Unfortunately, despite the curiosity of those watching it who wanted to see how the debate ended, footsteps echoed along the corridor. King Rocheveron waved Archdeacon Adamis back, hushing them into reverence as if they were about to surprise someone with a party.


    “Your Majesty,” a guard opened the door before a tall body entered, his impressive demeanour filling the doorway like no one else could, “Sir Garo Rylan.”


    Judd had come to a conclusion on his knighthood quest that the depictions given by the posters pinned to his bedroom wall and books he’d collected over the years of the knights of Terra were often either exaggerated or smudged compared to the real thing. He had the profile of Sir Egrette with a list of his accomplishments underneath it but Judd could only remember the way he seemed to think it was an accomplishment to molest the latest pretty servant to enter his service. Sir Jesa had not been a proactive knight, dedicated to getting off his fort throne and protecting his people. In fact, his apathy had nearly let two score of goblins poison hundreds and overrun the weakened population. Sir Fereak was spitefully disrespectful to his wife and saw little reason to curb his soldier’s lustful impulses who forced themselves upon Mauls, unless it interfered with the running and protection of his fort and his portion of the wall. And Sir Donimede was so petty and shallow that he was overcome with jealousy at Judd’s fame and had schemed to see the young man murdered in his Arena where Mauls were bloodied for the sake of entertainment.


    All of them had fallen short of Judd’s good opinion, which was based upon what he thought was truth. Not even Sir Alaykin had lived up to his reputation for he seemed to have enjoyed Judd’s initial beating at his sword master’s hand as if humiliation equalled humility.


    However, in Sir Garo Rylan, it seemed that all which was said about him was true.


    He was a handsome man, over six foot tall with a chiselled jaw and amber eyes circled with dark brown, giving him an intense, warm expression beneath his thick eyebrows with a scar nicking the outer edge of the right one. His hair was tawny ashen with golden highlights through the braided strands from his temples. He wore a sturdy leather coat with detail along the turned back cuffs in flocked velvet, the same fabric lining the inside of the coat which showed as his long stride caused the split length at the back to flare behind him. His trousers were dark brown like his gloves and his boots were supple, caramel coloured leather. Around his waist, cinching his vest over the top of an off white shirt, were a pair of belts, each one with a sheath bearing swords that had been wiped clean of almost every type of monster blood that had ever been catalogued.


    “King Rocheveron!” He declared boldly, sinking to one knee in front of his King who was more than a little stunned by his presence, given that he was expecting his daughter. “Forgive my unexpected arrival but I felt I could not tarry when I heard the news.”


    “Sir Rylan,” Rocheveron was struggling to contain his surprise, “you…I was not aware word had been sent…”


    “I had an instinct that some greatness was about to occur,” Sir Rylan stood, towering over the king who seemed so much smaller next to the bold, bright, earthy knight, “I saw the signs as easily as a farmer might read the changing of the seasons. I confess, I began to believe the naysayers who said my knighthood quest was the first sign I was going mad,” he drew his gloves off with a wide gesture, “however, my faith in the unrecognised nobility that lurked beneath the surface of disregarded middle classes has not been mislaid.”


    “You seek Judd LaMogre!” King Rocheveron exclaimed, his hands trembling before he clutched them together in a habit developed to conceal nervousness. “He stands behind you.”


    Sir Rylan whirled around and took in Judd’s appearance in one experienced and critical swoop, the same way he would assess a battle situation, with confidence and accuracy. “Well met, Judd LaMogre,” he held out his hand and grasped Judd’s, shaking it vigorously, “I have been following your knighthood quest exploits with ever increasing interest and when Lord and Lady Gemel told me of how you defeated not one but three minotaur…”


    Judd was very aware that his companions were looking at him in full knowledge of just who this man was to him. Not only was he atop the pedestal of all of Judd’s knighthood dreams, but he was also the man with a prior claim on the heart of the woman he loved.


    It was any wonder that he managed to answer, given how stunned he was in light of all he was wrestling with internally.


    “Actually…just the one…officially.”


    “I heard that it was officially two,” Sir Rylan folded his arms, his lips curling up in a smile, “after the larger of the two in the second wave turned on its own, something I have never heard tell of before and would have liked to see. However, all who witnessed the match and saw the monster corpses are saying you are on par with your victories with me.” If it had been Sir Donimede, there would have been a brittle edge to his voice and a less than subtle insult following swiftly but Sir Rylan seemed genuinely pleased. “A man on par with my own accomplishments…and younger than I was. I think you will far outreach my reputation at this rate.”


    Judd swallowed. “I…that’s very generous of you, Sir Rylan…”


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    “Why do we not celebrate over a drink?” Sir Rylan asked, waving them all to sit. “Please, allow me to serve you, Your Majesty.” He did so, King Rocheveron seeming strangely afflicted with silence after his excessive gushing bare minutes earlier. “Your family must be very proud,” Sir Rylan cleared his throat and studied Judd with narrowed eyes as he held out a glass of wine, “they are…cobblers?”


    “Fishermen…mostly.” Judd said, taking the glass.


    “Of course.” Sir Rylan shook his head. “There were so many who entered the knight’s academy…I started to lose track of all their details. Well, they will be treated to a feast celebrating their son after an auspicious knighting ceremony.” He turned to the King. “Of course, Astaril need not pay for any of it. It was my initiative and original outlay. I would not want to burden the throne with the expense now.”


