There was a time in history when there was a city known to its inhabitants and those nearby as Tul. It was situated on a hill commonly called the Hill of Dolmeth, rumored to once have be the western edge of the Lost Garden. In this city there was a king of the name of Thil. He had been a wise and benevolent ruler and was much loved by his people. Long ago he had taken a wife from among them, and they had lived in relative marital bliss for nigh on four decades. Marital bliss unsullied save perhaps that she had not borne him a child. But, as she had been both a wise and loving wife and friend, he as king did not seek another woman, contenting himself with the companionship that the threads of fate had decided. Recently, much to his sorrow, his beloved had passed on to the world beyond, and he was an heirless widower.
The City of Tul, or indeed, the Kingdom of Tul, for the lands surrounding the City clung to it and acknowledged the word of King Thil, was situated on the Hill of Dolmeth, from which flowed a spring (rumored once to have been the spring of life, whose potency, alas, had been lost in some unknown transgression of man) that led down to the ocean that lay to the northeast, east and southeast. To the west, in contrast, there were rolling fields of green grass for sheep that led up to the edge of a great dark western forest that obstructed further travel, save for the boldest adveturer. In this manner, the Kingdom of Tul lay in a small cozy portion at the eastern edge of the Purple Lands, content and quiet, save that the long line of heirs before King Thil was now apparently broken. A cloud of disquiet settled over the town.
King Thil was growing advanced in years, and with his wife gone, was not expected to live much longer. Yet the old man, still hale and strong, loved his city and kingdom with his whole heart, and wished, somehow, to provide it with an heir. It so occured that one night, after having gone hunting in the western forest and returned exhausted, he fell into a deep sleep.
Early the next morning when he arrived at court, he was surprised to find a middle aged man with a dark beard waiting for him, dressed all in white with leather sandals and a staff. Seeing the King, the man bowed low, greeted him, calling out “King Thil of Tul, good tidings and greetings. I am Cunithae of Naej i Dulsinephe and I come with a message that I have received in dreams.”
The King nodded his head and, embracing Cunithae, bid him to take a seat and speak with him in the Royal Council Chamber. Cunithae followed him thither and when both had sat down and the King sent away his attendants, who stood guard on the outside of the doors, Cunithae continued.
“I am Cunithae, called by some the Wise. Long years have passed before my eyes and in all of them I have served Trecal the Maker of the Purple Lands. Heed then my words, for they bring good portents to the Kingdom.
The People of the City of Tul are pleasing in the eyes of Trecal, and he wishes to use them as an instrument to showcase his own glory. Indeed, out of this very city there will blossom a peaceful empire such as the world has never seen. All cities and peoples will call out to join it, for they will see the goodness that flows out of it. This Holy Empire, gifted by Trecal, shall offer safe haven, justice and mercy for all peoples who wish it. The favor of Trecal shall bestowed upon it as long as its rulers and people hold within their hearts charity and love towards others, as they do now. Be warned that if the people and its rulers fall away from the path and do not repent of wrongs, the covenent of favor will be broken and an ill wind shall be unleashed. This favor, this offer of glory and good does Trecal bestow upon the people of the City of Tul, for his own glory using them.”
King Thil bowed his head in assent.
Cunithae continued: “Know however, that you yourself shall only be a humble instrument of this glory. You must issue a proclamation, sent out far and wide, that there will be an assembly in the Castle of Tul to select an heir for the kingdom. Many young men will come, but only one of them will you choose. He will be a simple shephard, and you will know him for he will still carry his crooked staff and he will wear no shoes. Him shall you place upon your throne, and through him Trecal shall work wonders for the world to see.”
King Thil nodded his head once more, and then looked at Cunithae sitting before him. He spoke at length, “It is as I have prayed! I asked that Trecal send me an heir and this he has done, though not in the way I expected.”
Cunithae smiled, saying, “Sweet are the fruits of those who trust in Trecal.”
And so it was done. To the wonder of many who read it, the proclamation in search of an heir was sent out. Never before had any kingdom near or far selected its king from among the common people. Many young men journeyed from all around the kingdom to the City, and even more people journeyed to be present at the selection of the new king.
On the appointed day, at noon, the appointed time, the castle courtyard was full of people and there was barely any room about the king’s throne. Guards shouted instructions that the hopeful young men seeking to be the heir should come to the front and all the rest of the crowd should stand behind. A flood of people still poured in through the doors, and finally the Head of the Guard allowed that people watch from the balcony above the courtyard. Yet still there was not enough room, so they permitted the lither and younger ones upon the roof. Even then, the people overflowed the small castle.
