Daein, the year 626

Chapter One

The corridor to General Gawain's quarters was long, dark, and dank. He preferred it that way. It toughens me up, he had said once, probably in jest, because he was the last person in Daein that needed any sort of "toughening up." Tall, narrow windows lined the hallway, but the sunlight never hit them. At least there was a warm cross breeze today; such warmth was rare this early in the spring, and everyone in Daein keep—Riders included—was going a little stir-crazy. But that didn't keep them from their duties.

Lanvega reached the end of the corridor, where the stone door to Gawain's quarters was gaping open. There was no need to close it, usually, being this isolated from the rest of the castle. It was impossible to sneak up on him when walking down the empty, echoing hall.

"General Gawain," Lanvega said, standing in the doorway.

Gawain was seated at his desk beneath a window; this one, at least, faced the sun. While the corners of his room were dark as always—he rarely lit the candles—a stream of sunlight poured through the solitary window, creeping toward the doorway. Lanvega felt its warmth on his feet.

"Ah, Lanvega." Gawain rose from his chair. He casually rolled up a piece of parchment, tucking it into the breastplate of his armor. "Something I can do for you?"

"I came to inform you that your student has arrived."

Gawain turned toward the window, squinting against the sunlight. "Already?" The corners of his mouth lifted slightly, amused. "I shouldn't be surprised. How long has he been here?"

"As long as it took me to reach your quarters," Lanvega simply replied.

Gawain reached for his sword, strapping the scabbard around his waist. "Then he has waited long enough."

As he closed the door and strode into the hallway, Lanvega fell into step beside him. "Do you mind if I accompany you? I am eager to see this recruit of yours. Rumor says he has promise."

"Do not waste your time with rumors. 'Promise' is an understatement. This child will surpass me one day." Their footsteps echoed in the corridor. "But yes, you are welcome to observe."

There was no trace of amusement in Gawain's voice, which left Lanvega to believe he did not offer this praise in jest. There had been many young men with wild dreams of knighthood, but many were unable to complete their training. It was one thing to train with a common soldier, but quite another to go up against one of the Riders.

The Four Riders were legendary. Still, there were many Daein citizens who refused to believe such men could exist. It seemed implausible that the goddess would bless these men with such might, leaving so many of her children weak and defenseless. But for those that had encountered the Four Riders face-to-face, they were believed to be a gift from the goddess. For too long Daein had lived under the shadow of the Begnion Empire, and now they could begin to stand on their own—for they had their King, and they had his Riders.

Gawain stepped into the courtyard, squinting to the sudden sunlight. Lanvega nodded silently before he slipped away to the corner of the courtyard. Gawain needn't ask where his student was waiting—the boy was hard to miss. Already his sword was brandished, balancing delicately in his hands as he sliced through the open air. Swordplay was an art form, and he was one of the greatest artists of his generation. While most boys his age would cry under the weight of the blade, he handled the steel sword as if it weighed nothing at all.

"Zelgius." Gawain approached slowly, as to not get hit in the line of fire, but Zelgius had noticed him long before he advanced.

"General," Zelgius replied, sheathing the sword before bowing low before his master.

"I trust you have not waited long," he replied with a slight smile. The smile was returned without comment. He always waited long.

Lanvega pretended to be occupied with inventory, rearranging the trainer weapons on the far end of the courtyard. But he fooled no one, and he hadn't exactly been concealing his watchful eye. Gawain hardly spoke to his student before they fell into a spar. This wasn't training—it was combat, and Zelgius moved as effortlessly as his master.

General Gawain held back, of course. Anyone else wouldn't have noticed, but his fellow Riders knew the difference. When Gawain was in battle, anyone within a four-foot radius could see the muscles of his neck bulging, the sweat dripping from his temples. Now, he hardly moved from his spot, blocking each of Zelgius's attacks with his own sword. But the longer they continued, the more agitated Zelgius became, and Gawain poked fun at him as he danced around his attacks.

"That the best you can do, boy?" Gawain let out a deep, throaty laugh. "Think you'll be a Rider with that form? Come at me already!"

The way he suggested that Zelgius would be a Rider seemed strangely natural. Like there was no questioning it.

The courtyard door swung open. Gawain snuck a glance at the door, perhaps hoping his student would be distracted by it, but Zelgius never took his eyes off his master. Lanvega smiled as General Tauroneo closed the door behind him, approaching the training center he occupied.

