The King's Eye: A Fantasy of the Farther Isles

By John M. Daniel

The kings and queens of the Farther Isles have gathered at the castle of High King Rohar, as they do every year on the Summer Solstice, to pledge their loyalty. But before the ceremony is over, the Giant Clobber from the Isle of the South Wind storms into the Great Hall, steals the High King's crystal left eye right out of its socket, then disappears into the night. The High King offers to reward anyone who will slay the Giant and bring back the crystal eye. The reward: half of Rohar's island kingdom and the hand of his daughter, Llanaa, in marriage. The only one to stand up to the challenge is Prince Frogge, a twelve-year-old boy from the Isle of Fens. Frogge finds a partner, Rodney Trapper the goatherd's so--tall, strong, and seventeen--and together the lads set out on their quest: to sail to the Isle of the South Wind and to do battle with the Giant Clobber in the Meadow of Mayhem. It's a fight no one believes they can win. Their adventures take a full year, during which they travel from Isle to Farther Isle, in a boat that sails by itself, guided mysteriously by the Stars. The King's Eye is a story romantic and magical, full of love and death, heroes and scoundrels, bravery and cowardice, danger and high hopes. This tale will delight anyone old enough to read and young enough to believe that a goatherd's son could win the heart of a princess.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Daniel & Daniel Publishers
• Release date: Sep 21, 2015
• ISBN: 9781564747976

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The King’s Eye

A Fantasy of the Farther Isles

John M. Daniel

2015 • Daniel & Daniel, Publishers, McKinleyville, California

Copyright © 2015 by John M. Daniel

All Rights Reserved

ISBN 978-1-56474-797-6

This is a work of fiction. People, places, and events in this novel are products of the author’s imagination, and any similarity to real people, places, and events is unintended and coincidental.

Published by Daniel & Daniel, Publishers, Inc.

Post Office Box 2790

McKinleyville, CA 95519

www.danielpublishing.com

E-book production: Studio E Books

Distributed by SCB Distributors [phone]

I wish to thank my writing group, the Great Intenders, for support and feedback, while I was writing this novel. I also am grateful to Toby Tompkins and Susan Daniel for reading the manuscript as it grew and for giving me welcome critique and encouragement.

For Susan, of course, and for our grandchildren

Contents

Prologue

Part One

1. Rodney Trapper, the Goatherd’s Son

2. Gifts from Aggie Crone

3. Repelled by the South Wind

4. The Isle of Song

5. The Isle of the South Wind

6. The Islanders

7. The Meadow of Mayhem

8. Stranded

Part Two

9. The Island of the Stars

10. The Isle of Arrows

11. Princess Erose

12: Time to Part

13. The Crystal Isle

14. The Isle of Fens

15. Time to Move On

16. The Goats of Blackberry Island

17. Return to the Isle of Goats

18. Tam’s Tale

19. Flickering Candles

Part Three

20. Another Solstice

21. More Gifts from Aggie Crone

About the Author

Prologue

On the Summer Solstice of the twenty-first year of the reign of High King Rohar the Seventh, twelve of the thirteen lesser monarchs of the Farther Isles gathered at Blackberry Island, as they did on the Summer Solstice of every year, to swear their allegiance to the High King. The one missing lesser monarch, the Giant Clobber from the Isle of the South Wind, was not missed. None of the other kings and queens, including High King Rohar, could abide Clobber, and Clobber had never sworn allegiance to anyone but himself.

The married kings brought their queens along, and the queens brought their consorts, and the mood of the meeting was merry. This year’s gathering was more festive than ever, for King Rohar’s only child, the maiden Llanaa, had just turned sixteen years old, the age a maiden should marry; and Llanaa was as beautiful as the full moon on a clear winter night, and as ready as a ripe summer berry to become a woman, and a queen. Four of the lesser kings of the Farther Isles had brought along their unmarried sons, each king hoping to strengthen his ties to the High King by the bonds of family and favoritism.

