King Albert stood over a long table displaying a sizeable map of Serdio that was dotted with green and purple marks. He had always thought it rather silly that the Imperial Sandora should have chosen purple as its color, but it made no real difference. The map would have looked the same regardless of the colors used: haphazard and dangerous.
He was unsure of how to handle the current situation. Sandora had finally struck them swiftly and hard in the Battle of Hoax, and although they had not lost the territory, they had lost a great number of knights. When the completed list of casualties had returned from the fortified city, Albert had almost been brought to tears. He'd commenced immediately with informing families, an act he preferred to do himself when possible, especially if the soldier's commanding officer was not in Bale. He fully understood such loss and struggled daily to protect his people from it. The worst days were those where it proved impossible.
The war had raged on for far too long. For the past twenty years, the uneasy peace between Basil and Imperial Sandora had been costing his people dearly, and it had only worsened with the proper declaration of war several weeks before. The first attack had been on the outlying village of Seles, clearly not a threat and filled only with civilians. The day that news had reached him had been a dark one indeed.
Just today, he had received word of the brutal attack on the Seventh Fort. The actual event had occurred two days prior, but it made the news no more comforting to hear. Basil had posted two knighthoods in the Seventh Fort, and they had been brushed aside by the dragon as if they were sand before a great wave.
However, amid the carnage and death, there was one glimmer of hope. One week ago, Albert had received a letter from Hoax describing a most peculiar phenomenon that had occurred during the battle: the man named Dart had sprouted wings and defeated the fearsome giganto with a fiery magic power. The letter described him as a dragoon, a creature of a legend that Albert knew well. He was well versed in all the histories of Serdio, even those considered to be little more than myth by the greater population. The legend of dragoons was a favorite of children across the land, and the stories of their might in battle was portrayed in murals and on tapestries throughout the castle. To think that such a being had appeared now, over eleven thousand years after the Dragon Campaign, was a hope too dazzling to believe.
As such, he had been skeptical for quite some time until several soldiers from Hoax had found their way back to Bale and told him the story themselves. They had seen the event take place and even added details of a second dragoon, a woman with dark power. He had reeled at this. Dragoons fighting the wars of men had seemed almost laughable to him, but he had dared to hope that Dart and this woman would prove useful in the war.
What worried him most was the news that he had received about Lavitz. He had fought honorably in the Battle of Hoax, but the letter Albert had received today communicated that he had left with the two dragoons, and the young girl Shana, to fight against the dragon that had proved so utterly terrifying at the Seventh Fort. He could not imagine that Lavitz would fare well against such a beast, and he had begun to worry that something unfortunate would occur. By his estimations, they should have been arriving in the dragon's nest sometime that day, or maybe the day before, and the anticipation of what news he may receive about the encounter ate away at him constantly.
The king was unsure why he continued to stare at this ridiculous map. He had thought that studying it may give him some sudden wind of inspiration, some vision of how to help his people avoid future bloodshed, but this had proven to be a false pretense. All that he had accomplished was to increase his own anxiety. He pushed away from the table and looked around.
A guard stood by the door, but his advisors were nowhere in sight. Why had he come here without them? His tactical advisor had left on a scouting mission shortly after they'd received news of the Fort, and Minister Noish had left to attend to his duties in the church. The captains were busy training.
He sighed heavily. Being a busybody would benefit no one.
He strode through the doors and up the stairs to the throne room before turning abruptly and stepping out onto the balcony, and his cape billowed with the breeze that greeted him. As he gazed at the city sprawled beneath him, he tried to find some semblance of peace. He breathed deeply as the gentle wind played across his face, tousling his long hair. He had braided it today, solely for the change in routine. He normally tied it back with a simple green ribbon. Occasionally, he wondered whether he should simply cut it all off and be done being bothered by it falling into his face, but he had always balked at this thought. His father had worn his hair the same way. Somehow, he felt closer to him with it like this.
The sun was beginning to lower behind him, and he sighed again. Another day wasted. Another day strolling through the palace while his people gave their lives in battle.
Several times, he had considered riding out with them, but each time, Minister Noish had discouraged the idea. He feared that Albert would be too exposed on the battlefield, and that Emperor Doel would seize the opportunity to kill him. The king had conceded each time, knowing that if he died, little would stand in the way of Doel taking the throne. Without any heirs running about the castle, Doel was next in line.
Frustrated, he turned and walked down the hallway, his boots ringing out soft clicks against the hard stone walls, and eventually turned left. A guard opened a double wooden door, and the king entered his bedroom.
He stepped over to the window overlooking the lake and shut the curtains before sitting at his desk. Parchment was strewn across it in a chaotic mess, and he cringed to see it. How had he let this happen? Was he really so distracted? He stood, hastily gathered the papers into their appropriate stacks, and placed them in staggered organizers. With his desk tidied, he found that there was nothing else to do, and he sat down hopelessly.
He stayed there for several minutes before a knock came to his door. One of the maids announced that the dinner was prepared, her voice muffled as it rang through the wood. Albert stood and opened the door, smiling as best he could.
"Thank you so much. Would you mind bringing it up to my room? I would prefer to be alone this evening."
She curtsied briefly before scurrying away down the hall. He shut the door and spun, searching his room for something to do. His desk sat to the right, covered in stacks of papers with an order known only to him and Minister Noish. An inkwell and quill sat atop it, and several drawers housed fresh parchment and other various utensils. In the corner behind it stood a stately fireplace, currently not in use due to the warmer spring air. The room also housed a dresser, a tall mirror, and a four-poster bed covered with soft white linens. The stone walls were bare, save for a few torch sconces. But where his eyes lingered was the bookshelf lining the wall next to his bed, and he drifted toward it, drawing his finger along their spines as he searched for something entertaining. At last, his finger rested on a book of Serdian poetry, and he drew it out and settled into his bed to read.
Only a few pages in, he was interrupted by another knock. He hastily made his way over and opened the door, inviting the maid in to deliver the tray of food. It smelled divine, as his meals always did, and he thanked her warmly before she bowed once more and left.
