"And even when the sky is black with arrows,

Or battle wounds exterminate our might,

Surrender not, my eight courageous brothers,

Be fortified through this oppressed night."

-The Great Warrior-Poet, Horace, 'Letter to the Men who Stand Guard', Stanza 3

Horace, by his own admission, was somewhat of a bleeding heart when it came to his outlook on the world.

He never truly showed emotion, not to anyone, and those who had met him in person never thought he dripped of weakness. Quite the contrary, he showed nothing to nobody, and it kept people on their toes around him. But wherever he went, the old badger couldn't help but notice that he was missing eight brothers in arms, and his king, his dear friend who had been clearly taken by… something. Madness, illness, hell, maybe even rot he supposed occasionally. Trying to talk to him about it only furthered the divide between himself and his old friend, and when he had been banished from Provins Royale and lost his knighthood, it only served to rob his hope of ever mending the relationship. After defending him in a small stone keep with only eight others, nearly dying for him, it hurt him in a way that was worse than any physical pain.

It made him deeply and truly... alone.

At the very least he had company for the day, he supposed as he scrambled for a reason to erase these thoughts from his head. It was, as usual, some baroness who didn't want king's guards around to report anything to the king (which means, as usual, she was most likely having an affair). It didn't matter to the badger, however. Some gold was enough to keep his lips shut, no matter how much others offered for a paltry bit of gossip. He liked to suppose he still had some loyalty, even if it was only to customers.

"Uhm… Sir Horace, must I continue wearing this hood? It's making my fur out of place… not exactly the best look for my... special guest at our destination" the skittish baroness stammered out.

Definitely an affair.

"You may do as you wish, my lady. But I'd advise against it. You could be spotted, which I understand is against your wishes. Also, you need not call me sir, madam. I'm just Horace now."

"O-oh… okay…" The rather prissy and done up lynx baroness moved her hood only for a moment, fixing the fur on her head, before quickly putting her hood up and hiding her face from a cold gust of wind. "Must you carry that axe through the snow like this? I'd imagine it gets heavy on your shoulders, especially on that armor"

"The armor isn't too much for my shoulders, Ma'am. The weight of it is resting on most of my body, not just my shoulders, so it actually feels fairly light. As for the axe, I've had it ever since I was sixteen. I've actually grown fairly comfortable with it's weight" he explained, still pressing forward and not looking her in the eye.

"Okay… I just don't want to be cruel to you is all."

"Rest assured, madam, you're not cruel to me at all. Even if you were, your protection is my primary concern, I promise you" he said genuinely, but still keeping a professional air and a straight face.

It wasn't that he disliked his client, not by any stretch. She was actually much friendlier than his other clients, and he actually felt that she was a fairly kind soul. He just preferred to remain mysterious. It kept the clients at a distance, which didn't give them any leverage to use for free favors, and it kept him knowing as little about his clients as possible, just in case interrogations were to happen.

"Well… you can at least talk to me, knight" she suggested. "It'd make the hike go faster, at least."

Chatty, the old badger noticed. "Why, I suppose you are paying me. What would you like to talk about?" he asked, trying to be a bit warmer.

The baroness couldn't help but sigh, clearly exasperated and deeply nervous about something. "Something, anything to get my mind off of this journey, or my father, or my future, or anything!" she exclaimed, flying off the handle a bit before reserving herself to calmness with a deep breath. "I… I'm sorry, Horace, we can just keep walking."

"... Very well, madam" Horace simply replied, keeping his nose out of her business despite how his heart hurt him to not comfort the clearly nervous and sad young girl. "From my understanding, our destination is only three hours away. If that means anything, madam."

No response came from the young lynx, besides a more closed stance and an even more somber expression.

There was no helping it, Horace supposed. He couldn't afford to dig into the personal lives of all his customers. There'd simply be too much of a compromise in security, and clearly, though she begged for comfort, she needed protection the most.