It wasn’t up to Llanaa to choose her husband, but if she had to choose she would have had a hard time deciding between Prince Tamber of Isle of Mirth, the black-haired handsomest of the four, and Prince Lowll of the Isle of Worth, the richest. Lowll’s father’s castle was said to be splendid, built of red marble and furnished with fleece and furs. Prince Zorn from the Isle of Song would do, Princess Llanaa supposed, but he was already twenty-seven years old, and he was said to prefer reading books to riding horses, and to prefer his friend Songeman, the choirmaster, over the company of any woman. As for the fourth suitor, Prince Frogge, he was out of the question: a short, round, giggling lad of twelve whose voice had yet to change, and he hailed from the marshy, rainy little outlying Isle of Fens. Frogge’s grin was too big for his face, and his head was too big for his body. An annoying, fat little puppy he was, and always had been.

Surely the Stars in all their wisdom knew that Princess Llanaa, who stood as tall and as serenely proud as her beautiful mother, and whose wild forest of hair was as red and thick as her father’s fierce beard, deserved a better betrothal than one to a squeaky child, or to a reader of books.

———

The day was spent on the long lawn behind King Rohar’s castle, a vast expanse of lush green grass kept trim by pair of dwarf goats. The kings and the four princes played an all-afternoon game of chuckerball, which gave them a chance to vent their rivalry without revealing their mutual dislike for one another. The game was interrupted once when his lesser Majesty King Thikken accidentally tossed the chuckerball into the reedy little pond in the center of the lawn. That might have put a welcome end to the game had not Prince Frogge stripped himself utterly naked and waded into the mucky water and retrieved the ball, for which he was insincerely thanked. At least young Frogge wasn’t seen naked by the women, who were naked themselves, but far away on the sandy shore at the end of the lawn.

High King Rohar, a tall, burly man of middle age with a fire-colored bramble of beard, did not take part in the game of chuckerball, but stood watching from the terrace, his mouth set in a broad grin. Perhaps he was watching the game, with his good right eye of icy blue. Or he could have been enjoying the spectacle of naked womenfolk on the sandy shore, watching with the clear crystal ball he wore in his left eye socket. It was said that this crystal eye could see far distances, and into men’s minds, and even into the future; but most folk didn’t really believe the King’s left eye had such powers. It was eerie and commanding, but in truth only a ball of pure crystal, which he had worn for twenty-one years, having lost his original left eye in battle on the Isle of the South Wind, the only battle King Rohar had ever lost.

Late in the afternoon, when the sun was still in the sky but the shadows were growing long on the lawn, all the guests repaired to their separate quarters for a brief rest and a quick wash, then donned fresh finery and reassembled on the terrace. They drank ale and wine, and chatted and laughed, like friends—although the kings and queens all knew that the friendship showing on the surface barely masked their silent and deep-rooted rivalry.

After the time spent in social drinking, the entire company filed into the Great Hall, where they sat and sated themselves on Blackberry Island coney stew, hot bread fresh from the castle’s ovens, and a salad of greens plucked that afternoon from the palace garden.

When the meal was finished and the crockery taken away by the servants, the light from the windows had darkened and the air had grown chilly. The steward brought a candle into the Great Hall and started the fire in the hall’s massive stone fireplace. He lit the torches on the walls and then walked up the length of one of the guest tables and down the other, lighting the candles in brass candelabra. He then lit the candles on the head table, where the High King sat with Queen Gardeen and Princess Llanaa. When the room was warm and bright, the steward tapped a brass gong on the head table for silence, and he left the hall before all chatter ceased.

King Rohar stood and held his scepter up for all to see the candlelight sparkling in its jewels. Candlelight also sparkled in the King’s left eye.

Fellow kings, gracious queens, and proud young princes, I welcome you once again to my island and my home. We gather this night, as we do every year, to pledge our friendship and allegiance to one another. As you know, this is your oath of fealty to me as your High King, but we must consider it more a solemn promise to each other that we stand together and undivided. I shall ask each monarch to stand, one at a time, and loudly proclaim the oath as I do now. King Rohar laid the scepter down and sang out the tuneless song for all to hear.

