Once they were out of the town square, the general turned right and led them down a large thoroughfare which held, at the end, the drawbridge to the queen’s castle. There were less townsfolk here, and many were scurrying back home now that it was getting dark and close to supper time. The few that remained out on the street stayed only for a moment to gawk before sheepishly turning tail and leaving. At first, Lucy thought it was the general’s presence intimidating them, as he led their little entourage. However, she soon realized that the townsfolk would give a brief smile, then acquire a look of fear after Lucy made eye contact with them.
So it was herself and Diana who were intimidating. Given the attire they wore and the glowing weapons they carried, that much was to be expected. It was the townspeople’s warm reaction to the general that was intriguing; their smiles and little waves were immediate and, to Lucy’s eyes, very natural in the way an everyday gesture would be. This, more than anything, spoke volumes about the general’s character.
Lucy’s eyes drifted to Diana’s figure walking slightly ahead, just behind the general, taking in how her stout figure kept marching on unobstructed like a knife cleaving through the fabric of society. Then Lucy’s attention was divided toward the townspeople again, and this time she told herself not to let them cloud her own judgement, for these same people had no qualms about letting a young, defenceless boy be executed.
The sun had now sunk beneath the horizon, and though the lamp posts’ ethereal green light shone brighter than ever before, the general’s armour did not lose its brilliant golden hue. At certain points down the road, his fellow guards would stop him and ask about the problematic individuals he had in tow. But every time, he would give the same order to sheathe their weapons and stand down, and his troops would obey despite continuing to cast side glances.
When at last they arrived at the castle’s drawbridge, they were halted by two unbelievably tall guards who might or might not have been actual giants concealed in armour.
“Sedgewick, Galliver,” the general said with a smile while looking at each of them in turn, “standing with sentinel poise, as always. I’ve a request to make over the castle walls: all members of Her Majesty’s Divine Guard are to leave the premises and wait here. Right this instant.”
Lucy’s gasp was mirrored by the two guards. “Pious General Hawthorn,” said Sedgewick, “perish the thought that I would ever challenge your reasoned judgement, but might I ask that I have heard your command correctly? You wish to bring all of our troops out of the castle while you, this heretic, and his armed guardians enter the sacred abode of Her Majesty?”
“You understand correctly,” was all the general said in response, still wearing that same smile.
Sedgewick locked eyes with Galliver for a brief moment, then eyed Lucy, Diana, and Kenneth. The apprehension and distaste was palpable even through their full-coverage head pieces, and it looked to Lucy that they were very much readying their fists to pummel them into the ground. With their sheer size, it would be over in an instant.
But the blows never came. Instead, Galliver took hold of a large talisman hanging from a chain on his neck, the silver oval emanating the same green glow as the town’s lamp posts, and spoke into it: “All members of Her Majesty’s Divine Guard. I repeat, all members. You are to leave the castle interior and stand by over the drawbridge. Now.”
An awkward silence filled the space before a loud rumbling came from the other side of the moat. The drawbridge began to lower, its large form draped in shadow from the settling evening darkness, so that it looked as though a great dark beast were descending upon the rushing water. Mere moments later,a ruckus of clanging metal and rushed, heavy footsteps rang out, and ranks upon ranks of guards began filing out.
It was clear that these guards closest to the queen were the best trained of the lot, for they quickly and flawlessly assembled into two columns on either side of the road, each facing inward toward the general and his guests. Although they had all done as General Hawthorn had said, sheathing their swords and spears and standing well back, Lucy couldn’t help a feeling of deep unease as they were essentially caught between the perfect pincer attack. While the general had demonstrated the absolute respect all of his troops had for him, all it would take was for one of them to betray his word and rally the others to do the same. There had to be at least two hundred of them, so even if only half of them defected, that would still mean a bloody fight against a hundred of the kingdom’s best-trained warriors.
“We are fine here,” the general said in a low voice to his three guests, as if having read Lucy’s mind. Then, he backed away, scanning all his troops while speaking in a projected voice: “Excellent work, all of you! As I escort Her Majesty’s guests of honour, you are all to remain here and hold formation. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, my lord!”
Two hundred voices spoke in perfect unison, forming an impenetrable wall of fervent declaration on either side. A chill ran down Lucy’s spine, even though their total obedience was a reassuring sign.
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With a pleased smile, General Hawthorn turned again to his three guests and said, “Follow me.”
The drawbridge’s wooden surface gave deep, yawning creaks as the four of them passed over it. Up ahead, the gateway was bathed in an ethereal green from huge arrays of lanterns standing at either side of the entrance hall and hanging from the ceiling. It was a harsh, cutting green, and all Lucy could sense from it was enmity, as if it were the aura of the queen herself.
