The twelve archdeacons and one bishop at the table dedicated to the Order of the Grail heard the heavy footsteps of Astaril’s newest knight before they saw him burst into the war room, crossing the floor in angry strides, his face as stern as newly forged steel. His archer had to jog to keep up, whispering urged words of restraint in his ear that he seemed intent on ignoring.


    Bishop Peele peered over the top of his spectacles from his end table position, six archdeacons on either side, as if expecting Judd’s imminent arrival. Judd put his fists on the table and eyed the Bishop.


    “I have just been informed that Caste Undern is ‘unacceptable’ as the representative of the Order of the Grail at the front lines.”


    “That is correct.” Bishop Peele said, clasping his hands together, his eyes filled with superiority.


    “Just what is it about him that you find ‘unacceptable’?” Judd asked with a clenched jaw as Verne gestured furiously at Caste to join their discussion.


    “His rank.”


    Judd raised his eyebrows. “Excuse me?”


    “A deacon is simply not a high enough ranking officer of the Grail to advise the leader of a military offensive.” Bishop Peele turned to one of the archdeacons. “Am I misinformed?”


    The archdeacon with a veritable forest of hair coming out of his ears nodded furiously. “According to the agreement between the throne and the Order of the Grail, chapter three, paragraph eight, sub section…”


    “You can paraphrase it later,” Judd stopped him as Caste reached the table, “how is it possible that you let a cleric be assigned to me on my knighthood quest but the same man, now a deacon, is forbidden to accompany me on this war offensive?”


    “Because the primary role of a cleric is to accurately record the details of a fort’s activity or, in your case, the details of your knighthood journey. They might offer up some titbit of advice in the moment but ultimately, they are more of an observer than an interactor.” Judd glanced at Caste who gave him nothing but a blank look as Bishop Peele continued. “As a knight, you are not only representing Astaril in your conduct but you will also be in need of experienced and learned guidance that comes from an archdeacon. Anything less is unacceptable.”


    “It’s true.” Caste said quietly by Judd’s shoulder.


    Judd paused, recalling that Caste had never wanted to go on the knighthood quest with him. He had been the party’s most reluctant member and resented Judd for his ambition. He sucked air through his teeth, trying to curb his frustration and soothe his agitated pride.


    “Well…which archdeacon will be accompanying me?” He asked, looking around at the aged faces that gazed back at him. “We might as well start getting to know each other now.”


    It was an uncomfortable silence that followed, one that grew even more painfully awkward the longer it stretched out as the archdeacons looked down at their hands, to the side or anywhere that wasn’t in line with Bishop Peele’s or Judd’s gaze.


    “Archdeacon Perimon is a student of the history of the Grail in times of warfare.” One archdeacon spoke suddenly, nervously twitching and blurting out his words, the archdeacon in question looking up with nothing less than naked horror on his aged features.


    “Well…that may be…but Archdeacon Gevair is unparalleled in his knowledge of ancient weaponry and their uses.”


    “My research is primarily theory and has no practical value,” Gevair retorted, “not like Archdeacon Ovaris who…”


    “No, no, no,” Ovaris shook his hands wildly as if he could blow Gevair’s suggestion back into his mouth, “I have a bad back and a disjointed hip.”


    “You think you have it bad? I can’t feel anything in all but two of my fingers!”


    “What does that have to do with warfare?”


    Judd groaned, pushing his hands through his hair and turned to Caste as the archdeacons and bishop debated in ever increasing volumes in front of them.


    “Caste…how can I go with any of them? It’s like listening to my grandparents and their friends try to work out who is mostly likely to die first! They’re not interested in defending Astaril, only in the comforts of their beloved chambers in the Order of the Grail!”


    “To you they might be grizzled old men with one foot in the grave but they are wise and learned scholars of the Order of the Grail,” Caste flinched, “even though they do seem to be comparing the sizes of their bunions to pieces of fruit…”


    “Ah yes, a very helpful piece of knowledge on the road to war.” Verne rolled his eyes as the archdeacons continued to argue. “Come on, Caste, you’re more knowledgeable than any of them.”


