The Legend of Lithra - Book Two: The Knives of Aesur

By Tyler Rhea

After his last adventure, Selane has been appointed as a special agent of the King. While on a routine mission, the Prince of Mithere is attacked by a deadly assassin. Selane manages to stop the killer, but is sent on a quest with a few other specialists to track down those responsible before they can execute their sinister plan.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jan 7, 2014
• ISBN: 9781304778840

Book preview

The Legend of Lithra Book II: The Knives of Aesur

By Tyler Rhea

Dedicated to my parents.

Copyright Tyler Rhea 2012

Foreword:

Welcome to my second book! This is the sequel to the Legend of Lithra, and both this book and its predecessor were originally released online in serial form.

Writing in this format is a bit unusual for a novel. If writing a normal book is like creating a movie, this is a bit more like a television series now being adapted for the big screen. As such, it may be helpful to remember that this story was originally written in thousand-word chunks meant to have some standalone power, but I did keep this volume in mind during the writing process to alleviate a sense of disjointedness that the last book had some problems with.

As I said in the forward of the last book, The Legend of Lithra serves as an opportunity to practice my writing skills, and I believe it was successful in this regard. This volume is a big improvement over the last, and I hope as this series continues, my writing skills will continue to improve.

I would like to acknowledge the many influences that contributed to this book: the support of my family, the inspiration of skilled authors and fantastic books, and the interest of friends and acquaintances.

I hope you find this tale an enjoyable ride, and decide to continue reading online at http://legendoflithra.wordpress.com/

Thank you for reading.

Chapter One: Summit

Year 701 - Quarryvale, Mithere

Bright morning sunlight streamed into the elegant marble hall, illuminating the scene with an almost unreal radiance. I supposed it was fitting for such an auspicious occasion, but I still didn't like it much. The luster of the stone and the brightly colored pennants and clothing seemed to shine so brightly that a person had to squint, which made it harder to get a good look at the proceedings, and especially the shadowy corners that I had to keep an eye on. But that was all part of the job.

It has been two years since the Traitor's Invasion, as it has come to be called, two years since the monumental battle where the North Countries banded together to defend our homelands from the Capori forces from the south, led by the treacherous enchanter, Resca. I had been the one that finally killed him. Because of this, and my association with the enchanter Lithra, I had been granted the opportunity to become an Executor, a special agent of the King, assigned wherever an extra sword was needed. And I wield no ordinary sword.

That was why I had been assigned today. In the aftermath of the invasion, the relationships between several of the North Countries, often strained, had begun to improve noticeably. Many had felt an unexpected feeling of camaraderie in the battle, and it had been amply demonstrated that together, the countries of the North were a much stronger force to be reckoned with. As a result, many feuds and disputes were being settled, and new alliances and treaties forged. Tentatively, of course.

One such of special significance was today. The Crown Prince of Mithere was meeting with the Chiarian High Minister to discuss a new arrangement on several existing trade tariffs and treaties, which was a large breakthrough, considering the tension that had always existed between the two countries. We hadn't yet progressed to the point where the King and the Exaltant would deign to meet one another face to face, but this was a large step in that direction.

Still, decades of suspicion and mistrust are difficult to eradicate, as was evidenced by the large numbers of troops standing at ready attention, despite the stifling warmth and droning of diplomatic introductions. I stood behind and to the left of the Prince, a place where I could protect the prince and keep an eye on the proceedings without being too conspicuous. I wasn't the only special security at this meeting, either. Somewhere, darting around the pillars, Dastan was circling the perimeter, special crossbow loaded and ready, and posted by the entrance was Galbrey, one of the best magicians I'd met, and with a whole bagful of nasty tricks to play on any unwelcome intruder.

If it came down to it, though, we would have our work cut out for us. My eyes swept the ranks of Chiarian soldiers, and I had caught glimpses of similar specially-skilled members of their party.  There was a tall, lanky fellow carrying an elegant longbow and a wicked-looking pair of long, curved knives, and I was reasonably certain I had seen a quick and furtive figure skulking around the grounds earlier. The most obvious, however, was the well-muscled man that stood behind the Exaltant much the way I stood behind the Prince. He was shaved bald, and carried a massive battle-axe. I had mentally labeled the trio as the Hawk, the Weasel, and the Bull, respectively.

