King Harraca and the Lamia

Once upon a time there was a very brave and proud king by the name of Harraca. who was blessed by the gods in many ways. His kingdom was a rich and bountiful one, he was much loved by his people, he had a dutiful councillor, a beautiful Queen and two sprightly children by her which he doted on, and in day to day affairs he was contented.

 

So it went that King Harraca was one day called upon his allies in the wayland, who wished to rid themselves of an evil foreign prince who had recently come to power in their land. Being the benevolent King he was, Harraca led a grand crusade against the evil prince and his legion, and after a near year of battle, had slew the prince and liberated his allies from strife.

 

As a reward for his help, the good people of the wayland bestowed on him the late prince's dark castle, so that he may use it as a second home. Graciously Harraca accepted, and immediately sent for his family, friends and court so that they may vacation there. In the days to come all was well in the keep, though there was one issue that plagued the sire's mind.

'See this vast black forest?' he said to his Councillor one morning upon the balcony 'How haughtily its ugliness blights the eye. I shall have it burned down, and plant newer greener trees in it's place.'

'The sentiment is nice enough,' the Councillor mused 'though I would advise against it. I have heard tale from the waylanders; of monsters that lurk in that there forest, which the late prince did consort with. Yet it is also said that they do no harm to those who would stay out of the woodland. Leave it be my King, or I fear some misfortune may fall upon you.'

'I fear no monsters,' Harraca proclaimed 'and the fact that they have already laid ransom to your courage is proof enough to me that I should have them burned away.'

'You are the King.' the Councillor conceded.

'Then it is agreed, send some men and place them all about the edge of the forest. Then, when tomorrow comes I shall order it burnt down from all sides, I shall invite all in the castle to this balcony to look. It shall be a sight to see!'

 

Thus the knights went to their positions in the night, while the King slept soundly in his bed, but not for long truth be told. For when the moon was high in the sky, Harraca was awoken suddenly by a strange hissing. Looking round, he saw that neither his wife or his dog had been awoken by the sound, and so thinking his Court Jester was playing some mad jape, he wandered out onto his balcony where the sound was coming from, candle in hand.

 

Scanning the area, he saw nothing to source the sound. 'Come out jester.' she spoke with a yawn 'This prank has gone far enough.'

How altered his expression became when he turned around to go, and found that the hissing had not been coming from the balcony itself, but the wall above it. For sliding down his castle stone came the first true monster he ever saw. It was a Lamia that confronted him, a being that had the shape of a man from the waist up, but below that possessed the form of a snake. Covered in scales from head to tail, the Lamia greeted the King.

'Hail King Harraca,' he bowed 'I am a representative of the forest you sent your soldiers to destroy. I have come to convince you to recede your order on the matter, so that the magical creatures and animals who live there will not die.'

Though touched by fear at the Lamia's appearance, the King stood tall. 'Your forest offends my eye monster, I have heard the evil prince might have had some dark connection to it, but I am not he. What reason do you bring that I might spare it? How could it benefit my kingdom and I?'

The Lamia shivered in what might have been anger at mention of the prince, and circled around the King 'If mercy will not sway your decision, then perhaps wisdom will. It is true the late prince did consort with us forest folk, he wished to know more of our magical ways so he could better himself and his principality. If he was evil, it was only in his ambition to do good. He was greatly respected by us and the mortal waylanders alike you know, it pained us all when you aided the rebels in toppling his throne...'

'Take heed creature, you speak to a king, my divine line goes back for generations.'

'As did his, but no matter to that. The past is the past and we must make do with the present. If you were to spare the forest, I would teach you the secrets I taught the prince: you would be a most powerful ruler indeed in that state.'

Harraca laughed at this, I am already a powerful ruler, and want for nothing more. Certainly, your wisdom did not help the prince any in the end, so why should I take heed of it? No, your forest is a relic of his rule in truth, and must be burnt down, not only for beauty's benefit, but as a symbol of my reign over this land coming into fruition.'