At last, each of the heirs came up one by one, kneeling before the king. He spoke with each a few moments, asking everyone why they wanted to be king. The reasons ranged: “For power, to defeat enemies, to march with just war, to protect the people, to bring justice, to feed the poor…” Just as the reasons ranged so did the attire of those wanting heirship: they came all in their best dress, wearing colorful clothes and bejeweled with whatever rich goods they might have had passed down from the generations. In truth, almost all of the citizens of the kingdom were farmers, simple people working the land. A few were miners or lumberjacks, and there was a good share of fishermen, but all in all people worked mostly for their own livelihood and that of their family’s. By no means was the kingdom rich: the castle itself was built out of simple stone and wood, and was not ornate.
The afternoon stretched on, and the crowd of young men went on and on. Cunithae watched from the roof, standing on top, a foreboding figure in white holding his staff. Once or twice the king glanced up over his shoulder at the prophet, but he always received his cool glance and warm smile in return.
One of the heirs wanting, a young man who named himself Dolon of Underwood, son of a lumberjack, answered the king’s question in a way that pleased King Thil. His reason for wanting the kingship was selfless and true, “I wish to serve your people, my people — the people of this kingdom.” The king looked up at Cunithae who neither nodded his head nor shook it and thus the king smiled at young Dolon and led him aside, as he had all the others. But he remembered the young man’s name.
Evening arrived, and soon the sun began to cast its long rays on the eastern walls of the castle from where it set in the west. The crowd of those seeking the kingship had dwindled to a handful and the king looked out over it anxiously, not seeing a shephard’s staff anywhere. He began to grow anxious, wondering how Trecal would arrange events.
Soon the last heir had been sent to step aside, joining the waiting crowd of young men anxiously wondering which one of their number would be chosen king. No more heirs stood before King Thil, yet the shephard foretold by Cunithae had not come. The King looked over his shoulder at Cunithae, standing on the eastern wall and lit by the last rays of the sun that would soon disappear behind the western forest. Cunithae held up his hand, asking the king to wait.
A tense minute passed. One of the heirs called out impatiently, “King Tul, whom will you choose?” He was silenced by those around him who stood by. The King sat on his throne, his eyes closed and his mind deep in thought. Dusk had fallen and night was coming.
And then, as if waking out of a dream, the king heard the quiet pitter patter of bare feet running upon cobblestones, and of a staff clinking against the stones every so often. Opening his eyes and raising his head, the king beheld a shephard boy running through the yet open gates and across the courtyard, falling to his knees before the king and bowing in homage.
“Rise, my child,” said the king.
“Why do you wish to become king of Tul?” asked the king.
The young shephard, wearing nothing more than ragged clothes and kneeling holding his shephard’s staff before him looked up confused. “Pardon me, my lord?” he asked.
King Thil looked at the young lad, and asked again, “Why do you wish to be king?”
The boy spoke, and just as he began to speak the moon rose and sent a ray of light that illuminated him. Those that could see in the gathering gloom looked at the boy, who was tall and had shaggy brown hair. His voice was measured and calm, though a bit winded from his run.
“I do not wish to become king,” answered the boy to the surprise of the gathered crowd, which let out a collective gasp.
The King looked once more at the boy, meeting his eyes, which looked back unflinchingly and honestly. “Why then have you come?” asked the monarch of Tul.
The boy spoke: “For I was waylaid by robbers as I journeyed to the City to buy more sheep for my family’s flock and they took all that I own, including the small bag of gold that held within it our family’s entire fortune. I come to you, for as all know, the king will hear pleas of justice for his heart is kind and mercy is on his tongue.”
The boy, leaning upon his shephard’s staff looked at the king and the king, sitting in his wooden throne, looked at the boy, wondering that he had no shoes and only had his crooked shephard’s staff.
“What is your name, poor boy?” asked King Tul.
“I am Manaersh the Younger, a shephard from the south, where the hills meet the forest and the sea, where the southern mountains can be seen as shadows upon the sky.”
The torches had now been lit, and the expectant crowd looked out and was silent, as if they sensed that great workings were occuring.
The king looked over his shoulder to where Cunithae had stood, but the prophet was no longer there, having come down from his perch on the roof. Where he had gone off to, the king did not know. He looked at the boy, and then, knowing in his heart what he must do, he rose from his throne, stepping down from the small dais to where the boy knelt. Then, taking the simple crown of Tul, nothing more than a silver circlet, off of his head, he lifted it up so all could see. He spoke with his voice, and his words filled the courtyard and could be heard atop the roof. “I, Thil, King of Tul, do pass on the Silver Circlet of the Kingdom to my heir, Manaersh the Shephard.” Thil placed the circlet upon the head of the surprised Manaersh, who had been obediantly kneeling, not knowing what to expect. “All hail the King of Tul, Manaersh!” cried Thil. The crowd began to cheer, at first doubtfully, as many whispered to each other and spoke in quiet tones of disbelief. Then, when a figure in shining white walked into the courtyard holding aloft a staff crying “Hail the King!” the crowd found its confidence and joined in. Cunithae walked up to Thil and Manaersh and knelt before Manearsh. “My King,” he said, “I am Cunithae, Servant and Prophet of Trecal. Use me as you will.”