The Bull and I had sized each other up in the way that fighting men can, with a quick glance at each other's build and weaponry, and a long stare into each other's eyes. It seemed we had both awarded each other the category of grudging respect, although I'm sure he was unimpressed by my youth. Although I was well-built for my age, and muscular from two years of training and a lifetime of work, I was still only seventeen, and I'd been told I still had a fresh-faced look about me. I didn't mind, though. If fighting were to break out, he would regret underestimating me.

Still, I hoped it wouldn't come to that, and so far the proceedings had been fairly benign. The Prince and the High Minister had excellent restraint, and the negotiations had been essentially free of the petty bickering and shouting matches that often accompanied squabbles over border disputes and the like. Indeed, over the past few days, the atmosphere had thawed, and they seemed to be remarkably agreeable in coming to a common solution.

As the sun rose higher, the level of brightness in the room rose, as did the level of good feeling. Having been an escort on several negotiation embassies, I was relieved that things were going so well. I had grown increasingly frustrated at the pettiness, veiled comments and intrigue that so often accompanied these meetings, growing worse the longer I remained in them. But if today was any indication, perhaps the King and the Exaltant would meet together sooner than I thought.

The men on both sides seemed to be relaxing as their leaders did, hands gradually drifting away from sword hilts, eyelids beginning to droop in the soporific atmosphere. Someone stifled a yawn, and for a moment, even I began lose focus. I noticed the sunlight streaming through the dust, turning every mote into a fleck of gold, and listened to the droning conversation of two of the lawmakers. The words themselves, long and often in ancient Nevinian phrases, seemed to drift sluggishly through the air. The High Minister himself started to nod as the drowsiness got to him.  I soon had to stifle my own yawn, wishing I could just step down from the dais and have a quick walk around the perimeter, but that would leave my post abandoned. I couldn't even stand and have a good stretch because of decorum.

All in all, I don't think anyone was prepared when the knife flashed out of thin air and buried itself in the High Minister's chest.

There was a single moment of perfect silence, where it seemed time itself had stood still from the shock. Everything seemed to be moving very slowly. I watched as the blood began to spurt from the wound, standing out in shocking, scarlet contrast to the white of the Minister's robes. A look of shock crossed his face before he slumped over in his seat. It seemed to break the spell.

All sleepiness had fled in a heartbeat, and pandemonium broke out among the assembly. I drew Sa'Lithra from its scabbard and stepped protectively in front of the Prince. Lawmakers cowered underneath their tables as soldiers drew their weapons. The tall archer I had dubbed the Hawk seemed to materialize from nowhere; arrows already nocked, bow half-drawn. The Bull roared orders at the panicked men, and lesser dignitaries were screaming questions at nobody in particular.

The soldiers charged at each other without orders. The room quickly devolved into chaos.

Something wasn't right. This didn't make sense. Why would someone assassinate the Minister? Why now? Unfortunately, I had no time to consider the situation, nor reason as to who had done this or why. If there was an assassin, he wasn't working for us, and that meant the Prince was very likely to be the next target. I had to keep him alive.

With my left hand, I yanked the Prince out of the chair, feeling his silk garments tear in my rough grip, and shoved him behind his high-backed chair. Treason under normal circumstances. No time to think about it. I called to some of the nearest men, and they quickly formed a defensive circle around the Prince, giving me a little leeway to investigate the situation.

I glanced back over to where the Minister lay. The Bull leapt from the dais and waged into the fray, battle-axe whirring as he laid into the packed men below. The Hawk was firing arrows with incredible rapidity and accuracy, until he himself was killed by a crossbow bolt that materialized in his neck. Dastan's handiwork.

One of the Minister's attendants was desperately trying to get some sort of response from his master, but it was no good. The wound had been instantly fatal. The weapon responsible had been plucked out and cast aside. I don't know how it caught my attention among all the chaos, but after a second, I realized why.

