The Tale of the Silent King

A queen had a baby. Oh, it wasn’t just any queen or any queen of any kingdom. It was Queen Abigail, who ruled with her husband, King Montgomery, over the kingdom of Aesnia. Montgomery and Abigail were good and fair as they ruled over their people. They did not live lavishly as other kings and queens. Montgomery would ride out every morning with his foreman and look over his herds of horses, cattle and sheep; and he would often journey through the land dressed in the poorest cloths and find out what his people needed or wanted. Abigail was a fine weaver and she paid the village women handsomely for their best yarns to weave gorgeous tapestries and cloths for Aesnia and the neighboring kingdoms. Her skill was well known throughout the ten neighboring kingdoms and the proceeds from her work produced a steady source of income for Aesnia.
But though they were loved greatly by their people and though they were prosperous, Abigail and Montgomery still lacked the one thing that would make them happy: Children. So it was that when the queen, though she was advancing in years, was found to be pregnant the entire kingdom was alit with great joy.
But with the joyous news of the pregnancy came great fear on the part of Abigail and Montgomery. You see, in the land of Aesnia there are many superstitions and beliefs that you and I would consider silly. For example, the only horses that were allowed to pull the king’s carriage had to have one white and four black stockings. Every black sheep that was born in a flock had to be given to the monks that speckled the land with their monasteries. Black sheep were considered to be from the night and as such they had to live in the monasteries in order to be cleansed.
The Monks had existed in Aesnia for years without number and they had taught the people to follow the ways that they taught. It was the Monks who said that the king’s chariot horses had to have one white and three black socks on their feet. And it was the Monks that protected the people of Aesnia from the powers of the night. There was day and there was night, and there were rules about things that happening at night. One of the rules was that every baby born at night had to be sent to the Monks that inhabited Aesnia and the holy mountain Ari.
So it was that Abigail feared that her child would be born at night and she would be forced to give it to the Monks at Ari. Montgomery tried to comfort her, but her fear gnawed at the inside of her belly.
In order to try and take his wife’s mind off of her troubles, Montgomery decided to send her to their lake house with her ladies in waiting and various attendants. For many weeks Abigail was happy and did not worry about the Monks.
One afternoon Queen Abigail and her handmaid, Theresa, went on a walk to gather berries and flowers. Abigail was heavy with the weight of her child and walked very slowly with a slight waddle. They spent hours walking the paths in the mountains above the lake. They found many juicy berries and daisies the color of milk and cream.
It was late when they started walking back to the house.
“Oh!” Queen Abigail suddenly cried out and placed a hand on her swollen belly.
“What is it?” Theresa asked.
“I think my child is coming…O-oh!” The Queen stopped walking and leaned against a tree. “O-o-oh! He is coming fast! Oh!”
Theresa did not worry, she knew exactly what to do. She took her knife, which she had used earlier to cut daisies, and she cut pine boughs and laid them on the ground. She then helped the Queen lie down on the soft boughs. They were too far away from the house for Theresa to go for help and she couldn’t leave Queen Abigail alone. Walking down hill a little ways Theresa found a stream and she filled her apron with water and brought the soaking garment back to help cool Queen Abigail.
Already the child was coming quickly. Theresa looked up at the sun and the child could not come fast enough. Sunset was nearly upon them and if the child was born after sunset it would belong to the Monks. As the time for the birth of the Queen’s child drew nearer Theresa grew more worried. It would break Queen Abigail’s heart to loose her child and with everything in her Theresa tried to hurry up the birth.
The sun was almost set when the child finally decided it wanted to come out. With one mighty push the Queen forced her child’s head out into the world. But just then, the sun disappeared beyond the horizon. It pulled all the light from the land with it just as the rest of the Queen’s baby popped out into the world. So it was that the child of Queen Abigail was born half in the day and half in the night.
“It’s a boy!” Theresa proudly proclaimed as she cut the appendix cord and wrapped the baby in the Queen’s shawl. “Here, look at him your majesty.”
The Queen was very weak from labor but she carefully held out her arms and touched her son for the first time. “Oh Theresa, it’s so dark, what does he look like?”
Theresa suddenly grew solemn. “My Queen, he was born after sunset. He belongs to the Monks.”
Alarm snapped in the Queen’s eyes. “No Theresa! He was not born to the night. He has just made it into the day with the last shafts of light and he will not be given to the Monks!” The Queen’s tone softened and she held out her hands for her son. “No, he does not belong to the Monks…He was born in the light. Born the heir of Aesnia….My son.” She nuzzled the child’s face with her own and smiled.
Theresa could not help smiling as well. “You have a son, my Queen. The spirits that be have indeed been kind to you.”
The Queen kissed the top of her son’s head. “Promise me Theresa…” She whispered, still looking at her son.
“Yes, my Queen?”
“Promise me that you’ll keep him safe and that you’ll tell no one about the circumstances of his birth.” The queen looked up pleadingly at her maid.
A frown creased Theresa’s brow, but she sighed and nodded. “I promise my Queen.”
“Thank you.” Queen Abigail smiled. “You do us a great service.”
The newly born price began to cry.
“Ohh...shhhhh.” The Queen cooed as she rocked him back and forth. “What shall we name him, Theresa?”
“Call him Colorado - after your grandfather.”
“Colorado…Yes, it seems to fit. Grandfather Colorado was one of our greatest kings, he’d be honored to have his great-grandson named after him.” She gently stroked his face with her hand. “Hello Colorado, son of Montgomery and Abigail, Prince of Aesnia.”
Suddenly a shout came from the trail below them. “I found them!”
A half minute later, Queen Abigail and Theresa were surrounded with men and women from the lake house. The group had gone out searching when Abigail had not returned at sunset. It was not good to spend time out of doors when night set on.
Under Theresa’s direction the men cut boughs from the trees and tied them together and made a stretcher to carry the Queen back to the house. They laid blankets on make-shift stretcher and gently placed Abigail on top of them. Slowly and carefully then, with Theresa carrying the tiny prince, the group made their way down the mountain to the lake house.
The entire kingdom celebrated the news of the little prince’s birth, but their joy did not last long. Less then a fortnight after giving birth, Queen Abigail died. The physicians told King Montgomery that an infection had grown within her after giving birth and there was nothing they could do. The king mourned keenly over his departed wife: He had loved her with his whole being and thus it was hard to bear her death.
But King Montgomery’s grief was somewhat alleviated by the presence of his son. He had agreed with his wife about naming the child and exactly eight days after his birth, the babe was christened Prince Colorado II of Aesnia before the entire people. For two whole days there was feasting and celebrations in honor of the king and his new heir.
Colorado was a beautiful baby. He had a strong tuff of jet black hair and eyes that had started out as light blue, but within a month they had darkened into crystals of deepest sapphire. He was extremely chubby and grew bigger every day with the help of his wet nurse. He cried and cooed and even occasionally laughed. He lightened the face of all who held him and was a special joy to his father.
And so several years past in harmony and prosperity though out the entire kingdom.
However, about the time that Prince Colorado was two and a half years old concern about him sprouted up. Theresa and his old wet nurse, Shammat, voiced concerns about his development ever more loudly until the king himself sat down before them to hear what they had to say.
“So what is it, Theresa? What is it Shammat?” King Montgomery asked as they stood before him. “What say you is wrong with my son?”
“Nothing is physically wrong with him, sire.” Said Shammat wringing her hands. “He has grown strong and taller then the other boys his age. He walks and he runs. But he does not speak, Your Highness. He laughs and cries and grunts, but he does not speak.”
“Is this so, Theresa?” The King asked.
“I am sorry, Sire, but it is so.” Theresa hung her head.
“What is the cause of this?” The King asked.
“We do not know, Sire.” Theresa answered. “All of the other children his age speak at least some words. He should be able to say at least simple words like ‘no’ and ‘yes’ but he has not even mastered that.”
“What’s more, Sire,” Shammat said. “Is that in every other area he excels far beyond his years. He builds towers and he does not knock them down. He sits quietly and waits for his dinner. He picks up shale and draws only on slate. He listens and understands the words I speak to him. And he-.”
“How can you be sure of this?” Said King Montgomery. “How do you know he understands?”
“Why just the other day, Sire! Yes just the other day I told him pick up his things and go to bed and Sire! he did it. I do not doubt that he understands me, but why he does not speak in return is beyond my skill.” Shammat replied.
King Montgomery pondered deeply over this and at last he said: “These are circumstances beyond the knowledge of us three.” And then raising his voice to be heard at the door he called out: “Send to us a physician – aye a physician of great skill!”
The page at the door heard the king and sent for Doctor Zelleke who was the finest physician in all of Aesnia. Doctor Zelleke was a very short man with very thin hair and a hawk-like nose. He carried a black bag that was almost as big as he was and he wore yellow stockings with his brown pants and white shirts.
Doctor Zelleke came to the door of young Prince Colorado’s room and knocked. Shammat jumped up from her sitting place and opened the door to him.
“Oh good Doctor, we are so very glad you’ve come.” Shammat said to him. “Please examine the young Prince here and assure us that nothing is wrong.”
“I cannot assure anything, my dear woman.” Replied the doctor. “But I shall do my best to understand the cause of the prince’s malady.”
“Good doctor!” Cried Shammat.
The young prince was brought before Doctor Zelleke and placed upon a table. The doctor opened his big back and took out several decives of curious shape and color and then proceeded to examine the prince. He looked in Colorado’s ears and nodded his head. He looked in Colorado’s eyes and nodded his head. He looked at Colorado’s feet and hands and nodded his head. He looked up Colorado’s nose and nodded his head.
But then he looked down Colorado’s throat and he shook his head.
“I am afraid to tell you this, O Sire, for you will be angry against me.” Announced Doctor Zelleke.
