Destiny

The Competitions of Kings

By A. Sylvur

Word Count: 987

A thick leather bound book lay commanding on the dais. All other books in the library seemed to pay homage to it. The words, The Competitions of Kings, seemed to leap in gold from the cover, which made it easy for anyone, anywhere in the room to read them.

A soft click flashed light around the room which chased the shadows into corners. Then the click of the door brought the pale shadows back again. Footsteps approached the dais, familiar with the path taken. Strong calloused hands reached for the book, the fingers moved gracefully over the cover then opened the book at a place that they had gone to so many times in the past. Eyes, full of years, knew what would be written on the pages. Yet, once again, he nevertheless read with emotion:

“The price of peace is a high one, Paul.”

These were to be the last words of my lord, and I have documented them. For there will come a time when his wisdom should be heeded.

Arto‑de‑Nei, ruler and name giver to Tayhia, leaned against a tree at the entrance to the forest. He was quiet for a time, contemplating the tree that supported his aging frame. I was silent as I watched his long fingers stroke his beard then his ever youthful eyes searched the horizon.

“Have I really brought peace to this vast land, Paul? If so I know I have forsaken many things to achieve it.”

“Yes, my lord, you have brought peace here, and sacrificed much. Yet there are questions I would put to you, if I may. Though, they may seem a trifle forward.”

Although close to this man I did not want to overstep my bounds. Still he gazed at the horizon. When his eyes passed over the castle some distance away, he lifted his brow then chuckled.

“You, forward, Paul!? Well, what may they be?”

I smiled to myself. “Well Sire, I wish to know why you have never taken a wife and who is to be your heir, should you leave us?”

Arto brought his eyes to bear on me, who was seated at his feet. The horse nickered off to the side and shuddered randomly. Awkward silence began to stretch then he smiled before he turned back to the horizon once again.

“Hear me well, for there are accounts that have been told and legends yet to be. I am but the first of a sad line of Kings. This I know for I have already lived one life. It has been hard to remain without a family, no child to tug this impertinent beard, no lady to pummel me into doing things I know I should. I have seen and missed the familiarity of family. Yet for this rein there shall be none and none for those to come.”

He paused and stroked his beard as was his habit when he was in deep thought. But once again, he looked down at me, ever so briefly. I began to think back over the life of this man, this lord, this ruler of Tayhia. Arto‑de‑Nei, sensible ruler, peacemaker, shrewd warrior, all these titles he was, but never married nor had he fathered a child. At fifteen years of age my lord, brought the Kingdoms of Keleban and Karthene together as one. With wise words, strong hands and a desire for peace for his fellow men, he harassed the divisions until settlements were reached. Some say that my lord was aided by a wise and terrifying sorcerer. Yet in all my fifty‑two years I have never seen him. The union of the two Kingdoms became Tayhia. Its ruler now, for one hundred and twelve years, has been Arto‑de‑Nei.

His face broke into a bright grin as he watched me reach into the recesses of memory, and then he became somber.

“No child shall be forthcoming to the chosen ruler of this world until necessity calls. Did I not say that the price of peace is high? The one or ones who will take the crown when kings depart will rule well, yet remain without the blessings of marriage or children, a hard sacrifice I know, but love for the world takes a heavy toll. Let there be a competition to decide the rulers of Tayhia. The competitors should be wild, yet wise, strong and bold, yet hearty, men from every corner of the world, let there be no prejudice. Wise words will decide the mind of the king, great feats of endurance his stature, and love for peace will decide his heart.”

“My time is short, Paul, and I must leave. Let there be no mourning for a passing king, but merriment that I have enjoyed my time on this world. I am the oldest person in the castle and oft times the loneliest. Now I go to become young again. Steward the kingdom in my stead until a new king is decided, and please do not mourn my loss. Although I depart this place my heart and spirit will be with you until you too say your farewells.”

I sat, mouth agape, and stared up at him. My lord, liege, and fatherly friend, smiled slightly, turned to the trees, his gravely voice hummed slightly then a second later he was gone.

King Anthenon closed the heavy leather bound journal gently as his fingers lingered on the gold lettering before they disappeared into the folds of his robe. The corners of his mouth twitched upwards into a grin. “Paul, you did a fine job my friend,” he announced to the room. “At last I may begin preparations to fulfill my destiny. Well, well, well . . . I am getting tired of this game. It is time we had a few changes.”

With that, Anthenon, King of Tayhia, turned and left the book to its memories.