OC_Fiction0708cole

By: Miriam L. Cole

If you were to follow the dusty Fool’s Road from the soaring cliffs of
Kingsport and toward the rising sun, you will most definitely come to a
little piney cove just outside of the bustling town of Binda. In this sleepy
little cove nestles the village of Bearer’s Worth in which is made the very
best berry brandy in all of the country of Norland. You will find that if
you are not too tired when you arrive, the very best place to eat spritberry
tarts and sample the prized spirit is the largest inn the town has to offer;
The Knocking Donkey.

It was in that very inn that two young crofters were in the heat of an
argument. They sat perched upon their stools at the bar, with the very same
shade of cornflower blue to their eyes and onyx black to their hair that
one could most assuredly surmise that they were brothers. Lips tightened,
eyes darkened, large calloused hands clutching their frothy ale and
although they were so similar in appearance, both seemed to think
themselves the better looking of the two and more worthy of the affections
of Betsy Abner, the preacher’s daughter.

So involved were they in proving who was more handsome, more musical,
more literate and better smelling that they did not notice the cloaked and
rather bedraggled stranger that quietly pulled up a stool to the left of the
slightly taller brother.

He spoke softly to the bar tender and after a wary appraising look from the
latter was handed a tall tumbler full of the country’s finest berry brandy.
Although it was not his intention to eavesdrop, the stranger could not help
but overhear the arguing brothers.

“Perhaps I could offer you both some advice,” The stranger’s steady,
cultured tenor cut into the squabble with ease and the brother’s blinked in
unison and turned to regard their unknown spectator.

“What’s it to you traveler?” The taller brother growled, puffing up like a
rooster as his sibling leaned in toward their unwanted guest. “You don’t
know us, and you obviously don’t know how to mind your own.”

The stranger smiled. It was the only thing about his face the two brothers
could see. They were straight teeth. White teeth. The brothers were
suddenly interested. They were definitely not teeth that belonged to the
mouth of a butcher or barkeeper.

“Ah but I do not know you personally, nor is it perhaps any of my business
who is more handsome, but it is most assuredly something to me.”

The brothers looked on as the stranger took a gentle, luxuriating sip of the
fruity drink he held and they wondered what this mysterious man could
possibly have to say about them and beautiful Betsy Abner.

“Very well then” The shorter brother said with a flick of his wrist and a
wriggle into his seat. “what is it you want to say? And may it be that you can
see that I am the better of the two of us.”

“Now just a minute!” The second brother brayed. “Let him speak of his own
accord. Especially if it is to say that I am the better of both of us.”

“What I have to say is a tale.” The stranger’s voice seemed suited to
directing one’s attention and after another pull of his drink he leaned
forward on the bar and began his story.

There once was a Prince of the country of Dursk that was so enchantingly
handsome that it was said that he made the nurses that birthed him swoon. It
was also said that this same prince was so vain that his first smile was at
his own reflection. He grew to be the most comely man in all the country and
there was no woman who could resist his charms. At the age of eighteen
summers the Prince’s mother told him of a princess in the neighboring
country of Paenen that was rumored to be the most ravishing beauty any had
ever seen and that her father the king was interested in entertaining him as
a suitor. “You have been chosen out of many to try for the Paenen Princess’s
hand my son,” his mother cooed into his perfectly formed ear. “You are to be
one of only three men in all the world.” The Prince was of course not
surprised in the least and announced that he would make the journey to
Paenen to collect his wonderful bride. Along the way he met up with one of
the other knights that had been selected to try for the Princess’s hand in
marriage. He was tall and pleasant in demeanor, but not half as good
looking as the Prince of Dursk. He carried a love-worn lute which he
constantly strummed, and greeted the Prince kindly. “Hello there, and you
must be on your way to woo the fairest Princess in all the land. I am
Octavius del’Norla, High Prince of the country of Norland.”