Enchanted objects have a strange property about them, which I had come to call glimmer. When willpower flows through them, it has a curious way of catching your attention, like a glow visible only to the mind. In most common enchantments, the effect is enough to attract a unconscious glance. In some, it can hold your attention like a vise. During my time dealing with magic, I had become more finely attuned to it.  And this knife had a definite glimmer.

As I watched, it suddenly vanished from sight, yet I found I could still sense it. Given the mayhem in the room, I was sure nobody else had noticed. Suddenly, the glimmer leapt up and traced an arc through the air, towards a small doorway that led to the kitchens. That's when I saw him.

He wasn't a tall man, nor very large. He was unarmored, and save for the dagger that had just flown back to his hand, he was unarmed. He was dressed in simple clothing, and looked completely and utterly ordinary. I could have passed him in the street and never given him another thought. One of those nameless faces. But he was the one holding the dagger. I watched as he moved the knife to a throwing grip and began to wind up for another throw. I knew where it was headed.

I charged forward before I even realized what I was doing. I wore on my left arm a bracer that had several different enchanted stones embedded in it. The assassin released his invisible blade just as I said the activation word.

Khalte Essara! I cried, and the galestone on my arm came to life, yellow sparks dancing inside the green crystal. A wave of force pulsed through the air. Sparks burst from a pillar to my right as the knife, shunted from its course, glanced off of the stone. The assassin scowled, and reached out to call the knife back to him again.

I spared a quick look behind me. The intensity of the fighting had not diminished. The Bull was in the center of a small maelstrom, Dastan's bolts were sticking out of a dozen bodies, and the general scene was just as tumultuous. The circle of shields around the Prince still held firm. Nobody seemed to have noticed my exchange with the assassin. I looked back just in time to release another galestone blast, this time deflecting the knife to the left.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Galbrey burst into the room, trailing a contingent of guards behind him.

Galbrey! I yelled. Guard the Prince! I'm going to stop this assassin!

He obediently joined the defensive circle around the Prince, lightning leaping from his fingers at anyone who got too close.

I began to run towards the assassin, deflecting another knife throw as I did. This time he recalled the blade to him before it had even landed. But he wouldn't have time for another throw. I swung with Sa'Lithra, speaking a word of command, and an arc of fire sliced across the room. The man dodged, leaping with astonishing ability and perfect timing, then turned and ran.

I bolted after him, anger lending speed to my pursuit. It was too late to stop the fighting in the hall, but at least I could apprehend this assassin and find out what was going on. I had to be wary of him, though. Although he was only carrying a dagger, it seemed to be heavily enchanted.

I reached the doorway the man had disappeared into. It lead to a simple, unadorned hallway, much more rudimentary than the ornate marble hall. It led to the kitchens. Our security hadn't been as stringent there because of the mass of cooks and kitchen staff, and any organized force would have been spotted by the troops outside long before they reached the kitchen entrance. We hadn't expected a lone assassin daring an attack against this many adversaries. I cursed our lack of foresight. My lack of foresight.

I ran at full speed down the hallway. I just saw my quarry before he ducked into the doorway that lead into the main kitchens, perhaps twenty feet ahead. As I rounded the corner, I expected to see a kitchen in commotion as the assassin ran through the crowd, hoped they would slow him down. Instead I was greeted by the scene of a massacre. Bodies lay piled on the floor in heaps, cooking implements still in hand. One had fallen into the fireplace, leaving the sickening scent of charred flesh to mingle with the smell of blood.

I was almost sick, but I forced myself to keep going. So that was how he'd kept from sounding the alarm. I began to suspect that his weapon and his skill might be more dangerous than I had anticipated. This man had not only managed to slaughter an entire room full of people, he had done so without making a sound, and must have considered it to be less trouble than a disguise or stealth. He wasn't just an assassin, he was a butcher. New hatred kindled in my heart.

The man wove nimbly through the nightmarish debris, feet skipping over the pools of blood and corpses. He vaulted cat-like over a counter, knocking over a bushel of vegetables as he did so. I was less agile, slipping in gore, fighting revulsion every time I accidentally stepped on an unflinching hand. He made it to the outer door, having gained a good fifty feet on me. Suddenly, just as he reached the doorway, running at full tilt, he threw himself backward, sliding on his knees across the now-slick cobblestones, just in time to avoid a spear slash that would have gone right through him.

