Romancing the Throne: From the Chronicles of Daventry, Part II

Romancing the Throne: From the Chronicles of Daventry, Part II (Part 2 in some editions) is the novelization of KQ2 from the King's Quest Companion. It is written of a continuation of the Prologue (KQ2) from the perspective of the prime minister Gerwain.

From the Chronicles of Daventry, Part 2
Rejoicing, revelry, and carousing still roar from all corners of Daventry this night. Our monarch, King Graham, has returned home to Daventry with a bride. They just arrived here yesterday after a slow voyage accross the seas from Kolyma. Word of the royal wedding was immedietly dispatched across the realm, carried in the claws of a condor that winged from town to town with the proclamation The news set off spontaneous celebrations by all at first hearing.

King Graham, our most wise and beloved monarch, took to wife a maiden of the tropical land of Kolyma. Valanice is her name, and her beauty, wisdom, and goodness are beyond compare. The wedding ceremony took place in a small chapel in her homeland, our new queen wearing King Graham's bridal gifts to her, the diamond and sapphire jewels of Kolyma. At great and perilous risk were they acquired by our monarch, risks that he says were small compared to his bride's beauty.


 * Long live the Queen! Long live Queen Valanice of Daventry!

It is strange for me to see those words drying in front of my eyes, no less so for knowning that it was I, Gerwain, Prime Minister of Daventry and chief advisor to King Graham, who penned them there moments ago. Although I prayed in my heart that he would prevail, little did I expect my sovereign to survive the quest on which he embarked to find his bride, much less wed. I am happy beyond words for my king and his new queen.

I must confess, however, that I do not think it is proper for a monarch to go traipsing about the world by himself, questing in search of women and adventure. His duties are at home, near to his subjects. This is especially true if the king has no heirs, and Graham has none.

I must also confess that I do not think it proper for a king to wed quickly, without proper dowry or period of courtship. I do not think it proper that a king wed away from his own land, out of sight of his own subjects. I especially do not think it proper that a king marry without seeking the advice and approval of his own prime minister!

I suspect my objects might be judged by some as petty. Graham has heard my thoughts on this. He says I should continue speaking my mind especially when it is contrary to his thoughts.

"A king," he says often, "needs 'nay' sayers more than he needs 'yea' sayers."

King Graham today recounted to me the details of his adventures since leaving Daventry--his quest: to rescue Valanice from her bondage in the Crystal Tower. He has directed me to rework his words to finer form, both for the sake of readability and for the historical record. He has also given me permission to add commentary of my own if I feel disapproval of his actions. He says it matters not; the deeds cannot be undone, and if they must be questioned, let the objections be raised now.

Here then is what befell our king. It begins with his search for the keys to the three doors....

King Graham had decided to travel light. He adjusted his favorite cap, setting it snugly on his long, brown hair, and made sure the red feather and four-leaf clover tucked into it were still there. His travel pack was empty, but he planned to change that as he went along. Graham knew that his strongest assets were agility and speed, wit and intelligence; he expected to live by the latter and survive by the former.

He knew also that the "fairest of all fair maidens," as he described her, was imprisoned in a tower somewhere. She had been put there by her kidnapper, a witch who called herself Hagatha. To rescue her, all he had to do was find three keys, presumably use them on three doors, and find the Crystal Tower. And survive.

The king looked around the beach where he had been deposited, which stretched apparently north and south. Graham knew this was part illusion; the geographers he had consulted had informed him that the magical law of "containment" operated in this western part of the continent. For reasons now forgotten--or perhaps it was whimsey on the part of the multiverse--movement to both the north and south in this part of Kolyma eventually turned back upon itself, contained as if inside some transparent cosmic doughnut. East and west, one could travel at until confronted by more physical barriers--the sea or mountains, for instance--but he knew that if he journeyed far enough north or south, he would always get back to where he started.

