IT was a long time, and several tides back. A quaint yesteryear in Arstol’s boyhood memories, and a forgotten yesterday in Xandur’s valiant past.
Xandur matched down the wide-flung aisle, formed by an endless row of thronging heirsens on both sides. As the warrior led four hundred souls of victory spoils to the great altar of the Father-King.
It was a glorious match that sunlit morning. A triumphant match from the city gates of Olde Glassfield; and through the Garden of Honour there…
And finally into the Grand Hall of Assembly in that vast Garden.
Young Arstol was in the jubilant throng. He wriggled his little frame through the daunting press, and then found his way to the fore.
Then he sprinted along the endless line of people waving. In a bid to catch up with the warrior’s mighty strides.
Little Arstol saw that match and experienced it whole. That triumphant match of a returning conqueror.
The boy ran with the warrior’s huge strides that day. And that day he shared the glory of that great victory.
Yes, that day four hundred transformed bastards were led into the Grand Hall of Assembly. To have them sanctified by the Father-King, at the Hallowed Altar of Truth there.
But just as the army was nearing the Grand Hall with the victory spoils, the running little boy stumbled for loss of breath. And he collapsed just ahead of Xandur.
Noble Xandur was moved. He’d observed the little kid trying so hard to catch up with him all the while. And he’d wondered what a zealous boy he was.
Yes, Xandur was so moved. So he sprinted down to the small lovely thing right away.
Then the brave warrior picked up little Arstol in his arms. And he clung him to his chest.
Arstol’s eyes parted open right then. And there he was in the champion’s valiant hands… peering into his soft, melting eyes.
Suddenly the jubilant shout from the crowd went even louder… at the sight of that noble moment.
And in that moment when Arstol peered into the warrior’s eyeballs, he saw his own little reflection in his eyes.
Yes, in that very moment… little Arstol wished to be a noble tomorrow.
He wished so much to be a warring prince, too.
Like Xandur of Olde Glassfield was.
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Arstol got up now from where he sat musing the thoughtful memory. And it amazed him now how his wish had so come true.
For the heirsen reckoned that he’d become a noble prince already. But Arstol admitted that his second wish wasn’t granted.
Arstol admitted that the Father-of-All never made him a warring noble. That he never made him to be like Prince Xandur.
Now Arstol of Highland North wasn’t satisfied. And at any rate he’d also go plunder that dreaded dungeon of bastards. And then expand his city with the spoils of his great conquest.
Arstol was more determined. Nothing was going to stop him.
He sprang up and headed back into the citadel.
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© July 2021 Kayode & Tola Olla