“Tell me Zelleke, do not make me wait in agony! For though I am king, I do not understand the workings of the mind and body as you do. Please tell me and let me understand.” Answered King Montgomery.
Doctor Zelleke sighed and hung his head. “I am greatly saddened to be the bearer of bad news to you, my lord. But I cannot withhold what I have learned. Your son, O King, may have been cursed by a curse of dark sorts for the organ from which our voices comes has been greatly diminished in his mouth.”
“What say you, Doctor?” cried Theresa. “That the young prince Colorado, who is the joy to all who hold him, will never speak? And how came he to be cursed? Was he not born during the day and not in the night as those who are accursed?”
“I know not how it came to be,” answered Zelleke. “If it is true that he was born during the day then I know not how it came to pass. And though I myself have never laid eyes on those born of the night, I suspect they are afflicted in greater ways.”
“So Doctor, you say my son will never speak?” Asked King Montgomery though his voice shook and wavered.
“No, no, no. I do believe he will be able to speak one day. But I’m afraid it will take much, much longer then the other children.” Doctor Zelleke sighed. “And even so, I cannot know how strong his powers of speech will be.”
“But he will speak?” The King persisted.
“Yes, I believe so. But-,” Zelleke held up a finger in warning. “But I could be wrong. He may never speak.”
“Nevertheless,” said the king as he held his son in his arms. “He will speak and he will be a great king.”
And so it was that time passed for King Montgomery, Prince Colorado and the people of Aesnia. A year went by…then two…then three, and by the time Prince Colorado was five years old he was able to speak. True, the other children his age had a wider vocabulary and they could voice their meaning more efficiently, but Colorado understood what was said to him better then all of them put together.
Once Colorado learned how to speak his speech pattern and rage of communications grew exponentially at an almost alarming rate. By the time he was seven, Prince Colorado could communicate when he chose to as if he were an adult. He also had an uncanny ability to understand what was meant by a person in any conversation and knew exactly how to respond.
Despite his ability to talk, Prince Colorado chose to speak as little as possible. Doctor Zelleke hypothesized to King Montgomery that it strained Colorado’s voice organ to be used and that was why he was so silent. The King and all of his court accepted this explanation and never demanded that Colorado give input to a conversation any more then he wanted. Instead, Prince Colorado became a keen user of non-verbal signs and meanings. Often, during meals, if he wanted an item that lay beyond his reach he would wait and catch the eye of a person who could reach it. Then, with darting eyes and the nod of his chin, Colorado could make his target understand exactly what he desired.
But not all people were understanding of Colorado’s strange ways. In particular there was one boy, Sherwood Wells, who took it upon himself to be Colorado’s personal tormentor. Colorado’s caretakers put a stop to it whenever they could, but they could not be with him at all times. Sherwood was a three sizes to large for his age, he had big, beefy hands and small beady eyes that glinted with pleasure when he caused suffering. He had curly brown hair that was always dirty and matted, and his clothes were often covered with mud and blood - though the latter was rarely his own. But despite Sherwood’s clumsy and stupid appearance, he had a cunning mind that was constantly devoted to cooking up new ways of torturing his peers.
Colorad never understood why Sherwood had taken an especial hatred towards him as he had never done anything against him. Perhaps that was exactly why Sherwood hated Colorado. Colorado had never been inclined to participate in Sherwood’s idea of play and more then once Colorado had stepped in to stop the beating of the smaller boys. Sherwood hated Colorado because of his quiet and peaceful ways that won him the adoration of all the mothers in the kingdom.
On a particularly fine day in fall, Colorado took his small traps and, with a nod to his father’s game keeper, walked out into the foothills surrounding the Keep. He walked a solid hour before he found a recently used game trail and another hour until the trail led him to a lively stream. Carefully, Colorado set his trap for rabbits, squirrels or other small game then snuggled down in the tall grass by the stream to wait.
Patiently Colorado waited, his eyes alert and his ears straining for the sound of approaching game. Then out of the woods came mother possum with her babies clinging to her back. She was so close that Colorado could have reached out and caught her, but he did not. This possum must have mated late and if he captured her now her children would surely die. The possum drank from the stream and then scampered back into the forest, and Colorado smiled as he watched her go.
Once more he settled down to wait, but this time his reward came quickly. Two rabbits gradually emerged from the brush, sniffing the air as they came. Colorado had hidden down from the wind and they did not smell him. Cautiously they reached the water and began to drink. The first rabbit was only an inch away from his trap and Colorado held his breathe in anticipation. The rabbit shifted just an inch and quick as a flash Colorado yanked the chord in his hand and closed the trap around the rabbit’s foot. The rabbit struggled wildly but could not free itself while the second rabbit bolted and disappeared in the underbrush.
Colorado stood and pulled the rabbit towards him, making sure to keep the cord taunt. Catching the thrashing animal in his hands, he grasped it by the ears and held on untill it began to still. He stroked its brown and white fur, humming a quiet and soothing melody deep in his throat.
Looking up towards the sky, Colorado lifted a prayer to the powers of the day. “O ye that gave me this animal, allow me to take it with blessing and without retribution.”
Then, grasping the rabbit’s head with one hand and its body with the other, Colorado gave a sharp twist and the rabbit’s neck snapped. Tying the creature’s four feet together with his cord, Colorado slung his catch over his shoulder and started the walk back to his father’s Keep, WayWyrd.
Two miles on the road back to WayWyrd the pathway skirted a tall wall of stone that shot up straight from the earth like the monstrous tooth of some terrible creature. The river Unapeishthem flowed past this wall of rock in wide, lazy currents. Unapeishthem flowed from the southern mountains and from the mountain of Ari it flowed north through the kingdom of Aesnia towards the sea in the far north. Here at the foot of southern mountains called Ur, the river Unapeishthem was not the roaring, mighty being that charged into the northern sea; it was happy, calm and slow to wrath.
When Colorado reached the wall of stone he hung his rabbit from a tree, took off his leather sandals and waded in the Unapeishthem. He chased minnows from their homes in the shallows and giggled to himself when they nibbled his toes. He hunted crawfish in their hiding places under rocks, but did not cry when their pinchers caught his hands and feet. Soon he was refreshed and returned to the shore to put his sandals back on.
He was half way done with his second sandal when a group of boys rounded the far end of the rock wall and walked towards him. Colorado quickly finished tying his sandal up then stood and snatched up his prize. He saw that Sherwood was leading the small pack of boys and immediately he wished he had stayed hidden along the shore. But it was too late now and Colorado boldly moved forward, hoping beyond hope to pass Sherwood in peace.
However Sherwood caught sight of him almost instantly and called out to him. “Colorado! Look men, it’s the most honored Prince Colorado – O may he live forever!” Sherwood laughed with distain and his three comrades did the same.
“Good afternoon to you, Sherwood.” Colorado made an attempt at civility.
“‘Good afternoon’? Oh here this boys – His Royal Highness just wished me good afternoon. What a day this is!” Sherwood crowed.
Colorado tried to smile pleasantly and pass them by, but Sherwood stuck out a great, beefy hand and stopped him.
“Just a minute, Your Highness, where are you off to in such a hurry?”
Colorado didn’t answer but nodded towards the Keep in the valley below.
“What? I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.” Sherwood mocked. “You’ll half to speak up.” He looked over Colorado’s shoulder just then and caught sight of the rabbit. “Oy! What’s this you’ve got?” And with one swift motion he ripped the cord out of Colorado’s hands and pushed him to the ground. “Why it’s a Coney! Where’d you get a Coney?”
Colorado pushed himself to his feet and said nothing.
“Where’d ya think he got it, Rammy?” Sherwood asked the boy on his left.
“Bet he stole it.” The boy replied. Colorado knew this boy; his full name was Clive Ramsbottom, but all the other boys called him Rammy.
“Yap, that’s what I think too.” Sherwood replied, an unpleasant smile on his face.
Colorado sighed and held out his hand. “Please.”
“Oh he says ‘please’ now does he?” A very unpleasant light was coming into Sherwood’s eye. “He’s a thief and yet he says ‘please’.”
“I’d say we should teach him a lesson for his impudence, don’t you Sherwood?” Rammy said.
“Aye,” said Sherwood as he took a step towards Colorado, who took a step back. “He needs to learn not to steal and lie about it.”
Colorado took another step back, but Sherwood and his gang suddenly rushed forward and pinned him against the rock wall. Colorado squirmed and wriggled but it was no use; he was simply not strong enough to escape. Sherwood leaned in until his face was only six inches away from Colorado’s and across his face spread a look of pure menace.
“I’ve wanted to do this for a long time, Prince.” He spat the word like it was a curse. “You can’t imagine how I have longed to do this. And now there is no one here to save you. You’re all alone and you’re all mine.”
With that Sherwood began to pulverize Colorado as he was held to the wall by Rammy and another boy. Never before had Colorado experienced such pain. He was unable to escape the pain; he couldn’t protect his face with his arms and he couldn’t curl into a ball to protect his innards. It was all laid open for Sherwood’s rhythmic and thorough thrashing.  Over and over again Sherwood’s fists found their mark and each time they did, Colorado’s body quivered with the pain of the impact.
Yet through the entire thing Colorado did not cry out or utter a single sound. This seemed to anger Sherwood even further. Finally, Sherwood let out a horrid yell of frustration and turned away in a huff. His cronies let Colorado go and followed their leader away. Out of the cracked and swollen corner of his eye, Colorado saw Sherwood pick up the rabbit, sling it over his shoulder and start back towards WayWyrd. 
Evening had fallen by the time Colorado made his weary way back to the Keep. He had just managed to slip in though one of the narrow, little-known servants gate in the back of the Keep when he was spotted. Guru, King Montgomery’s Stable Master, saw him and ran towards him. Guru was a tall but stocky man with thin, red hair and a huge red bar-handle mustache.
