“Open these gates in the name of King Rocheveron for admittance of Judd LaMogre, hero of the knighthood quest of Sir Rylan!”


    Two guards walked to the gates, unlatched their link and drew them apart to allow the envoy through. They closed before any of the civilians could enter, their bodies pressed up against the gate, trying to catch a glimpse of Judd LaMogre.


    “Did anyone think those gates looked a little flimsy?” Verne whispered.


    “Hush.” Caste rebuked.


    “I had the same thought.” Judd admitted. “A minotaur would bend those like you can bend a bow.”


    “Hush, I said.”


    “Hey Judd,” Giordi leaned forward, “give them a wave.”


    Judd twisted and saw the dozens of faces pressed against the gates, those behind on tiptoe peering over the tops of the heads of those in front. He lifted his hand and punched his fist into the air. The crowd cheered and applauded. Giordi chuckled and saw Caste’s glare.


    “Oh hush.” He snorted.


    Judd shook his head and turned to behold a building he had only ever seen from afar but one he had dreamed about being welcomed into one day almost every night as a boy. The castle of Astaril, seat of the monarchy whose genealogy could be traced all the way back to Andigre and Grail and the founding of the united people of Terra, was a building unlike any other.


    It was composed of five structures, the largest and unsurprisingly most impressive of which was the central palace, built from white and grey stone. It was rumoured to have marble floors and pillars, statues overlaid with gold and giant basins, so large Judd could recline comfortably in one, filled with fresh lilies every day. There were purple velvet curtains with gold trim, walls covered in detailed murals, rugs so plush you could lose your feet in them and a throne room so large, Verne would have trouble hitting the other side with an arrow.


    The other four structures, though nothing compared to the main castle, probably equalled the same amount of building materials when added together. They were towers, each one climbable on the inside to a high point at the very top and connected to the castle by great, narrow arches, supported by beams that created a pattern of shadows as they crisscrossed, holding the arches in place. The towers were in very specific locations, one precisely north of the castle, one east, the one to the south slightly favouring the west and the tower to the west was north westerly and rested on an island in the bay.


    This lopsided arrangement of towers would baffle anyone who did not know the history of Terra and the foundation of Astaril but to those who did, immediately recognised that the castle and its towers formed the four pointed star that had become the symbol of Andigre, of Grail and of the four spire knights. The towers did not rest on the points of the compass but rather, beneath the stars in the heavens that formed the constellation of the four pointed star. Four points and the central star, brighter and larger than the others with a slight blueish glow on clear nights which hung above their continent.


    Judd and his companions looked up at the front fa?ade of the castle, fifty times more opulent than the most exquisite wall fort and tried not to tremble. In the courtyard after the gates, past the walls where hedges grew and tall trees blocked the nosiest of civilians, was a fountain feature depicting Andigre kneeling before Grail, his hands outstretched as he looked up at her, water pouring from his palms. Behind the fountain was a lowered dais, where the king made proclamations from and Sir Rylan and his blushing bride, Genovieve had waved to the people of Astaril on their wedding day. On either side of the dais, almost embracing the fountain in a wide hug, were two curved sets of stairs that led to the balcony that the dais was a step down from.


    Judd dismounted and allowed a guard to take Xenon’s reins. He waited until his companions were gathered around him, Caste clutching at the chest and sack which contained the larger evidences of monster kills, before following the lead guard up the steps. They passed a guard on every second step and white stone basins on the alternate steps, each basin large enough for a tree to be planted, their leafy heads carved into perfect spheres.


    At the top of the steps they walked across the balcony to the centre, the lowered dais behind them and faced the grand double doors made from multiple oak trees, the lopsided four points of the stars of Astaril around the central golden emblem that crossed over both doors. On either side of the doors were bay windows which were so large they had smaller bays within each of the windows. On top of these were balconies that overlooked all of Astaril and faced the bay of Italea. If Judd kept looking upwards, he suspected he would fall over onto his back, a point confirmed when Verne gave him a light shove to keep him from doing so.


    The lead guard rang the bell and the doors opened with a deep, throaty groan. Judd’s spine trembled.


