My master, Grand Wizard Geniv Fiztr, was an idiot. He was also the smartest member of Kelinth's governing body. Other countries had spices and porcelains but we boasted the finest set of fools on the continent. That was actually a matter of great pride in our kingdom; it clearly showed that Kelinth's prosperity was all due to the hard-work and tenacity of its common citizens. The pride derived from this made the people look at the antics of the King and his nobles with amusement, though most probably would not mourn their passing.

The latter feeling became quite pronounced after the King made a certain proclamation, one that had several persons sharpening their pitchforks. The problem began, really, with Kelinth's location. The entire country was mostly flatland, dotted here and there with a few small hills. Most of it was green and filled with forests and streams. All of it was fertile and a beauty to behold.

For centuries Kelinthans had lived in prosperous harmony with the land and were hard-pressed to find fault with even an inch of it. The generous bounty it produced generated the patient tolerance the people afforded the nobility.

So when King Dremond found fault with our kingdom it was an affront to our pride as well as to our good common sense. See, Kelinth was completely inland and the King wanted us to have a sea lapping on our non-existent shores.

His most notable attempt involved sand.

"Sand?" Master Geniv asked, a frown marring his lined face. My master was rather young for his profession and his wizard's beard was grey instead of white and hung only to his stomach. Thankfully, his dark blue robes, knotted wooden staff and tall pointy hat made up for his short-comings.

"It is the perfect solution," King Dremond defended in his deep voice.

"I think it might work," Kenfer, the Duke of Eresn offered, a smile on his handsome face.

The problem, I always thought, was that the nobles looked the part of the role they played–or rather, were supposed to play. King Dremond stood at an impressive height and was broad of shoulders and slim of hip. His black beard was neatly trimmed and his voice echoed through the hallways without him making the slightest effort. He wasn't classically handsome but his rugged looks still had the power to make ladies swoon. At thirty-five he was a rather eligible bachelor for those who were willing to overlook his lack of brains.

His nobles were handsome, charming and distinguished-looking. Their brown skin, black hair and grey eyes were typical of all Kelinthans.

Widow Jessa, the healer, could always be heard saying that the nobility got so focused on cultivating good looks that they ended up breeding intelligence right out of their lines.

Indeed, the aristocrats who presented themselves at the farmlands of Kelinth's west border a week later were a fine set of fools. My master, standing beside the king, reached out to pull me to their sides but I dodged, embarrassed. Slinking to the back I turned to look at the objects of everyone's attention.

A long row of carriages piled high with sand stood facing us, their backs to the Kelinth-Heernf border. At the command of King Dremond the drivers emptied their load. There was a cloud of dust as sand settled to the ground and many coughed, covering their faces.

The dust cleared and several groans could be heard.

"Sand? This asinine madcap of a king just poured sand on my crops?" one particular furious farmer whispered.

"Quiet, you might hurt his feelings!" someone close-by shushed him. "Besides, he might have simply thought it was fertilizer."

The King spread his arms wide and silence fell. "With this, we shall have sea! No water can resist the call of this fine sand."

The people stared at him in shock. Terrified that a few stray gazes might land on me I tried to make myself as small as possible. The King grinned in blissful oblivion and for a moment I envied him that. Sadly I had inherited my late mother's intelligence and all the embarrassment that came with it.

One man raised his hand and cleared his throat when the king pointed to him. "You think pouring sand on our borders will bring the sea."

There was another eruption of whispers when His Majesty nodded.

"This! This is why I dye my hair and affect an accent when I visit Heernf," a trader murmured, "I'm too ashamed to let people from other kingdoms know I'm a Kelinthan, we're laughingstocks."

"You actually leave the kingdom? I'm too afraid to do something that brave," a young man said admiringly.

"I do believe I'm going to kill him," the furious farmer said in a conversational tone.

"You can't!" another replied.

"Why not?"

"Because he's the king!"

"That is precisely why I'm going to kill him. Imagine what life would be like if I did."

There was a moment of silent reflection as the others pondered this. Some had a dreamy, almost blissful look on their faces. By this time I was backtracking as fast and as far as I could. I had almost reached the shelter of the trees when someone gave voice to the aristocracy's whole reason for being.

"But then what will we do for entertainment?"

There were a chorus of 'ahs' and the hostility lessened.

The now only slightly furious farmer turned again to the king. "Could you tell us, Your Majesty, just why you think this will work?"

The crowd leaned forward in anticipation.

King Dremond nodded sagely. "That is indeed a noble question my friend. It has to do with a thing called gravity. Sand is comprised mainly of quartz, a mineral that derives its hardness from gravity. When so much of this quartz is gathered in one place the gravitational pull is strong, strong enough to pull the water under the earth to the surface. We all know the earth turns and as it does, the water within moves, approaching and receding from Earth's crust. In a few turns when the water is closer it will be within reach of the sand's pull and we will have our very own sea!"