“Your Highness! Your Highness! What has happened?” Guru cried when he saw Colorado’s beaten form.
Colorado hung his head and said nothing.
“Come, we take you to Shammat.” And without further ado, Guru swept the young prince up into his large arms and sprinted towards the castle.
The Keep of King Montgomery, which was also known as WayWyrd, was divided into two main sections. The first contained the main house, garrison, kitchen and stables; these buildings occupied the front half of the Keep and faced north, away from the mountains and towards the sea. The second half of the Keep contained the kitchen garden, weaving rooms, granary, storerooms and servants quarters; this half was divided from the other by a tall hedge of thick shrubbery with multiple gaps trimmed in for passage.
Through this hedge Guru swept poor Colorado whose head kept bumping on Guru’s shoulder. As Guru neared the main house, he called out for the doors to be opened and a sleepy eyed page sprang up and opened the door to them. Guru rushed in, bypassing the main hall, he took the stairs up to the family compartments all the while shouting loudly for Shammat. He reached Colorado’s room and kicked the already ajar door fully open. Shouting for Shammat once more he gently laid Colorado on the large, four-post bed.     
“What is it? What!” cried Shammat as she rushed into the room, then she caught sight of Colorado and gave a little scream. “Who has done this?!”
“He has not said.” Guru answered.
“Quick! Fetch me warm water, cloths and see if cook can give you some raw meat.” Shammat ordered.
Guru hurried of to do her bidding and Shammat flew to Colorado’s bed side.
“O my prince…” She said softly when she got a closer look at him. Gently, she started to help him undress. She slid his arms out of his leather jerkin one by one, apologizing every time she saw him flinch. She took the same care with his tunic, shirt and was just removing his shoes when Guru and several servants appeared with water, soft strips of cloth and a basket containing several chunks of raw meat.
Shammat pointed to a nearby table where all the items were placed, and then  shooed them all out. She was just beginning to wash Colorado’s bruised and bloody face when King Montgomery burst into the room, his face as red as a beet.
“Who has done this!?” He hissed, crossing to his son’s side.
“I know not, Sire.” Shammat answered. “He hasn’t said a word.”
The King looked at her darkly then turned his attention to his only child, making his tone gentle. “Son, did someone do this to you?”
Colorado looked at him from underneath his swollen eyes and slowly nodded.
“Do you know who it was?” Pressed the King.
Colorado’s eyes flickered a moment then he nodded again.
“Who was it?” King Montgomery leaned forward intently and an almost frenzied light came into his eye: Anyone daring to touch his son would pay for it.
Colorado looked at his father a long moment, flinching every now and then from Shammat’s administrations. Then he closed his eyes and shook his head.
“Colorado!” cried the King. “You do yourself no good by protecting those who would so abuse you! Tell me now so that they might receive their just reward.”
But Colorado shook his head again and a tear rolled out of his eye as he looked up into his father’s scared and wrathful face. Then he whispered a single word: “Mercy.”
King Montgomery’s eyes widened in surprise: never in all his years had he heard one so young speak with such wisdom. It was as if a man of fifty years had taken over the mind of a boy and was looking out at Montgomery. Colorado’s eyes begged for his father to understand his decision. The King shook his head slightly with amazement and heaved a heavy sigh.
“My son, how is it that you speak with wisdom and character beyond your years?” He reached out with a hand and brushed his son’s hair. “Why is it that your protect those who have so spitefully used you? Why won’t you let me avenge you?” Tears of grief and anger for his child wet the strong King’s eyes.
Colorado brushed off Shammat’s administrations and sat up. Reaching out with both hands he cradled his father’s face. “I live, Father. Let them remember mercy, not justice.”
King Montgomery reached out and gently pulled his son into his arms, weeping all the while. “Yes, son, fine…I just…I just don’t know what I’d do if I lost you. I don’t think I could live without you and your mother.”
“I’m here, Father.” Colorado assured and patted his weeping father on the back. “I’m not leaving.”
Colorado never told a soul what Sherwood had done to him that afternoon. Within a few weeks all his bruises and cuts had disappeared and he was back to normal. But Sherwood, for his part, seemed to resent Colorado even more because of his mercy; and while he never physically struck Colorado again he began a campaign of stinging verbal abuse. However, Colorado withstood Sherwood’s new onslaught without complaint and never so much as looked in his foe’s direction whenever they were near each other.
The years that followed were full of lesson of many kinds for Colorado. As Crowned Prince of Aesnia, it was required of Colorado to learn many subjects in their fullness. First there was reading and writing in the three known languages of the world; next there lessons in mathematics and science, such as it was, followed immediately by logic and battle strategy; last, and in creasing with Colorado’s age, were lessons in archery, swordplay and horsemanship with Saul, the king’s Weapons-Master. In short he learned everything that a prince and future king should know.
As a child, Colorado was proletarian towards many his peers and adults who lived in the Keep, but around the time he turned twelve a change began to sweep over Colorado. He began to markedly spend more time alone up in the mountains called Ur south of the keep. He would often get up before dawn and walk out to the foothills below Ur and he would not return until near nightfall.
Yet no one complained to him; how could they? Colorado had had a hard time being social as a child. He loved to spend time with people but spoke so rarely that most considered him to be unintelligent. Only a few, like Guru and Theresa, never demanded or desired for the prince to contribute to a conversation, in fact they rarely had conversations with him at all.
When Guru was with Colorado, he taught him how to repair harnesses, to properly groom a horse, to check and remove stones from the hooves and treat sores and cuts on the legs. Theresa used her time with Colorado to teach him how to spot good herbs in the fields, use tree bark to make tools or boiled into stew and what shrubs and bushes yielded roots that healed. For Theresa, although she had not been born during the night, was raised in the monasteries being a daughter of a night-born. Though she was sworn to secrecy about the Monks and those of the night-born, she was free to share the knowledge that the Monks had obtained over centuries. 
And so Colorado honed his skills of survival by himself in the Ur mountains. He trained and pushed himself on the dangerous mountain paths until his body was as lithe and nimble as his mind. Had participated in the races between the village boys he would have found himself to be the fastest of all. His skill with the bow grew sharper every day and rarely did he come down from the mountains without some sort of prize slung over his shoulder. However, Colorado never brought these kills into his father’s house; he left them on the doorsteps of the village people of WayWyrd, particularly those of widows and the ill. Never once did Colorado let his face be seen when he brought his catch into the village; he did not wish to be recognized. He always laid the fresh kill on the doorstep, knocked and then dashed away before the door was opened.
Colorado understood that one day he would be king and it would then be his duty to protect and help his people. He believed it to be a sacred duty and he did not think he needed to wait until his coronation to aid those who need him. He loved the secret joy that came each time he laid a gift of meat on the doorstep of those who needed it, but he knew that if he were to make his deeds known it would destroy that joy. Thus he went in secret, gave anonymously and came away fulfilled.
It did not take long for rumors to start up about Colorado’s mysterious gifts to the villagers. At first, many people believed that a rabid animal was bringing its prey into the village, but this myth soon disappeared upon closer examination of how the animals were killed. A more believable story soon began circulating about a Nymph or a spirit of sorts that had decided to visit kindness upon the poor villagers of WayWyrd. Colorado was more then happy to let his myth persist and even occasionally fed it by leaving wild flowers or ivy along with the meat. 
A day soon came when Colorado did not return from Ur in the evening as had been his custom. Panic soon over took the Keep. Shammat’s wailing and predictions that Colorado had fallen into a ravine and died echoed along the corridors of the Great House simultaneously with Theresa’s irate commands for silence. A search party would have left immediately, but as it was night they all were forced to wait. 
As soon as dawn arrived King Montgomery organized a group of his best trackers and hunters to search for Colorado. The search party left the Keep of WayWyrd and headed up to Ur and had just reached the place where the Unapeishthem curved around the tall wall of stone when they were met by Prince Colorado himself.
Colorado looked at the assembly, at the trackers with their braying dogs and at the hunters with bows on their back and coils of ropes tied to their waists; he looked and frowned. He saw his father then raised a quizzical eyebrow.
As soon as King Montgomery saw his son he rushed forward and embraced him. “My Son! Where have you been? Do you not know that we have pined and worried for you all this night long? Why have you let us suffer so?”
Colorado hung his head apologetically. “I did not realize, Father. Forgive me.”
“Oh son, I readily forgive you. But will you promise never to cause such worry in my heart again?”
Colorado looked his father in the eye and slowly shook his head.
“What? No?” The king frowned. “Son, why not?”
“I must.” He turned and motioned to the mountains behind him.
“Why?!” cried the king.
Colorado did not answer, but gazed steadily into the tired blue eyes of his father. King Montgomery gazed back into the eyes of his son and was once more amazed by the strength and character that he found there. He looked into his son’s eyes and saw things there he never knew were possible for a man to see. He saw the silent strength of his son and the honest, pure character of his soul.
Montgomery dropped his gaze and heaved a sigh. He knew full well that his son was capable of taking care of himself. Colorado was pushing six feet although he was only fifteen. He was strong although he was not what one called handsome, but he was wise in the ways of the land and Montgomery knew he could survive on his own.
“Fine, son…fine Colorado.” Montgomery placed a hand on his son’s shoulder and once more looked him in the eye. “Do as you please in this area. But please, do not leave me to loneliness in my old age. You are the light of my eye and should I loose you my life would become a curse to me.”
“Father…” said the Prince in a slightly reproachful tone.
The old King held up a hand. “No, my boy, I speak truthfully. So you must promise me never to fall into ill fate, for if you do so you will surely bring down my grey head in grief. Bring it down to the ground in death you will. So swear to me, son, put me at ease if you must journey from my fold.”
“To my ability, sir, I swear.” Colorado placed his right hand over his heart and bowed his head.
