Author's Notes: For my older readers: This is an edited/re-written version of the first chapter. More to come.
Luc waited by the boarded-up window inside the abandoned warehouse. Wrought-iron lanterns hung from the rafters, chasing away the darkness but leaving the warehouse floor in deep shadow. It didn't much matter. The silver pentagram inscribed upon the floor glowed faintly, showing Luc everything he needed to see.
Through the cracks in the window, Luc could feel the mountain wind. It carried the sounds of the fortified border town to him. Soldiers marching in step, their boots stomping upon the gravel road, as drill instructors shouted their orders. Merchants, tavern keepers, and blacksmiths calling out their services to the passing soldiers. Beggars pleading for just a few potch, sometimes getting a firm boot for their troubles. Through the window, Luc could hear Caleria's heartbeat.
Luc waited patiently. Today, he felt calmer than he had in a long time. Today, he would finally take the first real step upon the path he had charted. Soon, it would all end. The thought comforted him.
"Something the matter, Lord Luc?" Sarah asked. His companion paced the circumference of the pentagram, her hands clasped around a polished black staff topped with a crystal. She must have noticed the change of his expression. Straight-backed and elegant, the young woman looked like a perfect fit for the bishop's attendant's outfit she now wore. The long blue-white tunic and skirt gave her a dignified look that well suited her earnest beauty.
Luc smiled. "It's nothing." He fingered the bronze mask covering his eyes, scratching at the skin around the edges. He would have plenty of time to get used to the mask, he told himself. "I was just thinking, it all begins today."
Sarah made a valiant effort to smile. He could tell she really tried to look happy for him, and he felt a surge of affection for his companion. "I have… reservations," she said.
"You mean doubts." Sarah's lips twitched, but she didn't say anything. Luc nodded slowly. "I understand," he said.
There came a heavy pounding on the door. Sarah gave a start. "Is it…?" Luc did not answer, merely motioned for her to lift the latch. The door opened, and for a moment, a shaft of sunlight stabbed through the darkness of the warehouse floor, dust motes playing in the light. Then the man was inside, and slammed the door shut behind him.
Albert Silverberg had a satchel slung over his shoulder, and he carried a stack of papers wrapped in a leather folio. The yellowed papers looked ancient in the lantern's light. His eyes flicked over the silvered pentagram, and he nodded. "Good, good."
Sarah cast a worried glance at Luc before turning to Albert. "Are you certain this will work?"
Albert walked the perimeter of the pentagram, his brows knitted in concentration. "My grandfather's notes are very extensive, I assure you."
Luc pushed away from the window, sighing as he abandoned the draft coming through the boards for the stifling stillness of the warehouse. "Let's get on with it."
Albert set the notes down on a small table and shrugged out of his satchel. From it, he produced a variety of objects and laid them all out before him, illuminated in a pool of light from a lantern. Secreted away in the leather container, there were several fat candles of what Luc told himself had to be red wax. Then there were small glass bottles filled with bone white powders and gray and green dust. Other bottles held oils and viscous liquids. One even contained two floating white orbs that looked suspiciously like eyes.
Sarah gave Luc a long and troubled look. He understood. She put her faith in runes, and mistrusted this strange dark magic. To Luc, it was all the same. He watched in silence as Albert went about preparing the ritual, placing the candles in seemingly random places, while spreading the dust and strange liquids over other parts of the silvered lines. He worked apparently from memory, not once glancing at the stack of papers left on the table. Finally, Albert stood back from the pentagram and wiped his hands. The bottle with the floating orbs remained on the table.
"It's ready," he said. The words were spoken more out of habit than out of any real need. They all knew what would happen next. Albert snatched up the sheaf of yellowed pages and flipped to a specific page. He held it out before him, and after a moment of adjustment to the thin, cursive script upon the page, he began to intone a series of harsh syllables. Luc recognized them as Sindar words, though the meaning was lost on him.
As the chant filled the warehouse, the lanterns flickered unsteadily. An unnatural wind swept through the building's interior, and Luc felt a cold shiver. Sarah gasped at his side. He heard whispers on the wind—dark, unintelligible utterances on the edge of his hearing. Luc continued his chant, and the silvered pentagram began to glow crimson. The enigmatic red light crept up from the floor, stabbing towards the ceiling. Within the pentagram, the candles self-ignited, burning with a hungry orange light. The wind grew, whipping Albert's hair. In the air above the center of the pentagram, reality stirred, and a ripple spread. The air throbbed fitfully, and the fabric of the world tore and frayed. Albert continued his chant, and the tear burst at its seams. A sphere opened in the air, a breach into darkness. The breach grew in leaps and bounds, seeming to devour the air inside the warehouse. Darkness bled from it, stretching in tendrils away from the breach.