Removing the covering on the silver tray, he breathed in the scent of duck, potatoes, and carrots. The realization of his hunger spread from his stomach to his neck, and he carried the tray to his bed. He carefully poured a glass of water, set it on the bedside table, and began to eat.
In truth, there was not much to stay his hunger. A few pieces of meat, one potato topped with butter, and some boiled carrots. If he had been so inclined, he could have ordered a feast to his room, but he could not bring himself to truly eat like a king when his people suffered so. Each time he ate, he took a moment to pray to the gods of Serdio for his people's safety and the hurried end to the war.
With the food gone, he removed the tray and set it outside his room before closing and locking the door. Now alone for the rest of the night, he removed the green cape, royal tunic, and leather boots, laying them across his chair and sinking into his bed. A moment later, he was fingering through his book once again.
Poetry had always been intriguing to him. He had always marveled at the way a poet could say the stuff of souls in the words of mortal men, reduce the incomprehensible into something all could understand. He took comfort in the great mystery of Serdio's finest poets that evening, reading the hours away until his worries became little but an ember in the back of his mind.
"Now this is a meal," Isaac said heartily as he sank his teeth into smoked beef. The savory meal filled his mouth, and he closed his eyes, enjoying every twinge of flavor for as long as possible before swallowing. Grinning, he looked across the table.
"You're such an idiot," laughed Garet before forcing a fistful of potatoes into his mouth.
They had been traveling for days in the wilderness, eating nothing but wild game, and at last they had come to a city nestled right up on the edge of the Serdian mountains, only a two- or three-day ride from Bale. They had spent an extra three gold apiece to indulge in this divine meal, courtesy of the innkeeper, who – thank the gods – kept a side job as a butcher. His wife was a baker, and together, they made such indulgent delicacies that Isaac didn't understand how more people didn't stop by. But he had always been one for food. Anywhere there was a sweet roll, he would find it.
"We don't even get beef in the castle," he complained. "You can't tell me that this isn't everything you've ever wanted out of a dinner."
"We get beef on holidays," remarked Garet.
"Yeah, and how many of those are there?"
"Like... eight."
Isaac scoffed away Garet's logic. "The point is, this is amazing, and you should be savoring it more than... that."
Garet took a large strip of beef and forced it into his mouth before saying, "I am feffering it. Iff deliffufs."
This time, Isaac couldn't help but laugh. He proceeded to take small bites of food, trying to ensure that each one was appreciated for its great beauty, until a long minute later when Garet gulped.
"You're way too into your food, man. If it weren't for long training days, you'd be as fat as a horse."
"But we have long training days, all the time, so I don't see what the problem is."
"Not when we're on assignment. Seriously, Isaac, I think I'm starting to see a bit of pudge under that chin of yours."
"It's your imagination," replied Isaac stalwartly, and Garet laughed again.
They stayed the night in the inn before heading out the next morning on the final leg of their journey, but not before paying an entire gold piece for a decadent sweet roll for breakfast.
Having traveled all over Serdio the past several weeks, they were both eager to return to Bale, sleep in their proper beds, and hand in their report. A detailed map full of little dots indicating Sandora's military positions rested comfortably in Isaac's pocket, ready to deliver to the king. They hadn't even bothered to put on their chain mail, and the bulking satchel containing Isaac's was rubbing uncomfortably against his leg with each step of his horse.
It was just as well. He hated that armor. It bore no color and had the look of lower-quality craftsmanship to better disguise them as they traversed enemy territory. But he preferred to have Basil blue emblazoned across his chest. Every night, he even dared to hope that one day he would wear the forest green that accompanied the rank of captain. Maybe one day, he would even have his own knighthood and be like the great legend Sir Servi.
Isaac and Garet were in higher spirits today, not just because they neared their hometown, but also because of the mere smattering of enemy troops that they were to report to the king. It had brought them hope to see Sandora so depleted. They had even paid a brief visit to Sir Kaiser in Hoax on their way back and had learned that some mighty hero had not only delivered them from the terrible giganto but had also gone off to fight the infamous dragon. It seemed that the tide of the war was turning.
They chatted happily as they traveled north. A great storm had swept across the land several days before, leaving cooler air behind, and they appreciated the reprieve from the oppressive heat.
About midday, they took a short break, but then they pressed on, hoping that if they traveled fast enough, they could make it to Bale before noon the next day. The rest of the day passed uneventfully, and they fell into a steady silence until just before nightfall, when they decided to make camp.
"This isn't nearly as good as that beef," mourned Isaac as he bit into the stale trail rations from his pack.
"Want me to go catch you a deer?" offered Garet.
A bark of laughter escaped Isaac. Garet was talented in many ways, but hunting was not one of them. A week ago, he had been exultant in his lucky snag of a tiny rabbit that had fallen into a rather crude trap of Isaac's making. Besides this, all the food they had eaten on the road had been either bought from a vendor or killed by Isaac.
"I think I would actually starve before you came back with a full deer," he said.
They lit no fire that night, mostly out of laziness. Neither of them felt like gathering firewood, and they out-stubborned each other until they begrudgingly slept with no warmth but that of their blankets in the cool night air. However, Isaac did manage to convince Garet to take first watch, and he drifted soundlessly into sleep.
It was only two hours later when Garet jolted him awake.
"Isaac!" he whispered nervously. "Isaac!"
"What?" he moaned. "It can't be time to switch out yet."
"No, you need to wake up. Something is out there."
This grabbed his attention, and he sat up hazily, rubbing his eyes. "What are you talking about?"
"Look over there." Garet pointed into the forest, up a hill, and a moment later, Isaac saw what he indicated. They were camped right at the foot of the mountains, but above them, Isaac could just make out the glowing orange light of a campfire.
Something sank into his gut like a hard stone. There were no Basil troops in this part of the mountains.
"It's probably just some kids from town," he lied.
"I don't think so," said Garet. "Listen."
Isaac sat carefully still. Night sounds roared around them: crickets, the rustling of wind on the trees, and in the distance, the sounds of hearty conversation and tinkling metal.
"Soa," he breathed before standing. "We have to go see what's going on." He met Garet's gaze, and they nodded.
