; for the bandits

had -- for some mysterious reason -- left them alive with little more than scratches. The guard went to the

back and grabbed two frocks from the trunk that sat there, bringing them humbly to what he seemed to

view as a mighty warrior.

“Two I give you, my lord, for you are surely twice a man.” The guard said this to show his respect, and

it was well received by the so-called Prince Willard, who bowed and gave him a friendly nod before he

again turned and disappeared into the forest, anxious to be gone. Lord Milada and his guards then

continued on their way, making haste to avoid any other criminals that might be lurking there, though

there were none.

When they had gone, Willard came back and looted the bodies of the slain bandits. The laws of the

forest held no dishonor for those who took that which they had proved their right to by strength of arms.

Willard felt no shame, for while he displayed at times an embedded sense of man’s law, he was also at

times entirely devoid of such concepts as an honorable burial. In his world, the dead were eaten -- and

why not, for it provided life for those scavengers that partook of them.

Without a thought, therefore, he took the leather armor from the leader and the gold pieces which filled

his purse. Then he set off into the forest with his blood brother walking beside him, both feeling exalted

after their great victory, a proof of their might. Willard, especially, was excited, for he had gone from

being a mere wild man, to a noble prince who was fated for marriage and the throne -- if those things

were even blessings. It was then that thoughts of power and pleasure outside of his beloved forest began

to fill his mind. He thought of living in a castle, with servants and luxuries and honor among men. When a

person has no desires, he is content; but when he is given a little, he must have more. This is what

happened to Willard at that moment, when all the possibilities of life opened up to him, and he became

eager to try himself outside the forest, among men such as himself.

CHAPTER THREE

Willard and Horatio had walked twenty yards into the forest when the young man had an idea. It was an

idea that could not be suppressed, and he soon yielded and resolved to carry it out. It was this: he had

better go and make his way in the world, to make himself worthy of the great honor that had been

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bestowed upon him. He stopped walking and beckoned to the bear to come back to him, for he had

wandered some distance ahead, as was their habit while hunting.

Willard had Horatio stand on his hind legs, which he could do with extraordinary dexterity. Taking one

of the monk’s frocks, he slipped it over the bear’s head, pulled it down to his feet, and brought his arms

through. It worked wonders, for with the hood pulled over his face -- in a way not uncommon among

monks -- the thick, brown robes gave Horatio the physique of a very tall, fat man. The bottoms covered

most of his feet, and the parts that showed did not look altogether inhuman. It was the same with the

hands -- or rather, front paws. They seemed to take on the form of hands when he stood erect.

Once the robes were on, Willard walked around Horatio and looked him over from head to toe, then

whistled a tune and laughed, “Horatio, you were born to be a friar.” He took one more trip around the

bear and then put on his own frock, fastening his sword around the waist. It was a little out of the

ordinary for a monk to wear a sword, but in those places monks did whatever they pleased.

With their disguises in place, Willard led the way back to the road, and they began to walk in the

opposite direction as Milada and his entourage had gone -- east. They made a good pace, and Horatio

easily walked upright, making a convincing a monk. They were three days on the road, and nothing

important happened until the third night, when they came across an inn -- the first sign of civilization as

they began to grow near to the capital city of Eden. The city was still a hundred miles away, but there

were several inns and small settlements along the road as it drew near. The rest of the forest roads were

deserted.

Willard still had the bag of gold coins he had looted from the bandits, so he decided he would spend the

night there and see what he could see. The inn itself was small and made of wood, a low rectangular

shaped building with white walls and yellow trim. Upon the door, and again on the sign, was painted a

coat of arms, though done by a trembling hand. The windows were bright and cheery from the fire within,

but the light was dimmed by the smoke of the same. It was already growing dark and the forest fast

becoming solemn. Willard and Horatio went inside and were greeted by a blast of warm air from the

rooms, carrying on it the smell of smoke and ale, the characteristic scents of a frontier inn.

The main room was almost the same shape as the building itself, for the only separate rooms were the

kitchen and a private bedroom for the innkeeper, both of which were cramped. The main room served as

the dining and sleeping room. A counter ran along the wall opposite the door, a few tables sat adjacent to

the left wall, and the other space was outfitted with little beds of hay, upon which the traveler could lay

his bedclothes. In addition to the proprietor and his wife at the counter, there were three stubby

merchants with short hair and long noses sitting at one of the tables. There were also a few half-drunk

lumberjacks and peddlers congregated in the far corner.

Amidst the smoke, Willard could see the fire was burning well, so he led Horatio over and took a seat at

one of the nearby tables. He talked to Horatio in a pretending sort of way, to allay any suspicions that the

bear was not human. With that done, he rose and walked to the counter.

