Cecil, Overlord of Cornwall, sat dreaming before the fire. Even in his prime, he had never been a large man and now premature age had shrunk him till only his eyes held the fire of youth that had once been his. On the other side of the fire sat his only child, Eric the Golden, who for some years had carried the burdens of Cornwall and thus learned the duties of Overlord against the day when his father should die.
“Have you ceased writing your history, Father?” asked the young man. “Years past you spent much time in the library; but latterly, when I visited you there, you were often asleep.
“The record of my life does not seem as important now as I once thought it,” Cecil replied. “Time was when it seemed necessary to leave a full documentation to the Hubelaires who will follow me. But after the death of your Mother it seemed I lost interest. There are a few blank pages remaining in the volume, which, perhaps, some bookishly minded descendant of mine may fill; but I will write no more. At the back of this book is a chart on parchment showing where Hubelaire treasures are buried in our castle. For one reason or another or for no reason I have never sought them. You should remember they are there and locate the treasures or pass the secret on to your son.”
The men were waiting for the wise physician to announce the birth of Eric’s child, who in turn, if a son, would some day rule over the land. Cecil had found this country of Cornwall a land of starved simple folk, horrific monsters, still more terrible giants and bands of marauding robbers. His wisdom, more than his strength of arms, had wiped out evil until Cornwall was now a pleasant place to live. On reaching manhood his son, Eric the Golden, had married Black Breda, Princess of Wales. It was an odd marriage, the man a flaxen-haired giant and the woman tiny, black-haired, with great love in her heart and the laughter of pixies in her soul. Now she was in labor, a cause of anxiety to her husband and father-in-law.
The Overlord stroked the golden key which hung pendant to a thick silken cord round his neck, and looked lovingly at his son.
“I am uneasy about this matter of Breda and her child,” he said. “Long years ago I came to this land from Armorica and, helped by a mighty magician, won victory over the Toad Men. My friend in this struggle between light and darkness made me Overlord of Cornwall and gave me this key. On it are graven words of a race long dead, so none now can read it, but the meaning of those words is simply this;
They who hold the Golden Key
Shall ever Lords of Cornwall be.
“Thus far the prophecy on the key has been correct. In one way or another I have held the land for you and for those who will come after you. We are at peace with those around us. For many years we have held our borders against those, who live by the sword. Our nobles rule wisely and our common folk are content. All have clothes on their backs, fire in their huts and meat in their kettles. “
“But last night I had a dream. Mayhaps it was only a false foreboding of evil, caused by my overanxiety concerning your lady and he travail, but it seemed to me that at least one of the Toad Men is still alive to do harm to me and mine. My friend with the club feet, who, as priest, married me and your mother Leonora, thought that one was still alive but considered him harmless. Still, it may be that evil never dies. You have heard me speak of this key before, but keep in mind the ancient words. Tell your son about them and have him tell his son. As long as we hold the key, we hold Cornwall; once it is taken from us, our land sinks back to the barbarism in which I found it.”
He would have said more, but was interrupted by the old physician, who walked to a place before the fire and stood rubbing his withered hands. At last he turned to Eric and, as though answering a question, said: “Your lady will live. Prince Eric, but she will bear you no more children.”
The golden-haired giant sprung toward him and shaking him roughly by the shoulders, cried: “What of the child? Is it a boy? Will he live? “
Lord Cecil leaned forward, hand gripping the arms of his ivory chair. The physician laughed mockingly. “Tis a boy and he will live, though when you see him you will think it better had he died. Through him the Brethren of the Toad Men who died untimely that night when Cecil the pauper helped the Devil kill us are revenged. “
The Overlord of Cornwall stood up. “Age made me lose my cunning and caution,” he muttered grimly. Turning sharply to his son he cried: “Hands off the man, Eric. Nothing must happen to you.”
With slow but certain step he moved toward the old physician. For that ancient there was no retreat save into the fire. Then they met, grappled, swayed and fell floorward, the Overlord underneath. The physician had one arm around Cecil’s body and one hand on his throat, but Cecil seemed content to have both arms locked behind the other’s neck. Eric tore a dagger from his belt and was bending to plunge it into the Toad Man when his wrist was caught in a grip that held him powerless. Turning, he saw a dark stranger who smiled and whispered: “Do not interfere. Your sire is a proud man and I know that he has wisdom to use the only manner by which he can win. He would not want either of us to interfere with his dispensing of justice. He is a true Hubelaire!”
Slowly and surely Cecil brought his face to the face of his adversary carefully he fastened to him, mouth to mouth, and tightly he held him, sucking the breath of life from his body. The physician twisted above him, strove to rise, to shake off his executioner, but slowly relaxed and at last, with a few tortured jerks, died. And as death came his body changed, almost instantaneously, into that of a giant toad, clad in human garments, but nonetheless a toad and very dead at that. The stranger separated the living from the dead, threw the toad into the flames and then knelt beside the Overlord of Cornwall.
“I should have come long before, my dear friend, he said, his voice husky with emotion, but I was busy with serious duties in Tartary and only today did I realize your danger. So I came on, the wings of light, barely in time to help you but not in time to save the boy. Now he is as he is and no one can make him different. But his father can hold the key, and after him mayhap, the boy can be made somewhat of. I am not all-wise, but I know there is still one of the race of the Toad Men left. Where that one is or in what shape I know not, but never will the House of Hubelaire be safe till this last one is destroyed. You have been badly hurt; methinks the poison breathed from that spawn of Hell will spell your doom. But all brave men pass sometime and you can be comforted in knowing that you pass bravely. I will escort your spirit to Gobi, where you will spend an eternity as you will, and no doubt that will be in a library.”
Thus Cecil, first Overlord of Cornwall, passed and Eric the Golden became custodian of the Golden Key and ruled over the land in his father’s stead. Messengers carried the broken bow and the flaming torch throughout the country and by the third day many nobles from near and far came to do the dead man homage. Even the Queen of Ireland drove stately in her golden chariot, and in silver chariots behind her sat three blind harpers who sang new songs in praise of the dead Overlord. But the simple folk sat unconsoled in their huts, wondering what now would happen to them.
It was not till after the funeral-guests had departed and the stranger had returned to Gobi that Eric had time to visit his wife and son. He had asked often about them and was always assured that they were doing well. Now, with the castle empty of visitors he went to the river and bathed till much of his grief and deep sorrow was washed from him in the snow water from the mountains. Then he dressed in his brave court suit and, humming a little song, walked back to the castle and to the room where his wife and child lay.