Exercising every bit of their survival training, they edged our way up the mountain like ghosts in the night. Isaac was grateful for the cover of darkness as they crested the hill with two great mountain peaks on either side that formed a gateway into the alpine world. He gasped when he saw what lay in the valley.
It was more than one campfire; there were hundreds. The entire valley, narrow as it was, was filled with tents, horses, and soldiers. Several flags rose high above the encampment – flags bearing the dark purple and black of Imperial Sandora.
"How many do you think there are?" Isaac asked breathlessly.
"Hundreds... thousands," replied Garet.
"We have to get back to Bale," he said. "Tonight. We can't wait for morning."
"Agreed." He turned from Garet, but he grabbed Isaac's arm and whispered, "Wait! Is Doel with them? Can you tell?"
Isaac's eyes scanned over the tents, searching for the lightning symbol of the emperor, but it was nowhere to be found. It gave little comfort.
"I can't see anything, but that doesn't really mean he's not there."
"We can hope," said Garet. "Let's go."
They backed away from the camp, hearts pounding. As soon as they reached their meager campsite, they gathered their bedrolls, strapped them to the horses, and headed north.
To stay hidden, they started at a walk until another half mile separated them from the mountains. Then they broke into a gallop. Isaac was grateful, not for the first time, for the bright reflection of the moons overhead. The cloudless sky, still recovering from the onslaught of the storm, paved the way for them as they sped toward the capital. Isaac could feel exhaustion creep into his body as the night wore on, but they did not stop. They could not stop. They had to get to Bale.
As dawn broke out over the landscape, they were pleased to see that they had made great progress. However, the horses were parched, and they knew that they would collapse if they did not stop for water soon. Luckily, they passed a small stream an hour after sunup and stopped for only twenty minutes, giving the horses a chance to drink and them a chance to stretch their sore legs. Isaac and Garet had been trained for such strenuous missions, but their bodies did nothing but protest when they came.
Before they took off again, Isaac made Garet wait for an extra minute while he finished eating the rest of his rations; he knew that they would be back at the castle by nightfall, and there would be no more need to spare any food. Garet rolled his eyes, but Isaac didn't care.
They resumed their trek, finding the main road only a few minutes afterward. They pressed on at full speed into the day, determined not to stop until they reached Bale. Just past noon, they both sighed in relief as the northern crossroads sped past them; they were close. The road branched to the east as it headed toward the cave passage, and the pair of scouts continued north toward Bale.
Only a half hour later, they crested the final hill and saw the beautiful city sprawled beneath them, but they did not stop to admire the view. As they approached the gate, they were finally forced to a standstill to explain themselves to the guards. In the end, no explanation was necessary.
"Hey, it's us," said Isaac. The guards recognized them instantly, and noting the desperate intensity in their faces, they nodded for the pair to go through. They took up a canter as they rushed through the city, eager to get to the castle.
At last, they arrived and dismounted in the stables. Captain Strond arrived shortly after, ready to give a hearty greeting, but his expression changed when he saw theirs.
"We have to meet with the king," said Isaac urgently.
"He is busy attending to the civilian squabbles," the captain said.
"It can't wait!" he pleaded.
"Why? What's wrong?" he asked, suddenly concerned.
"Sandora," interrupted Garet. "There's a camp not two day's ride from here."
Strond's face turned stony. "How many?"
"At least a thousand, maybe two," said Isaac.
Strond pondered this for a minute before saying, "Come with me," and he whirled away up the stairs.
They followed as quickly as they could. Isaac's tired legs protested as they climbed another two sets of stairs, but he ignored their cries for relief and followed the captain into the throne room, where two heavyset men stood before the king.
King Albert stood regally on the platform that housed his throne. As the scouts clambered through the room, making quite too much noise, his eyes snapped to them. The captain pushed forward until they held everyone's attention.
Isaac couldn't help but notice that the king seemed weary. He knew him to be a caring man, and he supposed that he grieved the state of the war. Less than a day before, Isaac had been looking forward to being the one to deliver the king some happy news, but now he feared what he might find in his gaze at their debriefing.
"Captain," said the king in surprise. Then quickly, he added, "Isaac. Garet. You have returned."
The pair bowed to him, and Captain Strond immediately said, "Your Majesty, we have urgent need to speak with you. We request a private audience." The last sentence coupled with a glance at the civilians.
Apparently, King Albert recognized their urgency as a look of foreboding crossed his face. He nodded before turning to Minister Noish, who stood behind him.
"Minister," he said. "I am afraid I must attend to affairs of state. Please continue without me. I trust you to be fair and merciful." Then he turned back to the civilians and added, "And my friends, I apologize for this inconvenience. Unfortunately, I must leave you, but rest assured that I am leaving you in capable hands. Captain, Garet, Isaac, follow me."
With that, he stepped down the short staircase and through the door to their right. They followed him hurriedly until he turned into the war room.
Isaac had only been in this room once before, when being introduced to the king as a newly appointed scout. As he stepped into it now, he felt none of the excitement that he had on that first day, but rather a sense of trepidation and sorrow.
The four arranged themselves around the table, and Garet and Isaac stood at attention until the king said, "At ease." They relaxed, but only slightly.
"Captain," said the king. "What is this urgent matter?"
"It is actually these two that have need to say something," Strond replied before turning to them.
"Your Majesty," Isaac said before bowing. "Garet and I were on our way back from our last mission. We had spent almost a month in the field gathering intel, and we were only a day away when we stopped for the night. Garet took first watch but roused me early because he had spotted something. We checked it out, and in the valley nearby was a full encampment of Sandora soldiers. We fear that they are coming here."
"You are certain that it was Sandora?" he asked, jaw tight.
"Yes, sir," said Isaac. "Their flag is unmistakable. If they really are headed for Bale, they will be here by tomorrow."
And there it was: the slightest hint of fear, or maybe it was grief, flashed over the king's eyes, and Isaac's heart sank. The goodness of the king was well-known, especially in Bale, but few understood his true kindness unless they had spent time in the castle, like Isaac and Garet had. Many times, during their training, he had come to dine with the raucous, sweaty soldiers in the belly of the castle, laughing and jesting with them instead of eating a fine meal in his clean rooms on the third floor. Many soldiers thought of him as a friend, including Isaac, and he grieved to bring the king such dark news.