Once they were past the gateway, the rumbling of the drawbridge filled the air again as it was promptly drawn up. They were now completely enclosed, and with no sunlight to pour in through the large rectangular windows, the green lamp lights appeared even more unnatural floating in the bounded, measured darkness.
Kenneth’s grip on Lucy’s wrist tightened, his palm becoming clammy and tense. Following his gaze to where he looked straight ahead, Lucy immediately understood why he was frightened. The space before them was the grandiose, impeccably-structured interior of a castle—except in the ways it wasn’t. The reception hall was indeed as cavernously large as one would expect for such a pompous and ostentatious castle, yet there was a distinct lack of doors, walls, flags, paintings, sculptures, signs, pathways, and staircases to use the space, to assert power through abundance of purpose and abundance of aesthetic. There was, in fact, one staircase: one hewn from fine marble that glowed a smooth green in the lamp light, arcing up straight through the middle of the chamber all the way to the highest floor. It looked like a green talon tearing through the floor to cleave the very air, and in the absence of everything else its sole presence was overwhelming, monolithic in its command over this witch-green domain of darkness.
General Hawthorn continued walking ahead, entirely unperturbed. Even his armour couldn’t penetrate the darkness and the wicked green glow, yet despite this, spots of his flawless golden gear would still show in the flashes of brilliance that reflected back toward his guests with each movement, with each confident step forward.
“Her Majesty’s personal chambers are right this way,” he said, approaching the towering staircase. “Please make sure to follow me so you don’t lose your bearings.”
His three guests did as requested, though Lucy found his latter comment perplexing. Was there actually more to this hall, and the staircase’s visual dominance was a mere trick of the light? That might very well be the case, for no matter how deeply she stared into the distance while following the general, Lucy could not see past the darkness that seemed to willfully remain perfectly opaque. But this raised the question of to what purpose this obscurity served, and what there was to be gained by making this staircase the sole, emphasized focal point of the entire castle. Lucy’s breathing hitched, for when she stared up at the stair’s slanted ascension, how it zeroed everything into an unrelenting forward momentum, she saw for a moment the endless road that Kenneth’s younger self had known all too well.
She looked down at Kenneth, still holding on firmly to her wrist, and tried to gauge his emotions as they walked the long distance across the hall to the staircase. Whenever he stared off into the dark distance, or fixated on the glow of one of the lanterns or candles, his face would go rigid and his eyes would stay wide open, as though he were afraid to even blink. Conversely, when he re-focused his gaze on General Hawthorn leading the way, his eyes and mouth would relax as he stared in wonder, like a child seeing a firefighter or astronaut in person for the first time.
Lucy was at her own crossroads in regards to the general. On one hand, Kenneth was a highly sensitive individual, and his plain display of emotion as a child who couldn’t help being earnestly expressive clearly indicated a sense of comfort around the general that he had really only shown toward Lucy, Keilani, and occasionally Ricardo. Additionally, everything about his internal poise and his influence on the world around him spoke to his valiance of character. In the darkness, this was concentrated most vividly in the way he carried his gleaming figure as he walked on an on, not through the dark but against it, with grace, with assured strength of will.
He was the very picture of a knight to Lucy’s mind.
And yet, despite all that, Lucy couldn’t discard the objective facts about this situation. The general was subordinate to the queen, to the enemy, and more than likely was a direct report under her. While there had been many role-playing games where the villain’s second-in-command was a righteous individual caught on the wrong side of the war, they were almost always either a manipulator employing smokes and mirrors over their true intentions, or a martyr who was killed tragically over their cause. Between those two options, and despite how heartbreaking it would be, Lucy sincerely hoped the latter was true in this situation.
As they finally reached the halfway point of this surprisingly arduous walk, Lucy remembered that she didn’t have to make these judgement calls all on her own. She cast a glance at Diana, getting the older Dream Knight to lock eyes with her. As discreetly as she could, Lucy cocked her head toward the general in front of them, giving a questioning expression.
Without hesitation, Diana fixed her with a hard look and mouthed two syllables. Follow.
Lucy nodded, and as Diana returned her gaze to the staircase they were approaching, Lucy mentally remarked at how readily Diana had answered. Perhaps she trusted the general to keep to his word, but her gaze had had a hint of caution. So if Diana could not fully trust the general, why did she urge herself and Lucy to keep following him into what might very well be a trap? Perhaps it was in the manner of her stride: resolute and self-assured, in a way that made it clear Diana wasn’t following General Hawthorne but carving her own self-made path toward the queen. Perhaps that was a specialty of Rebellion as well: to reject whatever plans and insinuations the enemy had prepared and assert that she would claw her way through anything in order to make her outcome a reality. As Lucy thought this, she glanced at the plume on Diana’s helmet, its deep crimson colour still discernible in the overwhelming green light, and she pictured herself for a moment in Diana’s shoes.
