《Knight and Deserter》


 01: The Knights Seeker

    "If and when you can, don''t be the fool. Know thy rules and adjust accordingly." ~ Knight''s Seeker, Unknown


    The road is barren and narrow, a well known short cut among the locals. It''s dirt path beaten in by travellers over the years, a far cry from the well-maintained imperial roads. Today it''s occupied by one man and suits his needs just fine.


    Cendric Forrester, a bastard without a title, is his name. Slightly above average in height and on the leaner side, he doesn''t exactly appear ''intimidating''. Nor charming, with brown hair and brown eyes like everybody else, nothing about him stands out.


    The only thing memorable is the mail shirt he''s wearing. Accompanied by neck and shoulder plates, adding additional protection to his armor. Horseless, Cendric could easily pass off in his attire a nobles soldier or guard under a well-off merchant. If not for the ragged brown surcoat hanging over his chest, marking him a Seeker.


    At the center emblazoned in grey is the trademark eye of The Knight''s Seeker. A Knightly order that traces its heritage to the Old Ruma Empire. Their founding can be surmised for two simple reasons:


    Reason one, protecting and controlling the imperial highways. Reason two, clearing and maintaining them.


    Of course, members are free to do more than pertaining too those orders. Many become knight-errants, men old or young setting out into the world their own for reasons unknown. For Cendric it''s simple, freedom. Getting far away as he can from the Orders sight.


    Seventeen. That''s how long he''s been indentured in their service, for a debt that did not belong to him. It was her debt originally, the tavern girl working at the brothel.


    [My mother.]


    He came to terms with what she did, birthing him for the purpose as a bargaining chip against his father, to better her own life. Contrary to popular belief, attempting to blackmail some nobleman''s son with a bastard is illegal. Especially when said son is a decorated Knight within the Seeker''s. The sentence was hundred crowns, about half a dozen years worth of her salary. Or an equivalent years worth of servitude in the Knight''s Seeker.


    [She offered her son to take her place instead, and that is fine by me.]


    In the end everybody walked away happy. The tavern whore continued to do what she did best debt free. The judge slept a bit happier knowing the coin they gave made his purse another ounce heavier. And the fair knight relieved yet again to dodge another scandal, with new recruit the Order would put to good use.


    [I wouldn''t be surprised if mother decided to have me work at the brothel too, had I stayed any longer.] Cendric laughed mirthlessly at the thought.


    Most children took up the profession of their parents, if they had any. Everybody needs to make a living somehow, Cendric was no stranger to hunger. In the seven years spent with his mother he saw it in the skinny little ghouls fighting for scraps in their gangs. He felt it on the days they ran out money until, the gnawing pain as if his stomach was eating itself out. The slums was his prison back then. An endless cycle of pestilence, fear, hunger, and death.


    [We''re all looking out for ourselves, it''s human that we keep our interests in mind. Life is too short, and I have no interest in being a dog for any longer.]Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    The Orders academy, Sentinel Tower , was another prison too. But at least it guaranteed three meals a day and a clean bed. Most importantly, the time he spent training and learning to read and write were invaluable to his survival.


    His situation was ironic, royal law prohibited Nobles paying their debt in slavery or servitude, but Cendric wasn''t legitimatized. And only those of Noble blood or extreme talent could become a Knight. Thus because of his father''s blood and his own feats, he became a Knight. One that was leashed to a paper, and sent by the Order to do the type of unsavory work befitting for mongrels.


    [Either I find a noble who can petition the King to award a title to me. Get someone in the Old man''s family to legitimize me. Or do something crazy enough to capture the royal families attention.]


    While weighing his options Cendric kept a close eye on his surroundings. Although the road hadn''t cut through a forest yet, a looming hill or modest patchwork of trees and shrubs could spell trouble. He wasn''t afraid of being bowed down by an indiscriminate hail of arrows. Bandits were more interested in robbing either nobles, who could be wearing expensive items and be ransomed, or merchants, transporting goods.


    Not everyone can afford to pay the tolls to travel the imperial highways, and many merchants weren''t too eager on paying tariffs for their goods. In a sense it''s a luxury. Like any other inn or tavern, you fork a few silvers for a decent service , or pay a crown or two for the full experience.


    Up ahead was a hill over at the bend of the road near a small forest. A column of smoke rose nearby in the distance, Cendric ignored it, his attention was focused on the hill as he narrowed his eyes.


    There!


    A flash at the base of the hill from the sun reflecting off something, gone in an instant. All the meanwhile Cendric kept his composure, fighting the urge to instinctively draw his sword at the figure running towards him


    "Please, help!"


    The cry came from a young blond woman dressed in the typical attire of commoner. She and the rather plain dress she had on were covered in dirt, shallow cuts, and ashes. As she got closer he almost whistled at the size of her chest, conveniently on display.


    [''I wonder where the rest of her friends are?'']


    Playing along with her performance, he feigned alarm going for his sword. Otherwise she and her friends would get suspicious.


    [''Probably near the smoke, that flash was likely a signal.'']


    "Step no further madam, what reason do you approach me?" Supposedly, knights are to follow a general code of conduct, Chivalry. Bards and poets told tales alike associating it with courage, honor, courtesy, justice, and a readiness to help the weak. What they forgot to mention was that apart from adhering to the rules of their Order, knights were under no obligation to do any of those things.


    "Bandits attacking ¡ª," The woman said between sniffles, stepping back from him, "My village." Her arms wrapped around her waist as she cried out , "Ser Knight, please help!"


    Of course with a blond, buxom, blue eyed beauty like this. None would hesitate to be her knight in shining armor.


    [''Except there ain''t no damsels in distress.'']


    Cendric held back a sneer at the one shedding tears in front of him. Instead, he straightened his back to stand a little taller and offered a warm smile.


    "Worry not m''lady. I, Ser Cendric Forrester, shall lend you my strength to rid you of these bandits."


    [So I can loot your friends corpses to buy a horse, and maybe a decent meal.]


    "M-many thanks Ser Forrester." The damsel wiped her face giving Cendric a dazzling smile. "My name is Brianna, we need to hurry they''ve already begun to set fire to the village!" Brianna pointed frantically to smoke on the horizon. Of course there wasn''t any village around the forest, Cendric was well aware of this.


    "Lead on m''lady." He nodded eagerly, looking forward to no longer traveling by foot.


    A wicked grin touched Brianna lips, thankfully she''s already turned her back to him.


    ''I''ll have to keep the act up while we''re in the forest. If he isn''t a noble, it''s easier to slit his throat from behind while the boy''s hold him off with the spears.''


    Despite many being arrogant and privileged, a knight was still knight, at least for Seekers. Trained in the use of multiple weapons and in relatively fit condition, compared to the rest of the malnourished population. On an open field, the average knight could handle a rabble of four to six bandits easily. But in an enclosed space, say a woods or cave, surrounded by spears or pikes is a different story.


    It was unfortunate however, that the mark Brianna and her merry band had picked was neither arrogant nor an average knight.

 02: Knight of the Realm

    House Marras is a Sparthan noble family with an extensive military background. Leondre was born as the fourth son and youngest child in the Marras family. A relatively healthy baby, growing up he was quite shy around anyone other than his parents, including relatives. Kincaid Marras was a retired royal knight and veteran Captain whom served under the previous King of Spartha. His wife, Frida Marras, was a shield-maiden hailing from the Northern Isles. The couple was considered eccentric even among noble standards.


    While other Houses hired servants and maids to do carry out mundane chores such as cooking or cleaning, the children of Marras took it upon themselves to do it until they became of age. All its members, even the cadet branches, were required to learn some form of martial training. His wife even suggested that the females practice basic self-defense, going as far as training her nieces and granddaughters.


    Behind closed doors and hushed whispers, Lords and ladies criticized Lady Marras''s unconventional methods as taboo and foreign. Many viewed her as wild Northerner that needed to be leashed. But the Lioness did not concern herself with the opinions of sheep.


    It was to that end Leondre was sent to the Royal Military Academy when he turned fourteen. Like his brothers before him, Leondre would spend the next five years learning all there was to becoming a Marras worthy of their family name.


    That was two years ago since then he had come a long way. Proof of that being the ceremony currently ongoing.


    "Rise son of Marras."


    Leondre kept his head low with one knee bent on the floor. ''A write of passage, it''s still hard to believe.'' He really couldn''t fathom it, the summoning of the Headmaster at short-notice. Being ordered to bend the knee as the Grandmaster unwrapped a familiar blue-tinged sword out the bundle of furs.


    Slowly he rose up from his knee, carefully avoiding the Grand and Head master''s piercing gaze. His face glistened under the soft torchlight, it was a shade darker than it''s usual sun-kissed complexion. Leondre could only look down at the polished marble floor, where a pair of green emeralds stared back at him.


    A prodigy is what they said. Gifted in the academics and unrivaled in his swordsmanship among the second-years. Leondre felt he was none of those things, he could only credit it to the rigorous tutelage of his parents. Upon entering, first-years were expected to know basic reading and writing, as well as a simple arithmetics.


    [But I already learned those things with the tutors, and some more in my readings.] Reading in the library was a great way to pass time while home alone. His brothers: Thurston, Jormund, and Marcel were long gone by the time he turned six.


    Then came the physical training which happened in the early morning before classes, and mid-noon drills after supper. By the end of the year, you were expected to have learned the basics in horseback riding, one-handed weapon manuals, and court-etiquette. All of which, except for etiquette, Leondre was more than familiar with.Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    [I wonder how mother and father are doing?] He thought back to the fighting sessions his parents would have when he was younger, it was their favorite method in settling marital disputes. Frida Marras was much like the sea, a gentle lull before the storm. It''s apart of her personality as it is in her fighting style. An image of a red-maned Valkyrie, bright and ill-tempered as her hair, comes to mind. With shield and axe in hand, she bashes opponents left to right like rag dolls.


    [She''s scarier than father, that''s for sure.]


    Her blessing, Wolves of the Sea, allowed immense strength and balance. Leondre winced, remembering the sore bottoms he would receive after misbehaving, sometimes not even being able to sit the next day.


    "Raise your head." A voice hollow like wood broke Leondre from his stupor. The wizened face of Grandmaster Bennett came to view, his brows wrinkled in displeasure.


    [Mithra''s grace! I got caught up in my thoughts for too long.]


    Leondre cheeks turn another shade brighter. Even now he is convinced, he''s still the awkward boy that left home; hopeless among girls and terrible at making friends.


    [But not now. I refuse to make a fool of myself, this the most important day of my life.]


    Damming the tide of emotions, Leondre forced himself to stare back at the two bottomless pits. Leathery and calloused hands grip the hilt steadily, raising the blade over his head.


    "Thus let it be the last time you will bow your head in deference. Be courteous but not submissive, respect is earned not given. Bend your knee to no other except the King, for few among the many are your equal."


    The cold metal rests on his shoulder now. From the corner of his eye, faint inscriptions are etched into the sky-blessed steel.


    ''Roi Soleil,''


    Sun King.


    Long ago, a meteor was said to have fallen from the sky. Sent from the Goddess of Light herself, Mithra, in a heavenly display: Night had turned into day for a moment. Because of her love for humanity, the meteor broke into pieces scattering itself among her children. Or so the Temple says.


    Sun King was originally a holy relic found in Franleux, made from a fragment of this meteor.


    Franleux is the name for the country neighboring Sparthania''s western borders, it''s inhabitants are commonly referred to as Franks. Renowned for its fertility, patronage of the arts, and vineyards. The lack of famines, and a higher standard of living brought by prosperity, are seen as the reasons why it''s numerous city-states have remained at peace for so long. His family name originated from their Frankish roots. In fact, Frida and Kincaid Marras''s fourth and third sons were named in homage to their Frank ancestors.


    The story of how Sun King came into the family''s possession was a favorite among the many Leondre listened to his father regale. During a grand tourney, it was revealed among the contestants, as a prize to the first place duelist in the grand dueling. The winner was said to be a Chevalier. His face remained a mystery under the visor of a rusted helm, he bore no crest on his shield to indicate from which noble family he hailed. Only a name was given, albeit without a surname, Marras.


    "Ahem."


    [Mithra help me. I did it again.]


    The expression on the Grandmaster''s face was most unforgiving. After a minute or two of making Leondre squirm, Grandmaster Bennett continued. "Always remember, your allegiance is to the Realm first, then the Crown."


    Leondre licked his lips, "I shall."


    Grandmaster Bennett nodded, the longsword was withdrawn and returned into its scabbard once more.


    "Then rise Ser Leondre and take this weapon as a Knight of the Realm."

 03: Blessings

    The bitter tang of iron permeates the air. In a small clearing the bodies of a woman and several men lay strewn about, their blood caked into the earth. Among them and indifferent to the carnage, is an average-looking man leaning comfortably on a tree, catching his breath.


    Cendric takes a second to replay the battle he had fought a moment ago. As expected an ambush had been waiting for him. His eyes flickered over to the leader of this motley crew, her hands were still clutching her throat. Brianna, the ''damsel'', she was the first to strike and died last.


    [She ain''t in distress no more.]


    They had greeted him with an assortment of rusty spears and bronze studded clubs. Expecting this, Cendric had awoken his blessing in advance. Third Eye granted the ability to sense an attack outside their field of vision, along with a small boost in agility.


    Not all men and women were created equal. A rare few were born with untapped potential that could awaken latently. What happens after the awakening is extraordinary: Great strength, increased agility, enhanced awareness, the list goes on.


    A blessing of sorts.


    With enough time and money, blessings could be obtained through mundane methods such as potions or rituals. The only drawback was that it was a small chance and grew slimmer by the year. Also, there is no guarantee of what type of blessing it would be. Blessings came in all sorts of variations.


    Some are most effective during certain times of the day, others might bring only minor improvements, and without proper training, blessings could end up being more harmful than beneficiary. Finally, the secret to both of these methods were exclusive only to the Temple and a few Grand orders. In any case, blessings are an integral part of one''s social standing as they are for survival.


    So when Third Eye instinctively sensed movement from his back, Cendric stepped to the side.


    In a heartbeat, a dagger flew past his cheek, followed by its wielder a moment later. Like a gentleman, Cendric allowed Brianna, falling by, to go first before nimbly catching her wrist, lest the dagger slip, bringing it around her throat. Without hesitation, he plunged her wrist and moved it with a sickening twist. Cutting through all that cartilage would take too long. So less than halfway in he releases, and with a swift kick she is reunited with her comrades.


    Panic ripples among their ranks as they scramble out of the way. ''Would have been nice if she was skewered by one of her friends.'' But the action had worked either way; The bandits were in disarray, a gap had been opened. His priority was the three using spears, the fat one with the club could wait, the others needed to be thinned or else he''d still be at a disadvantage. Cendric dashes left to the closest fellow separated from the rest. His target had a noticeable receding hairline so he would be called Baldy.


    Baldy had hastily moved out of the way when Brianna fell, losing his grip on the spear. He had been in the process of retrieving it when Cendric''s leather hardened fist came to view. The soft cartilage under Baldy''s nose gave way at the moment of impact and sent him tumbling into the ground once more. Not bothering to follow up, Cendric dances to the right just as a spear glances off his side. Had it been a second later, no doubt he would have parted with a nasty bruise.


    Grabbing the wooden haft with one hand, Cendric yanks it back before releasing his grip at the last second. The spearman having overextended himself, stumbles off balance. Seizing his chance, Cendric''s arming sword is pulled from its scabbard. It materializes a second later in his hand stabbing the spearman in the back of the neck, instantly severing his spinal cord.


    [Damn, can''t dodge this one.]Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    Third Eye flares in alarm as something crashes into his shoulder blade. Bronze studded wood meets tempered iron as a rotund fellow comes roaring in.


    "Bastard!"


    The impact leaves a dent on his shoulder plate and shakes Cendric to his core. ''Shit. Let my guard down. Idiot, I should have had my sword out earlier.'' Cursing his amateur mistake, Cendric grunts as he twists himself over the grass. ''At least I didn''t drop my weapon as Baldy did earlier.'' Dirt brushes his face as the club comes cracking down over the spot he was on a moment ago.


    ''Eat dirt Fatman.'' Cendric gnashes his teeth grabbing dirt from the hole dug a second ago. A handful is flung at Fatman''s pudgy face, momentarily blinding him. The bandit wheels back in surprise, lowering the club as he raises an arm to his face. Cendric rolls onto his feet, crouched low, hamstringing his opponent.


    The club falls with a thud as Fatman drops to his knee. His screams are cut short by Cendric, who sends him sprawling into the ground and finishes it by ramming the sword through his chest. A wave of exhaustion washes over him as he pulls out the sword. The adrenaline was receding now, and the effects after the battle could be felt. Pain blossoms throughout his left shoulder. Cendric gasps for air greedily but persists, determined to finish the job. Dragging one foot after another he lurches to the last man standing.


    A more accurate description would be boy, who couldn''t have been any older than fourteen. His scrawny arms can barely hold the spear upright, and it didn''t help that his hands were trembling. Fear was the reason why he hadn''t attacked or ran for the hills yet. None of the usual commands to his brain were working.


    The boys'' name was Edwin, and he originally was a farmer. It was after the local lord confiscated his family''s farm and took his mother as a trophy. Edwin turned to a life of banditry with his family. They were going to take everything from the nobles and rich merchants alike, as they did to them. It had been hard, the first couple of years. Always on the move, looking for a new spot to settle down the next couple of months before moving again.


    Things were starting to look up a little until the Seeker saw through their ambush. In Edwin eyes, he saw a man terrifyingly fast for someone weighed down in mail armor. Fast enough to slit his sister''s throat, and then cut down his father and two brothers in minutes.