But King Albert recovered quickly, as he always did, and the frightened part of him was forced back as his kingship took over. He turned to Strond.
"We must fortify the city," he said. "Double the guard, close the gates, and post men along the outer wall. Ensure that we send riders to our outposts. We need reinforcements."
"I will go, sir," said Isaac, puffing out his chest.
"As will I," said Garet.
"No, I can ask no more of you two," replied the king. "You have just returned from a hard journey and likely saved many lives in your haste. Rest until tomorrow. We will send other riders."
Isaac's lips pursed in frustration, but all he said was, "Sir," before tilting his head.
"Anything else, my lord?" asked the captain.
"Yes. Please be sure to send one rider to Kaiser in Hoax. If it is within his power, have him send Sir Lavitz back to us with all haste. We have need of him and his newfound friends."
Isaac had to force himself into silence as he heard the name. Sir Lavitz was a legend of Bale, and probably all Serdio. Isaac had spoken to him briefly several times and could recall at least twice that the fabled knight had dined at his table. Sir Lavitz was a greater man than any except King Albert himself. To fight next to him to defend their city would be a great honor, and Isaac secretly hoped that he would return soon and that they would be assigned to the same troop.
That night, for the first time in many years, Isaac didn't enjoy his dinner. A sick pit lay in his stomach, repulsing all that he offered it. As Garet ate, Isaac toyed with his food, his mind south of Bale with the Sandora army.
"You okay?" asked Garet.
"Yeah... Just hoping we weren't too late."
The entire city had erupted into a flurry of activity since they'd delivered the news. Several riders had left at the command of the king, and every soldier stationed in Bale – except Isaac and Garet – were preparing themselves for war. It was a strange feeling, one that Isaac had never felt before, and he couldn't get rid of the dread no matter how hard he tried. Nobody wanted to fight Sandora, but waiting on the edge of a hopeless battle had set a dark shadow across the city. The unspoken question that hung them was, "When will they get here?"
"Isaac, you have to eat," said Garet, eyeing Isaac warily.
Isaac shook his head. "I'm not really that hungry."
"Since when?"
"Since now." Isaac shot him an angry look, and Garet fell silent.
After dinner, the king called them to meet with him, and they made their way to the throne room. Part of Isaac had hoped for a private audience to properly communicate how sorry he was that he hadn't made it back sooner, but then he realized how foolish a hope that had been. The city lay on the edge of war, and the king would undoubtedly remain under guard until the threat had passed. As they stood before him, he saw that his suspicions were correct. No fewer than eight armed men stood about the throne room.
"Gentlemen," he said calmly. Isaac was struck by his demeanor. He had not imagined the flash of fear in his eyes before, but now it was as if it had never existed. Before them stood a strong and powerful king. Though he was only a few years older than Isaac, King Albert held all the wisdom and strength of the mightiest of men. Only the most foolish ever mocked the king for his youth.
"Have you rested since your arrival?"
"As much as can be expected, sir, given the circumstances," said Isaac.
King Albert let out a small chuckle. "I am glad, given the circumstances." There was a pause, during which feet shuffled on the stone floor.
"I will forever be indebted to the both of you for your service," he continued. "But I am afraid I must ask something more of you."
They both bowed low. "Anything, sir."
"You have brought us the fateful news, and I am sure that you would like to see it through. In payment for this most important achievement, I would offer you a promotion. I would like you to be my personal guards throughout the next few days, at least until we are sure of more than we are now."
Isaac was taken aback and glanced over at Garet, who seemed just as bewildered. They were nothing but scouts, not fierce warriors like the many men standing around them.
"Your Majesty," replied Garet. "Forgive my insolence, but why would you choose us for such a task? Your safety is not to be taken lightly."
"You are correct, Garet," he said. "And that is why I am asking you. Both of you are young and strong, and I am quite aware of your many exploits throughout Serdio. You are two of my most loyal knights, and I would be honored to trust you with my life."
Overwhelmed by his praise, Isaac knelt and said, "It would be our great honor to serve you in this way, my lord."
"Then it is decided."
Isaac and Garet stood, and the king smiled warmly at them. Isaac could not help but return the grin. He felt like a giddy school boy getting to meet and spend time with a beloved celebrity.
King Albert stepped forward and said, "Take your leave in the castle tonight. I will have someone show you to your quarters and wake you in the morning to meet me in the war room."
And so, they spent the night in the castle instead of the barracks. It was a strange affair, something neither of them were used to. Although King Albert had always made a point to ensure that time and money was not wasted on frivolous ventures like intricate and expensive decoration, the castle was still much more lavish than the crude campsites that they'd left dotted throughout Serdio in the month prior. Despite the great looming danger, they laughed as they felt the soft mattresses in their room and ogled the giant fireplace.
Sleep did not come easily at first, but when it finally did, Isaac slept deeply. His limited slumber the night before had left him drained of energy, and even his worries about Sandora only managed to stay his overwhelming exhaustion for a half hour before he drifted off.
It felt like only five minutes later when the sunlight began to peek through the heavy curtains and a loud knock came at the door. Fully accustomed to early mornings, Isaac and Garet wasted no time on their drowsiness but promptly dressed themselves and opened the door. One of the captains greeted them gruffly before taking them to the armory, where they were issued the suits of blue armor that they'd been missing so much since their excursion. Isaac felt a little bit taller wearing it. And then, the captain led them to the war room, where the king, Minister Noish, and several other captains awaited them.
Isaac's cheeks burned as every eye in the room came to rest on them when the door opened. He feared chastisement for being late, but instead, the king greeted them warmly.
"Welcome," he said. "You are right on time. We were just about to get started."
They nodded and took their places next to the doors, prepared to stop any unwanted guests.
