Nikoletta leaned over a map of Mateth, Mina and Elias standing across from her. The map was clearly different in style than the ones that the Dukedom owned, and it was not fully completed. Beside it, there were detailed reports about the knight’s schedules, their composition and weaponry, and other such comprehensive military information about the Dukedom of Monticci.

The silence dragged out as Nikoletta read through the information. Mina paced nervously, but Elias stood firm with his arms crossed.

“Why are you wearing travel clothes, Nicky?” Mina asked, breaking the silence.

“My father was talking about marriage cand—” she paused. “No, that’s not important now. I can’t deny these are genuine,” she finally concluded, standing up straight. “Argrave found these?”

“Yes. He said one of the snow elves tipped him off,” Mina confirmed. “He…” she shuddered. “He found their scouting party and dispatched them. These were in their leader’s shack, alongside a bunch of spell books that he made us haul.”

“A scouting party?” Nikoletta asked.

Elias explained what Argrave had told them about how the druids were spying on Mateth.

Nikoletta’s expression slowly morphed into one of worry and confusion as the story proceeded. Finally, once Elias had finished explaining, she looked at him and asked, “Why isn’t Argrave telling me this?”

Elias shook his head. “He had burns, cuts, and some damage from a strange potion. He went to be healed by one of the wizards in Mateth and mentioned that he had some preparations to do. The fight was… intense.” Elias lowered his head and frowned.

Nikoletta crossed her arms, catching on from their expressions that they were bothered. “What exactly happened in this fight?”

“He and his companion ruthlessly massacred them. There was a high-ranking wizard, B-rank at least… or high-ranking druid, whatever,” Mina amended, waving her hand dismissively, “but Argrave killed them all.”

“Nearly two dozen snow elves,” Elias added grimly. “Thoroughly planned, flawlessly executed. Maybe it was his companion that planned it, I don’t know, but it was undeniably Argrave at the center of things.”

“When it was done, he vomited and cried, but after a minute or two, he went back to usual. Joking, laughing, like nothing happened,” Mina added. Her words sounded more concerned than horrified.

Nikoletta’s expression hardened, and she turned away from the two. She stared at the window of the Duke’s estate, eyes distant and unfocused.

She had been hesitant to admit it, but Argrave reminded her of someone strongly: her brother, Elwind. Even now, as she tried to remember him, their faces seemed to overlap. It did not help that they shared the same obsidian color hair. Both were hopelessly facetious, excessively confident, and above all, self-sacrificial.

Just before he’d died, Elwind was cracking wise, ensuring that Nikoletta did not worry herself about his safety. Some tears came to Nikoletta’s eyes, and she wiped them away and collected herself. She turned back around, clearing her throat.

“I’ll bring this to my father. He and I are… arguing,” she put simply, “but I don’t think he can ignore this. I certainly can’t.”

#####

“I’m sick?” Argrave said incredulously, staring at the middle-aged man before him: Bragan. His head was shaved bald, and he looked more a bodybuilder than a healing wizard, but Argrave knew he was one of the best healers in the city of Mateth.

“That’s what I said,” Bragan confirmed. “You have a fragile constitution. You drank the blood of a Winter Nymph, for some ungodly reason. You were traipsing about in the forest in the middle of a cold night. And you had a fight with… brigands,” Bragan said, the word dripping with doubt. “Catching a cold; this shouldn’t surprise you.”

Argrave turned away, putting his hands on his hips. He contemplated things for a second, then he turned around. “I don’t think any healers in Mateth know the B-rank spell [Cure Disease], right?”

Bragan put one of his giant hands to his chin, thinking. “No. None I know, at least. And besides, it’s quite expensive for such a minor affliction.” Bragan reached to the counter and grabbed the bag of gold coins. “I recommend simply resting for a few days, especially after experiencing such an intense shock.”

“There is no rest for the wicked,” Argrave dismissed, contemplating. Bragan shook his head and walked away, gesturing his hands towards the door. Argrave complied. Galamon was waiting for him outside.