After walking for several minutes in silence, it seemed like Horace would need to act on his promises to keep her safe. In the distance, he heard something. A single set of footsteps, and some snapping branches and crunching in the snow. Very fast, running for sure. Nothing to call for certain, but enough to make him concerned. "Madam, go into the bushes by the roadside. Wait there until I give an all clear. Understood?"

"W-wha? Okay, Okay!" she said, panicking and quickly ducking into the shrubbery by the roadside as Horace grabbed his axe off of his back and widened his stance, presenting the axe in front of him as he readied himself for a fight silently.

Heavy breathing started to make itself clearer now as the noise grew louder and nearer. Horace raised his axe ready, shifting his feet to prepare himself for a zornhau strike. One cut could end this whole ordeal and send whatever highwayman to a rightly end, provided he played his cards right.

Suddenly, out of the woods to his right, something, or rather, someone fell flat on his face directly into the snow. Horace quickly shifted his stance and brought his axe in a lower guard, not wanting to dig his axe into the ground and expose his back.

One quick squeal of fear from the cheetah on the ground revealed that this certainly wouldn't be an issue.

"Please! Please, Sir Knight, don't kill me! I'm simply a parcel boy looking to deliver you a message! Mercy, please!"

"Parcel boy, hm? Why are you going through the woods?"

"Be-because I knew of a sh-shortcut, sir, and I have a message most urgent for you! From his majesty, King of Armello!"

Horace, taken aback, relaxed his face and grip for a moment, reflecting on the possibility of the King having finally gotten back to him. He decided it wasn't possible, it had to be a ruse of some highwayman who knew who he was for some reason. "The King? I don't believe it for one second!"

"N-no, sir! It's true! H-here! I have it here!" he said, quickly getting out the letter, breaking the royal wax seal on it, and showing it to Horace while still groveling on his knees.

It was unmistakably the king's handwriting. That was the first thing Horace noticed as he slowly placed his axe on his back again before snatching the letter from the young courier's hand. "Where did you get this from, boy?"

"The king himself, sir! He said to find one Horace, the 9th Knight."

"You must have the wrong man" he said, trying to hand the letter back and be rid of this suspicious character.

"I assure you, sir, I have the right man. The King told me to look for a badger about your height, wielding an axe and wearing a white tabard with a red stripe over black gambeson."

Horace couldn't help but be puzzled as he looked over himself. The description was spot on, of course. "How did he know I'd be wearing-"

"He told me to tell you one more thing, sir. 'Be fortified through this oppressed night'."

The Letter to the Men who Stand Guard. Horace knew those words, and he knew that the king knew those words, too. Words he shared with the Nine Knights and the King himself when he was but a humble prince many years ago. Words that strengthened ten noble men defending a castle from a sea of traitors. Words that set the young prince on a path to the throne, back when he was a noble and generous young man…

"... I can't believe it… What are the circumstances of him sending this letter?"

"I was told not to read it, sir. Apparently 'tis for your eyes only" the young cheetah said, getting up.

Immediately, Horace started to read through the paper thoroughly, excited at finally hearing from his old friend after a long 15 years.

'To my brother in arms Horace,

I understand wee have ben distant lately but i would like to seee you soon. I seee the light coming, i feel the rot taking me and it is time for mee to go soon, soon, very soon, yess. Let me dye in pees, i am in a den of snakes and nobody will leeve me alone Return to me and become a night again, bee with me in my final days pleese. I pardon yoo for any crimes yoo have comited Come to province royale immeeediately

Until wee meet again,

His royal hyness, King Augustus II of Armello'

Horace froze. Something clearly was off about this letter. "I'm sorry, who wrote this, some child? Is this some kind of sick joke?" He said, clearly taken aback.

"No joke, sir."

"Then what is with this? Why all the spelling errors? Why all the jumbled mess of nonsensical thoughts? He went to Stratonfell University, for wyld's sake." Horace pushed out, starting to grow more worried.