    “Not in the areas that they are!”


    “How is the Archdeacon of ancient Terra tea party etiquette and nostril hair removal instrument usage going to be of any use to Judd on the front lines?” Demanded Verne and while Judd wanted to chuckle, the hopelessness of the situation was getting out of hand.


    “Caste,” he implored, “please, you’ve got to come with me.”


    Caste shrugged helplessly. “They already told you, it has nothing to do with me. I’m ‘unacceptable’.”


    “If I see those blasted ‘emphasis’ gestures again, I’ll break some fingers!” Judd argued.


    “Lose your temper all you want but you’re going against the Order of the Grail by insisting on bringing me over an archdeacon, which is exactly what Garo Rylan is doing, putting himself above the throne of Astaril.”


    “No…it’s not…oh will you all shut up!” Judd roared and the Order of the Grail fell silent though, if looks could kill, Judd knew he’d be impaled by many pairs of eye daggers. His words hadn’t just silenced their argument. Everyone in the throne room halted in their steps and stopped what they were doing to look at Judd. He breathed in and out and eyed Caste sternly. “Just tell me one thing…are these excuses for not going with me to the front lines a cover because you don’t want to?”


    “It’s not a matter of what I want…”


    “Ah!” Judd barked, his hands clenching into frustrated fists and Caste clamped his lips shut. “I’m not asking about the rules. I’m asking you, Caste Undern, if you want to go to the front lines with me?”


    Caste’s emerald green eyes looked away and he folded his arms. “No,” Judd nodded and went to turn aside, “I don’t want to travel anymore and be uncomfortable and sleep on the ground and be in a battle and fight a war…but I want to help and support and be of some practical use to you…and if that means being on the front lines…then that’s where I’ll be.” He peeked at Judd cautiously, seeing far too much emotion in his eyes for Caste’s comfort and looked away again.


    Judd licked his lips and nodded. “That’s why I want Caste Undern with me,” he said, turning back to the table where the archdeacons and bishop had yet to recover from their slack jawed expressions at his rebuke, “I want someone I can trust to be honest, even brutally so but who I know will stand his ground regardless.”


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    Archdeacon Adamis shook his head. “It is absolutely unacceptable.”


    Judd groaned and put his hands on the table, lowering his head and wishing he had something to pummel.


    “Unless you promote him to archdeacon.”


    Judd’s eyes opened. All he could see were his boots and the marble floor stretching out beneath the table. He blinked and turned his head and gazed at Verne who raised an eyebrow at Judd, arching beneath his bandana.


    “That would make him ‘acceptable’.” Judd nodded, standing upright.


    “Well, Order of the Grail, acceptable.” Verne corrected and Judd agreed.


    “This…this is…impossible!” Archdeacon Adamis blustered. “Deacon Undern has only just left the office of cleric behind. He is not of the age or of the academic level that would warrant such an advancement.”


    “It could be argued,” Judd said quietly, “owing to Caste’s experiences as he’s travelled alongside me for months on end, as far down south as to be just a foot away from Maul and its atrocities, that he has a vault of current knowledge and ‘on the job’ learning that I would hazard a guess, none of the other archdeacons possess.” He turned to them. “With all due respect, when was the last time any of you left the borders of Astaril? If at all?”


    Nothing. Not a word from any of them was spoken.


    “Deacon Caste Undern knows the lay of the land, the ways of the people, the idiosyncrasies of me and the strengths of my companions. If you seek to replace him with someone else then please, prove to me there is any among you who are comparable to that knowledge and experience.” Judd urged without a shred of arrogance. Not a single archdeacon responded and Bishop Peele’s chin sank onto his entwined fingers, his brow furrowed all the way up to his extreme hairline. “I also want you to consider this, should Garo Rylan succeed, regardless who is at the front lines, he will eliminate the Order of the Grail.”