The Southern Sea was at his back. Warm waves lapped at his heels, reflecting the tropical sun in sparkles of diamond and sapphire. The waves seemed to be telling him to move along or he would find neither fair maiden, food, nor anything else. Seeing a sandy trail leading away from the beach and into the trees, the king moved forward.

The path soon disappeared into the midst of a thick wood and then vanished altogether. The world seemed to close around Graham, and the king hoped he would find a clearning or a new path soon. Within minutes the trees thinned, and he was able to glimpse what appeared to be a white fence in the distance. Walking toward him was a girl. She appeared to be no more than a dozen years of age, short and slight in form, with blond tresses peeking out of her red hooded robe. She was in tears.

"Sir, you must help me, please," she bawled. "Someone has taken my basket of goodies! I was taking them to my Grandma and had stopped to pick her some flowers when a large wolf, with the biggest jaws, jumped me and ran away with my basket. I was so afraid he was going to eat me! Please, sir, will you help me get my basket back?"

Graham tried to comfort the near-hysterical girl, but she wriggled from his embrace and dashed into the woods.

I must, at this moment, take pause to praise my lord king. Undertaking his quest for Valanice was rash, and undertaking it unarmed and with no provisions was foolish. However, King Graham is a true knight, noble of heart and sworn to aid the helpless. His determination to help the child in the little red riding hood was correct; to do anything less would demean him.

Graham followed in the direction from which the girl had come. The white fence enclosed a snug cottage of the same color. Flowers spilled from boxes in the lace-curtained windows. On a mailbox by the front gate were the words, "Grandma's House."

He had already suspected that much, so Graham opened the mailbox in hope of getting some useful information. Inside he found a wicker basket covered by a red and white checked cloth enclosing some bread, jam, and cold meats. This must be the basket of goodies that had been taken from the girl. The picnic smelled delicious, but something else smelled very suspicious.

Graham walked to cottage door and knocked. A muffled "Come in!" sounded from the other side. The king entered and found a pale, ancient woman sitting propped among dozens of pillows in a massive brass bed. Dressed warmly in a cap and flannel nightgown, wool shawl pulled around her shoulders, she smiled and bid him welcome.

"Grandma, obviously!" Graham thought.

"Good day, kind sir. Welcome to my house. I'd offer you some tea, but I'm not feeling well."

Graham chatted with the woman for a few moments, but she seemed somewhat delirious, and all she would talk about were her grandchildren. Grandma also refused the basket Graham had found hidden in the mailbox, saying it belonged rightfully to her granddaughter and that he must return it to her. Then she closed her eyes and began snoring.

King Graham left the cottage intent on finding the little girl so he could give her back the basket and continue his search for the maiden. Moving east into the forest past the cottage, he began hearing the tolling of bells ahead of him, a rolling tintinnabulation that seemed to be a call to prayer. With the sound as his guide, Graham walked until he came upon the adobe walls of a good-sized monastery, its bell still swinging back and forth. By its door was a small brass plate that read, "Welcome, Travelers." Below that was hung another sign, "No Vacancy."

The door was thick, but it opened easily. Graham wanted to rest a few moments and collect his thoughts; perhaps one of the monks there might have some news for him. So far, it seemed, he had made no progress.

A round, brown-robed figure, tonsured head bowed, was kneeling at the altar at the far end of the chapel. Graham quietly approached the altar and, kneeling next to the monk, joined him in a short prayer. The two men remained motionless for several moments. After a time the monk raised his head from his prayers and seemed to notice the king for the first time.


 * "What is your name, traveler?"
 * "King Graham of Daventry, brother."
 * "Yes. King Graham, I have herad of your quest, and I would give you something to protect you from evil."

The king was speechless as the monk took a long chain, bearing a small silver cross, from around his neck. As Graham took the gift from the monk and placed it around his own neck, he listened to the holy man tell him of a door that had appeared recently, not far from where they stood. This door seemed to float in the air, an aura of magic surrounding it. It was located on the far side of a bottomless chasm and could be reached only by crossing an old rope bridge immediately north of the chapel.

