The Prince, the Plague, and the Perfidy

Precival could not believe what he saw—the woman who had caused so much treachery in Tara had come to Turin and was amongst his own family now embracing his own father. “Family!” cried Percival dismounting from his horse. “You do not know who this is!” “Of course, we do,” said King Frank. “This is your new mother, Anne. Can you not see how her eyes resemble that of your own dear mother?” The king gazed upon her like some young school boy in love for the first time. “But Son, tell me the truth. I have heard horrible things about you,” said King Frank. “Father, this cannot be,” argued Percival as he charged toward the group. “This woman is an imposter.” King Frank gave a slight glance and nod to his brothers, and all three approached Percival apprehending him. Ferris confronted him, Sardis seized him from behind, and Caedmon took some cord and began to bind him. “What is the meaning of this?” said Percival. He had stopped his approach and did not resist as his brothers placed him in bonds. “Careful lads,” said Sardis. “He may still have some of that wizardry left.” “I told you,” said Caedmon, “there was something not quite right with him.” “Percival,” said Ferris, “this will be over soon.” “Sardis, Caedmon, Ferris!” cried Percival, “Why do you do this?” Only then did Percival realize that he might try to escape, but Sardis held tighter still, and Caedmon had already tightened the bonds. “Take him to the dungeon, Dears,” said Anatheris. “Are you sure my darling?” asked King Frank. “I mean, he still is my youngest son.” “I told you,” said Anatheris. “He has powers that are not to be trifled with, and he will use them against us.” “Father!” Percival screamed in aggravation as his brothers dragged him through the doorway of the castle. King Frank could hear the scuffling and wrestling of his three sons as they lugged and heaved Percival towards the corridors that led to the cells beneath the ground. “This cannot be the way,” said King Frank to Anatheris. His doubt furrowed his weary brow. “My dear,” said Anatheris. Her voice was milky smooth. “I have already told you that he is a great wizard, and that he has been casting spells upon the land of Turin this past year. He is responsible for the plague, the abduction of your son Caedmon, and the annihilation of your royal navy. And did I not discover that evil device in his chamber? That alone is enough to incriminate your son of witchcraft.” By evil device, she was of course speaking of the Orb of the Beholder. The king shook his head. “Come,” said Anatheris, “and let us retire in the veranda. Let the brothers tend to Percival.” The man and woman walked back into the house and retired to the open courtyard where servants tended to their wishes. Beneath the floors of King Frank’s castle, the brothers had successfully bound Percival to the dungeon wall but not without great effort. Coming down the flight of stairs to the cellar, voices of the brother could be heard. “Now hold still, Percival.” That was Sardis’s voice. Or Ferris, who was really not helping with Percival but rather giving instructions, would say, “Hold him tight boys. We are almost at the bottom.” And Caedmon would say, “Ouch! Percival. You smashed my finger.” And then he would look at Sardis and say, “Can you not hold him tighter.” Of course, all this happened because Percival did not like where his brothers were taking him, and he was putting up as much of a fight as he could, but the cords that bound him had been given to the three sons by Anatheris, and they were enchanted bonds. So the moment Caedmon had tied him with the ropes, Percival’s powers were placed in check. Percival moved violently back and forth trying to shake himself free from the chains that held him bound to the cold, stone wall of the dungeon. Both Sardis and Caedmon dusted themselves off for they had become rather grimy while trying to carry their little brother down the steps to the prison cell. “Let us retire to the banquet hall and dine on roasted goose,” said Ferris. “My bow brought a nice plump one down this morning, and it is being dressed even as we speak.” Sardis was making his way back up the stairs while Ferris stood at the base of the stairwell. Caedmon took both hands and patted Percival on the chest. “There you go, Little Brother.” “Caedmon!” said Percival. “At least loose me from these ropes.” Caedmon just smiled and headed for the stairway. Ferris moved towards Percival. Leaning over with a grim look, he whispered, “I remember when they brought you into the house. I was half a score at the time. Sardis does not recall for he was only half my age. Caedmon was but a toddler. Oh, how Mother and Father doted on you, and you…you were not even of our blood.” Ferris looked down as if thinking of what he would say next. “Our father’s soon-to-be-wife, our new mother, told us who you were—some warlock from a kingdom of sorcerers. And you were sent here to destroy Turin. Our new mother told us that when you came of age you would display powers that would awe our peasantry and that they would rise up to destroy the royal family of Turin, and you would set upon our father’s throne declaring yourself to be king of Turin.” “Brother Ferris,” said Percival. “Do not believe this woman. She is a witch—a great enchantress herself.” “Ha!” Ferris laughed. “She told us you would try to persuade and if possible bewitch us into believing that she was a great sorceress and that you were innocent of all charges.” “This is a lie!” cried Percival. “How can you take the word of a stranger who has been here less than even a few days?” “A lie, you say, Percival,” said Ferris. “You are the lie, for her word was confirmed.” “By who?” said Percival. “By a member of the royal family,” said Ferris. “Sardis has seen your black magic. He has seen your sorcery. He has seen you create magical beasts and control the elements with your black powers. No, Percival. You are the dark sorcerer, but soon we shall be rid of you.” Ferris turned to walk out of the dungeon while Percival slid limply down the cell wall to the grimy floor.