The Prince, the Plague, and the Perfidy

Copyright © 2015 J. Andrew Hannon.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-4917-8018-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-8019-0 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-8020-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015918071

iUniverse rev. date: 10/28/2015

Contents

TO MY LOVELY WIFE

Dear Nancy,

This story is complete because of you, so thank you for inspiring me to finish it. I can now say I have left behind some legacy for our posterity. You have helped me find the discipline necessary to accomplish whatever I desire. Thank you for being patient, kind, understanding and especially my adorable wife. Because I will never stop loving you, I will always be

Your darling husband,

Andrew

One

THE SONS OF KING FRANK

You are the true king!

Percival sat up with a start with sweat beading his forehead. An eerie dream of a dulcet whisper that resonated through a heavy mist disturbed his sleep several nights in a row. The night vision had returned. Over and over the voice called out of the haze, You are the true king! You are the true king! The cloud dissipated, and a beautiful woman incarnated before him, but her face contorted in pain as a torrid flame consumed her, and a maleficent laugh cackled in the darkness. After battling insomnia deep into the night for fear of the dream, he finally dozed off..

Percival planned to gather with his brothers in the royal garden to discuss their father’s declining health, but exhaustion from the dream prevented his waking early. Entering the bailey late in the morning, the prince, pale from the nightmare, greeted his brothers.

Prince Ferris, Prince Sardis, and Prince Caedmon! said Percival. I am sorry I was delayed. What do you think of our father? Percival’s ashen countenance failed to arrest his brothers’ attention.

Since our mother has died, said Ferris, stroking his raven Dali moustache and annoyed at his brother’s late arrival, Father delegates his authority and responsibility for ruling to us. It is such a bore.

Yes, said a stout, full bearded, orange haired Sardis, he has retired from all his duties of nobility and remains here in this castle.

How long ago did Mother die? asked Percival. I have lost count of the years.

Queen Anne died a full ten years ago, replied a clean shaven Caedmon as he raked his fingers through his curly, shoulder length, blonde locks. Since that time, King Frank has had no desire to rule.

Why do you not call them Mother and Father? We may be the royal family of Turin, but we should refer to them with personal titles of endearment, said Percival.

All he cares for is the peace of this countryside, said Sardis. He is becoming a weakling.

He cares for us, said Percival, and I am concerned about him.

He has become disgusting in his appearance, said Ferris.

I think the king looks as if he could fall dead any moment, said Caedmon. I have never seen him in such a state. This dotard has probably been infected by the plague.

The pestilence has ravaged Turin for weeks. It brings only misery and desolation to those around, said Percival. Father nears his seventies, but with his frail appearance, he appears much older and sicklier than ever before. Caedmon is right. He may have the plague.

I do not believe that the plague has reached us, said Sardis.

I know not what I would do if the plague struck here, said Ferris, who was starting to show signs of irritability which come from inconvenience more than worry. I cannot bear to suffer from the same affliction as the peasantry.

Percival responded, We are no different from anyone else in the land. The plague will eventually strike each of us.

"What do you mean different? said Caedmon. How can you compare us to the commoner?"

It is the plague, said Percival, and it strikes where it wills. It has already reached the harbors and the coastlands, and when I visit the hamlet, I see signs of it.

I certainly hope not, but our father is even now too feeble to leave his chamber. said Ferris. He could be dead soon, and we might be next.

I will not fall to this pestilence! said Sardis. I will do whatever it takes to defeat this plague. My sword and right arm swear by it. Any enemy that tries to storm these gates will have to answer to Sardis the Strong.

I am afraid your strength is neither enough to help our father nor rid Turin of the plague, said Percival.

Startled by the sudden appearance of a diminutive creature, Percival cried, Who are you?

A dwarf with a long, bushy beard slipped into the garden and stood before them. Dressed in a scarlet tunic with brown leggings, he wore a wide-brimmed, pointed hat. A ring of keys and a sheathed dagger dangled from a belt that buckled around his girth.

How has a dwarf come into our midst? asked Sardis.

It is a beggar come to call on the sons of King Frank, said Ferris.

I am not a beggar, said the dwarf, and no walls can keep me from delivering tidings of your worst fears. Your father has the plague. Not only your father, but you and the entire village will fall prey to this pestilence unless you heed my warning. Far away in an enchanted land is a great house, and within that house is a garden that bears the only thing that can bring healing—a magical fruit.

An enchanted land? said Sardis.

A magical fruit? said Caedmon.

Healing? said Percival.

Where is this place and how far? asked Ferris.

Start towards the east and from there, your own fortunes will have to guide you, said the dwarf.

You appear as if by magic, and you give us riddles, said Ferris. Speak to us plainly, or we will have you arrested and thrown into the dungeon.

Ferris gained no answer as the dwarf backed into some shrubbery and vanished through the castle’s stone crosswall like an apparition passing through a partition, leaving them to wonder about the reality of the visitor, the tale, and the place.

Caught off guard by the disappearance of the unexpected visitor, the brothers were mute until Percival broke the silence.

Is this possible? the youngest said. Is there a fruit that could save Father?

I have heard of such a place! said Caedmon.

If there is a fruit that can bring healing, said Sardis, I shall bring it to the king. I will brave any danger to prove how mighty this prince of Turin is, and he pulled his sword. Tell me what you know of this land.

Yes, said Ferris as he smiled leeringly. This fruit could help. Caedmon, you must tell us, but wait until the evening meal. Right now we have our duties to attend to. I will see you tonight. All the brothers agreed and parted.

Dusk settled over the land, and the brothers gathered in the great banqueting room at a long oak table as Caedmon related all the legends concerning mystical lands beyond the borders of Turin. He captured their imagination with tales of foreign wars, horrible monsters, beautiful damsels, and treasures of great wealth. The prince told of ancient battles between fairy creatures in the north and dark-skinned warriors in the south. He whispered how some fairies were witches that could transform men into werewolves. Caedmon said, Many fairies are maidens of rare and incomparable beauty, and they control mystical artifacts possessed of great power.

The three princes listened intently as they dined on roasted venison, boiled potatoes, and sweet pastries. They washed their food down with draughts of sweet wine. Intermittently, they talked, laughed, and marveled about the mystical land, the healing fruit, and the possibility of new adventures.

If you ever come across a fairy, said Caedmon, do not trust them. They are clever and conniving.

Do you believe this dwarf that we have seen is of fairy blood? asked Percival.

His stature tells me it is true, said Sardis, but he is a weakling, and my might can overcome him.

If this is what a fairy looks like, added Ferris, "I can see why treachery lurks among them. They are not fair to look upon, but they call themselves fair-ies." The prince smirked.

Surely they guard this magical fruit, said Sardis.

We will need to move stealthily towards this strange land, Caedmon added, and use our shrewdness if we are to recover this fruit. Supposedly, fairies come to you at night in visions.