Having finished his tale, the monk returned to his prayers. Graham joined him for a moment longer.

"The door I have been searching for!" he thought in triumph. "The way to my heart's desire!"

He whispered a short prayer of thanksgiving and left. The monk remained, absorbed in his prayers.

The heat of the tropical day blasted at Graham as he left the monastery and a harsh glare struck his eyes. They combined to convince the king to pass the hottest part of the day near the cool water of a small lake, which he could see just a little south, beyond the chapel door.

A large boulder in the shade of a tree reached out a bit into the lake and appeared to be the prime point from which to relax and swim. Approaching the shoreline, the king noticed a small hole in the rock.

The king has often told me that he tries always to remember advice given to him by his father. The words are engraved in my memory, so often has he repeated them. They are "My daddy used to tell me, 'Boy, if I have learned anything in my life, I have learned this: when in doubt or in trouble, pick up anything that is not nailed down, and if it is, check for loose nails or boards. Check carefully into, under, above, below, and behind things. Read everything; you might learn something. Wear clean undergarments, brush after meals, and always remember, nothing is as it appears.'"

Graham looked into that rock. Inside lay a glittering sapphire brooch dripping with encirclying diamonds. He took the brooch, intending it as a gift for a bride he had yet to woo. Then he sat down, out of the sun, dreaming of love and thanking his father.

Chasm it truly was; bottomless it truly appeared. The bridge that spanned it seemed as old as time and as feeble as the little girl's ailing grandmother. The ropes that held it suspended were frayed, reaching out from the body of the fragile cables like hairs of a very frightened, very skinny cat. The planks that were left were as much air as wood.

"Okay," the king muttered to the wind, "I'll go over as quickly and as lightly as I can. I'll breath deeply, pretend I'm floating, and I definitely will not look down."

The king has this annoying habit of talking aloud to himself when he ponders a particularly difficult problem or siutation. I have told him countless times that polite people just do not do this, and that people look at him strangely when he does it. usually he just gives me a patient look and walks away, still murmuring. In this case there was no one to hear, so no offense was given, nor taken. Nonetheless, it is an unseemly habit for a monarch.

Moving with his lightest steps in the exact center of teh bridge, Graham held his breath the entire crossing, as if with his lungs full of air he was made lighter. "I hope I don't have to come that way again," he thought, looking back at pieces of the bridge spinning into the depths below.

The door was there, floating as predicted a few inches above the meadow. He could easily walk around the thing; it had a back and front, but no sides at all. The smell of magic threatened to overpower him. He was sure that the woman he sought to rescue, his heart's desire, was behind it.

An inscription was carved into the door's front: "Whosoever chooses to seek the key for this door will undoubtedly make a splash." That was all.

Oh, yes, the door was locked. No matter how hard the king tried to open it, the entry remained firmly locked. Graham realized that he needed a key. Not that this fact surprised him much; he had known since the start that he would have to obtain three keys for three doors.

"If that be so, so be it!" he decided resolutely (if not a bit redundantly) and breathing even more deeply than before, he returned across the shaky bridge.

He still had the goodies, Graham had been carrying the basket in hopes of returning it to the blond girl of the red hood as he had promised. "I am honor bound to do this before all else," he chided himself. "Let me find the girl, give her the goodies, and get back to what I came to Kolyma for!"

Grandma's house, or somewhere in its vicinity, seemed to be the most logical place to find the child. With that in mind, Graham decided to zigzag west from the bridge, continuing until he could turn back south to the cottage. He reasoned that he would be able to do some exploring, search for the girl, and get to Grandma's, all at the same time. Another of the king's annoying habits: he much admires his own cleverness.

This route led him straight into the gloomiest forest in which he had ever ventured. Menace and misfortune seemed to surround him. Looking from side to side, alert to any possible encounter, noting every possible place to hide--whether it be bush, tree, or rock---Graham carefully began to press through the threatening trees.

