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Arlian blinked, realized he had fallen asleep. How long had he slept for? Leaning back, his eyes caught the letter on his desk—the one written by Prince Kadrion.

He had forgotten to tell Yahan about it, to wake him up and the appropriate time. Looking to his left where the window was, bright golden rays of light shone into the room, casting skewed triangular patterns on the blue carpet.

He remembered the wording in the prince’s letter.

I know you are busy, but if you can find the time, please be there. The inquest will begin on the morn.

Damn.

He got up, realizing a small quilt had been draped about his shoulders. Yahan was a good clerk—caring. He walked across the room and entered a door leading to his rooms. There was a fresh basin of warm water waiting for him.

He took off his gloves. They were crusted with dried blood. He washed his hands, emptied the basin and then poured more of the water from the pitcher and then washed his face.

Moving quickly, he removed his armored vambraces and shin guards before stripping naked. He put on fresh trousers, a white shirt and padded doublet. Normally, he’d just put on his blue cape and be off, but these were dangerous times, so he went to the closet and opened the wooden door there. It creaked as his armor sets were revealed. One was missing, as it was the set he had been using, now missing his cuirass.

These were no simple pieces that came at a small cost. To his left was the second set—more ornamental. The armor was painted in white and blue and had gold trimming with only some of the polished gleam of the steal showing.

It only took him a few minutes to put the armor on, and then the cape over that. His sword was still bloody, but he didn’t have time to wash it, so he left his matching scabbard behind in preference for the one he had been using. He buckled it on and headed out.

Arlian would have liked to bathe property. He just felt wrong putting on clean clothes and his best set of armor knowing he still had sweat, grime, and the blood of dead men on his skin.

“Oh, my lord,” Yahan said. “I was coming to wake you. We have urgent—“

“Is it more urgent than the inquest of the Grand Mage where Prince Kandrion and half of the King’s Council will be present, that I am in fact, currently late for?”

She shook her head. “No, Commander. Please forgive me. I’m sorry I didn’t wake you.”

“There’s no fault,” he said, “I forgot to tell you about the prince’s letter. I was so tired.”

“Oh!” she exclaimed.

“What is it?”

“Captain Lech and Brakso returned last night, Commander.”

He waited, saying nothing as he waited for her report.

“I’m afraid one Watchman was killed, seven or eight others wounded, but all in all they were able to make it back to Headquarters safely.”

Gods, he had completely forgotten to write his statement of the events last night before falling asleep at his desk.

Watchman Jorlyn. Dead.

And he’d forgotten…

“Thank you for informing me, Yahan.”

“On another note, council woman Jorrissiana and her servant Gracian Lorenovar were escorted safely to their resident in West Town and are under guard. Captain Orvyn and his men have been dispatched to deal with the fires in the South Ward and the fires are almost gone.”

“Excellent!”

At least some good things came of what he had done last night, and that the fires were almost put out, was great news. Those suffering from the plague were often snuffed in areas where the acrid smoke took hold. In their weakened states, they had simply died.

Hopefully the inquest would produce some results, but Arlian’s heart sunk a little, as he knew better.

She nodded. “No time for breakfast, then?”

“None.”

“My lord, please let me accompany you. When we arrive,” she followed him as he began to walk down the stairs, “I can set out to find you something to eat.”

“That will not be necessary.”

“Commander, please. You haven’t eaten in over a day, and did you even drink anything this morning?”

“You won’t be any use to this city if you drop from exhaustion,” she added. “Please, let me help you.”

He thought about that for a moment. No he hadn’t had anything to drink. He was thirsty, and groggy.

“Fine,” he said. “You have a point. You may come along.”

“Thank you.”

Together, they exited through the arched doors at the front of the Headquarters. They were usually left open, as the main gate was where visitors would be admitted or turned away, and opening the main doors every time someone arrived or had to leave was too much of a hassle. It took three men to the door.

Arlian breathed in deeply. The morning air was cool, and the weather was not yet hot, but the sun was shining brightly, promising what would otherwise be a wonderful summer day had it not been for the troubles of their time.