    “Remember,” Giordi whispered, “you earned the right to be here.”


    Verne looked at him. “What about us?”


    “Fleas upon the back of a grand steed.” Caste murmured and Giordi smirked, putting his hand up to hide it.


    “Let us hope we are not swatted.” Suvau said softly as they followed Judd into the foyer, staircases and balconies filling their gaze, white and grey stone, pillars and swooping carved curves. The air was bright, clean and fresh, curtains softening the sun’s gaze made from so much fabric Judd was sure he would be crushed beneath their weight. The guard bowed to a servant who was so heavily powdered and in such fine clothing he clearly ranked high amongst those who worked in the castle that he hardly deserved the word. The servant bowed to Judd then turned and walked away, Giordi waving at Judd to follow yet again.


    They were led up two sets of stairs, along a corridor tastefully adorned with paintings that made Giordi gasp, weapons that made Verne whistle and parchments of such rarity that they were mounted and encased in glass that made Caste whimper. Suvau followed, awed by it all, never having known there to be so much wealth in all Terra, let alone in Astaril alone.


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    The servant knocked on the door he had stopped in front of and, after it opened, slid inside and cleared his throat.


    “Presenting Judd LaMogre who has returned after completing Sir Rylan’s knighthood quest.”


    Judd walked into the room, feeling his insides quiver like jelly as he laid eyes on King Rocheveron. He had, of course, seen the monarch before but from a distance so great that his own father could have stood in his place and Judd wouldn’t have known the difference. Rocheveron was as tall as Judd but had been bowed by age, his shoulders weighed down by the amount of robes he wore, richly clothed in royal blues, purples and pristine whites. The strong colours seemed to sap a little of the robustness from his face, his grey eyes watery and limpid and his hair snowy white, tied in seven tails that were quite long down his back. His beard was also white and tied in three strands which he had a tendency to stroke with bejewelled fingers.


    Next to the King was a man who was corpulent enough that his robes were not enough to disguise his girth and going by the familiar cappa clausa, the four star pendant he wore and the expression of superior disdain on his brow, Judd immediately recognised him as being an officer of the Grail, one of Caste’s own colleagues.


    Judd stepped forward to bow, opening his mouth to greet the king when he heard the sound of blades clashing and spun around to see the king’s bodyguards, who had been unseen until that moment, with their swords crossing Suvau’s chest, the edge of the blades at his throat.


    “Hold!” Judd ordered instinctively. “You will not harm him!”


    The bodyguards did not drop their arms but they also did not hurt Suvau.


    “Sire,” the Officer of the Grail said in a simpering, wary tone, “that is a man of Maul.”


    “I may be old, but my eyesight is not so poorly diminished that I cannot see.” King Rocheveron waved away his concern. “I was informed you travelled with a Maul but to bring him here…”


    “Your Majesty,” Judd turned and gave his most sweeping, respectful bow, “Suvau is not a savage or a threat. He has saved my life several times and I his. We are bonded by blood and loyalty.”


    King Rocheveron stroked his beard, flicking his fingers slightly. The bodyguards dropped their blades and stepped back…but not much. Judd looked at Suvau with the question in his eyes. Suvau nodded, reassuring him that he was not harmed and bowed to the king.


    “Your reputation proceeds you, Judd LaMogre,” King Rocheveron waved him further in, reclined upon, not a throne but a grander chair than most knights had their forts, “I have listened to the news of your conquests with increasing interest and informed the guards that, when you returned to Astaril, I wished to meet you.”


    “You honour me, Your Majesty,” Judd bowed again, “for I am not yet a knight and do not deserve such consideration.”


    “Well, before we become carried away with all the possibilities the future might hold,” King Rocheveron spoke calmly and slowly, “allow me to introduce Archdeacon Adamis who was here when news of your arrival was announced.”


    “Archdeacon Adamis,” Judd bowed, more shallowly but he immediately turned to Caste, “Cleric Caste Undern has never lost faith in the Order and maintained a strong presence of its foundations throughout our journey.” Judd missed Caste’s surprised glance. “I could not have completed my quest without him.”


