It was half an hour after the Herald’s arrival that Caden, now fitted with a brown quilted doublet and wearing a simple longsword, rode down through the streets of Chaverne and through the city’s gates. The road was dry in the morning sun, and a summer without rain had worn away at the lush green of the grass and turned the land a thirsty colour of straw.

Following the Herald past farmlands and vineyards, and young men fetching well water, Caden was accompanied by twenty of the kingsguard in their thick, black armour. They wore no helmets but even so the heat was close to unbearable, and their mounts looked thirstily at the series of large pebble-shaped lakes they passed on the road.

As they moved away from the city, woodlands of larch and ash trees in full summer bloom began to obscure their view of the mountains, and when the road turned a corner, they could not see beyond it through the leaves.

They rode for almost half an hour at a trot’s pace, and men freely spoke and laughed. Caden kept silent, his anticipation overwhelming, and his eyes focused on the back of the Herald before him. He couldn’t help but wonder what kind of man the Philosopher King was; what he looked like, how he spoke, what he wore. It had been many years since he had visited the Southern Realms, and they were so isolated from his empire that they gave him little thought in his absence. Was that about to change? Had he come to demand their subservience once again? Caden knew that even with the full might of Sarkana, Lavell and Kedora, they stood little chance against the sheer weight of men and armaments that could be brought to bear against them. They would have to defend the Black Mountain passes at all cost, and it would be a war of attrition they were destined to lose.

“Banners ahead, sire,” one of the knights called out, and Caden snapped out of his inner thoughts to see a column of armour through the trees holding banners of a dim gold colour, with a heraldic image of a silver crow clutching a skull that wore a crown of slightly brighter gold.

As Caden’s men followed the Herald around the corner, the two columns of armoured men met face to face, and the sarkanian knights fell into an uncomfortable silence. There were about one hundred of the Philosopher King’s men mounted on horses nearly identical to their own, but their armour was like nothing they had ever seen. It was plate, like theirs, but with a significant overlap between forge-craft and sculptures.

Whereas the sarkanian knights wore relatively simple black plate, the Philosopher King’s guards wore far more flexible layered plate that was lacquered a deep blue with gold trim, and a secondary silver trim. The same heraldic image that their banners displayed was masterfully worked into each shoulder plate, and their blue, gold and silver full helms had been forged to resemble the head of a wolf-like creature. Their helmets had a pointed snout and ears, and brown-gold eyes could be seen between armour’s eye-slits in nearly every man.

In the middle of this strange column, Caden saw a lone, unarmoured figure on a horse. This figure wore the same silver mask as the Herald, but with robes and a hood of dim silver, as opposed to the Herald’s black. Was that him? Unassuming, yet very much the only man aside from the Herald who could be so bold?

Caden took a breath and rode forward to try and approach this silver-robed man, but was stopped almost immediately by the wolf-helmed guards, who used curved blades and spears to block his path. “I am Caden Sarka, the man who will soon be king of these lands,” he told them. “Let me through.”

The foreign knights did not move, and from behind him Caden heard the Herald’s voice. “The Philosopher King will remain guarded until such a time as we deem it safe. Let us return to the city’s chateau.”

Caden felt a twinge of anger at this complete lack of respect for his own authority, but could not bring himself to go against the Herald’s request. “Very well,” he said, looking over the unique weapons of the knights now that he was close enough to appreciate them. Strangely, they seemed worn and used, as though stained with a dirt and blood that they had found no time to clean yet. Their armour was in a similar state, and the dark cloaks they wore were tattered with dirt.

“We encountered a mustering army in the night’s march,” the Herald began to explain, as though reading the question from Caden’s mind. “To prove the Philosopher King’s good intentions, we attacked their camp and scattered them.”

Caden turned his horse back to the Herald, both shocked and surprised. “A Lavellan army?” He asked.

“They wore those banners, yes. We believe they were planning to gather strength and challenge your control of this land.”

Caden was disturbed by this, as scouting patrols were sent regularly into the country surrounding Chaverne to find and report on just such a thing. How had they been hidden from sarkanian eyes, when eyes who had never even seen this land could find them? Caden had hoped that holding Armand and their capital would be enough to deter any open retaliation against them, and though he had expected the Lavellan nobles to organize some kind of opposition, he had never thought they would grow so close to Chaverne unnoticed.

“Then I thank you. Let us return to Chaverne; my men and I will lead the way,” Caden said, and rode back through the twenty kingsguard who turned to follow him. Behind them, the Herald, the wolf knights and the silver-robed man accompanied them back to the city.

When they reached Chaverne again it was approaching mid-morning, and lavellan citizens moved to the side of the road so that the precession of armoured riders could pass through the gate and into the city proper. Sarkanian banners fell from the city walls, yet despite the city’s uncertain atmosphere, its people seemed in comparatively good spirits. Minstrels played songs on the side of roads and in small market squares, and fresh, cool ales were being served to patrons who sat outside the taverns.

“Rarely has a hostile occupation gone so smoothly, I expect,” the masked Herald said, spurring his horse forwards until he was behind Caden in the column.

“My father taught me many great things,” Caden replied. “But perhaps the greatest lesson was to treat your people fairly. Kings of old occupied cities for power, and to loot, rape and kill. I don’t want to decimate these people; I want to make them my own. Though locking away half the city guard and capturing their king has helped a little.”