The Prince of Dursk scoffed. “You carry that instrument around as if you
are a hapless bard. Do you ever stop playing?”

Octavius explained that he loved music and had learned much about the
princess and her desires. He intended to shower her with romantic songs of
her loveliness and share a passion for the arts together forever. The Prince
of Dursk sighed with irritated boredom. “I do not need any sappy songs nor
do I need to know any such thing about the woman save that she is comely of
face and stature. She shall but look upon me and fall to her lovely knees
just as every woman before her has done.”

Octavius knew not what to say to such vanity but the two men agreed that
they would travel on together. Many days passed and the Prince of Dursk
had begun to grow increasingly tired of his companion’s ceaseless verse
when they came across the third knight who was traveling to Paenen to try
and win the Princess’s heart. He was rather nice to look at, though he was
more than a bit portly and he smelled very strongly of vanilla beans. “I am
Wroughton du’Asher, Prince of the realm of Ashglen, and I see by the look of
you men that you are the other two suitors that are traveling the same way
as me for a chance to court the splendid Princess Amelia of Paenen.”
Octavius fell in well with Wroughton but the Prince of Dursk turned up his
nose. “You smell like the castle kitchens and you are covered in powdered
sugar! What would make such a round man think the Princess would find
fancy with him?” Wroughton looked taken aback but he merely stated “I have
learned all I could about Amelia and she loves fine cooking. I have been
practicing for quite a long time and I am as good as any other chef in my
kingdom.”

“Pshaw” Spat the Durskan prince with a discourteous wave of his hand.
“Such a waste of time. She will take one look at me and fall madly in love,
for no woman can resist my charms.”

Wroughton looked hurt and rather dubious but decided not to say anything
and join the men on their way. By the time they reached the spiraling castle
of Princess Amelia the Prince was quite sick of songs and the smell of baked
bread. It was much pomp and circumstance to endure before they actually
got to stand before the Princess and her father, but when they did they
beheld such a magnificent woman that not one of them could utter words.
Her beauty had no equal and she sat still and perfectly poised on the dias
before them, her honey brown eyes seemingly lost in the crowd behind them.
The first knight to be called was Octavius and he knelt on one knee and
played the most heartfelt love songs the Princess had ever heard. “Your
voice is so lovely to my ears” The princess said in a clear, lilting voice. “You
must know my love for music.”

The second man to be presented was Wroughton, who had baked the sweetest
breads and softest rolls that Amelia had ever tasted. “ Your food is
intoxicating to smell and taste” The princess praised, “You must know of my
love of fine foods.”

At last it was The Prince of Dursk who stood before Amelia, offering her
only his dashing smile which had seemed to have caught the attention of
every woman in the great hall except for one. Princess Amelia smiled warmly
and spoke. “I though there were to be three knights to ask for my hand.
Where then is the Prince of Dursk?”

The Prince felt himself start slightly and his disarming smile curved into a
frown. “ I am here My Lady, I have worn my best clothes and can boast that I
am the most handsome man in this room.” As a hiss swam through the crowd
and the King grumbled, Princess Amelia merely giggled. “You must not have
taken the time to learn much of anything about me my ‘handsome’ suitor. You
see, I am completely blind.”

The brothers both looked shocked and then slightly ashamed as they finally
understood the meaning of the stranger’s tale. The traveler finished off his
drink and after dropping his coin upon the bar, stood to take his leave.
“Well, what happened to the Prince after that?” The taller brother asked to
the man’s retreating back. When he turned, the stranger’s brilliant
cornflower blue eyes shown through the shadows of his hood and a smile
decorated his handsome, if somewhat drawn features. “The Prince did not
win the fair Lady’s heart, nor was the story of his embarrassment
welcoming to him when he tried to go home. You see, the Prince lost
everything because he could not see past his own face.”

The Prince Who Lost

July 2008

Fiction

Because you wanted more, here is another Fable
from the world of Gheytana.

M.L.C.