With all my mind and all my body and all my heart I honor and support my fellow kings and queens of the Alliance of Farther Isles, and I pledge my fealty to the High King of Blackberry Island. As I am faithful to the Stars, I will be faithful to my fellow monarchs of the Farther Isles, and to this promise, forever.

The High King sat down and turned his gaze to the lesser king seated at the far end of one of the long tables. King Gorling, what say you?

King Gorling of the Isle of Thunder stood, cleared his throat, and chanted, With all my mind and all my body and all my heart I honor and support my fellow kings and queens of the Alliance of Farther Isles, and I pledge my fealty to the High King of Blackberry Island. As I am faithful to the Stars, I will be faithful to my fellow monarchs of the Farther Isles, and to this promise, forever.

So it went, monarch after monarch, until all twelve lesser kings and queens had sworn the oath. When the last king, Othor of Fens, had said his piece and sat down, the entire party of assembled royalty shouted loudly together, and whistled, and howled with what passed for comradeship.

King Rohar stood again. Now, this Midsummer Night, as you all know, we have another matter to discuss.

The lesser kings and princes cheered, but the High King stared them down to silence. The matter of my daughter, the light of my life, more precious than spring, who is now ripe as summer. Your Majesties, and your highnesses—

The massive door at the far end of the Great Hall banged open and stunned the High King into a loud silence.

Into the Great Hall of the castle of Blackberry Island marched the one man loathed by every king and every queen present. The Giant Clobber, King of the Isle of the South Wind, the only lesser king who had refused to be called lesser, and had refused to pledge allegiance to any confederation of puny rulers.

None of the kings or queens in the hall had seen the Giant Clobber for twenty-one years, not since he had stamped out of this same Great Hall, cursing and smashing crockery with his cudgel as he left.

Now he stamped back into the hall, half again as tall as the tallest king in the room and carrying a cudgel as long as a lance and as thick as a leg. He strode between the long tables and didn’t stop until he reached the head table and stood towering over the Royal Family. He grunted. He hollered Haaaahh! He smashed his cudgel on the tabletop and grinned when the candles toppled over and sputtered out in the spilled wine.

The assembled lesser monarchs and their spouses and sons murmured and gasped, then sat in stunned and frightened silence.

The Giant Clobber snatched the nose of the High King of the Farther Isles, and tilted his head backwards, forcing Rohar to look up into his seething face. Then the Giant plucked a spoon from the table, jammed it into the High King’s left eye socket, and scooped out the crystal eye, which fell and clattered on the table, rolled, and came to rest in front of the frightened Queen. The Giant Clobber released the High King’s nose, snatched up the crystal ball, and put it in the pouch that hung from the rope around his massive waist. He nodded to the High King, and to Queen Gardeen, and to Princess Llanaa, then turned and marched out of the Great Hall and into the night.

The steward watched the Giant stride across the terrace, over the long lawn, and down to the shore, where a galley ship awaited him in the last glimmer of twilight.

Inside the Great Hall the High King was the first to stand and speak. Who will avenge me? he roared. You have all just sworn your fealty to me. Will you go as one to bring that villain to his knees, and to bring me back my left eye? Speak up!

No one answered.

Very quietly, the High King said, As the Stars are my witness, to the man who kills the Giant Clobber and brings me back my left eye, I promise to give the western half of the Kingdom of Blackberry Island, as well as the hand of my daughter in marriage. What say you, you brave young princes? Prince Tamber?

I’m afraid I’ve injured my back playing chuckerball, Prince Tamber answered. Otherwise—

Lowll?

Your Majesty, I beg to be excused. My father and I have a large estate to manage, and—

Zorn? Are you a coward too? the High King thundered.

No, your Majesty. I’m a librarian. I’ve never trained for battle.