"You know we have people to do this sort of thing," Tauroneo said, nodding at the trainer in Lanvega's hands. "Unless you are here for an entirely different reason?"

Lanvega looked up at the training session; Zelgius still hadn't landed a blow, but he wasn't tiring out, either. "Do you believe he'll be a Rider one day?"

Tauroneo turned toward the sparring match. Gawain had started circling his student, his cape lifting in the slight breeze. Zelgius twisted his body, avoiding an attack, then tried—yet failed—to catch his mentor in the ribs. "No," he replied evenly. "I'm not ready to retire." Lanvega chuckled.

There was no questioning why Tauroneo had come into the courtyard at all. They had both noticed when Gawain's student had been brought into the keep, and Lanvega knew it was a matter of time before Tauroneo joined them in the courtyard. They may have other duties, but a chance to see this "promising" student was an opportunity neither was keen on missing.

Lanvega stole a glance at Tauroneo as he watched the training. It was seldom that Tauroneo let his guard down. With a powerful military background like his, there had been no question that he, too, would follow in his family's shadow. He was determined that his sons follow suit, but not all had gone as planned—his elder son had lost an arm in battle, and rumor was that Lady Tauroneo left him when he had started training the younger son in his stead. It hadn't taken long to confirm the rumors, as neither the lady nor his sons had been seen at the keep in quite some time.

"That's enough," they heard Gawain say. He took in a deep breath, but was only slightly tired out. "You have improved." Zelgius bowed again, deeper this time than when they first greeted.

"It is a pleasure seeing one so young this interested in training," Tauroneo said to Lanvega, a hint of regret in his voice. "Many of our recruits want all the fame without any of the work."

"I fear for future generations," was all Lanvega said in reply.

Zelgius exited the courtyard after a brief discussion with Gawain, already knowing his way back to the castle's entrance. Gawain had long since abandoned the need for him to be escorted. He approached the training center, smiling as he clapped Tauroneo on the back.

"Tauroneo," he said, resting a hand on his shoulder. "What brings you here?"

"A bit of fresh air and good conversation," he replied.

Lanvega laughed. "Yes, and I'm empress of Begnion."

"Your boy there has natural talent," Tauroneo said, ignoring the jest. Gawain nodded, a slight smile crossing his lips.

Their formality ceased once night fell. It was a rare occasion that all four Riders had the time to go out together. Not that they went out—it would cause too much panic if all four were to be seen together in public—but Daein Keep had an adequate pub on the grounds, which they frequented after difficult battles or during much-needed downtime.

Gawain claimed their usual corner table, and the barmaid immediately brought over three steins of ale. "Bryce joining you tonight?" she asked, setting the steins on the table.

"If he can get away from his duties," Lanvega said, reaching for an ale.

"So that's a no," she said, smiling as she walked away.

Bryce's dedication to the king surpassed that of the other three combined. It was rumored that he slept outside the royal chamber in case of an evening attack, even though the rumor had been disproven numerous times. But his loyalty was formidable, and none denied his claims of protecting the royal line the rest of his life. While Gawain, Tauroneo, and Lanvega lied down their lives for the king, Bryce surpassed them all in the severity of his position. He followed orders without question, without hesitation.

"Bryce!" Gawain stood from the table, raising an arm in greeting to their comrade. The barmaid had a forth stein at the table before Bryce even sat down.

"His highness sleeping soundly?" Gawain asked, taking his seat again. Tauroneo and Lanvega hid smiles behind their hands.

"I do wish that rumor would be squashed," Bryce said with a sigh. "Of all the ridiculous—"

"It's just a joke, Bryce," Tauroneo said. "Come on, drink up."

He didn't need the invitation—he had emptied half his stein in one gulp.

The pub was emptier than usual, which they tried their hardest to ignore. It wasn't that people were hard at work, or tucked in with their families—they were dying, and rapidly. A plague had broken out across Daein, and despite their attempts to quarantine the castle it had infiltrated nonetheless. None of their priests or physicians were able to determine the cause, and the surrounding nations were seemingly unaffected. Daein was living on hearsay and speculation; nothing could be confirmed.