Immediently, almost before his first step had touched the ground, he spotted the dwarf scurrying furtively about, as is the way of such folk. Graham moved quickly, but he was overtaken by the dwarf anyway and knocked to the ground by the force of the thief running into him. Over and over they tumbled, until the dwarf was able to strike a strong blow to the king's head, knocking him senseless long enough to escape with the sapphire brooch.

When King Graham finally recovered himself, he discovered but minor cuts and scrapes along with his throbbing head. "Never again," he promised the bandit, "never again!"

Graham walked a little north of where the dwarf had robbed him, hoping to avoid another encounter before his head was clear. Groggily he stumbled into a pine tree, tripping over a large rock near its base. As he picked himself up, he noted that this tree had a hole in it, and inside was a stout wooden stick with something metal attached. When his eyes unblurred, he saw that he had found a mallet.

"Two holes, two treasures--not bad. And now I have a weapon," Graham encouraged himself. "Now, let's go find that dwarf and get the jewels back!"

Moving west, even more cautiously now, the king soon came upon a large rotting log. In his quest to become king, he had once found a bag of diamonds near a log such as this. This time there was nothing.

"Come on now, Graham," he told himself, "you can't expect to find something under everything, can you?" With these words still on his tongue, he contuninued his way west to where a fresh, clear lake blocked his immediate way. There lay yet another hollow log.

"I'm going to prove something to you," he exclaimed to his own person. Enunciating each step clearly, he began to demonstrate to himself the truth of his previous observation. "See...log. See...hole in log. See...no treasure!

I must admit a certain level of amusement when the king recounted this episode to me. There he was, playing the buffoon, talking to himself and reveling in his own cleverness. Of course there was treasure in the log; how could there not be, as my lord strutted pride to the heaven? Inside lay a necklace of diamonds and sapphires with a large sapphire pendant dangling from it. It should have been a rub of rancid yogurt or moldy cheese. I love my lord king, but that day he deserved much less than he received.

Graham decided to wend his way south to the old woman's cottage. He hoped that he could arrive there and return the basket to the little girl before darkness fell and he'd have to camp for the night. He much preferred to do his sleeping in less ominous parts.

The forest quickly opened up to a clearer though more rocky landscape. His feet stopped, frozen in stillness, as he heard cackling nearby. The smacking of hungry lips and the sound of tuneless humming brought back dread memories of the wicked witch Dahlia stirring her loathsome cooking pot. A hurried glance gave a partial glimpse of someone who looked remarkably like his now dead adversary. It was definitely time to be somewhere else.

Graham trusted his instincts, and his feet swiftly bearing him east. Perhaps he could find a hiding place in the forest, someplace out of sight of the old hag he had just spied--the witch whose name, he was sure, was Hagatha--the same witch who had kidnapped the object of his quest.

The king does not know if the witch did not spot him, gave unsuccessful chase, and then merely gave up. More likely he escaped before being noticed at all. In either case, he ended up in a part of the forest he had not been before.

This fact, though, was secondary to what he ran into therein: he ran into a door. The door in question was built into the living trunk of an enormous oak tree whose branches spread dozens of yards in every direction. A stovepipe poked an arm out of the bark just a little below the tree's lowest branches. Like the tree, the door was oak. It opened from the weight of Graham's rush upon it.

Now King Graham normally prefers to knock upon any door before entering; he says that you never know what you might meet upon the other side. In this case, he felt that the other side could be no worse than Hagatha. Most any other fate would be better than a witch's stewpot.

What Graham entered was an empty chamber in the hollowed-out tree, a sort of anteroom at the top of a ladder that went down through a hole in the floor. From below he heard no sounds, and the smell of food floated up into his nose. Graham waited some more, and there were still no sounds beneath him, so he began to climb down the narrow ladder.