Gods, Arlian wished this shit would end. But no, it would not. He, among many other good men would have to make it end.

Close on his heels, Yahan followed Arlian to the stables. They were in frequent use, but horses and carriages were always left behind with drivers in case of emergencies, or if Arlian and his captains needed quick transportation.

“Koladar,” he said, addressing one of the drivers on duty. “We’re going to the castle.”

Koladar, the driver was a tall man with long black hair tied into a tail at the nape of his neck. He nodded, pulled his gloves out from where he had them tucked under his belt before climbing up onto the coach as Arlian and Yahan got inside.

“Yah!” Kolidar cried, the crack of the reigns sounding from outside.

The coach wheeled out of the stables, the wheels loud on the rough cobblestones inside City Watch walls.

The streets outside were much smoother.

As soon as the coach left the gate and there was less noise, Yahan said, “Do you think anything will come of this inquest of the Grand Mage?”

“Probably not,” Arlian said. “If it were up to me I’d have Klause Schuar’s head cut off and his followers run out of the city.”

Yahan’s eyes widened. It probably wasn’t the idea he voiced that shocked her, but rather that it was coming from him, the Commander of the City Watch. It was he who was in charge of keeping the peace inside of Aevalin.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Forgive me, my lord. But Aevalin is a kingdom of laws. We must uphold them. It’s out sacred duty and—“

“I’m well aware,” Arlian said, cutting her off. He glanced about the inside of the coach. It was not a luxurious one. The Watch never used luxurious coaches. He regarded the streets and hedges outside of the wooden panel. It had small holes to allow in air and somewhat of a view while it was closed.

He slid it open.

“I didn’t mean to sound like I was scolding you,” she said.

“There’s no offense taken,” Arlian said. “But you’re wrong.”

“My lord?”

He looked at her, wondering if he should even bother speaking to her about this. She was a clerk—she would not affect change. He needed to speak to Prince Kandrion on these matters.

Unable to help himself, he said, “Laws only matter unless the people believe in them. While the Grand Mage and his followers plot the demise of what our kingdom stands for, bring in more dark magicks and open a portal to dangerous realms only the gods know of, our laws mean less and less.”

She looked at him, and he could tell she wasn’t quite sure what to say to that. Or maybe she simply didn’t want to argue with him? Arlian was a lord and the Commander of the City Watch. He was leagues ahead of her in station and social stature.

Despite that, Arlian always encouraged his subordinates to be open with him. His lordly position and legal stature within the kingdom gave him more responsibilities, and therefore afforded him more deference and respect, but that didn’t mean a commoner should have no opinions, and be able to voice them.

With these thoughts, he still didn’t tell her to go on. No. He wasn’t interested right now.

This damn inquest was a waste of time. What was it—the third one now?

Arlian had to school his face to keep from involuntarily scowling. He found that lately he went about his day scowling more and more, and only realized it by the way others reacted around him, or when he saw himself in the looking glass.

When they got back from this venture, his desk would be piled with the day’s reports. He already had half a dozen there waiting for him when he woke up, but didn’t even bother looking at them. He didn’t have the time. There were twenty more from the previous day he hadn’t gotten to.

Only the most pressing matters could be attended to.

The City Watch Headquarters wasn’t far from the castle, and after not a long time passed they arrived, were admitted through the gate and stopped at the stables.

“I’ll go to the kitchens,” Yahan said. “Meet you after?”

Arlian nodded.

“Hey,” she said, her tone somewhat rebuking.

“What is it?”

“I know things are bad,” she said. “But you never know. Something could come of this.”

“You’re right. Let’s see what happens.”

Though he didn’t believe anything would.

She smiled, turned and left for the kitchens while Arlian was lead into the main audience hall by porters. “You’re late, my lord,” the head butler said.

“Indeed.”

Putting out a hand, he said, “Your sword, please?”

“Are you serious, Sennica?”

“They are the rules, my lord,” the butler said, his voice bored and wooden.

