by Amy Maruna

From Frederick Logan's DE ENGL 294 class

Gather around, my precious ones, and your Nana will tell you a tale, a story for the ages, one that touches each heart in a different way for it speaks to each listener of his very own soul. It is a story of love and kindness as well as of jealousy and desire; it is for you to determine which quality you will take away. Now, quiet down, hush, and come sit with me by the fire. Your Nana wants you near while she whispers these words that many have need of but have yet to hear, for your innocence gives her comfort in her old age.

For many years, from even before time was recorded, on the first day of the Greening of the Hills, the Spring Solstice Fair had been held on the distant western shores of Far Kingdom. Each year, bards came from far and wide to compete for the title of "Official Bard to the High King". This honor was awarded to the one who wrote the poem or song that best described the beauty and wisdom of the High King of Far Kingdom, Karolya. Unfortunately, despite the best efforts made by the High King's ministers, the search had been in vain. As a great lover of fine poetry, poor Karolya had been forced to endure thousands of terrible poems and half-baked ballads. This year, Karolya decided to do something about it himself.

On the opening morning of the fair, high above the Earth, a puffy white spun-sugar cloud floated serenely across the star-strewn sea of dark blue night sky. Upon this soft pillow, lost in youthful dreams of flower-filled pastures and mirror-surfaced lakes, Karolya, who was older than time, yet younger than the morning dew that kisses the flower petals each morning, slept. He was a Mystical Creature; one of many, to be sure, but he was truly the most magnificent of them all, for he was a Winged Horse.

His coat was so dazzlingly white that when it was kissed by the sunbeams they were reflected and cast out as flaming sparks, like tiny shards of the sun itself. Karolya's mane and tail resembled the finest spun silver, finer even than any ever formed by a Dwarvish Master of Metals. The slightest of breezes made them flow and ripple on the air as if they were a part of the wind itself. His fine white ears could hear the sound of a ladybug nibbling on a leaf a mile away, and his eyes were of the deepest crystal blue that can only be found on the tips of the wildest waves on the ocean. When Karolya flew, his golden hooves flashed a blazing meteor trail across the bright blue sky.

And his wings! Oh, children, his magnificent wings! His wings were massive; when fully extended they were half again as wide as his body was long. The feathers on his wings were iridescent and looked more like those of a dragonfly than those of a bird. Within each individual feather a myriad of colors swirled; colors that constantly shimmered and changed because their hues reflected Karolya's mood as well as the weather.

As the sun slowly rose above the edge of the far horizon its tender new rays darted in and out along the fluffy cloud as they played "Tag" and "Hide and Go Seek" amidst the rolling white hills and valleys. The rays did not stop their mischievous play when they reached Karolya's velvety muzzle; they tickled his long whiskers, teasing, wanting him to wake up and play with them, but the High King's upper lip only slightly quivered. The creeping rays made their way over and around Karolya's head and as the blazing sun rose so did their numbers. As their numbers grew so did their strength, so that by the time they began to dance in among Karolya's eyelashes, the High King woke up. He gave a soft, sorrowful snort at the loss of his splendid dream and then gathered his powerful legs and stood up. He arched his graceful neck, gave his flowing mane a great shake, and unfurled his wings.

At that very moment, a young bard named Sam Willow emerged through a blue-and-white striped tent flap and stretched his short, but nonetheless painfully cramped, legs. Sam shared his tent with four other bards because none of the others could afford a tent of his own. As Sam was by far the shortest, as well as the youngest of the group, the others took great advantage of him. Sam needed less room than they did, or so they told him, so each morning the young bard found himself crowded into a corner of the tent with barely enough room to turn over. As Sam was also by far the kindest of the group he often thought, Poor Michael is very old and tired. I'll let him have the good pallet to sleep on. This thin blanket is enough to keep me warm. I am very lucky to have my youth as well as my health, and he has neither. Or, Look at poor James over there! He has a bad back and hasn't enough room to lie comfortably. I'll just curl up a little more and let him have some of my space.

The old, blue felt cap that Sam always jammed down over his hair could barely contain the black spikes and, as usual, they stuck out wildly in every direction. The other bards constantly teased him about it but Sam would think thoughts like, Ah, look at poor Jacob! He hasn't a hair left on his head! I am very lucky to have so much hair, disobedient though it may be!

