King Czet has ruled Donnea ever since he assassinated the previous king thirty years before. The citizens of his country hate him. He has taxed and enslaved them because―well, because he can.
Just yesterday, the young hero, Arachin, broke into King Czet’s castle in an attempt to assassinate him. Unfortunately, King Czet knew he was coming and prepared a trap―catching Arachin easily. King Czet immediately threw Arachin into prison, which is where we find the young hero today.
King Czet entered the prison, his long black robes flowing behind him. He looked at the young hero and couldn’t help but smile to himself. The sight of this young hero behind bars was sad since he was only a scapegoat.
Arachin scowled back at the evil task master who had imprisoned him. His face showed his determination to keep the fear from breaking forth like the water behind a weakened dam. The king had caught him, but there was still time. The prophecy said he would kill the king, and so he would. Fate was on his side.
“Why did you sneak into my castle?” King Czet asked, bemused.
The stalwart hero didn’t answer. He was busy assessing the situation. Was he supposed to kill the king while trapped in prison, or was he supposed to escape first?
“Shall I recite to you the prophecy?” King Czet asked in a witty tone? “You know…the one that begins:
The Dark King will fall, one glorious spring,
To the brave champion, and praises we’ll sing.
The sun will rise black, a sign from the moon,
Our hero will stride to the trumpeted tune.
His eyes like the sea, his hair like the sun,
Mother will tell him the deed to be done.
Then we’ll be free from the long shadow cast
The day the Night’s reign is finally past.”
Arachin stared in horrible amazement. How could King Czet have known the prophecy? Yet young Arachin held his tongue. He would not give in to the evil king’s taunt. There would still be time to fulfill his role.
King Czet smiled, and then broke into laughter―because he knew a secret.
“Do you know where that prophecy came from?” he asked, a coy smile appearing on his lips. “Who pronounced that hope-giving marvel?”
The intrepid young hero kept silent while looking for a weakness in his prison cell. The king stood too far away from the door to be harmed from within. Somehow, Arachin had to escape and kill his tormenter.
Unfortunately for Arachin, he was about to discover the truth about who he was.
“I wrote it,” King Czet said with a laugh. “Probably twenty years ago,” he admitted.
But he wasn’t quite sure. There had been a lot on his mind back then.
“The rebellions were costing me too much money. I knew that if I could inspire the people to hold off for a hero to come save them, I could live in peace for a while.” The king leaned forward against the cell door. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to hear complaining and whining all the time? I hate killing people for no good reason, but for a few years there, whining was good enough for me.”
Arachin didn’t know what to think. King Czet couldn’t have written the prophecy. An old man in his village had spoken it. The king was only trying to distract him. Arachin leapt at the door to grab the king, but was too slow.
“It was one of my best ideas,” claimed the king, nonchalantly. “I had my astronomers calculate all of the solar eclipses for fifty years. There’s going to be another one in five more years, but I couldn’t think of a rhyme for winter, so I gave up on that one.”
King Czet paused a moment. Was there a rhyme for winter? …No…there wasn’t.
Arachin, after finding no plausible way to escape his cell, decided to put his wits against the king’s. Perhaps he could challenge the king to a duel. After all, he was the best swordsman in the entire kingdom; he’d learned it last summer.
“So you made it all up?” asked Arachin in awe, hoping to make the king feel superior.
King Czet nodded his head.
“The eclipse was too big a clue,” Arachin admitted. “But how did you know I would sneak into your castle in the morning?”
“My herald fanfare is always in the morning,” the king exclaimed. “Didn’t you find it odd that the unguarded door led straight to the dungeon?”
The king hoped for a witty remark. The youth couldn’t have been so naïve. How could the people have believed in him otherwise?
Arachin paused. He had walked right into a trap. How was that possible? Trabin, his mentor and trainer had designed the plan himself. Trabin was pretty old; he could have made a mistake.
“My hair, and my eyes? Surely, you couldn’t have known that,” Arachin pressed.
A duel would be the only way to win. Arachin was certain the king would accept.
“Really?” the king asked in mock confusion. The youth wasn’t very bright. It was a good thing Arachin wasn’t his son. He would have to kill himself for allowing a witless progeny to live as long as this one had.
The king explained, “It sounded nice. Blonde hair…blue eyes…a youth of that description would be rare enough to add to the prophecy’s lore. There are actually twenty-two boys and men who match that description.”
“And my m―” began Arachin, his courage waning.
King Czet waived his hand sharply, “I made it all up,” he shouted, growing tired of the parlay. “I paid a fool to convince your mother that you were the hero. The end. None of it is true. Honestly, I thought you would be smarter. The other two were.”
Arachin wasn’t the first person Czet had attempted to use. The other two hadn’t been convinced when Trabin Truthless attempted to train them with the sword. Because, after all, who can become a master swordsman in a few months?
Arachin was becoming more and more frustrated. Was there really a prophecy? Did it even matter? He could still kill King Czet in a duel and the kingdom would be rid of him.
“I challenge you to a duel,” Arachin shouted. “To the death!”
King Czet shook his head and shrugged emotionlessly. “Alright.”
Arachin felt his courage return. The king had foolishly accepted. “This afternoon…in front of the entire kingdom.”
King Czet knew better than to fight anyone in such a venue. Once the citizens saw their hero slain, they would revolt. He would have to kill a lot of them, and then it would be that much harder to tax them. Killing his workers didn’t fit in the plan.
“No,” the king said. “We can duel now. But I ought to warn you, I’m still a fair hand.”
The king lied. In fact, he was the best swordsman in the kingdom. No one had ever beaten him.
“That doesn’t matter,” claimed Arachin. “Free me now and we’ll see who the victor is.”
The king felt bad about killing the boy, but he’d been challenged. There was nothing he could do now.
Arachin eagerly accepted the sword but soon realized that it was twice as heavy as the one he’d practiced with. He suddenly became uneasy, but hoped he would still be able to go through his forms to warm up. He stepped through them with as much precision as his strained muscles could muster. Perhaps the king would be impressed with his footwork and craftiness with the blade. It will strike fear into him.
Arachin’s forms resembled a lively peasant dance. He kicked his knees up and spun the sword like he would have a young girl. He hopped nimbly from one foot to the next. What impressed King Czet the most was the passion in Arachin’s eyes as he skipped flamboyantly about the prison. King Czet disguised several stomach convulsing laughs with fits of coughing.
This only encouraged Arachin to continue on. He supposed the King might die before the duel began.
“Enough,” the king said raising his hands with tears in his eyes.
King Czet didn’t want to kill the boy. Arachin would have been an entertainer second to none. But, he had extended the challenge.
The duel was over in a short breath. Arachin had started with a broad sweeping bow, holding his hands out to his sides. King Czet nearly doubled over in laughter, but decided to end it by cutting the boy’s head off.
“Bury him,” King Czet said without a care, wiping off his sword.
King Czet went through the rest of the day with only one thought on his mind. Now…when was that next prophecy supposed to be fulfilled?