A passageway led from the bottom of the rungs into a fragrant and cozy room. A fire blazed, working its magic on a pot of what looked like chicken soup. On a table next to the herth lay a pair of stocking caps; one of them seemed familiar. Across the room sat an old chest, its hinges hanging loose. Graham opened the chest in order to find out somethign about the inhabitant of this unique home; what he found brought a revengeful smile to his lips.

First a pair of delicate diamond and sapphire earrings sparkled back at him. As he gently picked them up to admire the, he noticed a second item of jewelry, the piece the earrings had been nestled upon. It was the brooch that had been stolen from him by that "dirty, low-down, rotten, stinkin' little dwarf!"

Graham took both jewels. "No wonder that hat's familiar," he thought. " I think I'll climb back up and see if Hagatha has gone, and then I want get away from here!"

A prankish thought bloomed in the king's mind as he started to leave. "In return for the honor of having separated me from the brooch, I think I'll separate Citizen Bandit from his supper!" With that, Graham took the pot of soup and climbed up the ladder toward the front door.

A quick peek out revealed to Graham that all was clear; there was no sign at all of the witch nor the soon-to-be-hungry dwarf. With a quick, deep breath he headed out the door and to the south, in the general direction of Grandma's house.

King Graham's plan to zigzag back to the cottage had been a sound one all along. Shortly after zipping into the woods from the tree house, he spotted the low white fence around the old woman's cottage. Pacing next to the fence was the blond girl, still distraught. Hurrying up to her, the king held out the basket.


 * "See, here is what you had stolen from you by the wolf. Take it back, please."

A transformation came over the girl's face, like sunlight through a thunderhead.


 * "Oh, thank you kind sir! Thank you! I will always be grateful for what you have done. Now I can take the food to my sick grandmother. "

The girl handed Graham the bouquet of flowers she was carrying. "Take these as a gift of appreciation from me. Please." Then she dashed off to the cottage

Glancing at the lovely flowers, still fragrant with the afternoon warmth, the king remembered that he was carrying the dwarf's soup in his other hand.


 * "Chicken soup! it is chicken soup, which means it has the magic to heal common ailments."

Graham set off after the girl in the direction of the cottage's front door.

Inside, the old woman looked even more pale and weak, her white curls drooping out from under her nightcap, her hands trembling slightly. Graham gave her some of the soup.

As is the way with chicken soup, the effects were immediate. Color returned to the woman's cheeks, and a weak smile crossed her face. She pointed a finger towards the floor and told the king that she had some things to give him in thanks for his kind act. They were hidden under the bed.

Dropping to the floor, Graham peered under the old woman's bed and, reaching under, pulled out a large ring with a fine blood-ruby stone. It seemed to fit Graham's hand well, and as he it put it on, the king noriced the initials "C.D." carved on the inside. There as also an oversized elegant black cloak, lined with red satin, and although it was somewhat large for Graham's frame he decided to wear it anyway. The king always will attempt to cut a dashing figure, when the opportunity arises.

A few last pleasantries were exchanged at the end of their impromptu meal, and Graham was satisfied that the woman would recover soon. Wishing her his best, he departed, heading back to the sea.

It was the king's idea to spend the night by the ocean, lulled by the music of the waves. On the very spot of the beach where he had commenced his exploration, Graham drifted off onto the sea of sleep, a speck lost in the breakers of infinity.

Mornings come with spectacle on tropic Kolyma. The gold, cream, and indigo of the dawn sky pulled the ocean back into the world from the dark dimensions of night. King Graham considered the sight and found it good.

"A perfect day to win a bride! he proclaimed to the world as he set off. "Now I just have to find her!"

North was the direction Graham chose to move that morn, following the fluid border of sea and sand until he came back to his own footprints.

He had been traveling but a short time, climbing over and between surf-washed boulders, staying true to his course, when he spied a pointed object glinting in the grass. In truth, there were three points on the artifact. Rusty and corroded, it looked like an elaborate pitchfork. Graham had come across what appeared to be a trident, symbol of hte ancient gods of the sea. Ancient indeed did it appear, and out of place, as if it had been washed upon land by a thieving wave and left to be ravaged by the other deities of earth, wind, and fire. How long it had lain uncovered there he could not guess. Its age was great; it even felt ancient in his grasp. Graham carried the trident with him as he moved on; it hadn't been nailed down and would make a weapon if necessary.