As Sam readied himself for the new day he stretched his arms skyward. His unfortunate elbows creaked with relief, for they had been folded up as tightly as chicken wings all night long and felt as stiff as a pair of old rusty hinges. As his arms stretched up his head fell back and his dark green eyes were drawn to the solitary huge, white cloud that floated along the edge of the horizon.

Sam's mouth dropped open as he gazed upon the majesty of the High King for the first time. The High King's wings were spread so wide that they seemed to embrace the whole cloud! Beams from the rising sun played through Karolya's iridescent feathers and cast a faint pinkish light over the cloud. His golden hooves captured the naughty sunbeams and reflected them downwards like shooting stars. As Sam watched, Karolya's wings began to beat; slowly at first, then faster as each mighty stroke increased in power. Finally, the High King reared back. His front legs pawed the air as he raised his head, trumpeted a joyful whinny, and lifted off.

As he flew in great swooping circles over the fairground, Karolya surveyed all that was below him. The multi-colored flags that identified different Elvish clans gently fluttered in the morning breeze. The great mushroom rings that belonged to the Fairy clans filled the northern part of the plain, and he was pleased to note that a large herd of Centaurs had arrived. The Water Sprites had conjured a sparkling, magical pool on the far edge of the plain. To the east of the fairgrounds Karolya saw many dark openings that marked the deep tunnels of the assorted Dwarvish clans who had journeyed to the fair from the far Misty Mountains. The huge green-scaled dragons, which are the Dwarves' clan mascots as well as their primary sources of transportation Aboveground, were chained to stout posts with heavy iron links outside each tunnel entrance. Great puffs of smoke rose from their lizard-like snouts as they dozed peacefully in the early morning sun.

On the High King's left as he flew away from the rising sun were set the colorfully-striped tents of the traveling bards. As this was the group in which he was the most interested, he circled and flew lower still. Karolya noticed a young bard at the entrance of a blue-and-white-striped tent. The bard's mouth was hanging wide open and his forest green eyes were staring at the High King as if he were in shock. Karolya gave a deep horse-y chuckle and circled again for another look.

Sam continued to watch as the High King wheeled and soared high over the fairgrounds. He was amazed when he saw Karolya circle directly overhead, not only once but twice. For a moment Sam had the feeling that the High King was looking directly into his eyes.

Sam continued to watch as Karolya circled, lower and lower, until the High King's hooves lightly touched down on the brown, dusty dirt. Karolya trotted away from Sam, in the direction of the gaily decorated palatial tent in the center of the fairgrounds. The High King paused for just a moment before the beribboned entrance to his royal tent and raised his velvety nose into the air as if he smelled something drifting on the warm morning breeze. He turned his head and looked over his shoulder. For a brief second, his eyes connected with Sam's before Karolya turned away and disappeared through the ribbons.

Sam Willow's feet were as frozen to the ground as if he had suddenly grown roots.

"Whatever's t' matter wit' ya, young Sam?" asked Bard Jacob as he pushed his short, round body past the boy.

"T'inkin' up anot'er disaster t' follow last year's?" Jacob chuckled as he walked away.

"Yeah, boy, what're ya doin'? Yer blockin' t' door an 'at's mos' impolite, 'at's what 'tis!" Bard Michael snapped peevishly, "Do leave off catchin' flies in 'at big trap a' yers and move away f'om t' door!"

The rest of the bards pummeled Sam's back as they shoved past.

"Go on wit' ya!" snarled Bard Lucas, who was the oldest and crankiest bard of them all. "We ain't got all day, ya know!" he muttered as he stomped down on Sam's big toe.

The pain revived Sam and he said,

"Oh, I am so sorry! Do excuse me!" but the cranky bards had already disappeared into the growing crowd.

Poor old fellows! They must not have slept well. I do hope that their day improves!