Part of Gawain's motivation for their "night out" was to escape these troubles, but it was apparent that it sat in all their hearts. While His Highness was still in the peak of health, his daughter had recently fallen ill. And there was no hiding the fact that a distant cousin had died only last week.

Gawain's thoughts drifted to Elena. She was, after all, a far more pleasant thought than the trials of the royal court. Still, he couldn't forget the first time he saw her at Palmeni Temple. He had just returned from battle, beaten and bloody, and Elena hadn't hesitated to offer him water and healing. It had been a bold move, asking a priestess to accompany him to supper...

"Gawain." Lanvega's voice was laced with annoyance.

"What?" He was more annoyed that they broke his reverie.

"Your thoughts?" Lanvega didn't offer further explanation, but Gawain's hard stare bored into him. He sighed. "His Majesty, Gawain. What will happen if this illness were to take him?"

"There are successors to the throne," he replied simply.

"Do you care so little for the welfare of His Majesty?" Bryce asked, visibly offended. He sat up straighter, pushing his empty stein to the edge of the table.

Gawain made a move to rise, but Tauroneo placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "Of course we care," he said, the muscles in his arm flexing as he tried to keep Gawain in place. "But think logically, General Bryce. As much as it pains us to imagine the worst, we cannot avoid the possibility. Gawain is right; there are successors, and while they may be young I have no doubt of their success with the blood of Daein running through their veins."

The barmaid reappeared, sloshing more ale into their empty steins. When she was a safe distance away again, Lanvega allowed himself a heavy sigh. "It is unfortunate that we must have this discussion at all."

"So let's not." Gawain rose, his chair scraping heavily across the floor. The three looked up, surprised by his sudden shift in demeanor. "I have an appointment."

Bryce narrowed his eyes. "At this hour?"

Tauroneo laced his hands in front of his lips, failing to conceal a knowing smile. "A man must be available to answer to all calls, at all hours of the day. It is our duty as Riders of Daein." He rose as well, tossing a handful of gold coins onto the table. He lowered his voice so only Gawain could hear. "And of lovesick fools," he added. "I'll walk with you; it's time I retire for the evening." He bowed his head to Bryce and Lanvega. "Good night, gentlemen."

Gawain had expected, however, that Tauroneo would not be making an immediate trip to his quarters. He enjoyed the company of his closest comrade as they wound their way through the castle's halls. The soldier manning the main gate bowed low at their approach, which they simultaneously nodded in respectful acknowledgement. The temperature had dropped drastically compared to the comfort of earlier in the day, but the chill was greatly welcomed through their lungs after the dank of the basement pub.

"Have you decided on a date yet?" Tauroneo asked, when they out of the soldier's earshot.

"Some days it seems it will never happen," Gawain said with a sigh. "She is so often preoccupied with this blasted illness that it is a miracle we see each other at all." He lowered his voice, despite the solitude of the road. "And with our own troubles brewing within the castle..."

He didn't have to continue. Gawain often brushed off the troubles that plagued the royal court, but he felt the burden as well. Lanvega has voiced it well enough at the pub—there was a chance the king would fall ill, and what would happen to the future of Daein then? He was grateful that he was not asked to attend the meetings discussing the king's successors. From all he heard from General Bryce, he wanted nothing to do with the organization of the family line. The successorship had been plotted out to the most distant of cousins, and continually revamped and redrawn as more and more of the royal family dropped dead from the unnamed plague.

"Thank Ashera it hasn't reached one of us," Gawain said. Though their conversation made no mention of the plague itself, it was the undercurrent of all conversations, the unspoken horror only hinted at.

Tauroneo nodded. "I would feel more comfortable knowing we, too, had our successors, but so far none of the applicants have been adequate."

For anyone else the statement would have been boastful, but Tauroneo spoke it plainly, as if nothing but common knowledge. The Four Riders held the highest honor of Daein, answering only to the king himself, and there were few who even considered they could be worthy of such a position. It was a rank that could not be obtained by mere luck.

As the stables came into view, the stablemaster immediately approached before they reached the doors.

"'Evening, Generals," he said, bowing low. "General Gawain, your steed is ready for you." He turned to his companion, face awash with anxiety. "General Tauroneo, I wasn't expecting you. My apologies. Shall I prepare your horse as well?"