"All of his writings have been that way as of late. The King hasn't been himself. Look, sir-" the Cheetah piped up before checking behind his shoulder, as if to make sure he wasn't being watched. "I'm not supposed to say this out loud. But… as of late, the king has been infected with the rot… He's been far from himself. It's painful to watch him every day as he grows more mad and cruel, but it's worse to see his royal court trying to tear bits of his throne away from him… He doesn't have an heir, as I'm sure you know what happened to his only wife, and he doesn't have a favorite lined up. But, it is my understanding that he'd rather be surrounded by friends than enemies in his final days."

The old badger looked at the boy somberly, than back to the letter. Perusing it over once more, he couldn't help but feel something stirring inside his chest.

He was right all along, and that was the worst part. His best friend was going to die long before his time, and his memory would forever be tainted by his actions while infected with the rot. The temperature behind his eyes rose, his lips quivered a bit, and a shot of dull pain shot from his chest to his fingertips and tail as his ears flattened against his head.

He was losing a friend in a slow, painful, and degrading fashion. It was no death fit for the great Augustus II, who brought peace to Armello. "...So my old friend has genuinely wrote this? He's on his deathbed, stricken low by rot? His kindred spirit's growing weak and listless, and now he's to accept his barren lot?"

"From what I know, these things are so" said the low laden courier to the badger. "I'm afraid I must be off now. The king has sent other couriers to the remaining three knights. However, no word has been heard back. I fear they remain not…"

One flash of heat in the badger's head on this news made him crack his facade, forcing him to quickly turn away from the cheetah and cover his face. Wiping the tears from his eyes in secret, he covered his mouth and regained his breath and professionalism as best as he possibly could with the bad news he had heard. Taking a deep breath and clenching his paws, he tried to speak. "Tell… Tell his majesty I'll be there as soon as I can…"

"Very well, sir" the courier said, turning to make his way home. "One last thing, master Horace. The king wishes his rot to remain a secret. You musn't tell a soul."

With a quick sniffle, Horace hastily responded. "Yes! Yes, of course. I understand… please, take your leave."

"Yes sir. I pray you have a safe journey. And may Wyld save the king." With an about face, the courier was off, jogging at a good pace through the snow to his next destination, wherever that lay. But Horace… he took another moment to gain his composure as the lynx hiding in the bushes slowly came out.

"... Horace?"

"... Yes, my lady?"

"... Are you alright? I understand the news must feel very grim… I'm sorry to hear what happened."

"T'is… t'is not an issue, Madam. We still have a journey to finish before I attend to my other business. Come along, now" he said with a monotone voice, deliberately devoid of emotion.

The rest of the journey was uneventful. The news Horace had heard still burned in the back of his mind and put pressure behind his eyes.

Part of him felt like openly weeping over the loss of Augustus. But he knew this wasn't the way of a knight. He'd release his emotion as he always had. Through poetry. But that was for another night, in another bar, nursing another cup of ale.

The two had finally arrived at Cresten Village after three hours, just as Horace had promised. Noon fell upon the small town by the time they had entered the small village. From what Horace had been told, it was here that the baroness was to meet her contact.

"Well, madam, we've arrived. Would you like escort to your contact?" he asked in a reserved and polite tone, still not fully over the earlier events of the day.

"N-no, knight, I'll be fine. Prince Norman should be close by."

Prince Norman? Prince of Tjadenburg? What business had she with the prince of a wealthy trade city-state?

Horace shrugged it off, and simply pretended he knew not who this prince was.

"Very well, my lady. Seeing as my services are no longer required, and you paid me up-front, I shall take my leave" he said, getting on a knee and bowing. "It was a pleasure protecting you, Madam."

The lynx smiled and grabbed at her coat a bit before pulling him up and wrapping her arms around him. "Thank you so much… For getting me away from that horrid marriage my father had arranged… I'll never forget you, Knight…"

Horace couldn't help but let his lips curl up into a smile as he heard that, knowing he'd made the life of a young girl a little better. "It was a pleasure, as I said… Now go on. Pursue happiness, young lady."

Slowly, the lynx unwrapped her arms from around him and handed him another coin. "Take this. As a token of my gratitude. May life fare you well, Horace. You'll always be a true knight to me."