Sam suddenly realized that he finally had the tent to himself. He raced inside and grabbed the well-worn but still sturdy brown leather bag which held the tools of his trade. His hands trembled as he pulled its leather laces open. Sam dipped his small hand into the bag and felt around. Where was his brand-new long, blue quill? He had traded a peddler two oat cakes and a flagon of water for it only two days ago, as he and his fellow travelers had made their way to the fair, and now it was not there! It was gone! In its place he felt only the worn-out stump of a quill that he had been carrying in his sack ever since the day that he had left his home by the sea to follow his dream. The old quill had once been beautiful, with its long, curling green peacock feather and golden tip, but the lovely feather had long since gone to tatters and the tip had been traded away for food and a bit of medicine for old Lucas. But, as the quill had been given to him by his dear old Nurse Charlene as she helped him escape to follow his dream, he would never part with it. As far back as he could remember becoming a bard had been his greatest desire. As he slipped out of the window on that fateful night the plump little nurse had told him, "Never let anyone tell you what you can and cannot do! It's not the dress that makes a bard great, but the soul!"

The sad quill was all that Sam had to write with now, so he would make do. His hands dipped into the sack again and this time he drew out a green linen journal and a pot of black ink. The book had been a gift from his mother on his sixteenth birthday; she had said that the color reminded her of Sam's eyes.

Sam's thoughts returned to that fateful night which now seemed so long ago. In his mind, Sam could still see his father as he paced in front of the fire. The lights from the dancing flames had matched those that burned deep in the old man's eyes when he had seen the gift.

"Whatever have you done, woman?" Sam's father bellowed at his wife. "A waste of good money is what that is! No child of mine will ever be a bard!" As he reached out to snatch the book from Sam an ember popped out of the fire and landed on the back of his hand. Through the acrid stench of scorched flesh and burned hair, Sam's mother pled with him.

"It's a sign, can't you see? Please, can't you see? Do not take the book from the child. Perhaps it is destiny," she said.

"Destiny? Bah!" the old man snarled as he plunged his hand into a water pitcher. "More likely bad firewood, but do as you like." He now turned to Sam, "But never again speak to me of barding. You would do well to forget your childish dreams and attend to reality, or the bitterness of regret will drain away all joy from your life."

That memory led Sam to relive the pain of the previous year's fair. Everyone agreed that his entry had been the very worst that had ever been submitted in the history of the contest. The Dwarves still laughed about it when they gathered in their dark underground taverns after work for a tankard of the black, foamy porter that they so enjoyed. If an Elvish child could not remember his arithmetic lessons or a Fairy child forgot an enchantment their parents would ask them, "Do you want to grow up to be like Sam Willow, child?" With that, the child would cry and promise to try harder next time. No one wanted to be called a "Sam Willow".

Tears pooled in his eyes as Sam re-read his last year's entry:

A Winged Horse is a horse,
Of course,
But his mane is not as coarse,
Of course,
Nor is it as coarse as gorse,
Of course.

His mane's of silver, not gold,
I'm told,
And it makes him mighty bold,
I'm told,
Silver that will never be sold,
I'm told.

Sam finished reading and wiped his tears and his runny nose on his coarse linen sleeve. Before he had composed that poem he had never seen the High King. But, as the contest was mandatory for all bards in Far Kingdom, he had to submit something. His fellow bards guarded any information about Karolya jealously. Not so much as a peep would they make when Sam asked them about Karolya's looks or how wise or kind he was. It was only through the small blessing that Michael talked in his sleep one night that Sam learned about Karolya's mane. Sam worked with what he had, which was not much. My poor, forgetful old brother bards! I'm sure that they would have shared at least some small detail with me if they had any memory of the High King at all!

Sam then carried the worn quill, inkpot and journal outside. As he sat in the dust beside his tent, his thoughts began to wander home once more. His mother's beautiful face, her quick smile and her warm embraces drifted through his memory, along with the tangy smells of the sea and how they mingled with the fragrance of the heather when it bloomed. He closed his eyes and thought of how proud Nurse Charlene had been as she sent Sam out to make his way in the world, and how she had tried to bravely smile as Sam slipped away through the window. Her tears gave lie to her bravery as they left their dusty tracks on her ruddy cheeks.

Sam shook his head to clear away the sheer cobweb of memories that had settled over his brain. I will make them all proud of me! I will! Sam picked up the quill, dipped it into the inkpot and began to scratch words across the paper.

