With a tug on the reins, Alaric guided Fire to the side of the dusty road, moving out of the way and around a cumbersome, heavily laden freight wagon traveling in the opposite direction. A canvas tarp was strapped down tightly over the wagon’s bed, with the ends of freshly cut lumber sticking out the back. The wagon creaked and clacked as it trundled forward, the team of two horses clopping steadily away as they pulled it in a weary manner.
The teamster, sitting on the driver’s box, spotting the figure of his lord and recognizing him at the last moment, opened his mouth wide enough to catch flies before hastily removing his cap, a dirty knit thing that had seen better days. He waved it enthusiastically in greeting. Though the man’s mouth opened and closed, no sound came out.
“Good day,” Alaric said as the man rode by. Behind him, his mounted escort, riding five yards back, split and rode around the wagon on both sides. The men-at-arms who were afoot followed suit.
“Good… good day, my lord,” the man finally managed to stammer and then the wagon was firmly in their wake as they continued onward, the man standing on the driver’s box and looking back at Alaric.
Casting a glance over his shoulder, Alaric observed Thorne. Ezran came immediately after. Behind them and just past the wagon, the rest of his mounted escort closed back up in the middle of the road and maintained a loose column of two, followed by both knights and their respective men-at-arms. Eld and Torrin were conversing amongst themselves as they rode their own mounts, two powerful and magnificent warhorses, clearly raised to charge into battle.
Though he had not intended so when he rode to Smuggler’s Landing, Alaric’s—Dekar’s— military might had grown. He was not quite sure he had done the right thing by accepting both knights into his service, not to mention taking Bramwell on. Time would tell if he made the correct decisions concerning them. On the bright side, Alaric knew, in the years and months ahead, he’d see more of Bramwell. Kevahn would become the man’s home and port of call, as it would a great many of his sailors.
Shifting in the saddle, Alaric stretched his back, working out the stiffness as his horse continued forward at a slow and steady walk. The journey from Smuggler’s Landing had begun an hour before dawn. Alaric glanced up at the sun and judged they had been on the road for at least four hours. The ride unfolded without incident, a welcome but not unexpected monotony.
“Boring is good in my scroll,” Alaric said quietly to himself. “I will take it every single day.”
As if in answer, Fire snorted.
They’d encountered a steady stream of wagons and carts, laden with an assortment of goods, making their way toward Smuggler’s Landing. Like the wagon they’d just passed, he’d seen mainly lumber, from logging camps and foodstuffs from local farms. Among these were a few empty and slow-moving wagons, rattling back in the opposite direction, away from the town.
Since its completion just before last winter, the road had rapidly become a main artery of commerce, frequented not only by merchants, but also by farmers. These hardy folk passed by in carts and wagons, eager to barter or sell their produce in the bustling market of Smuggler’s Landing. Travelers of various sorts also walked the road, each with their own personal stories etched into the lines of their weary and dusty faces.
On either side of the road, the countryside bore witness to Alaric’s innovative land grant and purchase system, a cornerstone of his efforts to stabilize and enrich Dekar. The fields, though mostly small by nature of the grants, were rich with budding spring crops, speaking to the land’s fertility and the farmers’ hard work.
Free from the fear of bandits and the lawlessness that once plagued the region, people were investing more deeply in their toil, the work at building a future for themselves, secure in the knowledge that their efforts would not be undermined by violence or theft, their bounty stolen. The bedrock upon which all this had been built was law and order, peace.
The construction of the road had been an immense effort and undertaking, a strategic endeavor that required the mobilization of hundreds of workers over the span of more than a year. This completed road was but one step of his vision coming to life, a part of a larger, ambitious network that crisscrossed Dekar.
Alaric had commissioned several other roads to be constructed or rebuilt across his earldom. These routes were not solely for economic purposes; they were integral to weaving the distant and isolated parts of his territory into the central fold, with a strong focus on improving communications. They were strategic linchpins for the rapid movement of his growing military might. His troops would be able to better mobilize, concentrate, and respond with unprecedented speed and swiftness, a critical advantage should a serious threat arise.