As I watched in amazement, the assassin took advantage of his initiative, and disemboweled his ambusher with one deft slice. The man I'd named the Weasel collapsed blankly to the ground in surprise.

There was no way the assassin could have known the attack was coming. It was impossible. He'd started his slide a good two feet away from the door, and his follow-up stroke was too well-timed for it merely to have been excellent reflexes. Something else was at foot here.

I finally managed to reach the door, driving forward again. There was a good half-mile of open space before he reached the woods of Triaphel. I had to stop him before he reached that point, or I'd never catch him in those trees. He'd proven himself much too light-footed for that. I stopped for a moment and pointed my bracer towards the retreating figure, taking careful aim.

Drosé Etru, I murmured, and a brilliant streak of lightning snapped towards the retreating figure. I had to funnel large amounts of willpower into the spell to get it to reach so far. To my utter astonishment, the assassin threw himself to the ground, rolling to dodge the attack. Nothing moved faster than lightning. Nothing. And he couldn't possibly have heard or seen me. Thinking fast, I snapped out another phrase of command.

Scintaro est. The stream of lightning, still crackling in the air, suddenly forked, the ends fraying like rope. The man tried to vault away again, but he was too slow this time. He spasmed in mid-leap, collapsing to the ground in a convulsing heap. Praise Eitra.

The magic had drained me more than I had planned, but I still managed to scrape up the wherewithal to manage a slow walk over to the assassin, who lay twitching on the ground. I used Sa'Lithra to carefully flick the knife out of his hand, in case he suddenly regained consciousness or the metal still carried a residual electric charge.

I took a moment to inspect the weapon. It was hard to believe that a dagger could prove so dangerous. It seemed to be simple enough, no unnecessary frills, no ornate details. It was a practical weapon, although the style seemed a little antique. The blade was fairly long, slender and beautifully tapered. The cross hilt was broad with an elegant double curve, making it an effective parrying weapon. The most striking feature, though, was the pommel, which consisted entirely of a piece of faceted golden crystal. Hesitating for a moment, I reached down and picked it up. I could feel immediately the slight thrill that told me the weapon was heavily enchanted. Perhaps as strongly as Sa'Lithra.

I frowned. This did not bode well. It suggested that this man was almost certainly part of some dangerous faction. Using the man's belt and one of my own, I bound his arms and legs, and began to drag him back towards the hall. It was somewhat slow going, but I finally managed to fasten him securely to a sturdy post, where I could leave him until the fighting in the hall was resolved.

I was drained but not exhausted, the result of rigorous magical training over the last couple of years. Still, I wouldn't be in the best condition if things got difficult. I took a deep breath and began to jog back through the kitchen towards the main hall. It was quiet up ahead. Far more quiet than I liked. I entered the great hall unsure of what I would find, just praying the Prince had survived.

My prayers were answered, it seemed, although the situation was less than ideal. Only a few survivors remained. The circle of defenders around the Prince looked decidedly more ragged, and Galbrey, though still standing, suffered from a bad leg wound and looked drained. He was still prepared to give a fight, though, as evidenced by the small jets of flame that hovered in front of his palms. I knew that his strength seemed to stretch out further the closer he came to depletion, the deep willpower of a survivor.

On the other side, weapons at the ready, was a slightly larger but still worn group of Chiarians. The Bull stood in the lead, axe gleaming and dripping with blood. He looked the bull now more than ever; his features furrowed in concentration and anger, nostrils wide, muscles tense and quivering. I could tell he was frustrated by the standoff and would soon snap, hang the consequences.

Hold! I said, trying to project a commanding but non-aggressive tone. I stepped forward, hands held up as a gesture of peace. I still held on to Sa’Lithra, of course, but it was held horizontally well above my head, as conciliatory as I was willing to be given the circumstances. Once all eyes in the room were on me, I continued.

