I ride the King’s highway, wherever I go,
relentless, regardless of friend or of foe.
Ye ghoulish horrors that prowl by night
beware or be tasted by sword-blade so bright.
Though wild, deserted, this province I sing,
belongs yet by right to my master the King.
Further yet, from His Majesty’s siege,
is granted in fief by Imperial Liege.
The whole thing witnessed with ineffable hope
by their master and mine, our sovereign Lord Pope.
But far are those who hold it in fee,
this forested border is watched over by me.
The wild wood-woses who dwell in the land,
though looking like men, cannot understand.
Living like cattle born without souls,
drag out their existence like tormented trolls.
Once all this province was lovely and fair,
its people contented, its knights without care.
Neglect and treachery smothered its good,
over green farmland grew up this wood.
Over the border, the evil things came,
ogres, bogles, things without name.
The stones of roads the King had laid
grew over with bushes, became unmade.
Taliesin and Dante found their way out;
most, though, were caught, lacking a scout.
Their witless descendants, the woses are here,
too witless and feckless to even know fear.
Of the demon creatures that restlessly prowl
when all are asleep, save the night owl.
My father’s house was filled with song,
their fires were bright and joy was long.
But summons came from His Majesty’s Court
asking for aid where his long arm was short.
He sent me here to maintain good order
alone, without aid, to warden the border.
Now, when a wose learns how to think
or a traveler lost in a bog starts to sink,
I help them out of this terrible waste
back to the road to leave in great haste.
This forest is deep; its boundaries are wide.
Undaunted, alone, I gradually ride.
But no matter how gaily I warble and sing,
no messenger comes from the court of the King.
Nearby is a bishop who lives in a tower.
We chat, now and then, for a day or an hour.
Other knights too sometimes ride this way,
but of news from the Court can none of them say.
Yet I still believe in the King and his might,
one day, he shall come to save us from night.
This land yet is his till he comes back again,
for him, will I hold it, and battle his bane.
Ye ghoulish horrors that prowl by night
beware! Or be tasted by sword-blade so bright.
Relentless, regardless of friend or of foe,
I ride the King’s Highway, wherever I go!
Image Credit – Original art by Author