Alaric sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly as they passed a small farm. The house was a meager, one-room affair with a thatched roof. A few yards away, a barn was partially constructed, the timber frame only half raised. The farmer, his two little children, and his wife were in the field, picking weeds from amongst their crops. All four stopped their work to watch the procession pass. A dog stood amongst them, barking at the horses and men. Then, like so many other farms just like it, they were past and gone.
As he continued his journey, it seemed the rhythmic movement of his horse’s hooves matched the steady, hopeful beat of progress. The air was filled with the scent of the fields and the subtle aroma of wildflowers growing along the roadside. Above, the sky was a clear, unblemished blue, the sun brilliant.
Alaric felt a deep, resonant connection with the land, a bond forged through duty and the ceaseless pursuit of its stewardship. However, fatigue tugged at him. He struggled to suppress a yawn, his body still feeling the effects of the previous night’s extended revelries, the heavy drinking that had taken place when Bramwell and Caxatarus returned to the tavern.
The thought of his keep, his home, and his bed spurred Alaric onward. He estimated they should arrive in the early evening hours. His mother would undoubtedly be waiting. She would claim some of his time before he could turn in for sleep, and then there was Rikka—the thought of her alone stirred a flutter of excitement in his chest and got his heart beating a tad faster.
“May I ride with you, my lord?”
Alaric turned at the sound of Torrin’s voice, finding the knight riding up along the side of the column, closing the distance to him. Lieutenant Ganister looked sideways at Torrin as the knight passed but said nothing. With bloodshot eyes and a weary manner, the lieutenant looked tired as well, like he, too, had done his share of drinking the night before.
“You may join me,” Alaric responded.
With his heels, Torrin nudged his horse, quickening the pace of the animal to draw up alongside Alaric. Once in position, he reined in, slowing and settling into stride beside his newly sworn lord.
“I trust I am not disturbing your contemplations this morning,” Torrin said.
“You are not.” Alaric suppressed a yawn. “The miles pass monotonously, and I could use the company, a diversion.”
“A beautiful day for a ride, then,” Torrin said cheerfully as he gazed about. They were passing yet another farm. This one was larger than most, several acres. No one was in view, though the fields were well tended and neat. Alaric saw a modest house, a barn, and several smaller structures set farther back and away from the road. The knight sucked in a deep breath and let it out, seeming to savor the moment. “I think I am going to like Dekar. The climate is certainly much better than the great sands, the deserts to the south.”
“Cooler,” Alaric commented. “Though it is a dry heat, I don’t miss the hotness of those days, especially during summer.”
“Neither do I. And I don’t miss the chafing sand that got everywhere, even in your mouth, nose, and ears.”
Alaric chuckled. He’d forgotten about that, how sand would find and work its way into everything, especially armor and one’s boots.
“Those were hard days. I viewed it as just one more test, one which I passed,” Torrin said, “enduring such conditions for weeks and months on end.”
Alaric glanced over at the knight, then turned his gaze ahead. In the far distance, a dark smudge lay across the horizon; a forest, the first of several they would pass through. They rode for a time in silence, the clopping of hooves providing a gentle backdrop, each lost in his own thoughts as the roadway stretched out before them and the forest drew steadily nearer.
The air was crisp and fresh. Long left behind was the stink of the town. It was neither too hot nor too cold, the quintessential perfect spring day. At least Alaric thought so.
“I am afraid the word is out about you, my lord,” Torrin said, finally breaking the silence.
Alaric’s gaze sharpened as he turned toward Torrin. He was instantly on guard. After a moment, he relaxed a tad. “Why not? You and Eld are here.”
“It is more than that,” Torrin continued.
“I assume you told others, after your discovery in the library…”
“We did not,” Torrin assured him, his tone firm. “We sealed the entrance and covered our tracks as best we could. I am certain no one else knows of that place from us. We took steps to ensure that. Only those of our order are aware of what we learned, what we confirmed, and they will say nothing, for you are quite correct. There would be those who will fight against the restoration of empire.”
“Then how?” Alaric pressed.
“If one knows where to look, there are other records, tracks of noble ancestry, marriages, unions, births, and deaths—all kept in various libraries.” Torrin’s words dropped like stones into the still waters of a pond. “We traveled to the great sands in hunt of the library to confirm what we already suspected, what we thought we knew.” Torrin paused as he sucked in a breath. “The truth of your lineage, my lord, it is documented elsewhere. We simply confirmed it. There are those who hunt for reasons that are different than ours. They bear watching out for.”