“Aye, so be it.” Replied the King his father, imitating his son’s gesture. “But now come. Back to the Keep for the day.”
Colorado inclined his head in agreement and went with his father and his father’s men down out of Ur to WayWyrd.
Winter came upon the land quickly that year. The world went to sleep one night in the gentle embrace of fall and woke up to the snap of winter winds and ice. Within weeks the village of WayWyrd was frozen several feet into banks of snow and ice that coated everything from the fences along the fields to the door latches and the thatched roofs of the houses.
Now when Colorado went out into the hills he bound up his feet with thick leather boots and wore a coat he himself had made out of thick deer hide and lined with rabbit fur. He worked boar fat into his bow and string so they wouldn’t break during the cold weather. When the wind was strong he rubbed bear grease on his face and hands to keep them from chapping and cracking.
The summer harvests that year had not been abundant and even the King’s granaries moaned in their emptiness. Colorado knew that the villagers of WayWyrd must far even worse then his father so he walked among the people often with his ears open and his face hidden. He sought out those who were destitute and provided for them. Game was hard to find in winter but Colorado never returned unless he had something to lay on the doorstep of the needy.
On one of these hunting trips Colorado had been particularly unsuccessful in catching game. The wind was blowing colder and stronger then ever and Colorado shivered in his coat. The thought was just beginning to cross his mind to return to the Keep when he came across freshly laid badger tracks. The tracks led down towards a little ravine and stream that was definably frozen over by now. The tracks led Colorado to the side of the ravine and then disappeared over the side to the stream below. The snow lay in deep drifts here and Colorado’s feet sank through it up to his knees with every step as he walked along the top of the ravine looking for a way to follow the badger down.
Suddenly the snow gave away beneath Colorado’s weight and he plunged into the ravine. That point in the ravine’s wall was a good twenty-five feet tall, but fortunately Colorado landed on his back in the snow. But as fate would have it there was a long, sharp branch of a sycamore that had broken off during the summer, protruding up through the snow. Colorado’s lower left thigh came down on that branch with great force and the branch pierced deep into his flesh.
Colorado’s scream echoed only momentarily off the snow frosted ravine before the wind snatched it away. He forced himself to lay still and try not to aggravate the wound. But he could feel the warm trickle of blood as it ran down his leg and he knew he had to act quickly to save his life. Carefully, he began to work the quiver off of his back; it was a tricky business as he was lying on top of it. But as soon as it was free he fished out his bow and unstrung it. Taking the knife he wore at his belt, he cut the string in two, then opening his coat and he ripped out one of the rabbit fur liners.
Putting his knife away, Colorado tied one of his bow string halves very tightly around his thigh just above where the sycamore branch pierced him. Then, gritting his teeth and mustering all his will power, he grasped the branch with one hand and hi leg with the other then, with a great cry of pain, he pulled his leg off of the branch. Gasping in his pain, Colorado fought to keep a clear head as he wrapped the rabbit skin around the wound and tied it with the remaining half of the bowstring.
For a minute he sat in the snow, grasping his leg and panting with the pain. Then a shiver ran over him and he realized he had to make it back to the Keep or else die here. With the help of his bow shaft, he fought his way into a standing position and then, using his bow as a crutch, he began to make his way back to WayWyrd.
It was a long, painful and cold journey. More then once Colorado was sorely tempted to sink into the snow and rest for just a minute, but he willed himself forward with all the power he could muster.
He had just managed to reach the place where the river Unapeishthem bent around the tall wall of stone when his foot caught against a hidden boulder and he fell into the snow. Colorado tried to get up, he really did, but he was weak from loss of blood, the beginning stages of hypothermia and the snow seemed so much warmer then the biting wind above him. He did not know how long he lay there; all sounds and thoughts he experienced blurred together in the screaming wind and were lost to him.
But then, he felt a pair of strong hands on him, pulling and pushing as they tried to turn him over onto his back. Colorado groaned as he was rolled over and he heard a slight gasp from the mysterious owner of the hands. Cracking his eyes open he saw a figure kneeling over him. It was a man, no a boy, who was dressed in heavy layers of white and brown and seemed to blend into the scenery behind him. Colorado couldn’t ascertain the other boy’s age for certain as a white scarf covered most of his face. But from the look in the boy’s eyes Colorado guessed him to be roughly his own age. Colorado did not recognize him, so he must be a stranger to WayWyrd, for Colorado took secret pride in at least recognizing all the inhabitants of the village and Keep by face at least if not by name.
Colorado gazed quizzically at the young man, wondering where he had come from, but did not raise his questions. The stranger was examining Colorado’s makeshift bandage and seemed to be talking with himself in a way that he alone understood. Then he put an arm under Colorado’s shoulders and helped him to his feet. He pointed down the valley towards WayWyrd and looked at Colorado in question. Colorado nodded in kind and together they started down towards the valley.
Neither the stranger nor Colorado said a single word to each other as they made their way through the treacherous snow. The going was very slow for the snow was deep and Colorado was weak. But suprisingly within the hour they broke out of the woods and were a mere few hundred feet from the wall of the Keep.
The stranger stopped, jerked his head towards the Keep and then Colorado, cocking it in such a way to ask if Colorado could make it the rest of the way on his own. Colorado nodded as he looked into the stranger’s surprisingly brilliant grey eyes - determined to never forget what he had seen of his mysterious guardian. Colorado broke off his stare abruptly and bowed his head in thanks; the stranger returned the gesture then turned and headed back into the forest.
Colorado turned towards the Keep that was both so very close and far away at the same time. Never in his life had it taken him so long to go so short a distance. Each step with his left leg was pure agony and he was forced to grit his teeth to keep from crying out. When he finally reached the small servants’ gate he paused and looked back to the woods, hoping to catch sight of his rescuer once more. But there was no sign of the strange boy. Instead, Colorado was surprised to see red specks here and there on the snow by his footprints. He must be bleeding more then he thought.
It took the very last of his energy to push open the door, which was always left open for him, and stumble inside. He sank to the ground and wearily shoved the door close behind him. There was no one in the immediate area and Colorado simply could not summon the strength to stand and walk to the house. So he leaned back against the wall of the Keep, grateful he was at least out of the wind. Presently he caught sight of young serving girl coming out of the nearby storehouses with a large basket in her arms. He recognized her and called out, she stopped and looked around for the source of the voice. Colorado called again and she spotted him. Dropping her basket the girl ran to his side.
“My lord! Oh my lord – what has happened?” She cried as she knelt by his side.
“Ma-Mara please g-get Guru.” He had begun to shake and knew he needed help badly.
She sprang up and ran off in the direction of the stables. Within a minute Guru, with his attendant, came running with looks of fear and concern on their faces.
“Sire – what has happened?” Guru cried when he saw his prince.
“Get me ins-s-side, G-guru.” Colorado was shaking all over now.
“Go summon the Doctor girl!” Guru commanded Mara. The girl ran off in a fright as Guru and his assistant carefully picked up Colorado and carried him into the main house.
The sight of Prince Colorado being carried to his bedchamber caused much excitement; rumors about what had befallen him spread like wildfire through the Keep and into the village. Some believed that he had been attacked by a wild animal while others, who knew of Sherwood’s hatred of the Prince, claimed that Sherwood or one of his followers had attacked Colorado in the forest. Concern for Colorado ran high, for while the Prince was not at all talkative, he had a presence and good will that had not been missed by those in the Keep and in the village.
It was indeed a close call. Within fifteen minutes Dr. Zelleke had Colorado’s wound cleaned and bound up, while Shammat and Theresa were fully occupied with thawing the poor Prince’s feet and hands out. But within two days a fever set in and the Prince lay still and white upon his bed. Dr. Zelleke tried bleeding him and Theresa tried teas and potions but nothing worked. King Montgomery spent every moment he could by his son’s bedside and the servants began tiptoeing and speaking in whispers.
Seven days Colorado lay pale, trembling and sweating under the fever’s rule. And then, on the morning of the eighth day, when the dawn had just begun to spill out over the land, King Montgomery woke with a start. What he saw sent shivers down his back. A tall figure, garbed in white and brown, stood over his son. The stranger had one hand on Colorado’s head and the other over his heart. The tall figure was rocking back and forth on his feet and nodding to himself, but never uttered a word.
King Montgomery sprang to his feet at once, his old age lost in his anger. “Who are you!?” He roared. But the figure did not answer; rather it merely looked up at him and then fled out of the room through the open door. Montgomery roared for his guards and though the guard came running and were after the stranger within half a minute they could not find him within the Keep or the village or in the surrounding woods.
Prince Colorado seemed unaffected by whatever the stranger had tried to do. But then, that evening, the Prince’s fever broke and for the first time in eight days slept peacefully. It was as if a great blanket of fear had been lifted from the Keep. Once again the washer girls sang as the worked and the grooms joked over the backs of their horses. Joy returned to the houses of the village, and here and there people realize that the mysterious gifts of game had stopped coming to the village since Prince Colorado’s illness.
The fever had left Colorado weak and almost a shell of what he had once been. His skin was so pale he looked like a ghost, his eyes were sunken and worn, his hands were boney and frail, but the most shocking change to Colorado was that here and there grey hairs sprung up among his tuff of knotty brown. He looked much older then he was and he felt it what’s more.
For several weeks Colorado could do no more then sleep and eat the thick broths Theresa brought him. Only gradually he began to regain his strength. Through the rest of the winter Colorado did not leave the Keep. At first Colorado had struggled with accepting the limitations of his strength and endurance, but he soon grew accustom to it and never once complained. He worked steadily and diligently to regain first the strength to walk then to run and string the bow that had helped save his life.
With Colorado’s new limitations came fresh taunts from Sherwood and his cronies. Not merely once did Colorado hear them snicker behind his back as he struggled hold his own against a page three years his junior. At first it stung his pride, he had to admit it – he had loved his skills in weaponry. More then once Saul, the weapons-master, had genuinely complimented Colorado on his skill with the blade and bow. Colorado had liked the fact that there was something he was good at despite his flagrant oddities.