    “Of course, the completion of the quest will have to be verified.” Archdeacon Adamis said firmly.


    “Cleric Caste has been extremely diligent in recording my kills and collecting the evidence,” Judd promised, “all of which I believe are in that case and that sack.”


    “Well,” King Rocheveron turned to Adamis, “why not cite it now? You are an archdeacon, after all.”


    “Well,” Adamis cleared his throat, covering his stammer, “it would need to be verified by Bishop Peele, who would be here today if not for a bad cold that has kept him confined to his chambers…but perhaps a brief eye cast over the list and evidences would dispel any obvious doubts.”


    “Use my desk.” King Rocheveron waved to the marble topped carved red wood antique. Archdeacon Adamis gave Caste a pointed look and they walked to the desk together and laid the chest and sack onto the marble surface. Judd noticed one of the bodyguards stayed near Suvau while the other put himself between the chest of monster parts and the King. “LaMogre,” Rocheveron gestured for Judd to come closer and sit in the chair he guessed Archdeacon Adamis had been sitting in, “while I know of your companions, would you do me the courtesy of introducing them?”


    “Of course. This is Verne Sachon, primarily an archer but a fine warrior who joined my party in the forest surrounding Fort Faine.”


    “Where you slayed the goblin horde?”


    “Yes, Your Majesty,” Judd nodded, “Verne did not baulk from their claw like hands and jagged teeth. Though he did not know me, he did not hesitate to stand with me.”


    “Well met, Verne Sachon.” King Rocheveron nodded and Verne bowed.


    “This is Giordi Gavoli, a minstrel and an archer of…”


    “Intermittent skill.” Giordi offered.


    Judd laughed softly. “Perhaps not the greatest warrior but brave and his music has helped feed and clothe us and he has been instrumental, if you pardon the pun, in tutoring me on my manners.”


    “A civilised minstrel?” King Rocheveron raised an eyebrow and Giordi bowed elegantly. “I see the evidence now. And your Maul?”


    “Suvau who joined us officially after an…incident in Fort Omra.”


    “Where you slayed the hydra?”


    “Yes. Suvau and Verne dropped from the very top of the wall on lines pegged tightly to the ground so that we could attack it. He is strong in heart as well as body.”


    “How interesting,” King Rocheveron paused, “I thought I heard tell of a healer in your party? A nomad woman?”


    “She,” Judd licked his lips, “after helping me reach the end of my knighthood quest, it was decided that she should remain with her people.”


    “Ah, of course.” King Rocheveron looked up as Archdeacon Adamis hovered nearby, waiting for his presence to be noticed. “Your conclusion?”


    “It will need to be verified by Bishop Peele,” Judd and company held their breaths, “however, all marks have been made on the parchment and all evidence is present.”


    Judd’s shoulders couldn’t help but sag in relief. He nodded then felt King Rocheveron’s hand on his shoulder.


    “Congratulations on your imminent knighthood, Judd LaMogre.”


    “Thank you, Your Majesty.” He said, feeling a little lightheaded.


    “Word will be sent to Sir Rylan in Fort Verion after Bishop Peele’s confirmation. I have no doubt he will want to travel to Astaril for the knighting ceremony as you are the first and only successful questor to have returned since it began.”


    “We will take this evidence to Bishop Peele at once.” Archdeacon Adamis promised as Caste gathered the chest and sack into his arms. He went to follow Adamis after bowing to King Rocheveron but paused at the doorway and turned to Judd.


    “Upon delivering these items to Bishop Peele, my responsibility to your knighthood quest is concluded,” Caste said somewhat stiffly, “and our fellowship is at an end.”


    Judd stood up before Caste could leave. “No middle-class nobody attempting to fulfill his dream of knighthood could have asked for a better cleric. I hope I will see you again?”


    “Not likely,” Caste said in a hard tone then immediately followed it up with, “our journey has reached a crossroads and I doubt the roads we travel will ever meet again.”


    Judd nodded, hiding the hurt. “Well…I wish you all the best, Caste Undern.”


    Caste nodded, turned while his head was still down and scampered out of the room, following the heels of Archdeacon Adamis.