    “Sir Rylan,” Archdeacon Adamis spoke, inserting himself into the indomitable flow, “before you praise LaMogre too loudly, it ought to be known that there are several serious allegations against this so-called successful knighthood participant.”


    “Allegations?” Sir Rylan turned from the liquor cabinet. “Of what do you have to accuse him?”


    “Putting aside the rather…intimate issue of fraternisation,” Adamis said tersely, “LaMogre was accused of stealing Maul slaves from Fort Mavour. Hard to refute when one of them stands in our company as if it deserves to be here.”


    Sir Rylan put his glass down. “I saw the Maul, naturally. One could hardly miss him,” he said without any fear of Suvau’s size and dark skin, “but before we condemn LaMogre, what has he to say about this?”


    Judd licked his lips. “I…were you aware of the way Sir Donimede conducts his Arena, sir?”


    “I would have hazard much like mine though your words give me reason to pause.”


    “Mauls, like Suvau, are whipped until they reek of blood and are used as bait for monsters…all for the sake of entertainment and training.”


    Sir Rylan’s countenance became stern. “That I was not aware of. My Arena takes advantage of any monsters that stray into its breadth but I use it mostly for soldiers to train against each other. When I proposed the monsters for the knighthood quest, I chose the final beast to be a minotaur because Sir Donimede made it sound like they were territorial near his fort and could supply one if needed.”


    “My minotaur was drawn to the Arena by the bloodied, lifeless body of a Maul,” Judd had to pause and regain some control, his fingers wringing the delicate stem of his glass almost as tightly as his throat was closing over, “to know that my knighthood cost someone their life…”


    “You did not know, LaMogre…” Suvau said softly.


    “I take it you decided that it was the last life to be so abused.” Sir Rylan nodded.


    “What abuse?” Archdeacon Adamis exclaimed. “They are Mauls! They are sub-humans, a slave race that escaped the south when the wall was erected and have been living on our good graces!”


    “Good graces!” Verne exclaimed. “How can you call imprisonment, torture, slavery and death, good graces?”


    “Not to mention the soldiers of Fort Omra see nothing wrong about raping Maul women with no consequences for their actions.” Giordi added.


    Adamis drew himself up to his full height. “You think your opinions mean anything against the weight of the word of the Order of the Grail?”


    “I’d be very careful about purporting the virtues of the Order of the Grail.” Caste’s tone was brittle.


    “Regardless of their classification,” Sir Rylan held up his hand to stop the argument, “it does not mean we can do what we like to them. Sir Donimede was out of line.”


    “It matters not. LaMogre stole them from the knight who was his gracious host.”


    “And I will personally pay Donimede the cost of all the Mauls,” Sir Rylan cut Adamis off, “and as such, this matter is closed,” Adamis gaped, trying to work out how to argue and coming up with nothing as the knight turned to King Rocheveron, “if you approve, Your Majesty?”


    “Naturally…” Rocheveron said almost weakly, his eyes darting to the door. Judd was suddenly aware that the King was not just subdued in Rylan’s presence, he was anxious to the point of being afraid. And then something else occurred to Judd as Sir Rylan turned to the liquor cabinet to pick up his glass. The King had not once brought up the return of his daughter to the man who had been her husband.


    When the door opened, its detailed breadth blocking Sir Rylan from view, King Rocheveron stood up in such haste he knocked his wine over yet paid it no heed. Aalis appeared in the doorway, her face lightly powdered to hide some of the bruising and dressed in soft lilacs and blues, the delicate fabrics layered over each other, fluttering with every move she made.


    “You should not be here…” Rocheveron’s voice was stern, even urging.


    “I was told I must not leave my bed but I could not remain still, knowing I owe you all an explanation.” Aalis’ eyes glanced around the room but fixed on Judd and she walked towards him. “You most of all. Judd…I…”


    “Genovieve?” Aalis froze, her eyes widening and her lips parting as if she had inhaled but no breath could be heard. Behind her, Sir Rylan gazed at the back of her head, his amber eyes filled with wonder and hope. “Can it be?” Judd’s heart filled with dread as Aalis turned slowly, her eyes on the floor as Sir Rylan stepped towards her. “My beloved Genovieve?” He reached out to touch her face then suddenly dropped to his knees and clutched at her hands, weeping unashamedly. “I thought you were lost forever! My Genovieve!” The bold, confident knight was suddenly overcome with emotion and grief, and everyone was transfixed by the display. “I have cursed myself every day that I ever let anything happen to you. Genovieve, I swear I will keep you safe forever!” He looked up at her, handsome even in grief. “Genovieve…”


    “Garo…” Aalis gasped so sharply it was nearly a shriek then toppled sideways. Suvau stepped in between Judd and Rylan, scooping the unconscious Aalis into his strong arms then stood by King Rocheveron with an unmoving look in his eyes.


    “Forgive my daughter,” Rocheveron blurted, “she is much weakened by her ordeal and left her bed far too soon. Suvau, was it?” The Maul nodded. “Would you follow the maid and take my daughter to her room…and guard her door?” Suvau nodded again and carried Aalis out of the room and every eye followed her until the maid closed the door, Sir Rylan standing before it.


    “Was anyone going to tell me that my wife was alive?” He asked quietly, stern and sharp. He turned and looked at King Rocheveron who swallowed and glanced away. Rylan’s glower then moved to Adamis. “You…stood there and accused LaMogre of crimes and defended the honour of the Grail yet not once thought to tell me Genovieve had not perished in Maul?”