'You would strip the forest bare?' the Lamia hissed in disgust 'This wood which has stood longer and with more majesty than any kingdom combined? You are a callous sire indeed.'

At this the King drew his prized ancestral sword from it's scabbard 'Enough of your talk monster, you are a vile reminder of the old world, and like the forest: must be cleansed in order to make way for newer, better things.'

Bellowing a great roar the Lamia lunged at Harraca, who duly ducked down and sliced the snake man in half.

'You are beaten, abomination.' the Sire claimed with pride as the upper half of the Lamia crawled to the edge of the balcony.

'Yes, but though I have failed my duty to the forest today, I shall not have you win either. Be warned thou callous King: if you move ahead with the destruction of the forest, so will I too commit my powers to the destruction of yourself.'

'What? Will thou bite at my ankles?' Harraca mocked as his Councillor arrived behind him, having heard the sounds of battle.

Turning on his back at the edge of the balcony, the Lamia put his hands forth 'For each piece of the forest that burns away, so a piece of you will be taken too. This is my curse on you.' With that, the monster flung himself off the edge and into the depths of the wood below.

'I told you your actions would bring trouble.' the Councillor stated 'But you can still make things right, withdraw the burners from their stations, and no harm will come to you.'

At this Harraca smiled 'Do not fear, old friend. With a fall such as that: the monster is certainly dead, and even I: a novice in such matters, know that curses die with their cursers. The forest will proceed to burn tomorrow, just as it was ordered.'

 

And so it did burn, high into the sky the flames rose the next morning with all the court observing in awe. 'Such is the power of King Harraca,' the sire had told them, showing off the tail of the Lamia as he did so 'who fears not monsters of the old world, for truly: I bring in the light of the new.'

So he ended the day soundly, happy in the knowledge that in a few days days the forest will have burned away entirely.

 

The next morning, with the fire still raging outside his stone keep, he went to the court to attend to his business, but was puzzled to find his that dog did not come to his side as it usually did.

'How queer, why does it not bound to my lap?' he asked his Councillor, who seemed a tad puzzled at the remark.

'Well why should it my my king? My dog only obeys my calls. As it was trained to do.'

At this the king was taken aback 'Your dog? How you jest, this hound has seen me through a score of years. You have never taken in an interest in the beast in your life.'

But still the Councillor protested the dog was his, with members of the court even claiming it to be true.

Confused, Harraca let the issue rest, lest his Jester jump out at an interval to give the punchline to the trick. However, no such logical explanation was given. Disheartened, the King asked his Councillor if he might examine the dog in his quarters to make sure he was not confused. Night came, and to his sorrow the hound proved to be identical to his own, but no longer showed him the same fondness it once had.

Planning to sort the matter out the next day, he went to bed. In the morning he got up as usual, but this time found that the dog had vanished from his room. But not only that, his ancestral sword was gone too. The smoke from the blazing forest increasing his anger, he stormed into the court to find his Councillor in possession of the dog and the sword.

'Here now!' he fumed 'To steal a king's dog is a folly, but to steal his sword? It is a crime!'

Like before, the Councillor claimed it was his sword at his side, and that the king had never taken interest in such things, with members of the court once again backing up his claims. But Harraca would hear none of it, ordering his knights to take the Councillor to the dungeon, and hold him there till the old man came to his rightful senses.

Though his wife and children cried at his decision and begged he revoke it, the King remained resolute. Only when the stars rose in the sky did he recall the Lamia's curse.

'Come come,' he consoled himself 'See how the forest in ripe in inferno?' If the creature did not die from the fall he will inevitably have died in the fire, if not already, then soon enough. In mere days there will be nothing left of that dreadful wood... but then what if I am wrong? What if curses outlive their cursers? On these matters I am not entirely convinced either way' with this in mind, he went to sleep, his sword at his side.