Arlian sighed as he unbuckled his sword belt. “You would think growing up with the Prince would have proven my loyalty.”

“Again, my lord, they are—“

“Yes, yes! The rules, Sennica. The rules!”

He strode through the black and white checkered foyer and through the doors on left side of the stairs, leading the butler. Arlian was well acquainted with the castle, knew where everything was. He wouldn’t waste more time.

The halls were quiet, unlike many parts of the city, lifeless even, except for the stone-still guards in their armor holding their pole arms with spear-tipped axe heads.

The castle was enormous and the halls seemingly endless, with many turn offs leading to different areas. Arlian’s destination was straight, straight, and left, where the King’s Council chamber presided, which consisted of a large floor and a raised audience chamber surrounding the octagonal-shaped room. Each booth could hold three rows of five, and were adorned with heavy red curtains.

At the back of the chamber was a throne, and at the center, a dais for speaking. All in all, it was somewhat of a backup throne chamber, but also a council chamber of inquest, judgment, and on occasion, execution.

He came to the large doors, showed the prince’s letter, and the guards in their colorful livery admitted him into the outer halls.

Arlian walked along the smooth carpet, his footfalls nearly silent. He could hear voices traveling about, though the words were indistinguishable.

Looking into the full booths, he spotted courtiers with familiar faces, council men and women, mages and sorceresses. It was quite the amalgamation.

He continued to walk until he came to the prince’s booth, so marked by the extra pairs of guards in the hall. Arlian entered quietly and sat next to Kandrion, where one of the comfortable chairs had evidentally been left vacant for him.

“…and is it not true, lord Schuar that you made public statements…”

“You’re here,” Kandrion said, sounding surprised. Then quietly he hissed, “You’re late.”

“Forgive me, my Prince,” Arlian said. “I have no excuse.”

“You have ten thousand excuses, Arlian—you simply choose not to equip yourself with them. It’s good to see you.”

“Have I missed anything?”

The prince paused for a moment—“…and you said that, knowingly, when in full earnestness the only possible outcome would be violence—“

“I knew nothing of the sort,” the Grand Mage said, towering over the inquest officer. He stood a full head taller, his upper lip shaved. His bald scalp and his sunken eyes gave Arlian the impression of the deathly ill. “I do not give orders to these so called ‘Schuarists’ some people have taken to calling them. There are no secret plots or dispatches carried out—and if there were, I trust you could supply such evidences. That some do not personally adhere to the achievements I’ve made, and the future wellbeing I hold for this kingdom, does not make me this grand villain some wish to paint me as.”

“This goes beyond rhetoric,” the inquest officer said. “We’re talking about very real consequences. Things—terrible things are happening now in our kingdom of Aevalin that cannot be denied. This fracture between those who wish to pursue the magical arts and anti-magickers is a false dichotomy, one perpetuated by your politickers as well as that of Prince Balthazar’s.”

The Grand Mage, Klause Schuar shrugged. “I do not see Prince Balthazar here.” He looked about. “Why is he not enduring yet another inquest as I am?”

“Here! Here!” a voice shouted from the audience, and there was a round of general support.

“Silence!” the floor man called. He stood in his ominous black robes, apart from the inquest officer and the Grand Mage, who were both atop the dais for all to see.

“It seems to me,” Klause Schuar called, “that I am nothing more than your political foil to parry with—otherwise the prince would be here, on this floor as I am. This. Is. Politics!”

“Yes!” a voice shouted from the other side of the audience chambers.

“He’s right!” another called.

“Lies,” a woman called from their side. “All lies.”

The chamber combusted into a rabble of anger and shouts from both sides, intermingling to be heard as the floor man cried for silence, and yet none could hear him.

A sudden anger took Arlian.

For the god’s sake, he thought, getting up from his chair and stalking out of the chamber. The same thing as last time—always the same. Useless waste of time. The inquest officer—or was it Aevalin culture?—couldn’t even get it right.

Pursuit of magic?

Necromancy was not just magic. They did not—and it seemed would not—gather their priorities into the right sorting basket!