"Gentlemen," said the king. "You are all aware of our dire situation. This morning, we face the great threat of Sandora. They have marched their way north across Serdio until finally, they rest a mile from our gates. They have blocked off all road access, and the only way in and out of the city is through the treacherous wilds of the mountains to the west. It is unclear whether our riders got through before Sandora found them, but for the safety of our people, we must assume that they did not." He took a deep breath; Isaac could see the pain in his expression as he continued. "They have around two thousand; we have eight hundred. I will not risk the lives of civilians. As such, I will be riding out to meet them and parley for peace."
Isaac started, along with everyone else in the room. The captains began to voice all his concerns before he could even process them.
"But, sir, they'll kill you before you can reach the camp."
"They're here for you, not the people."
"If they take you, it will be the end of Basil."
Captain Strond stepped forward, eyes trained forcefully on the king, and said, "Your Majesty. Forgive me, but such a plan is folly. You are the prize to be gained from an attack on Bale, and little else. Please send one of us to speak for you. We will not have you put in so much danger."
A murmur of agreement rushed around the room, and although Isaac stayed silent, he willed the king to agree to this reasoning. Sending the king out in person would result only in his capture and the subsequent invasion of the city. It would mean the loss of Bale and probably the loss of Basil.
After a tense, thoughtful moment, the king finally nodded, and relief washed over the room.
"Very well," he said. "Strond, you will be my ambassador. Your first charge is to discover if peace is at all possible, and to find out what Doel's terms may be. Then report directly to me; agree to nothing without my consent."
"Of course, Your Majesty."
A few minutes later, everyone erupted into movement as the captains went to help prepare for the parley. The king, understanding the great risk the captain was taking, gave him personal thanks, even embracing him before he left for the stables. Tears pricked at Isaac's eyes, but he blinked them back.
And then Isaac and Garet stood on the balcony on either side of King Albert, watching Captain Strond ride out to meet the encampment.
The king's words proved true. Just past the city lay a dark blotch on the landscape where the enemy camped. It seemed so vast, even from such a distance, that Isaac felt his heart drop from his chest as he studied it. He exchanged a worried glance with Garet. The king must have noticed, as he immediately found words of comfort.
"Worry not, my friends," he said. "I have faith that Emperor Doel has not lost all reason. He will come to terms of peace before he sacrifices civilian lives."
"Forgive me, my lord," Isaac replied. "But I think the attack on Seles would suggest otherwise."
Garet shot me a wide-eyed look. It was a bold statement, to be sure, but sometimes Isaac felt the king was too trusting of his enemy. Emperor Doel had become utterly ruthless in the past several years, and Isaac firmly believed that the only thing that would entice him into peace was the king's head. Even so, grief took Isaac's heart when King Albert's jaw set at his words. The king knew they were true. Perhaps he had only said such things to convince himself.
"You may be right, Isaac. But if I do not strive for peace, I fling countless men, women, and children into harm's way. It is the duty of a king to protect his people, and I will do all I can to ensure their safety."
Even give yourself up? thought Isaac.
Somehow, it seemed that this was what the king hinted at, but all Isaac said was, "Of course, sir."
Isaac trained his eyes on the speck of Captain Strond traversing the distance between Bale and the encampment and waited with bated breath as three more tiny specks rode out to meet him. They congregated for several frightfully long minutes before Strond turned back toward the city and galloped away. Isaac realized that he'd been holding his breath, and he exhaled in relief as Strond neared the gates.
"Let's go down to meet him," said King Albert, and they followed him to the castle gate and waited for another several minutes before Strond arrived.
"Your Majesty," said Garet delicately as they waited. "Where are all the people?"
Isaac hadn't noticed until now, but all the people normally bustling around this part of Bale were nowhere in sight. The city lay eerily quiet and tense.
"I have instructed them to remain indoors as much as possible to avoid any danger that may arise. Their homes should keep them safe, for a time at least."
Isaac and Garet exchanged another worried look.
A few minutes later, Strond arrived, and upon seeing the king, he quickly dismounted and rushed over, carrying a roll of parchment.
"Your Majesty," he said, bowing swiftly. "They refused to discuss terms with anyone but yourself and gave me this letter."
"Very well," replied the king, receiving the parchment. "Thank you for your service, Captain," he added before breaking the wax seal. As he read, his brow furrowed, and Isaac grew worried. After King Albert finished scanning the page, he snapped the letter back into a roll and indicated that everyone follow him back into the castle, calling captains as he went.
They met once again in the war room, where the king read off the terms for peace.
"To Indels Castle, fondest greetings.
"His Majesty Doel, the kind and benevolent ruler of Imperial Sandora, has declared Basil a rebel state and formally requests its dissolution. Should any resistance arise in the king's heart, His Majesty Doel has provided incentive in the form of troops, ready to aid in the transition of power. Until a letter of consent and the king himself ride out to meet them, and so surrender his royal power, the encampment will remain before the walls of Bale.
"In the name of His Majesty Emperor Doel."
His eyes lingered for several seconds at the end of the letter before he tossed it onto the table as if it were tainted with some kind of poison. Anger rose within Isaac, and for a moment, he fancied that he could take on the entire army by himself. Similar reactions seemed to resonate among the captains.
"My good people," said the king. "It appears that we find ourselves in the middle of a siege."
"But that means that if we hold out long enough," said a captain, "the rest of our troops will come to aid us."
Grief passed over the king's face, and he lifted the letter once more.
"At the bottom are five signatures," he said grimly. Slowly, he read off the names, and Isaac recognized each of them. Two were men with whom he had shared a bunk on many occasions, and the others he knew from his days of early training. All five of them had been chosen as riders to call for aid. Standing behind the king, Isaac could just barely make out the signatures, but he could tell that they were not black like the rest of the ink on the page. They were a dull red, written in blood.
Isaac's breaths came faster and harder, and he fought back tears.
"We are alone," said the king. A somber tone enveloped the room, and King Albert covered his mouth with a shaky hand. No one knew what to say. Any hope they may have had was now gone, vanished with the souls of the riders.
"What will we do?" came a small voice from one of the captains.
"We ride out to meet them!"
"Are you stupid? We would be slaughtered!"
"It's better than waiting to starve!"
"Captains, please," pleaded the king, and silence fell. "It is true that meeting them in battle would be folly. But it is also true that we should not wait and do nothing while our people suffer. By my estimations, the city would last perhaps two months before our food stores ran out, and we do not know what will happen after that. We must find another solution."