“I see,” said the Herald. “Yet you claim you do not occupy this city for power? What then is the reason?”

Caden paused for a moment, thinking. “Unification”, he finally answered as he pressed his horse onwards to the chateau.

When the riders reached the chateau portcullis, a horn sounded to reveal their return, and soon the courtyard was filled with over a hundred mounted knights. Caden and his kingsguard dismounted first, but it was only when the Herald deemed it safe that the Philosopher King’s knights climbed from their own. It was at that moment that Sir Anselm came marching out of the palace, his arms swinging by his side as he approached Caden and his horse.

“Mornin’, Sire. Who’re these lot?” He asked, eyeing one of the wolf armoured knights up and down from a distance.

“They’re the guards of the Philosopher King, Sir Anselm,” replied Caden. “They’ll need room to stay, and food after their long journey.”

“The Philosopher King? He’s finally come then?” Anselm asked, looking around to try and spot the man. “Where is he? I don’t see any ‘Philosophe-“

“Sir Anselm,” Caden said fiercely, cutting the elderly knight off mid-sentence. “You will show some respect.”

Anselm sighed. “Aye, my apologies. I’ll get these men a place to sleep and some breakfast.”

“Good man,” Caden replied. “Have you seen my brother?”

“Not yet. He may be with Harik and his men.”

“I see. I’ll need someone sent to him to tell him of this arrival.”

“I’ll send one of the kingsguard, Sire.”

Caden nodded to Anselm and watched as the sun shined from his bald head as he walked away. The sight made Caden smirk slightly, but he did not want to appear childish in front of his guests and forced away any further semblance of a smile. Something about Anselm had always lifted his spirits and brought out an almost immature sensibility.

Caden looked over and saw how the silver-robed masked man was standing with the Herald and speaking. Occasionally, they would look directly at him, and he began to wonder what about him was so interesting that it deserved a conversation. He felt a twinge of paranoia, but this went away as the Herald turned and approached him. “Allow me to escort the Philosopher King to a private chamber,” Caden told the Herald. “He must be weary from his journey.”

“It is not time yet, Caden of Sarkana,” the Herald replied. “He has asked you choose a place to meet with him and wait there. When his more immediate business is finished, he will join you.”

“More immediate business?” Asked Caden, slightly offended by what he was beginning to consider an affront to politeness. “What more immediate business could he have? I am here, now. May I remind you, Lord Herald, that I am soon to be crowned king of both Sarkana and Lavell. It is beneath me, and disrespectful to my person and status, to make me wait like a hound.”

“Do not forget, Prince Caden, who you speak of,” demanded the Herald. “It is not a lesser man who asks for your patience, but a man who united and conquered this world. A man who, by the ancient laws of the kingdoms in which you play at strategy, is legally your superior and liege lord. You are soon to be crowned king here by his grace; a grace he could deny, or offer another.”

The prince fell silent, trying to hide the seething feeling of being put in his place. Caden knew the Herald was correct, and despite being surrounded by his army, he had no choice but to follow the Philosopher King’s every demand. “Very well, have one of my men escort him to me when he is ready,” he said.

“Good day, Prince Caden,” the Herald said in parting, before turning away and walking back to the knights and their wolf-headed armour.

Without another word Caden turned and walked into the cool interior of the chateau, his men opening the doors for him and standing to attention. Within he walked along the hallway towards the northern end of the central wing, and turned right onto a corridor that led in the direction of a formal function room often used as a ballroom. It still amazed Caden just how large the chateau was, and despite visiting as a child and residing there at present, he could still find himself getting lost.

Caden turned onto another corridor, then passed through a small tea room, then turned yet another corner only to find himself face to face with his younger brother. Arian had been walking at some speed, and it was only by a quick reaction on both parts that they avoided bumping into each other.

“Caden?” Arian asked him, perplexed.

“Arian?” Caden replied, clearly confused as to why his brother was in such a rush.

“Where did Ethelyn go?”

“Ethelyn? She’s not here.”

“But I just followed her. She just turned this corner a second ago.”

Caden felt a sudden dark feeling of something crawling up his spine and turned to check around the corner. There was no-one there. “There’s no-one,” he revealed.

“I swear, brother, that she was right there,” Arian protested.

“I know. I believe you,” assured Caden. “She must be on her way to meet the Philosopher King. He’s arrived just now.”

Arian took in a deep breath to calm his sudden rising nerves. “He’s really here, then. I had almost convinced myself he wasn’t real, just a myth to make history more interesting. What should I do?” He asked.

“You should go to Harik. We can’t risk his feud with Lord Gray getting violent, not now that the Philosopher King is here. Is the situation still the same?” Caden asked.

“Yes,” Arian replied. “It’s like they’re preparing to fortify their wings. Gray has fervently denied the accusations, and Wulfsurd’s men won’t even let the kingsguard in.”

“Go to him, and send someone to find Lord Colbert. I want Colbert to go to Gray, and together perhaps we can calm things down until I can de-escalate the situation myself,” said Caden.

“I will. What will you do in the meantime?”

“I have to wait and meet with the Philosopher King.”

Arian nodded, and without another word it seemed the two brothers came to an understanding. Arian turned on his heel and began pacing back down the corridor, briskly walking towards the stairs that would lead him to Wulfsurd. Caden followed him for a time only to take a different turn, and soon found himself outside the empty room that would host what could be the most important meeting of his life.

Caden took a deep breath, then entered to wait in silence.