CHAPTER III, BEDRICH OF ROSENIA

The man who had been his King and father now laid peacefully on a long stone bed, clad in armor made of fine iron and decorated in delicately shaped jewels. An elaborately forged steel sword held as his mailed gloves looked upon the white crowned roaring lion and a black raven, settled on a horizontally striped red and white flag, sewn in silk and carefully covered on his body. The atmosphere was solemn within the church, where men and women alike, dressed in their finest black, mourned and prayed for the death of Gulfrich III, the King of Rosenia. The Priest, Euclid VII, stared down from his highest seat of honor with his stern and pious grey eyes, a flock of steps, its features enhanced by marble and golden statues of the God and holy figures, constructed in the Ancient Dorryos style, smelled of wood, on his right. Bedrich spectated as a score of holy servants emerged, bearing the wooden Holy Cross and chanting hymns as they proceeded to circle around the stone bench, their foots dressed in finely manufactured wool and moving in small and quick steps quiet as mice.

Having seen multiple times during his childhood the religious ceremony being performed, Bedrich could not but feel a bit stressed from observing the Holy servants strolling in circles. The sight before him began to blur and the chanting became muffled whispers, but Bedrich understood the importance of this funeral and forced himself to stay awake and to focus his attention. Eventually after a long and hard struggle, he last through the monotonous singing and managed to receive the Pope's voice which boomed beside his ear suddenly so hard that he almost jumped from his seat. The Pope delivered a few sentences of courtesy, signaling his speech to begin.

"Arise," commanded the serious tone of Euclid VII, who walked the flock of stairs down to address the audience, his thin frame and small figure standing out against the crowd of nobles and commoners alike. Bedrich found a tender arm holding his hand as he arose from his seat, and turned to see a large pair of curious eyes, glimmering diamond blue and staring at him, the marbles of his Queen-to-be, Dorothea von Pracanburg. They settled upon a unblemished pale face of a madien's innocence, and tasted shy and sweet. Her hair ran down to her waist in curls, boasting shades of mixes of blonde and silver. Her lip a seductive shade, the colorful fruits of summer. Bedrich found himself stirring, and unresistant to Dorothea's beauty. A hand slid down her skirts, feeling the smooth textures of the cloth against his skin. He would've proceeded to lift up her skirt if not halted by her. "We are still in the church and its ill luck to perform such discourteous activities during the funeral of such a respectable figure, with the God above staring down at his creations. Perhaps you could enjoy me later, tonight." She whispered, her lips close to his ears. Bedrich gave her an acknowledged smile and withdrew his hand reluctantly.

"Today we witness the loss of a significant member of the Rosenian Royal Family. May he laid down his past burdens and sleep forever peacefully, for the God is merciful, and relieved him of his duties when they grew to demanding and harsh for his aging body to bear. May he be loose from his chains to reveal his true pure self in the higher skies, albeit its location mustn't revealed for that all human were born sinful, and must not be given knowledge to such a heavenly location. While Gulfich III laid resting, we all humans should pour our outmost devoutness to God and God himself to beg for guidance and forgiveness, for all men and women alike were sinned, and only God with his unchallenged power could cleanse our dirtied bodies."

"For all men and women alike were sinful, and must beg the God for his guidance and forgiveness, for his uncontested and undisputable power would be the candle in the dark, leading us a lost flock of sheep to the right shepherd. And therefore we praise you, God. May we be blessed with your slightest blessing, and we shall never hunger again nor thirst." The audience murmured in reply. No. Bredrich thought, disgusted, in defiance to the standard words of the Church. Not all. Not all men and women are born sinful. Some were born with the purest souls and cleanest hearts that were represented by their figures. They will be, and must be a sinless person, shall I will to search for it. He turned to observe his Queen-to-be, and received a shy smile from the girl in return.

"And therefore we shall chant. To the God be blessed Gulfrich of Rosenia, the Third of His Name, King of the Crownlands of Rosenia and Protector of the Rosenian Faith. We shall chant to his departure, and bless his soul may that he never suffer painful consequences in his new world of joy and fruitfulness." Then the band played. The organ rich and elaborate, the recorders continuous and gentle, the harpsichord elegant and charming, performed in a slow, steady and majestic pace, fit for the farewell of a former respectable monarch. When the introduction phrase ended, the entire church went into an uproar and erupted into the first verses of the lyrics.

Who are the God's warriors and of his law,

Who are the God's servants and of his faith,

Follow, for no one mortal live without flaws,

Follow, for no one not with Him achieve victorious.

For God is worth all your sacrifices,

And with that he grants you eternal thrive.

For God is worth losing our lives,

And happy is he who dies fighting for the truth.

The God commands you to not fear the harms to your body,

And commands you to put your life down for your brothers.

For those would perish bravely be praised,

A light to bid their farewells as we chant.