Thil also knelt before the still kneeling Manaersh and spoke, “My King, I am Thil, Servant of Trecal and your Citizen. Use me as you will.”
And then, following the format, the crowd, those young men who had wanted to be king and those who come to see the selection all knelt, saying as one, “My King, we are your citizens. Use us as you will.”
The moon shone now directly overhead, flooding the courtyard of the castle with light. In the very center of the couryard, in front of a wooden throne upon a raised dais there knelt three men: one old, one younger and one youngest, the new king.
–
Manaersh spoke thickly, as a man does after coming out of deep slumber. “Who am I that I should be king?”
Cunithae stood and taking Manaersh by the hand, brought him to his feet as well. “Let me explain,” the prophet whispered to the new king, and then taking a step away, turned to face the crowd. “People of Tul, this is your king, chosen not by Thil, nor by me, Cunithae, but by Trecal the Maker Himself. To me there came a dream, and out of the dream I heard a voice, and I saw a vision: a vision of this young man here, your king, Manaersh. Then the vision shifted and I saw the City of Tul, and the voice told me to go to it and speak with the king, and that the words to say would come when I would meet with King Thil. Graciously he took me in, and I spoke with him and through me Trecal revealed that the Kingdom of Tul is receive glory above that of all other nations for its people are good and have merciful hearts. Out of this Kingdom, the least of kingdoms, will arise a mighty empire that will span the world, uniting all in love and peace, bringing understanding and knowlege. And this, people of Tul, is the King under which these events shall begin to come to pass!”
A thunderous roar of approval burst forth from the crowd. Manaersh fell to his knees again, bowing his head in prayer. “If this be your will, Trecal, then so it be done. I was robbed and thought myself poor, but You saved me and made me King of Your People. Lord, give me the Strength and Wisdom to serve them.” And Manaersh rose from his knees, a new man, for now there seemed to be a powerful confidence that dwelt within him and his eyes shone, reflecting the torches and moon. “What is there to be done, Prophet Cunithae?” he asked.
“Many things,” replied Cunithae enigmatically. Then, stepping aside a moment once more, he called out to the people, his voice filling the courtyard: “People of Tul — Your king has been chosen. You have seen him and done him honor. Now go, return to your homes, for tomorrow a great day will dawn, and after tomorrow, many great days will dawn for many years. Rejoice, ye people!” And the people, crying out joyfully, heeded Cunithae’s instructions and filed out of the courtyard, off the balcony and off the roof and back into the City and their homes.
Meanwhile, Cunithae led Thil and Manaersh back into the Castle, coming to the very same meeting room where but a fortnight before he had first met the king himself. There the three held council long into the night, instructing young Manaersh on the kingship and on many matters beside. Finally, when the night was its darkest, they retired to bed, having established Manaersh in the castle, having sent messengers to his family, and having sent out proclamations throughout the small kingdom.
The next day dawned, as did the day after. A week passed and Manaersh’s family: his mother, father, brother and sister arrived at the castle. A month passed as did another, and under the expert tutelage of Cunithae and Thil, Manaersh added to his original wisdom, knowledge and skill. A capable ruler, wise, just and merciful began to become visible, yet the humility, trust and compassion that had been in the boy’s gaze since he had first met the king did not diminish.
A full two months and ten days after the crowning, an emissary — a woman — in outlandish garb arrived upon a white horse at the gates of city with a train of horses and three wagons. The emissary was clothed in blue cloth, spun from wool and dyed in some manner unknown to the citizens of Tul, and she bore a white rod. The guards at the gate bowed before her, and at her request, led her to King Manaersh of Tul. She named herself as the Lady Adana, Queen of the City and Kingdom of Tur Nae, many miles to the south and west of Tul. She was yet young, and wore a blue hood so that only her fair face with its clear blue eyes could be seen. At the gate of the castle, she dismounted from her horse and walked in the open courtyard, where King Manaersh sat upon his throne, much as King Thil had when he called together the young men seeking to become heirs of the kingdom.
King Manaersh stood as the Lady entered, and warmly greeted her: “Fair tidings to you, Queen of Tur Nae. We of Tul welcome you to our City and Kingdom. I am Manaersh, first servant of the people: let us speak together of your journey and purpose.”