Suddenly, the breach closed with a sharp sigh. A man stood where the breach had been, naked as a newborn babe. Long, blond hair flowed down the man's body, hiding his eyes and covering his chest. He stretched out before them, and Luc saw that he was tall. He had a powerful, athletic body, though something about the way he moved as he worked loose the joints in his arms and legs looked wrong to Luc. Inhuman.
Luc felt the True Rune before he saw it. There, upon the back of the man's right hand, a crimson sigil glowed balefully. The rune seemed to pulse with its own life, causing Luc's own True Rune to respond. Luc had to suppress a sudden urge to unleash his rune.
"Who summons me?" the naked man rasped. His voice grated like nails upon chalk.
Albert stepped forward. "I, Albert Silverberg, summon you."
"Silverberg," the man said, sounding amused. "I know this name."
Albert held out the bottle with the floating orbs inside. "I bring you an offering. By this gift, and by speaking your name, I request you, Yuber, to enter into a pact with me."
The man named Yuber cocked his head. His eyes remained invisible beneath the thick hair. He grinned, his mouth a monstrous gash of sharp teeth, as he reached out to snatch the bottle from Albert's hand. Yuber shook the bottle as if testing it, rattling the orbs inside. "What would you have me do?" he asked, suspiciously.
"Our actions will disturb the natural order. They will cause chaos and death on a massive scale."
Yuber laughed. He tore the lid from the bottle and, in a single gulp, drained the liquid inside, swallowing the morbid orbs whole. Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, Yuber nodded. "The pact is sealed, Albert Silverberg." The otherworldly man clenched his fists, and a narrow gash appeared in the air. Crimson light bled from the tear, and liquid black metal poured from it. The metal solidified as it sheathed Yuber's body in armor, forming plates, joints, and gold chasing. A great horned helm grew around his head. Finally, Yuber held his open hands out, and twin swords manifested there, as if cast in a form.
Albert turned to Luc, nodding. "It's done."
Luc stared at the man, then turned to Sarah. "Take him to the Grasslands. You know what to do." For a long moment, he thought she would protest. Then Sarah bowed, and raised her staff. She motioned Yuber closer, her mouth twisting with thinly veiled disgust. Luc turned away, facing the window again. He felt the mountain wind stir his hair.
Suddenly, a bleak awareness burrowed under his skin, making him shiver. He knew now the price of walking the path he had chosen. He knew the sacrifices that had to be made. When he turned back, Sarah and Yuber had already vanished.
Only Albert remained.
The wind howled past Hugo's face as he hurtled through the air, clutching onto the gryphon's feathered back. His heart pounded, and his stomach fluttered with each dip and swerve of the creature beneath him. He pressed himself to Fubar's back, and with his hands around the gryphon's neck, he could peer down at the landscape below. He saw rolling hills and grassy fields fly by, a canvas of lush green and earthen browns dotted by acacia trees and buckthorn bushes. He saw the Grasslands, in all its feral beauty.
Screaming out his joy, Hugo squeezed his hands against Fubar's shoulders, commanding the beast to dive. The gryphon plummeted, and closed the distance to the ground in a matter of heartbeats. Hugo laughed in exhilaration. The feeling of plunging from the sky always had that effect on him.
At the last minute, Fubar pulled up, letting out a piercing cry. Hugo wiped tears of joy from his face with his fluttering sleeves. Ahead, he could see a gathering of dozens of pitched yurts, each one a discordant color standing out from the others and from the landscape itself. The tents of Karaya. The sight of his village put Hugo in a more somber mood. He knew his mother was expecting him back. With an inward sigh, he nudged Fubar in the direction of the tents.
As he drew closer, Hugo began to make out moving shapes among the tents. He could make out men and women and children, and as the village zoomed into view, he could make out individual faces of friends and family. Fubar flapped his powerful wings, aiming for the low hill at the back of the village. The setting sun warmed the horizon, nearly blinding Hugo as he drew closer. He raised a hand to shield his eyes from the glare, and nearly lost his grip. He yelped, leaning sharply to one side and seizing Fubar's feathers with his other hand. The gryphon shrieked in protest, and banked to one side to support Hugo.