"But, my lord," said Strond. "There is no other solution."
"I respectfully disagree, Captain."
There was a familiar glint in the king's eye, and understanding hit Isaac forcefully in the chest. Before he could stop himself, he stepped forward and spoke out of turn.
"Your Majesty, you cannot give yourself to them," he said.
Pure anger struck him from six different pairs of eyes, but he did not back down. He would take the reprimands if it saved his king's life. King Albert turned to him slowly, and he expected him to be angry as well, but instead, Isaac found something else in his eyes: pride, compassion. The king smiled.
"Brave Isaac," he said. "I appreciate your care for me, and you have performed your duties well. Unfortunately, I see no other way out of this situation that does not involve more pain being brought on my people. It is as I said: it is a king's duty to protect his people, and I will do whatever I can to keep them safe."
"You can't be serious, sir!" cried one of the captains, but a stern look from King Albert silenced him.
"I will not rush hastily into this decision," said the king pointedly. "The people will be fine for a few days while I get everything in order. I will not leave my people without some hope of reprieve should something go ill. I ask only that you trust me."
"Sir," said Captain Strond carefully. "They will kill you as soon as you are within their camp."
"No. I do not think that they will."
"How can you be so sure?"
"I know my uncle," he said. "He still needs something from me."
The next several days were filled with a flurry of activity for the king. As a result, Garet and Isaac were led all around the castle with little time to rest. However, they did not mind. Isaac still considered it an honor to guard the king, and now that he knew that King Albert would be leaving them soon, he was grateful that he could serve him while he still lingered.
Despite his endless efforts, King Albert almost seemed to be stalling for time. He spent much time behind closed doors with his advisors – all but the one who always wore a hood; he had been off on assignment since before this all began – and Isaac figured that he was giving them instructions for the time he was gone. He wondered if all his counsel fully understood that he may never return.
Six days after the lackluster parley, something happened in the city. A merchant arrived from the south, and everyone was puzzled as to how he had gotten through the barricades. The king sent several riders to meet with him and ascertain what had happened, and when they returned, everyone was horrified.
It appeared that the merchant had been making his way toward Bale when he stumbled upon a Sandora ambush. They'd taken him to the Sandora camp, where he'd been beaten and his cart ransacked for goods. Then, after taking everything of value, they'd sent him into the city as an act of what they'd called mercy: one last shipment before all the lines ran dead.
Isaac felt sick upon hearing the report, and the king seemed no better off, although he did much better at maintaining his strong demeanor.
Only an hour after the merchant's report, something changed. A soldier hastily delivered a letter to the king, and upon seeing the handwriting, his countenance visibly altered.
"Some luck at last," he mumbled. Then turning to us, he explained, "It seems a letter got through the barricade with the merchant. The gods have given us a great gift." And he opened it.
As he read, his face, which had been so riddled with pain over the past several days, turned to a joyous smile.
"Come," he said simply, and strode out, leading us toward the throne room.
Several advisors and captains were already assembled when we entered, and we followed the king onto the dais until he stood still before them.
"My friends," he called out. "We have some hope returned to us this day. I have received a letter, miraculously having entered the city with the merchant, and it portends something greatly encouraging. Our good Sir Lavitz, and those who travel with him, have defeated the dragon!"
After a moment of silence, cheers and applause erupted across the room, despite the danger that loomed over the city.
"In addition, he has confirmed the mysterious rumor that spread out from Hoax several weeks ago. Dragoons have returned and are fighting for us in this war."
Another chorus of excitement ran across the room. It seemed impossible that such a thing could be true, but everyone had heard of the warrior who had defeated the giganto.
"Then they can come fight for us!" someone called out.
"Yes, I hope that this is a possibility, but as of right now, they are unaware of our plight. We must get word to them as soon as possible. Captains, Minister, meet me in the war room so that we may discuss this further." And with that he left, with Isaac and Garet on his tail.
Minutes later, they convened once again. King Albert explained that Sir Lavitz and his friends – Dart, Shana, and Rose – had not only vanquished the dragon, but had also acquired the power of a dragoon for Lavitz himself. The group was staying in Lohan as one of them had been injured in their fight.
"We must get a letter to Lohan immediately," concluded the king.
"But, sir, we cannot get past the barricades," someone said.
"That is true for now, but I have a plan. The Western Mountains should be devoid of Sandora soldiers, except for perhaps a scouting party or two. One or two riders should be able to make it past them."
"Possibly, but they would know that it is our only escape. They would be combing the forest continuously."
"Yes, but not if all the soldiers were drawn back to camp to see the king of Basil in chains."
Silence fell over them.
"My lord, you would give yourself up on the slight chance that we could get a rider over the mountain?" said a captain. "If the rider is captured, all will be for naught."
"I believe that it is worth the risk," said King Albert somberly. "But I will need a rider. Preferably two. They must be swift."
Isaac knew the importance of this quest. He understood what should happen should it fail. And he also knew that the two best riders in Bale were standing in this very room. His heart pounded as he considered what he was about to do, and he stepped forward before he could convince himself otherwise.
"Your Majesty," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. The king turned. "Send us."
King Albert was taken aback and hesitated. More firmly, Isaac said, "Send me and Garet."
"Isaac, I could not ask this of you, after all you have done."
"Respectfully, sir, we are the best riders you have. Send us to Lohan."
Captain Strond offered, "It's true, sir. They're the best in Basil. If anyone can get through, they will."
A tense silence permeated the room as the king considered such a plan. Then he turned to Garet and asked, "Garet, do you agree? Will you go?"
"Yes, sir," he replied instantly. "It would be an honor."
The king nodded grimly and said, "Very well. We will wait for the cover of nightfall, and then enact our plan."
"Very good, sir," Isaac said.
The thrill of a challenge was met within him by a deep-seated fear of all that could go wrong, but he brushed both aside. This was going to be a dangerous mission, but also the most important mission that he had ever run.
That evening, Isaac and Garet prepared to leave. They said few words, both understanding the grave situation, and instead spoke through the silence. Hints of weak smiles and pats on shoulders gave them enough strength to keep moving.