“Hello there friar, is your throat dry or -- are you looking for something to eat? Some ale, some meat?”

The innkeeper hailed him in a gruffy, sing-song manner, wrinkling his stump of a nose like a charging bull,

and running a hand through his greasy hair to make it stick upwards in a haphazard manner, which he

apparently thought made him handsome.

“A little of both, and some bread -- enough for two, if you please, sir.” Willard calmly sat down right in

front of the man, remaining solemn and polite despite the other’s almost comical mannerisms and rhyming

speech.

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“Bread, beef, and beer for the gentleman here!” He called to his wife who was working in the kitchen.

He then played his eyes back and forth like two rolling balls, trying subtly to ask Willard where he was

from. But it was unintelligible to Willard, as it would have been to most who did not know the strange

Innkeeper. Eventually the middle-aged man grew impatient and chimed at his customer once more, “I

don’t recall having seen you at all, or are you new these parts, come to save some old hearts?” This

allusion to missionary work among the isolated forest dwellers was brought on by Willard’s appearance,

for he was still dressed as a monk.

“No, good sir, I have just finished a very long period of hermitage with my friend over there,” here he

pointed to Horatio, “So we are headed toward the coast and the more civilized areas of Atilta for the first

time in years. More than that, I cannot remember -- though I would be pleased to here some tales while I

wait for my supper.”

“Who was king when you left, the man of right or the man of theft?” The Innkeeper pointed one of his

long, slender fingers at a picture of a man in royal garb that hung on the wall behind him. He had a thick

black beard, sensitive eyes, and a Romanesque nose -- apparently the ‘man of right’ to whom the

Innkeeper referred.

“He was king.” Willard paused a moment and looked at the painting with curious eyes, for it was very

familiar, like something he had seen so many times. Yet he could not place it. “But you seem to imply that

he is king no more? How can this be?” His deep voice was driven through with emotion at this last

sentence.

The Innkeeper was doused in emotion, and could only turn his head to hide his leaking eyes. “Gylain has

taken the throne, and Atilta left to mourn its own.” Then silence came on the Innkeeper, and he fled to

the kitchen in a passion. Willard sat in silence as he waited for the matron of the house to finish preparing

his supper.

Meanwhile, not twenty feet behind him the three stumpy merchants came up to Horatio, sitting beside

him at the table and hoping to have a drink with the gigantic monk. They were identical, but that one had

blond hair, one brown, and one black. Their other features were the same: a long, crooked nose; two

beady eyes that their big sockets made look like pearls in an oyster; and an over-sized mouth. They sat

down and offered Horatio a drink, but he could only grunt, not knowing what to do.

“Have a drink with us you big brute! We are the Fardy brothers, men of patience and virtue. But though

I could not care more if you despised me, I will not let my brothers be spurned. Now drink, or I will pour

it down your throat like so much water down a river,” said the blond Fardy.

“He is no liar, you overgrown preacher. Mother always said I was a patient man, but when I am insulted

more than it is right to bear, I can become angry.” said the brown Fardy.

“No one can steal your steel tempered temper, brother, but have you not taken into account that this

monk might have taken a vow of temperance, not to take a drink for the sake of the church? That would

make us his tempters, and it is better to have a millstone tied around one’s neck and be thrown into the

sea, than to lead one of his little ones astray,” said the black Fardy.

“Little ones? He is no little one!” roared the first. “Size up his belly, brothers, and tell me he does not

take a gallon of Atiltian scotch each meal!”

“A single gallon? I reckon two! There is nothing temperate about that monk, my long suffering brother,

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and what he refrains from doing he refrains from spite,” cried the brown Fardy.

“Perhaps he has taken a vow of silence, and we would be better not to tempt him from his holy work,”

returned the dark one.

“Vow of silence? Brother you are more peaceful than I and that is no virtue in my book! I saw him

chatting like a drunken nun with his friend, just moments ago. The only vow of silence he has taken is

against the Fardy brothers; and though for myself I do not take offense, I cannot let my brothers be

bullied!” With this, the blond Fardy brought both his fists down on the table with such a thud that the

board cracked and his cup catapulted into the air, landing on the brown Fardy’s head and spilling its

contents all over his clothes.

Thus injured, the brown brother yelled, “By the devil, he has set us against one another, brothers. We

must not let his warlike nature overcome our peaceful ways. The quill triumphs over the sword! Remain

calm in the face of his outrages, my brothers!”

The noise of the thud had gotten Willard’s attention, and seeing what was happening to Horatio, he leapt

up and went over to the table.