 

The next dawn came and he woke in a startled manner, the ambers of the fire were coming in from the window he was unaccustomed to, and his dog, sword and wife were absent from the stranger's room. He opened the cupboard to find clothes that weren’t his and cursed aloud, soon issuing himself to the court, where he found none other than his Councillor on the throne, wearing Harraca's own royal attire, and sporting the dog, the sword and the Queen all around him as if they were his.

'Whatever is the matter, dear friend?' the pretender king spoke, seeing Harraca's outraged expression.

'That is a King's crown,' he seethed while pointing 'it does not belong on the head of a Councillor, no more than a Queen belongs at his side.'

The old man laughed 'It is a good thing then, that you have neither, ever wise Councillor.'

Looking down, Harraca realised that he indeed was wearing the attire of a Councillor, and that all the court seemed at ease with old man: who's name was Velsium, being sat on the throne.

Maddened by this turn of events, seeing his children and Queen look on him as no more than an acquaintance, Harraca grabbed the sword out of a knight's sheath, ran at old Velsium, and with striking fury chopped his head off. Amidst creams off terror and disbelief, Harraca was brought down by the knights, who bludgeoned him to unconsciousness.

 

When he awoke by the crackle of the distant fire outside, he found that his circumstance had changed once more, for in the quarters of a knight he was. Moving to the court in secret, he found that Velsium was somehow still alive, and had hired the services of a Councillor that was unfamiliar to him. 'This will not do.' he told himself 'It is now clear to me that the monster's curse is still active. Each day passes with due normality, the fire eating away at more and more of the forest, but as it does so does my own situation worsen. There is no way to halt that fire now, even if the pretender King Velsium wished it, but I can still kill the monster if it is within the blazing forest, perhaps then the curse will be reset. Or perhaps it will stay, in any case: I must try to reclaim myself.' So Knight Harraca went from the castle, with a sad look back at the family that had been forcefully estranged to him.

 

It took him two days to reach the burning mass, which was vanishing to forest so quickly he could barely catch up on horseback. At the end of the first day, he was so tired he had no choice but to sleep, and when he awoke, he was in the garbs of a peasant, never the less he carried on across the ashen and grey land, until at last he reached the wall of fire.

 

Getting out his rusty old sword, he waded into the flames as a mad man would, scoring many burns on his skin as he did. After a tumultuous struggle through the blaze, he at last arrived at the smoky yet still untouched heart of the forest, there he found the Lamia, crying blood under a great oak tree, his fellow magical creatures either dead or dying all about him. From the fresh look of his lower half, it seemed as though the creature had grown a new tail after his previous one had been chopped off.

'Fiend!' Harraca cried, levelling his sword with shaky hands 'Give back what is mine this instant, or I shall skewer you for good!'

The Lamia looked up with bloodied melancholy eyes 'It is too late now, for both of us, you callous, crownless king. The curse I set on you can not be taken back while I live, just as the fire you ordered cannot be halted.'

Hearing this, Harraca advanced 'So a curse does die when the curser is no more. Thus I shall rid the world of you for good.'

At this, the Lamia rose on it's tale, a full scale bigger than what it had appeared before. 'Even with the fire you set upon us swift approaching, you would still seek to harm the magical creatures of this dying forest? Very well, if it is death you wish for, I shall grant it!'

So the two exchanged in a fierce battle, both burned and worn down from the blaze. Upon having one of it's arms cut off, the Lamia snapped forwards in a bout of rage and issued a poisonous bite to Harraca's neck, despite the pain, the brave man pushed all the strength he had left into his arms and swung his sword into the side of the monster's head, killing it instantly. At once Harraca felt his Kingly status returned to him, and cried out in victory. However, the fires he had fought to get through were now coming at him and the oak tree as close and fierce as ever, and in his poisoned state, he could not summon enough strength to avoid them.

 

In the end, King Harraca burned alive in the forest he had sought to destroy. The death coming as a great tragedy to his Kingdom, none of whom fully understanding why their monarch had decided to ride into the inferno that night. None of whom but his Councillor that is, who in the spring of the next year renamed the budding wood: the Forest of Harraca in memory of the prideful King.