“Are you sick?” asked Xith. “You haven’t said a word since we ate. Usually you are teaming with a hundred different questions.” Xith paused to collect his thoughts. “Forget about the two. We can’t do anything for them.”

  The subtle directing of the voice stimulated Vilmos’ subconscious. Again, Xith knew of a secret yearning.

  “But why?” said Vilmos. “What could make someone so miserable? I could see pain on both their faces.”

  “He is a debtor. Once caught in the cycle, it can never be broken.” Knowing something else was wrong, Xith fixed Vilmos with a discerning eye. Vilmos was referring to more than what he was talking about. He was also talking about himself, though he was not fully aware of this. “Tell me what is really bothering you, Vilmos?”

  Vilmos shook his head. He heard Xith, but in the back of his mind he saw the warrior poised with the great blade at the ready. Vilmos called to the warrior but the warrior ignored him and walked away.

  Chapter Four:

  Return to Imtal

  The walls of Imtal were ahead in the distance but this didn’t improve Emel’s demeanor. He was frustrated, angry and tired. When the garrison troops left Imtal they had numbered in the thousands. Now, those that returned—the survivors—numbered in the hundreds. How did one explain such a thing to the King? How did one explain such utter failure, followed by more failure? How did one explain losing the only good things to come of the Battle of Quashan’?

  Emel did not envy his father this day. Ansh Brodst was sure to be stripped of his title as King’s Knight Captain and the land grant that had gone with it. Emel himself, promoted in the field to Fourth Captain, Imtal Garrison, doubted the promotion would stand.

  No, those returning would surely be cast out of the city and sent to the wild outposts: High Road, Serant, Reassae or worse: the territory outposts from which few ever returned.

  Emel hung his head in shame as they passed within the protective gates of the city. He wished this day would end and didn’t see how things could get any worse.

  Fortunately, it was well into the evening and no one turned out to greet the returning soldiers. Even the heralds upon the walls had the good sense not to call out to mark the return.

  The clatter of hooves and boots echoed along Imtal’s cobbled streets for some time as the group slowly made their way toward the central district. Soon Emel could see torches lighting the way to the parade plaza within High King’s Square. Even in the darkness, he could see the faces of the soldiers around him. Their expressions, once sad and grim, turned upward. Smiles replaced tears and, sometimes, tears of joy replaced frowns. It was good to be home regardless of the circumstance, and he knew this as well.

  Just as the relief at being home faded, the group reached High King’s Square. There, a miraculous sight awaited them. The square, save the central parade route, was filled to overflowing with Imtal’s citizens, and the streets beyond the square were filled as well. The lines of people went on as far as he could see.

  A sense of purpose returned to the group’s actions. Soldiers walked with their heads up, digging their boots into the stones as they marched. Riders sat true in the saddle, reigns in one hand, the other hand up in greeting.

  Emel maneuvered Ebony within the ranks until he rode beside his father. He reached out and clasped his father’s arm, grinning broadly. “It’s a homecoming I never thought I’d see!”

  “And I as well,” said Ansh Brodst. “But this night isn’t over.”

  Impulsively Emel looked over his shoulder at the carriage behind his father. “Two dead elves won’t please his majesty, that is for sure.”

  “Dying, not dead. Keeper Martin and Father Jacob are doing their best to see that the elves at least survive the journey to its end. After that, who can say.”

  “Dying, not dead,” corrected Emel.

  “I will release the company until the first day of the new moon so that they may be with their families. What is unspoken is that officers are not granted this leave.”

  “Yes of course, father, I understand this.”

  “Your duty will be to work with the other captains to restructure the garrison and put these battle experienced soldiers into positions that best serve the Kingdom. Such experience is valuable, and it will be expected of you to make tough decisions in the name of the crown.

  “Each of the fallen will need to be put to rest in the eyes of their families. You will take your share of the black sheets. You will get no special favors, you understand?”

  Emel slowed Ebony’s pace as the group prepared to stop. “I understand completely.”