There was a moment of silence as the crowd rocked back on its heels.

"Well...that...actually sounds smart," one murmured.

"No it doesn't!" another hissed.

"How do you know?" several demanded.

"Because, well, look whose mouth the words are coming from, how can any of that make sense?"

"We must consider that he had the finest education this kingdom has to offer. We could hope that it has finally rubbed off," another suggested in a voice devoid of hope.

The murmured debate continued until the farmer made a request of the king. "Your Majesty, begging your pardon but might we have a word with the young prince?"

I sighed and shuffled forward, no longer able to hide. It mattered not in any case; if I had not been present the entire crowd would have marched to the palace to find me. At the tender age of ten, my word was trusted more than that of any noble. From the age of three, when I had run from the path of a falling table rather than command it to stop, I had been propelled into the seat of one wise beyond his station.

"Well, young sir?" the question was asked of me.

I did not hesitate but answered with candid truth. "The King makes as much sense as he is known to."

"I see," the good farmer fingered his cutlass and had to be held back.

Even knowing they would never hurt me–indeed, all their hopes for a grand future rested on my shoulders– I still scampered back to the dubious safety of the King and my master's shadows.

Widow Jessa would have shaken her head at me. She was known to proclaim that my upbringing in the palace was doing me worse harm than if I had been raised by a Heernfian merchant. It was quite possibly proclamations of this sort that fostered the embarrassment in my heart towards the nobility and caused me to think of my father as 'The King'. Still despite all that, it was my duty and birthright to stay by his side.

The mutterings of the crowd took on a distinctly ominous shade and a hasty retreat was beaten back to the palace. The disgruntled tone of the people was by now so familiar that a noble could hear it from three miles away and flee, until such a time as the humor in a situation could be found.

The King, more humorous than most, soon recovered his high spirits despite the people's reaction. Not a day passed when he did not ride out to our borders and bend his ear to the earth to hear if the water was closer. Plans were drafted and laws made in preparation of the glorious day when we would have a sea of our own.

As the people were wont to do, they soon found the humor in this latest escapade and the taverns rolled with recounting and suppositions. They eagerly awaited the King's next move.

Yet sadly it was not meant to be.

King Dremond saw not his sea.

Days, weeks and months passed by and the King grew more dejected with each passing. So sure was he that his plan would work that its failure struck him a worse blow than a Grairian assassin's blade. He had envisioned a great gift for his people and the realization of his biggest dream. Instead all his plans lay in ruins, crushing his spirit with their falling.

Soon his melancholy demeanor was noticed and lamented by all. A fool the King may be, but he was loved by his people. His generosity and fairness had always been praised and his willingness to talk to even the lowest peasant had caused his many sins to be overlooked. Now he spent most of his time locked in the palace where not even my master, the Grand Wizard Geniv Fiztr, could rouse him from his broken stupor.

As the King's heart left him, so did the heart of the people.

Or so I believed.

There came a day when a grand crowd arrived and forced us from the castle. The aristocracy was scared beyond their wits –meaning they were mildly frightened– as we were herded towards the western border. Many thought the people were rebelling, and cried to the king for help. He answered them not a word.

Instead his shoulders drooped the closer we got to the site of the sand he had placed so much hope in. Then a voice caused him to raise his head.

"Your Majesty, look!" it was the same good farmer, furious no longer.

As one, we followed his pointing finger and drew to a stunned halt. My young mouth fell open at the water that could be seen lapping at the ill-placed sand.

The king found his voice. "How could this be?" he wondered.

"It is as you said, my lord," a weaver replied, "the water from the earth has been drawn here by the sand. You, oh great king, have brought the sea to Kelinth!"

At his proclamation a mighty cheer went up and bows were handed out to the king, who looked quite dazed.

I was beside myself with surprise. It seemed inconceivable that King's Dremond's plan could have actually worked. I looked around for an explanation and spotted it scurrying into the bushes. Large, empty barrels and wheelbarrows were being rolled out of sight. As I faced forward again I saw one man surreptitiously kick a shovel out of the way. His hands were heavily calloused and raw.

I knew then how the sea had come to be.

The King–my father– was overjoyed. The spirit could be seen draining back into his face and soon Father threw back his head and laughed. The sound was so merry that the people joined in.

"I am sure that Dremond's Sea will continue to grow," the farmer declared grandly, "and one day I will be able to tell my children and grandchildren how much of my very own land lies beneath this glorious body of water."

His words were shown to be true as over the years the sea grew and grew. Soon the people in west Kelinth carried some fine sets of shoulders and became known for their strength, endurance and handiness with a shovel.

Dremond's Sea became a source of pride and enjoyment for all and over time mysteriously sprouted sea life after several merchants returned from a long trip by Heernf's shores.

The spirit of the king and people once again abounded throughout the land.

And so we lived on, a fine kingdom of fools.