Chapter Two
It would almost be a shame to interrupt the lesson, but General Tauroneo had no choice in the matter. He burst through the doors of the courtyard—neither Gawain nor Zelgius broke concentration—taking a detour through the training area. He selected one of the heavier trainer lances then approached the spar with caution, desiring neither one of their blades to impale his skin.
He thrust the lance in the space between them; Zelgius's sword sliced the spear clean off. Both Gawain and Zelgius stopped, panting, then narrowed their eyes at Tauroneo as he examined the end of the broken trainer.
"That was an impressive blow," he said casually.
Gawain's reply was not as pleasant. "I pray this is something urgent."
"Yes." He stole a glance at Zelgius. "His Majesty is in need of our attention. Now."
"Master—" Zelgius started.
"We are done for today." Gawain sheathed his sword, resolutely turning toward the castle. "You are free to continue on your own, if you'd like," he added, and neither general was surprised when Zelgius didn't put away his sword.
There were few matters whose importance overshadowed the training of a potential future Rider. Impending war was one. But Daein Keep would be a flurry of soldiers if there had been an invasion, and the corridors were virtually empty. The solemn silence was a constant reminder that most of the castle's occupants—including the majority of the royal family—had been claimed by the plague.
But Gawain knew the significance of this meeting the moment they approached His Majesty's quarters; this was no war. Bryce and Lanvega waited for them, faces stoical, but Gawain knew them well enough to sense the veiled anxiety.
"My apologies for interrupting your training," Bryce said, his voice unnaturally monotone.
"That is the least of our worries," Gawain answered, waving a hand to brush off the concern. He looked over their heads to the closed doors of His Majesty's quarters. It seemed larger today, darker, than usual. His eyes focused on the oversized crest of Daein carved into the stained wood. "Let's get this over with." Lanvega turned to open the doors.
The room smelled heavily of spices and embalming fluid. Priestesses still scurried around His Majesty's quarters, preparing what they could before the body was removed for burial.
The corpse was dressed in its finest, donning the vivid red robes and charcoal black armor Daein. Each of its cold fingers was decorated with an oversized gemstone, a heavy gold crown squeezed onto its head.
Gawain passed through the group of priestesses without apology, though words were unnecessary—they automatically moved to create a path to the bed. His eye wandered only when glancing a fringe of blue beneath a priestess's hood, though there was no possible way she would be there.
Thank the goddess for that, he thought.
Gawain fell to one knee beside His Majesty's bedside, bowing low. The remaining Riders followed suit. As Tauroneo knelt beside him, he felt his fellow general's hand pressed hard over his back. The commotion of the room settled, and they could hear the repeated open and closing of the doors as the priestesses left their post. Lanvega was the first to raise his head, scanning the room to ensure they were the only ones to remain. He stood slowly.
Tauroneo rose, his heavy armor clanking as he straightened his body beside the bed. He offered a hand to Gawain, who gratefully accepted it to stand.
"Now begins a new reign in Daein," Tauroneo said, trying—yet failing—to keep his voice steady.
Bryce's head became visible across the bed as he finally stood beside Lanvega. "We shall serve our new king with the same honor and respect we have upheld in our reign as the Four Riders."
"Hear, hear," the remaining three replied.
The entranceway to His Majesty's quarters opened wide, banging loudly against the inside wall. "Good." All four turned their heads simultaneously.
It was not the first time they had laid eyes on Prince Ashnard, but they were still shocked by his sudden change in appearance. It did not take long for him to be clothed in the royal colors. He now stood in the scarlet robes of Daein lined in fur, his bulk occupying the entirety of the doorway. He smiled. It was not at all pleasant; there was a gleam in his eye that made Gawain hesitate, albeit briefly.
The Four Riders approached Prince Ashnard at once in a straight, uniform line. The clatter of armor was deafening in the silent room as they knelt on one knee. They lowered their heads, foreheads nearly touching the ground.
"We are at your service," Bryce said, his voice muffled by the carpeted floor, "Ashnard, king of Daein."
"Excellent!" Ashnard spread his arms wide. "This will be much easier with such"—he paused—"loyal subjects."
With his head still lowered, Gawain gritted his teeth. His Majesty's body had hardly grown cold and already Ashnard was planning his reign. He had a fleeting thought, but immediately pushed it out of his mind—how could the entire royal family die and a man like this was left to rule their country?
Ashera, watch over us.
"Get up, get up," Ashnard said impatiently, and he waited for the clatter of armor to cease before speaking again. He peered between their line of shoulders at the corpse laid out on the bed. "Get that thing out of here. And have the priestesses change the mattress."