The grassy dunes continued to precede the king, step by step, under the cloudless sky. They returned to sand as his march north paced on.

Graham chose as a resting place a log half-buried in the sand. He did check, but the giant driftwood was still solid, with no treasure buried in or under it. He neither felt nor played the fool while looking.

He did spend a moment picking up, admiring, and listening to the shells that dotted this particular beach. Conch, mussel, scallop, and clam--these and more lay scattered. One clam shell, larger than any of the others, seemed a special prize. Indeed it was! The king lifted it from the sand and found lying beneath it, a piece of jewelry--a diamond and sapphire bracelet. It matched exactly the brooch, necklace, and earrings he had already collected. Graham wondered at the beauty of the assembled treasures and saw in them a royal gift--a gift fit for a queen. How they had come to be scattered about Kolyma was a mystery for which he had no answer. He played the problem in his mind as he resumed his northward journey.

Mermaids are unknown in the Kingdom of Daventry, our waters are too chill perhaps, but travelers' tales of them are common, and all rave of their beauty and there beautiful songs. For this reason the king knew upon what he was gazing when he discovered here not long later. Stretched out lazily on a large rockc rising out of the waves, with long green hair covering her breasts and sunlight bouncing rainbows from her scales, the mermaid seemed a vision shimmering in the rocky surf. Graham knew he must talk to her, but his shouts did not carry over the sound of the ocean. Swimming out to where she was, the king was overwhelmed by the mermaid's loveliness. Taking the bunch of flowers the blond girl had given him the day before--only slightly faded and not wilted at all, or so the king recalls--Graham presented them to her as tribute to her beauty.

A smile, for which a man might die, crossed the mermaid's face as she took the bouquet. She raised her voice in song, and a bridled seahorse suddenly swam up to the king's side. The mermaid disappeared under the waves.

Left alone in the ocean with the creature, Graham chose to attempt to ride, instead of merely looking the gift horse in the eye--or the mouth. The moment he mounted, Graham was carried down under the waves, the horse of the sea bearing the monarch with a speed that would have taken his breath away if he had been above the waves.

I have asked King Graham how he was able to breath whilst under the sea. His answer was, "Through my mouth. No water entered as I inhaled; air seemed to come in its place. I was under the protection of King Neptune, and that's the only explanation I can come up with." Mysterious still are the wonders of our world!

King Neptune, the monarch of all the world's seas, was waiting expectantly for Graham at the end of that watery ride. Neptune was physically magnificent, as one would expect of an ancient god. His green beard was touched with gray, like the whitecaps on waves, and his crown was made of shells and other gems of the sea. He looked silently at Graham.

Our monarch, as has been often and correctly observed, is noted for the breadth of his learning and intelligence. Neptune seemed to be expecting something from him, and the king was sure he knew what it was. Taking the ancient trident from his pack, Graham presented it to the god.

A moment passed. And then another moment passed. When Neptune finally looked at Graham again, it was with gratitude. He waved the trident, and a giant clam that was balanced next to the god's throne opened. Inside lay a brilliant gold key.

Neptune gestured to the key, indicating that Graham should take it. At the same time he handed our monarch a bottle with what looked like a piece of cloth inside. Graham took both. The second wave of Neptune's trident was a gesture of dismissal. The king knew it was not wise to spend much time around gods, even friendly ones. He turned the seahorse away and was carried back to shore.

The king sat for a moment on the sand, letting the sun dry him, pondering all that had just befallen him. He took the piece of cloth from inside the gift bottle. It appeared to be just a plain piece of essentially colorless cloth with no inscriptions, pictures of writing. He carefully put it away anyway. Turning the gold key over and over in his hand, he was reminded of the message carved into the magic door and how it described making a splash. Chuckling, Graham headed back to the rickety bridge.