Hugo grinned with relief. He pushed his body down against the beast's back and felt his heart beat as fast as a cheetah runs. The ground rushed up towards him. With a triumphant cry, Hugo released Fubar and leapt from his seat.
The sky spun around him as Hugo flipped head over heels. He pulled his knees in and rolled up into a ball, watching the ground. At the right moment, he straightened out. He hit the ground with a sharp jarring of his bones. He found himself wobbling in the loose dirt, looking down on the village from the top of the hill. His legs burned like fire, but he hadn't fallen. A dozen times he'd tried the same before, but he'd always fallen!
"Hugo!" a voice squawked from behind.
Hugo's triumphant cry died in his throat. He spun around. There, emerging over the crest of the hill, Sergeant Joe waddled into view. The duck warrior wore his painted leather armor, his beak peeking out beneath his padded helmet. As always, Joe's halberd rode on his back.
"Humans weren't meant to fly," Joe said, a shrewd look in his eyes.
Hugo laughed and ran to his friend, squeezing his feathered body in a warm embrace. "Did you see? Did you? I finally did it!"
Joe gave him a withering look, and shook his head. He glanced at Fubar. "That creature will be the death of you, one day." Fubar ignored the duck, and settled down to pluck at his breast feathers with his beak.
Hugo grinned, but then he remembered something. "Oh! I didn't think you'd be back before the water festival. What brings you around, Sergeant?"
Joe didn't answer the question. "Waddle with me, Hugo. We need to see Chief Lucia."
"Mom? What's wrong?"
Joe kept his eyes on the chieftain's big tent with its multicolored stripes as they descended the hill. "The Ironheads are calling for a truce."
Hugo's mouth gaped open. "Spirits! Mom wouldn't sign it, would she?"
"Why would you say that, lad?"
Hugo felt anger rising to his cheeks. "The ironheads just humiliated us on the battlefield! There's no honor in bowing and scraping for those cowards. We should strike back, show them we're strong."
Joe gave him a sideways glance. "You're still young, Hugo. Your mother has a responsibility towards your people. Sometimes, that responsibility means she can't think as a warrior does."
Hugo bit back a retort. He glared at the village as he walked. So many had returned with wounds from the great battle on the plains. Many others had not returned at all. They called it a great victory for the ironheads, but hadn't he heard that both the Captain and the Vice-Captain of the Knights had been slain in the battle? A truce! He felt hot inside at the thought.
They took their time making their way to the chieftain's tent. Many of the villagers recognized Sergeant Joe, and interrupted their business to greet and extend their courtesies to the visiting warrior. Hugo used the time to gather his thoughts, weighing the words he would speak to his mother.
Hugo ducked into the chieftain's tent one step ahead of Joe. They were greeted by a low table stacked with spit-roasted boar's meat, mutton stew, cornbread, pumpkin soup, and water melon. He had smelled the food from the outside. His mouth watered at the sight.
His mother was not alone in the tent. Beecham, the Karayan war leader, sat with crossed legs to one side, stroking his wild beard. At the back of the tent, Hugo was aware of the plump form of Luce, washing vegetables in a clay bowl. Her son, Lulu, fidgeted beside the table, licking his lips and staring hungrily at the food. His friend looked up when Hugo entered, and sprang to his feet. They grinned at each other and clasped arms, their warrior bangles rattling together.
"It's good to see you, Hugo. Were you flying?"
Hugo laughed, and they both sat down by the side of the tent, leaving room at the front. "You should've seen me. I finally did it—"
"Did what?" Chief Lucia interrupted. "Risked your life like a fool child?" Hugo's mother stood over them, staring thunderclouds at the two boys. She was a tall, statuesque woman with an athletic build and neck-length blonde hair. His friends told him she looked young, despite being in her late thirties. Behind his back, he knew they called her beautiful, but never to his face. Her voice was calm now, but he knew that was a lie. Hugo swallowed, and hung his head. Lulu laughed under his breath, hiding his smile with his hand. Hugo was about to say something, but his mother turned smoothly to Sergeant Joe, clasping his hands respectfully. "Welcome, my friend. Please join in our humble meal."