    ''A monster, we''re dealing with a monster.'' Edwin was beginning to pale. It was like there was an eye on his head or something. He had watched in disbelief, the Knight seemly dodge and parry blows from behind without a glance.


    ''If he''s that fast is it really possible to get away from him?'' Bile pokes at his throat threatening to peak. His eyes dart to the great heap of flesh he called father moments ago. The big man had always been heavyset, it wasn''t until they began to eat meals regularly from their ill-gained earnings, that he began to bulk up and smile again.


    The footsteps were getting closer now, nearby Edwin spots his sister. ''Mithra not like this...'' He thought, praying to the Holy Daughter for her mercy. The dress Brianna wore continued to change in color, red the most prominently flowing. Sis was desperately clutching her throat, fighting a battle already lost.


    ''Brianna ¡ª idiot, who are you holding on for?''


    A spear clatters to the ground followed by the sound dry heaving. ''He''s close now'', So close that Edwin could hear his labored breaths. Grief, regret, hate, and disgust begin to well up within Edwin. Soon he''s unable to bottle it for any longer, a cry escapes his lips.


    "Oh Ma I''ll be a good boy, promise. Just¡ªjust don''t let me die!" The figure in front of Edwin''s blurred vision isn''t a man anymore. Just the sight of her brings back memories of a happier time.


    "I don''t wanna, please!"


    She had told him to hide with his sister. His brothers and father had entrusted him to be the man of the house while they were gone.


    "Please Ma, don''t leave us!"


    Brianna would have had to drag him screaming and kicking the entire way. But Ma smiled like she always did, said to quit worrying. He trusted her and then never saw her again. And his dream of rescuing her one day, faded away.


    Cendric stood quietly as the boy wept his heart out. He had been planning to sell his current chainmail armor for a new set, when he encountered them. He was fairly certain this ragtag band had been at it for a while. It was also obvious the boy had never taken part in their plans until now. But the rest of the family he kept babbling about, definitely weren''t shy in taking a life.


    "Aye, I''m sure she loved ya more than m''ae own¡ª," With the battle over, and his body finally catching up with him. Cendric had unconsciously dropped the Knightly persona, his natural accent loosened a little, "Just close your eyes, I promise it will only hurt for a moment."

 04: Crestwood

    [This day just keeps on getting better and better.]


    His left shoulder was hurting ¡ª No, his entire body felt like this. It was the price Cendric had to pay for overusing his blessing. To make matters worse, he had forgotten to interrogate one the bandits for their secret cache. What annoyed him more, aside from two silvers and a few coppers he found, there was nothing else worth a damn.


    Selling blood-stained clothes in town weren''t unusual, but Cendric was a stranger. He could very well end up drawing unwanted attention. Cendric also wanted to sell the spears to a blacksmith, even if their condition was questionable. But a spear was a hefty weapon, he was also injured, so even carrying one on foot would be difficult. Instead, he opted in taking the dagger he relinquished from the damsel, surprisingly of decent quality.


    [Knight-Captain Odell ordered me to meet with the local patrol near Gwaldon. He''s under the impression I''m taking the highway right now to Gwaldon. It''s been a day now since I left for Crestwood.]


    Crestwood is a small town built right next to a lake, surrounded by cultivated fields. It''s a common stop for travelers preferring local roads instead of the highway. And was where he planned on buying a horse and a new set of armor.


    [The commanding officer at Gwaldon is expecting me to arrive in three days. I need to increase the distance before they notice something is amiss.]


    Perhaps the gods had heard his plights. Because the next day, Cendric had been lucky enough to run into a merchant heading in the same direction. The man had offered Cendric a ride on his wagon in exchange for a Knights protection. He was kind enough not to ask for a name or the Order from which Cendric came.


    "We shall be approaching Crestwood soon, Ser Knight." The traveling merchant glanced at his companion who spoke very little. For the past two days, it had been like this. Ser Knight would travel alongside him on foot during the day and sleep within the wagon at night.


    "Mhhm." Cendric grunt in acknowledgement.


    "I plan to stay a short while as I restock my supplies, before heading off to Gwaldon."


    "As you say."


    "It''s a neat little town, I''m surprised they''ve managed to keep the lake clean for so long."


    "Indeed."


    "You¡ª," The merchant gives up in his attempt at making small talk. ''I thought Knight''s were an arrogant bunch, but this one breaks my expectations entirely.''


    Up ahead the town of Crestwood comes to view. For now, only it''s wooden palisade can be seen, the actual town lays await behind it. Several figures patrol the walls and below, two guards stand on alert near the gate.


    "Name and business." The guard''s tone is strictly professional. He stares dispassionately


    at the two travelers in front of him.


    The driver of the wagon answers first, "Gerald Bruce. I''m a registered member of the Merchants Guild in Yvorwick, I''ve goods to sell and supplies to stock."


    At the same time, he reaches into the breast of his coat but is waved off by the guard.


    "No need for papers, you''re dressed well enough."


    The second guard who had remained silent spoke up. "I assume your friend over there is a bodyguard?" He had been eyeing the strangers'' attire carefully. His light brown tunic was nothing out of the ordinary, everything about him suggested average.


    "Oh him? We happened to be going in the same direction, I offered him payment in exchange for protection for the next several weeks." The merchant nonchalantly replies.


    "Is that so?" The guard directs this to Cendric who''s said nothing so far.


    "Yes."


    Cendric shoots a sidelong glance at the merchant. But his face is carefully neutral, revealing none of the suspicion brimming beneath.


    "Welcome to Crestwood then, if you need a place to stay try the Lakeside Inn." Curiosity satisfied, the guard moves to the side beckoning his comrade to do the same.The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    Several feet inside the merchant bring his oxen to a halt. He steps down removing his cap, revealing a mop of straw hair, and offers a hand to his quiet companion.


    "I believe this where we part ways, my friend."


    Grudging Cendric shakes it, he steps in close so only the ''Merchant'' can hear his next words.


    "What''s your play?" His voice is devoid of emotion. Despite this, the Merchant remains unfazed, if anything more amused.


    Realizing this only succeeds in stoking Cendrics hostility, the Merchant sobers up and raises his free hand placating. "My only play is to gather the supplies I need then go my merry way. Be assured you owe me nothing nor do I want anything from you."


    "Don''t be coy, you purposely guided them from asking any direct questions about me. Then spun a half-truth believable enough to let us in without even bothering for my name or hometown."


    The Merchant steps back, politely removing his hand. He looks at Cendric straight in the eyes and does something unexpected.


    "Sorry, sorry, again sorry." The Merchant apologizes profusely. Despite wearing trousers of cotton make, he doesn''t hesitate to sully them in the muck as he gets down on his knees.


    "Please, I meant no offense. My life is dear to me and there is so much I wish to do." Then he grabs onto Cendric''s ankles and begins to kiss his boots.


    Nearby passer byers halt in their tracks, bewildered at the spectacle. Some just shake their heads and continue on, believing it to be a dispute over money. The most confused of them all was the man the Merchant prostrated himself before.


    [What in the seven hells. Is he actually serious? ¡ª


    No, this bastard knows I''m keeping a low profile here. That''s why he''s trying to draw attention.]


    A couple of guardsmen near the palisade watched with interest. Brawls and altercations were common in Crestwood like any other town. They''d only step in if weapons were drawn or any locals got caught in the crossfire.


    Or not, anything was a welcome distraction from standing hours on end at the walls.


    Keenly aware of this Cendric pushed aside his suspicions and hostility for the loathsome Merchant. And forced himself to think rationally.


    [He does not know my name, and I''m sure we met by chance. From what was inside the wagon were mostly trinkets, spices, and other goods hard to come by locally. He genuinely wants to part ways and avoided a confrontation when I tried interrogating him.


    Conclusion:


    Paranoia is getting the better of me.]


    With that Cendric exhaled slowly, when he spoke again any trace of ill will and suspicions he once harbored were erased.


    "It''s fine, let us go our separate ways just as you said."


    Cendric unceremoniously detracts his boots from the Merchant''s hands. Not one bit concerned about the filth that splatters on the man''s puffy face. Tired of these antics, Cendric turns his back and parts ways without a second glance.


    --------------------------


    His first destination was the local smithy. Smoke emitted outside from the brown tiled roof. The brick-walled interior was relatively small, or rather the sheer amount of weapons and armor on display took up most of the room.


    A rather short bearded man haggling with a customer raised a muscle bulging arm towards Cendric walking inside.


    "See? Yer ruining me business, pay up or out with yew." Strong, stubborn, and hard like rocks. Most of their kind lived underground, few ever venturing to the surface.


    Dwarves.


    Cendrics groaned internally. He wasn''t going to have an easy time selling his armor. You couldn''t swindle those accursed rockheads when it came to gems or metal. The customer glumly walking by him probably just experienced this first-hand.


    ''All-Mother what exactly have I done to deserve this?'' Cendric spoke silently, questioning the Mother of all Gods.


    Of course, there was no reply.


    Cendric already had removed his mail shirt and padded gambeson before coming. He was carrying them in both arms during his long walk. To say he was relieved after plopping them on the counter would be an understatement.


    A true professional, the dwarf doesn''t bother with small talk and immediately begins appraising the armor. Within several minutes of unintelligible grunts, and beard-stroking. The dwarf states his assessment.


    "Not bad. Rings are made from steel, nae'' many impurities. Gambeson too, I''m nae'' sodding tailor, but seen enough in my day.


    "How much for the entire set?"


    "Aye. I''ll give yew one crown, and a couple silvers for the gambeson."


    Even after the Old Empires'' demise, the various factions that rose after continued to use the same currency system today. The currency utilized three coins: Copper, Silver, and Crown.


    The largest coin are coppers, and are the lowest in value. Fifty coppers equated to one silver. Silvers are slightly smaller and the second largest in value. About a hundred or eighty silvers are equivalent to one crown. Finally, the highest in value but smallest in size were crowns. A crown could equate to half a year''s worth of work.


    "Fair is fair with the mail, but the gambeson is worth more than a few silvers."


    "Try yer luck with a tailor then, otherwise ''alf a dozen silvers and nae'' a copper more." The blacksmith snorts in reply.


    "Twenty silvers or I take the gambeson and chainmail over to the tailor." When it comes to the uniform of a Knight Seeker, Cendric knew damn well it''s worth.


    The dwarf stamps his feet, eyeing Cendric stubbornly. "Twenty? Fancy yer self a tailor, eh sky-lover?"


    "No. That''s half the price the tailor sold it for, stonehead." The actual price was thirty, but honesty wouldn''t buy him a horse.


    "Fine, take yer stinking silvers and get out!"


    The dwarf slams the coins on the counter and snatches Cendric''s former armor, taking the latter into the backroom.


    [How the hell is he in business if he runs out every customer?]


    He shakes his head as he pours the coins into a leather pouch. Between dealing with the boot-kissing merchant and negotiating with the dwarf. The events of today had left him mentally exhausted.


    [Time to go looking for that Inn ¡ª Lakeside, I think they called it.]

 05: The Rhoan

    "You shure ''bout that one, son?", the stable master asked for the third time. "''Plenty of other ''orses. Normal ''orses, a''lot gentler than him."


    It was early morning under the purple horizon, the sun just beginning to awake. The Knighting Ceremony ended serveral hours ago. Leondre had entered the Headmasters office as a second-year student attending the Royal Military Academy. And walked out as a newly annointed Knight of the Realm carrying a holy relic. Roi Soleil was now firmly sheathed within its scabbard, attached to his belt


    The Academy had sent him off with a grand full honors. His classmates were cheering him on, while third-years patted him on the back or shook his hands. Even the upper class men, some fourth and fifth years, had gathered to see him go. Leondres'' personal belongings and clothes were already packed in his luggage, awaiting him.


    What he needed now was a mount, to saddle all this baggage with. As a parting gift, Grandmaster Bennett offered Leondre a choice of steads from his own personal stalls. Which is why he was currently having this conversation right now.


    "The Grandmaster said it was at my own discretion." Leondre spoke, his voice firmer this time.


    "Son. I''m telling you, not d''his one. Lads think riding big ''ellows like him, means somethan. They wanta'' strutt ''around, impress the missus ¡ª," He glares meaningfully at sixteen year-old knight, "but don''t bother takin'' care of him themselves."


    Leondre knew what the stable master was referring to of course. A Knight''s stead was as important as their lives. They are his constant companion during travels, his partner on the battlefield. It is they whom shoulder his burdens.


    Some knights saw their steads no more than trophies to flaunt and look good with. Leondre glanced at the fierce looking Rhoan in the last stall. He read in a book that this breed of battle chargers were descended from an mythical animal, a unicorn. At what point they turned from pure white beings of happyness, to vicious black coated terrors, he didn''t know. But the bony protrusions sticking out of their heads, shaped like bowties, were proof enough.


    [All-Mother! The childrens book never mentioned how huge they are. I wonder if all Rhoans are this big, or perhaps this one was bred by a race of giants.]


    The stable master shook his head silently at the youngster daydreaming beside him. He had no idea where or why the Grandmaster had gotten such an exotic breed. Hell, it barely even qualified as a horse. The damn thing ate less than any normal horse should at his size, and he had a suspicion there was an intelligence lurking beneath those eyes.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    "Son." The stable master said.


    "Huh¡ªes?" Leondre replied, slightly startled.


    "It won''t be easy, but I''ll get the wicked devil tacked up for you."


    "Really? I can''t thank you enough! You have my word as a Knight of the Realm, I shall take responsibility for this horse." Leondre shaked the stable master''s hand eagerly, excitement swelling in his chest.


    "Son, you can let go now."


    "Sorry." Leondre pulled away, the grin on his face apologetic. [Oh right. I wonder, does this rhoan have a name?]


    "Say, stable master. Does he have a name?"


    The stable master snorts, "Besides ''Pain-in-the-arse'', no." On cue, as the stable master attempted securing its reins. The horse swings it''s ebony log of a head, nearly pulling the man off his feet.


    Leondre may have been imagining it. But he could have sworn the Rhoan had something akin to a malicious grin on his face.


    "Enough of that," he snaps at the charger. The stable master tentatively enters the blacks'' stall, saddle in hand as the horse growls. ''Mithra, did I hear that right?'' Never in his life had he thought to hear such a thing eminate from a horse.


    Out sight, Leondre listened to the sound of stomping and at one point, a solid bang to the stall followed by a string of curses.


    The stablemaster re-emerges sweating, and dusts himself off before handing the reins to Leondre.


    "Quick at it son! Bring the reins close under his jaw, less you want''em biting your hands clean off. I''m telling you, that beastie ain''t normal. Sharp teeth, that one."


    ''No big problem, just do like you always have at home. Worked well enough in the academy, it will work here too.'' Leondre thought, nervously.


    He walked steadily but without fear toward the mid-night black animal. The rhoans ears stay pinn flat, nostrils flaring as he snorted uneasily, but makes no other sign of aggression. Carefully Leondre reached out and stroked his neck.


    "Hold it son, I never seen him that quiet before..." The stable master started to comment when the horse snaked his head around lightening fast, biting Leondre hard on the arm.


    With a yelp he jumps away, sporting already swelling bite marks beginning to bleed. The horse snorts one last time in his direction before going back to his fodder.


    "What in the seven blazes was that!"


    The stablemaster carefully tiptoes over, making sure to stay well out of reach of the Rhoans jagged teeth."''Well I did warn you. In saying that, I think he likes you."


    "He likes me?!" Leondre retorted incredulously, waving his bloodied arm in front of his face.


    "Oh yes. If he didn''t like you, he would''ev ripped the skin right off!" The stablemaster nods animatedly.


    "Mithra...," Leondre says glancing at the horse, "Are you sure he even eats like a normal horse? Seems to have an inclination for something other than plants or oats."


    "Meat? I''ve seen him eat rats bigger than me own dog before." He replies innocently, offering up a clean linen rag and bucket full of sud.


    "B¨ºte Noir." Leondre states blankly, gazing directly at the black Rhoan, as he cleans his arm.


    "Betty no¡ªwhat?" The man frowns as he looks to the teenager for clarification. But the teen waves him off, dropping the blood-stained rag into the bucket.


    "His name, because I''m sure he''ll be the bane to my existence."

 06: Bedtime Stories

    The cobbled city streets of Malord¨²n teemed with life as usual. Stray cats and dogs bob and weaved through the jam-packed market square, some looking for scraps, whilst others began sounding off in a cacophony of barks and meowling. Those at the stands and visitors passing by, paid no heed conversing among each other in worlds of their own.


    "Please, move out of the way!"


    The sea of humanity parted way in a mix of confusion and fear as a great shadow shot across the cobbled streets. Atop and having the time of his life, was a teenager who looked to be sixteen or seventeen years old. He wore a maroon linen riding cloak, currently flapping over his broad-shoulders. The wind had threw back the hood, revealing sea green eyes, close-cropped curly black hair, and developing strong features.


    [Someone''s bound to get hurt if I don''t slow his pace]. Leondre signed rather sadly, but made the effort to pull the reins, wrapped in one hand, toward him while leaning back.


    B¨ºte Noir, or Noir, as Leondre liked to call him. Craned his neck ever so slightly, eyeing the young Knight menacingly. As if to say: ''I dare you, try and stop me.''


    Sometimes he got the feeling the rhoan could speak to him. But soon Noirs training kicked in, and the chargers gallop slowed to a trot. Leondre rubbed his charcoal ears for good effort, it seemed there and on his head were Noirs weakness.


    [Now what?]


    He was at loss on what to do, he hadn''t expected his dream to become a reality. It had happened so quickly Leondre had just gotten swept away with the flow. Almost like it was all planned before hand.


