There were two main reasons why, when Astaril was founded, it was done so on the eastern side of Italea Bay. First, it was almost as far north as one could go before mountains and forests and mountains covered in forests began to inhibit any grand structures or large cities. Secondly, and this was the reason it was built on the western side of the continent, it was nestled up against the most picturesque bay in all of Terra. It was made out of curved corners and sweeping inlets, creating so much bayside property that all the nobility of Terra had views of the bay. There were vineyards and streams, bridges of stone and well tended roads. The bridges crossed over the bay several times at its narrowest points, becoming a river that went nowhere and the weather was almost always clement. Enough rain to keep that which was meant to be green, lush and verdant and soft sunshine that sparkled from the water’s surface as though the lake was filled with diamonds.


    While the forts were built with offense and defence in mind, slab sides, hard lines, strong designs and using somewhat ugly stone to make the structures as strong as possible, the city of Astaril suffered no such limitations. And as the land grew more and more cultivated the closer the travellers came to the outskirts of the city, the buildings, even the farmhouses and outer taverns, were prosperous and tastefully designed. They could choose quality over quantity when it came to their appearance. Another stark difference was the amount of vegetation around Astaril. Taverns had climbing roses and grapevines and there were plenty of orchards with fruit hanging heavy off their branches, the weather clement enough that the trees happily produced a harvest most of the year.


    Unable to reach Astaril the night before, Judd had pondered camping in a farmyard or barn but Verne showed the gold coins Aalis had given him, stating she had no use for money. Giordi added that a room with a bath would help wash off the travel grime and a soft, plush bed would revive their weary expressions. After already experiencing two meals where Aalis had not cooked for them, the greatest clincher in the deal was the lamb stew that wafted from the tavern they elected to stay in. The tavern owner was more than a little perplexed at the sight of Suvau but at Judd’s personal request, allowed him to enter.


    It seems his name had begun to hold more than a little weight.


    “I’ll have to wield the name of LaMogre myself,” Giordi winked in the room afterwards, “could get me out of all manner of trouble.”


    “You do that and I’ll denounce you without a second thought.” Judd’s joke was not without brittle edges. His companions knew he was suffering grievously from a broken heart and didn’t take it personally.


    Judd went to bathe and the others let him have the bath to himself.


    Verne looked around as he unpacked, chewing the inside of his mouth. “It just feels wrong without her.”


    “Wrong and empty.” Suvau nodded. “But she made a decision to protect Judd.”


    “I agree.” Caste said unexpectedly and they all stared at him. “What? Aalis is a confirmed witch. Judd might have found himself demoted from knighthood not long after he reached it should she have been exposed in his company.”


    Verne leaned against the wall and folded his arms. “I’m surprised you’re willing to accept the ‘kill’ of a witch on your list. Isn’t that a violation of trust with the Order?” Caste gave Verne a dirty look and he held up his hands. “It’s not a criticism, more an…observation.”


    Caste hung his cappa clausa up, stroking it to encourage the creases to smooth out. “She is no threat to anyone…and in the time spent in her company, Aalis did a great deal to help and even save others.”


    “So…maybe witches aren’t so bad after all?” Giordi raised his eyebrows. “Just maligned souls who need help, not hate?”


    “What do you want me to do?” Caste raged, firing up in the blink of an eye. “To denounce Bishop Peele and all the archdeacons, deacons and clerics, mocking their tireless works and endless research until the very foundations of the Order are shaken?” He saw their stunned expressions and realised he was standing with his fists clenched tightly, anger making him feel red and go the same colour. He blundered something unintelligible and stormed out of the room, taking his clean clothes with him.


    “For the record,” Giordi said quietly, “I did not mean to set him off like that.”


    “Right, because you never do that.” Verne rolled his eyes, hunting through his swag. “Where are my clean clothes?”


    “Maybe in Judd’s swag?” Giordi tipped over the flap and poked gingerly through the contents.


    “Giordi…” Verne hissed.