The lady smiled warmly beneath her hood, and acquiesed, following with her retinue into the very same audience chamber where Thil and Cunithae had originally met. Pages had now summoned forth those two and soon all four, king, lady, prophet and the old king were in the council chamber. Refreshing drinks of water from the spring that flowed from the Hill of Dolmeth were placed upon the table, and Manaersh bid that all be seated, as he pulled out a chair for the lady. She smiled and before sitting down, pulled back her hood, revealing her long flowing dark hair, which she now let down her back and around her shoulders over her blue cloak. Now all seated, they drank the water and King Manaersh asked, “How was your journey, Queen Adana?”
“Long. It would have been tiring, had it not been for my excellent retinue which made life as close as could be to how it is in Tur Nae. The travel itself was light where there were roads — that is, at the beginning and end. For most of the time we were oblidged to make paths through the forest, the Caperfae as we call it.”
“We are glad that you have arrived in Tul safe and sound, and that your journey was as pleasent as such a long journey can be,” said King Manaersh.
“Doubtless you are wondering why I have come,” continued Adana, pausing to look at her small audience.
King Manaersh nodded that she continue.
“The legend of the blessedness of the Kingdom of Tul — of the Land of Manaersh — has spread far and wide across the Antereth, the Eastern lands. Many kingdoms, cities and nations have heard tale told of the wonderous selection of your lordship and a great multitude do proclaim that this is the work of Trecal Himself. Thus, it is that I, she who was known to this day as Queen Adana of the City and Realm of Tur Nae, do come to you in humility and lay my crown at your feet.”
Then, unclasping from within her hair a small golden chain that had been hardly visible before, Adana kneeled before Manaersh and, just as she had said, laid the golden chain at his feet. The chain was adorned with a small bright blue gem, perhaps a sapphire, that shone and twinkled, calling to mind the river that flows in Tur Nae.
As Adana knelt before Manaersh, Cunithae and Thil exchanged a long glance. Neither of them had expected such an offer — a new kingdom at the king’s feet — yet Cunithae was wise enough to realize that this was only the beginning of great workings, machinations that would span the contienent and his lifetime.
Manaersh, perhaps having outgrown his mentors, proved wisest with his words. “Your offer is gracious, lady and I do accept the borders, nation and city of Tur Nae to the great Empire of Tul, Abselom i Trecal” [here he spoke the old tongue, Tule, saying: gift of God – he had looked up the phrase some days before, for he found it fitting for the empire] “But your agency of potency within Tur Nae will remain, for through this action, you demonstrate your wisdom and it would be unfit folly for me to cast away such a precious and proven lady. Please then do accept the Duchy of Tur Nae, Within the Holy Empire of Tul, Abselom i Trecal” [once again, Manaersh used the old tongue] “as your province, Duchess Adana. Rise, and take back this golden chain, which will henceforth be the emblem of your new office, as it has been of your former regency.”
The three others in the room gazed in awe at the young king, for in honesty, neither prophet, the old king, nor the queen had expected such potent prose from a shephard who had taken the throne but two months and ten days before. Yet perhaps it can be said that Adana found it easiest to believe — she among them had never seen Manaersh barefoot, in ragged clothes and with only his crooked shephard’s staff. Kingly he seemed to her, young and strong, pleasing to the eye. The deferential smile appeared upon her lips, yet her eyes shone with delight and her voice was light and joyous: “Though you give back my first gift, the people of Tur Nae, myself among them, insist that you accept our second gift: the three wagons filled with gold, jewels and relics — let them be used to expand the province of your mighty realm under Trecal.” Having spoken of her mighty gift, she bowed her head, still remaining on her knees. Yet she turned her eyes upwards, so as to steal a glance at the King.
He smiled at her and met her eyes, causing her to look suddenly away, fixing her gaze on the floor. “Very well,” said King Manaersh, “The Empire of Tul Abselom i Trecal will accept your gift and use it with just purpose. But please, let my servants attend to you and grant you rooms in the castle, that you may stay and rest from your journey. And when you have rested, we shall feast in celebration. For I am afraid that I have never been to your fair City, and have need of knowledge of it if I am to be its King. Please do come,” finished Manaersh, proffering the new Duchess his hand. She took with a smile, rising gracefully, tall and proud, a wonder of power and beauty to behold. Cunithae marvelled that a lady could hold such wisdom, esteem — and at the same time, beauty and grace. Thil found himself recalling to mind his own wife, whom he had much loved. Then, as if his mind noticed something that he himself had not, the sudden thought that Manaersh had to marry presented itself, and he looked at Lady Adana with a new eye, taking momentarily glances at Manaersh, as if mentally examining them as a pair. Within in his heart, he though it a wise and powerful union.
