Jehanna Hall, 5 Months After the War of the Stones

Flickering torchlight illuminated a sizable room, casting sets of shadows that danced across high walls and a tall, vaulted ceiling. Surrounding a crescent-shaped desk situated before a large rectangular window was a lengthy line of shelves, which hugged the walls and snaked around the entire room. Most of the shelves were filled with cases of scrolls, each painstakingly labeled and sorted by year, subject, and author. The rest of the space was filled with thick, leather-bound tomes, which were also labeled similarly.

Beyond the window—which now bore the reflected image of a darkly clad, red-haired man bent over several wordy pieces of parchment—was a vast expanse of desert, now cloaked in darkness. Apart from the scribble of the quill and the occasional crack of a torch, the room was completely silent—that was, until King Joshua hissed an incomprehensible curse, straightened up in his chair, and threw his quill aside.

The new ruler of Jehanna turned and gazed out the window, attempting to recall enjoyable times that involved more stabbing and betting than writing and speech giving. Despite the dire circumstances, he had quite enjoyed his life during the War of the Stones; along with the endless opportunity to swing his sword and win some gold, the company had been—mostly—fantastic. Recalling this, the King of Jehanna's features went from pleasantly nostalgic to darkly grim; he had won some obligations from his former partners, but here he still was, nose-to-parchment, devoid of any real company.

Regardless, anyone who got to know Joshua soon found out that he was deceptively clever and thoughtful—well, perhaps more clever than thoughtful. But in this case, he had shown amazing foresight; he knew, upon returning to Jehanna Hall as its new ruler, he would be bored silly surrounded by lifeless nobles and bookwork. So, during his travels among the company, he had attempted to recruit some likely future comrades to join him in his new life. There were two he had been the most successful with—Gerik, the near-legendary mercenary commander, and Marisa, the devastatingly antisocial (though remarkably attractive) sword fighter. The cleric of Grado, Natasha, he perhaps could have worked a little harder… had it been the right choice to let her go? He knew Grado needed her, but….

He shook his head. This was no time to start second-guessing his choice to avoid deepening his relationship with Natasha. The bigger blunder was allowing Gerik and Marisa run off. To be fair, at the present time, Gerik owed him nothing more than a duel; with Marisa, however, he had already won his wager. After the war, she was to have joined him at the palace. Unfortunately, Gerik had sweet-talked him into letting her join him and his company to complete a very high-paying job playing guard for a wealthy merchant in Carcino. The job was to take less than three weeks, but they had departed nearly two months ago.

Joshua sighed.

This was not the first time the newly appointed King of Jehanna had regretted returning to the place of his birth after the War of the Stones, and he knew with a sickening certainty that it wouldn't be the last. Joshua had no love for duties of the King that came in the form of paperwork, and he doubted that, until his limbs ceased working altogether, he ever would. But Joshua knew he could never leave again; he owed his mother that. Regardless, compared to sword fighting and gambling—his two favorite pastimes—slaving over minute issues within his Kingdom appearing in the form of tiny letters was complete and utter torture. Fortunately, some of the work fell upon his newly appointed advisor—though not nearly enough.

And speak of the devil.

His new advisor, "Sir" Miles, had just shuffled into the room, garbed in deep, navy-blue robes that were much too long for him. Joshua disliked him; he was a scruffy, useless man who, in Joshua's opinion, tried much too hard to seem neither scruffy nor useless. He wasn't much to look at, that was certain. He had scraggly black hair and a short, messy beard, and his gray eyes were small and sunken. His skin was pale, and he was almost always sickly and stumbling. Lastly, the man was related to the beast, Carlyle—he was his cousin or something of the sort. Joshua thought that, as King, he would be able to choose his own advisor, but apparently Miles was the only one who had adequate credentials.

So Joshua was stuck with him.

"Your Highness," Miles said emotionlessly, offering Joshua a lazy bow.

"Sir Miles," Joshua responded smartly; he wasn't going to let this opportunity go to waste. "Excellent timing. I have absolutely no idea how I was landed with this rubbish"—he nodded down at the wordy parchment—"but I'd like you to take care of it for me. I feel I would fancy a little stroll around the courtyard."

"But, Your Highness," Miles replied, "those documents contain details concerning very crucial issues. It would be improper for me to sign them off without your written stance on the various matters."

