A Picture of the Heart

Joran entered the courtyard and made his way to the throne room. He paused momentarily inside the foyer to admire the massive wooden doors separating the foyer from the throne room. Their height was a little taller than your average Bergsteiger. Again, the width was slightly wider than a giant, but perhaps the most impressive thing was the carving of a guardian which spanned the doors. Easily a foot taller than the tallest Bergsteiger and broader, the ancient guardian was an imposing figure. Its wings stretched downward and reached to the outside edge of each door. Its huge hand rested casually on the hilt of its sword. Why the Bergsteiger, or perhaps the King, had chosen a relic of the past to adorn the throne room doors was a mystery. Maybe they simply liked the stories of guardians battling dragons in the ancient past. He’d have to ask the King about it sometime. Grasping the handle, he pulled hard to move the massive door.

As Joran started toward the King, he imagined how intimidating this could feel for others. The entire throne room was seemingly built to create awe around the throne, and if that had been the idea, the builder had succeeded. The place was incredible, from the twelve fireplaces, six on each side of the room, to the firelight reflecting off the marble floor. The firelight didn’t quite reach the throne, which created an eerie effect, as the shadows danced around the two carved lion’s heads, serving as the armrests, making them appear to move.

The throne was situated atop a platform accessed by three steps and sat alone in the center of the room. Three massive columns on each side of the throne rose forty feet into the air to support the ceiling. And yet, the impressiveness of the room was overshadowed by the King. Although, Joran wasn’t sure if everyone would feel the same way. After all, the King didn’t adorn himself with a huge crown, jewels, gold, silver, or the finest clothing. Instead, he chose a simple linen garment, red on top, fading into white on the bottom. Across his chest, the White Oak was proudly displayed. What made the King great had nothing to do with any of that. He’d been great long before he received the title of King of White Oak.

“My King,” Joran said, bowing. “The defenders and archers are armed and prepared. You were right about Nichols; I removed him from his position and promoted Lieutenant Laine to Captain. I would like to proceed with a counter-offensive outside the wall once the battle begins.”

Joran had noticed; he’d even heard from reliable sources that rumors were floating around about the King. Of course, no one would dare question the King in front of Joran, but there were whispers. If Joran were honest with himself, he’d have to admit that he’d sometimes questioned the King’s methods in his mind. The King’s ways were challenging to understand, but Joran had no reason to doubt his intentions. From the moment he stepped into the realm, it’d become safer.

“Of that, I have no doubt, but that’s not the only reason I will not lead this battle. Joran, events have been set into motion and they must be allowed to run their course. My place, for now, is on the throne, your place is leading the defenders and archers into battle.”

“Yes, my Lord, you said, “‘Out of the ash, a city is born again—a new seed planted in the fertile ground. One will attempt to choke the seed but fail; one will attempt to snatch it up but fail, yet deceitfulness shall give birth to seeds of doubt and rebellion. The grassy field will turn to mud, and the clear waters will run brown. Giants will slumber, and one will come from the south with the power to bring all things under the authority of the White Oak.’”

Joran pondered the statement for a moment. Overall, he wasn’t exactly sure what to make of it. Still, if the prophecy and recent unrest in the city were connected, that could be the answer the King sought. “You think the unrest is connected to the prophecy?”

The King nodded, and from the look on his face, there was something Joran had missed, but what? The ‘new seed in fertile ground’ was obviously the White Oak seed the King had planted after they’d burned the Black Oak to ash. The grassy field probably referred to the Golden plains outside White Oak’s southern wall, where presently an army was encamped. The Weurgen certainly would be trampling down the grass, leaving only mud. He had no idea what ‘giants will slumber’ meant. That just left one thing, he thought, replaying the King’s words, ‘One will come from the south with the power to bring all things under the authority of the White Oak.’ He couldn’t be the man, could he? “Do you think the man, Tom, that my defenders found could be the one who comes from the south?”

“You are tasked with defending the city. Keep them from breaching the walls. Keep the fight in front of us. Do not leave the city to fight on their terms. The sun is setting, and we are in for a long night, but once again, the sun will shine upon White Oak.”