Sergeant Joe unclasped his helmet, bowing his head at the Karayan chief before graciously accepting the invitation. He sat down beside Bechaam, and the two warriors clasped arms before engaging in small talk. There could be no serious talk about the business at hand before dinner was concluded, no matter how urgent the matter. Hugo followed idly in their conversation, distracted by the dark looks his mother shot him as she walked smoothly around the table to take her seat. With a clap of her hands, she called her guests to dinner, and they all dug in.
Hugo suckled on a chunk of boar's meat, sulking. His mother still treated him like a child. So what if flying was dangerous? A warrior's pride was his courage. Would she keep him from the fight, too? Hugo glanced at his mother, but she was talking to Luce, and did not notice. He decided he'd better curry some favor. "You look stunning today, mother," Hugo said, trying his most winning smile. She was easier to deal with when she was happy.
Lucia snorted. "Trying to distract me with flattery? It won't work." Even so, he caught her casually stroking her fingers through her hair, and he thought he saw a small smile flicker on her lips.
After dinner, the clay pots and platters were cleared from the table, and Lucia sat down in earnest for a council of warriors. Hugo shifted in his position, eagerly awaiting his mother's words.
"The Zexen Confederacy has asked for a truce," his mother said. Hugo almost burst right there, but he held his tongue, waiting for her to go on. "I've conferred with the Council of Elders, and our decision is unanimous. A peace conference will be held on the Amur Plains. We will meet with the Zexen representatives there, and negotiate the truce agreement."
"This is crazy!" Hugo blurted out. He shot to his feet, fists quivering with anger. "Mother, how can you do this? The ironheads-" Hugo lost his words, painfully aware of everyone's eyes on him. His mother stared daggers at him. He recognized that look. He felt his cheeks color, and he sat back down, crossing his legs under him. "Forgive me," he said, bowing his head. "But..."
"You would question the wisdom of the Council?" Lucia asked. Her face might as well have been carved from stone, but Hugo could sense the storm of emotion raging underneath her mask. He bowed his head again.
"Forgive me, but to make peace now… It will make us look weak! What good is a peace treaty, if the ironheads don't fear our warriors?"
Beecham grunted, picking at his teeth with a slender knife. He eyes had gone cold. "Careful, boy. Don't imply too much."
Hugo swallowed. Beecham had seen some of the worst fighting in the recent battles, and the war leader's many scars were on prominent display on his naked arms. He hung his head in apology. "I meant no disrespect. No one would question your courage." Beecham nodded, appeased by his words.
Lulu clasped Hugo's shoulder. "I agree with Hugo. We're not afraid to fight the ironheads, Chief Lucia. Give us a chance to show off our courage." Hugo glanced back and smiled at Lulu, grateful for his friend's support.
"Lu!" Luce snapped. Lulu's mother towered over him, snatching up his ear and tugging at it ferociously, making Lulu wince and whine. "You hold your tongue, foolish boy! You want to get yourself killed?"
Hugo's heart sank. "Mother, please. You know the ironheads can't be trusted. This truce is just another trick of theirs. Our warriors are strong. The Zexens have lost their Captain of the Knights. Why should we make peace when our enemies are vulnerable?"
Lucia crossed her arms and leaned back. "You're young, my son. I was once like you. One day, you will understand why the Clans are ruled by the Council of Elders, and not by its warriors." Beecham nodded in agreement, as did Luce. Hugo glanced at Joe, but if the Sergeant noticed him looking, he gave no reaction. "However," Lucia said, "The Council has an important mission for two young warriors." Hugo's ears pricked up at this, and he glanced at Lulu. The boy, still being manhandled by his mother, grinned back at him, just as excited. Finally! They would be warriors in truth, and not just in name.
Hugo rose to his knees, making a fist against his chest in salute of his chieftain. "Anything, my chief. Where will you send us? A scouting mission to the enemy camp? A night time raid?"
Lucia sighed with theatrical exaggeration. She reached behind her to pull out a rolled-up piece of vellum. "Nothing of the sort," she said, and held out the vellum scroll to Hugo. Gingerly he took it.
"What's this?"
"We need someone to deliver a message to the Zexen Council. In Vinay del Zexay."
Hugo gaped at her. He handled the scroll in his hand as if it were a poisonous snake. "No. I won't."
Beecham rose to his full length, towering over Hugo. "When your chief speaks, boy, you obey."
Lucia nodded thoughtfully. "I've spoiled you, Hugo. You want to be a warrior? It's time you learn responsibility." Luce was nodding along with the chief's words. Lulu, for his part, had just as stricken a look on his face as Hugo did.