There has already been enough bloodshed today. I do not know who is responsible for the attack today, but whoever it is, it wasn’t-

Don’t protest your innocence, boy, snapped the Bull, in a voice both sharp and patronizing. It lacked the accent I had expected. This whole meeting was a ploy to kill his Eminence.

No! I have caught the man responsible!

Another ploy!

No, look, he carried the very weapon! I said, drawing it and holding it up for his inspection.

Held by the murderer himself! he cried, and I found myself agreeing with him before I realized he was referring to me. Before I could say anything further, he called out again.

Ruossoe! It was someone’s name, a Chiarian name, and it was directed at someone behind me. I heard the familiar sound of a crossbow behind me. I threw myself to the ground, knowing it was too late already, knowing I didn’t have the strength for my bracer’s wards to stop it, knowing I would soon feel the sharp pain between my shoulder blades. At this range the bolt would punch through my light armor as easily as if it were made of cheese.

As I dropped, I heard the sound of a crossbow again, likely firing at Galbrey. Once he was gone, the Prince’s guard would fall, and so would the Prince. To my surprise, I saw the bolt fly overhead and strike the Bull in the left shoulder. Dastan? Not likely. He wouldn’t have missed.

Somewhat belatedly, I noticed a surprising lack of the pain I had anticipated. I flipped over onto my back to find only one crossbowman standing behind me, in a place where he would have been unseen by Galbrey or the guards. He was uninjured but looked very surprised. Instinctively, I threw the knife at him. I had never practiced throwing knives, but scored a lucky throw as it burrowed point first into the man’s chest. Somewhat shaken and not quite sure what had just happened, I rose to my feet and looked at the scene again.

I could see no sign of Dastan. Galbrey was uninjured, as was the Prince and the guards standing with him. They all looked as surprised as the crossbowman had been. The Bull only looked angrier. He yanked the quarrel out of his shoulder, grimacing slightly, and then strode towards me with iron will and cold anger, axe at the ready.

In the few seconds I had, I decided to try something. I had seen how the knife was capable of returning to the hand that last threw it, so I assumed I might be able to do the same. Lithra had spent hours teaching me the basic elements of Kostra, the enchanter’s language, and I knew it was nearly universal. There was a good chance I could call it back to me.

Rostra tel, I said, trying the most basic homing phrase. Nothing. Andros. An activation word that triggered an object into motion. No response. Before I could try another, the Bull had closed to striking distance, and swung his axe in a murderous blow.

I ducked, and struck back with Sa’Lithra. The Bull spun to the side and swung again, a vicious stroke with his full strength behind it. I attempted to block with Sa’Lithra. If I wielded an ordinary sword, this idea would have been foolhardy at best, but with the many enchantments that layered the sword I had done so successfully many times before, often shearing the axe blade into halves.

Sa’Lithra was wrenched out of my hands and went flying across the room. Apparently he wielded no ordinary axe either. It was too far for me to reach, and from the flashes that lit the room, I knew Galbrey was too busy holding off the other soldiers to assist me. This was a very dangerous situation, to say the least. I forced myself to fight the rising panic and remain calm, an effort that took as much willpower as most spells.

The Bull, seeing he had the advantage, began an aggressive advance, pacing forward deliberately, axe whirring in deadly arcs. I danced around the brutish strokes as best I could, losing ground quickly. Strangely enough, I was suddenly calm, the calm that I had often heard about from veteran warriors, the serene acceptance of those who are facing certain death and have nothing left to worry about. I was still actively engaged in trying to avoid that end, of course, but it was as though my mind was elsewhere.

The events surrounding the crossbowman still puzzled me. I didn’t know what had happened there. I then had a moment of inspiration. When I had killed the man, the knife throw had been perfect. So had the throw made by the assassin that killed the High Minister. Maybe the man had just had excellent aim, or perhaps it was another enchantment on the weapon.

The Bull delivered a sweeping cut at chest height, which I had to duck beneath. He followed this stroke with a powerful kick, which sent me sprawling back. Then he came in for the kill. I had nothing to lose by one last try.

Tensharra!

As soon as I had spoken the command, I could tell by the slight but familiar drain that it had worked. Tensharra was the Kostran command to reverse the previous spell. Since the knife throw had been magically guided from my hand to the target, it would now be guided from the target to my hand.