  “No Emel, you don’t understand,” said Ansh Brodst as he raised a hand to command the group to a halt. “You earned the rank of captain in the field. Now you must earn the respect of those who know nothing and care not of your deeds. Don’t take this lightly, or you will meet your end with your belly gutted in an empty field.”

  * * *

  Except for the unexpected encounter in her room at the inn, Adrina’s return to Imtal was uneventful. The Klaive Keep Knight’s escorted her to Imtal, through the city streets, and conveyed her and her belongings directly to the palace proper. Most of the city was still deep in mourning the lost and the fallen, so her return was completely overlooked. Even her father, the king, did not turn out to welcome her home, and now she paced nervously in her room as she waited for the evening meal and a chance to speak with her father.

  She was agitated because two of the knights refused to leave her side. “Rudden Klaiveson bade us to protect you with our lives until your return to Klaive in the spring,” they said when she urged them to go with

  the others, “and we gave a blood oath as such that cannot be broken by any command. Only death will cause us to leave your side.”

  She was also agitated because she couldn’t find anyone with information on the elves. Emel was gone. Father Jacob wasn’t in his quarters. Keeper Martin wasn’t available: he was in council with her father. No one else she asked knew anything about the elves—not even the cooks, who always knew the scuttlebutt of the day.

  The only good thing to come of her return home was a bath. A long hot bath that Myrial drew for her and she soaked in for what seemed hours.

  Myrial was in Adrina’s chambers now readying the wood for the evening fire. From time to time, Adrina could see the servant girl watching as she paced. Most of the time, Myrial’s attention was on the wood that she stacked carefully.

  “I think it’s going to be cold tonight,” said Adrina. “What do you think?”

  Surprised at the direct question, Myrial dropped the wood she was carrying and then hurried about the floor picking it up. Adrina touched the girl’s arm to stop her flitting about. At first, Myrial squirmed away as if Adrina’s fingers burned into her skin, but soon she calmed.

  “I think it is going to be cold tonight,” repeated Adrina. “Don’t you?”

  “We played together as girls,” whispered Myrial. “I remember Queen Alexandria holding my hand and yours. We’d walk through the gardens until we got to a new section and then she’d set to planting and we’d pretend to do the same. I was a fool in childhood to think we could be friends—I was a fool as a girl to think that by serving you well you would return my family honor. But you don’t even remember who I am, let alone my name. So yes, yes I think it will be cold tonight, but you will not feel the chill of it—only I.”

  The words stung Adrina. She had blocked out just about everything from her childhood—everything around and before that day, the day she couldn’t before bring herself to remember. She had walled off that day and with it, most everyone around her. “Your name is Myrial,” said Adrina, “and I remember. I remember now, but I don’t want to. How I wish I could forget again, to be numb is better than to remember.”

  “No,” said Myrial. “Not if you remember the way I do.”

  “What do you mean? I remember and I cry.”

  “I remember and I laugh,” said Myrial. “How could you do otherwise? She loved you so. You were her world, her everything. So how could you remember and not laugh? We had grand times in the gardens, in the halls, in the bathing pool, right here in this very room. The room that was hers before she left us.”

  Adrina was about to scream “US! WHAT DO YOU MEAN?” But she bit her tongue and said nothing. She would not take away Myrial’s one joy: there was no joy in drudgery so there must be some joy somewhere.

  “Do you remember,” said Myrial with a laugh, “the day you got bit on the nose by a bee? Oh, it was a grand and silly day. You and I were screaming, running around the garden, screaming and running, shouting, ‘The bees, the bees!’

  “Alexandria laughed and laughed as Izzy chased us: round and round in circles. Izzy was trying to put a salve on your nose and to calm us. But only Alexandria was able to catch and calm us. She caught us both in a great big embrace and we rolled with her on the ground to Izzy’s dismay.”