    Bishop Peele’s head came up. Adamis’ made a scornful coughing sound. “And how can you possibly predict such an occurrence? The Order of the Grail has survived for hundreds of years!”


    “The Order of the Grail is not only the depository of accumulative knowledge but is the testimony of Andigre and Grail’s lineage and the validity of the throne of Astaril according to their bloodline,” Caste’s voice was quiet but filled with authority, “Garo Rylan’s rule would be an affront to all that you stand for.”


    “So I urge you to seriously consider Verne’s suggestion and make Caste Undern an archdeacon.”


    Adamis shook his head and was almost comical in his mockery as he turned to Bishop Peele and instantly sobered at the look in his eyes behind his spectacles.


    “Your Eminence,” he said, trying to recapture his levity but failing miserably, “you cannot seriously be giving credence to this proposal?”


    “And if I am?”


    “Then…I fear I must remind you…only twelve archdeacons may serve at any time in the Order of the Grail.” Adamis gestured to the table. “We have our twelve. There is no room…” He caught sight of Peele’s steely expression and faltered.


    Bishop Peele turned to Judd. “You will have your preferred archdeacon at the front lines with you,” he said grimly, “Deacon Undern, congratulations on your imminent promotion to archdeacon.”


    “Thank you, Your Eminence…” Caste said, somewhat dazed then cried out as Judd thumped him on the shoulder. “Watch it!”


    “Make me.” Judd chuckled and Caste shook his head. “Oh stop looking so sullen. You’re the Order’s youngest archdeacon.”


    “If this offensive fails, I’ll also be the archdeacon who held his office the shortest amount of time.” Caste grumbled and walked off. Judd folded his arms and looked at Verne.


    “You know…I think he’s actually pleased.”


    “I think you might be right.”


    It was late when Judd headed for his bedroom on the eve of marching the Astaril force south. King Rocheveron had insisted he stay in the castle which put Judd in close proximity to the war room and any news that might arise. The servants had stoked the fire and turned down his bed. The room looked warm and inviting.


    Judd was not feeling the same way.


    He gazed at the bed, reluctant to climb into it.


    Because if he did, he would fall asleep.


    Then he would wake up…and leave.


    Not consciously deciding to do so, Judd left his bedroom and wandered the halls of the castle. Servants who asked him if he needed anything were met with a vague dismiss as he walked seemingly aimlessly. And yet he wasn’t surprised when his footsteps led him to the corridor where the door to the tower bedroom was. Judd approached it, a little surprised that there were no guards. His fingers danced lightly over the gold doorhandle before slipping away. Judd closed his eyes and half stumbled backwards, bumping into the wall behind him and sinking to the floor. With one leg stretched out, the other bent with an arm resting on his knee, Judd just stared at the door and let tears roll down his face.


    They dried his skin and reddened his eyes but he didn’t stop them.


    An unknown time later, he heard a shuffling noise and saw King Rocheveron coming towards him. He was dressed as he had been the night he’d implored Judd to help save his daughter, not as a king but as an old man and a father.


    “Maintaining a nightly vigil?” Rocheveron asked then waved Judd down as he went to stand. “No, no, do not stand on ceremony.” He groaned as he sank to the floor and leaned against the wall just like Judd was. “We will watch over her together.”


    Judd’s eyes stung and his throat was paining him. He swallowed. “I wanted to say goodbye…”


    King Rocheveron nodded and they sat in the silence of the empty corridor, a door before them representing the place both Aalis and Genovieve had gone that they could not.


    “Tell me…have you ever heard the tale of the Justice of Maul?”


    Judd blinked and turned to him. “I have, actually.”


    Rocheveron smiled though it did not reach his eyes. “The illegitimate child born from a descendant of Andigre and Grail and left out for the monsters to devour, rescued by a common woman who raised the boy to be a knight.”