Alaric found himself not much enjoying the conversation. It was not the diversion he’d hoped for. He had known there were people searching for heirs of the empire. That was common knowledge, but records from before the Great Cataclysm and Sundering were scarce, almost nonexistent.
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Muddying the waters, over the years there had also been several pretenders, claimants to the throne. Each had ignited religious wars which burned tens of thousands of lives before being extinguished. That confusion had been to his family’s benefit, for it kept the light and attention from them.
“I suppose that can’t be helped,” Alaric said sourly and thought on Bramwell, who had known as well, heard others speaking on it, and brought the matter to his attention. There had always been whispers on his family’s ancestry, talk of how the family was an old one. As Alaric glanced once more at Torrin, he was beginning to understand that it would most certainly become a problem.
But how to deal with it?
“We found more than we had anticipated in that library,” Torrin added, “more than the confirmation we sought. It was—”
“I still don’t believe I am who you want me to be,” Alaric said, interrupting the knight. “I do not want it.”
“That is all right, for the moment.”
“It is?” Alaric found himself surprised by that.
“Yes, as we said last evening, I am sure, given time, our god will make you certain as we of what you must do, what you must claim.”
Alaric’s features tightened. Over the years, he had seen the fervor of belief transform into zealotry, leading to unimaginable strife and conflict, steering good-natured people to do terrible things. Such fanaticism seldom yielded positive outcomes, and now, the potential ramifications of his newfound lineage were quickly taking shape as a looming threat to everything he was trying to build here in Dekar. Worse, it was tied up in religion too.
Though he was faithful in the extreme to his god, he knew the suffering he’d unleash if he raised his family’s banner. It was the one thing he was loath to do. Those who’d directly suffer would be the innocents, the bystanders, the civilians who just wanted to live their lives in peace. In any conflict, they always suffered the worst.
Alaric felt a stab of terrible frustration. His hand was being forced and he did not like it. He glanced over at Torrin once more, feeling the burden of his supposed destiny heavy on his shoulders. The addition of the two knights and their men-at-arms to his service complicated matters. These men, bound by duty and driven by the fervor of their faith, could either become staunch defenders or, regardless of their oaths to him, relentless adversaries, enemies of the worst kind.
Reflecting on Torrin’s words, Alaric could not help but foresee challenges lying ahead in his future. His claim to a greater legacy would incite intense opposition, not just from within his own kingdom, but also from external foes. It was a double-edged sword, one that would provoke conflict on a scale not seen in centuries. Alaric did not wish to be responsible for that coming to pass.
“Eld,” Alaric said, seeking to change the topic of conversation.
“What of him?” Torrin asked.
“I saw his look at Ezran,” Alaric said.
“Your ash man?” Torrin glanced back at Ezran, who was riding right behind them with Thorne at his side.
“Yes, he means me,” Ezran said to the knight before Alaric could respond.
Torrin nodded and turned his gaze back to Alaric. “My brother-in-arms and faith has strong feelings when it comes to your man’s people.” Torrin glanced back once more at Ezran. “He has cause not to like your people.”
“And what of you?” Ezran asked. “How do you feel about me?”
Leather creaking, Torrin further turned in the saddle to take in Ezran before looking over at Alaric. Torrin gestured at Ezran. “I have seen some terrible things done by his people against ours. I have also witnessed the same inflicted by mine upon his.” Torrin turned back to Ezran again. “For me, your presence is not an issue in the least. I have a more forgiving nature.”
“And Eld does not?” Ezran asked.
“Your people murdered his family, a wife and three children.” Sadness had crept into Torrin’s tone. “They raped his wife before they allowed her to die. As you can imagine, his feelings are quite strong.”
Alaric almost winced at that news. “Will it become a problem?”
Torrin was silent for several moments. “I doubt it—but it is possible. That said, Ezran is in your service. So too is Eld. I believe my brother will honor the oath he swore before God. Still, just to be certain, I will speak with him on the matter.”
“I will talk to him as well,” Alaric said, “get the matter out in the open and in the sunlight. I will not have strife within my ranks. It is something I will not tolerate.”