    “It’s not like we haven’t seen it before…wait, what is that?” Giordi spied some material and grasped it, drawing the garment out of the swag, its luminous blue hue dulling everything in the room. “Wha…”


    “Uh…” Suvau recoiled. “Is that…Judd’s?”


    Verne’s eyes widened in horror at the sight of the dress Aalis had bought for her in Fort Mavour.


    “No,” Giordi breathed, “it’s…Lyla’s.” He held it, shaking his head, stunned and confused. “This…this isn’t possible! It can’t be…how is it here?!”


    “Alright, which one of you ticked off the cleric?” Judd demanded, coming into the room in fresh clothes, his dark curls tousled roughly with a coarse towel which he dropped on the floor. “Giordi, I’m looking at…you…”


    Judd was rendered mute at the sight of the dress in Giordi’s hands. Aalis had begged him to pack it in his swag, hoping he would be able to give it to Verne at a later date, preferably when Giordi was not around. She said she had not dared risk it in her swag lest the connection be made and Verne had flatly refused to transport it, frightened even by its presence, let alone the exposure that could come of its discovery…


    …all of which was a moot point as Giordi had found it in the last place they expected him to.


    “Judd,” Giordi swallowed, “this dress…it’s the one Lyla Borelia wore at the feast in Mavour.” He walked towards him. “I could never mistake it as any other as it is as unique as she was. Where did you get this dress?”


    Judd floundered, eyes flitting up briefly to see Verne shaking his head, panic in his eyes.


    “I…I think it was Jocasa’s gift to Aalis for agreeing to smuggle little Ermaus out of Mavour. Aalis asked me to pack it in my swag. It was left there by mistake.”


    Verne blinked the sweat out of his eyes. Giordi shook his head. “No, no, no…” He resisted the news, his fingers hooked into the fabric. “Lyla wore it at the feast. She wore it!”


    “Maybe Lady Jocasa gave it to Lyla to wear for the evening?” Verne asked, trying to temper his voice so that it didn’t come out in a high pitched squeak. He succeeded…somewhat.


    “You did say,” Judd cleared his throat, “Lyla seemed a little out of her depth…perhaps she was not used to finery like this?”


    Giordi paused to ponder this, Judd risking another glance at Verne who looked like he was on the verge of having a stroke.


    “She said she was not accustomed to upper class socialising,” he said softly, his fingers gently clutching the gown, careful not to fray it but unable to keep from holding it like he would have Lyla’s hand, “perhaps Jocasa had a kind heart and put Lyla in one of her daughter’s dresses for the evening…so she would look less out of place.” Giordi seemed to be convincing himself of his own dramatic tale. “Little did she know she would be the highlight of the entire evening, more glorious than any of them…” He sank onto his bed and closed his eyes. “I am sorry, Judd, for accusing you…”


    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    “I’m hardly in a position to berate you for the bleeding reactions of a fractured heart.” Judd admitted. “As I am unlikely to find a use for it…why not keep it?”


    Giordi shrugged and put it aside. “Sell it. Without Lyla in it, it’s just a dress.” He breathed out heartily, slapped his knees and stood up. “Well…I need to bathe and wash off this melancholia I seem to have developed.” He gathered his clothing and left the room. Suvau put his hand on Verne’s shoulder.


    “We will do the same.” He said and propelled the lightweight archer out of the room, Verne unable to come up with a reason why he could not bathe. Suvau marched him down the stairs to where the bathhouse was on the ground level. Verne ducked out of his grasp as they approached the door.


    “I’ll…wash up some other time.” He insisted, edging away. Suvau looked around himself then eyed Verne seriously.


    “Sooner or later, you are going to have to tell him.”


    Verne froze. “You know?” She whispered. Suvau nodded. “Not you too…how? When?”


    “Yolana and Emeri picked it up and perhaps, in conversation about you, Yolana might have let slip an odd ‘she’ and ‘her’ without meaning to betray your confidence.”


    Verne covered her face and groaned. “And you never said?”


    “I wasn’t sure if you were hiding your gender or trying to change it…”


    “What!” Suvau clapped his big hand over her mouth, which covered most of Verne’s face. She yanked his hand down and put her hands on her hips. “I would never!”