With a nod, the young lynx turned and sprinted happily around the corner, probably to a meeting place with her prince charming. Horace smiled for a moment, craning his neck and looking around for the nearest bar and tavern.

He enjoyed the comfort of knowing that his work (which was technically backed by the bandit clan) didn't always go into the morally grey areas. At times, when his job allowed him to do things that were clearly good for others, he would jump at the opportunity. For today, he was just glad that, though the news of the morning had been terrible, he was able to make the whole life of just one other person infinitely better. At least, that's what he told himself on his way to the bar just down the road, where he decided he'd have a smidge of ale to clear his mind on the news he had received.

Opening the door to the darkened and quiet alehouse in the small village, Horace slowly took note of how few people were in the place. It was noon, and the town didn't seem to be large enough to have drunkards to fill the place to the walls before nightfall, but it still felt odd to know that the only other animals here were the rat sipping brandy at a corner table and the badger barmaiden working the liquor stand.

"'Ello, there, love" the young badger behind the counter cried out in her youthful voice, sultry enough to make it obvious she was begging for extra tips.

"Evening, Madam" he replied politely, taking his seat at one of the wooden stools with a gold piece in hand.

"Lookin' for a pint, is ya? I've got'a lovely collection for ya back here" she said, turning around as she bent over for an ale, flaunting her tail in a rather flashy fashion. "It's not often I see another handsome badga' like you 'round here. What brings you here, love?"

"Business. I'm not here to admire the view" he said, a bit annoyed with her rather sad attempt at flirting, especially considering the letter he had received.

"Hm, royal business, by the looks of that letta'. I always liked a man of status" she rolled off her tongue, hoping to do god knew what.

Horace, trying to have a serious drink and write a proper poem to blow off steam, decided to get her off of his back right away. "Madam, my best friend since I was 15 is dying in a slow, degrading, and painful way, and so I have come to this establishment to have a pint and write a proper sendoff for him. May I very kindly have an ale and some privacy?"

The female, taken aback by the sudden, turned around and grabbed the ale he asked for with a rather regretful look. "Uh… 'alf a piece, sir."

"Thank you" Horace said, sliding the gold to her and pulling out a parchment and feather pen from his bag. "I apologize for the irritation."

"... no mind, sir" she said, choosing to recover from the awkward situation by hastily returning to her work as Horace set about his art.

So many questions ran through his mind as he stared at the blank page and had a sip of his ale. Prose or Poetry? Poetry, the feelings of his weren't raw or base. They could only be truly described with great care. A petrarchan sonnet would force him to choose his words carefully, and get his feelings across much better. But what was he feeling, exactly? Sadness was a good start, for certain. For what he knew, he was the last of his battle brothers in the order of the rose to be alive. And his one friend, the one he had hoped he could reconnect with, was soon to be claimed with a horrid disease. Was it really just sadness? No… it was something far more profound and persistent. If he were to be honest with himself, he had been feeling this way for many, many years. Ever since his removal from the order… ever since the first of his brothers fell. It was a dread to wake up in the morning. One that made him question his reason for being alive.

Tortured did some good to describe it. Forced by his once greatest friend to live a meaningless life, being robbed of friends and purpose. He wasn't angry with King Augustus though… he felt sorry for him…

Lost… that was what described him. Adrift, like a leaf in the wind, sat he in a world which chipped at him day by day. Robbed first of his nobility, then of his purpose… then of his family… Lost and empty and doubtful that there was a reason for his existence.

How much am I to lose afore my end

Must I be robbed of my humanity?

Hath god no measure for humility?

Or is it time that will these wounds amend?

To mine own self, I must my statement send.

Is this my charge, to lose nobility?

Or is this for a purpose beyond me?

That I must lose my great and noble friend...