But Manaersh soon led them out of the hall and called servants to show the new Duchess and her retinue to their rooms in the south wing of the Castle. He also ordered out messengers sent across the realms — of Tul and now, including those of Tur Nae, proclaiming the joyful news. Finally, he spoke with the head chef, asking that he prepare a feast for the next day’s evening, and for six more evenings after that. “We mus make our brethren in Tur Nae feel welcome to the Kingdom,” explained Manaersh to the chef. The prudent chef said not a word contrary until the King had finished, at which moment he mentioned the problem of expenses — the Kingdom of Tul had never been rich, and a seven-day feast would be a sore expense. Manaersh, however, answered the chef with a smile, “You will find that the treasury is perhaps more full of late.” The chef bowed hastily and bid the King good health and Trecal’s Blessing.
Lady Adana finally found herself alone in her room in the south wing of the castle about two hours after she had parted from the king. She looked about the sparsely furnished room — fine oak panelling, a mirror, a large bed with four oak posts, a wooden cabinet, a pewter candlestand — it did not rival her palace in Tur Nae. Still, the almost homely simplicity of the place found a place in her heart. As she attended to herself and made ready for supper — for she always attended to herself, feeling that she knew how best to present herself — she looked at her face and form in the mirror and mused on the meeting with the king.
She could still see him in her mind: tall, strong, limber; his words fair, just and wise. It almost seemed something out of a children’s tale — indeed, with her guarded disposition, she had at first been inclined to take the entire story as nothing more than a fanciful traveler’s yarn. Save the fact that every traveler in Tur Nae had been telling it, and telling it pretty much the same way. Thus she had obtained verification for the tale and finding it true, had spent a good week in thought and discussion with her retinue before making the decision to journey east to Tul. Old Amaran, her eldest counselor, had been opposed to, as he put it, laying the kingdom at a shepherd boy’s feet. But Adana had been resolute, for the words of a propechy that a seer had declared to her parents at her birth she remembered still: “Within this child’s reign, a shepherd shall be sovereign, holy power and glory, queen and divine kingdom one.”
But her parents had passed sooner than she might have liked, and so her reign had begun scarce a year ago. Yet, it was said in the city, she had inherited her father’s shrewdness and wit and her mother’s beauty and charm. Even members of her own council sometimes felt themselves overwhelmed by the force that demonstrated itself within her will.
She could still see the young King in her mind’s eye, and as she made ready for dinner, she hummed to herself, smiling at the memory.
The dining hall, simple though it might have been, was fully readied, laid out with succulent meat, fish, bread and wine — the best the Kingdom of Tul had to offer. King Manaersh had just entered the hall, to find everyone seated, save the Lady Adana. As he made his way to his chair, unannounced by any trumpeters — for such had been his express order, he saw across the hall, at the other door, a graceful form entering the room. Arrayed all in a dress made of an unknown blue fabric that shone strangely, and elegantly ornamented with gold and pale lace, entered the Duchess Adana of Tur Nae. Manaersh felt his walk stop a moment as his eyes drank in the fullness of the vision before him. But he paused only a moment, willing himself onwards, arriving at her chair before her calm steps had taken her thither, thus giving himself ample time to pull our her chair. She smiled at Manaersh and sat down in the simple, oaken chair. The King then returned to the head of the table, where awaited his chair, and, seeing that he had the full attention of those assembled — that is, the elders of Tul and the retinue of the Lady Adana — began to speak:
“Dear friends, countrymen and fellow servants of Trecal — I, your King by the Grace of Trecal, have the unique pleasure to mark today the first enlargement of this great Empire foretold by a prophet of Trecal, Cunithae. Today, in the Inner Court of this very Castle, the Queen Adana of Tur Nae, entered into the brotherhood of the Empire, seeking peace, good will and charity towards all others, and thus the Duchy of Tur Nae entered into the Empire of Tul Abselom i Trecal. Let us celebrate this grace over the next seven days with mighty feasting.”
The hall received the King’s words with polite applause, and once had he seated himself, began to consume the dinner with relish.
Over the next few days of feasting, Adana and Manaersh could be seen strolling the castle grounds, taking council and speaking to each other of their respective cities. Occasionally Cunithae, Thil or Amaran, the Elder Counselor of Tur Nae, would join them, but these times were rare, for the young King and Duchess took such delight in each other’s company’s that it almost seemed unfit to intervene in their youthful discourse. Thus, Cunithae, Thil and Amaran, along with another counselor of Tur Nae, Vanaros, held their own discussions, speaking sometimes of their respective cities, but more often of what everyone perceived to soon be the royal couple.