    “Hey, I lived in Fort Omra where Sir Fereak was a man’s man, in the literal sense of the word.” Suvau shrugged helplessly. “I…did not want to betray or embarrass you.”


    “I seem to be managing that all on my own.” Verne moaned. “What am I going to do?”


    “Tell him.”


    “Any other ideas?”


    Suvau folded his arms. “Have you not been listening to Giordi’s songs?”


    “He’s deluded!” Verne hissed. “Out of his mind!”


    “For you!”


    “Then why isn’t he out of his mind, for me?!”


    Suvau stared at Verne, astonished. “Because you have maintained a convincing fa?ade of maleness. You can hardly blame him for not realising the truth.”


    Verne dropped her hands and slumped against the wall. “Why can’t he just…see me?” She asked quietly. “He looks at me and sees Verne. He doesn’t even recognise the eyes, the hair…” She looked up at Suvau. “Do I really look so different?”


    “I never saw you in the dress,” Suvau pointed out, “but I think it was not just the way you looked but your very presence was different.”


    “That’s just the thing,” Verne glanced around to make sure they weren’t heard, “I’m not sure which one of me is the real me. Prancing about in a gown and curls…or this…” She gestured to herself. “I don’t even know where I fit in, in this world. I’m like Ermaus, stuck between two places.”


    “Ermaus found his place,” Suvau squeezed Verne’s shoulder, “you will too.” He sighed then looked at the bathhouse door. “Go down to the women’s bathhouse and freshen up. I’ll cover for you.”


    “Thank you.” Verne whispered and moved away. She wasn’t sure if she was comforted or cornered that yet another person was aware of her secret. Now only Caste and Giordi were unaware. However, Verne knew that, even if everyone but Giordi in Terra knew, Verne would still baulk at telling him. Part of her heart was injured that he hadn’t worked it out for himself and the rest of it was relieved.


    Somehow, both parts were still weeping.


    Judd wasn’t sure who it was that had snuck out of the tavern after the owner crowed his praise at the ‘great Judd LaMogre’ staying in his humble inn, but someone had alerted the sentries who guarded the official start of Astaril’s boundaries. They were stationed at the bridge which crossed a narrow portion of Italea Bay, an important entry and exit point to the city.


    “Judd LaMogre,” one greeted, so stiff Judd was worried he’d break his back, “we heard you had returned to Astaril. Welcome back.”


    “Thank you.” Judd nodded at them from atop Xenon.


    “Not that we wish to question you,” the second guard cleared his throat, “but…the Maul, sir? Astride a horse?”


    “Suvau is a travelling companion and a more than competent bodyguard.” Judd could hear Suvau cracking his knuckles behind him and gave a smile rarely seen for the past two days. “I vouch for him and all those within my entourage.”


    “Yes sir!” The guards saluted and Judd felt himself return it jauntily.


    “At ease and keep up the good work.”


    They crossed the bridge, the path becoming a lightly gravelled road. Verne leaned down and peered at it. “What is this stuff?” He asked.


    “Crushed oyster shell.” Judd nodded. “What we don’t eat, we use elsewhere.”


    “That’s a lot of oysters…”


    “The roads are paved within the city’s heart.” Caste huffed as if the composition of the road was of little consequence and he was probably right.


    “I must say,” Giordi leaned back on Zeke, “those guards seemed to hop to quite sharply at your presence.”


    “Yes…I wonder who ran ahead and told them.”


    “Maybe you’re just that recognisable?” Judd snorted at Giordi’s comment. “You’re not the run of the mill visitor to Astaril. Not a tradesman or even a nobleman. You have the presence of a knight.”


    And in his armour, on top of Xenon, Judd knew that was the truth. Giordi had urged him to wear it, insisting that his entry to the Terra’s beautiful city should be proud and triumphant. He was clean after his bath and his clothes didn’t stink of horse…although that was merely a matter of time. As the buildings began to grow in number around them, starting to form winding streets, Judd noticed people peering out of windows and looking up from their gardens to study him and his companions. He knew there was a great deal of pointing and whispering at Suvau. Judd wondered if he was the first ever Maul to be in Astaril and even if not, he was the first in the memory of several generations at least. But Judd could not be blind to the amount of people pointing and whispering about him. There was no denying or ignoring the attention he was receiving and as they continued further into the city, the buildings starting to cluster, rising in multiple stories, the clamour only increased.