“Excuse me, dear sirs, has my companion done anything to rile your tempers?” he asked, giving them a

respectful bow.

The respect served only to confirm their high opinions of themselves, and the blond brother said, “Your

companion has cruelly wronged us by refusing to drink, or even to speak, with us. Though we keep our

tempers, his subversive ways inflame them unto bursting.”

Willard remained calm, imparting some of his steadfastness to them by the peaceful nature of his eyes.

“You must excuse my companion, for he speaks only Latin and has given up drink. I hope my apology

for his conduct will excuse him?”

“Not at all,” cried the brown Fardy, “He could have signaled to us in the very least. But no, he sat there

and looked at us with contempt. We must duel, here and now!”

“Duel, here and now,” repeated the blond brother.

“Perhaps we should have an arm wrestle,” suggested the black Fardy in a conciliatory voice, “For no

one will get hurt, yet it is still a way for us to prove our strength against him.”

“A grand suggestion, my brother,” rejoined the blond brother as he eyed Willard’s ornate sword with

greed, his merchant’s instincts kicking in, “And perhaps we can make a wager: a full suit of the finest mail

for that sword. It is fair, considering the odds.” He said this with a greedy light in his eyes, for it was

never heard of before that three men could be defeated by one in an arm wrestle. But Willard was

confident, for he knew what his opponents did not: Horatio was no man.

“I accept your odds,” he said, “And let the people in this room take witness that the bet has thus been

laid.” He motioned to the others in the inn, who had come over to see what was going on. They all

assented, and looked forward to the match with great excitement.

Willard said some words in Latin that he somehow remembered from his youth -- though he could not

recall why -- and made his signals to Horatio to let him know what to do. He looked at the crowd and

pointed to the bear, whom they thought to be a monk, and said in a confidential manner, “Mens sana in

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corpore sano.” They cheered, though they had no idea what it meant.

Horatio then put his elbow to the table and held his paw in the air, looking at Willard in order to follow

his lead. The three Fardy brothers each grasped his paw with both of their hands, putting all their weight

behind their arms. This was against the rules, and the crowd booed. But Willard allowed it, to add the

sympathies of the crowd to their side. The Innkeeper began the countdown, “One, two, three, begin the

jamboree!”

The three brothers heaved all the weight and force they could muster against the monk’s arm, and for a

moment it seemed they would win, for they slowly pushed his hand toward the table. The crowd became

silent and held their breath, hoping the monk would overcome the odds and defeat the rowdy Fardy

brothers. Further and further down the monk’s arm was pushed, until his hand rested only an inch from

the table. The crowd gasped in suspense, and the brothers began to smile at their victory. But then

Willard winked at the bear, who winked back. Suddenly his arm stopped moving downward, and no

matter how hard the brothers pushed, they could move it no further.

The crowd began to tremble with anticipation. Then, after a moment of such suspense, the bear began to

move his hand up, and slowly it rose, despite the brothers’ desperate attempts to stop it. With an

expensive suit of armor on the line, it was more than personal to them. The bear’s arm reached a

perpendicular angle with the table and continued on, without the monk losing his breath. He did not tire,

though the brothers were wheezing, with little waterfalls protruding from their brows. Then it was over.

The bear swung his paw down in a fury and crushed the brothers’ hands beneath his. The crowd let out a

loud, jubilant roar, cheering for the victorious underdog, without having any idea that it was not a man at

all, but a bear.

“Who could have thought that it would be, that a single man should vanquish over three!” shouted the

Innkeeper.

The three brothers were in a state of awe, and though they opened their mouths many times to speak,

nothing came out. Their eyes hung open like their mouths. At last, the black Fardy whispered, as if his

voice would never return, “Let us make a receipt for the goods.” The others assented, and they fetched a

piece of parchment and some ink and wrote out the following:

The Three Fardy Brothers, merchants of the city of Eden, do here give to Willard a receipt for a suit of

armor, it being the one once owned by the King of Atilta, before he was deposed. To be given over

upon the presentation of this receipt at the brother’s store in the aforesaid city.

Signed, the Fardy Brothers.

The paper was given reluctantly over to Willard, as the brown and black Fardies looked angrily at the

blond, whose idea it had been to wager the priceless armor for the priceless sword. In fact, the idea had

come into his head because the metalwork on the sword matched exactly that on the armor. How was it

that such a sword came to be in the hands of a monk, or a wild man? That is for later in this history.

For now, let me say that the brothers, though quick to anger, were also quick to leave it -- in spite of

what they claimed -- and they became friends with Willard and Horatio after the arm wrestle was over,

exchanging amiable good nights before each went off to his own bed.

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Jonathon Dunn - The Forgotten King

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