    The more Leondre thought about, the more clearer the picture became. How else would the Grandmaster have had such an important family heirloom in his possession? His parents must have sent it several weeks before. He was also certain the Headmaster knowing this, ordered his room to be cleared ahead of time to speed his departure.


    [I''ll send Mother and Father a letter when I get the chance. They''re probably waiting to hear all the juicy details, back home.]


    Home.


    After being away for two years, the word brought with it, a sense of nostalgia. The family estate was an eight-weeks ride away, he yearned to see those forests of red, orange, and yellow again. Some of the cooks at the academy had been kind enough to pack him some food from the kitchens. It was enough to last him a couple of days, and there was also plenty water from the canteens.


    Reaching for one of the saddle bags, he pulled a neatly folded piece of vellum. Carefully, he smoothed out its many crinkles, until it was flat once more. In his hands was a map of the local region, he bought from a merchant for fifteen silvers. Leondre wasn''t sure if it was a fair deal, the finely dressed man had been far too eager for his liking.


    But atleast he would not be wondering aimlessly, and besides, the cartographer who created it seemed to know his stuff. The map was simplistic but detailed, it was easy to find a point of reference relative to his location. Leondre was right now in Malord¨²n, a free port city under the jurisdiction of an elected mayor, approved by the governor.This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Spartha was unique in it''s own right. A patch work of unclaimed wilderness, major holdings, and minor settlements. The Crown could not be everywhere, so the land was divided into more than a dozen regions. Each region was appointed a governor representing the crowns interests. Under them were magistrates, or civil officers, who''s responsibilities included traveling from villages to small cities, collecting taxes from the kingdoms vassals and administering law.


    Most cities were run by a mayor elected by the people, or the noble patron, to oversee the lands in their stead. In some cases the overlying villages and towns lived autonomously despite being under the domain of local nobility. It was a mess that even Leondre struggled to understand.


    Being the fourth son of a Marquis, some might say he was unlucky. Kindcaid Marras had content himself to leave most of the family''s major holdings to his three eldest sons. Leaving the fourth son with little else, but that was far from the truth.


    So what if Thurston was now Duke Alden, married to the fourth princess? Thurston was the first son, and Alden was one of father''s most wealthiest holdings, it rightly belonged to him. Leondre wished them happyness and luck on their endeavors.


    And what''s this about Jormund becoming a prince of the Northern Isles, with a entire fleet under his command? Apparently Grandpa was grooming him to become his successor. Leondre found it touching, the old Seawolf only had a daughter and she left to marry the man she loved. Good for Jormund, keeping Grandpa company.


    If there was anything to be disappointed about, it was Marcel recieving a Knighthood first. Leondre hoped he would also be known as, Ser Marras. But unless they had come from different family''s, any other siblings would go by their first name. Marcel planned to travel the world a bit before taking over father''s position, as The Marquis of Saloma.


    Noir stopped abruptly, raising his head, and released a low growl from his chest.


    ''Stop daydreaming.'' Is what the horse seemed to intent, as if sensing it''s rider to be lost in thought. Noir recieved a good rubb on the head, washing away his annoyance. While Leondre resumed consulting his map, particularly for any towns within the vicinity.


    [I should probably save my money, and besides we''re in summer. I''m sure the guard or local militia patrol the normal roads just fine.]


    Leondre had already passed the gates of Malord¨²n, by then, he narrowed his options to three locations:


    Gwaldon, four days away from Malord¨²n. Probably would be better to reach using the Imperial highways, seeing how most of the other roads lead into long detours.


    Yvorwick. Almost a two weeks worth of riding, it was a trading hub and major base of operations for The Knight''s Seeker. It was also Leondres least likely option, only because the Earl of Yvorwick wasn''t exactly on best terms with his brother; Lord Saloma, Kincaid vae Marras.


    According to the map legend, Crestwood was a small farming town three days away, situated near a freshwater lake. The star next it indicated it was a popular destination for merchants, adventures, and travelling tourists. Several gray crumbling buildings, representing ruins, were close by.


    Leondre recalled a story his father once told, about a Knight stumbling across a damsel trapped in the depths of the ruin he had been searching.


    Kindcaid Marras proclaimed it was love at first sight, when his wife overheard she in her own words replied,


    "Load of bull, what it is. This entire country of tit-sucking pisshats, all of ''em, obsessed with stories like ''hat." She then threatened to beat her son raw if he didn''t go to sleep, and proceeded to drag her husband out the room.


    Leondre wasn''t sure who to believe, but he did decide Crestwood would be his next destination.


    ¡ª Not because of any ruins or bedtime stories of course!

 07: Lakeside Inn

    "How many silvers, say, three nights?" Cendric said, in a easy-going manner, waggling his coin purse.


    After asking a local for directions, he learned Lakeside Inn was only a few minutes away from the smithy. The inn was one of two available in town, the other was a local adventurer guild. And it was more of a series of communal bunkbeds than actual rooms. For now Lakeside''s cozy interior and modest wood furnishings would do.


    The olive skin, sharp-eyed girl, at the desk, clicked her tongue.


    "Sir, as I said. We charge a dozen silvers per night. That''s three nights, do the numbers..."


    Cendric didn''t bother dining a response, instead he scratched the back of his head and smiled stupidly.


    [Lets see if she can catch on.]


    Today he''d be playing the idiot son, of a non-existent rich man. The Inn wasn''t luxurious, but it was the best in town and affordable. He was sure she dealt with the likes of his ''noble'' ilk, and similar attitudes. The receptionist probably had it worse; Young, probably eighteen or nineteen. A delicately proportioned face with low cheek bones and alluring honey warm eyes. She had a slender figure, tanned and freckled from numerous hours out in the sun.


    A picture definition of an diamond in the rough. In a town like this, there was no shortage of males lusting after her. Cendric would be another nameless face among the dozens she rejected.


    And this is exactly how he wanted it, odds are she''ll forget their brief encounter.


    [Had she been born in less fortunate surroundings, in the city: they''d have probably married her off for a hefty price, or had her working at the brothels.]


    "Thirty-six silvers," She said slowly, as if teaching a child how to add for the first time, "That''s twelve today. Another tommorow. And the day after."


    Cendric waved her off, dropping his heavy purse on the table. And proceeded to drop the coins one by one.


    "For today," He winked, placing the twelth coin on the table. "Tommorow," [Damnit, that''s my money, I killed for this.] With great flourish Cendric placed the final silver, "And¡ª the day after."Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    [All-mother if you''re listening, if they don''t have the best service there is... All I''m saying is those beds better be spotless.] To be fair the inn was reasonably priced, but growing up without a copper to his name. It hurt Cendric no matter the price, to part ways with his coin.


    As the receptionist swept the coins into her hand, Cendric leaned in close.


    "Say, how much to buy you a drink?" He asked, despite already knowing the answer.


    "Unfortunately, no one will be replacing me today."


    "You sure? My father is a very influential man, not here, but outside of Crestwood..."


    "Very. Now if there''s nothing else, here are your keys." The conversation ended with Cendric being handed his room key.


    [Such a nice girly.] Cendric mused, as he adjust the straps of his bag to the other side. [Woe to the bastard that breaks her heart.]


    Wordlessly, he pocketed it in a small leather pouch, then it too disappeared within his vest. Trying not seem to excited at the prospect of sleeping in a soft bed. Cendric leisurely moved past the receptionist, who was now mindless flipping through a ledger, into the hallway beside her.


    -------


    Rays of natural light flood the hall from several carefully placed glass panes. Walls burnt orange, made of cob (a clay-sand based cement), assault Cendric from either side. The experience was nauseating, to say the least. Suddenly, the wood polished floor became alot more interesting.


    [I almost feel bad for scuffing their floors, gods know where my boots have been.]


    At the end of the hallway laid a staircase Cendric walked toward. It lead to the second floor where his bedroom beckoned to him. He was meet with another hallway yet again, a near-replica of the one downstairs.


    "21...22, 23..." Cendric muttered, as he went by several doors. The keys the receptionist had given him were scratched with the number, ''25''.


    [24 ¡ªThere it is.] His room stood at the farside across from door 26. Instinctively, he actived his blessing. Sensing no presence behind, Cendric inserted the key into the hole, and with a twist, he stepped inside.


    A window, a drawer, and one bed with fresh sheets. [Nothing out of the ordinary, but it''s clean enough.]


    The curtains were left ajar with the window raised, likely to air out the room. For now, they''d stay open. Later when the sun began to set, he''d close them. Curiosity satisfied, Cendric immediately set about arranging the room to his liking.


    His first task was setting an alarm at the door and window. It''s simple really, attaching something (this case a tiny bell) to a piece of string. And then nailing it on the wall, via whetstone or pommel. The result: A bell jingles, Cendric would wake, and the intruder would find themselves facing the business end of a dagger.


    [Call me paranoid, but I don''t care how reputable of a place this might be.] Reputation never stopped Cendric from carrying out any of his orders.


    Next, he stashed his newly acquired dagger underneath the pillow he''d be sleeping on tonight. He tossed his arming sword aside, followed by his meager belongings a moment later. Finally, Cendric kicked off his boots and stripped himself to his trousers.


    The bed was soft, as if floating on a cloud. Drowsyness swept over him like a tidal wave; combined with exhaustion and the fact he was still using his blessing. Cendric was fast sleep.

 08: Prince Charming

    What harms, often teaches.


    <div>


    ''Several men in the room immediately paled, except for three. One seemed to be doing his damnest not to laugh. He had jet-black hair and sky blue eyes, clear-cut and teeming with intuition.''


    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

 09: A Tale of Two Knights

    "...Miss! Can we an order over here please?" A growing number of cries began to fill the taproom.


    "Hey girly, I''ve been starving now for hours!" Another patron chimed in frantically waving at server.


    Someone shouts from across the room. "Quit dilly-dallying, and do yerr job!"


    Desk Girl clicked her tongue, ignoring their antics. She signed gently at the boy hiding beneath his arms, "Sorry, got a bit carried away. I''ll come back to take you order once I''m done with the regulars."


    Desk Girl turned to leave but paused.


    "It''s Sera by the way." She added, as an afterthought.


    "...Leondre." A voice replied, muffled beneath the sleeves of a cloak.


    A rare smile formed on Sera''s face as she left, before slipping under her usual tight lipped expression. When she was a good distance away, busy with other customers. Leondre finally raised his head exhaling in relief.


    [Idiot, why are you relieved? She actually tried talking and you blew her off!]


    In truth, Leondre was learning how to socialize, especially with girls near his age. It wasn''t until the middle of his second year, when he turned 16 and the instructors began calling him a "prodigy". That the constant disregard and isolation from the other students finally stopped.


    Most of his classmates were obsessed with having something to show for. From excelling in classes, and showing off at drills. Or having a friends in high places.To your families prestige and affluence. In the eyes of many; if you didn''t stand out, then you were nothing. Unbeknownst to this, with his parents consent, Leondre had entered the Royal Academy under the guise of a small unknown noble family. Only the Dean and the Grandmaster knew the truth.


    The estate never prepared him for what he dealt with next: To know a group of people or someone, detest being around you. That no one wished to speak with you or even have an conversation. But instead of admitting it; they ignored your voice, pretending it does not exist.


    Leondre learned two lessons that year. Some things cut deeper than bone, and no one liked to truely be alone.


    "Anyone ever tell you, you day dream to much?"


    Nearby, a chair moaned in protest as it was dragged across the floor over to his table. If Leondre could describe the man who just sat at his table in one word, it would be average. Not as an insult, but observation. Brown hair and eyes, fair skin. Plain features, normal height, and maybe in his mid twenties.


    Average.


    "Pardon, it''s just a habit of mine. If this is your usual spot, I''m sorry I''ll move to another." Leondre quickly apologized, moving off the table.


    "Nothing to be sorry for, and I''m a guest like you. So sit, I prefer eating with company." The man motioned for Leondre to sit down.


    "I¨Cis their something you want or need from me?" Leondre said, a little uncomfortable being with the stranger.


    Cendric shrugged indifferently as he spoke between spoonfuls of food. "Your a little young for an knighthood. How old when you became a squire?" The gears in his mind were working at full pace, formulating a plan.


    [Mithra, Bodhem, Ygritt, or whoever the hell performed this miracle. Thanks for throwing me a bone. Just wish it could have been earlier, like seventeen years sooner.] Infront of Cendric was the fourth son of Marquis Saloma, Leondre vae Marras.


    From his attire and eavesdropping on the boys conversation with Desk Girl, or now, Sera. Cendric guessed was Leondre from the Royal Academy. The gryphon sewn to his waistcoat, partially covered by the cloak, made it blatantly obvious.


    From what he remembered, the Royal Academy offered two paths; military or academics. Those who wished to have a military career, after four years, could begin squiring under a Royal Knight or start climbing the ranks as a newly commissioned officer in the army.


    The system was similar to the Knight''s Seeker Academy, excluding the enrollment of commoners. The King apparently fancied himself something of a reformist. Already, in collaboration with the Temple, he''s begun implementing a region wide school system. Teaching common children how to read and write, as well as basic mathematics.


    "It''s err, complicated. The Grandmaster"¡ª Leondre trailed off as he realized something¡ª"how do you know all this?"


    [He''s not as naive as he looks.] Cendric thought approvingly.


    "The Order of the Knight''s Seeker at your service," Cendric unbuckled his arming sword tossing it onto the table, "Doubts? Check the stamp its under the grip, on the pommel."


    The weaponry given at the eve of ones knighting is a symbol their knighthood. Upon the creation process, a blacksmith will stamp the coat-of-arms of their respective order onto the weapon.


    Leondre tentatively picked up the blade holding it by the chape, or tip of the scabbard. He scanned over the faded leather grip, catching a faint whiff of wax. Looking further down, he found himself staring into the clearly etched eye of The Knight''s Seeker.This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    "There is no doubt, that''s a genuine stamp if I have ever seen one. It is an honour and pleasure to meet you Ser...?"


    "Cendric Forrester." He offered, after swallowing the last bit of food off his plate.


    "Ser Forrester is it um, rude of me to inquire why you are here?" Leondre asked meekly, recalling no highways on the map within the vicinity of Crestwood.


    "Should you not show your stamp as well? If you ask for something, be prepared to give in return." Cendric said with his arms crossed, shaking his head.


    "R¨Cright, please, I meant not to question your character." Leondre apologized profusely, scrambling to unstrap Roi Soleil from his waist. Cendric took the weapon without a hitch, partially drawing it from the sheath. His eyes immediately popped open at the sight of the bluish glow.


    [They gave this kid a sacred relic? What in the seven hells were they thinking!] Cendric mutely cussed the bastard who made this decision. A weapon like that belonged in the hands of a paladin or king and queen. Someone you''d be hard-pressed to steal from. He may not have cared for Leondre, but even Cendric saw no point placing such a valuable artifact, and young talent, in great peril.


    "Is. I mean, Ser Cendric Forrester, are you all right?" Leondre asked nervously. The man so far had been calm and collected, a scowl was now present on his face.


    "Not your fault, bit surprised tis''all. Also drop the formalities, this isn''t the academy, Cendric will do." Continuing his examination. The seasoned knight once again nearly broke his compsure, when he saw the insignia on the crossguard of the blade.


    The Ironwood.


    [No fucking way.]


    The Royal Academy, Knight''s, and Crown. All three entities were represented under one bird, The Gryphon. The sacred white branches of the blue leafed ironwood tree, however, was not a coat-of-arms. It was a symbol, that stood at the center of the national flag and temples dedicated to Mithra. An honor of the highest accords recognized in not one region, but all. The realm.


    An awkward silence descended upon the table, with neither party knowing what to say. Leondre wanted to politely get his sword back, but was too shy to ask. While Cendric contemplated using the boy in his original plan or taking the relic for himself.


    At last, Cendric slid Roi Soleil back in place. "You must have been blessed by All-Mother herself, or perhaps her children." He remarked, passing the encased longsword over to Leondre.


    "Thank you, but it''s really too much credit Cendric."


    "Piece of advice; lose the uniform, replace the sword, and get some experience. When no ones around, practice with it when you can.


    "I appreciate the¡ª" Leondre started, but Cendric cut him off.


    "To answer your first question, I''m here as a knight-errant, not a Seeker. Just began my quest, but it''s already costed me most of my funds. I plan to register with the Adventures guild today, hopefully I can find some work around here."


    "Do you plan to visit the ruins? I''ve read in several accounts how most contain treasures or priceless tomes from the Ruma Empire." Leondre said, barely hiding the excitement in his voice. In reality he was still thinking about the story of the dasmel trapped in the ruins below.


    Cendric held a fist. "Let me stop you right there," He lifted one index finger, "First, the ruins are off limits to non-guild members, not to mention dangerous." Next his middle finger rose up, "Second, most if not all the ruins have been looted already. This means traveling farther inside their depths, which is suicide without rations and a party of three or more."


    "Oh, I see..." Leondres face crumbled under the harsh truth.


    [Why does he resemble a puppy so much?] Cendric thought sourly. If he was going to get audience with Duke Alden or Marquis Saloma, Leondre was his best bet. But the kid was still wet behind the ears, or inexperienced. Too innocent. Gullible.There were no entourage of loyal houseguards, or a companion to help him. He lacked confidence, and seemed to have self-esteem issues.


    [These aren''t the makings of a Knight of The Realm, they''re the marks of a teenager who''s still growing up.]


    The sheer ridiculousness of the situation made it difficult for him not to start cracking up. It was as if Leondre was the main protagonist in one of those romantic drama''s. Except someone replaced all the heroic qualities with flaws, and changed the setting to an apathetic and much harsher environment.