Therefore, we here and stand as the God's instruments,

And remember always the God benevolent.

Never fear the foes, nor shiver upon their masses,

For we are the instruments of God.

The church was echoing with the voices of devout chanting. The band played steadily and dominated the sounds, clearing away the voices of men and women as the instruments played higher and higher, growing ever enthusiastic, its rhythm developing stronger and stronger, with complexity growing and growing, eventually outburst into a climax.

Hail, our heroes! The ones who died in battle,

Hail, our heroes! We shall lay you down to settle,

Your deeds are good, and so be your journey,

And may you live ever happily for an eternity.

Hail, our heroes! The most devout of all in God,

Hail, our heroes! May your grace been never forgot.

Though we fear we must depart,

We shall again meet by the side of Lord.

The last verse was repeated twice before the organ brought the song to a halt with a descending set of notes, and eventually, harmony ensued, the declining sounds of the instruments replaced by the breathing of the crowd.

"And now, with our dear King passed, the Kingdom will and must see a new ruler, strong and capable of carrying out his duties," the Pope announced, "and with his son, the heir to the Rosenian throne, of suitable age to reign, it is time that such state affairs were delivered to his management and pressed onto his shoulders. Crown-prince Bedrich, are you present to witness your father, and King's last wishes?"

"Yes, I am." The words seemingly stuck in his throat, but he managed to choke it out.

"Then hear it," the Priest's voice was pious, as he shook out a letter and read, "herein I proclaim my son and heir, Bedrich the Fifth, the successor to the Rosenian throne, indicating that all my possessions within the Crownlands of Rosenia would be inherited by him, and his vassals were to recognize him as the rightful monarch of the Rosenian realms. Now, will you accept your duties and obey the last words of the former monarch, your father, to succeed the Rosenian throne?"

"Yes, I will." Nedrich replied solemnly. He felt the entire audience spectating him and his actions, and therefore attempted to appear calm, "I will step up to any duties and responsibilities required of me, and deal with the difficulties that may face me in the future. I shall stand my ground and remain truthful to my faith, despite all the problems I might come across, and remember that the main principle of a ruler is to attempt the best to do his people good."

"Then we shall test your faith to God through this trial of fire," declared the Pope, as he gestured towards a rank of holy servants, who walked towards his father's funeral spot to stack up the pyre. A wooden cross was installed into the heap of pine and lit the post on fire with the smooth strike of a torch. For a moment the post didn't seem to be moved, and remained untouched by the flames. But then a sparkle emerged, and black mists of smoke began to rise. The post was quick to swirl flames and within a few moments a fire was licking eagerly at the wood, its heat radiant and gleaming against the befallen darkness. It danced tall and huge, swallowing the wooden cross and swallowing Gulfrich's body and his stone bench where he laid, shadowing the crowd as he holy servants feed it fuel. Bedrich blinked and gazed at the ferocious flames, widely astonished and discouraged, uncertain what to do. When he looked at Dorothea, the girl seemed to be half in fear and curiosity herself, the pale colors on her face now displaying a sickly beauty. It did not take long before Bedrich understood that his Queen-to-be, despite her faith with the same root as his religion, practiced different measures. Her Supreme Holy Cross believed in the removal of all sins through the daily practices of the believer, while Bedrich's Wooden Cross proposed a more direct interaction between the God and the believers, and suggested a more radical way in assuring their faith, which, then, had been considered by the Supreme Holy Cross as heretic.

"The time arrives," the Priest boomed when the flame was scorching hot, its heat felt from the distance, and close to devouring the ceiling. Its colors were glimmering in a mixture of orange and red and yellow, a beauty of its own fashion, albeit a deadly one. "Bedrich the Crown Prince, unsheathe your sword and prove your faith to God by plunging your sword and your body into the fire, so that your father's soul might grant you strength and guidance at its last moments before the eventual departure. The God will decide if you are fitted to reign over the Crownlands of Rosenia and be acknowledged the rightful lord over your vassals."

Bedrich looked at his Queen-to-be. The dedicate girl looked worriedly into his eyes but gave him a nervous smile to show her support. Taking a deep breath, Bedrich walked down towards the pyre and unsheathed his sword in a graceful swift move. The blade was straight and sharp at its edges, but took a ripple looking pattern on the broadsides, indicating its rareness and value, worthy of a competent monarch. Its sister blade were grasped firm in his father's hand, as a tradition of the Wooden Cross was to retrieve the properties of the deceased owner to his destined heir through the trial of fire.

Bedrich looked at his blade, recently honed and glimmering against the flame. And he plunged himself into the fire, kneeling besides his father's stone bench, its structures holding firm and tight, for stones don't burn. His father's clothes, however, were on fire, and the steel armor was a charred mess, beginning to melt as the flesh of Gulfrich evaporated and absorbed by the fire, an offering to the God.