Lightfooted, the king continued north, and it was a journey of not undue length that brought him to the site of his former camp. Heading east ran the familiar road past Grandma's house and the monastery. This he followed, the key weighing heavy in his hand, anxious to be used.

The bridge, if anything, looked less stable than when he had crossed it the second time. But cross it again Graham did; he knew he had no other choice. The door, if anything, looked the same, taunting him to open it.

The key fit.

Graham smiled anxiously as he unlocked the magic door. What would the other side hold?

Another door, another inscription, that is what. Graham had resigned himself to the possibility, so he read the words there and seared them into his memory.: "Whosoever chooses to seek the key for this door should set their sights high." Graham lifted his eyes to the heavens and wondered how he was going to get there.

Mountains in the eastern part of Kolyma are unscalable, Graham soon discovered. So steep were they that all climbing was impossible. After he had lightly scooted back across the bridge, he was sure that it had sagged some more beneath his weight. He prayed it would hold for his next crossing.

King Graham chose to explore to the south, venturing past the little lake where he had previously stopped to cool himself and where he had discovered the jeweled brooch. The monastery bell continued its peaceful tolling, inviting all to prayer and succor, and the lake still invited a cooling dalliance. As he traveled past these familiar sights, however, the air began wavering and dancing before him. A fairy, a tiny one, dissolved into the sky and began sprinkling fairy dust in his direction.

"Good King Graham, I am here to help you. I give you a protective spell against evil, but it lasts for only a short time. Goodbye."

The fairy was gone as quickly as she had appeared.

Good King Graham had experience with fairies before; his fairy godmother had dusted him the same way in Daventry. He had learned four things from the experience: one, the spells lived up to their reputation for protection; tow, they lasted a moderate while, but not long; three, they had a tendency to be cast after he really needed them; and four, fairy dust made him sneeze.

On the other hand, the king realized, maybe this spell hadn't been cast after his need for it had vanished. Sure he'd been mugged by the thieving dwarf and he had escaped from Hagatha, but the protection should last long enough for him to get close to the hag--if he could locate her or her den again. If he could do that, he might be able to find another key.

The king, of course, will always rationalize. "Hey! Maybe I'll just stroll over and peek in on a witch. Maybe she'll even invite me for dinner." That is how he thinks. Someday he is going to rationalize himself directl into somebody's cook-pot as the main course. I hope not.

Having decided to find the witch, Graham hiked back to the bridge. "I saw her just past the dwarf's hideout," he remembered. "That should be west of here. Let's go!" And talking to himself, as is his wont, the king reentered teh dire forest.

A faint but discernible path slowly took form, leading away from teh bridge in the direction Graham headed. Normally he would have welcomed a path of any kind through the woods, but this one disquieted him, making him think of a string leading a cat into an ogre's cooking pot. Once he spotted the dwarf skulking in the distance, but he was easily able to avoid his notice. Perhaps it was the spell's protection.

Again Graham noticed the terrain opening out into rocky hillocks. It was right there that he had come across the crone before. The king shrugged his shoulders, looked back over them, and pressed on. What he arrived at shortly made him wonder about the wisdom of his coming there.

Skulls were arrayed around a clearing in front of what appeared to be the entrance to a cave. Human skulls. Not attached to necks, attached to the tops of stakes. From within the cave came the unmistakable aroma of witch cuisine, ghastly to smell and even more ghastly to contemplate.

Inside, the odor hung so heavy as to stop one's breathing. The lack of sound from within the cave had convinced Graham that it was relatively safe to enter. His decision was sound, but it was difficult to keep from gagging. Most of the stench originated from a black iron cauldron bubbling on top of a wood fire. Floating in the stew were pieced of what once had been flesh--human flesh from the evidence of the limbs to which the meat now barely hung. Lined around the floor, and above, were scores more human skulls. Piles of human refuse littered the darker corners. The entire scene screamed death and decay--all except the incongruous song of a nightingale.