    "Why don''t you come join me today? We can both register as adveturers, and I can''t promise. But if someone''s willing to join us, we might be able to search the ruins." Cendric said between coughs.


    Leondre anxiously tapped the table. "Become an adventurer. Would that not interfere with my duties as a knight?"


    "What duties? Your a"¡ªhe scooted a little closer to Leondre¡ª"Knight of the Realm." Cendric patted the boys curly hair. "There hasn''t been a conflict since the Dukes rebellion. You''re bound to no Order of chivalry, and technically, not even the King.


    "That is true, but the King, His Royal Highness¡ª"


    "Going on a limb here Leondre, you aren''t a student anymore. You recently graduated, probably at the end of your first-year."


    "Actually, the ceremony was held a day before the end of our second-year. Really, I should be a third¡ª"


    "What I''m saying," Cendric interrupted before Leondre could explain, "Is, you may be a genius or some favored pupil, but you''re sorely lacking in experience. Your "brother" knights will also see you as nothing but a upstart, they''ll strip you of that sword and title right after your life."


    "It''s just I...Happened so fast! What¨Cwhat should I do? Leondre blurted out.


    Unworthy. Lacking. Impudent. He had tried his best to push them away, but the doubts kept crawling back, ''Why me?'' There were other fourth or fifth years with real talent and experience, some even had awakened their blessing. They had the privilege of training under the Royal Knights tutelage.


    "Rein yourself." Cendric said softly, but there was a hard edge to his voice.


    It reminded Leondre of the older drill intructors at the academy. Normally they would yell out orders, but if they began speaking quitely; everyone would flinch.


    Leondre shuddered nervously, "Sorry." He felt the heat rising from back the of his neck, his outburst had attracted an audience. Sera who was picking up dishes several tables away, looked him concerned.


    ''Are you fine?'' Her eyes seemed to say.


    ''Yes, don''t worry.'' Leondre broke away, pulling his hood up so no one could see his embarrassment.


    [How can I proclaim to be a knight, if I can''t even conduct myself in public. Ser Forrester is right. If my fellow knights challenge me, I won''t even last the first round of a duel, let alone a real battle.]


    "...Cendric I''d like to come, if that''s okay with you."


    "Anyone ever tell you, you''re too polite whelp?" The ends of Cendrics mouth curled into a wolffish grin.


    "Whelp?" Leondre questioned.


    "Your new nickname. We can''t have people wondering why a young pup such as yourself, goes by Ser Leondre." Somehow, his grin became even wider.


    "Why not Leondre or Leo?"


    "Say that to anyone we come across then. To me, you''ll be whelp." Cendric stood up, leaving a couple coins on the table. "Now let''s get going, I need to visit a healer first."


    "Is it serious?" Leondre walked behind Cendric, looking over him. He expected to find a bandage somewhere or noticeable limp.


    "No, my arm is just bruised to hell." Cendric said, rather casually.

 010: The Temple

    Really? I couldn''t notice." Cendric said, his tone laden with sarcasm.


    maiden went silent after.


    "Like hell I had choice." Cendric softly muttered, rolling his eyes at the Sisters last remark.


    Siblings? No. Perhaps distant relatives.''


    "¡ªlight reveals all, Ye oh Merciful One. Cast thine gaze upon this lost¡ª"


    "Ye oh Light One. Hear mine plead: Montre moi la lumi¨¨re¡ª"


    La lumi¨¨re? The light? She is speaking in Frankish.'' Yawning next him, Cendric got up and started to stretch his legs. The man remained oblivious to what was happening, perhaps, disinterested was more accurate.


    Oh boy, really didn''t expect this. I doubt he''s from mothers side, without the green eyes, red hair and all.]

 011: The Adventurers Guild

    [Hell, he doesn''t know I''m here either.]¡ª"So stop asking."


    They had left the inn at noon, and were walking towards the Adventures Guild since.


    "Swear it then, Cendric."


    "Do you honestly believe a few words are enough to make me trustworthy?"


    "...I¨CI believe if one is to become reputable, they must keep to their word."


    "Word. What, not honor this time?" Cendric said mockingly.


    "Honoris not mere words Cendric. Honor is your character, it''s how you live by. Its a spirit of obligation I plan to follow by being honest, and living in the service of others."


    "A slave then, surely you jest?" Cendric burst out laughing.


    Leondre scrunched his nose. "Slavery is illegal, lest you forget." He pointed at the lamplighter standing atop the ladder, replacing a broken lantern. "And I mean someone like him, who traverses the town, lighting the lampposts, so can people walk the streets at night."


    Cendric held out an arm, bringing them to a halt "This is the place."


    A sign hung from a low-rise, wood, and plaster, dwelling. The entrance was squeezed between two other buildings, and reminiscent of a farmhouse. Even where they stood, dozens of boisterous voices could be heard coming from inside.


    Cendric tapped his head. "Repeat the plan to me one more time whelp."


    "We are from out of town looking for work, to continue our journey. You''re an knight-errant whose accepted me from the academy, as a squire." Leondre said.


    "Seems, you can listen."


    "Cendric, why the need for all the pretenses?"


    "News of your knighthood has probably spread like wild fire now. At least this way as a squire, none of our fully fledged brothers can challenge you."


    "But will they not go after you instead?"


    "Who said anything about taking up their challenges? I won''t accept any duels unless they force me." Cendric replied as he pushed the stall.


    Inside, it was much larger than Leondre had expected. There was a staircase leading to another floor above. Below, the main interior was split into three open sections. In the center was a tavern, dotted with several tables and battered chairs full of customers. A bar was built into a wall, right next to the kitchen, where servers were bustling in and out, carrying food and empty dishes. Left to the tavern, was a mid-sized sandbox, where training dummys were freely being abused.


    To the rightmost side of the mainhall, sporting two wooden beams for an entrance, was the third section. At the front, a counter manned by three clerks, nearly encompassed half of the area. Already, several loosely made lines had been formed up. Many of the adventurers held slips of paper taken from a billboard close by.


    The duo headed over to the counter, slipping in line. Leondre, with Cendric''s terrifyingly skilled knife work, had cut out the Royal Academys emblem. Now he finely dressed school boy, with a hole in his coat. A fact Leondre tried not to mull over, it was hard enough he stood out of place. A couple rough looking adventurers had been eyeing him lately.


    The teen glanced at the brown haired man beside him. Cendric had his eyes partially closed, he seemed at ease in the chaotic atmosphere and rustic surroundings. Leondre had mixed feeling about him. He was suprised how well he gotten familiar with the man.


    [Is this how people normally become friends? Or maybe because we are related, I''m being a bit more open to him.]


    Family of course, played a big part in nobility. Back at the academy, many a group of friends were often related one way or another, to each other. Groups based on your families political faction, and marriage alliances were also prevalent.


    But Leondre didn''t like how Cendric dodged or ignored some of his questions. And he was still skeptical about their meeting purely being by chance.


    [I didn''t know he existed. Yet, he was able to recognize a cousin he''s never met? That doesn''t make sense.]


    "...Quit daydreaming, we are next whelp." Cendrics voice broke Leondres train of thought.


    "Please, stop calling me that." Leondre muttered, following Cendric to the counter.


    A balding man in a very short sleeved, cloth jacket covering him to just below his waist. Pushed up his glasses with one hand, combing his beard with the other, as he spoke.


    "Can''t say I''ve seen you two before, if you''re newcomers, plate or card will do."


    "We aren''t registered with any adventuring guild," Cendric motioned to Leondre, pulling out his leather pouch, "My squire and I were hoping to join."


    The clerk dropped his comb as he got up, leaving momentarily. He returned with several papers and two slightly curved, copper plates.


    "Sign your name here, and here. Doesn''t have to a real one, just something that''s not complete rubbish. Had this one idiot write, "Yerr Mother". Didn''t laugh much we when actually put that under his name."


    A pen was thoughtfully placed to the side.


    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    Cendric went first, scribbling away in sloppy handwriting. Then Leondre, the pen danced within his hand, leaving an elegant trail of fine lines.


    "Leondre vae Karrath and," the clerk adjusted his glasses, "¨CSer Cendric Morrister." He looked at the two new members intently.


    Cendric swiftly kicked Leondre. "Yes! These are our names." Leondre said through clenched teeth.


    "Perfect, prick your fingers here. Place your thumb onto the paper," The clerk pushed the copper plates,"then the ID plate, and wait here."


    "ID plate?" Leondre repeated quizzically


    "Identification¡ª"


    "He means how it works." Cendric added before Leondre could clarify.


    "Hell if I know. We give it to a Holy Maiden on payroll, and she does the rest." The clerk shuffled the paperwork, promptly snatching the copper plates as he left.


    Cendric turned to his companion. "Leondre vae Karrath...really?"


    "It''s the surname I used entering the academy. Alot better than, Morrister."


    "Seven hell''s! Where was this Leondre, when that fine dandy from the tavern approached you?" Seeing Leondres burning cheeks, Cendric continued, "I asked the All-Mother herself, ''Why waste such blessed looks?''. This whelp has yet to sheath his sword."


    Leondre frowned. "Sheath my sword? Inexperienced I am, but not untrained. My blade is sheathed right now, until I can replace it anyway."


    [Mithra. He''s too innocent.] Cendric rubbed his head. They weren''t going to have that conversation right now.


    Thankfully the clerk had arrived in time, handing the cousin duo their plates. The thumbprints left from where they imprinted their blood, had become a permanent mark.


    Brown eyes regarded sea green irises. They were Copper-ranked adventurers now.


    Cendric patted Leondres head, smiling warmly. "Now then squire, pay the nice gentleman our registration fees. I shall be awaiting outside."


    --------


    Leondre stood counting coins, as he watched Cendric disappear behind the stall. [If he really needs me to pay for him, it is not a problem.]


    The code of Chivalry called for charity to those less fortunate. His father also had allocated him a sizeable yearly allowance.


    "Do you have change for a crown¡ª" The Leondre looked up from his purse, it was mostly filled with crowns. "actually just keep the change, it''s a hassle lugging this purse everywhere."


    Farewells said, Leondre was turning around the corner when a bony hand grabbed his shoulder.


    "You!" It shrieked.


    "Pardon?" Leondre found himself staring face to face with a lanky young man in a worn-out, leather padded tunic. Who couldn''t have been a year or two older than him.


    "How did you do it?" He exclaimed.


    "Do what?"


    Thin fingers dug into his shoulders as the lanky young pulled him closer, until they were standing a breadth apart. Leondre was tall for his age, but he was even taller.


    "Talk to Sera!" He yelled, shaking Leondre like a madman.


    "Yo¨Cyou, mean girl. From, uh the inn?" The world was spinning for Leondre as was he half dragged/thrown outside. Despite his lanky stature, the young man was able to pinn Leondre down as he viciously pummeled him.


    Leondres savior came in the form of a man with mousey hair and brown eyes.


    "That''s my squire you''ve assaulted." Cendric spoke quitely to the lanky, young man currently in a chokehold.


    "Your squire needs to stay away from¡ª" A cold, sharp object pressed against his throat.


    "My squire needs to stay from what exactly?" Cendric peered over the figure trembling beneath him.


    "Sera." The young man whispered in defeat.


    Cendrics face soured, he turned to Leondre who had finally gotten up. "Desk Girl?" The dagger pressed up against the young mans throat, disappeared.


    "Yes, he''s talking about Sera¨Chere, grab my hand," Leondre bent down offering his hand to the person who had thrown him out moments ago. "May I ask for your name?" Leondre asked, helping the young man to his feet.


    "Lannus." He said, brushing Leondre aside.


    "Lannus, I give you my word there is nothing going on with us. Frankly, we just met. I don''t have feelings for her in...That kind of way."


    Leondre warmly offered his hand to the older boy.


    "So are we good?"


    Lannus grudgingly shook the other boys hand. "Yeah. We''re good."


    "¡ªSorry to interrupt, but Lannus still must be punished for his actions." Cendric said.


    "Punished?" Both teens repeated at the same time.


    "Yes, punished. He assaulted you¡ª" Cendric jerked his thumb to Leondre,"¡ªa squire, under my protection."


    "But he forgave me!" Lannus protested.


    "Indeed, I forgave him Ser Morrister." Leondre confirmed.


    "Under. My. Protection. Since I take responsibility for my charge, I decide the punishment. Besides, this man attempted to take the life of a member of nobility¡ª" Cendrics voice trailed off, but the implication was clear: if it wasn''t in self defense, then the gallows awaited.


    "Forgive me ser, bu¨Cbut, this isn''t right." Leondre stammered.


    "It doesn''t need to be. He attacked you, and not for self defense. He''s broken a Royal Decree, passed by His Majesty, The King!" Cendric snapped angrily.


    [Damnit whelp, stop interferring with my plan.]


    "However," He paused dramatically, "there is another way."


    Lannus''s ears perked up. "There is?"


    "Yes. In two days time, under a full moon, my squire and I will set out into the ruins," Cendric looked at Lannus expectantly, "We happen to need a third member for our party."

 012: Harvest

    "Believe me when I say, those ruins are the first place new parties go to. Alot of the bronze and older copper ranked adventurers like to stake these parties, hide, and then steal whatever they find." Lannus said as he pulled up chair to the table.


    The lanky adventurer reluctantly agreed to the proposal, and with Cendrics prodding, had this written in paper as a contract. They had parted ways, agreeing to meet next morning in the taproom at Lakeside.


    "Cendric, I have to agree with Lannus too. Would it not be easier to travel quickly during the day, and try to lose them?" Leondre asked, slightly confident in his new attire.


    Earlier today, Cendric had directed him to a smithy in town run by a dwarf. Leondre had swapped out his cotton breeches with wool-spun banded pants. Sold his finely made shoes for a pair of rugged boots. Replaced the uniform waistcoat with a black linen arming doublet (essentially a snug-fitting, diamond patterned jacket fastened by straps). And bought a new iron shortsword; Roi Soleil was now slung over his shoulder.


    Cendric downed his cup in one swig, wiping his mouth as he spoke. "If that''s the case, from the moment we leave town and enter the ruins, they''ll have someone watching. We stand," He yawned, "a better chance under darkness. You know, less people, and harder to see at night."


    He got up from the table, ignoring the dubious glances casted by the rest of his party. The day was cloudy, making the summer heat a little more bearable. Leondre and Lannus were lagging behind, but would catch up eventually.


    A parade of people were heading out of town carrying baskets, burlap sacks, or pushing carts. While a good number were farmers, it seemed all the other townsfolk had come too. One word was on everyone''s mind.


    Harvest.


    If there was one thing that brought everyone together, besides the All-Mother, it was food. An idea popped into Cendrics head: he had yet to see a single person starving. Meals were cheap, that meant there was an excess amount of produce.


    [Excess produce, free meals. Free meals, rations. I don''t have to spend a single copper!]


    Such a thought filled him to the brimm with joy. He turned around cheerfully smiling at his two companions that had finally caught up. Lannus looked at Cendric confusedly, while Leondre suddenly had a sense of foreboding.


    "Wait here you two, and Leondre, quit being so nervous." Cendric returned his attention to the group of people heading down the gate. He ran over to a wiry old man in dirt stained farmer overalls. Despite his sinewy strength, the aging man struggled to push the axle wood cart by himself.


    "Pardon sir, I noticed the carts giving you a little bit of trouble."


    "Aye, ain''t me younger self no more, gets ''arder to push every season." He nodded wearily.


    "Please, may I lend you my squires to assist for however long you need? They''re good lads, strong too, but have never done a days work of labor in their lives."


    "Cut the shite, yerr knightly lot ain''t the charitable type. Whatcha want?" He snorted, the old man was sharper than Cendric had thought.


    "However much produce they add to the cart, my boys get a fair share each." Cendric replied, dropping all pretenses.


    "Aye tha'' fair, I''ll give ''em a bag each to put their share." The farmer dropped the cart stretching his back, while Cendric brought over his companions. Neither had a chance to protest their involuntary assignment. The old man had immediately put them to work before they could say anything.


    ------


    While Leondre and Lannus were harvesting fields, Cendric had set about buying the supplies they would need from the Guild.


    [We need jar of oil, couple rags, and a bundle of sticks. I''ll have to teach them how to make a smokeless fire, torches too.]


    Traveling under the guise of night was nothing new to him. Scouting the overlying land and settlements, marching in pitch black darkness, then conducting raids or sabotage. This he was familiar with, not babysitting teenagers or setting off to explore god''s forsaken ruins.


    After working with professionals for so long, Cendric realized he couldn''t expect the same from Leondre or Lannus. They weren''t used to following orders, or accepting his decisions without question. He was a trained mutt leading puppies. Puppies.


    Cendric pushed his thoughts back to the present. He was currently at the Adventurers Guild speaking with the same bearded clerk as before. Turned out he was also in charge of the Guilds stores, and had a name.


    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    "I need two waxed canvases, a fire striker, a coil of rope, some bandages," Cendric getured at the knapsack on the wall, "and that bag."


    "We also sell rations, they taste terrible but are nutritous. They''re compacted into bars and wrapped in parchment." The clerk, now Karson, said as he carried the supplies over in a crate to Cendric.


    "How much a bar?"


    "About six¨Cten coppers a piece, I''ll throw in a dozen for twenty" Karson offered as he pulled a linen burlap sack full of bars out.


    "Give me the sack and you got a deal." Cendric held the crate up to his chest, already having paid.


    "Deal." Karson called the next customer in line over as Cendric left.


