Once upon a time, there was a young lad named Peter Tork. He lived with Lord Henry Babbitt and his son Ronald in the large old manor house on the edge of Grenwicha. Peter had no idea who his real parents were. Lord Herny claimed he’d found him abandoned on his doorstep. Though he raised Peter, he preferred his own son and came to loathe the sight of Peter so much, he banished him to the kitchen and made him the scullery boy. The only clue to Peter’s true identity was on a small gold medallion that he had around his neck when he was found.
Ronald was deeply jealous of Peter. Though Peter was shy and quiet, he was also handsome, with dark gold hair, soft brown eyes that melted the heart of all who saw them, and a bright, infectious smile. Even more than his looks, Peter Tork was a genuinely gentle, kind soul. He never said anything truly mean to anyone, even to his adoptive father and brother, and would burst into tears if he broke a flower‘s petals. He was also talented. He taught himself to play the guitar and mandolin and took lessons in piano and harpsichord before Lord Henry withdrew him from all lessons and from school.
Ronald was not a musician. He couldn’t sing without people fleeing the room with their hands over their ears. He was a sorcerer, like his father. His father wanted him to become the ruler of the kingdom, but for now, he found most of his enjoyment in strutting around the town of Grenwicha in his fine clothes and tormenting his adopted brother. He did his best to make Peter look unattractive and stupid. He cut off his gold hair. He smeared soot across the young man’s face. He dressed him in rags and tatters. He brought him into town to carry his bags and let pretty ladies in elegant gowns stare at his patched trousers and shirts and laugh at his awkward shyness.
Peter was happiest when he was outside, tending to the animals in the farmyard, or working on a new song. He slept in the hay loft in the barn, where he played the old, weathered guitar he’d scraped up enough money to buy from a second-hand shop in Grenwicha. He was not permitted to play in the main house, for fear he’d show up Ronald. He worked all day, from dawn until dusk, scrubbing pots and pans, feeding the chickens, horses, cows, and pigs, beating rugs, scrubbing floors, gathering water from the well in the farmyard, and helping Cook and maids make dinner.
Peter dreamed of finding love with a beautiful woman who would see past his grimy appearance and appreciate his talents and gentle nature. He’d thought of running away several times, but Grenwicha was the only home he’d ever known, and Lord Henry and Ronald were his family, no matter how they treated him. He assumed he‘d eventually marry one of the maids, or become a minstrel or an apprentice to one of the shopkeepers in Grenwicha, but something deep inside his heart told him there was more to life than becoming an apprentice.
Peter wasn’t the only person in Grenwicha who dreamed of finding love and running away. Princess Valerie wanted to run away her whole life. She was the only child of King James, and he doted on his little girl to the point where she was seldom allowed outside of the castle gates. Her only friends were the castle animals and her faithful bodyguards, Sir Robert Nesmith, Sir George Dolenz, and Sir David Jones. The three young knights were the closest members of the court to her age, and they amused her with their stories, jokes, and music-playing skills.
Robert was the leader of the three. He was protective and strong-willed, and stubborn as a mule. He was fond of the boys and of Valerie, but he’d never let on just how fond. George was full of laughter and merriment, always looking for a new game or diversion. Little David was sweet and charming, smaller than the others but no less strong and talented. They were like the brothers she never had. They were in charge of making sure no man tried to steal her away from her tower rooms or make off with her in the night.
One day, the three were riding back from a trip into town to visit the music halls, stores, and women there. George and David in particular were feeling the effects of a little too much ale, and Robert thought it was best if they found a house to stay in for the night. He pointed out one once-grand but now slightly dilapidated house in the valley. “Well, it ain’t four-star deluxe accommodations, but it’ll do for restin’.”
“Look!” Sir George pointed to the house as they charged towards the valley. A small, plump, buxom woman in a tight gown crooked her finger at the trio, beckoning them to come with her in the woods. Another, younger woman stood next to her. This woman was actually rather skinny and a bit plain, but she simpered and giggled and fluttered her eyelashes.
“Well,” David said eagerly, “what are we waiting for? I got dibs on the one with the knockers!” He instantly followed the two women into the woods.
“That’s not fair!” complained George as he went after him. “You always get the ones with the knockers! It’s my turn!”
Robert frowned. “Hey, guys, there’s something wrong here! We’re supposed to be looking at the manor house in the valley, not the local wildlife!” He rode further and further into the gloomy forest and never once saw his two best friends or their mounts. “Georgie? Davy? Hey, guys, where are you?” He gulped. “Come on, guys, this ain’t funny!”
That was when he heard voices. He rode as fast as he could over the forest floor, following the frightened sounds of his friends. He finally stopped in a small clearing. George and Davy dangled from a tree, each trapped in a small cage.
“Rob!” gasped George. “Get out of here and warn Val, before they catch you, too!”
Robert reached for the white-handled sword on his hip. “I’m gonna get you down from there. I can‘t just leave you like this!” He went a few steps further when a loop of strong rope dropped from one of the trees, pinning his arms to his torso. The rope yanked him off his horse and dragged him into a third cage.
“That’s the last of them, Father.” A small, thin young man walked out of the trees. He wore fine clothes and carried a good, well-made sword, but his plain, pinched face was contorted in a sneer. He took Robert’s white sword from him, ignoring his kicks and curses.
“Good work, son.” A larger, dark-haired man, also well-dressed, joined him. “I’ll take that.” The younger man handed him the sword, which he stuck in a stump with David and George’s blue and red-handled weapons. “You’d think Princess Valerie’s hand-picked royal guard would know better than to allow themselves to be captured so easily.”
Robert roared angrily. “When we get free, we’re gonna shove those swords so far up your rears, you ain’t gonna be sittin’ for the rest of your lives!”
“Give us our swords back!” George wailed. “They’re magic! Anyone who uses them will automatically be undefeatable in battle! A great magician made those for us!”
“What do you want?” David asked.
“You and your magic swords out of the way,” the older man chuckled, “and your princess for my son’s wife.”
“There are better ways to tell a girl you like her than sticking her bodyguards in cages,” George grumbled.
The man shook his head. “The three of you will just interfere with my plans. You’re too close to the princess.”
“When do I get to marry Princess Valerie?” the younger man whined.
“Soon,” his father replied. He looked at the three imprisoned young men with an evil glint in his eyes. “But for now, I know just the thing to make some use of these idiots and even bring us some cash.”
“Don’t you dare!” Robert roared, but it was no use. The older man raised his hand and chanted some strange words, ignoring the boys’ cries and struggles. His son watched as a dark mist surrounded the three young men...and the screams of three humans were replaced with animal noises.