by Ben Wolf
“I need to talk to you about the queen,” Grak said.
“Why is your sword out?” Kent asked.
Grak looked at it. “I like the way it feels in my hand.”
“If we are to have a conversation, you must put the sword away first.”
“Why? Nervous about something?”
Kent’s eyes narrowed. “I react more positively when I do not feel threatened.”
Grak took a few more steps forward, now almost within striking range.
Only one response made strategic sense at this point. Kent stepped forward as well, closing the distance between them twice as fast.
Three calm steps later, Kent had leveled the terms, albeit only slightly. He’d taken away a good portion of Grak’s sword range, limiting his potential attacks with it to stabbing and quick cuts. The down side was his proximity to Grak made Kent easier to grab hold of, and that presented a whole different set of issues.
“But I want you to feel threatened.” Grak sneered at him. “That’s the nature of this conversation. I’m threatening you.”
Kent stood his ground. “Then get it over with. I have more important things to do.”
“I know you’re mixing with the queen.”
“Mixing?” Kent knew what Grak was saying, but he refused to give him even an inch in the conversation.
“You know what I mean,” Grak growled. “You’re getting friendly with her, and not always with clothes on.”
“How crude.” Kent stared into Grak’s dark eyes, unblinking.
“I don’t like it. It needs to stop.”
Kent blinked. Aveyna had mentioned Grak’s interest in her—a “deep infatuation,” she’d called it. “I do not believe you are in any position to make demands.”
“You don’t deny it, then?”
“What the queen does privately falls outside even the scope of your duties, as do my private behaviors. As such, I believe this conversation has concluded. Excuse me.”
Kent tried to walk past Grak, but Grak’s free hand caught his chest and half-pinned him against the corridor wall, stopping his progress.
Grak started to speak, but Kent reacted physically.
He grabbed Grak’s armored wrist with his right hand, took hold of Grak’s little finger with his left, and wrenched it back.
Snap.
Grak’s eyes widened, and he roared. He yanked his hand free from Kent’s grip and swung his sword at Kent.
But Kent saw it coming. He jammed the heel of his left hand into Grak’s right bicep, stopping Grak’s swing far short, then Kent shifted his footing, planted his right hand on Grak’s black breastplate, and shoved with his arms and legs.
Grak staggered back several steps, and Kent backed farther away, increasing the distance once again. That way, if Grak charged, Kent would have plenty of time to deal with it.
“I told you not to touch me,” Kent said.
Grak stood where he’d ended up, seething and cursing. He sheathed his sword with a metallic clack, and then he took hold of his little finger and popped it back into place with another snap. “You bastard… I ought to kill you.”
Kent held his tongue. Now was not the time to prove a point—not when he had already proven one.
“You stay away from her, you hear?” Grak spat. “Or else.”
Kent stared him down until Grak turned and stormed out of the corridor, clutching his hand. He waited a moment to make sure Grak wouldn’t return, then he headed to his chambers.
After dinner, Kent joined General Deoward and Admiral Tagril in the throne room to meet with Queen Aveyna. General Ruba had returned to the northern army at the Inothian border, which fell under his command, so he wouldn’t be in attendance.
Prince Kymil entered from the corridor behind the throne with Queen Aveyna close behind. Kent caught a glimpse of Grak’s hulking form in the shadows farther into the corridor, and then the wall panel shut over him, sealing the meeting’s five attendees in the throne room alone.
Aveyna sat on her throne, welcomed them briefly, and then dove into her plan regarding Muroth. She concluded, “I have already sent the proposed treaty by way of a winged messenger.”
Her voice dissipated in the vast throne room, leaving silence in its wake.
General Deoward spoke first. “Your Highness, I wish you had consulted us prior to sending the messenger.”
Admiral Tagril nodded. “These types of decisions are precisely why your predecessors relied upon advisors. We serve as checks and balances against the inclinations of the sovereign.”
Aveyna remained silent, and she looked at Kent.