    The sun was beginning to set and people were pouring into the gates. None had come back empty handed from the harvest, everyone seemed to be carrying some sort of crop. Cendrics shoulder was still a little pale, but completely healed. So holding the box from the Adventurers Guild to Lakeside Inn wasn''t a problem. He strolled past the Shrine of Mithra, ignoring the two burly figures waving at him. Navigating his way through the maze of roads and alley ways. Until turning a corner, where to his right, was Lakeside Inn.


    Cendric kicked open the door to the inn, closing it again after he had gone through. A soft glow coming from the fireplace bathed the interior in warm lighting. Even at night, it had a cozy atmosphere. Sera was in her usual place at the receptionists desk, flipping through ledgers. She lifted her head upon hearing his arrival, searching for a particular individual with black hair and green eyes.


    "Miss me?" Cendric said sarcastically as he walked past her.


    "No. Where''s Leondre?" She called after him.


    "Should be coming back from the harvest, but don''t worry about him. Talk to whats his name¨CLannus, sort whatever is between you."


    "There''s nothing going on between us." Sera snapped after him.


    "Right. Listen, keep dragging Leondre into this drama it is that you have, and I''ll" ¡ª[kill you and your boyfriends myself]¡ª"Forget it." It wouldn''t do to threaten her while he still was staying at the inn. Cendric exhaled wearily as he trudged up the stairs with the crate in tow.


    About half an hour later Leondre and Lannus, dirt-stained and drenched in sweat, had returned from the harvest. Each carried a bundle of fruits and vegetables over their backs. The old farmer had worked them hard to the bone, Leondre felt like he had just finished one of his instructors drills. Lannus fared a little better, having participated in harvests before.


    "If it is, uh, fine for me to ask Lannus. What is the story between you and Sera?"


    "None of your business. Just stay away from her." Lannus replied, staring daggers at his companion.


    "Sorry." Leondre said quietly as he cast his head down. They continued walking like this in uneasy silence until Lannus finally spoke again feeling a little guilty.


    "Mithra. Look I did attack you, so some explanation is owed." Lannus readjusted the bundle over his back before turning to Leondre.


    "Sera and I are close, well were close. We grew up together as children. She...well she''s not only the prettiest, but smartest girl in the entire town. I know you nobles are obsessed with beauty, and so are a bunch of other people. But Sera isn''t some trophy, she''s a person. There''s a wonderful personality beneath those looks."


    Lannus took a breath before continuing.


    "I¨Cif you have not noticed, have trouble controlling my anger. Short story, I got drunk and lost it one time on a date with Sera, and," Lannus closed his eyes, "took it out on her." He said nothing after that, half expecting Leondre to call him a scumbag. Because that''s what he was, scum.


    Leondre looked up to the horizon. "Do you regret it?"


    "Everyday."


    "When you attacked me was it because you were jealous, or really, mad at yourself?" Leondres gaze returned to his companion, but Lannus was already looking away.


    "I''ve never had girlfriend myself, but my father tells me we should count ourselves lucky when one chooses to be with us." They reached Lakeside Inn by the time the conversation had ended.


    "What took you both so long?" Cendric scowled as the two teenagers shambled into his room. They looked for better or worse, like the undead. Leondre and Lannus simply ignored him, shuffling over to the bed with bundles in hand.


    "Sure, lay on the bed why don''t you? Still covered in dirt and grime and all." Cendric obviously wasn''t at all pleased with the lack of respect for his room. But today was their last day at the inn, and the plan had also changed. Outside the silver moon was high in the sky giving off the only light, apart from the lampposts.

 013: Monsters

    "What in Ygritt''s tits is that?" Lannus hissed. They were leaving under the dead of night, while the moon was at its brightest. He watched Leondre carefully emerge from the stables, with the enormous monster he dared call a horse.


    "My horse and his name is B¨ºte Noir," Leondre replied, leading Noir by the reins through the gate lock. He stroked the chargers mane soothingly, trying to calm the prancing horse.


    "That daemon looks bigger than a stallion. And what the hell is sticking out of its head?" Lannus saddled the weighty baggage unhappily, inside were most of the supplies Cendric had bought from the Adventurers Guild.


    "He is a rhoan, not a daemon!" Leondre said fiercely. He had grown fond of the rhoan during his short travels, there was a heart of gold beneath that terrifying fa?ade.


    Guards posted atop the wood palisade watched the two travelers curiously, as they opened up the gate below. The first traveler had their face hidden beneath the hood of a maroon cloak. Stranger, was the giant, mid-night black horse they led, by the long cuffs of their tan hide gauntlets. The traveler was also armed with two swords, one at his hip and back.


    The second traveler was less mysterious and taller than the first. It was just a lad, an angry one at that. A leather pauldron covered his left shoulder, where the lad held an iron-tipped spear. Pouches hung from his sides, and a large satchel slung on his back, giving him the appearance of a pack mule. He along with the other traveler passedthrough the gate in silence.


    By now the torches burning from the wood walls were distant beacons within the abyss. The rider, and his companion walking by foot, paused in their tracks. Even with the full moon, it was hard to see past their close surroundings. Tallgrass on the sides of the road and crop fields made it difficult to discern anything.


    "Is not Cendric to meet us outside?" Leondre pulled back the hood, addressing his companion.


    "That''s what he said, didn''t say how far though." Lannus shrugged as he scanned for the shadow of a person, it was hard to tell friend from darkness. Grassbristled in front of them as a lightly armored man came out from the side road.


    "I told you two to stay quiet." He stalked up and took point, walking ahead of the rest of the party. Lannusscowled behind Cendric, while Leondre lowered his head ashamed.They trudged onward for hours maneuvering through fallen trees, and potholes, while taking breaks in between. Some point the road had ended, and they were forced to zigzag across farmhouses and fences.


    At the first break, Cendric ordered Leondre to ride front, after narrowly avoiding Noir''s jagged teeth. Thanks to Cendrics'' gag order no one had said much. Leondre was beginning to nod off when Cendric whispered out loud.


    "Listen, do you hear it?"


    In the near distance amongst all these trees, water was rushing by the gallons.


    "We must near the river," Lannus said excitedly


    "Is that good?" Leondre jumped in on the discussion.


    "That means the ruins are close by." Cendric moved under the darkness, drawing his dagger. He slithered over to an old-growth tree, using the dagger as a spike, he began climbing its arms.


    "It''s about a league or two up ahead, the ruins. They''re built right on top of a grass field surrounded by the forest. I can''t tell if there''s anyone in any of those towers or other buildings." Cendric said from above.


    The branches rustled softly as he came down. His dagger had disappeared, most likely somewhere handy. Cendric walked back to gather his party. Leondre dismounted, and Lannus moved closer to the man. The two huddled up around Cendric to hear their next move.


    "Leondre tie the horse here, and by the All-Mother, make sure it won''t go wandering off." The last thing Cendric needed was that black terror stomping after him. Ever since the close call, his instincts said the beast had it in for him.


    "Lannus you''ve been here before, go with Leondre. Head into the ruins without me, but no farther than the entrance. Leave a fire or torch burning somewhere close, and wait for me."


    "But will not that alert the thieves?" Leondre considered such dishonest people were no longer adventurers.


    "It''s an open field, they''ll see you coming from a league away. Better they think we are unaware, it''ll make ''em relaxed and make finding them much easier." Cendric planned on tracking the adventurers down, Lannus and the whelp would be the bait. He''d ambush the ambushers, try to split them up, and if that didn''t work. Pick them off one at a time.


    "Any questions? No. Then get to gentleman."


    <hr>


    Cinder spires poked at the starry night, these were the infamous ruins. It was hard to tell what the rest of the structures might have been. A castle, fortress, prison, or perhaps a town like Crestwood. Time and decay had faded away it''s purpose. Villages and nearby towns stripped its foundations. And adventurers had scavenged whatever they found, wiping away it''s past. Now only stone and the echos of a near-forgotten empire remained.


    Leondre and Lannus anxiously walked across


    the grasslands. The flutter of wind meant someone was following. A rock stumbled on, drew spectators watching from the crevices of buildings. And behind every shadow, stood a person, ready to jump out. Suggestionwas a powerful influencer, Cendric had only implied the adventurers could be somewhere among this graveyard of crumbling rocks. Yet even with their weapons out, covering each other back to back. The two teens felt nothing but paranoia and fear.


    "Lannus where are we going?" Leondre''s voice cracked.


    "To the tower," He gestured with the tip of his spear, "Over there." A yard away was a stone tower reaching for the sky. It stood above all other buildings, and two partially collapsed structures sprang forth from the tower like a pair of wings. Pillars supported the entrance way''s domed roof, giving the appearance of a pantheon to the gods.


    "What''s inside?" Leondre doe-eyed in awe marveled at the Ruma Imperial architecture.


    "Treasure, I don''t fucking know." Lannus bristled nervously. "Let''s just light the torches and get inside." He broke into a jog, scurrying over to the entrance.


    "Wait, stay together." Leondre treaded after him, he bounded up the cracked stone slabs. The tower''s cavernous entrance awaited, open, and ready to swallow them whole. Bags jingled back and forth behind Lannus like chimes as he ran farther inside. Leondre himself was carrying a medium-sized knapsack filled with food, he caught up clamping his hand on Lannus''s bony shoulder.


    "Slow. Down. We¨Cwe, need to light a fire remember?" Breathing heavily, Leondre patted his friend gently like he would for Noir. Miraculously it worked a bit, Lannus was still tense but less than before. ''Are people like horses?'', it was an odd thought Leondre didn''t dwell on for long.


    A large bag was thrust onto his chest.


    "Hold open this satchel for me, will you." Lannus worked methodically, setting items wrapped in a cloth to the side. He pulled out a bundle of birch wood sticks, untying the knotted twine. Followed by a fire striker and jar of oil he unlid, Lannus grabbed a stick, wrapping the top in cloth, and dipped it inside the jar. Using flint and steel he lit the makeshift torch, then another, and drew back his arm to lob the second when he paused.


    "Leondre, do you see the entrance?" The torch flew across the room, Lannus squinted his eyes trying to discern the surroundings lit in its path. He gave Leondre the other torch and jar of oil, repacking everything else.


    "No. I''m pretty sure we passed a corner and ended up in this corridor. Also, what do you want me to do with the oil?" Leondre glanced at the jar then at the stone walls enclosed around them. He could make out the frame of a door and past that, a staircase.


    "Sorry, putit in your knapsack, and let''s just go back the corner we came. We''ll find our way from there." Lannus shouldered the bag and grabbed his spear off the floor, slapping his friend on the back.


    "I''ll take the lead Leondre, stay¡ª" A spidery appendage came crashing down like the executioner''s ax, caving-in the top half of Lannus''s face. Blood splattered Leondre from neck to cheek, a horned abomination limbered out from the darkness. Its head was the skull of an animal, the limbs were gangly and unnaturally long. The abomination craned its head, following Leondre through the hollowed pits of its ivory mask.


    Adrenaline washed over his body, the time came to a slow. Leondre found himself whirling around as his legs switched to overdrive, and began running the fastest he had ever run. Cold sweats permeated his face, mixing with blood. His heart became a series of long-winded beats, each thrum reverberating against his ear.


    No footsteps were bounding after him, just the barest whisper of scrapes. Going up was the only way out. Leondre rushed to the staircase nearly tripping, as he scrambled over the steps. A light cast from the heavens appeared up ahead, shining brighter every fleeting second. The scraping became louder, his instincts were screaming its presence was close. Leondre reached into his bag pulling out the jar of oil Lannus had given only minutes ago. Using the torch, he smashed open the lid, hurling its liquid contents behind him. The torch followed moments later, and half the staircase was lit ablaze.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    Shards of glass were embedded through his hand, and Leondre could feel his back burning from the heat. But he dared not look behind, even as the flames inched nearer, enough to singe off his hairs. Leondre kept onward, ever closer to salvation until it was only a foot away.


    [All-Mother protect me please.]


    Leondre leapt into the light.


    The "light", was, in reality, a doorway Leondre had gone flying through, crashing into the stone floor. Dazed, the young knight rose quickly drawing his shortsword. His fingers remained loosely curled around the handle, while standing feet shoulder-width apart. Leondre sorely regretted not buying a shield when he had the chance.


    Seconds passed, then minutes, it felt like an eternity waiting to meet his end. But nothing came out the doorway, not even smoke. Then Leondre noticed it, the glyphs glowing on the entrances archway. It seemed whatever was blocking the smoke might also be barring the creature.


    "Oh Mithra, I am safe. I''m actually safe." Leondre was about ready to cry when it dawned on him; a fire burning inside of a building made of stone was just as dangerous in one made of wood!


    [Fire causes the stone to heat, weakening it. Eventually the stone gives way, and the structure crumbles...]


    Leondre frantically began searching the derelict chamber.


    His search revealed rundown bookcases, several glass apparatuses atop rotting tables, and a partially collapsed stone door. Wasting no time he ran to the door, only to find it jammed. Desperately, Leondre stepped back and then slammed into the stonework. The impact left his shoulder and arm jarringly numb, he gritted his teeth stepping back again.


    [Not like this.]


    He hurled himself once more with a shout, this time pain burst in his arm. Leondre cried out, wiping the tears, he moved back to throw himself for a third attempt. Strength ebbed throughout his body as he charged, it was energy unlike any other.


    <hr>


    Inside, the door shook as if mocking its imprisoned inhabitant


    Thud...Thud.


    "Make it stop..." A shadow of a girl hugged her knees, moaning in silence. Greasy strands of white hair clung from her face, beneath were two sickly yellow eyes that seemed to glow in the dark. Her deathly pale body was fine, but her mind was in ruins. For now, she was a husk. Lifeless, devoid of any emotion, and unable to think coherently.


    The ashen white girl had long since given up on escape. Satisfying the need to feed was all that mattered. It gave purpose when logic and determination had failed. Sustained her, long after the will to survive faded. But most importantly it was constant, always with her in this eternal prison of loneliness.


    Something thundered against the door, pieces of stone fell away, and a resounding boom vibrated across the floor. Moonlight flowed into the room, and for the first time in months, the ashen pale girl saw something other than darkness. A tall boy, rolling in pain, swayed unsteadily as he picked himself off the floor. His hair was jet black and unruly like a mop, slick with sweat and matted with dust. He had a hawkish nose with prominent cheekbones, and a square jawline that made his face overall pleasant. But what captivated her the most was his eyes, they were green. That gentle, bottomless green that the ocean turned during a sunny day.


    Feed.


    A ravenous hunger burned fiercely within the ashen pale girl, but there was another flame too. It made her skin tingle, and heart jump the closer he neared.


    <hr>


    Leondre blacked out the moment he hit the door, that energy unlike any other had left him. Pain erupted like lava flow, filling the void. He felt vertigo as he opened his eyes, the ceiling was moving back and forth. Leondre turned over, instantly regretting the decision. His forehead, it was as if someone jabbed a needle through his brow.


    [Get up.]


    Guilt panged his consciousness. He had to keep moving. It was the only thing a weakling like him could do. In the moment of truth, he ran. The honorable choice would have been to stand and fight, but all Leondre saw was Lannus''s fate whenever he tried to imagine it.


    "Make it stop..."


    [A female voice. In here? But how?]


    Leondre wasn''t able to ponder further, because that''s when he saw it. A wax circle. Similar to the one back in the shrine at Crestwood. Some kind of transparent,''Wall?'', was surrounding it. The best way to put it was as if a halo had been placed upon the circle.


    Leondre rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn''t hallucinating. A girl stared at him from inside the circle, upright, in a fetal position. She probably was his age and had the same question as him, "Is this real?". To Leondre, she looked like a beautiful princess from a far off distant land.


    Silky wisps of creamy moonlit hair swept past an ear and caressed her neck, jaw, and cheeks; almost covering her dim, glowing eyes. They were two obsidian slits in a sea of gold, encrusted with thick, long, eyelashes. And her skin, he wasn''t sure if this was because of the moonlight. But it was exceedingly pale, milky, unblemished, like a pearl. Those tattered rags she wore did nothing to hide the curves beneath.


    The stone rattled below, and Leondre immediately sobered his thoughts. How she ended here wasn''t his concern, the abomination probably kidnapped her. They needed to get out, right after he covered her modesty. Leondre took his cloak off and ran to the girl.


    "These ruins are about to collapse." Leondre reached out offering the burned cloak but stopped short of the circle. There it was again, that transparent wall. It reminded him of the doorway, both blocked anything from outside.


    [Am I to leave her here? No. Not like before.]


    His hand dropped to the waist but stopped. Wasn''t there a holy sword strapped to his back? Leondre grasped the hilt hanging over his shoulder, and unsheathed Roi Soliel. Along the longsword was eldritch rays, pulsating as if the blade was alive. ''That is...odd.''And that was all, he''d worry later.


    Seizing the neck of the sword in one leather gauntlet, and holding the grip in the other. Leondre raised Roi Soleil to his head, thrusting it out like a spear. The impact nearly threw the weapon out of his hands and knocked him to his feet. When he lowered the blade in its sheath, the wall had entirely disappeared.


    Leondre crouched, snatching the burnt maroon cloak off the floor, and draped it around her shoulders.


    "This is all I have for now, I promise to get you more clothes once we''re out of here." Delicate fingers wrapped around his arm, tightening in a snake vice grip.


    He turned to see what was going on but a flash of red and white crashed into him. Yellow tiger-like eyes peered from above, Leondre found himself lying flat on the floor. The girl was on top of him, her arms on the ground next to his head, propped up. She slightly parted her luscious lips, revealing the bone-white glint of fangs. He immediately attempted pushing the girl away, but a weight unequal to her size pressed down on him.