The days passed merrily, gossip aside. And though they were all smiles, Manaersh and Adana quickly hammered out agreements for the scribes to put into law — the principle one begin that citizens of what had been the Kingdom of Tur Nae were in every measure full citizens in the Empire of Tul Abselom i Trecal, as Manaersh had taken to calling it. Everyone had at first followed the King’s example, but after a day or two, the name “Manaeria” had popped up from somewhere (some say it was the Duchess Adana) and that quickly entered into the popular usage, for it more easily distinguished between the empire and what had been the Kingdom of Tul, and also, it was much less of a mouthful to say.
Needless to say, the King detested the name, finding it self-aggrandizing and centered on a man: him, whereas he firmly espoused that the Empire of Tul Abselom i Trecal was precisely that: Abselom i Trecal, a gift of Trecal. Manaersh, almost didatic in his pronocements, maintained that the name ought to remind the people that the Empire was a gift of Trecal, a gift for their mercy, charity and love towards others. He did not, however, venture to say that as a gift, the Empire could also be taken away, for he held his countrymen in a good light, and thought them to be men after his own nature. Regardless, the Empire of Tul Abselom i Trecal was soon relegated to usage by only the scribes and Manaeria passed into vernacular.
On the sixth day of the great feast, a rather large envoy of horse-drawn carts and riders came from the north of the city. They rode around, coming to the west, where the gates were, and came before the guards. At their head was a middle-aged man astride a dark brown stallion of prodigous girth. The man wore a nearly blood red robe and had upon his head a thin golden crown, ornamented with pearls. He demanded to see, as he put it, “Emperor Manaersh of Manaeria.” When the guards told him that the King (for the word Emperor had not passed into the local parlance — Manaersh had firmly maintained that he was only King of the Empire — that Trecal was its true Emperor) was at an important feast, and that they could send messengers, the envoy laughed, “A feast? All the better. I shall meet with him at the dining table then. Surely he shall see me, as you must have guessed, I am the reputable, the well-known, the glorious King Eldanar of Adul!” Immediately upon mention of that name the gates opened, the guards stood by, and a boy led King Eldanar towards the castle. The reason for the grand reception, and indeed, for the Eldanar’s haughtiness, were the man’s very own deeds, or at least the report of them. It was said he was stronger than ten men, and that having gone on a royal sailing trip, he had battled with and defeated a terrible black leviathan of the seas with naught more than his royal spear, sword and bare hands. This story might have been written off as traveler’s fancy, but, as was plainly visible against his red cloak (red, he was often heard to quip, was the best color for a warrior to wear, for blood did not stain red), an enormous curved pale tooth hung upon a golden chain at his next. The tooth had been reputatedly taken from the leviathan, and if it had not, no one had any better guess as to where Eldanar might have found the massive manciular.
Seeing the castle atop the hill, the Eldanar waved farewell to the boy and, spurring his horse on into a gallop, made for the castle. Onlookers from the town were momentarily surprised to see a man in red wearing a golden crown on a massive brown stallion rush by, but when the rumor spread that that man was King Eldanar of Adul — well, then the citizens of Tul felt reassured, and even honored by such a visitor. Most of the populace was of the mind, influenced no doubt by the deeds of Lady Adana some week before, that King Eldanar had come to place his crown at the feet of King Manaersh and to annex Adul and all its lands — which were a considerable amoun, for Adul was situated on a river delta and citizens upon both sides, up to a forest to the south and dunes to the north — to the Holy Empire of Manaeria. The crowd began to follow after the rider in red, but by that time the guards had caught up from the gate and were able to restrain the populace before it flooded the castle because of its curiosity.
Meanwhile, in the dining hall, Adana and Manaersh, sitting side by side, were talking and eating, though there was more of the former than the latter, whilst the rest of the assembled gathering gabbered on amongst itself. All the difficult diplomatic issues had been resolved, and now the time was being spent fully on what had only happened partially before — acquantinces.
Into this jovial atmosphere, past the surprised hall guards, strode King Eldanar, tall, magnificent and confident of his own prowess and glory. His stride paused not a moment, and he made straightaway for Manaersh at the head of the table. Manaersh, seeing the new arrival, rose from the table and greeted him, wisely guessing his name — for as a simple shepherd, he had heard more of the legends than many in the castle. Lady Adana, also rose, more hesitantly, for her face was puzzled as to who the stranger in red might be. She smiled somewhat artificially, for she did not like the looks of the man, and waited for the words that Manaersh would said.