“While I am inclined to agree with the general and the admiral about how this decision was reached,” Kent started, “I am optimistic that Queen Aveyna’s attempts can forge a lasting peace with Muroth.”
Aveyna gave him a grin and a nod. He’d done what she’d wanted.
“I think it was a reckless move,” Kymil said from his chair. “Foolish and reckless.”
Part of Kent wanted to smack the disdain off of Kymil’s face, but internally, he agreed with the assessment. He’d said as much to Aveyna that morning.
“Muroth doesn’t want peace. And we don’t want peace,” Kymil continued. “They are determined to reclaim what they lost so many years ago. We want to destroy them, and they want to destroy us. Peace is impossible.”
“Peace talks have only been attempted once before throughout the course of our conflict with Muroth,” Aveyna said. “Eighty-nine years ago, before any of us were born, it was Muroth, not Inoth, that offered terms for peace. My great-great grandfather rejected those terms, and thus the conflict continued.”
“Then he was reckless and foolish, too,” Kymil muttered.
Kent’s patience snapped. “Perhaps you should address your queen with more respect.”
Kymil looked up at Kent, a mixture of shock and anger in his eyes. “I beg your pardon?”
“It is the queen’s pardon you ought to beg, not mine.” Kent knew he was undoing whatever progress he’d made with Kymil on the hunting trip, but he refused to let Kymil treat Aveyna in a way even vaguely reminiscent of what she’d endured from Kymil’s father. “Perhaps you ought to apologize as well.”
“That will not be necessary, Lord Etheridge,” Aveyna interjected. “Kymil is free to express his concerns.”
“Respectfully,” Kent added. “He must address you according to the respect your office as his queen commands.”
“Kent,” Aveyna said calmly. “It’s fine.”
Kent’s chest stewed with fervor, but he bit back the rest of words for Kymil, who sat in his chair glaring at him. Kent bowed to Aveyna. “Yes, my queen.”
“Kymil,” Aveyna began, “what alternative path would you suggest?”
“We must break them as they have sought to break us.” He motioned toward Kent. “The whole reason you made him an advisor was so that we could better learn to defeat them. And now you want to make peace instead?”
“It is in Inoth’s best interests to avoid further bloodshed,” Aveyna said.
Kymil turned to Kent again. “Did you fill her head with these ideas? Is this your idea of advising her?”
Kent started to answer, but Aveyna cut him off.
“The idea to pursue peace was entirely mine, and I acted unilaterally in executing my plans to that effect.” Aveyna looked at Kent. “Lord Etheridge did not sway my decision, but he is an asset to me all the same with regard to Muroth. His expertise regarding the internal politics of Muroth will help us to achieve this peace.”
“I will do everything I can, Your Highness,” Kent said.
The discussion continued for a few more minutes, and Aveyna answered her advisors’ questions with wise, tactful answers. Meanwhile, Kymil glared at Kent practically nonstop.
Years earlier, Kent had learned that the males of certain predatory species often killed the non-related offspring of their mates to preserve their own lines as superior. Kent empathized with that sentim
ent now more than ever.
And his puny neck would be so easy to snap, too, Kent mused.
But it would also devastate Aveyna to lose Kymil, so Kent buried his dark thoughts deep within his mind.
“If there are no more questions, then I will call this meeting to a close.” Aveyna glanced between the four of them, and no one said anything else. “Then all that remains is to await a reply from Muroth. Let us pray that we receive a favorable one. Go in peace, my trusted friends.”
Back in Aveyna’s chambers, Kent lay in her bed under her furs, spent and content. She lay next to him, partly on top of him and partly on her side, lightly snoring.
He grinned down at her. Apparently, even queens snore.
He’d already told her about the hunt with Kymil, but he hadn’t said anything about his encounter with Grak afterward. Kent wondered about what Grak might do if he’d had the chance to see them together now, in bed together.
The fire in the hearth dwindled. Moonlight trickled into the room between the curtains, and Kent closed his eyes for a moment.