    Blood went rushing off into Leondre''s head alongside his pants. What in the seven blazes was going on? It was like he was destined to die today. Part of him wished this was just a nightmare, that monsters didn''t exist, that Lannus was still alive and well.


    The pale girl leaned towards him, her eyes closed and suddenly their lips touched. Her mouth was surprisingly smooth, like velvet. Leondre went blank, and time seemed to freeze. When she pulled away, blood dribbled from the bottom of his lip. He was so distracted by the kiss, he hadn''t noticed her biting him. Leondre regained his senses and tried getting up again, but her hands were rigid like steel, they kept him pinned to the ground.


    "Nevra."


    "What?"


    "Nevra-Dumahn-Gorsa" Shewhispered gently in his ear, tracing a line from his jaw to the throat. The scene was eerily similar to a predator playing with its prey.


    "L-Leondre." He said hoarsely, as she held his pulse between the tip of her fingernails.


    [If I am going to die, at least it''s after my first kiss.]


    Not that he would consider it, seeing how there was no say in the decision. Perhaps Ygritt or Mithra had taken pity on him. It didn''t matter, the ruin was crumbling around them, and if he wasn''t crushed to death the girl would certainly eat him alive. For once in his life, Leondre wished hadn''t listened to his father''s story. If only he waited till he was stronger, or never gone at all.


    [Maybe Lannus''s blood wouldn''t be on my hands.]


    Leondre sobbed uncontrollably as the reality set in. No one here to save him, his friend was dead. There wasn''t even a chance to say goodbye; not to Cendric, not to Sera, not to his family, or his horse.


    "Why cry?" A voice he had forgotten about, questioned from above.


    [Is she serious? The floor is breaking apart below us!]


    "Because," His voice surprised himself, "I-I do not want to die." It was selfish and dishonorable, but true. Leondre had no desire for early death.


    Nevra tilted her head, "Close eyes." She lifted a pale slender hand. They looked more like claws, now under the moonlight. Her irises also seemed to have changed colors, the sea of gold had turned to an ocean of blood. Shadows swirled beneath, slowly enveloping her body.


    Goosebumps crawled down his spine as Leondre watched the transformation. He really thought she was a normal teenager like him, a foreigner from far off. How could he be so naive? The abomination was probably some kind of guardian. And those barriers were meant to keep her in.


    [Seven hells, what exactly did I release?] His last thought, before everything went black.

 014: Decisions

    A wild goose chase. That''s all it had been. From a tree, Cendric had watched the two idiots fumble into the ruins, timid and unsure like virgins. When they disappeared out of sight, he knew he made the wrong choice. He should have gone with them, in ruins as old as these, there were more than a dozen entrances or tunnels the three of them could have used. And under all this darkness, it was virtually impossible to cover all paths of escape, the same for hiding places, even with a full moon. So what really were the chances of there being a group of people waiting to ambush them in the middle of the night?


    ''Slim to none.'' He thought as he climbed down the tree and snuck after the teens, Cendric used his blessing, increasing his speed in short bursts. The gift had its limitations, prolonged duration meant a smaller range and tiring out more. Sure it could cover his blindsides, but that didn''t mean Cendric could react or pay attention to multiple attacks all at once.


    [Bodhem''s blood, where the hell is the fire they''re supposed to light?]


    It wasn''t just a beacon to attract their imaginary thieves like moths, Cendric needed the light to find his party. He felt silly sulking through the rubble and half disintegrated buildings. It went on like this for an hour, Cendric had just finished scaling the collapsed ramparts of a wall when he heard a great rumbling. The stone under his feet rattled in tandem, some 30 yards away, a mushroom cloud rose up. Caught off guard, Cendric lost his precarious footing, skidding down a pile of rocks. He pick himself off and looked up at the sky. A mix of ash, dust, and smoke bloomed out from a massive hole made in the turret a tower. The sky-high building looked like a massively lit candlestick. The fire Cendric had asked for, finally came.


    <hr>


    When Cendric arrived, he saw a scene of fire and brimstone described straight out of scripture. The sky was bathed in ashes and ember, with the top of the tower a portal to the Seven Hell''s. Which one? He didn''t know. The Knight Seeker wasn''t much of a religious man, not with the things he''d witnessed and done. It''s a big world, and the Old Empire''s highways were far and wide. The seeker snapped back to reality. A fire was burning atop the tower, and he needed to find his companions. His eyes traveled down the tower, stopping some feet away from the entrance. A figure lay bent crouched over something, a body.


    [I need to know with my own eyes.]


    Cendric could care less about Lannus, he needed to see if the whelp was dead. The brat was annoyingly naive and too polite. And the reasons surrounding his knighthood were flimsy at best, someone was behind the scenes, Cendric was sure of it. But he used most of his funds for what he had in-store for the whelp. It was all or nothing, Cendrics'' freedom depended on Leondre, this was the closest he would get to his dream.


    [Damnit whelp, if you''re going to die. Have the fucking courtesy to stay alive so I can end you myself.]


    Step by step his feet moved mechanically like a windup toy, the grass crunched underneath him leaving imprints, springing forth seconds later. Squinting he could make out now, strands of silver-white hair hovering intimately over jet-black curls. ''Whos the girl?'' He thought, realizing something wasn''t right. Was he wrong about there being no ambushers? Cendric swore silently, too many unknowns and not enough information, the situation had gone to hell. He broke into a sprint discarding caution for a quick getaway, now that is was Leondre he definitely saw lying there.


    [If the brats alive, perfect. I''m dragging his behind with me. Otherwise, I''m fucked, more than Ygritt will be.]


    But as Cendric ran closer, his eyes narrowed on the ashen grey Leondre and the pale mouth caressing his throat. Fangs, eerily incandescent like finely honed diamonds, emitted a strange blue glow beneath the moonlight. The tips, jutting under smooth, plump lips, were darker than normal, smeared with blood. Cendric abruptly stopped, but it was too late. She stood up, the ashen pale girl, aware of his presence. Black arrow slits watched him through yellow eyes.Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    ¡°Daemon.¡± Cendric spat out, the word leaving a foul taste in his mouth. The soft hiss of iron against wood-lined cloth followed suit. Wordlessly, like a snake coiled ready to pounce, he sprung forth, closing the gap. Armed with only tooth and claw, the pale girl met his charge head-on. Cendric quirked his brow, puzzled by her choice, but soon a harsh veneer of cold, rational calm blanketed over him.


    Jab. Swipe. Parry. Block.


    Their movements flowed in a series of languid steps with her leading the dance, it becomes apparent who the better of the two are, but Cendric offset this by making great use of his reach, slowly driving her back. Shadows moved from the corner of his eye, and suddenly, she is gone. Cendric jerked to the side, bringing his sword around, in time to avoid her claws ripping his throat. The blade connected, drawing a fine line across her cheek, and the two combatants circled each other warily.


    "You are endowed." Her voice was deceptively gentle, almost sweet, for something so vicious. Wiping the blood off her cheek as she licked her hand, the ashen pale girl retreated several feet in the air. When she rose, the moon had lit her face, revealing flawless cheeks. The cut from before had disappeared.


    Cendric said nothing. He cautiously stepped backward, edging himself closer to the figure lying, prone, on the grass. From an outsider''s perspective, Cendric appeared slightly injured but untired, poised in a guard stance. In reality, the fighting was taking a toll on him. His advantage laid in the armings swords reach, but the daemon was nimble in her actions, quicker to react, and relentless. Even with his blessing, there was no chance of keeping up. And she didn''t look to be tiring, in comparison to Cendrics dwindling reserves.


    [Should I run for it? No. The grass is too open here, no cover. Think. She drained most of his blood, so why stay and fight? Food. Prey. What?]


    Cendric glanced at the daemon several meters away, her eyes kept darting back from him to Leondre''s body. Curiously, she made no indication to move, almost like she was afraid. He withdrew back several steps until he noticed her fingers beginning to twitch. His instincts told him any further, and she would attack.


    [The bitch is protecting the whelp, why?]


    Then it hit him. She didn''t know he was here for the boy, Cendric thought, or they were in a party together. He had snuck up and interrupted whatever she was doing with Leondre, and attacked. His inner mind accepted this revelation and began formulating a plan.


    "Daemon, I know you can understand me. You are afraid for the boy, why?" Silence met his question. With a sign, Cendric drew his dagger, caressing the edge as he spoke again.


    "...Aye, fast that you are. Inhumanly too. Suppose I threw this dagger, see?" A glint of steel waved before his hands, "Could you stop it?" He said quietly, gesturing to Leondre behind him.


    "Vrykolas. Not a daemon. Vrykolas." A powerful, velvety, voice said across from him.


    "Aye, daemon, vrykolas, I don''t ca''re what you are. Back to the Seven Hell''s or cursed forest, ya crawled from. The boy''s with m''ae." Cendric immediately regretted his choice of words, because the moment those they left his mouth, there was a chill in the atmosphere. The warrior within him rose from beneath the reeds, half-submerged, sharpening its knife, waiting patiently as the air around them grew heavy with blood lust. While the survivor, which had calmly been drawing plans every step of the way, dropped everything and made a mad dash for the hills.


    "I don''t share." The girl didn''t growl or bare her fangs. No, her expression remained the same, detached, and always with that reptilian gaze. All she did was tilt her head, and study him intently as a cat might do with mice. "This blood of yours. It¡¯s endowed like his, nutritious, but also similar. You are related, no?¡± She paced back and forth, nodding to herself as if confirming it. The immense aura radiating off her disappeared, and the atmosphere felt a little cooler. Cendric found himself exhaling in relief, the daemon seemed less interested in killing him than before.


    "Go human, take the boy. Save your bloodtribe, for if he dies, you will join him." She spoke, staring at motionless teen past Cendric. For the first time since their fight began, something flickered across her face, it almost looked human. The girl turned her back, and Cendric watched as the shadow behind her began to distort, then disappear along with its owner.

 015: Grim Reality

    Leondre had nightmares before, but none so vivid as the one now. He was traveling with Lannus and Cendric at night, to the Ruman ruins near Crestwood. His friend, Lannus, had panicked and ran in the tower they were to wait at. Of course, he chased after him and caught up. Not before a horned abomination got the drop on them and cracked Lannus''s face in like an egg.


    He ran up a staircase and ended up in a chamber. Leondre wasn''t alone, however, there was a prisoner behind a door to another room, trapped within the confines of a transparent wall. Inside, was a snow-white maiden of indescribable beauty. Just staring into her exotic, golden eyes, made him forget the horrors he witnessed minutes ago. Leondre had thought his father''s story came true, here within the ancient tower, was a damsel in distress.


    And so he freed her, without a second thought. One which nearly cost him his life. Humans didn''t have canines as elongated and sharp as hers were. They usually had strength equal to their size and build, and yet she, about a foot shorter, overpowered him instantly. The last thing he remembered as the room fell apart was a kiss, scarlet eyes, and darkness.


    Nevra-Dumahn-Gorsa.


    Leondre opened his eyes, gradually coming back to senses until he was able to see his surroundings clearly now.


    White sheets rested over him, and a pillow was firmly tucked behind his head. He laid on a marble slab, in what looked like a prayer room, lit by soft candlelight. His mouth was extremely dry, lips were cracked, and felt himself delirious, soaked with sweat. There was a cup beside him atop a table, feebly, he tried to sit up and get his bearings. But immediately, several points of pain lanced through him. He flopped back to the soft pillow cushion, lolling to the side, as acid rose in the back of his throat, thankfully someone had placed a bucket next to the marble slab.


    Wiping his mouth, he stared blankly at the ceiling above. It was real, the nightmare. The abomination, the girl, Lannus, all of it. His life at the academy seemed like a distant memory, compared to what he saw, the constant isolation and loneliness were much preferable. He had only spent three days in Crestwood, and yet, it changed the foundations of his world entirely. Monsters existed, not only in the confines of a book. The night seemed a lot scarier, and adventuring wasn''t appealing as it once had been.


    Leondre heard footsteps outside, and the door opened, Cendric walked in, pulling a stool beside him. "The good Sister said you took a couple of blows to the head," He prodded the bucket below, "Now, what the hell happened?"


    "Cendric I..." Leondre choked. What was he supposed to say? He failed and did not follow the plan. Released a supernatural predator disguised as a girl into the world? That Lannus was dead, killed by some horned monster lurking in the tower, with no idea how he even survived. Tears threatened to well up, but Leondre would not allow them to fall. He needed to be strong for Lannus and those he swore an oath to protect. Not weak, and disgrace himself by crying, especially in front of the man next to him.


    Cendric signed as he leaned back, pinching his forehead. "Stop holding back and cry already. Men twice your age have done the same, it''s human. There is no shame."


    "No, you''re wrong." Leondre faced away from him before the tears burst forth like water from a dam, spilling down his face. He wept for his friend, whose blood stained him in ways water could not wash off. He cried because, no matter how hard he tried, the abomination never seemed to disappear in his head. He wanted the memories erased, for everything to return as it once was. So that this guilt he felt from; releasing the girl, being happy to stay alive. And the helplessness, succumbing to fear, and inability to protect against forces beyond his understanding.


    All just...went away.


    "I¨CI, have no right!"


    He was shaking now, with long, heart-wrenching sobs. The sound bounced throughout the room, echoing into the hallways. If anyone heard his wailing, they prayed for the Holy Daughters'' mercy and went on their way. But Cendric remained with him the entire time, chin propped on a fist, sitting quietly.


    <hr>


    Leondre woke up again, Cendric had left, and someone was gently tapping him. An elderly woman in white, gold-threaded robes, and steely grey hair, stood over him. She was a priestess, the same one that had greeted him and Cedric before.


    "Child, you must wake." Despite the stern tone, her concern was genuine. She helped Leondre rise up the bed, holding his back, and pushed a cup to his lips. "Drink." She need not say more, Leondre acutely became aware of his parched throat, and greedily started sipping the water. The cool liquid trickled down in a stream, revitalizing the desert that was his throat. Leondre teared up a bit, the water tasted like a divine drink of the gods.Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    The priestess removed the cup and grabbed a wood bowl atop the table near him. She stirred its contents with a spoon, before scooping a lump of oatmeal and raising it to his lips. She stared at Leondre expectantly, who refused to open his mouth. He wanted to protest being fed this way, like a newborn, but his stomach made it clear he would not refuse. Grudgingly, he parted the entrance and let the food in. The oatmeal was mushy and sweet, but also warm. His stomach roared in approval and growled for more, which he gladly obliged.


    Eventually, she put the bowl on the side and left the room. She returned with an attendant carrying a small straw basket. Leondre watched them curiously as the attendant reached into the basket and pulled out a roll of linen and a couple of murky glass bottles. "Forgive me, Priestess, but what is your name?" He asked, eyeing the murky paste she began smearing on the linen rolls.


    "I believe it is time I corrected you, child. Priestess I am, address me by my official title, Mother Elisa. The young lady helping me today is Sister Audi. We are devout followers of Mithra, but serve the All-Mother as all do in the end." She said, checking the bottles one by one before selecting one and passing the rest to the attendant. "Lie still child. I need to take a look at your wounds and remove the bandages, while Sister Audi applies burn salve."


    "Maybe I can¨Cum, do this myself," Leondre said, trying to sit upright. After a moment of exerting, his body gave out. It was futile, there was no chance he was going to remove one bandage that required the least amount of effort. Not with how drained he felt. Mother Elisa pursed her lips, ''Boys will be boys''. She moved over and briskly pulled the sheets covering him down. As she did so, he glanced down to see that he was naked to his undergarment, a plethora of bandages covered his shoulders, torso, and hand.


    He turned pink and instinctively dove to cover himself, but Mother Elisa gently stopped him and shook her head. "If it helps, close your eyes. Rest assured, anything we see today will stay in the confines of this room. Sister Audi and I have done this more times than we can remember."


    What happened next was neither pleasant nor comfortable, to say the least. The priestess worked efficiently as she changed his dressings, checking his wounds, while Sister Audi applied generous amounts of the salve, mostly behind his neck and upper back. It was all done quickly for Leondre''s benefit, to have the whole procedure over as soon as possible.


    The salve had cooled the itchiness and stinging he felt on his back and neck. By far the worst pain came from his hand, it was red and slightly swollen, painfully throbbing in areas where the glass shards had been. The priestess had also explained the healing ritual took a lot of energy to mend most of his injuries, which was why he felt so weak.


    "Child, you were at the brink of death, had we healed all of your wounds; the process would have drained what little life you had left. Let this be a lesson of caution to you, for next time the Holy Daughter may not be so merciful."


    "I will, thank you, both of you." Since he could not crouch down onto the floor, Leondre bowed his head instead. They didn''t have to save him or provide a shelter he could recover in. This little show of gratitude would suffice. He owed them a debt and planned to repay them in full someday. "Please, if there is anything I can do, what you have done-"


    "It is unnecessary." Mother Elisa got up and turned to leave with her attendant. The exit was held open for them as they left, Cendric went in shortly after, closing the door behind him.


    "She''s right you know, apart from being thankful, and maybe some respect. You owe her or anyone else in this shrine nothing." Now that they were alone, Cendric spoke freely.


    "How can you say that? Cendric, they saved my life." Leondre leaned on the wall with his arms crossed. He was happy to see Cendric again, but his casual remark ruined any chances of a warm reunion.


    "No, I brought you here on your damned horse, he nearly killed me by the way. And used all my coin and some of your own to pay for their services."


    Leondre realized his mistake. He didn''t know what happened after losing consciousness, but Cendric must have found him somehow and rescued him. [How could I be so ignorant, he fought off those thieves then realized something was wrong and came back for us. Had he not, we would not be having this conversation.] "I''m sorry Cendric, I-I didn''t know." He cast his head down, unwilling to meet the man''s eye.