He knelt behind his sword, and observed quietly as the flames hissed at him, dancing playfully around his clothes, attempting not to scream and shriek in fear. His clothes were caught on fire, but he remained still, and did not move, awaiting the trial of the God, impatiently. The heart of his was drumming against his chest. Later it beat so fast that for a moment Bedrich had considered it jumping out of his mouth, before taking a swallow of his own saliva to remind himself that all his organs are in place. As the flames closed in to surround him, he flinched away in horror, but woke to surprise to discover that the flames were warm.

"Arise, Bedrich the Fifth, the fire did not burn thee. The God had chosen you as his instrument, and therefore officially installed you as the King of Rosenia and Lord Protector of the Rosenian Faith. Be you blessed by the Cross, and may you execute your responsibilities dutifully. May the God watched over your successful reign and bless your soul."

And with that proclamation the Church went into utter uproar, the men shouting cheers and delivering applauses, with phrases of "All Hail" and "King of Rosenia" ringing and echoing about the hall. Men were going onto their knees swearing their blades and women bent to their new king respectfully. Bedrich stood in a prideful mood and removed the sword previously grasped in his father's hand, now laying peacefully above a pile of charred mess. He removed it from the scabbard and the blade was burning with flames. The wooden post behind him collapsed as he advanced past the cheering members of the audience, greeting them with warm courtesy. He found his girl among the audience, cheering for his appointment as King of Rosenia, and sheathed his swords. Taking Dorothea by the arm, he swirled her about the hall, as the audience chanted even louder, roaring for the engagement of the couple. Eventually the Queen-to-be began to giggle and met her lips with Bedrich's as he dragged her closer to embrace her body.

This was when the door of the Church burst open with a loud thunder. The laughter died down almost immediately as several mounts galloped into the alleyway, their riders fearsome and bearing the banner of a white crowned eagle, laid upon a blood red field. The leader amongst them rode in full-plate armor, and wrapped a banner around his lance. A sabre of glided guard and handle was buckled on his belt, and he only sat on his horse with his red and white cape wrapped around his armor, observing silently as his companions dispersed the crowd, leaving a wide vacant space in the hall.

Bedrich looked back to observe the Priest, startled. However the Priest's stupefied reveal of his emotions suggested that he had not sold the newly proclaimed King out. Confused, he turned to Dorothea, but the girl now only seem frightened, with innocent trails of tears streaking down her pale cheek, her eyes pleading Bedrich to take action. His heart gentled suddenly by the girl's appearance and he gently placed the girl aside indicating her to remain in a safe position.

"Who are you?" Bedrich demanded as he unsheathed his sword, still flaming with swirls of fire, "I will have no intruders in my father's funeral, disrespectable knight."

The rider only laughed. His voice suggested a familiar figure Bedrich had failed to remember, "you got yourself a fancy sword, nephew," the person said as he dismounted and ordered his men to maintain order, "and it seems more like your crowning ceremony then that of your sadly deceased father's funeral. It is a pity you did not invite me, and I was greatly angered by the part that you fell in with pagans and did not ask for a regent although you are ill-suited to rule."

"Our religions are of the same root, King Jan the First, Monarch of Boiski and Grand Duke of Litishnia, although Your Grace was a title too generous for your barbaric nature and dishonorable actions to intrude a holy ceremony."

"Two, in fact," Jan jested, "and carried out by a heretic priest, who claims his religion comparable to the Supreme Holy Cross, the only legitimate and rightful religion in the Known World. It is time I assist you, niece, so that you don't fall into the lures of these unholy men. I mean to be your regent, so as to purify your dirtied heart, done by the actions of these false priests and false religions."

"No, you won't," responded Bedrich as he unsheathed his other sword, "you intruded my father, your brother's funeral, that is disgusting enough, and now you contested the legitimacy to the throne, which has been clearly stated in my father's last wishes, to be passed onto me, and now you slander the nature of my religion, an action I would not permit. Were you not my own kin, I would have ordered my vassals to slay you. But I want no bloodshed in this church to further pollute it with the dirty corpse of yours, and therefore I shall deal this matter with you somewhere else."

"Oh," Jan looked interested enough, "a declaration of war was issued towards the Kingdom of Rosenia, although I believed it to be a bit too late. Must've gotten buried in you pile of unmarked and unread letters. That border garrison of yours got themselves into some trouble, it would seem, and my army along with some formidable units made up of the right believers rode over them. But no worries, we are merciful like God is, and we shall not torment those who laid down their arms," he turned to Bedrich and revealed a evil grin, making a cold shiver run down his spine, "but boy, if you want to dance, then we shall, and I shall fetch a dancing master for you to teach you proper dancing one we are done. You might want to interact with some females, since you are reaching the ripe age to marry."

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