Horace laid the pen down a moment, and stopped to examine his work after a sip. Taking another pause for thought, he tried to remember the rest of how the petrarchan sonnet went. What was the rhyme scheme, he thought to himself, digging to remember. 'Cdce? No, no, that wasn't it. Cdecde? That seems to ring a-'

The badger's thoughts were soon interrupted by a charge of king's guards kicking open the door and fumbling with their halberds to get into the small room, before finally giving up and switching to arming swords as they finally managed to storm the place.

Horace simply watched from his barstool with an apathetic air. Amateurs, he thought, trying to go into a small tudor house with 12 foot long halberds. Clearly, that was something they needed to work on.

But it was no matter. They were most likely here for the rat anyway. He had received a royal pardon, after all.

"You there! You are under arrest for possession of secret royal documents and the provisions of private security to customers not authorized by the royal guards!"

Horace turned to look behind him, but noticed that the rat was gone. Turning back to look at the guards, he noticed the rat was actually standing outside the doorway, grinning and receiving a small purse of gold from the constable for his so called find.

No matter, Horace supposed. Must have been for the barmaiden.

"You, madam! Get behind us! This badger is a dangerous criminal who is not to be trusted!" One of the guards cried out, getting in a low fighting stance.

Never mind, Horace thought to himself as he slowly set his quill down, laying his axe against the barstool and turning with his hands up to face the guards as the bar lady ran into the protection of the retrievers bearing arms against the badger. Breathing in and out calmly, he took off his helmet and laid it at his side. "Gentlemen. I shall not bear arms against my own. I submit to arrest, but I implore you to look at this letter from the King himself. He has granted me a royal pardon to visit him in his final days."

"Final days? How dare you question the king's health and break the law! Out here with you, knave!" one of the guards said, rushing behind Horace and kicking him onto the ground, pressing his head into the floor. "Ready the rope!"

"Yes, sir" another one of the retrievers said, readying a length and tying the badger's hands together. "You should know it's a crime to speak of King Augustus's health in such a demeaning manner. T'is also a crime for anyone not of noble birth to posses any document containing the official seal of his Majesty, King Augustus II, ordained by the Wyld!"

"I am of noble birth! I am a knight from the service of Lord Jacque-L'ecu, Lord of Nevelsbad, later recruited by King Augustus himself as the Ninth Knight of the Order of the Rose!"

"Quiet with you, Mercenary-"

"Halt!" one of the more senior guards barked out, making the two juniors freeze and cease their restraining. "You, badger. Are you the great Horace of Nevelsbad, defender of the king during the Blackpaw Plot?"

Horace, a bit overwhelmed by the multiple changes of tide in the past minute paused for a moment, lifting his cheek off the floor a moment to look at the guard. "That would by my title, noble guard" he said simply.

With a brief pause, for breath, the senior guard, clad with dark steel armor and golden gilding, removed his helmet and placed it under his arm, unsheathing a dagger with his other hand. "I am terribly embarrassed. Release him, you two simpletons! You know not who you restrain!" h said, shooing the two younger guards away from the badger and cutting what little rope they had put on his wrists. "Any badger who defends our great king from hordes ten cohorts deep with but nine men and three ballistas is a badger I owe a great debt to, personally" he said as he placed his dagger back at his side, offering a hand to help Horace up.

Horace, greatly confused now, nodded his head and accepted the hand, gripping to it tightly as it pulled him back onto his feet. "T'was little more than my job, great commander. I would die for his majesty's safety."

"As would I, tenfold" the commander replied. "Gentlemen! Pay attention to everything this badger says! As far as King's Guards go, this badger is our founder and crowning achievement. I trust you all remember his story" the guard said, almost menacing as he glared intensely into the eyes of each of his troops. "I apologize for the actions of my subordinates. It will not happen again, I assure you."

"Apology accepted, good knight" Horace replied with a nod of the head.

