Waiting for Spring - Part I

Chapter Three

Five months now, and not a word. Nothing. I wonder when they will come for me. Will I die here in the darkness, alone? All I know is the sound of the gaolers echoing steps after sundown. It is still fresh in my mind. Kinslayer they ought to call him, not king. Who is he to dethrone his own father? I still hear the words. They are in my head day and night alike.

"What folly is this? Archibald what are you doing? Stand down at once. Guards, escort my son out immed..."

Blood everywhere. My leg will never heal, but it is of little importance. On the morrow I hang... And if not, the day after.

-Excerpt from a journal found in Castle Adelaid dungeon, Windsor.

A gust of wind tickled the blazing torches in the obscure hall whilst shades commenced natural movements, dancing across the floor and the walls. The light revealed only parts of the dusty old library. Books lay scattered all over the vast marble floor, but some still remained within their shelves. The library was long forgotten, as well as hidden deep underneath the castle. As far as an eye could see, no one had visited here for an eon. Reynard descended the last flight of stairs, his frail knees hurting. His shadow loomed in at the end of the hall, slithering down into the murky abyss.

He carried a lone candle in his hand. The source of light was of no comfort and the mounted torches overwhelmed it as he came closer. With weary steps he made his way through the endless volumes and tomes, following the trail of light. Some of the shelves was beyond their age and would surely disintegrate into a splinters and dust at the smallest hint of a touch. Ancient cobweb covered most of the books, but the spiders were nowhere near.

The old man continued through the labyrinth of bookcases, deeper into the menacing depth of darkness. It was not long before he reached his destination and he halted. After taking off the murky hood and thus exposing his furrowed face and long grey hair, he approached the small oil lamp that he could make out from afar. His footsteps echoed as he came closer to his target. It was not evident whether the man at the desk had noticed the old man's approach; in any case, he did not show any signs.

"Your majesty," the elder said with a croaked voice. The man at the desk did not wince, but continued staring down into the discoloured tome in front of him. Several piles of other faded volumes were stacked around him, both on the floor and on the desk. Most of them seemed unreadable, while some hinted about being written in a language long forgotten. Almost all books down here were. The small lamp the reader used were supposedly not a comforting one since it emanated almost no luminosity at all.

"Can't you see that I'm tending to more important things?" the man answered with a sullen tone. That the man did not want to be bothered was obvious. Nearly nothing of his appearance was revealed by the glow, but some things were easy to make out. He wore, like the elder, an onyx robe trimmed with cloth-of-gold. His hair was dark, like raven feathers, and curls ebbed towards his shoulders.

"My majesty, I'm terribly sorry about my presence in your little sanctuary, but I assure you, the information I bring to you is of gravity," the old man uttered with awe. Reynard had always been patience, but long weeks of the king's absence tore. His lord did not seem too concerned though, as he still read his book with serenity. The elder continued:

"The farmers have begun to revolt on the surface. You did not attend the monthly appearance. The people need answers. They need to know how you, my lord, will tend to them during the winter. Many may starve if not supported by the kingdom. The High Lords have sent messengers. There is still the matter of unrest in Deephammer. The king's presence would surely aid the situation." His tone was concerned, as well as a bit curt. Three kings he had served, all with their own flaws. Archibald was supposed to be the saviour, the champion of the people. An indifferent snort was the response. After a silent moment of reading, the raven haired man replied with an acrid and harsh tone.