"Hello, fellow bard!" hailed a voice from across the fairground.

Sam, deep in thought, paid no attention to the call and continued his scribbling.

"I say, hello!" said the voice, right beside Sam now.

Sam looked up but could not see the stranger as the bright afternoon sun was in his eyes. "Oh, hello!" he replied, "I am so sorry! Were you speaking to me?" he continued as he set his journal and quill to one side and attempted to stand. He had been sitting so still for so long, however, that his legs were tired and did not seem to want to unfold properly.

"Let me give you a hand," said the smiling stranger as he reached down to help Sam up.

"Oh, thank you so much," said Sam as he took the bard's hand and together they succeeded in getting Sam up out of the dust. When Sam took his first good look at the stranger he nearly gasped. The stranger was, by far, the most handsome man that Sam had ever seen!

The man was attired in the typical, simple bard fashion of tunic and tights, but on him they no longer seemed simple. His broad shoulders were covered with a deep blue coarse linen tunic and his powerful thighs were clad in black skin-tight leggings. His scuffed slippers looked as though they had been molded from the softest leather, and his stockings were spotlessly clean. The sun cast a fiery aura around his white-blonde hair, and his strong, white teeth and aquiline nose were very fine indeed. But the feature that really captured Sam's attention was his eyes; they were the purest crystal blue that Sam had ever seen.

Something tugged at Sam's memory as he looked into those eyes, but the thought eluded him as the stranger spoke again,

"There, now, better?" the stranger said, "You must have been sitting there for quite some time to be stuck like that."

"Yes, sir, I suppose I have been sitting for quite a while," Sam replied, "It's just that..." His voice dwindled away as he dropped his head in shame.

"Just what?" the stranger asked.

"You see, sir, I am Sam Willow," Sam replied in a small voice.

"And?" the stranger gently prodded.

Sam raised his head a little and said, "Sir, you must be new to the fair; either new or just very kind. It was I who wrote the worst poem ever and recited it at last year's fair. I did the very best that I could; I put my heart into it, I did! But, you see, I had never even seen the High King before, and no one would tell me what he looked like, so I worked with what I had. I failed; it was not enough. I know that now, for I've seen him!"

"Seen him?" asked the stranger.

"Oh, yes, sir, I have seen Karolya, just this morning! Oh, how glorious he was, sir! My heart nearly stopped beating in my chest at the very sight of him!" Sam said.

The stranger smiled again and looked deep into Sam's eyes, deep enough to read Sam's very soul. "I can see how much you love Karolya," he said as he placed a hand on Sam's shoulder, "And I am quite sure that you will do a wonderful job this year." A strange tingle shot out from under his hand and ran down Sam's arm before the stranger stepped away and said, "It was very nice to meet you, young Sam. I'll see you at the Competition, I hope?"/p>

"I will be there, kind sir!" said Sam.

The stranger whistled a happy little tune as he walked away toward the center of the fairgrounds. Sam, slightly dazed, sat down again and picked up the quill. The rest of the day seemed to pass in no more than a minute as words flowed straight from Sam's heart and onto the pages. His fingers were stained with ink and his eyes were blurry when his fellow bards returned from their day of merrymaking. They gathering around the poor young fellow and began to tease him.

"Where've ya been, boy?" asked Michael.

"I'll bet ya he ain't moved all day!" said Jacob.

"Are ya workin' hard on yer next disaster?" Lucas sneered as he planted one dusty sandal on top of Sam's journal. "Mayhap we'll all get lucky and t' High King'll banish ya from bardin' fer life!"

"Ya might as well give up, me boy," said James as he strode past, "Yer poems'll never be no good. Whyn't ya jus' go on home?"

They must've had a busy day, thought Sam, for they are surely must be tired to be so grumpy.

Sam looked at his poem again and smiled as he re-read the words. "This poem will surely touch the High King's heart!" he exclaimed. He tore the page from his journal, tied it up with a red satin ribbon and dropped it into his leather bag.

 

Unbeknownst to Sam, the evil bards had been spying on him through the tent flap.

