1 The Fall of a King

The rain beats down upon the earth, creating a depressive atmosphere. The grimace on my face is no doubt clear as I look down towards the wooden platform and the jeering crowd beyond it.

The herald's voice rings out despite the suppressive effect of the atmosphere, citing the passage that I had been dreading.

"Here stands the accused, the one King Henry Kirthnew. The Order of Wizards have found him guilty of a crime of the highest order: the practice of forbidden magic."

The crowd lets out a wave of boos and shouts, the effect hitting me like a barrage of blows.

The person in question: the king, my father, stands upon the platform. None of the regal presence he usually has is visible. Instead all i can see is an old man bereft of dignity, skinny from time spent in captivity and dressed in tattered rags.

Once the crowd dies down, the herald continues his speech, seemingly oblivious of the inner turmoil within me. Though as much as I would like to blame him it is hardly his fault.

"By the decree of the church, the Order of Wizards and most importantly our great prince Richard, the King shall be stripped of his royal powers and sentenced to death."

A weary voice softly sounds out behind me. "My prince, I understand how hard this must be for you, if you wish we can depart now."

Looking back to the wizened old face of Garth, the chief magister of the wizard association I shake my head. Though he means well the comment does little to help.

"No. I must stay, for the people, and for my father. I will witness his last moments. Despite his mistakes he was a good man... no, is a good man."

Garth nods. "Few who make the mistake of practicing the forbidden magic have poor intentions. Sadly there are powers behind such magics that are seductive in their ways. They can bring down even the best of men."

Returning my attention to the matter at hand i See the herald looking expectantly at me, his eyes seem to pierce mine. "Prince, by your command we can start the execution."

Sighing bitterly, I slowly stand. The weight of a mountain on my shoulders. "Does the accused have any last words."

Despite the objecting cries from the crowd the hoarse voice of the king sounds out, the voice not used in several weeks struggling to make itself heard over the noise of the rain.

"I am sorry, I have failed my people: my subjects, my advisors, my son. I hope that my legacy - my mistakes - will not be forgotten. Perhaps in time they can even be forgiven."

He turns to look at me before continuing, a tear slowly making its way down his gaunt face.

"Richard: my son, my pride and joy. I have tasked you with the heavy duty of protecting the people far before you should have to. For that I am sorry, but know that no matter what happens I will always be proud of you."

Though struggling to keep my emotions in check, my expression remains firm, I still have a duty to fulfil; the people will not wait.

"I'm sorry father." I whisper, my words barely audible even to myself. before raising my voice to address the crowd, barely suppressing my sorrow.

"Since the accused has said his final words we will commence with the execution."

A large hooded man steps forward, forcing the king to his knees before picking up a large axe. I steel myself and keep my gaze forward as the axe raises higher, inch by painful inch.

The crowd begin to chant, the words spreading like fire, almost causing me to lose my composure. "Down with the evil king. Death to the evil king."

The chant reaches a crescendo as the axe reaches its peak and then abruptly stops. Silence.

After a tense eternity the axe finally falls, shattering the silence with a loud 'thunk' as the king's head falls into the basket.

The silence returns for just a brief moment before the crowd erupts into cheers.

I, on the other hand, can no longer stop the pained expression that takes its grip, my eyes welling up as a singular tear escapes, leaving a trail down one cheek.

Though I wish I could leave now, run away from the ignorant crowd I cannot. There is still one more speech I must give in order to satisfy the people, despite my conflicted feelings towards them. I still have to reassure them that I will be a suitable successor to the throne.

"My people" I manage before I have to hide my broken voice by coughing. "I know that this is a troubling time and that most of you will have doubts about me. I may be my father's son but I will not make the same mistakes he did. I hope that you will all place your faith in me and allow me to lead you into a new future, a prosperous future where your children can grow up strong and healthy. Our kingdom currently faces many threats and you, the people, are the foundation that grants the strength to keep those threats at bay. I ask that you continue to stay strong, to work hard for your kingdom, your family and yourself." My teachers always said I had a way with words, a 'silver tongue' they said. I'm not sure how much of that was due to my status.

Despite my eloquence only a small portion of the crowd seem receptive, most still show little respect. I would have to gain their trust through more than just words.

With the excitement of the execution over, the people slowly start to disperse. They had hardly been aware of the labours my father went to in order to help them, the effort he made to keep them safe.

Even the nobles only say a couple words of condolence - an empty gesture - before leaving, probably to their warm fires and cooked dinners.

Sighing heavily Garth pats me on the back, a surprisingly warm gesture in the cold rain. "Come my young prince, some rest will do you well. It is unfortunate but we must not let our grief slow us. There is much I must discuss with you, though it can wait until the morning. For now, let your emotions run their course."

I nod, shrugging off my dreary thoughts for a moment. The rest of the day passes by in a blur, the food tasting bland and the bed feeling cold. Eventually I manage to fall asleep - or should I say pass out - though it is not a peaceful rest, instead plagued with nightmares.