My dearest Elena,
I am writing this as quickly as possible in hopes you receive the news from me before second-hand rumors. I will not sugarcoat the truth—His Majesty has passed, and Prince Ashnard has been named successor. The coronation has not yet been planned, since this change is so sudden, but he has
Gawain paused, tapping the end of the quill on the parchment. He considered the possibility that this letter could be lost, or intercepted.
already claimed command so our country will not be thrown into chaos. He seems to be
He looked up and stared out the window, squinting against the sunlight.
capable and diligent.
I cannot deny that there have been times I've wished for you to be at Daein Keep, but for once I was grateful that you have remained at Palmeni. I would not have wanted you to witness the death of our king, nor be the one with the grueling task of preparing his body for burial. Elena, it pains me to think you see these things daily. I have not realized the severity what you have gone through until now. I pray for the day this ceases and I am able to shield you from life's hardships. This is my vow to you.
Many things keep me within the walls of the keep now, but I will come to you as soon as I am able.
Fondly,
Gawain
The changes at Daein Keep were not gradual. Many positions had been vacated due to the plague, and Ashnard did not hesitate to fill them with men he deemed worthy. No one questioned his authority, not only because he was soon to be crowned king—He was a decorated soldier himself. Many knew his name for his success in a Daein-Begnion battle, where he single-handedly defeated the enemy army. This gained him glory in the eyes of His Majesty, and tales of his bravery as a warrior, thus Daein did not fear when he began to rise to power.
Only those within the keep were unsettled, though there were few who could to put a name to it. The Four were at his constant command, sent to battle in a number of minor skirmishes that they wouldn't ordinarily be bothered with. But they knew they were being tested. Despite being the famed Four Riders, Ashnard claimed to know nothing of their skill and they had to prove themselves, again and again, spending many nights on nameless, needless battlefields.
It was months before Gawain was able to meet with Zelgius, his student having appeared for every training session even if Gawain could not. And his master often left for battle suddenly, without word, leaving no time to send him notice about his absence. But Zelgius was not fazed by this. He took pride in his mentor, and despite his usually neutral demeanor the excitement over finally seeing Gawain lit up his young face.
"I suspect you will soon seek a position in the Daein army," Gawain said, once they began to spar.
"Yes," was Zelgius's simple reply. There was no hesitation in his answer, and Gawain could swear he saw some of his own natural stubbornness in the boy's features. But there was still a young trainee hidden beneath the tough front. His eyes gave him away, always searching Gawain's and seeking his approval. Gawain refused to acknowledge it. "I don't suppose you would help me in my goals?"
Gawain's laugh was deep and brash, which threw Zelgius off-guard; he hesitated only briefly but it was enough for his master to nudge the tip of his blade into his ribs. "If you have queries like that, then you have not learned anything from me at all."
When Gawain pulled the sword back Zelgius put a hand to his stomach, but only a layer of cloth had been torn. He hadn't pierced skin at all. "But you have also taught me to never stop questioning, for the moment you cease to pursue the answer is when you begin a slow and steady death."
Gawain twirled his blade, forming a slow, smooth arc in the air as he stared steadily at Zelgius. The moment his student's muscles slackened he took a swing, trying to catch him off-guard again, but Zelgius had anticipated him this time. Their blades crossed and pressed against each other, metal scraping metal.
"You've much improved." Gawain smiled over the X of their swords. "But you know I will not vouch for you. Your skills are enough to prove yourself worthy."
It was several hours before Zelgius was dismissed, even though Gawain had a number of duties he was meant to accomplish during that time. And he had planned to sleep early this evening, having to wake before dawn the following day for yet another skirmish with neighboring Crimea. It was a curious things, these minor border skirmishes—were there always so many of them, or had he been excused from them because they were a waste of his time? Surely a small battalion could handle whatever it was they were being sent to do.
But when he woke the following morning, he was the only soldier prepared for battle. A flood of rain was pounding against the castle walls as he strode down the corridor, water seeping through cracks in the windows. When he approached the grand foyer, he was mildly surprised to see he was the only one present. He waited impatiently for Prince Ashnard, slowly pacing the foyer. Rain slammed against the closed windows, the shutters banging loudly in their frames.
The foyer was still deserted, most of the castle's occupants asleep in their quarters, so he was grateful to finally hear the increasing clatter of armor from the main corridor. Prince Ashnard materialized from the darkened hall, fitted in his black Daein armor and floor-length cape. He passed Gawain without a word, but crooked a finger in silent indication that he should follow.