“I understand, my lord,” Torrin said. “When the second empire comes, like the first, it will encompass peoples of all faiths. He will need to come to terms with that, move toward acceptance, forgiveness.”
“Forgiveness will be difficult,” Ezran said, his voice soft and etched with sadness. “I understand loss, and I will never forgive what was done to mine. Acceptance might just be all we can hope for.”
“That might be true,” Torrin conceded. “That might very well be true.”
“Nothing is ever easy.” Shaking his head slightly, Alaric studied the road ahead. Less than a half mile away was the forest, one of several they would traverse on their way home to Dragon Bone’s Rest.
“This road.” Torrin gestured ahead of them with a gloved hand. “It is unusual.”
“How so?” Alaric asked, wondering what was wrong with it. The road had been built to his exact specifications. In fact, it was one of the best he’d ever seen, the finest work his engineers had done to date. With some luck, it should last for several years before requiring serious maintenance.
“It is very different than most other roads I have come across,” Torrin observed. “Serious thought and engineering went into its construction. This road is not merely functional; it has been raised up above the surrounding countryside, and there is drainage to either side. It is also sloped outward from the center, just enough to channel water off the surface when it rains. This road, though not paved, is designed to last, my lord.”
Alaric remained silent, his mind turning over the implications of Torrin’s words.
“You see, my lord, I know a great deal about the empire.” Torrin’s voice lowered slightly as if to emphasize the weight of his knowledge. “The Ordinate has been my life’s study. You could even say it has become my obsession. The construction techniques employed in making this roadway aren’t common knowledge—at least these days—nor, for that matter, regularly used. In fact, I very much doubt anyone has seen a road of this exact quality in centuries.”
“I see,” Alaric responded, his voice carefully controlled to mask his rising interest.
“My lord, you must have found some very talented and knowledgeable engineers to make something like this.” Eyes narrowed, the knight glanced over at Alaric. “It is either that or you’ve a well of knowledge not generally available to others, information that has been lost for centuries.”
Alaric did not reply.
“Then—there’s the cement that is being used back at the port. I heard workers praising its properties, that it would set and harden in water. That alone is remarkable, something no one else across the face of our world can replicate. Not since the last days of the empire was there cement with such qualities, that the seawater made stronger—for I have read histories where it was discussed in great detail.
“However, none of those accounts contain the exact mixture, the ingredients, or process with which to make the cement that builds an empire. This, along with your road, suggests a connection to ancient knowledge, or at least access to it, as I said, a well of knowledge, a revival of techniques that were thought lost. I think it is but more confirmation you are the man we seek.”
Alaric absorbed this, gaze fixed on the road ahead as they continued toward the forest, closing the distance. He considered how to respond to Torrin. Then he gave a shrug, which was easier said than done, since he was wearing his armor. “I am working to make Dekar strong and prosperous. I am doing everything possible, and that includes building stout, reliable, and lasting roads, drawing upon such knowledge as is available to me. That is all. Do not read into it overly much.”
Torrin gave a slow nod, followed by an amused grunt. He gave Alaric a meaningful look. “You had best be careful, my lord. The more Dekar prospers, the stronger you grow, the more eyes will look in your direction, shining sunlight on what you are doing here. That might prove dangerous.”
Alaric let go an unhappy breath. They were closing the last few yards to the forest’s edge. Ahead, down the road, he noticed movement. There was a party of men approaching, all on foot, just over a quarter of a mile distant. His eyes narrowed as he tried to discern and identify the figures. The road ahead was slightly darkened due to the trees to either side. The men seemed to be marching in a formation, a column of two. Torrin, noticing Alaric’s alert posture, followed his gaze.
“Soldiers, about a dozen,” Alaric murmured, squinting to get a better view. He gestured ahead as he relaxed. He recognized the familiar medium-sized, round shields the men were carrying.
“Local militia… just another patrol, my lord,” Thorne said from behind.
“Since setting out, that is the third we’ve passed,” Torrin said. “Is there really a need for that many? Are your lands so unsafe?”
“The villages and towns are charged with keeping the roads safe. I put the militia to good use doing it,” Alaric explained. “Regular patrolling keeps any bandits and thieves on their toes. It also serves to keep my militia active and fit should the need arise to really call upon their services in a crisis.”