  Adrina laughed a soft girlish laugh then as she remembered and saw with Myrial’s eyes. She threw her arms around Myrial and cried, saying, “Where were you when my insides were being torn apart?”

  “I was here,” said Myrial, “right here. I was always right here, but you, you never left that day, and you only remembered what happened later… It is good to have you back Adrina, very good.”

  Adrina wiped tears from her eyes and regained her composure. “I should think that you will address me properly from now on. Do you understand?”

  As if suddenly remembering her place, Myrial’s smile faded. She curtsied and started to pick up the firewood that lay on the floor at her feet.

  Adrina put a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “No, I mean, you should call me, Dri.”

  “Dri,” said Myrial smiling as if remembering fondly. “I didn’t think you remembered?”

  “I did and I am sorry,” said Adrina. “Can you ever forgive me?”

  “If it is your wish, then it is so.”

  “No, I mean really and truly in your heart and not because it is your place but because it is what you want to do.”

  Myrial was silent for moment. “Dri, I don’t think I can just yet. You hurt me, you really hurt me, and I came to know much more about my place than you can ever know. I sleep in the dirt many nights because there is no straw. I eat if there is food, when there is food. I do the tasks as the housemaster asks of me, even if those tasks take what little dignity I have left.”

  “What do you mean? What are you saying?”

  “My family served yours for generations and in times past we earned some status. When that status was lost, we paid ten fold for every favor we ever got. So now I do whatever I have to and I survive because I am a survivor. I won’t give in or give up as easily as you.”

  Adrina was speechless for a moment. “My mother was my world. I could never understand why it happened and so I could never forget. I am passed the why now, and in time I think I will be able to accept it and perhaps to remember those days as you do. I will try, if you will try to forgive me. I should think there will be many changes around here from now on and starting with the dismissal of the housemaster!”

  “Don’t,” said Myrial. “You’ll only stir up a hornet’s nest and then, and then…”

  “And then what?” demanded Adrina.

  “And then you’ll go off and forget and I’ll be left in a worse place, a place I won’t be able to let myself go back to.”

  Adrina’s expression became determined. She took Myrial’s hand and led her from the room. Myrial tried to speak but Adrina wouldn’t let her. Once they were in the lower level of the palace, she said, “Show me to the housemaster’s room.”

  “Don’t,” said Myrial.

  “Or what? Last time I checked, I was Princess Adrina and my father was King.”

  Myrial pointed out the housemaster’s room. Adrina knocked on the door but didn’t wait for an answer before trying to enter. When she found the door locked and no answer forthcoming, she began shouting, “Guards! Guards!”

  The two knights of Klaive Keep, only steps behind Adrina, were the first to respond. Their presence surprised Adrina for she had forgotten they were even there. “Bust down the door!” she told them. “Bust it down now!”

  The two knights pressed their weight against the door two times before the door crashed inward. Adrina stepped around the fallen door, dragging Myrial behind her.

  The housemaster’s chamber was huge—and rivaled her own lavish living quarters. Adrina found the housemaster in one of the rear rooms, sitting on a fluffy couch with several attendants catering to his whims. The knights of Klaive Keep were right behind her and behind them were many palace guards.

  Adrina glared at the startled housemaster. “Housemistress!” she called out shrilly.

  “Housemaster, Your Highness. Assure you, I didn’t know you’d returned. If I had, everything would’ve been in order. Promise you, if you tell what’s wrong, I can fix it.”

  Adrina turned to Myrial. “Housemistress, what is this man doing in your quarters? I gave you express orders before I left that you are to run the household. If you cannot see fit to replace this man, I will send him to the gallows so that you have no excuse!”

  The housemaster jumped to his feet, screaming, “The gallows? Why whatever for? Assure you I can train, I can train—”

  “Myrial,” said Adrina.

  “Yes, Myrial,” said the housemaster, “I’ll be out of these quarters immediately and I’ll train her. I want nothing of these quarters or this office, I assure you.”

  “Then you shall not mind being Myrial’s man servant?”

