Read Eli Arnold and the Keys to Forever Book One: It's About Time Page 20
CHAPTER TEN
525 A.D.
Pat turned and headed toward a group of guards. I fell into step behind her taking in the amazing view before me. Like Scar before, the castle resembled something taken straight from a story book. A fairytale brought to life. Towers, moat, drawbridge, and courtyard called to mind tales of fair maidens and brave knights.
Tall stone walls rose up around the castle, the crenelated tops, teeth behind which archers stood position. I could see men moving about high above, guarding the kingdom.
Brady had always had an obsession with castles and medieval times. He even had his own Renaissance Fair costumes. He would kill me if he knew that I was spreading that information around. I smiled despite the great weight his absence had left on my shoulders and vowed to myself to find my brother.
We passed across the wooden drawbridge, its thick, roughhewn planks banded together with sturdy strips of iron. The black water below was a veil, shielding prying eyes from the creatures swimming just below its surface. Air bubbles and small whirlpools hinted at the water’s occupants.
Pat and I stopped at the first guard tower, a massive structure built into the castle wall. An enormous portcullis, a latticed gate found at the entrance to many castles, hung open above our heads.
I kept silent and leaned against the castle wall. Pat explained our situation to the gate keeper, a very stern man named Ian. Ian listened intently as Pat relayed a brief synopsis of our tale, his eyes never leaving mine. His suspicion and distrust were a slap in the face, and his feelings seemed to be infectious. All around me, guards began to gather, hands on the hilts of their swords or bows unslung from their backs. Normal conversation fell to whispers. Ian finally nodded his head and led Pat and I toward the castle’s keep. I’m sure my t-shirt, jeans and baseball hat must have seemed strange to those around me. Ian continued to watch me from the corner of his eye.
We reached the castle keep’s doors. Ian sent another man ahead to inform Pat’s father, the king, of our arrival. We waited just inside the doors of the keep. Every wall displayed beautifully woven tapestries, each depicting a heroic fight or scene from a battle. Bright torches hung from metal sconces, evenly spaced amidst the wall hangings.
Our wait turned out to be very short. Ian’s man returned out of breath and whispered excitedly into his commander’s ear. With a wave of his hand, Ian motioned us forward, down to the end of the long hall. Two large wooden doors swung open and we were escorted into the castle’s great hall.
Twin trumpet blasts erupted from either side of the doors as our presence was announced by the court Harold, I mean herald. The herald’s name was Harold. Harold was the court herald. Very confusing at first.
Pat didn’t flinch when the trumpets sounded. I jumped straight into the air, incapacitating both trumpeters and knocking Harold to the floor before I realized what had occurred. (It was at this point that I learned that the court herald’s name was Harold. He told me as I apologized profusely and helped him up from the floor).
The great hall was a room fit for a king to hold court. Several large fireplaces provided heat and light, complemented by a wooden chandelier that held hundreds of burning candles. More tapestries hung from three walls, while the fourth contained an impressive display of swords, shields, and other weapons. Thick, luxurious carpets covered most of the floor.
The King sat on a high, ornately carved throne in front of the wall of weapons. Councilors, nobles, and knights occupied positions to his left and right. A white-haired old man dressed in long purple robes leaned against a wooden staff in a dim corner of the large room. He watched me with great interest. Harold the herald ushered me forward before the king. The room had fallen silent - no wonder after I almost killed the royal trumpeters. A hand on my shoulder indicated that I should kneel. Following Pat’s example, I dropped to one knee and waited.
With an inviting smile and a hearty laugh, the King said, “I hath been wanting to have at those trumpet playing fools for years! Welcome to the Kingdom of Snard, my young friend! I am King Aloysius Oxnard Kong, Pitter Pat’s father and ruler of these lands. I am forever indebted to thee for thwarting Scar’s efforts and for saving my beloved daughter’s life! I am told that thou hast traveled a great distance to our lands and that thou seeks our aide in thine quest to reunite with thine brother and return home.”
“Yes, sir, your majesty, uh, King Kong, sir,” I stuttered. “Any assistance would be appreciated.”
“We shall offer thee any assistance we can, Eli Arnold, Confuser of Dragons. Tonight, however, the hour is late. Thou shalt eat and rest. I would hear more of thy story tomorrow.”
“Thank you, sir,” I replied.
A guard helped me rise and began to lead me from the hall. Pitter Pat pushed through the crowd of people making their way to the exit and stopped me.
“Thank thee again, Eli. Thou art my hero.”
Before I could reply, she kissed me on the cheek and fled back the way she had come. I scanned the hall one final time but saw no trace of the old man in purple. Something about him bothered me.
My escort chuckled and showed me to my chambers. A plate of hot food waited. Roast beef in a thick gravy along with potatoes and a mug of some type of fruity drink quickly vanished into my stomach. A quick rinse of my face in the bowl provided by my host and I collapsed into the enormous four posted feather bed. The mattress was a marshmallow. I sank into its depths and quickly found sleep. Fighting dragons is tiring work - so is running and hiding from them.