“I imagine it would,” Torrin said.
“When I returned home, things were unsafe, but no longer. I have worked hard to secure Dekar.”
“That is good to hear.” Torrin gave an approving nod.
As they crossed the threshold into the forest, a noticeable chill enveloped Alaric and his company. The air was cool and fresh against his skin, a relief, for the sun had been heating his armor. The sun’s rays filtered lazily through the dense canopy, casting dappled shadows across the wide road. Though the sun reached the roadbed, the foliage overhead promised a few hours of riding in a cooler environment.
The forest, with its sounds and smells, had always held an allure for him, especially after his return home from the Crusade. It was a place of tranquility, and raw, natural beauty, so very different from the arid holy lands that were incredibly dry.
His thoughts drifted to the many hunting expeditions he had embarked upon within Dekar’s vast forests. Over the last two years, whenever his duties permitted, Alaric had gone off to hunt. He returned time and again with deer, hog, moose, and the occasional pheasant, a rare and prized treat.
Each hunt sharpened his skills with the bow and deepened his connection to the land he governed. At least that was the truth he told himself, and it was a good enough excuse to break away from his never-ending duties, the burdens he shouldered. Surrounded by the comforting presence of the towering trees, Alaric felt a sudden sense of peace and longing for a hunt.
“If you are indeed looking to conceal your ancestry,” Torrin said, dragging Alaric back to the present, “you need to be more careful, my lord, perhaps slow some of the projects you have commissioned down.”
“Slow down?” Alaric did not want to do that.
“I am told you are considering constructing an aqueduct to bring fresh water to Dark Forge. Is that true?”
“Yes, that is correct. It will be a major undertaking.” Alaric cast a wary glance at the knight beside him, poised to offer a further explanation, but his attention was abruptly drawn by movement toward the shadowy depths of the forest on his right. They were just beyond the forest’s edge, where on either side, beyond the embankments of the road and the drainage ditches, the undergrowth tangled thickly, creating a screen that obscured everything beyond a few feet from sight.
He squinted into the dense foliage, searching and straining to discern any distinct shape or further movement, but saw only the play of light and shadow in the thick undergrowth.
Shaking his head and dismissing it as a trick of the light or an animal, perhaps a deer, Alaric turned back to the knight, mouth opening to speak. Yet the periphery of his vision flickered with movement yet again, this time from another spot. Alaric turned, searching. His gaze locked onto a figure: a man crouched low amongst the brush, his presence nearly indistinguishable from the surrounding greenery.
Their eyes met. In them, Alaric read a cold malice.
“What’s wrong?” Torrin asked.
Alaric’s gaze snapped forward. The militia was now just ten yards from him. Something about them was wrong. He had not noticed it until now. They moved in a formation so tight and orderly, it was more reminiscent of a guard’s parade than a citizen militia’s casual approach.
Alaric’s instincts kicked in. With a firm grip, he yanked on the reins, bringing his horse to an abrupt halt. There was a flurry of movement in the undergrowth from both sides of the road.
“Ambush!” Thorne shouted. “To arms! Protect the lord!”
Alaric’s hand reached and closed around the hilt of Oathbreaker. He started to draw the weapon. A sharp hissing sound sliced through the air, passing by his right ear with the menacing buzz of an angry bee. He barely had time to register the near miss of an arrow before chaos fully erupted, with Lieutenant Ganister shouting orders to his men. Men burst from cover on each side.
Ahead, the militia drew swords and charged right for him. Alaric jerked hard on the reins, pulling Fire around in an effort to put space between him and the charging men and get back to the protection of Ganister’s detail. His horse slammed into Thorne’s mount, which was moving forward, as his Shadow Guard attempted to place himself between Alaric and the oncoming militia.
The impact jostled them both violently, almost knocking Alaric from his horse. Just then, an arrow found its mark in Fire’s neck with a meaty thwack, driving deep into the flesh. The animal let out a piercing scream, pain and panic causing the horse to rear up onto his hind legs. Alaric struggled to maintain his hold, caught off guard by the sudden movement, with only one hand on the reins and the other on the hilt of his sheathed sword. His fingers were torn violently from the reins as the horse bucked again. Alaric fell backward off Fire.
He hit the ground hard.
The world went white.