Prophecy of the Fall
     The king’s wizard stepped away from the sneering king as soldiers prepared the gallows for the coming execution.  The men had done nothing, but served as good examples to keep the people in servitude to the cruel monarch.  Scanning the crowd carefully of bitter and resigned faces, the wizard paused at the sight of the six prisoners soon to be executed.  Relatives of the six either hid in fear among the crowd, or strained to give their loved ones one last goodbye.  An old man leaning wearily against a younger, more frightened boy, who was glancing nervously through the crowd looking for a familiar face, nodded imperturbably to his weeping friends, and an angry fighter, struggling to free himself of his captors, battled to reach his terrified family.  Two men stood silently side by side, wondering of the reality of the whole proceedings, as a pregnant woman reached across the soldiers to hold her husband’s hand in his last hour.  Tears streamed down her face as the man awaiting his death spoke softly to her, trying vainly to comfort her.  A small boy pulled at her dress, wanting answers for the questions filling his mind.  Having none to offer, the woman hoisted him up on to her hip with one arm, hugging him to her.  The man reached forward to tenderly brush his son’s cheek, but an uncaring soldier shoved them away. 
      Blinking away a stray tear, the wizard glanced at the gallows as the first beggar was forced to the first noose.  One by one, the next five men were lead to five remaining nooses, and the drum roll began.  The woman sobbed and clung to her young son turning his head away, to shield him from the pending sight.  The wizard shook off the memories it brought forward, returning to the present.
      “Stop!” the wizard spoke up, surprising himself as the multitude of people turned to him, stunned.  No one could believe that he, the stern, devoted wizard would defy the king in public, in front of hundreds of people.  “If you fulfill this crime, you’ll regret it forever.”
      The king scoffed, “Is that a threat?”
      “The unborn child, of this woman,” the wizard indicated the pregnant woman, “will bring forth your downfall, and millions will rejoice on that day, unless you spare these six men.”
      Sneering the king commanded, “Hang them.”
      The executioner kicked the stools out from under each prisoner, going down the row.  Leaning heedlessly back, the king kept his watchful eye on the dismal sorcerer.  The wizard’s face grew cold, “So be it.”  Parting into a path before him, the crowd watched closely as the wizard approached the woman steadily, without a look behind him.  No one, not even the soldiers, attempted to stop him.
       She stood alone hugging her young son close to her, fearful for him and her yet unborn baby.  She stole painful glances of her husband and then back to the coming wizard.  The boy’s big brown eyes stared out at the sorcerer in awe and fear, from under his mother’s long, light brown hair.  A small, comforting smile formed on the wizard’s usually stern face.  He halted in front of her, and without a word offered his hand to her.  His bright green eyes shining fiercely, she gazed at him as still as a statue.  Everyone seemed to be holding their breath, wondering what she would do.  The few seconds it took her dragged by forever; she took his hand.

      Following the six executions, talk continued to grow and spread about the wizard’s defiance and the mysterious young mother raising their upcoming champion.  Of course, as the story was repeatedly told, time and time again, it was exaggerated and distorted, until it was nothing but fiction.  Many believed the wizard had conjured up a spirit, which prophesied the coming of a mighty victor, to be raised by the daughter of one of the ancient kings of the old days.  It was said each of the dying men had been swept away by this spirit to start a great army to support the coming champion.  Immediately following this revelation, the wizard and woman disappeared into a puff of smoke, to prepare a worthy deliverer for the subjugated people.  The truth of the story was a little different, a little less idealistic.  There was no conjured spirit prophesying the future, or any great army, but the woman did exist.  Whether or not she was a descendant of one of the ancient kings was debatable.
      As soon as the woman had taken the wizard’s hand, the king had suddenly realized the seriousness of the whole thing and ordered the two be seized and killed.  Using his magics and tricks, the wizard had disappeared with the young mother and her son, leaving behind flabbergasted soldiers standing in an unexpected empty space.  The king had used every means possible to find the missing sorcerer and woman, but continually failed.

      “Sule,” Dylan called from the door of his hut, “don’t forget to give you mother those herbs.  And be careful in the forest, it’s full of wolves today, watch over your brother.”
       Kwesi rolled his eyes, “I’m not a little kid, Uncle Dylan.  Sule doesn’t have to baby sit me.”
      “Well, someone has to watch out for you,” Sule grinned.  “You aren’t very good at doing it yourself.”
      “Honestly,” Kwesi shrugged.  “One fight and you people think I’m a weakling!  You’d think I lost that fight, or something.”
      Sule raised an eyebrow at his younger brother, “The odds were against you and the soldiers were beginning to take notice.  That could be bad news for guys our age, especially with the rumors going around.”  Cocking his head Sule laughed, “Besides that blacksmith really looked angry this time.”
      Dylan gave Kwesi a look, “Did you pick another fight with Joe?”
      “He did a bad job shoeing the horses.  I was just pointing out how he could’ve done it better.  It’s not my fault he can’t take a little constructive criticism,” Kwesi turned his horse on to the path.  “See ya, Uncle Dylan.”
      “Like I said, take care today,” Dylan waved.  “Forest is full of wolves.”
      Sule nodded, “We will.”  He kicked his horse after Kwesi, keeping tight rein on the packhorse.  The path didn’t take long before leading the two brothers from the bright clearing into the forest; just a little further and they were traveling through the tall trees of the inner forest.  Sule glanced around for the tenth time, “It’s too quiet.”
      “So you’ve said,” Kwesi grumbled from up ahead.  He was taking his turn leading the packhorse.
      “You heard what Uncle Dylan said,” Sule remarked irritably.
      “About the wolves?” Kwesi asked, glancing back to Sule.  “I heard.  Here take the reins, it’s your turn.”
      “Awful short turn,” Sule muttered, but took the reins from his younger brother.  “Hey, when we get home will you do me a favor?”
      “What’s that?”
      “Don’t mention your ‘fight’ with Joe to Mom.  You know how she worries,” Sule gave a half-hearted grin.  “Not that she doesn’t have any right to, but you know…”
      “No reason to make her worry more than she already does,” Kwesi finished for him.  “Don’t worry about me.  I won’t mention it.”
      Sule sat up in his saddle, “Stay here.  Be right back.”
      “Why--you hear something?”
      Sule gave a quick nod as he swung off his horse and handed the reins to Kwesi.  Slipping into the bushes, he crept towards the noise.  He was back in a heartbeat, “Quick!  Off the road!  Soldiers!”
      The warning was unnecessary, Kwesi already had the horses waiting in the brush, “How many?”
      “Too many for a normal patrol, just enough for trouble…” Sule led them further from the road in around about way home.  The soldiers pounded by on the pathway they left behind, unaware of the pair they had just missed. 
      “That was close,” Kwesi half whispered to himself.
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