"'E t'inks 'e's writ a good'un, 'e does!" growled Jacob.

"Cain't be no worse'n las' year's!" snickered James.

"But what if 'tis? Mayhap 'e do 'ave a good'un," said Michael, "And what've we got? We're a sorry lot, t'bunch 'o us." The other three nodded in agreement.

"So, what're we gonna do about it? We cain't let that young good-fer' nuttin' win! Malus won't like it a'tall! T' title rightly belongs to us! Malus promised us! Who's put in as much time as we've? We deserve it! 'E don't!" said Jacob.

"I know!" said Lucas. "We'll jus' wait'll the pup goes t'sleep t'night and we'll steal it!"

"I knew you was smart!" said Michael as he rubbed his hands in glee. "We'll steal it!"

That night, as Sam slept as peacefully as possible in his cramped little corner, the evil bards sat up one by one. Their eyes glowed eerily in the moonlight. Lucas gave a muffled cough, which was the signal to the others that it was time to carry out their wicked deed. Jacob crept across the tent floor toward Sam's bag.

"Ow, ya dumb moron!" hissed Lucas.

"Sorry!" Jacob hissed back. "I din't know yer leg was in t' way!"

"Will ya shut yer traps, t'both a ya! He'll wake up an' it'll be all for naught!" whispered Michael.

"Jes' get on wit' it!" said James.

"Al'right! I'm goin'!" said Lucas.

Sam snorted softly and turned over. The creeping, evil bard froze like ugly statue until Sam quieted back down, then he continued slinking on until he reached the bag.

"Got it!" he cried.

Sam, eyes glazed, sat up in surprise. Lucas snorted and snored and Sam said, "Oh, it's just Lucas snoring again." Sam snuggled back down in his blankets and was fast asleep again in no time.

"Real good, ya' idiot!" hissed Lucas. "Gi' me da' bag!"

The evil bard rummaged around in Sam's bag until he found the rolled up sheet. With a wicked gleam in his eye, Lucas tucked it into his own pouch, and replaced Sam's with a blank sheet of paper that had been rolled up and tied with a red ribbon so that it would look just like the original.

 

The sun rose high and bright the next day. Sam Willow woke up before any of his fellow travelers and bounded out of the tent. Today was the day! He gave his leather bag a quick pat and headed off to enjoy the fair. He was so excited that he almost missed the nod that the High King gave him as the King trotted past.

As Sam wandered through the fairgrounds he sampled some foreign treats at the "Food From Around the Kingdom" tent. He liked the Sprite Delight, although it left a strange aftertaste on his tongue. He passed on the Dwarvish Fungus Fondue, even thought the plump, elderly Dwarf matron that was serving it up promised that it was the best thing since sliced toad. He was just getting ready to head back to the tent to prepare for the Competition when he saw his fellow travelers approaching.

"Hello, my friends!" Sam called.

"Oh, no!" groaned Michael.

"We gotta be nice. Now, pretend nuttin's up," said Lucas.

"Hello, young Sam," said Lucas, "And how're you today?"

"I'm fine," answered Sam, "Thank you for asking!"

At that moment, a young pageboy carrying a large sack ran around the corner of the food tent. "Look out!" someone cried, but it was too late. The young boy crashed into Sam and the evil bards and left them all sprawled on the ground. The large sack cart wheeled through the air along with Sam's bag and Lucas's pouch. When the bags hit the ground their contents scattered in the dust. Sam's heart sank at the sight before him. The large sack had been full of rolled-up papers that had been tied up with red ribbon! How would he ever find the right one? Tears filled his eyes as he saw his dream go up in smoke.

"Excuse, me, sir?" said the young page as he held out a rolled-up paper toward Sam. "I believe this is yours?"

Sam tried to smile as he said, "Thank you very much, but I'm not sure&"

"Please, sir, just take it!" said the boy.

What curious blue eyes! Sam thought as he took the rolled-up paper from him. I don't want to hurt his feelings. If I hurry, I'm sure I'll have time to write a new poem!

"And here's yours, sir!" Sam heard the boy say as he handed another rolled-up paper to Lucas. "I wish you all the luck you deserve with it!"