I rolled to one side, barely in time to avoid the axe that struck the spot where I had just been. The flagstones practically exploded under the blow. I held out my hand and felt the handle of the knife land solidly in my hand. It wasn’t much compared to a battle-axe, but it was something.

I rolled again as another stone-shattering blow struck next to me. I lashed out with my foot, catching him a solid blow in his unprotected knee. He grunted and limped back a step, giving me time to rise to my feet.

He was just about to charge again when he suddenly locked up and fell forward on his face, axe falling from his grasp. I looked up to see Galbrey standing in his place, sparks still snapping on his gauntlets from the stun shock he had just applied.

Well, he said, matter-of-factly. That’s that.

I opened my mouth to reply, and then shut it again as all of emotions and shock that circumstances had held at bay came rushing in at once. I stared numbly at Galbrey, then looked over at the others. The Prince seemed fine. The remaining Chiarian soldiers had either surrendered or died. Galbrey had gained another wound, this time on his arm, and his gauntlets were dripping with blood.

Galbrey clapped me on the shoulder, dragging me back to the present. We still had work to do. I would work through the shock later, just as I had in the past.

What should we do, Galbrey? I asked. Things were going so well, and now…

We’ll work it out, he replied. First we need to send to the village for healers, ensure the Prince’s safety, and then try to convince the Chiarians that we weren’t the ones responsible for this.

And then?

Then we find the blackguards who are.

•••

Before sundown we had managed to take care of nearly everything. Healers and physicians had been brought from nearby Quarryvale, and miners were tending to the burying of the slain. Dastan had been found among them, sadly.

We had gathered the lawyers and diplomats who had survived to discuss the situation. After a few high-spirited remarks, we managed to agree that Mithere had not been responsible for the murder. It would make no sense for us to do so, at least not in this fashion.

The Bull had been harder to convince. His name was Drake, it turned out. He’d awoken tied to a chair until he calmed down enough to hold a conversation. He was bright enough to listen reason, but highly paranoid and reluctant to admit he had been wrong. We eventually managed to convince him of the truth, at which point were able to let him loose. He shook my hand and apologized. We shared another one of those warrior’s looks, and this time the respect was awarded freely.

The assassin had proven the biggest problem so far. He had remained completely close-mouthed, not even telling us his name. He was being kept under lock, key and close guard for the time being. After some discussion, it had been agreed that the Chiarians would take him to be tried and interrogated.

Which left us only with the current difficulty.

Your Majesty, I cannot allow it!

I believe I am the one who decides what is to be allowed or not, Galbrey, said the Prince levelly.

"Your father has given us strict charge to protect you. This situation is still volatile. What happened today will have repercussions, regardless of who has done it," Galbrey said, more agitated than I had ever seen him.

And that is precisely why I must go, the Prince countered. Our nations have never been closer to being at peace. I cannot allow this to destroy that. If I go to Ratriel myself, I can placate the King and convince him we are not at fault. This alliance can still be salvaged.

But, my liege-

If I leave, the alliance will fail, and the rift between our countries will never heal. I will not allow cowardice to compromise peace for our people.

Galbrey was about to speak again when he stopped himself. I could tell duty was wrestling with duty within him. On the one hand, he was honor-bound to the King and his charge, but on the other, he was also sworn to the Prince himself. And despite the danger, we both knew he was right. This was the only way to prevent the return of hostilities and perhaps even war.

I had to admire the Prince’s bravery. He was right that it was the only way that this alliance could be saved, but there was no guarantee that his actions would save it. The Chiarian Exaltant was a brilliant but ruthless man. The Prince could be just as easily be executed, tortured, or held for ransom, especially since he had virtually no guards left to bring with him on the journey.

What do you say, Selane? The Prince asked, seeing Galbrey was wavering. Although I deferred to his seniority, we were both Executors, and thus both of us had an equal vote and an equal responsibility for the Prince’s safety.

My liege, I agree with Galbrey about the risks involved. However, I also agree that this is the best way to save this situation. If you desire to go, I will defer to your wishes. The Prince nodded and looked back to Galbrey, who eventually nodded in reply.