"Now… with that out of the way, allow me to take the time to explain the charges levied against you. As much as I admire you, I must read these charges to you in full and allow you to dispute them. The charges levied against you by His Majesty, King Augustus II of Armello and his crown are as follows: As of the 18th of August, in the year of the Wyld 1270, Horace of Nevelsbad has been charged by the crown and found guilty of slander against our King, Augustus II of Armello, and as such, has lost the title of Ninth Knight of the Order of the Rose and is banished from Provins Royale. As of the 24th of November, in the year of the Wyld 1282, Horace of Nevelsbad has been charged by the crown of providing private security to customers not hitherto ordained worthy of private protection by the King's Guard directly, in direct defiance of the law created on the 23rd of November, 1282. As of the 30th of November, 1282 this day, Horace of Nevelsbad has been charged with being in possession of documents bearing the royal seal of His Majesty, King Augustus the II of Armello without being a part of his royal court, in direct defiance of the law created on the 29th of November 1282. What say you to these charges, Horace of Nevelsbad?"

Horace couldn't help but stand shocked at how often the King seemed to be creating arbitrary and downright paranoid laws and regulations. A small pain in his chest grew as he realized that his must had been the rot taking him over. Nevertheless… "I plead guilty to all of these charges, Sir Knight. However, I do believe there are extenuating circumstances"

"As I had thought as well, noble knight. State your circumstances" the Guard replied, almost begging them to be good enough. "I wish nothing more than to see you set free, great and noble Knight."

"My Lord, I was a virile man of twenty when did the health of King Augustus wane, and when to question voice'd my trepidations, I was removed and for my life ashamed. So well have I obeyed my unjust sentence that since that day the great Provins Royale has never seen a shadow of my presence nor had I planned to make it so it shall. As for the laws of later which I've broken, both laws were made in but a half a month. These laws to me were not so much as spoken until you came to me and made it such. If this be not enough to sway my jury, this evidence shall make mine own case hardened. If you peruse this letter very wisely, you'll find it in Augustus' Royal Pardon."

Horace presented the letter to the guard, containing the official seal of the king. As the guard looked over it carefully, he seemed to recognize in it the king's handwriting, as Horace had as well. "It seems to me that he is free, and back to noble status!" He exclaimed with a cheerful attitude, grasping Horace's paw in his own and shaking it proudly. "The old guard has been awaiting this day for so long, noble knight."

The old badger smiled warmly, shaking back as the rest of the guards sheathed their arming swords and relaxed their stances. "As have I, shield brother. But alas, the king has called me back to Provins Royale. I fear it's grim… I still consider him my brother, you understand."

"I understand you had a special connection to the king" the guard said, signaling to his juniors to leave the building as he put a hand on Horace's shoulder, walking him out. "I have read many accounts on your early journeys together, uniting all the clans to peace under one banner. I can only imagine being a young man of sixteen and meeting such a refined prince."

"He was a magnificent sight indeed when first I saw him. His swordsmanship was as close to perfection as a living being could get. So good was he with a longsword that, when fighting the Mujadani invaders to our south to secure peace with my first lord, I witnessed firsthand as he fended off ten men wielding nothing but an arming sword and his buckler" Horace said, recalling the older days with nostalgia. "It was an honor, then, when he called me to his side after seeing my skill with an axe."

"Come, then, Horace. I'm sure his majesty has plenty of reminiscing he'd like to do with you in person" the old retriever replied. "I shall send to your aid two of my finest guards to escort you. I trust you know how to get to the Provins from here?"

"I suppose I can read a map well enough. I have one in my pack" he replied, sliding a scroll out of the sack he carried on his back and unfurling it. "If we're in the town of Pradenburg, Pradenburg is just inside Wolf Clan territory, which is to the North of Provins, meaning we need to head south, first stopping at the town of Manshire."

"Very well. Tucker, Klossner! Proceed to the storehouses and pack provisions enough for a one week journey to Manshire. You'll be his escort."

The two younger knights raised their visors and snapped to attention. "Yes, sir!" they replied in unison before breaking rank to head for the storehouse as they were told.

The commander then turned back to Horace. "As for you, I'd like to formally invite you to the town's keep for a private dinner. It would be an honor to host you, noble Horace."

Horace was normally a humble badger in his own mind. But he had to admit… a feast was something he could use greatly given the day's events….