A series of hammerstrokes on Aveyna’s door startled Kent awake again, and Aveyna with him. Frantic pounding. Metallic thudding. An armored hand.
Kent’s internal protector ignited, and he looked toward the hearth, but the fire had gone out, and the wood inside was black and cold. He couldn’t use fire magic without fire.
Rays of soft sunlight crept between the curtains instead of moonlight.
Morning, but early morning—at least for winter.
The pounding persisted, and Aveyna looked at him with wide, concerned eyes. Whether she was worried about him being found there or just about the incessant, urgent clanks against her door, Kent could not discern.
“Stay here,” Kent told her. She didn’t move.
Kent slid out of the bed, donned his undergarments and his boots—he didn’t want to be caught totally off-guard—and took one of the fireplace pokers into his left hand, ready to summon his magic to his right hand to manipulate the iron to his will. Or just to bash it into whoever was there, if they meant Aveyna harm.
As he approached the door, it literally quaked and trembled from the pounding, and thick shadows moved in the light coming from under the door. Whatever or whoever it was, something was definitely wrong.
He carefully unlatched the lock, with the poker raised high in his left hand. The added bonus of choosing it was that he had an actual weapon to use as well as magic.
Kent pulled the door open, revealing Grak in the doorway.
Grak’s countenance shifted from concern, to confusion, to fury. He growled, “What in the third hell are you doing in here?”
“How is your finger?” Kent lowered the poker but not his guard.
“What?” Realization dawned in Grak’s eyes, and then he glowered at Kent anew and grunted. “It hurts.”
“What do you want?”
“Where is the queen?” Grak asked. “She is safe.”
“Where?”
“In bed.”
“I must see her.”
Grak pushed on the door, but Kent held it in place.
“She is not presentable,” Kent said.
Grak’s scowl might’ve permanently affixed itself to his face at the rate he was showing it. “It is my duty to ensure she is unharmed.”
“Then you may take my word for it, as I just came from her side.”
Grak’s fists clenched, one of which held a parchment.
Kent nodded toward it. “I would not damage that message if it is important.”
“I am to deliver it to Her Majesty personally,” Grak said.
“You may give it to me instead.” Kent held out his right hand.
“You deaf? Didn’t you hear what i just said?” Grak snapped.
Kent started to speak, but Aveyna’s voice carried from across the chamber.
“You may give it to Lord Etheridge, Grakios,” Aveyna called.
Kent granted himself a grin.
Grak’s frown deepened, and he called back, “Yes, Your Majesty.”
He slapped the parchment into Kent’s hand.
Then Kent closed the door in Grak’s face and latched it again. He stood there, listening until he heard Grak stomp down the corridor, then he returned to Aveyna’s bed and handed her the parchment.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Kent said as Aveyna unrolled the parchment, “is Grak a mage or not?”
She shook her head. “He’s a skilled fighter, but he’s not a mage. I brought him into the fold years ago because of his prowess and because I knew he didn’t think like Inothians. He sees angles that mages don’t see. That can be incredibly valuable when it comes to security.”
Kent nodded. At least now he knew for sure.
Aveyna read the parchment. Her eyes widened, and she sprang from the bed, hurried over to her wardrobe, and began to pull out clothes. “Get dressed.”
“What does it say?” Kent asked.
Between breaths, Aveyna said, “Muroth has invaded northern Inoth.”
Chapter Fourteen
Within three hours, Kent and his servants had packed clothing and supplies for his trip to northern Inoth. Now he stood in the same stables he’d visited yesterday for the hunting excursion.
Within that same three-hour window, General Deoward had mustered a force numbering in the thousands and dispatched them ahead of the queen’s traveling party. The advance force would clear a path, so to speak, for Aveyna and her entourage, but Deoward would stay behind to govern Goldmoor in her place.
The parchment had conveyed more than just Muroth’s invasion—much more. It had announced Muroth’s intent to meet with Queen Aveyna in response to her proposed peace treaty, and thus the army would temporarily cease hostilities until its as-yet-unnamed leader could meet with Aveyna.
