Afar off, the council was convened. Above the dull thud of the horse’s hooves beating the desert sand, the sound of heated argument caught the rider’s ears. He was bitterly disappointed. As he rode, he thought about what he would say to them. The problem was that nothing, in particular, came to mind. He rode up to the group, stopped his horse, and sat there in his saddle looking at the group. They all fell silent as he looked on them from above.
“Look at you.” he began, in tones tainted by dire disillusionment. “Do you not realize who you are?”
No one dared say anything.
“Look back down this slope at your men . . . and women. They are carving the beast that the future queen has slain. Must it always be so? Will you ever make others to clean up your messes, or can you be taught to work together like they are doing? You come out here, away from those whom you deem to be commoners and whom you call sheep, and you cackle and bray out here like beasts of the barnyard! Do you not understand what separates you from these sheep?”
The silence seemed even thicker.
“It is humility — being able to be taught that matters most! How do you expect to teach others, if you yourselves will not learn? One cannot know how to lead if he or she has never been and fully understands how to be a good follower. It is necessary in order that you may know what will motivate your people to work great works under your respective rules. Do you not see that?”
“Please forgive us!” Garrve pled, as he kneeled. “I will ever serve under your rule! Unite us! Unite the believing nations under one flag!”
“Yes!” Princess Freya exclaimed. “It would be perfect! You could annul the decree that . . .”
“You know better than that!”
“But, Alban . . . or whatever your name is . . .” she began to volley back, but upon realizing that she did not even know his name, decided not to press the point further.
“When your father made the arrangement for your marriage, he took many things into account; I am sure, as he was a fine man. There is, of course, history of the nation in which you live. Politics must be considered. How other kingdoms will react to certain unions is a most important factor to contemplate. However, I know your father. I was but a small boy when my father spoke to your father about such things. I was always an observant young lad, and I do remember what your father said the determining factor to be in his decision.”
“What was that? Greater tracts of land I suppose? Perhaps peace between two nations was the idea, and as an afterthought, they called it God’s will?” Freya asked.
Getting down from his saddle, the man, formerly known as Alban, humbly said, “No, dearest Freya, you are wrong in judging your father so. He loved you enough that those things did not matter to him at all. He knew that by giving you to the most deserving man that he should be able to find, he would be doing God’s will. He would not suffer you to live life with one such as the son of the Darvanian Emperor, though he knew that it might help to keep peace between your nation and theirs! Your father has been a very dear friend to mine. My father understood then, and I understand now what he wanted for you.”
“Do you always have to speak the truth, even if it hurts those around you?” Freya asked in a near whimpering manner.
“If I were not to tell you the truth on this matter, or any other, it should be considered a great harm to you, in particular. Furthermore, there is no need to make things any harder by confusing the issues at hand.”
“Well spoken, indeed!” Garrve interrupted. “May we get back to the task at hand, though?”
“For a moment, that was the task at hand. In fact, I feel that there is more to be said.”
“That’s Alban’s way of saying that I have been a bore and a burden on him!” Freya half-bawled.
“Fine! Judge me now, for I have loved you most truly! I have been honest and forthright in my feelings for you! Make no mistake about that, as I will not be shunned at whim! I have proven that I would die for you, Joan, if needs be! Why is it that you cannot stop hurting me so?”
A fervent look of . . . well, reverence fell upon the party. It came to Garrve’s mind that Alban was placed right there in that particular place, at that particular time for a good reason. Joan, or Freya, sat in the sand, stupefied at the aspect of being told so boldly and passionately of both the love that Alban had for her and the reason why she must stop pursuing him. While her heart still ached, she was glad for the chance that they had taken to air things out a bit. It was somehow easier for her to go through the withdrawal from the relationship, knowing as she now did, that it was neither a mere change of mind that separated her from Alban nor a change of heart.
“What will you have us to do?” she asked from the depths of humility.
Alban reached his hand out to her and said, as he helped her to her feet, “I will have you to stand and live to the fullest the lives that you have been given! We can prevent our peoples from being completely enslaved by the Darvanian Empire, but it must be done together, and there is no more time to argue and fuss about anything! We must do, as Garrve suggests, and unite. We must act swiftly and have no more wasted efforts among us.”
Garrve knelt before Alban and said, “My Liege, I have sworn an oath to you before, but as sure as there is a . . .”