As the sun sank below the horizon, they met with a delegation at the edge of the lake, as close to the mountains as they dared. Because of the thick wall surrounding the city, they would have to swim with their horses to the other side and ride up the steep mountain into the cover of the trees. They understood the danger; anything could be waiting for them in the alpine forest.
Many had suggested that they wear colorless chainmail for this mission, but they had vehemently resisted. Somewhere in the backs of their minds, they both feared that this would be their last mission, and they wanted to run it proudly sporting the colors of their home.
And now they stood just before the reeds with the king, two newly appointed guards, and several captains. King Albert had changed his clothes, and he was now wearing simple leather armor and a forest green cloak, prepared for his journey into the enemy camp. Isaac could not help but fear what might happen.
"Isaac, Garet," said the king ceremoniously. "It is with great sadness that we watch you depart, but also with great hope. The road ahead will be perilous, but we believe that you will prevail. Go with the good graces of all of Basil."
A lump formed in Isaac's throat as he shook the hands of his king and captains.
"Your Majesty," he said. The king looked at him expectantly, and he struggled to say the words. He hated how his voice wavered when he did. "Come back to Bale soon."
"Not to worry, Isaac," he said with a joy that Isaac could not feel. "We will all be back, safe and sound, before you know it."
Then turning to Garet, Isaac forced out a grin, which he returned half-heartedly. They had walked into danger many times before, but nothing quite like this. Would they both return to this place? Isaac recognized the question hidden behind Garet's eyes.
Whatever it takes, Garet said.
Whatever it takes, replied Isaac with a nod.
He grabbed the reins of his horse and stroked his nose affectionately. Something about the way he nuzzled back made Isaac feel just a little better. Then they led their horses to the edge of the water and looked back at the city of Bale.
As the last of the twilight cast itself over the houses, memories came rushing back to him. He and Garet had grown up here, taken their first steps here, enlisted in the military here. They had trained here, fought here. And now they were leaving, maybe for the last time. Isaac shifted his gaze to the castle and the flag of Basil flying high in the breeze. He prayed that they might return whole.
Then they walked out into the lake.
The first hour was a sullen mixture of trudging through mud and swimming next to the horses. They would have ridden, but staying dry was the least of their concerns, and they knew that the horses would need the stamina later in the journey. Repeatedly, Isaac glanced behind him, sure that someone was following them, but nobody came. The sounds of the city grew distant as they neared the far edge of the lake, and darkness fell. They dared not light a torch but allowed their eyes to adjust and traveled by moonlight.
After a time, they heard some distant shouts coming from the gate. The king was riding out. Isaac tried not to think of what they would do to him when he arrived at the camp.
They reached the forest just as whoops and cries drifted across the plain. Isaac took no comfort in knowing that the king was in their grasp, but at least he knew that the soldiers in the forest would likely be pulled back to celebrate their victory. They pressed on, climbing up the steep hill on foot to make any silhouette less conspicuous, and they breathed a little easier as the trees grew thicker. At last, they made it up onto the ridge, and they mounted their horses in hopes that they might travel faster.
Not a word passed between them. All had been said, and all that would need to be said from now on could be done silently. The only sounds they heard were the soft thuds of horses' hooves beneath them. Even the night's creatures seemed to be mourning the loss of the king's presence.
Isaac estimated that they were almost safely past the barricade when they heard a faint sound in front of them. They stopped short, listening intently, and Isaac struggled to keep his pulse down. His hand silently moved to rest on his sword hilt, but nothing came. After several minutes of waiting, they decided to move forward, their senses on high alert.
Nothing happened for another mile or so. They were about to consider speeding to a gallop when they heard another noise, this one behind them. A twig snapped, and they halted once more. Then a rustle of leaves, and they brought about their horses. The moonlight struggled to reach through the tall trees, and most of the forest floor was covered in shadow. But then a voice spoke, and they drew their swords.
"What have we here?" The voice was sly, evil. Then a knight stepped out, emblazoned with the purple of Sandora, wearing commander's armor. "Kill them."
Isaac ducked as Garet sheathed his sword and reached for his bow. An arrow whizzed above Isaac's head, and he heard a great cry of pain as Garet's horse crumpled to the ground. Isaac swore.
"Go!" shouted Garet, standing and drawing his sword. They both understood that without a horse, this mission would ultimately fail. Now that they'd been discovered, their chances had greatly dwindled, and although everything in Isaac wanted to stay with Garet, he forced himself to turn and run.
His horse sped quickly into a gallop, and from behind him, he could hear the clashing of metal ring through the trees as Garet tried to hold them off. Isaac prayed for his safety, but before he could complete the thought, Garet screamed. Tears clouded Isaac's vision, but he did not turn back. Garet continued to cry out in pain, but Isaac pressed forward.
Whatever it takes.
After several minutes, he diverted to the left, eager to be free of the trees. Garet's cries had ceased, and Isaac hoped that they had bound and gagged him to take him to camp. But in his heart, he knew that this wasn't true.
But grief had no part of this mission. He sniffed and wiped his eyes, keeping them trained on the ground before him until at last he broke out of the forest. He knew the road was not safe, but it was the fastest way out, and he had to get out of reach of the encampment.
All night long, he sped toward the south. Only the best of Basil's horses were trained for such missions, and Isaac's steed persisted long past the time when others would have collapsed from exhaustion. Eventually, he sensed dawn's approach and veered off the road to the left, taking refuge in the trees. He did not slow until he was hugging the Serdian Mountains, and he did not stop until he found a small stream snaking its way through the trees. He dismounted and let his horse drink deeply as he did the same. Then Isaac sat on the forest floor and leaned against a tree, sitting still for the first time since he'd left Bale. All at once, the sound of Garet's echoed in his memory, and he wept. The tears did not stop until he was numb and had drifted off.
As the sun's rays began to creep between the leaves, Isaac rose and woke his horse. Quickly, he mounted, and they were off. For the entire day, they traveled, not daring to stop until well past noon. His lack of sleep began to tug at his eyelids, but he rubbed them awake and continued. He stayed just out of sight of the road, using it to track his progress. He had already sped well past Hoax, and he cursed himself for not stopping to exchange horses. But he couldn't go back.
