Night was departing, making way for the clear blue sky illuminated by the burgeoning sun. Silence except for the dragging of feet and the occasional cough. Strength was a precious resource, one that Artowen had little left remaining.

  Somehow, Royce came out the best, but now he’s practically dragging Emerii and me to Tentington.

  Emerii had suffered some injuries, but her fatigue was the result of a week of near-constant deity use. That already showed her durability. Artowen himself would have folded long before the week was up if he had been forced to summon his deity that much. Then there was what they never talked about, what he thought to be an illness of the mind that only reared its head in a land of flames.

  He found himself smiling. That warrior was still no match for her, even in that state. Compared to her skill, Artowen was but a child. Ashamed that he had nearly suffered defeat, ashamed that he had been reduced to a limping casualty attached to Royce. So much for the Promised One.

  A self-deprecating chuckle escaped from him.

  “If you have the energy to smile and laugh, you can get off of me,” Royce growled in exasperation. “Better yet, help me carry Emerii.”

  “Do you think we’re close to the city?” Artowen asked.

  “So you’re ignoring me? We should be close.”

  Emerii opened her eyes. “I’m fine, you can let go of me, Royce. Arty is more injured than I am.”

  “You’re fevered,” Artowen asserted. “The sick don’t get an opinion on how they are cared for.”

  He opened his mouth to say more, but Emerii stuck her hand in his face and pushed. He retaliated, and they began bickering like children. Royce, who was their support, almost stumbled to the ground. They both immediately stopped, laughing raucously.

  Royce sighed, then joined them with a chortle. “At least you both have enough energy to mess around.”

  Artowen’s chosen friend had not changed much, not in appearance, nor in his reliability. He was supposed to be the leader, yet Royce came away close to unscathed with his mission accomplished. Always a pillar of support, disguised as anything but.

  They continued on the road. It had taken a few days, but with frequent breaks, they were making progress. To them, it at least appeared as progress.

  Bits of snow in the air reflected the early sun, creating a field of dancing lights. At the end of that field, a city. Low walls and new architecture. Even in Bardoo, a Dradris city was still a Dradris city.

  They did not worry about any complications; they trusted his aunt to make the proper preparations.

  Standing atop the defenses of the city was not any guards, but instead a lone figure haloed by the morning light, blessed by the world itself.

  Had their excursion made a difference? Had it saved even one life? With the derailment of their schedule, would uniting the Kingdoms in time for the next channao be impossible? Those doubts had circulated even before they had set out on their mission proper, but it had become a festering parasite in the following days.

  Those doubts were blown away now.

  He would learn lessons from every encounter.

  The two people next to him and the one above, he could trust with anything.

  Stolen story; please report.

  On the wall stood Aunt Idwyn, alone, patiently waiting. A welcoming expression, one that said everything would be okay. Artowen had more faith in that smile than anything else.

  The Truthsayer ushered them into Tentington.

  Polished gold, tapestries of the finest materials, curtains of silk, and guards in shining plate armor. A vast throne room that displayed the wealth of the Bardoo Kingdom. The variety of lavish treasures was a teasing promise to those who aligned themselves with their cause. Yes, this land was rich.

  A man was speaking in the middle of the room. An average appearing Drajin, ill-suited for such a place. Still, he was important.

  The new King of Bardoo sat on his throne, dressed in all the finery that came with the position. Rapping his fingers on his throne’s armrest, he put his other hand to his face in contemplation.

  By design, his advisors were not present at this meeting; only the guards that he knew would not speak a word were allowed to witness the proceedings.

  “I wish I could speak to their Voice directly,” The King said. Back and forth for ages now. If only the fools would see his vision, then they could finally have peace.

  “We’ve been over this many times, Sire, that would cause too great a stir. In the worst case, Bardoo could fall,” The man before him replied.

  Of course, the King already knew that fact. Every piece of his plan was moving to make the transition a smooth one. The look in the man’s eyes before him spoke the same words every time, though he would never voice them.

  “Why would you give it up?” The eyes asked. Demanded.

  A foolish question. That is what may appear to those without foresight, like his advisors and the old members of the court from his father’s day. Those he had been diligently attempting to purge to no avail. No, the end of Bardoo was coming no matter what they did. Uxsons were fully aligned and building an army for invasion. It may still take them some more years to clear out every Kingdom, but it would happen.

  If Bardoo could not survive as a Dradris Kingdom, he would rather make it a Territory of Saint Eddgaar than let it be devoured by the Uxson horde. He would still retain power, and their culture would be permissible to exist to a certain extent.

  Cruel reality.

  But an opportunity to gain even more power for himself. A Client King or even the position of Voice was a possibility. A position of Voice of the Territories is second only to the ruler and his council. He could even give up his Kingdom and move to the capital across the water. Many possibilities lay in the future, as long as he could properly navigate the stubborn ones in his Kingdom and the other kings of Dradris.

  For all those who would oppose this ideal, he had constructed a perfect plan to silence them all.

  A new person walked into the room with an old man, but only slight tilts of the guards’ heads and his informant gave her notice. Her hair stretched down across her body in a braided stream, marred only by the grey dams that halted the flow.

  If not for the marks of age upon her face, the King would consider her prime marriage material. That, and her profession.

  “Good day, Truthsayer,” The King addressed her.

  “I bring news, Sire. Whether it works for or against you will be left to fate.” She spoke in a drawling tone with a hint of amusement.

  “Something is amiss with the loss of the Uxson frontier?”

  The old man at her side stepped forward, a grizzled old veteran, and the King of Bardoo’s Champion. Someone he could trust, even if he was passed on from his father’s reign.

  “No, Sire, that is proceeding as planned,” The Champion responded. “The Uxsons are pushing on our frontier and have claimed more land. Vhorn was very keen on our deal. Soon we can invite the Territory soldiers in without any questions.”

  The King returned his attention to the Truthsayer. “Then the issue?”

  “Idwyn has entered the Kingdom,” She said.

  The King scowled.

  “And she has brought the so-called Promised One. This is Welkia’s strong-armed approach to force us into the alliance. I’m sure many in Bardoo will be pleased.”

  “But not I. What can we do about her and that puppet?”

  The Truthsayer smirked. “No one willingly raises a hand to a Truthsayer. It would be difficult to convince soldiers to strike, so we leave that as a last resort. We simply bar access at every possible point, making it far too time-consuming to progress. I know Bardoo better than any other; it will be easy to impede her, force her down a different path. A far more dangerous one that is not known to be treacherous.”

  The King now shared her cruel smile. “I know the perfect piece to employ. One that will be the poison dagger.”

  “With that foolish child and her puppet gone, Bardoo will have only greatness in its future, and stabilization against the Uxsons.”

  The King admired his most trustworthy members, the only ones in the Kingdom that he could trust from his father’s time. The only people other than the Voice of the Territories who could see his vision. He touched the gold on his body. “For the prosperity of Bardoo.”