“Get up!” Alban snapped. “That is what I mean! I trust you, or I would not be here asking for your help! Get up!”
Garrve climbed to his feet, a bit more slowly than usual because of the lingering effects of the misery’s sorrow.
“Thank you!” Alban continued.
“What should you like that we do?” Freya asked in thoughtful tones.
Alban shrank back a bit at her humility. It was not that he felt that a future queen should not be humble; he loved to see that quality in her. For obvious reasons, it was a bit harder on him to finally witness its full display unfold itself upon the breadth of her character, though he was deeply proud of her for it.
“First, Princess, we must bind these two men as spies to the throne of Darvania! Guards, arrest these two!” he said, pointing to Plainsteak and Rutherford.
“What? They are Decebal’s personal guards!” Freya protested.
“Princess, please, we do not have time for this! I saw footprints that circled the camp where you slew the beast. Tell me Garrve, do you remember digging these two out of the sand yesterday or today?”
“No. but they have been going about with all of us. How could they be?”
“Think! Why were they not found with Decebal’s men when we happened upon them in the middle of the night? I found their tracks circling around the camp again, as I rode up to you today. Garrve, you will remember that we found those other tracks just outside of Decebal’s fateful camp by the misery’s sorrow patch.”
“So you think that they have been exposed to the noxious weed before?” Freya asked.
“Probably not, or they would be immune to its effects as you and I are — unless there are other effects of which we are unaware! By the way, there was a third, fourth, and fifth set of footprints that left the funeral fire and headed toward Darvania. Do any of you have any idea whose those may be?”
All looked around at each other without opening their mouths.
“We are not spies!” Plainsteak protested with feigned emotional vibrato.
“Save your breath for the screams that you will shriek when I begin to question you!” laughed Garrve.
“You mean that they save their breath for your questions?” Alban corrected.
“I will be asking the questions, though, and they will shriek like . . .”
“. . . Like Nordholst when he does not get his way!” Freya chimed in, to the laughter of Alban and Garrve. Then she added, “He may be getting over that.”
When the laughter had died a bit, Alban said, “He may be mixed up in this as well — the whole Darvanian plot, I mean. We will need to question them all separately. Keep them apart from each othe
r until I meet you at Badgerden’s Holde, Garrve, and I will come as soon as it is humanly possible.”
“You think that you are just going to abandon us again when we are continually faced with . . . well, not starvation, now, but dying of thirst is a great possibility!”
“Yes, thanks to you, Freya, there will be plenty to eat around your campfires all the way to your homeland! Let no man underestimate you from this day on! You rise to the occasion time after time and excel as you do. You have my eternal admiration, Princess!”
“Alban, your eternal admiration will not give us water to stave off our thirst!” Freya said sarcastically.
“Use the bladder from the great beast that you have slain. Put it in the supply wagon with the side rails in place, and it should hold enough water for all of you and your animals for the rest of the trip! We will even be able to bypass the usual watering holes if you do a good job with the bladder.”
Princess Freya returned with sarcasm now oozing out of every syllable, “There is but one problem with that! We should still very much like some water to put in it!”
“Freya, you shall have to trust me. It will work, I promise. Just get that much done and carve the beast up for the meat and smoke at least half of it. Garrve you know what to do as far as that is concerned.”
The princess began, “How do you expect us to just go about expending all of our energy . . .”
“Lord, forgive me!” Alban said as he grabbed the blood-soaked beauty and kissed her into silence. As he softly pushed her away, he did not look her in the eyes as he was fighting back tears. Instead, he grabbed the horn of his saddle and mounted his horse. Then he turned and looked at Garrve, saying, “Take good care of her, my friend!”
Garrve gave him a solemn nod in deep understanding. All could tell that he did not want to look back at the princess, but he could not help himself. Luckily, his quick wit saved him at the point when he was about to sob aloud.
“Do try to clean yourself up a bit before you get home, Princess! What would your people think?”
All laughed as he rode away — well, all but the princess. She stood pensive for a moment while all scurried back to the camp where the beast was being butchered. Later, she told Garrve that he had been right about how that good-bye kiss would make her to feel.
Garrve looked at her and said, “Princess, we shall have to work, but we will get through this together.”
“You men and your misplaced kindness!” Joan blurted back.
“Well, Princess, let us begin to ready the water wagon,” Garrve said.