So it’s decided, the Prince said. I shall go to Ratriel with Galbrey, and you, Selane, will bear the news back to my father.

That I hadn’t expected. I began to protest, but the Prince continued on.

As you have agreed, the situation is dangerous. Dangerous enough that it won’t really matter whether you come with me or not. I will be at the Exaltant’s mercy either way. My father needs to hear about this from someone he knows and can be trusted to give an accurate report.

I didn’t like being the one on the receiving end of the Prince’s logic, but kept my mouth shut.

And besides, I think he might have a special mission for you, he continued.

My liege?

Someone needs to find out who is behind these attacks before things get worse. I want you to find the ones responsible and end them. Is that understood, warrior?

Yes, your majesty, I replied, with relish. Yes it is.

•••

I reached the gates of Conford five days after the assassination had taken place. Celthis had flown over the landscape, hooves thundering like his namesake, the sprite of storms. We had traveled the distance in nearly half the time it took a normal horse, for Celthis was a Thundersteed, a stallion with some magic passed down by his ancestors, a line that some said had lightning in their veins.

We had sent an Imperial Eagle bearing the news ahead of me, but I was needed to give a fuller report, as well as to bring the knife for inspection. A messenger awaited me at the gates and informed me that I should report to the King and his council immediately, as they were awaiting me.

The crowded streets opened before me as Celthis moved through at a brisk trot. I wore the crimson cape of a King’s Executor on official business, and they knew better than to impede one of us who was in a hurry. I sometimes enjoyed the respect, but not the notoriety that often came with my post. I sometimes wished I were more like the Daylost, unknown to the public. The way Essedri was.

The thought of Essedri caused me to sit up a little taller in the saddle, despite the exhaustion of the rapid travel. Ever since Resca’s War, where we had first met, we had begun to see each other more often. At first it was in only in official capacities, and then gradually on our own. We quickly became friends, and then a little more than friends. The last time I had seen her, unfortunately, was at the centennial celebration several months ago, where we had shared a special few days together. Also a rather embarrassing moment, but I preferred not to think about that part.

As I approached the palace gates I took a moment to collect my thoughts. I had the information the council required, but few answers to their inevitable questions, and since the Chiarians had taken the prisoner, our only clue was the weapon used.

I left Celthis at his usual spot at the castle stables, with orders that he be well looked-after, and began the walk to the council chamber. It was not a pleasant walk. After five days of hard riding, the legs tend to feel like they’re made of old wood and rusted hinges.

I eventually reached the council room, which was of course at the top of several flights of stairs. The entire council was assembled and waiting for me. The King was seated in the center of a half-circle, with important figures seated on either side.

King’s Executor Selane reporting, my liege. I said, kneeling. Apologies for my appearance. Five days of riding had made their impact on more than my legs.

No matter, the King replied. Tell us what happened, in as much detail as you can.

I did so.

•••

Selane Surinson, you are hereby charged with abandoning your post. How do you answer this charge?

I was flabbergasted. After giving my report, I had left the dagger with the council, and been dismissed for the night. I had been called back the next morning, only to find myself accused.

I couldn’t bring myself to reply for several moments as my mind churned over this unexpected development. Abandoned my post? How could-?

Answer the charge, Executor, the magistrate said again.

Innocent! I replied, feeling dread and panic rising in my chest. I was also a little angry, although I kept myself controlled. What is meant by this?

You abandoned the Prince when you did not accompany him to Chiaris, thereby failing in your charge to accompany and protect him.

He ordered me to return! I said defensively. I couldn’t believe what was happening. My stomach was suddenly twisted in knots. I wanted nothing more than to serve honorably, and now I was accused of a crime that was essentially treasonous. I looked to the King for some hope of understanding, but he did not speak.

Your orders came from the King, and you were answerable to him, not the Prince, said the magistrate.

But-

Silence, Executor. Turning to the King, the Magistrate continued. The accused has proclaimed himself innocent, and has already explained his account of the events. What shall be done, your majesty?