Night began to fall once again, and he begrudgingly conceded to his drooping eyes and stopped briefly, only allowing himself a couple hours of sleep. Then he was off again, speeding through the darkness. Sometime in the morning, he was forced to a near standstill as he led his horse precariously over a rocky outcrop. A half mile later, the trees broke, and he saw a great valley to his left, silvery water flowing down the middle, illuminated by the moon's rays. He had reached the marshland. Perhaps if he kept a good pace, he could reach Lohan by nightfall tomorrow.
Morning broke over the land, sending a cascade of sunlight on his path. Isaac rode until what he guessed was nine o'clock before stopping within earshot of the road. It had occurred to him that Sandora might transport the king this way, as it was easier than going over the mountains, and that he may have been able to rescue him before he even reached Lohan. That is, if they were taking him to Doel and he wasn't already dead. But perhaps he just listened to give himself some hope that the king was alive.
He continued to travel close to the road as the day pressed on, straining his ears to listen for any sounds.
It was just past noon when something finally came. He could not mistake it – the sounds of a carriage. He dismounted and ran to the edge of the trees, glancing north down the road. The carriage came into view as it rounded a corner, along with two heavily armed guards on horseback, and Isaac took a sharp breath to see that it was indeed the carriage of Imperial Sandora. The lightning crest of the emperor adorned the sides.
Smart, I thought. No one would dare search Doel's personal carriage. Except maybe me.
Isaac flung himself into the road, but the carriage didn't slow. He drew his sword and held it out as the guards sped by, and a moment later, the feeling of sliced flesh ran up his weapon, and one of the horses fell to the ground with its front leg missing. The carriage ground to a halt several feet up the road as the knight struggled to push the horse's body off him. Isaac had precious little time.
Stomping forward, Isaac pressed his blade against the knight's throat and shouted, "Where is the king?"
The knight did little more than scowl, and Isaac let his blade cut him slightly as he prepared to ask again. But just then a familiar voice called out from the carriage.
"Isaac! Leave me! Run!"
A loud thump came from the carriage, and the voice was muffled. Isaac looked up in hope. The king was alive. There was no mistaking his voice, and without hesitation, he charged forward.
"Go," growled the other guard as he rounded on me. Before Isaac could react, the carriage sped away, and his heart sank. The burly guard reached for a bow, and Isaac quickly realized his mistake.
Isaac turned and ran, his mind bent on reaching his horse, and a whistle ran through the air behind him. With a small thwump, pain exploded in his back, and he screamed as he tumbled to the ground. He scrambled to his feet, every breath a sharp pain, and another arrow flitted past his right knee. At last, he reached his horse and mounted before urging him into a gallop.
At first, Isaac headed east toward the mountains. He knew that the guard would follow him, and he didn't want anyone knowing his destination. After he could no longer hear the pounding of the knight's horse, he turned and sped south once more, determined to reach Lohan.
But the arrow in his back had pierced deeply. The jostling of the horse was agony, as was each and every breath. After a time, Isaac was unsure if he was even pulling in air anymore. Several times, darkness danced before his eyes, but he did not stop. He tried to focus on something, anything, to keep himself awake.
Where are they taking him?
He played the scene over and over in his fading mind. Doel's symbol would likely mean that they were headed to the Black Castle, but the emperor was notorious for hating having "filthy prisoners" corrupting his home.
Think, Isaac, he told himself.
It was difficult. The heat of the day was upon him, and he struggled to breathe. He feared that he may not survive long enough. He could feel the hot blood soaking the saddle beneath him.
Then the image of the guard appeared in his mind. He recognized his uniform, but from where? His dazed thoughts struggled to connect the ideas together until finally it snapped into place.
Hellena Prison.
He had to reach Lohan. He had to tell Sir Lavitz, or else the king would suffer and die in Sandoran captivity.
Isaac didn't know how, but he held on. The sun creeped down again behind the Western Mountains, and an hour or so later, his hazy eyes made out the city. The great tent of the Hero Competition stood proudly before him, and he gathered a small amount of hope.
It's too bad, he thought. Garet and I had wanted to go this year.
The grief of Garet's death rushed back, and the weak response of Isaac's heart foreboded ill. He knew that he would not be leaving Lohan alive.
As long as I get there.
Urging his horse forward and struggling to stay aright, he trotted through the open gate. He dimly registered the cries and gasps as the people of the city saw his bloodied back. He shook his head and tried to take a deep breath, but it was only met by intense pain.
He tried to focus once more on his dimming memory. The king had said that Lavitz was staying at the One-Eyed Crow. Grateful for his many visits to Lohan, he wound his way through the streets, ignoring the fearful cries around him, and stopped just before the inn. He tried to dismount, but his legs collapsed, and he fell hard to the ground. Barely comprehending the piercing pain in his arm as the bone cracked under his weight, Isaac struggled to his feet, the shouts of many filling his ears, and burst through the door.
Taking a painful breath, he steeled himself and shouted, "Sir Lavitz!" Several men and women were eating in the dining hall, and they gasped or screamed as they saw him. He didn't care. The innkeeper rushed to him, but Isaac shoved him aside and shouted again, "Sir Lavitz!" He forced his legs to take him to the stairs, but he collapsed onto them, unable to make it one step further. He couldn't breathe anymore. His vision began to fade.
So, this is how it ends, I thought. Garet died in vain. And so will I.
Isaac's eyes closed. He tried to take one more breath.
And then the pounding of footsteps. Heavy hands pulled at him. He faced the light. The face before him...
"Sir Lavitz," he said weakly. "I won't die in vain."
His mouth moved. His deep voice.
"Sir. Bale. It's... been captured."
Another sound. Isaac breathed in. Nothing but pain. Just a few more sentences...
"Sandora surprised us. A siege... The king... King Albert gave himself up. For the people."
Darkness. The light left. A little jolt. One more thing to say. Mutterings around him, and then:
"Where is King Albert?"
One more word. Just one more... One...
"Hellena..."
And the night ended.