The King with Six Friends

Just Zar

Zar stumbled over a felled log. The contents of his pack shifted, putting him off balance by that much, and threw him into a damp pile of leaves. As he fell, he instinctively put his hands out to catch himself. Pain shot through his palms.

"Agh." He cradled his hands as he sat up. Hidden underneath the leaves was a jagged rock, which he'd cut his hands on. Dirt, bits of leaves- and now blood- caked into the stinging gashes. He paced over to the creek that ran along the forest path to clean his hands. He knew this much: Without his hands, he would not survive the night.

Setting his pack aside, he dipped his fingers into the icy water, wincing, and scrubbed off the debris. Why hadn't he been paying attention? A mistake like that could have done more serious damage than a few cuts if given a second chance. He could have hit his head, or broken an arm.

Zar's stomach growled. He had never felt hunger like this before. He had never been injured either. The longer he was out in the wilderness, the more he realized how awfully comfortable his life used to be.

Zar used to be a king. An inexperienced king, albeit, which ultimately was his downfall. A bolder, more experienced king had come with a large army to expand his borders. Zar's army never had a chance against them. In the end, he was captured and exiled by the enemy king.  He dared not return, and the new king knew that.

So here he was, cleaning his hands in a silty mountain creek. He now owned only the clothes on his back, twelve gold pieces, and his sword. No one would ever assume he was a king in exile. They would simply assume him to be a sulking vagabond in search of work.

He had been pondering what he had done wrong in the last battle for his kingdom when he tripped. As he wrapped his hands with shreds of his cloak, he thought of how spineless he had been to accept his exile. It was likely the new king was making the East Kingdom better than Zar ever did.

A man's mind is his worst tormentor.

He sighed, trying to push the intrusive thoughts out of his head. He was here, and he was only Zar. Not King Zar, not his majesty, not son of the late King Raelm, just Zar. That was all he would be now.

It was all he would ever be now.

But little did he know that by losing something, he would gain more than he'd ever dreamt of.