When they crossed over the main threshold, Ashnard ignored the guard bowing low to them. Gawain nodded subtly in passing. The rain was worse than he had imagined, pelting down hard like arrows. The damp was already seeping beneath their armor, their undershirts sticking to their backs. Gawain twisted his shoulders, trying to unstick the rough fabric to no avail. He gritted his teeth as he kept pace with Prince Ashnard, a respectable distance behind him.
He had to shout over the sound of rain for Ashnard to hear him. "Are we the only ones to be in battle today, my prince?"
Ashnard turned his head slightly, his face revealing no hint of emotion. "You assume incorrectly," he said, failing to raise his voice. Gawain strained his ears to hear. "You will be in battle today. I will be observing."
"I..." Gawain increased his steps, nearly walking beside him. "Observing, my prince?"
"Keep your place," Ashnard said, prodding Gawain's ribs with a finger. "Do not think you are yet worthy to walk beside me."
"My apologies, my prince."
Ashnard grunted. "And you will call me king."
Gawain's hand fell to the hilt of his sword, squeezing until he could feel the angry blood rushing through his fingers. "That title would ordinarily not be in use until your coronation, my prince."
He glanced backward. "There is no one here to correct me, is there? I am the highest ruling power in Daein. Keep your place."
It was clear that he was not referring to Gawain's stride this time, and he kept his mouth shut. But his hand remained on the sword, his thumb running over the jewel-encrusted hilt over and over again.
They passed by the stables, the stablemaster visible in the entranceway, as if waiting for them. He cast Gawain a pleading look, hair dripping wet over his eyes, but neither said a word. The stablemaster retreated into the warmth of the stable as soon as it was obvious they would not be needing his services. Gawain had hoped that Marek would be accompanying him to the border, but he knew better than to get his hopes up. He was meant to take this three-day journey on foot, with Prince—no, King—Ashnard, with no provisions. There were few things that surprised him anymore.
Several hours had passed before Ashnard ceased walking on the worn path, seemingly in the middle of nowhere. Luckily the rain had let up slightly, through a fine mist was steadily falling. Gawain hardly noticed the damp, however, when he recognized their location—Ashnard was standing in the middle of the road, staring straight at the peak of Palmeni Temple. It took all his control to say nothing, all his willpower to stay rooted where he was.
"This is Palmeni Temple, is it not?" King Ashnard asked.
"It is," Gawain answered, fighting to keep his voice steady. He did not elaborate, and he prayed to Ashera that he would not have to. But King Ashnard simply nodded, turning with a swish of his sodden cloak, and continued down the road. Gawain allowed himself a breath of relief, continually glancing back at Palmeni until it was out of sight.
Gawain considered whether the other Riders had endured a job such as this. Had there been a time any of them had disappeared for days on end? The prospect was unlikely. King Ashnard would never be absent from Daein Keep for so long, especially since he had not yet undergone his coronation. It would do him little good to stay away from the castle for an extended period of time, and Gawain was slightly gladdened by this news. It meant that this battle—or whatever it was—would not last nearly as long as he thought. But if they were not going to the Daein-Crimea border, where were they going? Ashnard had still not revealed their destination, and he could not be troubled to ask. He would follow regardless.
The sun hadn't yet fallen, glowing orange over the horizon, when Ashnard stopped. Gawain thought he would be instructed to hunt some game, hopefully roast up something for them to eat, but instead His Majesty extended an arm to point into the valley below.
"We have company," he said. Ashnard's body blocked his view, and Gawain's heart was hammering against his ribcage as he moved aside to look into the valley.
"Laguz?" Try as he might, Gawain couldn't suppress his shock.
It was not a full-sized army—not even close—but the feline creatures below were far from ordinary citizens. Most were in their shifted forms, and it was like a sea of yellow and orange as they crossed the damp, green grass. Only a few were unshifted, falling to the rear of the pack, presumably saving their strength for the upcoming battle.
The upcoming battle—he was the upcoming battle.
Their scouts let out a whine, hissing and shrieking to their companions in the rear. A chorus of growls rose from the valley, the mass of cats and tigers arching their backs simultaneously when they spotted the two beorc looming over them.
"Now is time for you to prove you are worthy to possess the title Rider of Daein."
Gawain couldn't help himself; he boiled over with questions. "Were these soldiers provoked? Why is an army of Gallia on Daein soil?"
Ashnard hmphed in disapproval, focus his attention only on the approaching Gallian soldiers. "If you question my orders again, General, there will be no chance to prove your worth."