Winter passed and spring came into blossom along with Colorado’s sixteenth birthday. War also came. To the west was the domain of King Hektor who governed a fierce and bellicose people called the Ea Mata. Peace had been secured between King Montgomery and King Hektor in Colorado’s third year of life and since then King Hektor had turned his attentions to the south and the lands beyond the northern sea.
In the spring of Colorado’s sixteenth year a messenger came from King Hektor and demanded that King Montgomery join him in battle against the people to the south or suffer the consequences. Two days King Montgomery and Prince Colorado sat in council with their advisors and commanders. It was a long and hard decision, but when the council adjourned they had agreed not to join King Hektor and the Ea Mata in war. 
“They will attack us, Father.” Colorado said when he was alone with Montgomery.
“I know son, but better they war with us then we with them against another innocent.” The old King replied.
Colorado never voiced concern again. He agreed with his father in principle and so set about strengthening the army and making his battle plans. The burden of protecting his people and governing the army fell onto Colorado’s shoulders for his father was aged and at times sickly. Yet Colorado did not mind, he knew he was able to do all and was only frightened that he might fail and be responsible for many deaths.
The onslaught from King Hektor did not come until midsummer. He invaded the western border of Aesnia and burned the villages there. So Colorado prepared to meet him in battle. He strapped on his armor and girded on his sword which had no jewel in the hilt but was sturdy and strong. On the day of departure Colorado climbed the battlements of WayWyrd and sought out his father. Neither spoke to the other, they grasped hands and embraced each other. Colorado then went down to the waiting army and Montgomery stood on the ramparts and watched him go.
Colorado had just mounted his horse when he caught sight of Sherwood, swathed in finery and gazing at him in mock humor. Sherwood had refused to accompany Colorado on the grounds that he had to look after his family estate in light of his father’s failing health. Colorado knew Sherwood was afraid of fighting and he struggled not to grudge it against him. So Colorado road out to meet King Hektor and only once did he look back at WayWyrd and spot his father looking out at him over the ramparts.
On the Plains of Angels the two armies of Colorado and Hektor met and came together in a great roar of war. Never before was there such valor displayed by a single army as displayed by Colorado’s that day. The Aesnians were vastly outnumbered but fought so well that they were winning for the first half of the day. But then, towards evening, enforcements came to aid King Hektor and Colorado’s army was overrun.
Yet even in the last moments before defeat Colorado fought away with courage and unyielding determination. Although it was the working orders of every army to take the enemy’s commander alive the Ea Matta did not swarm to take Colorado captive as a prince, for Colorado had dressed in the garb of a common knight and fought with no banner by his side. So on and on he fought, until he was among the last free men on the field; but the battle came to an end and Colorado was forced to surrender. 
Colorado was taken captive along with about three hundred other young men. They were kept in large camps from which escape was impossible. About a fortnight after their defeat, they were lined up in groups of about fifty to a hundred, chained together, and marched to ClayWyrd, the fortress capital of King Hektor, and other cities. There they were sold as slaves. The largest and healthiest of them were sold one by one, but the more spindly men, such as Colorado who had been starved for the past two weeks, were sold in groups.
The steward of one of King Hektor’s generals, named Trodder, bought Colorado and three others. They were taken to General Trodder’s house where they were stripped, bathed, dressed in the garb of slaves and chained to the stable walls for the night. The next day they were set to working in the fields. Always Colorado sought a chance for escape but always it eluded him. By day his feet were chained together at a length that allowed him to walk but never run. By night another chain looped him in with the other slaves and connected him to the wall.
So things went on for several weeks in rhythm. Colorado always strove to hear news of the war but not even a whisper came to his ears and he worried about his father. Yet as always, he kept his mouth shut and bent over the backbreaking work in silence. The other slaves soon learned not to try and engage him in conversation. While the other Aesnian slaves knew him to be Prince Colorado, he had begged them to withhold his station from their captures; for King Hektor would have loved to parade Colorado as a sign of his victory. So unable to do anything, they all worked together in silence.
Then, the steward brought another slave into their stable quarters one evening. The man was screaming and spitting and thrashing as they locked his ankles in irons and chained him alongside Colorado, who was on the end of the slave line. Colorado moved himself as far away as possible from the seething captive as two guards chained him. When the steward and his guards left and the new captive had calmed down some, Colorado, along with the rest of the slaves, turned to get a look at their new companion. Colorado recognized him almost instantly. Raggedly shaved and cut, but still as arrogant as ever, Sherwood was chained next to him as a slave.
That night Colorado learned from Sherwood all that had happened since he had last seen the outside world. WayWyrd had fallen to the Ea Matta and his father, King Montgomery, was dead. Sherwood himself had been captured while trying to escape from the overwhelming flood of King Hektor. 
If it had been hard to exist with Sherwood when they were both free, it was next to impossible as a slave. Sherwood abused Colorado at every opportunity. It was as if he personally blamed the Prince for the destruction of his happy life. Colorado felt bad enough about the fall of his kingdom and the destruction of WayWyrd without Sherwood reminding him. But, as always, he held his tongue and never spoke out against him.
More then once Sherwood had threatened to expose Colorado for who he was, but he never did probably because he would then have no one to abuse. Not only did Sherwood constantly steal Colorado’s share of bread and water, but he consistently berated Colorado for not trying to escape. On these occasions Colorado never answered but merely looked Sherwood straight in the eye until the antagonist couldn’t hold his gaze. Sherwood resented Colorado’s seemingly willingness to hold the mantle of slavery. And for him, for one who had once gloried in the admirations of others, slavery chaffed him sorely.
Sherwood’s first escape attempt took place less then a month after his arrival. He was not gone an hour before he was brought back and beaten for his insolence. When he had healed, however, he tried again. This time though he convinced all of the Aesnian slaves except Colorado to go with him. It was a well planned escape and it was actually a whole day and a half before they were brought back. Sherwood was severely whipped while the others received beatings.
That night Colorado washed Sherwood’s wounds and packed them with salt he had begged from the cook. Sherwood lay on his stomach, his fingers clawing the dirt and his teeth biting down hard on a thick stick every time Colorado’s salt touched a new wound.
“There,” Colorado said when he finished. “Let it to the air tonight.”
Sherwood let own one last groan and unclamped his teeth from around the stick. “Why?” His voice came out in a rasp.
Colorado looked at him in almost comical question. “Why did they whip you?”
“No,” Sherwood shifted slightly to look up at his Prince. “Why are you here?”
Colorado cocked his head, surprised that Sherwood didn’t know. “You are human and you are my subject.”
Sherwood frowned then laid his head down on the ground. “This changes nothing.” He mumbled.
A slight smile played on the corner of Colorado’s mouth as he adjusted the hay he slept in every night.
For six months Sherwood left escape behind him as they gathered in the harvest, separated the wheat from the chaff and ground the wheat into flour. It was hard, backbreaking work, and every night Colorado, Sherwood and the other slaves stumbled into their straw beds completely exhausted. Then winter came and Sherwood had the sense not to try escape in the snow.
But when spring came along with the dawn of Colorado’s seventeenth birthday, Sherwood escaped again with two of the other slaves. They remained at large one day…two days…three…four…five but on the sixth day they were all led back to the compound of General Trodder. All three of them were severely whipped and Sherwood was branded on the face. Again Colorado begged salt of the cook and washed and packed all of their wounds.
Several days later Colorado was out with the other slaves breaking up the fields for spring planting. The General’s steward rode out to the fields and called Colorado to his side.
“What is your name?” The steward asked as soon as Colorado neared him.
“Glenstock.” Colorado replied with the pseudonym he had been using since his enslavement.
“Follow me, Glenstock.” The steward said and turned his horse back to the General’s house. Colorado followed as quickly as his shackled feet would allow. The Steward led him General’s smithy, who promptly pushed Colorado onto a stool and placed his ankles on the anvil. For one sickening moment Colorado feared he was being punished for some unknown deed, but then, with a swing of his chisel and hammer, the smith removed the shackles from Colorado’s ankles.
“I have an errand for you, Glenstock.” The Steward said and Colorado looked up in surprise. “You are to deliver two baskets of Jorba nuts to Hordan the Merchant who lives in the house with the grey door near the Keep. Can you do that?”
Colorado nodded his head once.
“Good,” said the Steward. “Go then.” He turned and left the smithy as Colorado took up the two baskets and walked out of the General’s compound.
It was a simple job, anyone could do it. Colorado knew that, but he also knew that he was being given a small measure of trust. If he completed this task without any fault he would gain another measure of trust from his master. This is what he had been waiting for; this would be how he would earn his freedom.
He left the smithy in a hurry and went to one of the storehouse near the kitchen. Unlatching the wooden door, he pulled it open and located the nuts inside. Taking up two baskets of Jorba nuts he left the storehouse and shut the door behind him. Then, for the first time in years, he set foot outside of General Trodder’s compound. 
It was a completely uneventful trip but for one thing.
Colorado found the house without trouble and delivered the baskets as he was told. He was returning to the General’s compound when he saw it. It was the very same young man who had rescued him in the snowy hills outside of WayWyrd over a year ago. He was still garbed in white and brown, but this time his face was not covered and his eyes shown out in a grey so brilliant it almost scared Colorado. The man was looking right at Colorado. His eyes wandered to Colorado’s free feet then came back up to look him in the eye. They both stood still, one in shocked amazement, the other in cool knowledge, and stared at each other for a moment which felt longer then it was. The stranger bowed from his shoulders and a smile played on the corners of his mouth. Then, in the time it took Colorado to blink, he was gone.