Galamon took a drink from his flask as Argrave approached. “You’re sick?”

Argrave frowned. “Stupid vampire super senses. Whatever happened to doctor-patient confidentiality?”

“You mentioned having more to do. Sounds like you don’t intend on canceling those plans.” Galamon stashed his flask away.

“Indeed. It’s only a cold; a minor affliction. Besides, ever since I saw Tirros cast that spell, I’ve been itching to dip my hands back into trying to get past C-rank magic… honestly, paying to have the disease cured is a waste of money. I’ll just suffer in silence.”

“You seem to like that.” Galamon pulled his helmet tighter.

“What does that mean?” Argrave probed. “I thought you were like Gary Cooper; the strong, silent type. What’s with that comment?”

“I don’t know who Gary Cooper is.” Galamon looked around as people walked past him.

“Let’s walk,” said Argrave, catching that Galamon felt this place was too public.

Argrave led the two of them through Mateth, until they eventually walked out on one of the empty segments of the dock. The seagulls flew about. Argrave was paranoid about being the target of an air-bombing from the filthy birds, and that reminded him he needed to learn warding magic.

“That was the first time you’ve killed someone,” Galamon said plainly, stating instead of asking.

Argrave turned to look at him. “You’re worried about me?”

“From what you’ve disclosed, we’re going to be in combat often. You need to be stable.” Galamon turned, taking off his helmet and placing it beneath the crook of his arm. His white hair flowed in the wind. “I’ve fought in wars; I was a general once. I’ve trained men to kill. It’s an unpleasant trade, but it is mine.”

“You said I did well,” Argrave countered, not wishing to talk about the subject.

“You did. I think you have a certain talent for strategy, and you have the composure necessary to execute plans. Your uncanny knowledge makes both easier.” Galamon raised his gauntleted hands up. “I won’t pry for details. I’ve talked more today than I do most weeks, so I’ll try and wrap it up now.”

Argrave shifted on his feet, waiting for Galamon to continue.

“That scene was rough. It should bother you. It bothers me.” Galamon touched his chest plate.

“Could have fooled me,” Argrave rebuked suspiciously.

A bell rang out across the docks, marking the arrival of a new ship.

“You walk forward like you have a duty, a task, and you try to bury your fears, your worries. I am no better. I have done the same my entire life. The fact that it bothers you, that battle… let it not serve as a reminder of the carnage you’re about to face, but the peace you seek to bring.”

Argrave frowned. “Veid tells you it’s your duty to conquer the other races, and you’re talking to me about peace?”

Galamon raised a brow. “Veid wishes for us to conquer all to bring peace to the world. I fight at your side because of our contract, but I believe Veiden will win this war. Such is the way of our faith.”

Argrave stepped away towards the ocean and looked out across the waves. “The war will end with a peace treaty if I have my way.”

“The Veidimen do not compromise,” Galamon said, stepping beside Argrave. “Diplomacy will not suffice. Veiden will win, or it will die. That is our way.”

“Even in the face of Gerechtigkeit?” Argrave asked with a grim smile. “Your people know him by a different name, of course. ‘He Who Would Judge the Gods.’ It’s too damned long, though, so I prefer Gerechtigkeit.”

Galamon’s head spun to Argrave’s face, staring him down intently. Argrave watched the coming and going of the ocean as the bell of the docks continued to ring. In the far distance, a trading ship came ever closer to the docks. The seagulls moved towards it, inspecting it for fresh food. In the far distance, Argrave spotted a four-eyed shark peering at the ship as it passed.

“Then Erlebnis wishes for you to…?” Galamon began to question, but then he crouched to the docks and stared out across the ocean. Time passed as both of them seemed to idly appreciate the breeze. Eventually, Galamon stood. He looked at his helmet.

“No wonder you move so frantically. You’re fighting against the end of all.”

“Indeed. This kingdom is about to fall apart at the seams, the Veidimen are going to invade, a plague is coming, myriad monsters are going to appear, and all of this occurs just before an ancient calamity is about to be reborn… so much on my to-do list.” Argrave shrugged.