    "Mithra, stop apologizing, this isn''t the point. The Mother was paid, and did the job she was supposed to do. It wasn''t a charity or an act of kindness. I even paid for the accommodations."


    "I understand that, but still." A look from Cendric shut him up, ''Not the time'' is what it conveyed. Reluctantly, he backed down.


    Cendric nodded his thanks. "I didn''t come here to argue, the healers say it''ll take a day or two to get back on your feet. In the meanwhile, both of us have some explaining to do.

 016: Real Talk

    "Do you know what a report is?" Cendric asked.


    "Like a research paper, the one you turn in to professors?" Leondre was not sure what he meant but doubted the man needed him writing any essays.


    "It''s a military term, a report can be on paper or by word of mouth. It''s a condensed account of the current situation or a particular event. You filter out unnecessary details and stick to what''s relevant. As an example, I''ll go first." Cedric poured himself some water from a pitcher off the table. Swishing the cup around, he took a sip.


    "There were no rogue adventurers, it was too dark and impossible to cover the ruins all at once. I went after but lost track of you two, later a tower caught on fire, I assumed that was the signal and investigated. Only to find you half-dead near the entrance, with some snowflake draining the life out of you."


    "Snowflake?"


    "White-haired girl, daemon, whatever the hell it was," Cendric shrugged, "Another thing, let me finish before you ask questions."


    "Sor-right," Leondre said, trying not to apologize as much.


    "When she noticed me I attacked, she was unarmed and caught off guard so.." Cendric paused, bewildered by Leondre''s disapproving frown, "Did I say something offending to you?"


    "No. Well actually, it''s just, you didn''t ask her to surrender, and attacked first without announcing yourself?" The frown twisted to a grimace.


    Cendric knew what the brat was thinking: Chivalry, that such actions were deplorable, especially against women. For some reason, this irked him more than it should, having been used to this type of disdain.


    "Let me tell you something about chivalry¡ªit''s bullshit. There ain''t any damsels, no helpless women needing to be saved; they can be cruel and ruthless as men." He sneered at Leondre, "And that thing was no human, she charged me head-on, unafraid of my weapon, and fought with her claws." Cendric angrily waved his hand for emphasis. "I watched her vanish and then reappear, nearly eviscerating me, had my blessing not detected her. Plenty of humans can do that, don''t you think?"


    "You''re right Cendric."


    "What?" His eyes widened in surprise.


    "What you said was sound advice. I know despite how Spartha views women, they are very capable. And that chivalry, like any other system, is in no way perfect. You risked your life to save me, and how I reacted was unbecoming, so please, forgive me." For once his voice didn''t crack, Leondre smiled as he added, "I think it''s become a habit now, me apologizing to you."


    "Eh?" Cendric was processing everything he just heard. It sounded like the whelp apologized and wasn''t so gung-ho on chivalric romance as he once been. He even jested a little. ''Who the hell is this?¡ªwhere''s the self-conscious brat that mumbled half of the time?''


    "The report, maybe I should try." Leondre offered.


    "Uh-huh." Cendric brought the cup to his mouth, drinking it.


    "We went together as you told us, but Lannus panicked and ran ahead in the tower. I caught up after rounding a corner and realized we had passed the entrance. He lit a torch, Lannus, gave it to me. An..and," His hands grasped the sheets, trembling. He couldn''t form words to speak, not when those images threatened to flashback. Only a glimpse from the side, darkness concealed most of it.


    Yet all so clear.


    That dull crunch, like stepping on a snail shell before giving away to its soft innards. Then the splatter¡ªa warm viscous liquid coating his face. And something wet and mushy, plopping onto the ground like oatmeal.


    Suddenly, Leondre remembered what he ate. His arm shot out, grabbing the bucket as he ducked his head.


    "Lannus is dead then," Cendric stated, pretending not to hear him retch inside the bucket. "Don''t need the details, what happened after?"


    Leondre set the bucket aside, staring at his lap. "An abomination, that''s what it was. It killed him, Cendric. Never gave him a chance to react..." His voice quavered, "A-at that moment, it looked at me with those soulless pits," He started rubbing his eyes, "And I ran. It followed me up the staircase, that thing. I can still hear the scraping, even when I set the stairs on fire," Leondre reached behind his neck, "The heat grew hotter every second, it burned, but I never looked back. "


    He told Cendric of the light ahead, glyphs atop the entrance, and how they blocked smoke and the monster. Then about searching the chamber, finding a stone door, and to Cedric''s surprise, Leondre explained the immense strength he felt before smashing through the dense masonry. Along with the wax circle and girl imprisoned inside. Finally, uncasing Roi Soleil and the beams emitting from it, them kissing, and him falling unconscious.Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    When he finished, Cendric solemnly nodded before bursting into laughter.


    "You don''t believe me," Leondre said quietly. Who would? It sounded like a fiction novel, the ones he''d read at home. ''Only, I''m no hero. The monster slew my friend, and I didn''t save the damsel, the damsel saved me.'' Then he remembered what his cousin said about her draining the life out of him.''Well sort of.''


    "No, no, I do." Cendric managed between fits, "It''s just... you got shite luck, and really need better taste in women. " He snorted, nearly falling to his knees, "I think your girlfriend was sucking more than blood."


    "Nevra''s not my girlfriend!" Leondre''s face turned red like a ripe tomato. Whether from anger or embarrassment, it was hard to say.


    "See? You know her name." The Knight Seeker chortled.


    "Someone died, Cendric. How can you be laughing?"


    Cendric coughed, wheezing as he shook his head. "Leondre, listen to me. He''s dead, mourn and move on. Thinking about the what-ifs, or buts change nothing. You said it yourself, Lannus panicked, he made his choice, and you made yours." For the brat to be reduced into a pile of tears because of one death, he dared not imagine how Leondre''s first time killing would go.


    [By the All-Mother, why I am stuck with a bleeding heart?!]


    Cendric wanted him mentally stable, at least thinking coherently. It was infuriating that the brat grieved so much over a person he only knew for two days. Kindness to strangers? Look where it got the kid; he nearly died after releasing the daemon girl and was so close to falling apart that at this rate, swatting a butterfly could make him cry.


    "Cendric."


    "Yes?" He said, abruptly stopping his thoughts. The brat, oddly, had been quiet.


    "That day at the taproom, when you came to me, how did you know?"


    "Be more specific whelp."


    "Who I was, my face, and that we were cousins."


    It was Cedric''s turn to frown. "The uniform made it blatant you were from the Royal Academy. Your family may consider themselves neutral but everyone knows House Marras supports the Crown. The King married your brother to Princess Constance, and even elevated him to Duke."


    "Sorry, but that does not answer my question." There was resolve in his tone, unlike the previous time he confronted Cendric. "We have never met, yet you recognized me. How?"


    Cendric raised a brow, whistling. "An awful lot of questions for someone who was vomiting in a bucket and crying a minute ago."


    "You are the one who told me to move on. Answer me, please."


    The knight regarded the teen carefully, or that''s what it looked like, he was stalling for time, figuring what to say. Should he lie now, mixed with some truth? But how long until Leondre started asking more questions and looked for answers himself? ''I could play off the trial as some big secret, afraid of him resenting me because of my mother.'' Cendric was only worried about the brat learning of the contract and investigating his service records within the Knight''s Seeker. No amount of bullshit would save him from that truth.


    "Cendric?"


    [Speaking of bullshit.]


    "It''s complicated whelp. I¡ªmet your father before, and the resemblance is uncanny. Seven Hell''s, my heart nearly popped out the first time I saw you at the inn."


    Leondre started to say something, but Cendric merely waved his hand, casually sweeping the teenager''s words back into his mouth.


    His voice solidified, bitter and cold like ice. "Don''t ask me the specifics." But when Cendric locked eyes with Leondre, it all melted away, "Please." He whispered, holding the stare until Leondre broke contact.


    "If that''s what you wish, I will not pry. On one condition, Cedric."


    "What''s that, whelp?"


    "Stop calling me this, we are cousins."


    "Can''t promise that...Whelp." Cendric grinned wolfishly, as Leondre groaned, plopping his head back on the pillow.

 017: Ambush

    The sun had risen, marking a new day. Melodies were sung atop trees as vibrant summer rays began to pierce the cloudy veil. At an inn by a lake, standing outside was a tall boy near coming of age. He was quietly comforting the young lady that wept beneath his arms. They were leaving today, he and his companion, a plain-looking fellow pushing his mid-twenties. A horse was bought, bags were saddled with supplies, and farewells difficult like the one now had been said.


    The young lady eventually extracted herself from his care. "I''m so sorry," Leondre uttered, his face remained cast down.


    "Don''t be," Sera straightened her posture, smiling. "It''s not your fault."


    "Yes." He nodded, but the word lacked conviction.


    "Say it then." She lifted his chin, meeting his eye. The clear oceans of green were darker than usual.


    "It-its not my fault." There was a hint of guilt in the boy''s voice.


    "You''re a terrible liar, don''t change that," She unlocked the door behind them, holding it. "I''ll let his family know. Take care of yourself, okay?" Sera waved one last time before the door shut.


    Leondre returned to his companion, who had waited. Cendric handed him the reins to Bete Noir from atop his horse, a calm looking grey courser. Leondre silently took them, slipping his foot through the stirrup as he launched himself, vaulting over Noir.


    "Never liked it, informing them of the dead," Cendric said, turning his horse around in the direction of the town gate.


    "Is it always the same, feeling so horrible?" Leondre rode beside him, maneuvering past an ox-pulled cart. He took care to avoid trampling the children running in front of him and even more precautions to keep Noir from biting them.


    "Depends how well you knew the man, either way, it''s a shite job."


    "I pray I never have to do that again." Leondre exhaled, unfastening the collar of his black padded jacket. Although the season was reaching its end, the heat was barely tolerable. He missed the maroon cloak the drill instructors had given at the academy, the hood always provided shade and often sheltered him from the outside world. According to Cendric, ''Snowflake''(a nickname he bestowed upon the girl) had it on when she disappeared.


    [He also said Nevra called herself a vrykolas.]


    Leondre would have to find a library when they had the chance, there was a lot he needed to research. Why did she save him only to nearly kill him and order Cendric to save him once more? And the circle, someone had placed it there in the tower. But the question was, before or after the abomination came? Leondre only knew of Holy Maidens using wax circles to perform miracles. Were they not the only ones?


    [Nevra-Dumahn-Gorsa, where do you come in all of this?]


    Noir growled underneath him, ''You think too much'' the sound came out somewhat high-pitched as if he was complaining. Leondre patted Noirs'' massive neck.


    "I know, I know. Thankfully, I have you to stop me."


    The warhorse bared its teeth behind a serrated grin, ''Not if you''re dead.''


    "Maybe, but then there won''t be anyone to rub your favorite spots," Leondre challenged as he rubbed Noirs'' head from behind. "Or." He cupped the Rhoan''s ear and murmured, "Feed you meat."


    "Leondre!" Cendric barked, startling the rider and his mount.


    "Y-yes?"


    "Stop talking to the horse," He snapped, "It''s creeping me out."


    <hr>


    The ride was slow-going with Cendric showing no sign of increasing the pace. As they traveled along the pockmarked gravel road, a few people walking by hailed the riders as they passed¡ªgood thing too. The fewer people who knew of them going this way, the better.


    Several days went, and the countryside became wilder the farther they traveled from town. Flat empty fields gave way to rolling grass hills, while in the distance, jagged pine trees stood conically like moss-covered volcanoes.


    "Cendric, if I may."


    The Seeker twisted in his saddle, only to face a large sheet of paper substituting the top half of where Leondre''s body should be. The young nobleman lowered the map. "Where are we going?"


    Cendric shrugged as he stifled a yawn. "Thinking about it. What''s that paper of yours say?" He had been attentive to their surroundings, the area was unfamiliar, and unlike Leondre, there was no map for reference. Finding river Ostwen was the next best thing; the same river that led them to the ruins near Crestwood. Most towns and cities were built alongside it, following the flow of the Ostwen from Malordun to the neighboring region.


    Of course, now that the brat decided to reveal he had a map after three days of riding, Cendric wanted to strangle him. Suppressing the urge, he brought his horse over to Leondre''s. The grey courser stamped its hooves nervously, in the presence of the 19 something hands black Rhoan.Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Leondre turned the map toward Cendric so that he might see the path on paper. "We are here," he pointed to a spot about a third of the way up Crestwood. "Up here," his finger trailed down the path, to an arch marked over a blue line, "is a bridge, the only crossing over the River Ostwen for forty leagues in either direction. If we are to find any settlements, it will be there."


    <hr>


    A series of granite arches carried itself over from the one low bank of the Ostwen to the higher. The roadway was curved, composed of wood planks, forming a U-shape inverted. Making the approach on the other side obscured. It was not until reaching the apex that they saw what awaited in-store.


    Oxen, mules, and other draft animals lay butchered, stripped to a bone. Specks of black dots hovered over, droning, claiming what little rotted remains. More horrendous was the stench brought downwind, putrid like a festering wound, it grew pungent as they drew closer.


    "Here, use this if you feel nauseous." Cendric discretely passed a sweet-smelling rag to Leondre, already having covered his face with a handkerchief. The boy gratefully took the perfumed cloth, placing it over his nose. Lavender overwhelmed Leondre''s sense of smell, blotting out all other scents. Less than half a mile away on the road was an overturned carriage sandwiched between two hills. Its wheel broke, axles cracked, and canvas riddled with holes. "Weapons out," He said, muffled through the handkerchief. Leondre went for the iron shortsword at his waist, but Cendric shook his head. "Use the longer one."


    The swish of blades being drawn followed shortly. Apart from this and the incessant buzz, it was as if all sound had frozen momentarily. The riders weren''t the only ones who sensed a shift in the atmosphere. Vapor escaped, curling to the side like chimney smoke, from flared nostrils of Noir''s gargantuan sized nose. Giving him the appearance of a three-horned black daemon, ruby-eyed, sirred from the seven depths of Hell. Nearby, the gray courser stood vigilant and much like its rider, eerily calm; ready to give chase or retreat if need be.


    Behind them, two trees fell crisscrossed, forming a chest-high barricade at the entrance of the bridge. Men drabbed in sheepskin and leather dress, sprung forth from the river bank. Rusted hatchets, long-shafted flails, and curved falchions protruded out the sawgrass, held by dirt-stained hands. Helmets ill-fitted, wrought with iron, gleamed atop one or two heads. Others were hatless, while the rest wore an assortment of hoods and arming caps.


    If not to make matters direr, several figures fanned out of the crevice between the hills, forming a loose line near the carriage. Shields small and shaped like dinner plates hung from wrists, next to the shortswords they carried. Each weared a boiled leather vest over a bright yellow tunic, scales overlapping one another, were sewn in the armor. Among the line were two crossbowmen, already having placed their feet down, pulling the drawstrings back.


    Leondre''s knuckles turned white as he tightened the grip on Roi Soleil. Something tunneled through his veins, forcing itself into the brain. The men enclosing around them became exceedingly slow. Drums pounded in his ears at cadenced beats, like a call to arms. A haze of mist descended upon Leondre''s field of vision, his pupils dilated, fixating on the men near the carriage.


    Details he couldn''t make out before were crisp now: A raven behind a yellow field with its claws outstretched, flapping against the wind. Particles of dust kicked up in the wake of a dozen pairs of boots treading against the ground. The ripple across strings as tension was released, and bolts were let loose.


    Then it receded, like an hourglass reaching the last grain of sand Leondre felt his state of mind return.


    "¡ªyou waiting for?" A blurry mass roughly tugged him by the neck, his vision cleared, and the mass took the form of a gloved hand. From left to right, voices accompanied by footsteps shouted for surrender, promising the most gruesome fates upon capturing those that ran. Leondre heard a hefty thwack as something fast, tipped with metal, passed by his head. He turned in time to see a cross-bolt bury itself in the throat of a hooded man next to him, before disappearing in a mist of blood.


    The boy averted his eyes, swiveling to the mousey-haired knight shaking the daylight out of him. "I lost myself. What''s the plan?" Leondre said quickly as more attackers, this time well-equipped and dressed in mottled forest wear, started streaming from the treelines. He counted eighteen in total.


    [Bandits covered in sticks and leaves? And there''s so many. The map indicated nothing about any large groups in this area.]


    "Where the bolts are." Cendric snarled, letting go of the collar with a shove as he pointed to the crossbowmen reloading. The yellow armored men stood up and leveled the weapon to their chests. "Ride over there!" He spurred his horse and made for the carriage at full speed.


    Whistling sounded in the air, cut-short by two belated screams. Leondre stiffened at the sight of the two bodies crumpling onto the grass but nodded nonetheless. He kept Roi Soleil close at hand and leaned forward, pressing his legs against Noir. The muscle-bulging horse raised his head, leveling eyes with Leondre, ''Finally,'' he snorted.


    Pebbles, rocks, and clumps of grass swirled up beneath the warhorses legs. A second later, the first men from the riverbank reached the road. Hurling obscenities and releasing throaty warcries, their mouths were left wide-open next to the recently formed cloud. Dust found its home up the nostrils and down into the throats of several men. Coughs and gagging ensued after.


    Leondre would have continued watching their misfortune, if not the skirmish raging in front of him. Splotches, yellow and green like pastels on canvas, vied for control of the road pass. The crossbowmen had stopped firing now to join the melee, but their handiwork was present in four corpses scattered to the side. Still, for every man wearing yellow, there were at least two in green.


