Sorrow, thick like rolling fog, spread across the land. The twelve chosen warriors had barely finished the ritualistic encircling of the Great Gwynnan’s barrow when Goeric presented himself at the foot of Khrytrec’s throne as the High King’s new Champion. Waelhlem refuted the pretender. To settle the question Khrytrec ordered a special contest, adding that his new Champion’s first duty would be to ride to the Spear Castle and demand satisfaction from Prince Hreowig.
All the court, except Myrgena, gathered for the contest of swords. Made reckless by the pendant which he secretly wore, Goeric taunted Waelhlem with insults. He laughed foolishly when Waelhlem responded with a brutal onslaught. The danger of Waelhlem’s flashing sword merely added to the thrill. The laugh annoyed Waelhlem. Goeric would pay for his foolishness. Whistling through the air, Waelhlem’s sword severed Goeric’s arm. The court watched unimpassionedly as Goeric fell, stunned. Several cheered for Waelhlem to strike a death blow. Horrified that the pendant had failed to protect him, Goeric blubbered for mercy. Heeding the cry, Waelhlem stepped away, yet his gaze on the suffering man was without pity. Goeric spat hateful curses and ripped the pendant from its hidden chain, accusing Waelhlem of collusion with Gwynnan in fashioning evil charms. The court rustled with astonishment when Goeric cast the pendant across the floor. Waelhlem stood back, his glance traveling from the gleaming pendant to the now-lifeless hand which had pitched it.
The pendant was not joyously received by Myrgena. Each day it seemed to scream from its box and mock her about the woman whom Gwynnan loved more. There was no place she could put it where she could escape its taunts. Unable to endure possessing the pendant, the princess took it with her to the bridge where she and her father watched Waelhlem depart for the Spear Castle, and she discreetly dropped it in the river.
Courteous but forceful, Waelhlem demanded remuneration from his former friend. Hreowig denied responsibility for his sister’s crime.
“Justice must be served, Hreowig. If you, her kinsman, can not produce her for trial, of necessity you will be called to defend her name in combat. If your sword claims victory, your sister Malsaire shall be acquitted; if my sword is victorious, my liege the High King demands the service of one hundred of your father’s finest warriors.”
From the shadows, Wlitige the Fairest, pale as moonlight and tender as willow, the dreaded queen’s only child, watched as her fiancé accepted Waelhlem’s challenge.
The Great Hall was made ready for the contest. High in the rafters, a spider threading her nest observed Waelhlem and Hreowig raise their swords in the room below. From her throne beside her mother, Wlitige the Fairest watched. Fear pinched the delicate bloom of her beautiful face. She knew well that the contest was not to the death but the shame that could shroud her beloved Hreowig made her heart tremble. The warriors battled without pity or pause. At every lunge of Waelhlem’s sword, the girl winced. The warriors circled, lunged, scuffled and then withdrew to circle again. Driven by enmity, vengeance heated Waelhlem’s blood and he spurned fatigue and waited with fearsome patience for the prince to tire. Roaring out the battle cry of the brotherhood, Khrytrec’s Champion pressed his advantage and wounded the prince. Stumbling, Hreowig cried for mercy. The queen rose and declared the end of the contest. Though the victor, Waelhlem could not quiet his anger, would not be satisfied with anything less than Hreowig’s death. He raised his sword. Wlitige the Fairest screamed for mercy and flew to the side of her beloved as warriors restrained Waelhlem and disarmed him. The insult fired his fury. He threw off his restrainers and seized the spear enshrined in the wall. Blinded by rage, he thrust it at his former friend. The horrified court gasped as Wlitige the Fairest fell to the floor, the spearhead dripping with her innocent blood.
All torches went dark as the queen spread her cloak over her daughter, preventing the girl’s spirit from escaping. In a trance the queen called upon the ancient powers of her race and summoned a fearsome spell and curse, chilling the blood of all present. When the torches rekindled, the court again gasped as neither Wlitige the Fairest nor Hreowig showed evidence of wounds. Yet, the girl lay death-like. Lovingly gathering his beloved in his arms, Hreowig carried her out.
