Lara's Wanderings

King Leopold sat impatiently upon his ancient throne on the platform of the cavernous throne room. A mournful melody echoed in the empty hall. The lute was being played by the only other person there, the court fool named Humbli.

“The city is empty, and I have sent my wife and children to my cousin’s country. Why have you remained here, Humbli?” the weathered king in full armor asked.

The jester in his multicolored doublet and pluderhosen wore a helmet and chest plate over his costume. He continued playing the lute as he spoke. “Five years ago, you found me when I was almost dead by my brother’s hand. When you had learned that I can never return to my home, you offered me a place in your court. I refused the honor and asked that you hire me as a lowly troubadour and jester. You gave me the position with generous benefits and gifts. In these years, I could have gone back to fight my brother for my rights, but I have seen much to admire here and much to be ashamed of in my people. When homes have been destroyed by the Ogres of Black Mountain, my people turn their backs on those in need. I would rather be a servant in a hut with honor than a prince among arrogant gods. You have cared for me when you knew nothing about me. Now that the Ogres have come here, shall I abandon you, especially now that I am fully healed from my injuries and completely recovered from my infirmities?”

The king snorted. “You, a stranger in my court, are more loyal to me than those nobles who are of my blood and grew up with me.”

They heard the pounding at the palace gates of the Ogre horde trying to enter. The city had been evacuated when news of their march had arrived four days ago. The king’s command was to send the women and children to the neighboring kingdom for safety. He had intended to stop the horde here, protecting all from their destructive consumption. The Ogres were consuming one city after another like locusts in season. Yet, everyone, even the men of war, fled after hearing how great the slaughter had been in the previous nine realms. The greatest warriors and soldiers of those kingdoms had been killed and consumed, and the cities plundered. Now, only King Leopold and his fool stood between the Ogres and the rest of the defenseless villages that led to the next castle. 

“Even my best warriors have abandoned their duties,” said the king, musing over his plight. “We who are the most skilled warriors among the realms, are the only hope for the rest of humanity. They fear the Ogres more than they care for honor and loyalty. They have escaped to safety while leaving an open path for the next village to be destroyed.”

“Why do you stay?” asked the fool. “You, even with the skill and victories of your past, cannot win alone.”

“Because I swore an oath when I took this crown to defend and protect the land of my father and his father,” replied the king with his hands clenched. “This is my home. I will die here, not in a foreign land cowering in fear.” He pounded the arm of his throne in anger. The sound reverberated through the rafters.

“Some would call that foolish,” said the jester as he played. “I left my home to fight another day.”

“Perhaps it is foolishness,” said the king, “but my choice has been made. Even if no man will stand against these demons with me, I will. Not every man is able to choose the manner in which he will die. I would die keeping my oaths and preserving my honor trying to protect what should be passed down to my son.”

There was a crash and the roar of the Ogres as they came through the palace gates and rushed to the throne room doors. The oak doors convulsed as the Ogres began to break into the chamber in which they sat.

The king stood and drew his sword. “Come then. It’s a good day to die.”

The jester stopped playing and put down his lute. He took the handle of the great sword lying down next to him on his cloak. He stood to his full height. The king had been sure that his jester had been the same height as himself, but this man before him had to be two feet taller. The jester swung the great sword and placed the flat of it on his armored shoulder. The sword was as long as the king was tall.

The towering warrior approached the king. With their right hands, they gripped each other’s arms. King Leopold looked down at the warrior’s hand and, for the first time, noticed a ring with the seal of the exiled King Heremod, son of the god Odin. King Leopold’s eyes widened as he looked back up into the face of his court jester, a demi-god in disguise.

“No,” said Heremod. “It is a good day to live. Come, let us claim the glory and honor due us.” 

The throne room doors burst open. An army of bestial Ogres stampeded in, a chaotic masses of horns, claws, and tusks. 

The two men stood their ground and faced their destinies together. The battle ensued, and the slaughter was the fuel of epic poems. Heremod swung his massive sword side to side and in a wide circle, mowing down scores of foes at a time. King Leopold fought like he was possessed by the devil, killing one Ogre after another. The Ogres were enraged by the warriors and, rather than fleeing, swarmed like moths to a flame.

The battle lasted all day. King Leopold had been a man of war in his youth. Though he was older, he pulled on all the knowledge, skill, endurance, and tricks that he acquired over the years. Even so, exhaustion threaten to over take him. 

Heremod, too, was a man of war, but among the gods. Had his brother fought fair, Heremod would have never lost his kingdom. The gods could have protected the human from the Ogres had they valued the services and offerings given to them, but they were lazy and selfish. Alone Heremod would have struggled to stop the Ogre. With King Leopold protecting him from a surprise attack, Heremond was able to destroy more Ogres than any human army.

When the two men were done, not one Ogre remained. Not one of the horde could resisted the draw of bloodlust. The two battle-weary men went up to the battlements to raise the flag of victory. 

“Do not tell anyone about me,” said Heremod to King Leopold as he removed his armor. “This is the only home I have.” He shrunk down, becoming the jester, Humbli, as King Leopold watched.

“Should I now claim this victory as my own doing?” asked the king. “Is there no reward or honor I can give you for my life and my kingdom?”

The jester smiled. “One life for another. There is nothing greater.”

The nobility, the army, and the people returned home days later to the rotting corpses outside the city and in the throne room that the king and his fool couldn’t remove in that time. No one could convince King Leopold to tell them how the battle was won. His only answer was. “The honor of fools won the day.”

THE END