Because you’re a coward, King Rohar shouted. You’re all cowards, every whimpering one of you. You call yourself kings and princes? You’re rabbits, that’s what you are. Well, I’ll just have to find somebody among the common folk who has courage and loyalty. I’ll post the word throughout my island kingdom, and throughout your lesser kingdoms as well, that—

Your Majesty?

Yes? Who spoke?

Round little Prince Frogge of the Isle of Fens stood up. I’ll go, he said. I’ll kill that giant and bring you back your eye. Frogge grinned. And then I’ll marry your daughter.

Part One

1. Rodney Trapper, the Goatherd’s Son

Rodney Trapper, the Goatherd’s son, walked out of the copse at the end of the day, carrying a sack heavy with dead animals he had caught in the farmers’ fields and the villagers’ gardens—two weasels, four coneys, three moles, and a fox. He didn’t like catching foxes, but his grandmother, Aggie Crone, prized their skins and tails, and she ground the foxes’ teeth into a powder, for a special cure she said she hoped Rodney would never need.

Plodding across the meadow toward the high road that led to Goatstown Harbor, Rodney whistled a tune inspired by the songs of birds in the copse. Now, in the late, late afternoon, with the sun on his back and his stretched-out shadow loping along before him, he breathed deeply the thick, sweet scent of summer grasses.

When he reached the high road, he was lucky enough to catch a ride with old Jode Farmer, whose ox-drawn wagon was lumbering toward town. Just as the wagon reached the outskirts, Rodney gave old Jode one of his coneys, climbed down off the wagon, and said his thanks and goodbye.

Rodney was where he wanted to be, and where he often was after a long day tending to his traps. Ralf Alehouse’s tavern, a friendly spot to sit and drink while the warm afternoon outside darkened into a cool summer evening. Rodney Trapper did like an ale or two before he went home to Grandmother Aggie’s cottage in the forest on the other side of town. A laugh or two with fellows whom he considered stupid but fun.

He also enjoyed sharing smiles with the barmaid, Bromalynn Alehouse, Ralf’s daughter, who sometimes took him out behind the alehouse and up the stairs to her room, after all the other customers had staggered out and stumbled off into the night, and she had shut and bolted the tavern door. There in her garret, Bromalynn and Rodney would take pleasure in lying down together after working all day on their feet.

Bromalynn was older than Rodney by seven years, but she swore her love for him was as young as it was generous, and how was a lusty lad of seventeen to complain about that? Generous indeed she was, and Rodney Trapper had no complaints at all.

———

Rodney walked into the tavern and saw that it was filled with the usual after-work tosspots, but this time instead of sitting at the long table they were all standing around slurping ale from mugs and laughing at a fat young lad who appeared to have no business being in a peasants’ tavern. The pudgy boy stood on a bench before the cold fireplace, waving his hand for silence. He was dressed like a foreigner, a rich foreigner from one of the prosperous islands, and the locals were hooting at him for putting on airs. But the young roly-poly fop only grinned back, waiting for their attention.

Bromalynn came out from behind the bar and stood in front of the boy on the bench. She poked two fingers into her mouth and gave forth a shrill whistle, which quieted the jeering locals. This lad’s money is good in this tavern, she let the men know, and he has a right to be heard. Any of you sods who wants another ale will be courteous enough to heed what he has to say. Bromalynn tried to sound stern, but Rodney heard the mirth behind her words. So did some of the louts, perhaps, but they all quieted down and gave the young dandy their ears.

Gentlemen, the boy said in a high-pitched voice, thank you for your attention.

Gentlemen? Rishru Sawyer called out. What’s that supposed to mean? A crescendo of laughter threatened to reclaim the room.

Hush if you want another drink, Rishru, Bromalynn snapped, and if you don’t want another drink, you may show yourself out. And that goes for all of you rascals. Hello, Rodney. She filled a mug and handed it to the handsome trapper.

Rodney grinned and nodded, then turned his attention to the lad standing on the bench.

My name is Frogge, the young man said. "I am Prince Frogge of the Isle of Fens, but you, friends, may call me simply Frogge. I’ve come here to the Isle of Goats