“Haah…” Galamon sighed. He pulled his hair back and put his helmet back on, taking another long drink from his flask. “It seems Veid has planned a long atonement for me. You intend to stand in defense against He Who Would Judge the Gods.”

“I know. Some court case. Apparently, even without a juris doctor, I’m the best defense attorney in the world; pro se litigant of the century. If the judge won’t listen, well… such is life. Or death, as it were.”

Galamon took a deep breath and exhaled. “I’ve come to realize I should ignore half of what you say.”

Argrave chuckled, and then shuddered. His body felt drained and weak, reminding him that he truly was sick. “I wonder if the invasion will happen before that auction. I hope not. Well, for now, I suppose I should just read. That counts as resting, no?”

“No.”

“Well, whatever,” Argrave dismissed. He walked away from the docks. Each step he took forward felt a little easier than it had been before. Perhaps it had been Galamon’s advice. Or perhaps, more simply, sharing a small portion of his burden with another had made his journey onwards easier.

#####

Induen held the Margrave Reinhardt’s white knife in his hand, waving it about in the moonlight. It shimmered as though coated by something—a thin film of magic, undoubtedly. He was still lost in thought about the fight. Reinhardt had been much more decisive, proactive, and predictive. He had a better sense for what was going to occur. Induen questioned if that was experience, or simply skill.

Outside, Induen heard heavy footsteps. Believing he recognized them, he set down the knife and sat up straighter. The footfalls grew louder, and then the door burst open. King Felipe III strode in—Induen’s father, patriarch of House Vasquer, and sovereign of the Kingdom of Vasquer.

House Vasquer’s current members were all quite tall, and the genesis of that was their father. He had been a giant of a man in his youth—broad shouldered, barrel-chested. Even old, he was still quite formidable. He had a great mane of unruly, barely graying obsidian-black hair, and a beard that stretched well to his stomach. His eyes were the same gray Argrave’s were. He wore the colors of House Vasquer, black and gold, but it was highlighted by a rich imperial purple. A black kingly mantle hung from his shoulders with the symbol of House Vasquer sewn on its back in gold.

“Hello, father,” Induen greeted calmly.

Felipe strode closer until he was standing face to face with Induen. “Have you learned nothing from what I taught you?”

The two spoke calmly, but there was no familial affection in their dialogue.

“We wanted a revolt from House Parbon. We got it.”

Felipe raised his hand and grabbed Induen’s throat. He picked him up with one hand as though he was a child, and then slammed him against the table head-first. “We?!” the king shouted. “Do you wish to die? Because that’s the only reason I could even begin to consider how you could act so naively!”

The king released Induen and came to his feet. He spoke calmly again, as though he had not seconds ago been roaring in anger. “When people talk about this war and how it began, they won’t speak of Parbon instigating it; instead, they’ll talk about how the crown prince’s guards began massacring the people when they tried to stop the evil royal knights from making a fool out of the Margrave.”

Induen began to sit up, but the king kicked him in the teeth. The prince slid back through the wreck of wood.

“You don’t think,” Felipe continued. “You disrespect the throne. You are my son and heir, but you are only that. I am not dead, nor near death. I am the king, and you should not disobey me again.” Felipe kneeled down, grabbing Induen’s shirt and pulling him to his face. “Are we clear?”

“Yes,” Induen enunciated clearly despite the blood trickling down his face.

Felipe released his grip, and Induen dropped back to the floor. The king directed someone to heal Induen, and then wiped off his blood-soaked hand on his mantle.

“Considering you used that illegitimate child to worsen the relationship between House Parbon and Monticci, I reduced the punishment to a mere beating,” Felipe commented. “I’ve contacted Orion. He’ll be returning. This should be suppressed quickly. I will teach you both how to war. Keep your ears open; you may learn something. Be thankful.”

“Thank you, father,” Induen said, his blue eyes veritably burning a hole in the back of his father’s departing figure.