King Gregory waited in the throne room. He hated the throne itself, an ostentatious and wholly uncomfortable seat. The red cushion was too hard, and the back felt as if it had been carved from rock. He stood in front of it, his legs slightly spread and his hands gripped behind his back. He still presented an imposing image, and his backside would be the better for it.

"Fargi Hallerton, first line of Gottron Keep, your Majesty," the herald announced. Gregory watched Fargi hobble forward, favoring his left leg. It was a long trip from the doors to the throne for an injured man, yet tradition demanded it is made. A ridiculous tradition in Gregory's mind. It was Magan'est that demanded it is honored. People in their place. That's how things were done.

"Your Majesty," Fargi said with a deep bow. Gregory acknowledged the respect with a nod.

"You've met this red demon?"

"He stuck me in my leg after I yielded." Fargi drew a line with his finger on his right thigh as he spoke.

"You yielded?" The question came out more ominous than Gregory intended. He had no desire to rebuke the man, but the confession came as a surprise. He hadn't been informed of a surrender, only of the wound.

"I'm sorry, your Majesty." Fargi's eyes found the floor. "He bested Plat. I was no match for him alone, much less two. Plat never lost in the games, and the boy took him down with a sword through the chest."

"You yielded, yet he struck you anyway. Why did you he let you live?"

"I...I don't know." Fargi's voice faltered with shame. "He was angry about the boy poled on the road." Gregory struggled to not let his disgust show. Issuing the order was bad enough. Word of the many executions made him ill. "I think he meant to torture me. The healer was...unkind with her needle."

"He just stabbed you and let you go?"

"He gave me a message for you, sire." Fargi grimaced. He should have kept the boy's words to himself, but he told his Keep Lord and now he must say it again.

"What message?"

"He said, tell the king I wear a scar." Fargi took a step back, expecting a rebuke for the words. "He's quite insane, your Majesty."

"How so?"

"He proved it in the tavern. He ran in and dragged his blade across his face. They say he was talking about killing babies and eating the dead." Fargi words were quickening as if the speed would help justify his cowardice.

The King turned his face away from everyone. The boy could fight better than anyone thought. The boy was either insane or held more intelligence than Gregory was lead to believe. Wounding the leg would give the boy time to escape back into the woods, initially unfollowed. Slow the pursuit without killing another. The scar was ingenious if it was a tactic and not lunacy. Gregory hid his growing smile and turned back to Fargi.

"Describe this scar."

"It is an ugly thing. It traveled from his right ear down to the chin. The same healer who did me sewed it with a hand full of loops using black thread. She said he promised to disembowel her if she didn't." Fargi watched the King and continued when it seemed he was supposed to. "They say he growled at each stitch, not feeling the pain. I can attest that it made me scream, and that was only my leg. He is insane, sire. His eyes are fierce, and his face has a green haze to it."

"Green skin, you say?"

"Greenish, your Majesty." Fargi nodded.

"Captain!" Gregory looked towards the wall. The captain stood straighter, quickly bowing his head to his king. "You have heard the description. The beast has a large scar on the right side of his face. Alter my last order to read red hair, of young age to new man, and a scar as described by our loyal soldier."

"Green skin, sire?" the captain asked.

"No mention of the skin," Gregory responded. That wouldn't get past Magna'est. Gregory could only push back so hard. The captain nodded and ran out of the room to carry out the order. Gregory turned back to Fargi.

"Tell me of this companion."

"An older man, sire. Full beard and slave to the boy."

"Slave?"

"He was shocked but did nothing when the boy stabbed my leg. He was the one who told me of the healer." Fargi once again paused, then continued when the king remained interested. "The old man fought as if trained like us. I was questioning if I was going to hold out with him alone. That's why I yielded, sire. Once the demon was free, it was two against one."

"And the demon bested Plat," Gregory added, nodding with Fargi. "What does your Keep Lord say about your yielding." Fargi's face turned red.

"I am to double up on sword drills."

"That seems wise. It's best not to be outclassed, and only training can make it so."

"Yes, your Majesty."

"We thank you for your candor and wish you the best of luck with your training." Fargi bowed deeply at the dismissal. It took him as long hobble out as it did to arrive.

Gregory retired to the library and waited for his next audience, a more private meeting. The servants had been sent away, and the connecting hallway cleared. He only had to wait a few moments before a rough looking man knocked and then entered. His hair was long, loosely braided down the back, and an unkempt beard flowed down his front nearly to his belly. He was dressed in deerskin, the stitching large and visible. There was a woodsy smell about him, like the forest followed him in the door.

"Your Majesty," the man said, bowing with only his head.

"Sit, Striker." The King pointed toward the seat opposite his. "You lost them again?"

"Followed for three days, two in the rain. They sense when we are getting close and alter their direction. They've learned to use streams, well-traveled roads and paths to hide their marks."

"The boy is Unseen."

"You think he can see as they do?"

"It stands to reason." Gregory nodded. "He bested a talented swordsman at Salanger. A man named Plat out of Gottron Keep."

"Aye, I knew him. I would not want to face him sword to sword. You think he fights as they do?"

"Mayhap. He scarred his face." Gregory drew a line with his finger from his right ear to his chin. "I think he meant to mark himself so that we'd be more particular about who we killed to stop him."

"Why would he care?"

"Exactly!" Gregory stood and paced toward the bookshelf. "I've gotten word that Magna'est will pay me another visit in two days time. The boy has them scared. Or mayhap what the boy represents has them scared. He's dictated that the Brethren travel in pairs, never exceeding that count."

"They believe the old story?"

"I think they believe the commoners do." Gregory shook his head. "They don't wish to pour fuel on the fire by allowing this boy a chance at three. The push to increase birthings clashes with their need for order. The boy is upsetting the balance and killing is becoming a less desirable option." Gregory turned away from Striker and let his voice quiet. "Make no mistake, they will have us kill all if it comes to it."

"If the boy sees as they do, the only way to stop him is to get where he's going before he gets there. North is where he's headed."

"Are you sure it's north?" Gregory cocked his head and smirked knowingly at Striker. Striker's eyes widened.

"You wish him to live a little longer."

"How he's lived as long as he has is a mystery. A few more moons shouldn't matter."

"Magna'est will..." Striker's eyes went to the ceiling, and a smile formed. He looked back at his king. "They will raise your numbers to stop this boy."

"They have, and will again," Gregory agreed.

"I believe the boy was heading west, Sire. Towards Thorton Keep." Striker added to his smile.

"You are the best tracker I have. I'll trust your judgment. Send men there, get ahead of the boy as you say."

"I shall go as well, and pick up his trail as best I can. Should he surface elsewhere, I'll make due haste to the new location."

"I can ask nothing more." Gregory chuckled.