“Woe and gnashing of teeth shall be the portion for thy king and his land. As I speak, the land has begun to wither. And so it shall continue until my daughter wakes from the sleep of death. Because thy foul deed, Waelhlem, has cut down the Flower of Purity, the flower of Khrytrec’s warriors shall perish attempting to loose my curse. Only the man with the halest heart shall wake Wlitige and restore the land. Success or failure shall depend upon the wish he places in the Flame. Hreowig shall be her ageless guardian. No longer shall there be peace between Khrytrec’s people and mine. When Wlitige has awakened, the Spear Castle shall disappear from the sight of mortal men.”
In shame Waelhlem withdrew from the brotherhood. Heedless of insult, Myrgena remembered his faithful regard for her husband, and she requested that he stay as her guardian until she was delivered of her child. No sooner was the golden pendant bearing the arms of Gwynnan’s ancestors placed on the babe than he was taken into the protective custody of his grandfather, the High King. The brotherhood would not allow Great Gwynnan’s son, whom they named Yrfen, to be tainted by any association with Waelhlem. Myrgena did not share their contempt. She had grown to love her guardian. They married, and in time she bore him a son. The boy, Lairen, was a source of great joy for his parents, and laughter again returned to Waelhlem’s heart. Ever cognizant of his dishonor, Waelhlem stressed the virtues of gentleness, charity, and honesty to his son. No transgression, however minor, was allowed to pass without reparation. As the boy grew, his guileless purity shown in his smile. But Waelhlem, the High King’s former Champion, also spent tireless hours disciplining Lairen’s mind and body to the rigors of warfare.
At the edge of manhood, Lairen bore himself as a warrior of noble breeding. He sat well in the saddle and wielded a lance with skill and a sword with cunning. It was time he prove himself. Without the benefit of a sponsor, Lairen stood before his enthroned grandfather and the brotherhood. The battle-worn faces of the warriors hardened in oppressive silence. None would offer him a place among them. Yet, one voice dared speak out: the firm voice of Yrfen, his half-brother.
“I challenge the stranger to our hallowed hall to a tourney. May his performance against my renowned skill bear witness to his worth.”
Lairen well understood Yrfen’s generosity in proposing the match, and he bowed to his brother in humble appreciation. Tamaruf, son of Khrytrec’s heir, also challenged his cousin. The young men displayed their fierce talents well. Lairen broke the lance of each opponent, though he did not fare as well against Yrfen’s sword. Overall, he demonstrated a courage and tenacity that Khrytrec could not ignore. The High King bade his grandsons to kneel before him and declared to the brotherhood that Lairen was to take his place among them. Yet, the respect given Lairen by the brotherhood was grudgingly offered. Yrfen, however, lauded his brother. Like his mother, he could not despise Waelhlem, the man whom Gwynnan had esteemed as a brother, nor would he ostracize Waelhlem’s son.
Lairen was taken into Yrfen and Tamaruf’s company, and the young men spoke of nothing but their eagerness to attempt to loose the curse. They knew well the tales of warriors who entered the Spear Castle only to find death in the kiss of the sleeping princess and how their bodies were burned on a pyre by the dreaded queen. Each talked about the wish he would cast and the deeds which would prove that his heart was halest.
When the issue of attempting the quest was set before Khrytrec, he adamantly refused to let Lairen go. His kingdom was suffering grievously from the deed of the father; he could not let the son incur more of the queen’s wrath. Though crestfallen, Lairen obediently accepted his king’s judgment. Yrfen spoke out on his brother’s behalf and would not be silent until his grandfather reconsidered. Khrytrec set his ancient jaw; perhaps Lairen’s death in itself would be t
he key to lifting the curse: a sacrifice of son for daughter. Lairen smiled speechlessly as the High King outfitted him in armor and presented him a broadsword and a stallion. Myrgena wept as she watched her sons depart with Tamaruf.
THE HALEST HEART