Maybe Aveyna had been right after all, but maybe not. Either way, Kent would be there to advise her and help see her through it.
Kent wondered if Fane was leading the army, though he doubted it. Fane had always been a talented fighter and strategist, but he’d rarely seen actual battle. It had never held as much interest to him as it had for Kent.
That didn’t mean Fane wouldn’t show up, though. As Lord Etheridge, Fane would probably be there. And that complicated things, because peace talks would not go well if Kent managed to kill Fane in front of everyone.
A loud snort sounded behind Kent, followed by a series of quick, reptilian chirps.
Kent turned back and stared at the young wyvern rider who’d brought the message back from Muroth. So far, everyone had given him and his wyvern a wide berth.
The wyvern rider had brown hair, green eyes, and spoke with a Govalian accent. Blue-green scales covered his wyvern—both a magnificent and terrible beast. It carefully nipped chunks of dark red meat from the rider’s hand.
A thick rod tipped with a three-pointed spearhead leaned against one of the stable pillars nearby. Kent admired the rider’s choice. It was a ferocious weapon.
Kent noticed that the rider kept hunching over and rubbing his lower back. Perhaps he’d sustained some sort of injury.
The rider reached into a sack hanging from the wyvern’s saddle and pulled out a pair of mushrooms, one colored with yellow and another with purple. Both radiated with the faint but familiar blue hue of magic.
He devoured them both, and within moments he’d straightened up and stopped rubbing his back. He also wobbled when he walked, and his speech slurred a bit whenever he spoke to his wyvern.
Kent just shook his head. What an odd fellow.
Aveyna arrived with a group of servants and entered her private carriage with Kymil. She invited Kent to join them, and he obliged, though Grak shot him a furious glare for doing so.
Soon after, General Deoward saw them off, and the journey north commenced.
Several days later, they arrived on the northern front.
The Murothian army had encamped within easy striking distance of one of Inoth’s northern
fortresses, a place known as Dewmire. The Inothian soldiers that had gone ahead of the queen’s caravan had pitched tents behind the fortress.
As the caravan arrived, General Ruba and the combined forces of Inoth’s northern army and the soldiers from Goldmoor stood at attention out of respect for Aveyna.
Kent stepped out of the carriage first, into the chilly late-autumn air, and he offered his hand and helped Aveyna down. Kent offered to help Kymil as well, but Kymil ignored him and jumped down on his own.
“General Ruba,” Aveyna said.
“Your Highness.” He bowed.
“Apparently, I did not enjoy your presence for long enough back at Hunera Palace, so I thought it wise to visit you here.”
Ruba chuckled. “I am honored, Your Highness. I trust you have been informed of the situation?”
“I am the cause of the situation, General,” Aveyna replied. “As I’m sure you know.”
He nodded. “That I do, Your Highness.”
Ruba greeted Kymil and Kent, and then he escorted them into Dewmire. As Kent passed into the fortress gates behind Ruba and Aveyna, a cloud of dust from the courtyard announced the wyvern rider’s landing. The Inothian soldiers present didn’t react except to shield their eyes.
The rider dismounted, tossed his spear to a nearby Inothian soldier who caught it, and started toward Aveyna and Ruba.
“You already know Aeron Ironglade and his wyvern, Wafer, Your Highness,” Ruba said.
“Yes, I do,” Aveyna replied.
Aeron knelt before her and bowed.
“Rise, Mr. Ironglade,” Aveyna ordered.
Aeron complied, and he rubbed his back as he did. “I’m ready to relay any additional messages you request, and I’m ready to do pretty much anything else you order me to do.”
Kent eyed him, and Aeron noticed. His eyes widened slightly.
“I—I just mean that you’ve still got me on retainer,” Aeron clarified, “so if I’m supposed to fight or guard you or anything else…”
Aveyna smiled. “I know what you meant, Mr. Ironglade. Thank you. For now, rest and recuperate. I must first confer with my advisors.”
