The Key (A Fairytale) — Chapter 1: One More Journey (Part 3)

My first stop was the coliseum where the king's army was training. These were hardened, career soldiers, all experienced in killing and tough as nails. I dismounted and walked deliberately up to the commander of all the forces. He was the strongest and most feared, and he was sharp as well, and politically savvy. He knew exactly who was there to see him, but not why.

"We are going to build an army, you and I," I abruptly announced, "an army so powerful that you cannot begin to imagine its scale. The most powerful ever assembled."

"Yes, Sire," he replied, saluting.

"And since it is I who will lead all of you into battle, it will be your duty to train me well, for I will become the most ferocious warrior in the history of the realm."

The commander, unable to hide his disbelief, looked at me incredulously. He would have probably laughed aloud had it been anyone but the king's son, but instead he replied courteously, "My lord, please forgive me for saying this, and please do not think that this is a reflection upon you, for you are just a lad, but one either has the heart of a warrior or one has not. One is either a lion, or a lamb. This is not something that can be learned. It is a natural inclination that is either in one's blood or not."

The old warrior certainly had courage to talk to me in this manner, but I took it as a compliment that he didn't simply patronize me. Still, I felt offended by his implications. He did have a point, however; maybe I didn't have the heart of a warrior; I didn't know whether I did or not. But I was determined to find out.

Suddenly, that strange feeling came up again that I experienced so many times while fighting with the jailor, but this time it was different. This time it wasn't momentary. Something snapped inside and I became somebody else, someone alien to my normal personality. I felt a recklessness, an extraordinary courage and confidence as if somebody else had stepped into my shoes, somebody from a strange and distant past. In some odd way, it was me, but yet it wasn't.

I recalled a small lad in the courtyard one day that was shown a lute by one of our minstrels. The lad smiled, picked it up, and began playing a strange tune that nobody had ever heard before! How did he know how to play a lute? Or a tune! Nobody could explain it.

I was feeling the same way, but I wasn't playing a lute, I was playing with life and death with these violent men. Then, unexpectedly, I found myself speaking, but it was as if someone else was speaking through me to the commander, "You are right, of course, exactly right. How would I know if I am a warrior or not? So it seems to me that I must find out, and this leaves me with only two choices, either gain your respect, or cower in my castle for the rest of my life. Is this true or not?"

"Yes Sire, it is surely true," he said, nervously glancing toward his men. He was well aware that he was getting in deep, and that this was not the same young man he was talking to just a moment ago. Something quite extraordinary had just occurred, and he knew immediately that he was about to be involved in a fight with the Prince. And this was not good.

"Here is my proposal," I said, "listen carefully." Then I, or whatever it was that was inside of me, continued with measured words, "I am young, strong, with extremely fast reflexes, much faster than yours, old man, and although I am not as experienced as you; you being a professional soldier, we will nevertheless, right now, at this very moment, fight with fists until one of us is rendered unconscious. If you win, I will go back to my castle and you will be handsomely rewarded. If I win, you will be my general on the battlefield. But be very careful, my fine commander, for there is one way in which you can lose, and lose big; and that one way is if you do not fight with every ounce of strength and every skill you possess. If that happens, you will soon become familiar with my dungeons. Do you understand?" I outlined a large ring in the dirt with my foot - and his soldiers began gathering.

The warrior was understandably apprehensive; he was about to risk his career over a stupid fight with an adolescent prince. Should he merely have me escorted off the training grounds and alert the king? No. He knew that I would have my way with the king and that political retribution would be certain. The commander carefully avoided political enemies. No, he had to please me, somehow.

His training instinctively evaluated me as it would any other adversary, and as it did, the commander noticed something very troubling; that my eyes had become dangerously steady and calm, indicating a sudden fearlessness, and that I was indeed well muscled, in superb condition and at least twenty years younger.

Now he found himself in a real quandary. He had no doubt that I would fight, and fight hard, and although he certainly could not risk killing a Prince, he had to win. If he didn't, it would appear as if he were holding back; and that would be a sure ticket to the dungeons, from which nobody returns!

This was a unique situation, but he hadn't become a leader of men by making bad decisions, and he soon conjured up a clever plan; he would quickly render me unconscious without injuring me seriously, and then apologize. The idea was perfect, because after he won, not only would he receive the promised handsome reward, but he would rid himself of my pestering, as I crawled back to my castle, leaving his soldiers alone.

The shrewd warrior's strategy was to let me swing first, after which he would carefully counter-punch, knocking me out, quick and easy.

We stepped into the ring.

The commander remembered stepping into the ring. He remembered my eyes fearlessly staring into his . . . and that was the last thing he remembered.

When I entered the ring, the familiarity with warfare that was bubbling up from somewhere deep inside became overwhelming. It was as if I was unexpectedly bestowed with thousands of years of combat experience, where I knew intuitively what to do in situations like these. I could not recall anything specific, but there was this uncanny feeling of innate, almost intuitive experience. And as I looked into the commander's eyes, a dangerous calm came over me like a warm blanket that one unconsciously reaches for on a cold night.

Without thinking, my body moved instinctively like a coiled snake. I hit him with blinding speed right between the eyes, a violent punch with my full bodyweight behind it. And the commander hit the ground like a rock.

His soldiers quickly surrounded and protected him, looking quite stunned as he began coming to. Then he looked up at me, puzzled, as I held my broken hand, smiling.

"We have a lot of work to do, General. Let's get started!"I triumphantly announced.

For two years, I trained in every aspect of warfare, and to the amazement of my men, I was a natural warrior, actually, the fiercest they had ever seen. The sorcerer's supply of unlimited gold financed the strongest and fastest horses available, as well as the toughest, lightest shields and armor in the land. I supplied my men with highly tempered, almost indestructible swords, knives, and spears with razor-sharp edges, forged from the finest metals. The crossbows were fashioned from flexible iron and armed with deadly, stubby arrows unmatched for accuracy and distance.

Every man of fighting age flocked to my side, and as soon as they were trained and equipped, I mounted my great white horse – and with my general and my mighty army following behind – rode toward my destiny. The Great Conflict was about to begin.

And watching out of a bedroom window, high in the tallest spire, an aging, apprehensive father slowly shook his head, as his only son went off to the war that the old peaceful king had been avoiding all of his life. (To be continued)