Joshua snorted derisively, glancing down at the top piece of parchment. " 'Concerning a drug, its base created from the crushed needles of a rare desert cactus, that, when used, drastically increases the amount of adrenaline released during times of great physical demand.' " The King of Jehanna looked up at his advisor. "How, exactly, is that a crucial issue?"

For a very brief moment, Miles looked as though Joshua had just read the death sentence of his lover, but quickly snapped out of his altered state and answered weakly, "Perhaps I can take care of it, Your Highness. Allow me."

His advisor's strange reaction already flickering from his mind, Joshua rose quickly and made for the exit without a word.

"Oh, yes, of course," Miles muttered suddenly just as Joshua was crossing the threshold, "Your Majesty, one Sir Gerik arrived just recently, claiming he had an appointment with Your Highness. I let him in under guarded escort, and he is currently waiting for you in the lounge. Does Your Highness wish to see him?"

Joshua froze in his tracks. "Why didn't you tell me this sooner?"

"This business with the, ah, paperwork drove it from my mind, Your Majesty," Miles explained in semi-stutter. "I apologize."

"Never mind, never mind," Joshua grumbled distractedly, reentering his stride and slamming the door closed behind him.

As Joshua made his way to the lounge, his pace brisk, he regarded Gerik's arrival; it was rather cheeky of him to arrive this late at night. But then again, maybe it wasn't; perhaps Gerik was just being thoughtful? Joshua knew that the mercenary leader was as sharp as his sword—he wouldn't appear at a time like this without proper reason, so what was it? Did he understand Joshua's longing for a chat with a real or comrade, or was he making up for his extreme tardiness by being overly prompt?

Before he reached a proper conclusion, Joshua had arrived at the lounge. A pair of servants pulled open the double doors for him, and there was Gerik, purple headband and all. He sat lazily next to the fire, boots raised, carefully polishing his Steel Blade. Upon Joshua's entry, he looked up, then hurriedly sheathed his weapon and rose. He was in the process of bowing when Joshua waved a hand at him impatiently.

"None of that," Joshua said, reaching Gerik and offering him a hand. "We're friends. I'll just end up feeling awkward—it's bad enough with complete strangers."

"As you wish, King Joshua," Gerik replied with a feral smile, giving his comrade's hand a firm shake.

"You could lay off the honorifics, too," Joshua added as the two seated themselves.

Gerik chuckled. "Giving orders already. Damn, you're a natural."

Joshua ignored him. "I expect you won't mind explaining your lateness? You were to be back less than three weeks after your departure; that's what we agreed to, was it not?"

"Cutting right down to business, eh?" Gerik said, eyeing his friend curiously. "Interesting."

Joshua sighed; he was sighing far too often nowadays. "Look, it's been a long two months, all right? Just tell me what happened."

"You won't like what you're going to hear."

Joshua stiffened. "What? Did something happen to—?"

"No, no, nothing like that," Gerik cut in quickly. "Joshua, my friend, it was a swashbuckling adventure by all accounts. There was drinking. There was gambling. There was fighting… lots of fighting: Bandits, pirates—thieves of all sorts. Hardly a day when we didn't take arms. I regret to say that you would have enjoyed it immensely."

Joshua chuckled lightly, then, quite suddenly, broke into a thick roar of a laugh. Gerik eyed his comrade skeptically, moving a hand toward his sword.

"Ah, Gerik, these last two months have been hell," Joshua heaved, as soon as his raucous chortling had died away. "Hearing you say these things gives me new resolve—my mother won't be too displeased with me, will she? I won't leave her for long!"

There was still uncertainty in Gerik's stare as he said, quite calmly, "You all right, Joshua?"

"I will be as soon as I get out of here," Joshua said. "Now… I believe you owe me a duel?"

"True enough."

"Would you be averse to holding it now?"

Gerik ran a scarred hand through his hair. "You've had it rough, haven't you?" He exhaled. "To be honest, Joshua, I am a little weary from our travels."

"Fair enough," Joshua relented. "We can't have our duel if you're not at your peak."

"I never said anything about that," Gerik said roughly. "You should know that a mercenary has no control over when he fights; the best of us can fight equally well under a wide variety of conditions, including the dead of night."

"Then there should be no qualms," Joshua said brightly, the cheeky smile that had once been his trademark returning to his face. "I'll have the servants prepare the courtyard. And I'll need a weapon as well, of course! Let's see…"

Twirling about face, Joshua strode eagerly from the room, leaving a slightly miffed Desert Tiger in his wake.

"Madness."