"But..."
Sergeant Joe rose from his lazy lounging position. "Chief Lucia has asked me to accompany the two of you to Vinay del Zexay. It's no place for children to go unescorted."
Hugo stared up at the duck clan warrior. He felt utterly betrayed. "Not you too, Joe!"
Lucia clapped her hands together forcefully. "Well! Now that that's settled." She looked around the tent as if peering for something. "Let's have dessert!"
Screaming seagulls wheeled over the steep-roofed houses surrounding Confederation Square, the cobblestone paved heart of Vinay del Zexay. Forge hammers rang out from workshops along the square and from side streets. Hawkers called out fruits, vegetables, and other wares from their stalls. The breeze carried scents from the harbor, the smell of seawater and pitch, of fresh-caught herring and haddock. To Chris Lightfellow, Acting Captain of the Knights of Zexen, it smelled of commerce, and of enterprise. She crossed the busy square in determined strides, slowing her step now and then to let the crowds part around her, and to take in the sights and smells of the city. She acknowledged the salutes of patrolling soldiers with curt nods, and answered the greetings of merchants, apprentices, and strolling ladies with pleasant but noncommittal smiles.
She had grown accustomed to being recognized on the streets of the capital. Even without the ceremonial armor of the Captain of the Knights, and the sword that hung at her side, she suspected that her distinctive silver hair would be enough to give her away. She got little rest these days. Barely had they returned from the disastrous engagement with the barbarians that had cost the lives of Sir Galahad and Sir Pelize, when the Council had called for a victory parade of all things. Chris felt a deep and abiding exhaustion in her every bone as she walked up the steps to Council Hall, where her squire, Louis, waited for her.
"Good day, madam," Louis said, bowing at the waist. "The Council is prepared to receive you," he said, gesturing into the building.
"Thank you, Louis," Chris said. Goddess, but she felt weary. The mother of all headaches tried to knock a hole through her head. She followed Louis through the Council Hall's foyer and up the stairs, where the grand doors to the Council's chamber were opened for her by liveried attendants.
Louis cleared his throat. "Shall I take your sword, madam?"
Chris hesitated. She had almost forgotten. With a frown, she unclasped the scabbard from her belt, and handed the sword to Louis. "So much for knightly rights," she murmured, stepping inside the chamber.
An orange carpet fringed with gold ran across the threshold and crossed the chamber before her, where a polished, eight-sided table claimed most of the room. Bookshelves lined the walls, each home to hundreds of leather-bound volumes, all of which looked as if they hadn't been touched for years. Four councilors were seated in high-backed chairs around the table. Their eyes were fixed on her. Chris walked up to the table and laid her fist over her chest in salute. "Sirs. You called for me?"
Head Councilor Rean motioned impatiently at the chair across from him. "Thank you for coming on such short notice, madam. Please, have a seat."
Chris bowed her head, and took her seat. The chair felt oversize, and set too far away from the table. It made Chris distinctly uncomfortable, as if she were put on display. Fighting down her anxiety, Chris folded her hands in her lap and closed her eyes in prayer. "I thank the Goddess for allowing us the chance to meet here today." She heard the voices of the four councilors repeat the benediction. Then she opened her eyes, and looked straight at Councilor Rean.
The Head Councilor Rean was the first to speak. "We appreciate your attendance here today, Captain. We understand you must be tired after the parade."
Chris forced a smile. In all honesty, she couldn't have refused the council's 'request' even if she had wanted to. Her heart beat faster. When the council called without forewarning, it meant important business. Now that she found herself in their presence, Chris's heart beat faster.
Rean coughed, then smiled broadly. "Thanks to our Silver Maiden, and the mighty Knights of Zexen, we have taught the barbarians a lesson in humility. A lesson they shall not soon forget. It goes without saying that this great victory calls for celebration. Your role in the parade was more than splendid."
"Thank you, Head Councilor," Chris said, a sour feeling in her stomach. Great victory? It hadn't felt that way on the battlefield. She felt a growing anxiety. She could sense the man angling for something. The eyes of the other three councilors were boring into her skull, as if searching for a weak spot. She felt they expected her to say something. "We knights have fought to protect the people of Zexen. I am glad the war is finally over."
"Indeed," rasped councilor Lekshan, the fat man seated to the left of Rean. "The barbarians are stumbling over their own feet to sign the truce." He chortled gleefully. The sound reminded Chris of a pig. "Preparations are almost complete for the true celebration of our victory."