    Despite the head start, it was a mere child''s play for Noir as he caught up to Cendric''s horse. Leondre reined in the hot-blooded rhoan, matching his pace with the coursers.


    "Cendric there''s only seven of them. I''m counting double for the people attacking, and we''re about to ride into them!"


    "If you practiced fighting on a horse," He brought his blade up, "Cut down or trample anything in your way!" Cendric roared at the top of his lungs. Leondre could only reaffirm the grip on his long-handled sword in reply¡ªthen they were upon them.


    He never saw the face of the first person he killed. The man''s back was turned, with his mace raised over a fallen opponent. Roi Soleil carved into him midway before the finishing blow. Leondre felt no resistance from the mottled green outfit or muscle underneath. It was the same for the second, except he managed to block, though it did no good. The sky-blessed steel combined with the momentum behind managed to slice through the weapon and its user.


    The rest fell away as Bete Noir was possessed by a bloodthirst of his own volition, egged on by the fear reeking from their hapless opponents. Ironshod hooves smashed indiscriminately into any unlucky enough to be caught within range, plowing in skulls and ribcages like giant hammers. Rider and mount became connected, one machine solely purposed for killing. Together alongside Cendric, they carved a bloody path ahead, sowing chaos and death in their wake.

 018: Part 1

    On the other side of the hill pass, save for the carriage making entry difficult, all seemed quiet. Along the sides of the road were ditches; now empty, meant to channel the Ostwen¡¯s waterways when the river swelled during later seasons. If one were to check below, they would be in for a shock: Men inhabited the ditches, close to a dozen, all armed with small iron shields and short swords, donning scale armor similar to lamellar. Except for one.


    Sweat emerged out a thin forest of salt & pepper hair and dribbled down, filling wrinkled lines etched across a bed of skin. It rolled past furrowed brows, reaching crows'' feet as it bent the corner around hazelnut eyes, kind, and full of smile lines. Before being soaked up by the well-groomed bristles of hair perched atop thin lips.


    Ser Boudicat pressed the sweat-stained handkerchief against his mustache for the eighth time in a row. The sun had positioned itself west, facing them, so it might grace their presence. He would have preferred it better without the surcoat he wore beneath the cuirass encasing his torso¡ªand the gorget, pauldrons, and other pieces of plate armor also included.


    ¡°Merde, il fait chaud ici.¡± Boudicat muttered under his breath. He was getting old no matter how much he denied it, but that wouldn¡¯t stop him from carrying out duties or enjoying life. The men near him smiled; it was a shared misery, cramped inside this dirt oven, waiting for the signal.


    The vineyards of Franleux were far away. He had come to this land a year ago, hoping to see an old friend, Baron Carson, after retiring from the life of a chevalier. Only to find him dead, and the son embroiled in a dispute between lords. The son, unlike his father, had no experience in battle. The opposing Lords¡¯ men captured the river crossings. Dressed as bandits, they searched anyone who attempted to cross; killing messengers and cutting trade to the Baron¡¯s lands off from the outside. Save for the town guard stretched thin, trying to defend the overlying villages since raids started occurring, Baron Carson had no other forces.This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    ¡®That should be a good lesson for Maxwell. So greedy to save coin, he dismisses his father''s previous household guard.¡¯ Noble houses had a group of trusted bodyguards well paid, equipped, and trained to protect and serve their families. Maxwell, the new Baron Carson, believed the town guard sufficed just as well at a lower cost.


    ¡°Ser Boudicat.¡± A scout skidded down next to him. Dirt covered his face, mixed with sweat. The man hastily brought a fist over his chest while catching his breath.


    ¡°Report.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s a¡ªa complication. Bandits, m-more than we expected. P-preparing attack now,¡± he wheezed, ¡°The bridge.¡± The scout croaked, swaying unsteadily, ¡°Other side.¡± He slid against the dirt wall, ¡°People coming...¡±


    ¡°Quick, this man needs water.¡± Someone passed him a canteen, Ser Boudicat immediately tore off the cap, pouring water into the dehydrated scout. ¡°Good Wyner, rest now.¡± He patted him on the shoulder and rose, ignoring his knees popping under him.


    ¡°Gentlemen.¡± Ser Boudicat smiled, ¡°Circumstance changes our plan. Already, traveleurs are coming once again, and now the robber baron¡¯s scum has reared their ugly heads. Alas, Captain Brant and his men were to join us in this ambush, but no matter.¡± Boudicat had gone with a small party to scout and secure the hill pass. His second-in-command was some distance away, alongside the rest of their men, protecting the supply wagons.


    The former chevalier walked, hands clasped behind him, nodding to every single one man. ¡°What say you? Shall we save these traveleurs and hold the miserable curs until reinforcements arrive?¡± He pivoted, pleased to see them standing at the ready.


    An air of confidence hung over Baron Carson¡¯s new guard. While the Baron had spared no expense for weapons and armor, it was Boudicat who inspired them. He, a foreign knight from Franleux, met with everyone personally despite their lower status. Learned their names, trained alongside them, was harsh but not cruel with punishment, and fair in his treatment. True, they swore loyalty to his lordship as Houseguard, but the men were proud to fight for their families under Ser Boudicat.


    ¡°What say you?¡± The Chevalier demanded, louder this time. A dozen fists slamming against hardened leather sounded in reply. ¡°If so, to arms!¡± Ser Boudicat brandished his rapier, an elegant silvered thing, and began clambering out of the ditch.

 018: Part 2

    What passed for a minute of fighting felt like an hour; countless drills hammered into his muscles became second nature, taking over. Leondre continued in short, deadly strokes, hacking away at anything colored green. The objective was reaching the carriage, but now it stood as an obstacle slowing his charge to a standstill.


    A horn, low and guttural, rang out in the air. The carriage was pushed aside as dozens of men stampeded out the pass like yellow armored bulls. Cheers sounded, and mottled green cloaks began running toward him. Leondre leveled Roi Soleil to his ear, poised to strike, but they avoided the young rider and his horse like one might do with a plague.


    Leondre lowered the blade as the bandits slipped past; he didn''t have the heart to chase them. It was already a day of firsts¡ªin battle and blood. No need to add cutting down fleeing men onto the list. Such action went against chivalry. ''But did it matter?'' he wondered. Their new group of friends was not content with letting them go. Few bandits made it to the forest, and as the rest retreated, all eyes were turned on the adventurers.


    A human wall of yellow and brown circled them with spears this time. Leondre and Cendric spurred their horses, preparing to ride once again when the wall parted.


    "...Atten-wait!¡± An old gentleman dressed in ornate gold & black armor stepped out, waving. ¡°We wish you no harm messieurs!¡± He nodded to the surrounding men, and they backed away but kept their spears slightly raised. Others were busy helping wounded, dragging dead comrades onto carts, or checking the enemy fallen for survivors.


    Cendric climbed off the courser, feet touching the ground he reached in his shirt, pulling out a familiar copper plate. Leondre likewise did the same after dismounting his horse.


    ¡°We¡¯re just adventurers, passin''. Got caught in the fighting, ''ought we could ''elp.¡± He spat to the side, offering a handshake. The mustached ends of the elderly man twitched as they shook hands.


    ¡°Ser Boudicat, former chevalier now retainer to the fair lord of these lands. Please, come with us. For there is more I wish to say, but not when danger is near. Yes?¡± He gave a grandfatherly smile before letting go and turned to address his men.


    ¡°On y va! Take the weapons and burn the corpses, but leave everything else.¡± He pointed to the one man carrying a banner, ¡°We are soldiers, not looters, and time is of essence.¡± Ser Boudicat nodded in their direction, then resumed issuing commands to his soldiers.


    ¡°Warm beds and hot food await us, gentlemen. I want two lines! Put the wounded upfront, and the dead go behind. Let us march!¡± A young man tugged along a beautiful white mare, passing her to the former chevalier. He promptly took the reins, mounting the horse as he rode up, leading the men at the head of the march.You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    Cendric leaned over to Leondre, who was feeding Noir pieces of jerky. ¡°Recognize the banner they''re flying?¡± He was referring to the black raven, its wings proudly raised above several cornstalks, flapping overhead.


    "I do not recognize it." Leondre shrugged as he stowed the rest of the jerky away in a saddlebag. Noir turned his head to the side, searching for more. When he found nothing, the horse uttered what sounded like a cross between a growl and a whine. A few of the men marching by nearly tripped, startled, never thought to have known a horse make such a sound. Some silently made the sign of the All-Mother to ward off whatever evil possessing the beast.


    Leondre patted Noir''s mane affectionately, "You''re scaring them." If a horse could roll its eyes, Noir certainly did the equivalent: tossing his head.


    ''Weaklings.'' The rhoan snorted, earning a smile from its rider. A welcome distraction considering what they went through.


    "Whelp." Cendric cautioned. Leondre''s smile disappeared and deepened into a frown. "If you''re done talking to the horse, what''s say we continue our conversation. Yeah?"


    "Stop calling me that." He responded flatly.


    His cousin grinned wolfishly as always. "I''ll consider after we''ve finished this little chat." Cendric spread his hands apart, "Who knows? I may start saying cousin from now on."


    "Doubtful, but so be it." Leondre, a twinge annoyed, signed exasperatedly. "These men are Houseguard, maybe contracted mercenaries. Likely of a baron or viscount." He glanced at dozens of soldiers walking beside them, voicing his thoughts. "A uniform force, undoubtedly trained and equipped?, led by an experienced knight. Cendric," Leondre lowered his voice, "What happened just now, very well might have been a feud we were caught in."


    Cendric removed his glove, scratching his cheek. "Interesting. But I heard the walking ornament say, soldiers, not guard or house-guard." He turned, directing the next words toward Leondre, "Soldiers imply an army, and I thought only a marquis or duke could have one."


    To start, since the Duke Rebellions, Prince Erwin, after succeeding his father as the current King of Sparthania, abandoned the old way of lords levying armies to march under the King¡¯s Standard. Instead, a token military force stood by all-year-round, garrisoned in key forts and castles that doubled as training centers.


    It was a conflict that happened during Leondre''s father''s time. In an era of peace, two dukes had called upon their vassals, raising armies numbering the thousands. They led a rebellion that nearly succeeded after felling the previous King of Sparthania in battle, if not for the Crown Prince rallying the Crowns remaining supporters.


    "Yes. Aside from household guards, only a duke or marquis are granted the right to muster their own private army. But they are heavily taxed Cendric, it''s easier maintaining a Houseguard like everybody else. I''m sure it''s an old habit, calling them soldiers, on Ser Boudicat''s end." The Franleux nobility had no such rules; they didn''t use household guards to the extent Sparthan nobility did.


    "Mhm." Cendric slid the glove back on and made a fist. Satisfied it was not too tight, he lowered his hand. "Wasn''t paying attention. What''s this about nobility and taxes to do with the walking ornaments lord, again?"


    "If you are so curious, ask someone." Leondre angrily nudged Noir forward, leaving Cendric to his own devices.

 019: A Long Walk

    ?????? ?????????? ???? ?????? ????????????''?? ????????????, ????????????????


    In a hall stood a man nervously milling about, a birthmark shaped like a strawberry hung from his jaw. His shoulders were fairly oval, slanted and wide. Metal rerebraces, squared, and layering his upper arms sat perfectly under the shoulder plates. The rest of his body hid beneath a coat of mail, firmly tucked away by the belt snaked around his waist.


    ¡°¡­ The Gwaldon Chapter reports our Seeker has yet to contact them.¡±


    A conversation between superiors was taking place behind closed doors.


    ¡°You mean never bothered too. Your captain outside failed to monitor him, now the agent is loose.¡±


    ¡°Forgive me your lordship, Knight-Captain Odell¡ª¡±


    The man ran a hand through his sandy blond hair, shuddering. That was Knight-Commander Wessler mentioning his name. The other was the Earl of Yvorwick; two men easily surpassing him in rank within the Order and station as nobility. A single word from either of them and he would find himself disgraced, Knight-Captain no longer.


    ¡°¡ªNo matter. The Grandmaster is soon to retire, a council is to convene, and the election for candidates will begin.¡± What sounded like footsteps thudded closer, louder, until the door flew open. The hulking figure of Commander Wessler appeared, Odell glimpsed at the Earl shuffling papers behind him.


    ¡°Odell¡­¡± A mountain of solidly built muscle loomed over the Knight-Captains vision. Hairy and usually toting a two-handed sword of Drachen design, Knight-Commander Wessler or ¡®The Bear¡¯, was born ill-fitted among Spartan nobility. With a dishonest nose, unkempt brown beard, and roguish features, the Bear looked more a king of bandits than a viscount.


    The sandy-haired knight broke out in a sweat as Commander Wessler wordlessly motioned him to walk. Like a child, Odell followed obediently at his heels. Wessler led them out of the building to the stone pavilion, stopping at a garden. Carefully trimmed hedgerows, like a complex puzzle, divided the space into a maze. Eventually, Odell wound up sharing a bench with the giant Seeker. Water splashed, flowing from a fountain nearby. Commander Wessler leaned over, smiling at his subordinate like an old friend as several brothers passed. He clapped Odell¡¯s shoulder a little harder than necessary. When they were out of earshot, the hand retracted along with the smile.


    ¡°Pray tell, Captain surely the task I gave you,¡± Wessler¡¯s voice dropped to a whisper, ¡°Keeping track of a single bastard ¡ª I daresay, was not beyond your ability?¡± The Bear wasn¡¯t one for excuses, only the truth. And the truth hurt ¡ª more than the Earl or Knight-Commander cared. Loyal service? Faithfully carrying his task for several years without a complaint? The bastard murders the two brother knights accompanying him and escapes, suddenly it¡¯s a mistake.


    Odell gripped the bench, his fingers circling the grooves beneath. No meant refusing to take fault by ignoring the fact Ser Forrester escaped. It was no better than saying yes, an admission of being unfit for the Knight-Commander¡¯s second-in-command.Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    [Damned if I do and damned if I don¡¯t.] The Knight-Captain thought grimly.


    <hr>


    Leondre stared at the translucent lines running across his hand. The scars hadn''t completely healed, and perhaps, never would. His mind kept playing that scene, the first bandit¡ª''No, person'' he killed. The moment he swung, there was no hesitation. The leather grip fitted well as if molded in the shape of his hand, and the blade perfectly balanced. Wielding Roi Soleil became mesmerizing; the way its patterned steel rippled as he cut, a blue wave in the air, running through men like water, felt natural¡ªIt all did.


    And the realization sickened him.


    "Why so quiet? You are young and should be out enjoying life. Perhaps with friends or special someone, yes?" Ser Boudicat slowed his mare beside him.


    Leondre merely shook his head, "I''ve never had luck making friends, and the one I did become friends with...H-he died recently."


    "A shame, I too have lost friends." The former chevalier twisted in his saddle and nodded to the far back. Forms wrapped in blood-stained sheets were visible in the cart behind.


    "They were good, honest men. I met most of their wife and children, and soon I shall again." Suddenly, Ser Boudicat aged twenty years past his senior, and the vigor he had carried disappeared. Leondre was at a loss on how to respond but felt pity for the old man and a little guilty. Here he was, grief-stricken over one friend when this man had just lost dozens but still pressed on.


    "Le fardaeu du commandement," Ser Boudicat began, "They call it-"


    "Burden of command." Leondre interrupted quietly, he rubbed Noir''s head. The hairs up top Ser Boudicat''s upper lip curled, smiling, pleasantly surprised.


    "Parlez vous fran?aesh?"


    "Oui, I speak¡ª" Leondre immediately shut his mouth, realizing the mistake he made. Commoners had regional accents like the one Cendric faked while others learned to talk proper, taught by priests and priestesses in temples. But a lowly adventurer knowing another language other than Spartan tongue? That begged the question.


    Ser Boudicat placed a hand over his chest, bowing his head. "''Forgive my rudeness, I speak at you yet never asked for a name. Let us introduce ourselves, I am Ser Boudicat d''Yound, born in the grand city-state of Ardose and granted the title, Chevalier, by its master. Many would have died under my command today if not for your swift intervention."


    I-um," Leondre stumbled over his words, "Am Leon¡ªLeo!" He blurted out. Leondre looked around and found his cousin conversing with the other soldiers, becoming rowdier by the minute. Cendric had not introduced himself as a Knight Seeker. Were they not continuing the guise of the knight-errant and his squire?


    "And we are adventurers! Born in Spartha. Yes!" He said nervously.


    "I see..." Ser Boudicat nodded and faced away, twirling his mustache as he sat there, atop the mare, deep in thought. "You must be very dedicated. To learn two languages at your age, I admit I am impressed." He turned to Leondre, "Perhaps because of your name, short for Leondre. Yes?" A twinkle of amusement sparked within as he winked, something had caught his attention.


    Leondre followed his eyes to the bronze plate hanging on his chest, Leondre vae Karrath. The teenager froze as if a deer hearing the snap of a branch nearby.


    "Shame I am no longer a chevalier. The way you handled yourself, fighting on horseback no less! I''d have taken you as my squire." The former chevalier smiled knowingly.


    "I could not help notice your stead. When I was a boy, the Champion of Ardose led the city knights in a parade atop this beautiful black but most terrifying horse I ever see. So big!" Ser Boudicat exclaimed holding his hand out, raising it well over the mare in comparison. "And his eyes! They were red like the wine we drink." He pointed at Noir''s bony protrusion, "There was this bone on his head too, so much like rams horns."


    Leondre paled as Ser Boudicat heartily laughed next to him. "Truly a fearsome horse, fit only for a knight of high caliber such as the Champion of Ardose."


    "Mithra, help me," Leondre muttered.


    It was going to be a long march.