Those words, it turned out, were well-chosen, for they would please the rather cavalier Eldanar, “Lo! When I was but a shepherd boy and not a king, how I listened with rapture at the stories of you, King Eldanar of Adul, Adventurer on the High Seas. And I am heartened to see that our local storyteller spoke the truth, with no exaggeration — never a larger tooth have I seen. Please, come join us at the table, eat, drink and be merry.” With that, Manaersh pointed to a chair that had curiously vacanted right next to him, along with a freshly laid plate. The servants of the casle, it turned out, were well-attuned to the King.
Pausing his enormous stride while Manaersh spoke, Eldanar resumed it with a hearty laugh at the young King’s good humor. “Well met, shepherd boy, well met!” he cried in joy. And coming to Manaersh, he embraced him, kissing him in the style of the Adulians, once on each cheek. Then, bowing, now in the Tul style, he took the offered seat and looked about the table.
Meeting him were faces in a medley of emotion: surprise, joy, disbelief (those peasant stories had turned out to be true!), honor and gladness. He laughed once again, and finding Manaersh to have sat down beside him, asked him half-jovially, half-seriously, “So shepherd, how do you find running a kingdom instead of running after a flock of sheep?”
Sensing that the question contained a deeper element than the jesting nature of the questioner might have suggested, Manaersh answered carefully, remembering what he had said when he had first worn the silver circlet, “I was robbed, yet Trecal made me into King of His People. I will serve Trecal in all his ways and works. It is his flock that I lead now.”
Impressed with the young king’s reply, yet not wanting to reveal anything yet, Eldamar continued with his half-jest, “Ah! A pious one are you! Still, better with Trecal than without, as I’ve always said!” And then he took a great swig of the red wine that had been poured into an earthenware mug (the kingdom was not rich, as could be seen) and laughed once again. Everyone stared. No one had expected a character out of legend, king of a realm north — but north through an impentatrable forest — a slayer of levithans and a sailor on the seas — to stride in through the door. And it irked some of those present, Lady Adana among them, that King Eldanar showed so little respect and deference to the Emperor. But Manaersh was wiser than they, for he perceived that it was through playing along with Eldanar’s jest that he could win his confidence. And he knew that he would need the well-traveled king’s confidence to undersand why he had arrived — and hopefully, but the Grace of Trecal, to have him annex his plentipotent lands to the growing Empire of Tul Abselom i Trecal.
The dinner that night continued on much in the same fashion as it had shown favor for upon the arrival of red-cloaked king. Finally, when the king left the table, he bid that King Eldanar come with him, leaving Lady Adana alone, watching the rest of the assembled leave the chamber. King Thil came up to her, tapping her in a paternal way upon the shoulder, “Come, Lady Adana, there is no point in waiting. My heart tells me that the conversation between our king and the arrival will be long, for Eldanar will not give away his kingdom without nary a condition. I knew Eldanar when he was yet Prince, and that man knows how to sell a fisherman his own fish, as the saying goes. But have no fear, Our Manaersh has wisdom from Trecal.”
And thus Adana had a graceful exit from the hall, accompanied by the old king Thil. Yet just as she was leaving the hall, she snuck a glance over her shoulder, only to see an empty dining hall, with no people visible near, or far. She sighed, and after a ways, parted from Thil and made for her chamber.
Once Manaersh and Eldanar were alone in the council chamber, Eldanar’s jocular manner fell way and his serious side quickly revealed itself. “Had this been any other city but Tul, the least of cities, or any other kin, but you, a shepherd boy, you would not find me here. It is only because I am not deaf to prophecy that I have arrived here, boy. It looks to me, from all visible signs, that you are one foretold. But I am no fool. I demand more proof than mere traveler’s gossip, and that is why I have arrived hither. For if you are the one foretold, then great times are stirring. But if you are an impostor, well-versed in the prophecies by some ill-meaning sage, then I cannot say that I shall be merciful with you. For it was written that there would be many impostors, and there have been, even a few in my lifetime. Those I dealt with as they deserved. Answer my questions quickly and without delay, or find yourself in pain.â€
Manaersh looked up at the red-cloaked king. He knew that he had nothing to fear from him, for he knew himself to be true, but he could not help noticing the powerful presence of the monarch. “I will answer. Ask freely, friend, by the grace of Trecal.â€
Unsoftened by the mention of Trecal, Eldanar drew forth his blade, a long curved piece of steel. The candlelight of the council chamber reflected on its sheen. He held it in his hand, his powerful sinews taunt and ready to strike a deadly blow. Manaersh was unarmed, and yet found himself with no fear.