He had no choice; the army was fast approaching.
"And General?" King Ashnard's hand moved to the hilt of his own blade, which shone beneath his heavy cloak even in the dim sunlight. "I pray that none of these foul creatures reach me."
Without a word, Gawain charge down the hillside. His anger was just the fuel he needed. He unsheathed his blade, cutting at the first cat who tried to jump at him. This was madness, but this was also his survival. He was far beyond proving himself, and he hardly cared for his position at the moment; he focused instead on getting out alive.
Ashnard's laughter echoed in the valley, further fuelling his rage. Gawain roared, his voice traveling above the cats' hissing. One tiger snagged at his cape, another scraped the armor shielding his calf. He felt the vulnerary at his waist, but he had no chance to take it. Stopping his movements at any time would be something akin to suicide.
He pushed his body harder than he ever had, more than in his training with Zelgius, more than in those historic battles with Begnion. His biceps and the muscles in his thighs ached, constantly crouching and holding the blade and swiping at anyone who approached. They weren't all dead, but immobilization was enough. He thought of the sheer number of victims this bloody skirmish would take, but he replaced the thought with only cutting through their ranks. This was no time for sentimentality. This was no time to think of the families these soldiers were leaving behind. Blood was dripping into his eyes; he knew not whether it was his. He swiped it away with the back of his hand, though that was also coated in blood.
Then the valley stood silent. He teetered in the center of the carnage, scanning the bloodied figures surrounding him. The ones who were dead maintained their animal forms, but the injured had unshifted. A man at his feet groaned, trying to take one last swipe at Gawain's leg. He twisted out of his reach.
"Please accept my apologies for this," he said, voice low, unsure if anyone could hear. He wiped his blade on his cape before sliding it back into the scabbard.
Then, the distinct sound of applause. Bile churned in his throat as he looked up at King Ashnard. He was smiling widely, clapping furiously, very obviously pleased. "Advance, General Gawain," he said, his voice echoing through the hillside. Cautiously, Gawain made his way up the hill. His trudge was slowed by the slick, bloodied ground and the constant need to sidestep corpses. "You are worthy of your title," he said. "That was magnificent."
Gawain was too exhausted to answer, and a renewed anger set his jaw in a firm line. But King Ashnard was staring at him expectantly, willing him to speak. "I am glad you think so, Your Highness."
Without another word, Ashnard turned for the journey back. Occasionally he would come out with praise, reliving a part of the battle, but he mostly remained silent. Gawain's exhaustion was overwhelming, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to hide just how much he wanted to collapse.
Palmeni Temple shone like a beacon of Ashera when it appeared over the horizon. Gawain did not stop to think when he requested to spend the night there. He felt foolish asking—he felt like a small child, asking a parent for a favor.
But King Ashnard granted the request, claiming that he deserved it. With a promise to return at sunrise, Gawain turned off the road and set down the familiar path to Palmeni.
Elena was horrified when he entered the sanctuary. She approached his swiftly, resting both hands on his cheeks and checking every area that was splattered with blood.
He covered his own hands over hers. "It's all right. Most of it isn't mine." He looked down at his body, the black armor stained a deep shade of red. "I think."
She asked no questions, only taking his hand to lead him to a back room. It was a small washroom, with a copper tub beneath a window and an empty bucket upside down beside it. "The pump is just outside this window," she said. "I'll pass you the bucket to fill the tub."
"Elena, I don't need—"
She pressed a finger to his lips. "Shush. And get that armor off."
It was a relief to shed himself of the heavy armor, which he piled in a far corner so he would not have to look at the blood coating it. The window was fairly high off the ground, but he could see the bucket appear as Elena reached up to pass it to him. It wasn't long before the tub was filled, and he could strip down and lower himself into it. He sighed. The water was brutally cold, shocking every one of his nerves.
Elena returned to the washroom and immediately averted her eyes. "You could have waited for me to return first," she said, "so I could retrieve this." She hastily moved to the corner where his armor was slumped, deliberately turning her back to his naked form.
Gawain laughed. The smile on his face almost felt foreign; he hadn't smiled at all that day. "Elena, we will be married soon. Quit being so modest."
She turned her head slightly, pulling a wash rag from her satchel to toss it at his face. "But we are not married yet! Don't be crude." She crouched to gather the bulky armor, rising slowly as it balanced precariously in her arms. "I presume you will be needing a place to sleep?" He covered his mouth with the rag when he chuckled; she only narrowed her eyes before scurrying out.