Fools.

Every time an inquest was called of the Grand Mage he wiggled—more like slithered—his way out of blame using logic.

His right, but what was happening was obvious. There was too much support for Klause Schuar’s cause that had been erupting into violence. For months now!

Denying at key intersections, yet never publically making statements against the way these malcontents acted, claiming such an action would incense them into civil war, and yet the king wouldn’t order it.

He had too fond a memory speaking to the dead queen using necromancy supplies by the desiccated old—

“Arlian!”

It was Kandrion calling him.

Arlian stopped, turned in the hall. Kandrion trotted to him and they began to talk together. “I have other things to do, Highness. This city needs me out there.” He pointed in a general direction. “I serve no better purpose at these political events.”

“I know,” he said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t wish to waste your time, it’s—“

“Sorry?” Arlian asked abruptly. “Sorry?” There was a pause between them, but then Arlian continued, cutting Kandrion off before he could respond. “Kandrion, you are my prince. I serve at your pleasure.”

“Yes.”

“If it were up to me”—he had started loudly, but then lowered his voice to a hissed whisper—“I’d have that man’s coach attacked while he returned to his tower—those Schuarist malcontents ran out of the city by way of the sword with the military.”

“It’s not right,” Kandrion said. “This is the kingdom of Aevalin. We’re better than that, and my father the king—“

“There won’t be a kingdom if that madman opens a nether gate to let in the dark magicks! The Council of High Magic is in agreement on this. Why do you not trust those men and women over this villain in our midst? You know as well as I do what has to be done.”

He nodded.

“So why won’t you do it?”

“It would mean war, Arlian.”

The butler Sennica cleared his throat and they both looked up. The old man looked at them expectantly, almost as if urging them to stop talking. He was holding Arlian’s sword. “Shall I call your coach, lord Brennovo?”

“Yes,” Arlian said. “Prince Kandrion was just seeing me off.” He turned to the other man—his friend—of whom he had spent a dozen summers with evading castle guards to go swimming in the river and cheating on assignments given to them by their tutors. They had spent countless hours practicing at swords, and spying on girls.

Gods, those were the days.

“It will destroy us, Arlian.”

How things had changed, so very, very much. “This will destroy us, my Prince. I hope you come to see that. And sooner rather than later. Your brother and the Grand Mage—“

“Do not speak ill of my brother, Arlian.”

Arlian came up short. Bowed slightly. “My apologies.” The bow was not a mocking one. Though Arlian was afforded liberties with Kandrion, there was always a line he was unable to cross—though he had brushed up against it from time to time, that line never budged very much.

He turned to Sennica, snatched his sword out of the old man’s hand and lead him back out of the castle.

Arlian knew now—what had to be done. Aevalin would be destroyed, the world possibly. The dangers were too great. If Prince Balthazar won the choosing, there would be no coming back from the damage he and his Grand Mage would wreak.

Fortunately council woman Jorrissiana held the deciding vote, of which she was supposed to cast today. But if Prince Balthazar’s goons or the Schuarists were able to get to her, or any of the council men and woman not aligned with their side, and “change their minds,” that would spell disaster for the kingdom.

Unfortunately, Arlian was not involved in their protection. The King’s Guard was responsible for that. Whether or not corruption within the guard existed, Arlian didn’t know.

He felt powerless, like everything relied on the cast of a pair of dice.

Coming up short to the stables, he remembered he was supposed to meet Yahan in the kitchens for food and drink—what he had agreed to do.

Turning, he found Sennica looking at him suspiciously. “You always were a troublemaker, my lord.”

Narrowing his eyes at the petulant old man, Arlian began to make his way to the kitchens, his appetite completely gone.

“May the gods speed you away, my lord.”

He didn’t respond to the old ogre. Sennica never liked him even when he was younger.

When Arlian met Yahan, he stuffed himself as if he might not eat again for days. He would need the strength.

Things would get far worse before they got better.

If they got better… Perhaps it simply wasn’t the will of the gods.

That thought made the pit in Arlian’s stomach stir.