    The buildings of Astaril were made from sandstone. Countless tonnes of stone had been carted down from a quarry to the north, the jewel of Terra cut from deep within its breadth.


    “LaMogre!” One citizen cried while a woman shrieked giddily when Judd waved at her.


    “Judd LaMogre! He’s here!”


    “The hydra slayer!”


    “Champion of Bastil’s tournament!”


    “Gutter of giant spiders!”


    “Goblin killer!”


    “Slayer of the mighty minotaur!”


    “Minotaur?” Judd whispered to Caste. “Did news travel here that quickly?”


    “The list of kills required for fulfillment of the knighthood quest have been posted on notice boards around the city.” Caste explained. “Everyone knows, for you to have returned, that you must have killed one.”


    “And it is possible Sir Donimede let a homing pigeon loose to bring the news here faster.” They looked at Giordi who shrugged. “So, maybe not Donimede…but there were other noblemen and women at Mavour and I wager they all had their own means of communication.”


    “Including gossip.” Judd waved to children gathered on a corner who squealed with delight. “Where to, Caste? The Order?”


    “Do you know…I never thought to ask.” Caste admitted as their company was bathed in shade from the buildings on one side, glistening water on the other. “It makes sense to go to the Order first to authenticate the kills.”


    “I’m not going to have to ride all the way back down to Fort Verion to be knighted, am I?”


    “If you do, I won’t be required to accompany you.” Caste retorted. “We need to head up that rise. The Order is that large building you can see against the hill covered in lush vegetation.”


    “And has the second best view in all of Astaril.” Giordi teased.


    “Hard to compare with the castle.” Judd shook his head. “So we need to take this…road…what is that?”


    He reined in Xenon’s stride as an envoy of men dressed in the livery of royal guards astride immaculately preened horses, trotted towards them in perfect synchronisation. In fact, their motions were so in sync that it was hard not to become hypnotised by them. White and blue with dashes of royal purple made up the colours of their tunics and their armour was polished to a blinding shine.


    “Uh…should we be worried?” Verne asked.


    “Smile, Suvau, smile!” Giordi whispered, nearly giggling.


    “Something tells me a smiling Maul would alarm them more.” Verne snapped at him.


    “Judd LaMogre?” The lead guard said, stopping his horse several feet before Xenon who glared at the pretty horses with an element of disdain. Their tails were bound and their manes were tied in knots down the nape of their necks. Their tack was gleaming with gold buckles and their saddles were leather, gleaming from excess polish. By comparison, Xenon with his unfettered mane and tail, groomed but shaggy and free and his nomad style riding tack, was almost wild and dangerous.


    “I am.” Judd nodded.


    “Your arrival has been anticipated by King Rocheveron himself and he bids you join him.”


    “Of course.” Judd blurted automatically.


    The guard, with a strap beneath his chin so tight that he wondered if it was holding his helmet or his head on, turned on his horse, trotted through the envoy which neatly sidestepped to the edges of the road and held still. Judd felt panicked. He was sure he was supposed to do something but he couldn’t work out what.


    “Ride up behind the leader.” Giordi hissed.


    “Oh.” Judd nudged Xenon and he and his party filled the space that the soldiers, who were now facing away from them, had left. The lead guard seemed to have eyes in the back of his head and knew when Judd was behind him, urging his horse into a quick walk. As Judd and company followed, the guards turned their mounts on the spot and fell in behind them, forming an impromptu parade which grew with every second that passed. Word was spreading. Judd LaMogre was in Astaril and the crowds were beginning to flock, some drawn out of interest, some out of nosiness but most out of adoration, cheering and calling his name until there were at least a hundred, if not more, people behind them by the time they reached the gates of the castle.