"No need. I was just taking a stroll." The stablemaster's expression relaxed, and he bowed again before returning to the stable. Tauroneo turned to Gawain, taking his hand in both of his to shake. "Enjoy your time together," he said, keeping a firm hold of his hand. "These moments are precious and few."

"Tauroneo..." But the other general released him, turning away before Gawain could say anything more. Tauroneo kept his back to the stables, raising an arm in farewell as he took a slow trudge back to Daein Keep.

The stablemaster returned quickly with the horse in tow. He was a beaut—a tall, formidable Clydesdale with a shining black coat. All Four Riders had similar steeds, but Gawain liked to think that his was best. The horse had selected him, approaching him immediately when he first visited the stables all those years ago. Marek has taken a liking to you, His Majesty had said, as the horse snorted lovingly against Gawain's neck.

Marek whinnied in appreciation as Gawain stroked his black, glossy mane. "That's a good boy," he murmured, before hoisting himself on his back. "You know the way, don't you?" He guided the horse to the familiar path en route to Palmeni Temple, but he hardly had to steer at all.

With one hand on the reins, Gawain reached into his breastplate to pull out the small, rolled-up parchment. Lovesick fool indeed, he thought, unrolling the paper. It smelled faintly of lilacs, and the black script etched into the paper filled him with a sense of relief and longing. He gripped the letter firmly as Marek broke into a comfortable trot, reading it over yet again.

My Gawain,

Too long it has been since we've had a moment to ourselves. I find myself reminiscing over the summer days when we had time to sneak to the hills, when you would hold my hand in the fields until the sun set over the horizon. It may have been mere months past, but it feels like a lifetime ago.

Darling, it pains me to share that the situation at Palmeni has not improved. So many have fallen ill, and there is nothing we can do to ease their suffering. At the very least I can sing to them, and they enjoy hearing my voice. Oh, Gawain, if only there was something I could do to help them. This may sound heartless, but I am grateful at least that their suffering does not last long, and that they pass on quickly. May Ashera bless their souls.

I pray that the situation at Daein Keep is better than here in the countryside. My heart aches for our next meeting, when I can feel the comfort of your arms around me. I feel it is the only thing now that can soothe my heart.

All my love,

Elena

Gawain rolled up the parchment, already wearing down at the creases, and tucked it back into his armor. With a request like that, how could he not make the trip as soon as he was able?

Marek was picking up the pace, as eager to reach Palmeni Temple as his master. Gawain bent himself over the horse's back as they accelerated. The cold air stung his exposed skin, his hair flapping angrily across his forehead. Tauroneo was the only one who had any indication where he was headed this evening. Not that the blue-haired priestess was a secret—His Majesty certainly knew of their relationship—but Gawain preferred to keep his private life private, only sharing with the others what was required for them to know.

But General Tauroneo wasn't like the others. Gawain had been surprised when Tauroneo had confided in him that he wife left; he claimed the others wouldn't understand his distress. Perhaps he was right. He was only courting Elena at the time, but to imagine a life without her... it was unfathomable.

The thought of her caused his heart to constrict again, and he smacked the reins against Marek's sides. His steed snorted, but lowered his head as he broke into a gallop.

The horse slowed down without instruction as they approached Palmeni, already knowing their destination. There was no other reason for Gawain to travel this far, and Marek had seen the temple enough times to recognize it as well as Gawain had. He tethered the reins to a pole, murmuring praise in the horse's ear to settle him down. When Marek's heartbeat had calmed and he started to graze, Gawain turned toward the temple.

All thoughts en route to this location were focused solely on his arrival, but he felt an odd sensation of anxiety as he walked to the doors. Part of him wanted to stay behind and tend to his horse, but he was not here for himself. He was here for her, and the longing in his chest returned. She needed him.

He let himself into the temple. Candles around the sanctuary were burned down low, and a violet-haired priestess was humming softly as she walked the room, replacing candles that had extinguished. Gawain couldn't hide the clang of the door as it closed behind him, or his heavy footsteps as he entered the sanctuary. The priestess looked up, her face easing into a warm smile when she recognized their visitor. They nodded to each other as he passed, neither desiring to break the calm silence of the temple. He let himself into a narrow hallway, then knocked lightly on the third door on the left.

"Just a moment," said the voice within, a voice that spread warmth through his limbs. When the door opened, he hadn't realized he was clenching his fists until her face released his anguish.