Colorado wanted to search for the strange young man, but he knew in his heart it would be of no use. The man obviously did not want to be found, so Colorado returned to the General’s house mystified.
In the weeks and months that followed the steward of the house gradually bestowed more and more responsibility and trust on Colorado. In everything the Steward sent him to do Colorado excelled beyond expectation. Within three years of Colorado’s enslavement the steward, whose name was Henry, took Colorado to be his apprentice. There was much grumbling against Colorado by Sherwood and the other slaves and servants in the household. But how much could they truly complain? Colorado had always conducted himself rightfully without a single word of dissention whereas they had complained and grumbled and sought escape.
Colorado soon learned that Henry was a very demanding man and any accidental mistake that he made was punished severely, however, Henry was also generous in rewarding good work. He had been delighted to learn Colorado could read, write and calculate as well and sometimes better as himself. Colorado learned how to tally the expenses of the household and deal shrewdly with merchants of all trades. He paid the compound’s free laborers and brokered the price of the annual sale of grain.
Henry’s greatest, and only, complaint against Colorado concerned his lack of speech: “A good steward must speak in order to be heard and obeyed.” 
  However, Colorado slept with the other slaves at night and had to endure their acid remarks about what they perceived to be an easy life. Sherwood in particular pelted Colorado with caustic remarks. He had not tried to escape in over a year, but the collar of slavery still rubbed sore against his neck. Colorado, as always, did not answer the snide remarks as he shifted in the straw to a more comfortable position.
Three more years passed in this way and when spring time came, along with Colorado twenty-second birthday, fate decided to turn her wheel again. That spring was one of the wettest the Ea Mata had ever experienced. The creaks and streams rose above their banks and many river towns were flooded. As fate had it, Henry was coming back alone from surveying a piece of land the General had just bought when his horse stumbled in the stream and threw Henry into the water. The strong moving currents caught Henry, who was not a strong swimmer, and carried him away and under to his death.
There was no mourning for Henry. When Colorado and two others returned to the house with Henry’s body, the General waved them away with his hand. “Bury him,” he commanded. “And you-,” he pointed at Colorado. “You were his apprentice so you are the steward now. Report to me in the morning.”
Colorado nodded and led the horse bearing Henry’s body, the very same one that had thrown him, out to the little compound graveyard.
A year passed in which the household of the General flourished beyond the memory of all. Colorado was still a slave and he still slept with the other slaves each night. His position was defined only by the Steward’s Ring he wore on his hand; it allowed him to conduct business in the name of his master. All that year the bitter words of Sherwood grew more and more violent, as he could not understand why Colorado refused to help them escape although he had the power to give them the tools and supplies they needed.
“The time is not right.” Is all Colorado would tell him. “Wait.”
Finally, after seven long years of slavery, Colorado found the opportunity he had sought for so very long. The General had been given a large estate in the conquered territories of Aesnia – it had once belonged to nobleman and only needed minor repairs. The General wanted Colorado to take servants with him and set up his house in that land: “Make it worthy of me, Glenstock.”
Colorado could not have asked for a more perfect opportunity. He organized the company that would go and of course he included Sherwood and the other three citizens of Aesnia. “You must promise to wait for my word.” He said to them they day before departure and reluctantly they swore to do so.
For a fortnight the group traveled towards Colorado’s homeland. And when at last, after seven long years, Colorado saw the familiar peaks of the Ur mountains rise before his eyes he felt a strange fluttering in his heart - like he had finally come home to a long lost love. During the journey Colorado worked hard to regain the skills in hunting and tracking that had waned during his seven years of slavery, and only once did he fail to bring meat to the company campfire.
The night before they were to reach General Trodder’s new estate, Colorado sat around the campfire and intensely studied those with him. There were two guards, but they were young and easily swayable; there were four carpenters, one mason, one scullery maid and Colorado’s fellow slaves. He knew that if he was to break away from the General’s hold tonight was the night.
Clearing his throat, he spoke to the one guard, Omri. “Omri, how came you to serve the General?”
“I was conscripted, sir.” Replied the lad who could be no more then eighteen.
“And what of you, Laben?” Colorado asked the other guard.
“It is the same sir, it always is. I know not one soldier in the ranks who volunteered.”
“Would you like to be free then?” Colorado carefully asked after a moment.
“What mean you sir?” Omri asked.
“I mean, wouldn’t you like to live a life of your choosing? Not one for a man who cares less for you then his dogs?”
“Aye…” Omri said quietly and slowly.
Colorado looked at Laben.
“Aye, I would.” Laben replied at last.
Colorado nodded. “This land we walk on, the land of the old King Montgomery, was once a place of rest.” He looked out into the dark night at the mountains he loved. “These mountains were not scourged with burnings and battle. They rose up in graceful and dangerous peaks. Any hunter going into them would surely come out with game in the summer. When the rains of spring came upon this valley the streams bubbled with life and the flowers raised their golden heads in delight.” He spoke as if he was alone and an audience of twelve people was not waiting on his words. “The hills turned green and the shepherd lads drove their flocks upon them. In the sunny, isolated glades newly wedded couples would discover each other. And from WayWyrd, King Montgomery and his son looked out over all. There was justice in the land at that time and all were heard equally before the King. And slavery did not exist…” He looked over at Sherwood. “But sometimes cruelty did. Here a man could raise his head and not have it struck down. Even in war, the King and his son did not force men into his army. Seven years ago, when the army of Montgomery and that of Hektor met each other in the Plains of Angels one was made of up volunteers while the other of unwilling souls.
“O – what would I give to see it restored to what it was? My life? Aye, I would. But where have the people of this land gone?” He raised his voice in lament. “Why have they been pressed into a life of misery because they refused to join Hektor in oppression? O cursed be the day Hektor’s messenger arrived in WayWyrd! What a life of peace and prosperity that may have been lived had not Hektor come! The trees would have spread their leaves without fear and under their shelter songbirds would nest. Men could have built a house and planted a field that he would later harvest. Maidens could have sung on their way to the river and laughed as they drew water. All these things have been ripped from us! Woe upon our heads - for we have become a people estranged in their own land and we wonder in the places of our birth. O would it be that a deliverer would arise from this place and restore all things.” He dropped his voice for it had begun to hurt and it took a moment before he could continue. “This kingdom might be again. It will rise from the ashes that Hektor has laid it to. It shall.”
“How sir?” Asked an enraptured Omri. He had never, like the rest of them, ever heard Colorado speak so much in one time. Colorado’s voice was captivating beyond any spell or potion and all listened with pure rapture. It was as if a spell had woven itself into the minds of them all so now they listened to Colorado with open ears and gullible hearts. Colorado felt he could have told them the moon was orange and they would have believed him. Even Sherwood’s face was alight with wonder and amazement.
“The son of the old King Montgomery shall rise and remake this land.”
“But Glenstock,” spoke up the mason. “All know he was killed alongside his father with the sacking of WayWyrd. He is surely dead.”
“You speak wrongly sir,” Colorado answered. “For the tales say Colorado was killed at the Plains of Angels, not at WayWyrd. Though many believe because his body was never found at either place that he is still alive.”
“I don’t believe so sir,” the mason persisted. “The prince is surely dead.”
“No he is not.”
“How do you know sir?” Asked Laben, leaning forward in his seat.
Colorado did not answer, but eyed them all carefully wishing that they understand what he meant without him saying it.
“Sir!” cried the scullery maid, suddenly understanding. “Sir-sire!”
“Sire?” The mason spoke up.
“Yes sire!” Said the maid, now excited. “This is the dead Prince. Prince Colorado the Second.” She looked to Colorado for confirmation and Colorado gave her a slight nod. The maid clapped her hand. “Ha! I knew it.”
Conversation erupted momentarily among the company but was immediately silenced by Omri who stood to face Colorado.
“Why do you tell us this, sir? Why now?” His eyes wavered with uncertain resolve. “You are my master’s enemy and I should take you to him.”
“But you won’t.” Colorado replied evenly.
“It is my duty.” Said the soldier.
“But you won’t, Omri, you want to be free from the yoke of slavery just as much as I do. You can come with me, all of you can, and you can help me rebuild this place.”
“We are enemies.” Omri said stubbornly.
“Are we?” Colorado looked at him inquisitively.
Omri seemed to melt under Colorado’s gaze and he hung his head. “No.”
“You say rightly, my friend.” He stood looked at the little group. “If you come with me you will find freedom. I do not offer an easy way, but it will be a free way. It will not be quick, but it will be lasting. Come with me and I shall lead you to freedom.”
There was silence around the fire for a moment then the scullery maid spoke up. “Even me, sire?”
Colorado smiled at her. “Aye, especially those as you.”
The next day Colorado led the entire troop up into the Ur mountains. Though Sherwood argued hotly and loudly with Colorado; Colorado stood firm in his conviction to go up into Ur to the Monks. He believed that their best chance to muster his people against Hektor would be in the mountains with the Monks and those Night-born. Sherwood feared those of the night-born more then he feared anything else; he would not admit this outright but Colorado read his fear.
“I hold you not here, Sherwood.” Colorado said to him. “You are noble born, go where you will.” Colorado left him at that and was not entirely sure what Sherwood’s decision would be. But when they changed course toward the mountains Sherwood came along, albeit reluctantly.
Two days they were led by Colorado up into the mountains to places he himself had never gone. Always he sought signs of human life and on the eve of the third day they entered a small glade high in the mountains and came upon a small walled compound. Colorado wearily beat upon the large wooden doors that were set into the high wall with large and decorative hinges. For several long minutes Colorado pounded on the doors without any response.
Then at last the pattering of bare feet was heard from the other side of the gate. There was a heavy grating of metal against wood. The large gate swung in a few inches and a pale and frightened face appeared through the crack.
“Please, just shelter for the night.” Colorado said.