Eldanar looked at Manaersh with hard eyes, and then asked, “Nae rith vlhure, nae rith vlhudis, nae rith vlhurash Ivedetë. Rith ereb Ivedetë?†He had asked in the ancient language deliberately, for he knew the shepherd could not know it well, and even if he did, he had no hope of knowing the poetic dialect Eldanar had now employed.
Manaersh’s gaze became blank. All of the old tongue that he knew was Abselom i Trecal, Gift of God, a phrase he had looked up for the new kingdom. The words that Eldanar had spoken were fair to hear, and fell musically upon his ears, but meant nothing to his mind.
Eldanar looked momentarily into Manaersh’s eyes, and seeing that he did not know, he sighed and became taunt, his voice hardening. “And I had thought that it had been you.†He looked at his blade, as if almost regretting that he must use it to cleanse the world of this dangerous impostor who had already deceived Lady Adana of Tur Nae.
Manaersh still showed no fear. His mind racing, he found himself praying. “Trecal, give me the words, for you are the source of all words. You know that this is my appointed task, and I look to you for all my needs. My need is dire, Lord!â€
Eldanar looked sharply at Manaersh, surprised that the boy was not making an escape. “You do realize, of course, that I am about to kill you, imposter?†he asked grimly.
Manaersh shook his head. “That you cannot do, for I am true.â€
Eldanar laughed. “You are merely buying yourself your last seconds of life. You do not know the answer to my question – indeed, no impostor does!â€
Manaersh looked at the floor and closed his eyes. “Trecal, aid me!â€
He found himself filled with peace and calm, floating in a calm sea. He was alone, but he was not alone, for the light of the sun shone upon him, and he was surrounded by a warmth that did not come from the invisible waters around him. He did not know what to think, only that he must think, that he must think of some reply to save his life. Only then the thought came, unbidden, that he needn’t think, he need only surrender, surrender to Trecal, and the words would come, and if they did not, then that did not matter, for if Trecal had decided that this Empire was not to be, then what did his puny shepherd’s will matter?
He opened his eyes to find Eldanar staring at him, perplexed. “You have no fear of death, shepherd?â€
Manaersh replied with words whose meaning he did not know, “Ea erebetë lecil, atre fralhk i Trecal? Arbilar i verdil nae ameldetë a lecil. Ivedetë rith siris amelë.â€
Eldanar dropped his sword and fell to his knees, “Siris amelë,†he repeated with reverence. “Siris amelë! Trecal ayakumaletë! Trecal ayakumaletë!†he shouted with joy, tears streaming down his cheeks. He came forward on his knees, and kissed Manaersh’s feet. Then, quickly picking up his fallen sword, he offered it to Manaersh, saying, “Ael soriketë, parliaë.†Then looking at Manaersh’s eyes and seeing that he had not understood any of the words of the ancient language, neither those spoken by himself nor by Eldanar, Eldanar paused. He thought a moment, then spoke, “I am your warrior, my king. The Kingdom of Adul is yours, by the grace of Trecal, arbilar i verdil.â€
Manaersh nodded, finding himself still floating in the invisible warm ocean, miles distant from the present. He raised his hand and placed it upon the bent head of Eldanar, saying in a powerful voice, “Taern sor i Trecal kitë. Ayakanev, solumiaë.â€
Eldanar rose, as instructed, looking reverently at his king.
Manaersh, returning to himself, looking back at Eldanar, whose expression contained grave joy. He found that now that he said all that needed to be said, he understood what he had said. He had answered Eldanar’s riddle correctly, and then welcomed Eldanar’s knighthood. He had ordered that he stand, as his son. He found himself calm, though filled with childlike wonder at all that had occurred.
Manaersh nodded calmly. It was done, by the grace of Trecal. “Let us go and tell the others of how the Kingdom of Tul, Abselom i Trecal has expanded its borders.â€
Eldanar nodded, feeling himself humbled, and realizing that far more than a mere shepherd boy stood before him. He felt himself shamed for showing the boy so little respect before hand. “Yes, my king, we should not keep such great tidings secret for long. There will be much rejoicing in Tul tonight, and in Adul when the messengers arrive thither.â€
Manaersh gave Eldanar a level gaze, one full of calm faith. “Indeed, it will be so. But the messengers to Adul will also herald the upcoming arrival of the King of Tul Abselom i Trecal in their city.â€
Eldanar’s eyes lit with joy, “It will do me honor to welcome you to your Northern City.â€
Manaersh opened the door, beckoning Eldanar to go through, “Come, let us tell the others.†Eldanar looked at the door, befuddled that the King should open it for him. He looked at Manaersh, but meeting only a stern gaze of calm, he passed through the door, going first. Manaersh followed, and soon they had made there way into the