"The clans are in concord already?" Chris asked, surprised. Had things progressed so quickly? Despite her exhaustion, she dared to hope. Could peace between Zexen and the Clans finally be on the horizon?
Lekshan's blubbery chins heaved as he nodded enthusiastically. "Already, Chisha and the reptile filth of the Saraak have sent envoys to sue for peace. We expect the Karayan messenger shall arrive at our door step any day now. The peace conference will take place in four days, on the Amur Plains."
"What about the remaining clans?"
Councilor Haman, a shriveled old man with a prodigious mustache, was the one who replied. "All that matters are the Karaya and the Saraak. Though the warriors clans seem to hold a strange reverence for the Chisha, inconsequential as they are."
Chris held her tongue. To an extent, she had to agree with Councilor Haman's logic. During the war, the warriors of the Saarak and the Karaya had done the bulk of the fighting. With a few notable exceptions, the other clans had remained in the background. "If I may ask," she said, "What need does the Council have of me?"
Councilor Rean's smile was pure honey. "Madam, as our 'Silver Maiden' of victory, we need you to oversee the signing of the armistice. In fact, without your presence, the Clans would hardly negotiate. The Elders have come to respect you as an adversary."
Chris frowned in confusion. "Sirs? You are sending me? If the Clans send their Elders, should not the Council take part in the negotiations?"
Meaningful looks passed between the councilors before Rean cleared his throat. "It wouldn't look good if we were to send the Council merely to sign a truce with barbarians. The Clans would take it as a sign of weakness. It would embolden them."
Chris hesitated. She looked around at the councilors, but they wouldn't meet her eyes. Slowly, realization sank into her bones like cold water. The Council didn't trust the barbarians. They were sending her, in case something went wrong. Like a lamb to the slaughter. Chris felt bile rise to her throat. Acting Captain or not, she could hardly refuse the Council's request. "Of course," she managed. "All I ask is that before I will leave for the peace conference, I be allowed to tend to the funerals of our fallen. Captain Galahad and Vice-Captain Pelize have yet to be buried properly."
The councilors went quiet for a moment. Rean hesitated, but he did not even look to his peers to confer before speaking. "That won't be possible. To hold the funerals now would remind the populace of our losses. It would weaken our position in relation to the barbarians. You must wait for a better time."
Chris leaned forward in her seat, almost rising out of her seat. "But sir! I must object. How can we celebrate our 'great victory' without acknowledging those who-"
Rean held up a hand to silence her. "That's quite enough, madam. This has been decided. You will leave first thing tomorrow."
"With all due respect, sirs-"
"Really madam," Lekshan cut in, "This is a bit much." He patted his bulging belly as he chortled. "Perhaps our Acting Captain wishes to hold the state funeral quickly in order to solidify her claim for the title of Captain of the Knights?"
All the pain and frustration of the past weeks came rushing at her suddenly. Chris stood from her seat and slammed her palms against the hardwood table. "Nonsense! How dare you?" She saw the councilors flinch, and instantly knew that she'd made a mistake. She tried to master her anger. Swallowing, she smoothed her features, masking her emotions as Sir Galahad had taught her to do.
Finally, Rean cleared his throat. "That will be all, madam. You are excused."
Chris nodded curtly. She closed her eyes. "Let us thank the Goddess for allowing us the chance to meet here today." It took all her strength to gather those words, to speak them calmly, without spite. The councilors seemed shocked. When they finally repeated her benediction, several long moments had passed. Chris turned on her heel and strode from the chamber. Wordlessly, she accepted her sword from a worry-faced Louis and strapped the scabbard to her belt. Though she retreated from the Council Hall in defeat, at least she would have her one night of rest.
"Tea," she murmured.
Louis frowned. "Sorry, madam?"
"When we reach the manor, would you please prepare some tea?"
Louis bowed his head. "Of course, madam."
Head Councilor Rean slumped in his seat, rubbing at his brow. He looked at the others, and tapped his fingers on the ominous letter laid out on the table before them. "This war has forged us a fine hero," he mused.
"Indeed," Lekshan said, shifting his prodigious girth in his chair. The throne-like seat seemed undersized beneath the fat man. "But the only heroes that last are those that die in glorious battle."
Rean smiled and nodded. On this, they could all agree.
Author's Notes: Please type a brief review below and tell me what you thought of the chapter! I'd love to hear from you.