As he hurried away to start on a new poem Sam heard Lucas mutter "I oughta&" Before Sam reached his tent, however, he heard the blare of trumpets that signaled the start of the Competition. Oh, no! What will I do now? thought Sam as he hurried toward the royal tent.

Sam had never seen such a tent! Lengths of shimmering fabric that had been draped from the tent poles billowed in the slightest breeze. There were large, jewel-colored pillows scattered all over the floor, which seemed to invite all to sit and rest. A bit behind the tent's center pole was a golden raised dais from which Karolya surveyed the entire assembly.

It seemed as if every living creature in the Kingdom had found its way into his tent; Water Sprites were crowded alongside Dwarves, Elves were seated precariously underneath the Centaurs' hooves and in between them were all the other magical creatures. Thank goodness the Dwarves left their Dragons outside, at least! Karolya thought, and then firmly tapped the dais three times with his hoof before he announced in his loud, clear voice, Let the competition begin!

 

Bards from all over Far Kingdom stood one by one before the dais and performed their works. Karolya occasionally nodded his head at them but he never smiled. When the time came for the evil bards to read their entries, Karolya's lip seemed to curl up a bit on one side. Michael went first, then James, Jacob, and, finally, Lucas. Lucas turned and winked to the other three as he walked toward the dais.

"Well, bard, what have you for me?" said Karolya.

"I'm sure yer Highness'll be well pleased wit' dis'un," Lucas said as he groveled in front of the King.

"I'm sure I will," Karolya replied.

Lucas cleared his throat as he unrolled his paper. He began to read,

"There once was a bard,
Who didn't work hard,
Except when it came time to steal.

He'd not writ one word,
Nor one soul had stirred,
We think that he had lost his zeal.

Perhaps it is time,
To end this short rhyme,
And tell him that there's no free meal.

For I am that bard,
I've never worked hard,
For my crime there'll be no appeal.

Lucas stopped reading and smiled up at the King. Karolya's sides heaved as he tried to contain his laughter. He lost all control, however, when a single voice in the crowd cried out, "What an idiot! He just told us he's a thief!"

Lucas turned bright red and then seemed to deflate like a popped balloon as he quickly scanned the page again. He turned and slunk away through the crowd, saying "Come on, you lot!" as he passed by the other evil bards. "Never you mind! Malus'll have 'em!" The evil bards pushed through the tent ribbons and hurried past the Dragons, who, having heard Lucas' poem and the subsequent crowd reaction, were all laughing so hard they were rolling around in the dust. One particularly large specimen sat up and hiccupped just as the bards went past. Now, a dragon's hiccup is a very dangerous thing, for when a dragon hiccups flames tend to shoot out of their mouths. This time was no exception; flames shot right at the evil foursome and set the seats of their britches alight. The last sight that anyone had of the bad bards was of them hopping around like cold water on a hot griddle, slapping at their rears and howling in pain.

Finally the time had come for Sam Willow to read his poem for the King. His knees were knocking together so loudly that he was sure Karolya could hear them; his hands were shaking and his palms were slick with sweat. As Sam slowly approached the dais he heard, Thats Sam Willow! I caint believe 'e dared t' show 'is face here t'is year! Sam stopped in front of the King and cleared his throat. The King looked at him -- and smiled.

A tremendous wave of relief washed over Sam. He smiled back at Karolya and began to read,

The King of Far Kingdom stands high
On a cloud
Magnificent wings spread hell sigh
And greet the
Day, catching suns gold as it's pooled
And lift it
On his mighty back. Dont be fooled,
My fellows
And believe his beautys contained
In the gleam
Of his coat or silvery mane
That swirls oer
His body in the morning air.
No, my dear
Fellows, his beauty is not there
Not in his
Coat nor the bright shine of his hair,
His beauty
Is there, for the whole world to see,
If only
You look at him closely as me
Its really
Quite simple, the secret is thus,
That he lives,
Eternal, because he loves us!

Sams final words echoed through the silence that had fallen over the tent. The only sound that Sam heard was the pounding of his own heart. When he raised his eyes from the page and hesitantly looked up he saw tears in Karolyas eyes.

