Across the Plains of Druath

Julianna loved to travel almost as much as she loved playing her harp. News from neighboring kingdoms always thrilled her, and whenever her brother, Prince Lorian was called away on an emissary Julianna begged her father to allow her to tag along. Usually the answer was a definitive no. The Kingdom of Marithia was becoming a dangerous place to travel, especially for a young woman, and especially after the fires on the Plains of Druath. The ensuing famine was causing bands of robbers to roam the desolate countryside, waylaying and kidnapping helpless travelers. Relief funds from the Marithian treasure chest had forced the kingdom to the brink of bankruptcy.

One day Julianna received a message of a harp gathering and competition in the neighboring kingdom of Anubia. She had been invited to compete in the prestigious event, which took place only every 5 years. The winner received 1000 pieces of gold. What an honor for a young woman! She begged her father to let her attend.

“Well,” came the reply. “As it happens, Prince Lorian needs to visit Anubia to negotiate a loan for the relief effort. OK, you can go together, but I will send an escort of 20 armed men.”

Julianna could hardly contain herself as she packed her harp with extra strings and said good bye to her friends. She took her best friend Drucilla with her.

Now they were trudging wearily across the desolate Plains of Druath. The Prince took up the lead with 10 armed men, followed by Julianna and Drucilla in the carriage, followed by the remaining guard and the pack animals. It was so dusty they could hardly breath.

“Look,” Julianna exclaimed to her companion. “The trees are nothing but burned stubs. And look how those ponds have all dried up. The ground is so deep in ashes.”

“Yes,” replied Drucilla. “My family lives not far from here. Their farm is completely destroyed, and they have no money or tools or wood with which to rebuild. They don’t even have money to move to another kingdom. They are sleeping on the ashes of their house, and digging irrigation ditches with rough stones because all their tools have been burned up. The fire is the doom of thousands of families like mine. They are sentenced to poverty for years to come.”

“What can we do to help?” Julianna grew anxious and depressed at her friend’s words.

“They need tools, and new livestock, and grain seed, and wood to re-build the farms. The money that the King sends gets robbed more often than not, by the bandits, and never reaches the people for whom it was intended.”

They rode on with heavy hearts.

“What’s that cloud of dust coming toward us?” Julianna pointed. The men ahead had stopped and now drew their weapons, but it was already too late. A fierce band of marauders overpowered the King’s guard, and held the travelers captive. The desperate plainsmen looked parches and lean as they whirled their scrawny horses in the dust. The surly leader spoke with Prince Lorian.

The Prince spoke first. “What is your intent with us, O’ Chief of the Bandits?”

“Ha, Prince Lorian of Marithia,” he sneered. “We know exactly who you are, and that you are traveling to Anubia with your sister, Princess Julianna.”

Julianna did not like the sound of this conversation. She shrank down next to Drucilla.

“Rest assured,” the villain continued, “we intend no bodily harm to you or your people. Only you must know we are poor folk and must be creative in our means of gaining income in thei inhospitile land. We only intend to hold you with us until your gracious father the King had made an appropriate donation to our cause.” The kidnappers laughed greedily.

The Prince raised his voice in anger. “You can’t do this. We are merely passing through this land of devastation. I command you to let us go at once!” More derisive hoots and hollers issued from the ruffians.

“Ha, has,” laughed the leader. “In your position it is not wise to resist my intent. You will travel in our company from now on and you will address me as Lord Prill.” Julianna’s heart was pounding so hard she could hardly hear the next few words. “You are free to come and go with in our camp, but if you or one of your party tries to escape, it will not go well with you. Lord Prill gives no second warnings.”

That evening as the odd group of captors and captives went about preparing a meager dinner Julianna took out her harp, which was a bit dusty from travel. She tuned it up, and by the flickering firelight she played a mournful dreary air. One by one the bandits grew silent, listening to the sweet sadness that touched each heart in a unique way. For one the music called to mind a golden meadow, lush in may time’s generosity. For another the music conjured the sweet touch of a loved one, gone forever in the mighty configuration. The haunting melody reminded another of a life of ease, fine wine and plenty of meat, an era before belts were tightened to the last notch; an era when thieving was not a necessary way of life. Lort Prill approached the harper.

“Well, Princess,” His gruff voice quavered after the last notes had faded. “That’s a fine instrument you have there. I’d be mighty obliged if you could play us a few more tunes.”

“No!” Julianna’s sudden reply surprised even her. “No, I will not play for you again until you tell my how you could have betrayed your own people by turning this wasteland which used to thrive with abundance into a nightmare. Tell me how you are preying upon human misery for your own greedy gain. Tell me how you can stoop to feed upon carrion, like the filthy vultures that tear out the eyes of their victims before they are even dead? How can you have fallen so low?”

“Harsh words, Princess,” Lord Prill stared into the fire. “But these are harsh times and survival goes to the tough. I sincerely wish to help the families here, my own kinsmen among them, but we have no means.” Julianna’s anger subsided with the pleading note in the bandit’s voice.

“OK,” she said. “I’ll make you a deal. The Kingdom of Marithia is nearly bankrupt, as you must know. To hold us ransom would ruin Marithia, reduce us all to poverty, and open us up to anarchy and chaos. Here’s the bargain: If I win the harp competition in Anubia, I will offer the 1000 gold pieces prize money to help the families rebuild the farms of the Plains of Druath. In exchange you will grant us our complete freedom and promise to stop waylaying innocent travelers. Will you help, Lord Prill, in this endeavor to re-build your future?