    “Or eaten by the monsters.” Judd shuddered. “That story has two ends, so I’m told.”


    “No, just the one.” Judd frowned as Rocheveron sighed. “I am particularly familiar with that tale as it was told to me, not just as a story…but as my genealogy.”


    “It’s…true?” Judd breathed.


    “Very much so although never declared or even admitted officially…that is until Astaril needed a king.” Rocheveron’s head leaned back against the wall. “When I wed Viene, I was nearly twice her age.” He said, his gravelly tone blending with the quiet. “Plucked out of a family that had already known the loss of my own mother from my home in Quarre to wed Viene…and only because the Order could prove I had a faint trace of royal blood.” Judd stared at the King who gazed forward with his grey, sad eyes. “Viene was a direct descendant, but I was the male with an acceptable touch of royal blood and so when we married, I became King. I think it’s the only reason Rylan did not overthrow me before.”


    “You possessed royal blood and so you were legally the most appropriate one to sit on the throne.” Judd nodded.


    “Whereas Rylan has no royal blood at all. Noble family but not at all royal.” Rocheveron sighed. “Viene was very uncomfortable with me as her husband. She did not despise my position as king as much as she hated the fact that she was obligated to produce an heir from both of us. And I was extremely uncomfortable with her as my wife.” He cleared his throat and swallowed. “You see…I was in love with someone else in Quarre. Or perhaps I should say, enamoured and Viene…I think she suspected as much.”


    Judd wasn’t sure where the King was going with his story but he sensed the man just needed to talk and confide. “Is this why it took you so long to conceive?” He asked tentatively.


    “Viene wanted a handsome, roguish hero and instead she ended up with me, much older and less exciting than a girl’s fantasy.” Rocheveron sighed, his grey beard draped across his dressing gown. “I developed a bad case of pneumonia and was laid up in bed for weeks on end.”


    “I was very young but I remember my parents lit candles and kept the flame going, praying for your recovery.” Judd recalled.


    “Viene never left my side. She looked after me tirelessly and when I emerged from the weight of my illness, she was the first face I saw.” Rocheveron smiled at the memory. “I made a decision then and there to honour the woman I vowed to love. I began to surprise her with flowers at breakfast that I rose early to pick myself. I left her notes on her pillow and made sure to notice something unique about her appearance every day. Up until and a little while after the pneumonia, our love making had been perfunctory with the intent to conceive an heir, nothing more. One evening I found her in my bed with love in her eyes and from that moment, we always shared a bed and finally, our lives.”


    Rocheveron turned to Judd and clapped his hand over his own. “The love you have for my daughter will always be a precious thing but I want to reassure you that, should you fall in love again…I know Genovieve would not hold it against you…and neither will I.”


    Judd’s mouth turned down and he shook his head. “I can’t…” He croaked and tried again. “I can’t even consider such a time…not only because I leave Astaril to lead its military south against a much stronger enemy…but because it feels like I’m leaving my heart behind in that room.”


    “I did not mean to make light of the love you had for my daughter,” Rocheveron urged gently, “only to say something now I might not have the chance to later.” He turned back to stare at the door. “Death comes to us so quickly and unexpectedly and should you lead Astaril to victory, I don’t want you to live a life under false obligation.”


    Judd nodded. “I…I promise to remember.” He vowed.


    Rocheveron breathed out heavily as though he had done what he had come to do. “I should return to my chambers,” he admitted, attempting to stand, “or else my physician will chew me tomorrow at length.”


    Judd stood and helped Rocheveron to rise. “Shall I escort you back to your chambers?”


    “I would not want to drag you away from your vigil.”


    Judd glanced at the door, his heart as heavy as lead. “Aalis would urge me to rest…and I think I should listen to her for as long as her words of wisdom and kindness stay with me.”


    He walked with the King to the end of the corridor and left the door to the tower unopened and sealed.