  The housemaster swallowed a gigantic lump in his throat. “It shall be an honor to serve,” he said bowing deeply, his eyes betraying his anger.

  Adrina turned to one of the guardsmen. “You, what is your name?”

  “G-G-Garette. Garette Timmer.”

  “Swordmaster Timmer’s son?”

  The guardsman nodded.

  “You are dismissed of all duties, save one. Your duty is to Housemistress Myrial. You are to see that no harm befalls her—ever. No order save mine or Myrial’s shall you heed. It is my wish and my will. Send your captain to me if there is any disagreement.”

  Chapter Five:

  Unexpected Competitions

  Vilmos awoke. He looked around the room, not surprised to find he was alone. A cold breakfast was on the table next to the window.

  He brushed sleep from his eyes, finding no cheer in the new day or the bright sunshine. As he scooped tasteless spoonfuls of thick, pasty gruel into his mouth, allowing it to slide across his tongue and down his throat without chewing, he stared out the window. A blank expression was on his face, and for a long while, as he thought about the shaman, the city below cried out to him. It was his to explore if he dared—the whole of the largest city in all the lands, the whole of the Free City of Solntse, was his.

  The early-day sun shining through the window brought out sudden bravery. It seemed as if the sun was inviting him to come outdoors. Suddenly he was no longer content to sit indoors and wait idly, and so he hurriedly gulped down the last of the cold gruel.

  After stepping out onto the dusty street, Vilmos veered left, ambling around several long blocks before deciding which direction to proceed in. Passing some of the dingier establishments he recalled from the previous day, he quickened his pace, content to continue straight for a time. At the next intersection he paused, unsure whether to turn left, right or proceed.

  “Lost, boy?” called out a gruff voice.

  Vilmos rolled his eyes upward, taking in the tall figure in a single, gradual panning glance. “N-no, not really.”

  “That’s not much of a response,” said the man, laughing.

  Vilmos backed away warily. His eyes never straying from the long blade sheathed at the other’s side. “I have to go now.”

  “Wait! Perhaps, I can help you find the place you’re looking for.”

  “There is a square near here. I must have passed it. Good day to you, sir.”

  “Perhaps we’re going to the same place. Describe the market you’re looking for and maybe I can help.”

  Vilmos wanted to run but didn’t. “It’s not a market. I’ll find it. No need to worry.” Vilmos ran from the outstretched hand.

  “You wouldn’t be looking for the competitions, would you?”

  Vilmos’ eyes lit up as if the man had just offered him a piece of candy. “Maybe. Maybe I am; maybe I’m not.”

  “Not too sure of anything are you? Do you have a name, boy?”

  Vilmos thought about the question; he didn’t see any harm in answering it—or did he? “V-Vil… Vil… Vil-am. My name is Vilam, and yours?”

  “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me,” said the man, grinning as he tugged at the stubble on his chin. “I’m not supposed to be here either. Maybe we can both do the thing we’re not supposed to be doing together. This is no place for a boy such as yourself to be about—and if you plan to go to the competitions, you had best take my hand.”

  Vilmos stepped into the street.

  “If you’re going to the competitions that is the wrong way. I’ll guide you—for a price.”

  “For a price?” asked Vilmos, confident he had finally discovered the man’s ploy.

  “For you, my friend, a one-time fee: good for all time. All I would ask is—” Vilmos took another step away. He had no money and didn’t know what the man would do if he refused the offer. “All I ask is a simple thing. You needn’t be afraid of me. For, you see, when I said I’m not supposed to be here either, I was referring to…” The man switched to a low, whispering tone. “…viewing the competitions.”

  The man switched back to a fuller speech. “Allow me to introduce myself. Bladesman S’tryil, a ridesman by trade, a bladesman by necessity. But please don’t call me by my name, as I said, I am not supposed to be here either. So, I will call you… Vilam… Is that correct?” Vilmos nodded. “You can call me, Greer. Do we have a deal?”