Only he would have been able to notice the subtle change in her demeanor. While her lips had formed into a smile, her eyes looked lost, far-away. She tugged at his wrist to pull him in the room, and it was not until she closed the door that she collapsed into his chest, burying her face; he instinctively wrapped his arms around her petite waist. With Elena being several inches shorter than he, he was able to comfortably rest his cheek on the top of her head.

"I know," was all he had to say.

She wasn't going to cry—it was seldom that she did—but by the way she pressed into him, hiding her face, he secretly wished that she would. She kept a brave front, but there were moments he would feel reassured if she would share a shower of tears. That, at least, was easy to read. That was easy to comfort.

Elena pulled away, but she held both of his hands in hers. Gawain marveled at the difference between her small hands and that of General Tauroneo's. His fellow general was able to enclosed both his hands in his, but even when Elena stretched her fingers she was unable to maintain a strong hold.

"Oh, Gawain, it is awful. There is nothing we can do for these people. And"—She gripped his hands harder—"I hear... at the royal palace..."

"What is it?"

She looked down, staring at their interlocked hands. Her voice was so low that he strained to hear her reply. "It is not safe. The princess..."

So word had spread, it seemed. Gawain had received her letter only yesterday, and already she was aware of the fate of the royal family. Gawain wriggled his hands free, pulling her back into an embrace. Palmeni Temple wasn't located terribly far from Daein Keep, but if word had already begun to spread of the royal family's illness, it would not be much longer before news traveled to the remainder of the country.

He rested his chin on her head, gathering a handful of her hair to feel it slide through his fingers. "I am all right," he said, partially to comfort her, but also to convince himself. "The Riders have been untouched." But how long could this last? The plague was a quick killer; she would never know if something were to happen to him, until he failed to reply to her letters.

With a sigh, Elena pulled away. She moved to sit on the edge of the small bed, staring blankly out the window. Gawain found it useless to voice his worries here. She had been enduring enough with those who sought refuge at Palmeni, and the last thing he wanted was to burden her with any worries of him or his comrades. He sat beside her on the bed, a respectable distance away, but close enough to reach for her hand. Their entwined fingers rested on the sheet in the space between them.

"Come," Gawain said, squeezing her hand. "Let's take a stroll. I'm sure you've been trapped in here all day."

Elena looked at him, truly looking into his eyes for the first time since his arrival. There was a spark of the vibrant, young woman he knew. The woman to which he proposed. Her face relaxed into a smile, as if by that simple suggestion all her troubles had melted away. "I would like that very much."

The sanctuary was nearly empty as they crossed through it, and Elena sucked in the cold, night air the moment they stepped outdoors. She wrapped an arm through the crook of Gawain's elbow. There wasn't much of anything in terms of scenery around the temple, but they were content taking a lap around the building. Elena paused before Marek, the steed whinnying his approval as she stroked his forehead. He prodded her hand with his muzzle, as if shooing them away to take their stroll.

The fresh air did her good, and Gawain could feel her muscles relax. She arched her neck, staring up at the dark sky. There was a thick layer of clouds overhead, obstructing their view of the stars, and even the full moon appeared dark and hazy. Elena grasped his arm, keeping to the outer wall of the temple as to not wander far.

Gawain considered bringing up the forthcoming marriage, but there was good reason why they hadn't yet determined when it would be—they couldn't narrow down the logistics. He couldn't leave Daein Keep, surely, and while she was certainly willing to relocate to another temple it would be impossible with her current duties at Palmeni. Perhaps once the plague had been eradicated, but when would that be? Was there any end to it?

As if reading his mind, Elena squeezed his arm with hers. "Someday this won't be necessary," she said. "Trying to fit in time to see each other, and the need to communicate only through letters."

He rested his free hand on her arm. "Yes."

"Gawain." She smiled up at him. "I cannot wait for the day I can wake up beside you, and when I can go to sleep at night knowing you are safe beside me."

He stopped walking so he could turn to face her. She was everything he believed a priestess should be—her smile comforting, her touch gentle as her hands rested tentatively on his hips. Like she was still unsure whether this was permitted, even though—he would never admit this aloud—he waited for that touch; he needed those small hands on his body. Gawain leaned down to kiss her temple, his lips lingering on her skin.