[ WP ] A king is blessed with triplets . Rather than choose one as his heir , he separates the trio and sends each to a secluded island with a small retinue , to see which will grow up to be the most deserving of the throne .


 Part 1 
 
 “ It ’ s been eight years since I ’ ve seen the two of you. I can ’ t use words to say -- to say how happy I am to finally have you here again. ” 
 
 King Tarlac ’ s two sons stood before him. They were two very different men from each other, and even more different from the boys they were when they first left to govern the islands their father had given them: small island vassals, just enough a place to prove their worth. 
 
 “ Where ’ s Arran? He better not be late, ” asked Angus. Tarlac was proud to have Angus as a son, and this son was perfectly capable of running the Kingdom; he knew how to raise armies in a hours notice, was well-read in military strategy, and had actually substantially expanded the borders of Tarlac ’ s kingdom. The only issue Tarlac could see arising from Angus assuming the throne was not his ability to subdue foreigners, but his treatment of his own subjects. Yes, he had effectively put down a number of revolts with ease, but doubtless, had caused them himself with draconian laws, heavy taxes, massive militarization. 
 
 “ I miss him, it ’ s been far too long. I wonder how his island turned out. I pray that he be still in good health, ” said Logan. Logan was in every way the polar opposite of his brother in terms of ruling, but may have been an even better leader for the kingdom. Though his island ’ s military consisted only of a small voluntary militia, he ha little need for defense as he established friendly trading relationships and stable diplomacy with the local tribes and neighboring kingdoms. The only relations he had that were better than those with foreigners, were the relationship he had with his subjects. He maintained low taxes, declared freedom of religion, even allowed peasants to voice opinions against him -- almost suicidal for a monarch, but strangely, he had no contests to power and not a single rebellion. He would often say that he wanted to model his society on those that collapsed centuries before; the United States, the European Union, the United Kingdom, all the great and free nations of a bygone and lost age. 
 
 “ My sons, I haven ’ t heard word back from Arran since you have, ” told Tarlac, a tear welling up in his eye. “ He was doomed from the start. I shouldn ’ t have put him on the western edge. The wild clans must have knew that there was a change in leadership -- they knew they could take a town that was just settling into new leadership, a vassal ruled by only a boy, barely sixteen. 
 
 “ Arran might have been the smartest of all of you. If only he were here, ” Tarlac said, holding back tears. Arran was a gifted boy from the beginning. He was writing blueprints for more efficient windmills before the age of seven, and had reverse-engineered some antiquated technology from the Great Ages, a *truck*, he said it was, before the age of nine. He studied under a clockmaker on a whim, even learned some of the principles of *electricity* from the wizardly fellow in Tarlac ’ s court. 
 
 “ I thought that maybe his powerful mind would give him what he needed to rule the island, ” Tarlac said. “ I thought he would have excelled, far beyond the both of you. I should have known that his genius was n't that of governance, that he didn ’ t have what it would take to maintain an island bordering the lands of the Wild Clans. I should have known that I sent him to his death. I ’ m sorry I hid this from you for eight long years, eight long years after the last messenger never came back from the island.. ” 
 
 Angus and Logan looked on in dismay. Their father, King of the United Chiefdoms, strongman and conqueror, reduced to tears. They knew that the West was the worst possible place to put someone such as Arran. They didn ’ t question their father ’ s decision to send him off, not out of obedience but selfishness; it was evident that Arran was their father's favorite son, and anything that would eliminate a competitor might give them a clearer chance at the throne. Their determination for the throne overrode their brotherly love. 
 
 Arran was a genius, no doubt, and Tarlac certainly had faith in him. Unfortunately, his was not the mind to sustain a kingdom. Instead of studying military strategy, he had devoted much of his reading to ancient martial technologies that they may never have the resources to once again replicate. An introvert, had little capacity for banter, and was as lacking in his abilities to negotiate diplomacy as he was to lead his subjects. Yet Tarlac still had faith that he would sustain those holdings in the west; his faith fell short, however, in that Arran might still be alive. 
 
 Tarlac, as well-dressed as he was in thick woolen tartan and a golden crown, looked more akin to a downtrodden street beggar weeping upon the throne. His already pale, Gaelic skin had taken on a new tone of white, his cheeks almost the same color as long, ash-colored hair. 
 
 Logan started, “ Father I -- ” 
 
 “ Please… I just… I ’ m sorry.. I sent your brother to the grave, the wild clans surely tore him to pieces. Eight years... ” Tarlac sobbed. 
 
 Angus began, “ I have the might. I could tear every last and single -- ” 
 
 “ Sending barbarian to the grave won ’ t bring your brother back from it! ” shouted Tarlac. Angus and Logan were speechless, seeing such a powerful man, now old and graying, soaking his hands with tears as he buried his face. 
 
 A messenger entered the hall. “ Tarlac, my King -- ” 
 
 “ Not now! Be gone! ” 
 
 “ It ’ s urgent! We can ’ t -- ” 
 
 “ I said be gone! ” Tarlac threw a glass cup, crafted ages ago when the great Nations of America and Europe were in full swing, across the hall. It shattered into a thousand pieces. “ Please..not now... ” 
 
 “ The Kingdoms to the south. Their armies will be on the city in a matter of hours, my King. ” 
 
 -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- - 
 
 Tarlac looked out across the land from the castle. Across oceans of trees, spirals of smoke rose from burned-out manors and scorched fields. Tarlac ’ s abilities had worn down with the years; there would be one final test to see who would be worthy of the throne, if it were still there by nightfall. 
 
 “ Angus, I have read reports from your island. You raised armies from mere peasants in almost no time, and not only held positions with pitchforks and torches, but pushed forward into enemy territory. ” Tarlac said, looking his son in the eyes. 
 
 “ Father, you know how unruly the capital peasants are; they barely bow down to you. I can get enough weaponry to put up a fight, but I can ’ t conscript from such a crowd as this. ” 
 
 Tarlac turned to his other son. “ Logan, you are good with people. The peasants of the capital are indeed rowdy bunch; I need you speak on the common, grab the people ’ s attention, pacify them, bring order. It is the only way we can recruit and maintain solidarity long enough to hold out ” 
 
 “ It can be done father. I ’ ll have them loyal and at your side. ” Logan replied, and was soon down the staircase and out to the streets of the town. 
 
 Tarlac stared out at the ravages, ever approaching the capital, and the castle within its walls. He brought his sons here to decide who was more fit to rule the kingdom; chances were, Tarlac himself could be the last to preside over it. 
 
 