Perhaps one full shaft of sunlight penetrated the shadows, and it was spending this moment lingering on a bird. The nightingale was enclosed within an orgnate gilded cage and was swinging merilly on a perch. As Graham approached closere, the bird burst into a song of joy. The king could not bear to leave such a creature of life behind when he left Hagatha's charnel house. He placed the piece of cloth he had been given by Neptune over the cage so that the bird's happy song would not betray them to Hagatha. Then he grabed teh cage and carried it out with him into the sunlight.

The witch was waiting when he got outside.

She stood not ten feet away, staring at the cave as if she suspected intruders. Graham had walked out directly in her view, but she acted as if he and the were bird, were not there.

"Thank you, little fairy!" breached the king soundlessly. The nightengale, too, cheeped not a sound.

Not daring to be near Hagatha a moment longer lest the spell wear off, the bird chipr, or the crone blunder into him, Graham turned noiselessly to the north. He kept moving as fast as he dareduntil the witch was left well out of sight or hearing.

King Graham paused only briefly on the western shore of the small lake. It appeared to be the same one near which he had discovered the necklace whilst mocking himself. This was no time for more searching, he realized; the time was putting miles between himself and Hagatha. His wind returned, and immediately he continued his escape north, back into the forest.

After an hour or so of quick stepping, the track seemed to end in a dense grove.Progess was still possible in the direction he was heading, but the trees did begin to open somewhat to the east faint splash of sunlight on water there. Against one of the trees in the grove leaned a short, pointed piece of wood. Examining it, Graham saw that it appeared to be an ordinary tent stake, perhaps left behind by a traveler who had rested a night there. With a shrug, the king put the stake into his pack, readjusted its weight, and started moving downhill, east to the water.

Swimming is one of the king's passions, and he indulges in it often for sport, exercise, and relaxation. Lakes, especially, he favors with their deep, still waters warmed by the sun.

It took no genius, though, to observe that there was something wrong with the lake on thos whose edge he was standing. Festering incrustations fouled its banks, dead trees and brush ringed its shore, and it smelled only slightly less foul than Hagatha's cave. Sick green mists stuck thickly to its surface. Graham guessed the water was poisoned, or worse.

“I think I’ll just pass on a dip this time,” he mused. Stopping seemed pointless, so he began following the shoreline to the south, looking for a way around. A dirt path gave him direction.

The mists cleared for awhile, and the path led Graham around to the southern tip of the stagnant waters, a level spot that looked north upon a small island in the lake’s center. Two ghostly towers groped out of a decaying castle that sat atop the island. Could this be the kidnapped maidens prison. There seemed no boat near that might take him across for a close look, so the king moved on, intending to return and explore this particular mystery further. The lakeshore had turned north, and he continued to follow it.

Follow it he did. North, north, and further north he trekked. There appeared no way across to the mysterious island. What did appear, though, was as sorcerer looking for trouble.

The king was peering across the lake when the short, robed man wearing a pointed magician’s guild hat appeared in the corner of his eye. For a moment Graham thought it might be the same mage who had temporarily turned him to stone in Daventry the year before. He wanted no part of more prestidigenous pranks.

Evidently, though, the fairy’s dust still clung to the king. The sorcerer paid no notice to Graham, who watched the stubby man sniff the air and snort in disgust. Disappearing in a puff of smoke, the sorcerer left Graham alone.

When the shore of the poisoned lake began to turn back to the west, Graham could see there was nothing to be gained by following it any longer. He could also see a clear, pure-water lake just to the east. Maybe there he could rest a bit and clean himself.

Combining business with pleasure, the king explored this lake to its southern shore. He viewed its calming waters from beneath a tree and saw that it was the lake he had stopped at before, just to the south of the monastery. His view took in the rock where he discovered the sapphire brooch.
 * At least I know where I am now!"

With that thought, he took his pleasure of the lake. ==

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