The frightened face flickered back and forth between Colorado’s face and Sherwood’s, who stood just behind Colorado. Then the face withdrew and the gate slammed shut.
“No!” Sherwood cried and pounced at the door.
“Peace Sherwood. They’ll be back.” Colorado held a hand out to calm Sherwood.
They waited for several more minutes before the gates cracked open again and a tiny man appeared wrapped in a white and brown robe. His head was completely shaved and on his scalp was painted strange characters.
“Shelter for one night…” Sherwood explained their presence.
“Please.” Colorado added.
The tiny man looked at them both quizzically and peered around the gate to see the rest of their party. He surveyed them for a long minute and then grunted in assent. “One night.” He stepped back from the gate and opened it for them to enter.
The group was escorted into the courtyard where they waited ten minutes with the tiny man staring at them in silence. Colorado spent the time analyzing the man. He was a Monk, that much Colorado could deduct for sure.
Colorado also now believed that the mysterious young man garbed in white and brown, who he had now met twice at important points in his life was indeed either a Monk or a Night-born. He had wondered about the stranger many times since he had last seen him; were did he come from and why was he always there when Colorado needed him?
They were eventually shown into a two large, square rooms where bed had already been prepared for them. The others quickly bedded down, but Colorado stayed awake. He knew he would not have another chance like this one and he needed to learn as much as possible about these mysterious Monks and the Night-born while he had the chance. He waited patiently until all was quiet in the monastery and he felt like he alone remained awake.
Silently he rose from his pallet and snuck out into the hall. He crept down the corridor as silently as a shadow, testing doors as he went. The ones that weren’t locked were either storerooms or workrooms. The compound was rectangular in shape and soon Colorado’s corridor took a turn to the right. He tried the doors along his left as he went and one finally opened to reveal neither a store nor a work room. A small oil lamp burned low from a bracket on the wall, sending eerie shadows across the room.   
There was a tiny, worn desk and chair immediately on Colorado’s left as he opened the door. At the far end of the room was a low bureau, also worn from years of use, on its top was a large white basin and pewter pitcher each painted with little green leaves that Colorado could just make out in the eerie light. On the wall to Colorado’s right was mounted a long, narrow shelf that held a ball of twine, two painted pine cones, a handful of smooth pebbles and a small silver broach. Underneath this shelf was a narrow cot and on the cot, swathed in blankets, was a woman.
Colorado could tell it was a woman for her dark hair spread out long and thick across her pillow. Her chest rose and fell in slow, rhythmic breaths that were so soft Colorado had to strive to catch their faint sound.
Colorado stepped into the room as silently as a shadow and closed the door behind him. Creeping to the side of the woman’s cot he knelt and placed a hand on her shoulder. Her face was turned towards the wall but he did not try to see her; rather, for a long moment he simply knelt there, perhaps in fear, perhaps in uncertainty of what he’d fine. This woman lived in the monastery so she must be of the night-born, and Colorado was not sure he wanted to invade that which was kept so secret from the rest of the world.
Finally though, mastering his strength, Colorado gently turned the sleeping woman over. Her face rolled onto her shoulder and revealed a weathered face. The roots of her dark hair were grey; wrinkles creased her eyes and cheeks even in sleep. But despite the wornness of the face, it was still familiar to Colorado. He thought back, far back it seemed, to the years before his imprisonment and he remembered her: Theresa. His mother’s faithful handmaid, his caretaker, she who had taught him how to live off of the earth now lay before him in gentle sleep.
Colorado couldn’t contain himself. He gently shook her and called her name over and over until she aroused.
“Theresa,” he whispered, his voice hushed in his excitement.
“Huh – wha?” She murmured as she rubbed her eyes.
“It is I, Colorado.”
“Who?” She yawned and tried to focus on the man before her.
“Colorado, the son of King Montgomery.” He took her hands in his and wished her to recognize him.
“Colorado is dead.” She said quiet and sat up, looking at him in curious disbelief.
“No, Theresa, no,” he looked up, pleading, into her eyes. “I am still alive.”
Theresa squinted at him in the low light, trying to see past the harshness of slavery to the youth she had once known. Reaching out with a thin hand, she took hold of his chin and turned his face about, looking, searching.
Then at last she smiled with pure amazement. “You have your father’s face…and his spirit too I’d wager.”
Relief swept over Colorado at regaining a piece of his past and he fell into Theresa’s arms like he was once more a child. She returned his embrace and kissed the head that lay in her lap. “Such wonders it has been that Providence has seen it fit to return you, O King. Long have I, along with the people of this land, lost hope of ever driving the accursed Ea Matta from our homes and having the peace we so long for.”
“Oh Theresa!” cried the King.
“Blessed was the night of your birth, my lord, for though I wondered at first I now understand that you have been ordained to come to us.”
Colorado raised his head from Theresa’s lap. “What mean you, Theresa? What do you now understand?”
Theresa looked at him in disbelief. “But Sire, do you not know, is that not why you have come?”
Colorado shook his head. “No, I have come to seek out help from the Monks and to raise an army to reclaim Aesnia.”
Theresa dropped his hands and covered face. “O now I have brought down destruction! My head shall lie down to the earth with curses and even the birds will not eat my evil flesh! Happy am I for not having children to my name – for now the curse must stop with me! Oh Sire-,” She reached out and grasped his shoulders in her two weak hands. “Sire – Do not tarry here! Return to the valley and seek our your army there, for here is not the place for you!”
“Have no fear, good Theresa,” Colorado took her hands in his once more. “I am not leaving and though I know not of what you allude to, I cannot imagine the curses you bring down upon your head. I would ask you to tell me of this thing-.”
“No Sire!” cried Theresa in alarm.
“But I will not command it of you. I came here not for your worries, Theresa. I came to begin the work of redeeming this land. I am startled to see you here, for while you nursed me in my mother’s death and you led me out to the fields of the earth, I did not believe you to be alive. I have heard of the destruction of WayWyrd and of the death of my father, the good King Montgomery. And O – How I lament the destruction of his kingdom! On my journey here I looked at the mountains and valleys and saw their rape and – ah – how it filled my heart with grief. I have lost not only my father, but also my land, my people, all that I held dear. Sad is this grief to me, heavy it lays upon my heart…But now I ask you to tell me, Theresa, tell me in true words, how came you to escape the destruction of the Ea Matta and how came you here?”
“Sire…” Theresa said slowly, wonder in her eyes. “Sire, you speak!”
“Aye, and how surely it taxes me. Speak up, good Theresa, tell me of my father.” 
Theresa looked at him a moment more before diving into her tale. The siege of WayWyrd had last only a mere few weeks. The people had disheartened when the Ea Matta spread the word of Colorado’s defeat and his supposed death and therefore the battle was quickly given over to the enemy. Two days before the walls were breached the old King sent Theresa along with the other women out of the keep to escape in the darkness. From the mountains they had listened to the screams of men and horses as the battle for the Keep ensued. Theresa shuddered when she recounted the sound of Keep doors when they smashed in and sounded demise all over the valley.
“But your father, Sire, they never made him surrender. Never sire – for he arose, put on armor, and fought beside the lowliest of the men. Despite his age he wielded his sword one last time. Survivors have whispered that he cut down twenty of the Ea Matta when they swarmed through the gates of WayWyrd. But he was overcome sire, and they paraded his body in the halls of the Keep before they burnt it to the ground….” She was silent a moment in reflection before picking up her tale again. “I came here sire, as I am kin to the night-born. I was welcomed into this place and here I have stayed, working and praying that somehow we might be delivered. And here you are, my lord King.” She kissed his forehead.
Colorado was silent as he looked down at Theresa’s worn and wrinkled hands which he still held. He ran his fingers over the knobby bones and traced the blue vein patterns until they disappeared. He thought about his father. He had known his father was dead a year or so after his enslavement, but to hear it firsthand from the lips of one he trusted was brutalizing to his heart. For a moment he grieved and a two tears ran down his cheeks.
“Is my king well?” Theresa asked, motherly stroking his head.
“Am I king?”
“In your father’s stead, aye, you are.”
He could hear the sad smile in her voice without looking up. “Will I be a good king? Will I be just and fair?”
“Of course you will,” replied Theresa.
Just then a crock crowed in the courtyard and stirred Colorado to stand. “Theresa, who is in charge of this monastery?”
“The Abbi Miguel.” She replied.
“Take me to him.”
Theresa rose off of her cot and drew a long, brown robe from the bureau and wrapped it around herself. Tying the robe with a leather belt she stepped past Colorado and opened the door. He followed her into corridor and to the left. They walked down a long hall with white walls and brown doors on both sides. People were beginning to stir now, Colorado could hear the sounds of closing drawers and the splash of water in basins behind the closed wooden doors. Theresa turned to the left as the corridor suddenly split and Colorado followed her.
Stopping outside a large door with ornate carvings around the edges, Theresa took Colorado’s hand in her own.
“I cannot tell you what to expect of the Abbi, Colorado. But he is a good man and if you respect him he will not spurn you.”
Colorado nodded and Theresa knocked on the door. It took a moment for the door to open and reveal an old man with a snow white beard. His head was completely shaven and his eyes snapped intelligence and wisdom. He was dressed in a white robe embroidered with fine brown thread in patterns of stars.
Theresa gave a little bow to the Abbi. “Blessed Abbi, I have brought a visitor to you. He that was once thought dead, Colorado the Second son of Montgomery, has returned alive and well to us and he seeks an audience with you.”
Colorado bowed from the shoulders before the Abbi. “Pray you, receive me, Blessed Abbi.”
The Abbi dismissed Theresa with a nodded and gestured Colorado into the room with his hand. They sat down at two chairs that stood before a sunny alcove window. For a long time the Abbi did not speak and Colorado did not try to start a conversation. Two minutes went by, then five…ten…fifteen.