I am ever so sorry, Sam stammered, I never meant to hurt Your Highnesss feelings&

No, no, not at all, said the High King, I am overcome with joy, not sorrow! Over the years many bards have written songs about me, but none has ever touched my heart as yours has.

He went on, The true reason for this competition was to find one person, just one, who can see beyond my appearance and into my soul. I believe that I have finally found that person in you, Sam Willow. Will you approach, please?

Sir, Sam replied as he stepped up onto the dais, But, sir, I am only young, and not very experienced&

Experience does not matter, Sam. What you have is a pure, loving soul. I have searched for many, many years for a soul like yours, Karolya said.

The High King's soft, velvety lips brushed against Sam's cheek and then moved up to nudge off Sam's hat. The assembled bards gasped in unison at the sight of the long, glorious black hair that now tumbled down Sams back. Sam spun around to face the crowd. When Sam turned back toward the High King, Karolya was still there, but he no longer appeared as a great Winged Horse. He was the strange bard whom Sam had encountered the day before, but his dress was no longer that of a common bard, but rather that of the High King. His cloak was of the finest deep purple velvet, his shoes of the softest black leather, and his head was encircled by a gleaming jeweled crown.

 

As he looked at Sam, Karolya's mind was drawn away from the Competition and back in time; back to the moment when he had looked into those dark green eyes and had been instantly bewitched by them. He had been at a masked ball that was given to honor the coming out of the daughter of Fritz, the High King of the Near Kingdom. His good friend Fritz, the grizzled and blustery yet kindly King of Near Kingdom, had asked Karolya to join him in his private study for a brandy. As soon as the door had closed behind them the two men removed their masks. Fritz's red velvet cape billowed behind him as he headed straight for the liquor cabinet. He poured hefty measures of brandy into two crystal snifters. He turned and handed one glass to Karolya and then turned up his own and emptied it with one gulp. Fritz's hands were shaking so hard that Karolya could hear his friend's heavy ruby signet ring click against the glass. While Fritz poured himself another drink Karolya strolled around the room. He took in the wood paneling made darker by years of the friends' shared cigar smoke, a thought which led him to look for the small black hole in the silken Aubusson carpet that had been caused by an errant ash from his cigar. Karolya smiled as he remembered how it had come to be; the last time that he had visited the king of Near Kingdom, Karolya had been seated in one of the comfortable dark burgundy leather chairs facing the great fireplace when Fritz had informed him that his queen was expecting the heir to Near Kingdom. When he had jumped up to congratulate his friend the end of Karolya's cigar had fallen off and burned that hole in the carpet.

"Karolya," Fritz began, bringing the other man back to the present, "I just don't know what to do with that girl. She is too headstrong and willful!"

"As are you," answered Karolya as he smiled at his old friend. "You should be proud that she can think for herself."

"Yes, yes, I know," replied Fritz. "But you don't understand how deep this insubordination goes! She refuses to marry and give me grandchildren! She says she'll only marry if and when she falls in love. Bah! What is love?"

"My good man," said Karolya, "you've been in love yourself for a good many years, so you should know." Fritz's pained expression made Karolya smile again. "You've nothing to worry about. I'm sure that your daughter will fall in love eventually, conform to societal rules and settle down with some handsome prince who will pamper her and shower her with love and babies." Karolya tried his best to comfort his friend, although, in truth, he had never set eyes upon the young girl.

"I wish you had been able to visit more often, my good friend," said Fritz as he gave his friend a wistful glance. "Then perhaps&"

"My man, everything will be all right," said Karolya.

"&you would have seen for yourself what a great beauty she has become, and then maybe&" continued Fritz, whose eyes narrowed as he looked at his handsome, wealthy and very eligible friend.

"Affairs of state have kept me very busy," Karolya tried to explain. "It seems like one never knows where one will be, nor, even, it seems, what one will be, all in the name of kingly duty. You see, Fritz, for years I have been searching&"

"&you could have been of, say, some use to me, in this situation?" Fritz concluded without having heard a word that Karolya had said, so intent was he upon his own thoughts.

"&for something, something extraordinary, and, after many years, I believe I may have found&" continued Karolya.

"I don't know, my good friend, I don't know," said Fritz as h