Nothing, for the time being, replied the King, fixing me with a very unusual look. It was an appraising look but there was some other emotion there.

But my liege, it was you who summoned him here to answer for…

The King silenced him with a small gesture.

Given the current circumstances, we will forestall any formal judgment for the time being. For the time being, Selane will simply be relieved of his duties. Selane, turn in your emblem.

I was nearly as devastated as if he’d ordered me imprisoned or banished. The emblem was a mark of my authority as a trusted agent of the King. I valued that trust more than I did the status or position that came with it. I reluctantly unfastened the golden clasp at the front of my Executor’s cape. It was adorned with the wyvern and crown, symbol of the Royal house. It also symbolized everything I had been working towards for the last two years. It could symbolize my only chance with Essedri.

I handed the emblem to the King, and promptly turned to leave the courtroom before my tears threatened to break loose.

Selane! The King said, somewhat sharply. I looked back over my shoulder, not trusting myself to look at him directly. You did not ask to be dismissed.

I certainly didn’t, I thought to myself, but fortunately didn’t say it. My liege.

"Valtarra san Eitra, Selane Surinson."

I stared at him blankly for a moment, then left. As soon as the door closed behind me, I bolted. I had a mission to accomplish.

•••

I didn’t understand why the King was doing this, but he had given me some hope after all. When he had dismissed me, he had done so using an ancient Nevinian blessing, which roughly meant: God be your shield. It was a common enough phrase, but for Executors, it had an uncommon meaning to it. It was a code phrase meaning that you were to be recalled. It was most often used in letters when they wished you to return and did not wish that fact to be known. As far as I was aware, only the King and the Master General knew of the phrase. I was sure his Majesty had used it on purpose. So apparently he wanted to meet with me.

I returned to my quarters and assembled a traveling pack. I could only assume that either the King had a mission in mind for me, or if not, at least I could travel home to the inn for a time.

Now, if I was right, I just needed to know where and when he wanted to meet me. As if confirming my suspicion, there came a knock at the door. I went to answer it, but just before I could reach it, it flew open and someone burst through. Before I knew it, a knife was against my throat. The pommel of a knife.

Hello, Essedri. I said.

Hello, dead man, she responded. You’re slow today.

I usually don’t expect people to kill me in my own house in the middle of the day.

Then that’s exactly how they’ll do it, she said. We played this little game from time to time. It helped to keep us on our toes. It was fun, even though she usually beat me. She was a master of stealth.

What brings you here? I asked. Miss me?

I did, she said, but I’m here on business today. We have a meeting with the King in half an hour. I came to get you.  Well, that was good news as far as I was concerned.

I’m glad you’re safe, she added.

I’m glad the Prince is safe.

Yes, that’s good too, she replied, with a twinkle in her eye. What exactly happened, anyway? I’ve heard only secondhand reports.

I gave her a brief synopsis of the events as we walked to the meeting room. Her brow furrowed at several points as they triggered some memory.

I may have an idea as to who these people are, she said. And I don’t think we’ll like it if I’m correct. She looked like she was about to go on, but as we turned the corner I saw someone I didn’t expect.

It was a veritable goliath of a man, standing head and shoulders above me. His hair was unkempt and wild, his arms rippling with strength. I could tell even from behind who it was.

Gavin! I cried out in surprise. Then the man turned around. I had been mistaken. He looked very similar to Gavin, with the broad, honest face, dark, mischievous eyes, and nose that looked as though it had been broken a few times. However, on closer inspection, he had all ten fingers, and looked rather more serious than Gavin generally did. I then noticed he also had on a knight’s surcoat with a particular crown-and-shield pendant around his neck. Gavin was a great many things, but a King’s Champion wasn’t one of them. Not that I knew of, anyway.

I’m sorry, I said. I mistook you for someone else.

You wouldn’t be the first, the man replied. He had the same voice as Gavin, a rich, deep, slightly gravelly voice, although his accent wasn’t nearly as thick. But it has been a while since last we were confused. Tell me, lad, where’d you meet my brother?

That explained the similarities, but it also raised a lot of questions about Gavin.

I was a traveler on board the Tranquility for several months. We’re good friends. He gave me this,