Finally, the Abbi smiled and spoke and his voice like a laughing waterfall. “You are of us, that is good.”
“Of what do you speak?” Colorado asked in surprise.
“You know of the values of the night-born.”
“Of silence and patients you mean?” 
“Aye, among other things.”
Colorado waited, knowing there would be more.
“You don’t know of your importance do you?”
“I am heir to a throne-,” Colorado began, but the Abbi interrupted him.
“That is not what I meant.”
Colorado was silent, waiting.
“What do you know of your birth?” The Abbi asked quietly.
“I was born so quickly my mother could not make it to the house and she died a fortnight later.”
“Aye, all that is true, but the time of your birth is of greater interest to us. The testimony of our good servant, Theresa, has confirmed exactly what you are to us. You, my King, are the only Half-Born to ever come into our land. You were born half in the day and half in the night. You are what we have been waiting for for so very long.”
“But what am I, sir?” Colorado asked very quietly.
“You are our savior.” The Abbi looked at him with an excited spark in his eye.
Colorado was silent and looked down at his hands.
“I am no savior.” He said at last.
“But you are,” The Abbi held up a hand to still Colorado’s protest. “You are the one who can go between the night-born and the day-born. And you can teach the night-born how to overcome the curse which lies so heavy upon them.”
“Sir, are you not night-born?”
“Me? Goodness no,” The Abbi smiled. “I am a child of the night-born. I myself am not.”
“Then sir, what is the curse of the night-born?” Colorado asked.
“It is to take away the free will of man. Through the speech of the night-born, all other men are beguiled and loose their selves, they would follow any command given them and they would become slaves. The night-born could reign over the day-born without any resistance from them. Such is wrong, so our forefathers gathered the night-born and hid them. That is why we have the monasteries, to keep the night-born from day-born and thus ensure their free will.”
Colorado looked the Abbi in the eye. “I now know of what you speak. On the way here I spoke to my company like I’ve never spoken before. They heard my words and followed like sheep after a shepherd. I did not know then, but I know now.”
The Abbi nodded. “Because you are the Half-Born you have experienced the curse of the night-born, but your life in the day-born has limited its power substantially. We have always watched you to be sure that our curse would not manifest in you, but your limited speech has saved you. The silence which many scorned has become your salvation.”
“You said you were watching me?” Colorado changed the subject.
The Abbi lifted his head high and looked at Colorado carefully. “Yes, we have. We had to make sure that you were safe to be with the day-born.”
“That day when I fell an injured myself in the snow- the man who helped me back to the Keep, he was a night-born wasn’t he?”
The Abbi nodded once. “Aye, his name is Thalamas.”
“He was in ClayWyrd too – I saw him right after Henry sent me on my first test run.”
“Aye, he was sent to watch over you.”
“And here I am…” Colorado trailed off and looked out the window.
“So now what, Sire?” The Abbi asked, following his gaze.
“I suppose we begin at the start.”
And so Colorado did begin; starting with the monastery of Abbi Miguel and then panning out to all the other monasteries, Colorado began to work with those of the night-born. He developed strategies of small speech and a hand language that the night-born could use to communicate on a wider scale. In return for his help, almost all of the night-born pledged themselves to him and to fight for him in regaining Aesnia from the Ea Matta. It was hard going, Colorado worked himself often beyond his strength for he was the only one who could converse with the night-born without any adverse affects. But diligently he moved from monastery to monastery teaching and gathering followers as he went.
However, the most surprising thing that happened in Colorado’s perspective was the almost miraculous changing of Sherwood. Colorado was strangely amazed to see how the bitter and proud spirit in Sherwood seemed to just melt away after they came to the Monks. It was several weeks after Colorado left Abbi Miguel’ monetary that he spoke to Sherwood.
Sherwood had journeyed with Colorado along with Theresa and several other men from the monastery. They were currently high up in the Ur mountains in one of the largest monasteries in the land. Colorado found Sherwood sitting on a boulder and looking out over the valley below.
“It makes it worth it doesn’t it?” Colorado asked as he sat down next to Sherwood.
“What, sire?”
“A sacrifice of any kind is worth the price to play for this land – for this people.”
“Aye, sir, that it is.”
Colorado was silent a moment before speaking again. “How have you changed, Sherwood?”
“What do you mean, sire?”
“You were not always as you are now, why have you changed, what has caused this change?”
Sherwood sighed and hung his head. “Sire – I do not wish to think of what I was before.”
“Do not fear it,” Colorado placed a hand on his old enemy’s shoulder. “Tell me what has happened in you, for I wish to know.”
Sherwood sighed. “I resented you sire, for you were good and I knew I was not. And my actions were such that I am so ashamed of them now. But sire, when we came here and I saw the night-born for myself, and saw how you changed them and helped them, I was amazed. You were still good, despite all that had happened, you were still good. Perhaps I was just weary of fighting you, weary of being so angry. I do not know. But sire, the scales fell from my eyes. How - I do not think that I even know.”
“I believe I do,” Colorado answered. “For once in your life you have been forced to serve another less fortunate then you. You have been forced to leave yourself behind in pursuit of a more noble call. The people of this land need us, so now you have learned to leave yourself behind and serve them. Am I right?”
“Aye, sire, that you are I suppose.”
It took Colorado five years to journey to all the monasteries in Aesnia and teach the night-born. All the while Sherwood went with him and organized the new recruits into an army. So slowly the forces of Colorado the Second began to grow and the night-born were taught to master their curse.
Then the time came for the official coronation of Colorado, for while he was hailed as King by those he met, he was not officially king under the laws of Aesnia. Invitations went through out the land to any citizen of Aesnia to attend the king’s coronation ceremony if they so desired. The ceremony itself was to be held at Ari, the holy mountain deep in the heart of the Ur mountain.
The morning dawned bright and cool, for it was early fall and the first frosts had just begun to come. Colorado dressed in clean, simple cloths of white and brown, the colors of the night-born, but around his waist he tied a green sash to represent the life he intended to bring back to the land. He rode out to the open field where a canopy had been set up above the simple chair that would be his throne. Thousands of people filled the field and spilled into the surrounding forest; when they saw him a loud cheer went up. They waved homemade banners with his coat of arms and called out adorations and blessings down upon his head.
He dismounted in front of the canopy and approached the two men standing there. One was Sherwood, who would place upon Colorado the fealty of the nobles, and the other was Abbi Terrance, the head of all the Monks in Aesnia, who would bestow upon Colorado the blessing of the people as their king.
As he knelt before Abbi Terrance Colorado heard the great crowd quiet down. The Abbi placed a hand on his head and recited a long prayer of blessing over Colorado. Colorado stood then and turned to face the now silent crowd.
“I vow to you!” He cried out in a loud voice. “My people – before you and on this holy mountain I vow hereby to serve you with all of my heart, strength and might. Never will I falter in providing justice to the needy or compassion to the poor. I will open my doors to widows and feed the orphan from my table. I vow to judge among the people with justice, mercy and wisdom. I live to serve you, O my people – and even unto death I shall never fail my most sacred duty to you. This is my vow – O my people! Hear it.”
Abbi Terrance stepped forward and addressed the people. “Do you accept this man as your king?”
“YES!” Came the deafening shout of the crowd.
Sherwood came forward then with a jeweled sword in his hands. He knelt before Colorado and held out the grand sword. “Sire! you have made a vow, and now the nobility of this land makes a vow to you. So long as you are a true king, we shall never leave nor betray you. Even through the heat of battle and the fear of death you have our loyalty. May our houses be cursed with many and great curse if we break this word. Hear our vow!” He held out the sword and Colorado took it.
“I hear your vow, rise and join me.”
Abbi Terrance came to Colorado once more. “You have given your vow and are accepted by the people here, therefore, kneel and receive the crown of your kingship.”
Colorado knelt and felt awe rise up in him as the weight of the simple crown was pressed onto his head.
“Rise a King!” The Abbi Terrance called out in a loud voice.
Colorado stood and cheers of adoration shook the very ground they stood on, so great was the cry of acclamation for him.
There were feasts and celebrations for a full week following Colorado’s coronation. But soon there after, Colorado gathered his army and went down to meet King Hektor in battle. Once more the armies came together on the Plains of Angels with a mighty roar.
Never before and never since has such a battle been fought. The skill and swiftness of the night-born passed almost beyond comprehension. They were tall and might, glorious to behold such that the Ea Matta trembled before them. But none were as mighty as King Colorado that day. The king charged the front line of the Ea Matta at the head of his army with an unearthly war cry.
Some people have since speculated that Aesnia overcame the Ea Matta that day only because of King Colorado’s fierce and un-daunting persistence. After a hard initial fight, Colorado’s armies utterly overran the Ea Matta, chasing them back all the way to ClayWyrd.
King Hektor eventually surrendered to King Colorado and peace was returned to the land. Colorado made Sherwood the new king of ClayWyrd. Sherwood, in his turn, became a king in legend almost as great as Colorado.
Colorado eventually took a wife from among the night-born. She was a girl without a face of beauty but had a heart like lilies. For years they reigned together over Aesnia. But only one thing hampered Colorado’s happiness: never did she conceive children for him. Though he remained heirless all his days, Colorado loved his wife with a passion that grew to live in legend.
When Colorado and his queen died after many prosperous years, the kingdom was left Sherwood’s son, Brerwood, who Colorado believed to be best suited for the throne. And this young man ruled Aesnia well for all of the days of his life, his son followed him in a like manner, but the grandson of Brerwood, Colorado’s heir, was corrupt in his heart and brought destruction upon Aesnia.
The people forgot who they were and all the good thins they had learned under Colorado. They forgot not to fear the night-born. The night-born forgot how to overcome their curse, so once again the night-born retreated into the mountains, forgetting all they had learned and waiting once more for the coming of a Half-Born to save them once more.