Prologue, Gerald Jarod and Minerva

"Please, surely there is another way" a soft voice spoke from the bedside. Her grace, Lady Ashton, lay there pale as the moon with sweat and pain marring her otherwise perfect features. She rested in a luxurious bed, large enough to fit three people. These were her private chambers, and they were decorated tastefully with art from all over the duchy of Hexenguard. A fireplace crackled in the southwest corner of the room with three empty high-backed chairs surrounding a low table. Wardrobes lined the eastern wall and a massive series of windows looked out over the ducal capital to the north.

Duke Hexenguard's face showed a trace of agony and something deeper - perhaps it was rage - before molding over into practiced smoothness, displaying the calm placidity of a sea before a mighty storm. "There is not. We cannot allow our family to fall because of King Eddard's paranoia."

Kneeling before the couple, Knight Commander Gerald clutched a child that Minerva Ashton Hexenguard had just given birth to. Gerald knew what was coming, had discussed it with Jarod, the duke, before the child was born. He did not feel that it was time to speak, and to do otherwise would be unwanted between the husband and wife - the father and mother - who were forced by circumstance to give up their first born child.

Duke Hexenguard turned to his wife at last and sat in the luxurious chair beside her, taking her hand. "If that bastard Eddard were to discover our son, our boy would die within the year. Already my brother's position on the Royal Seat is too weak. He is a jealous man, and would not tolerate the possibility of my son inheriting his kingdom. Even if we were to renounce all claim to the Royal Seat and Seal, it would not assuage his paranoid mind," Duke Hexenguard growled angrily.

"So it is to be like this forever? Our son can never know the love of his mother and father?" Minerva whispered, fat tears rolling steadily down and splashing onto her chemise.

"Maybe one day, were the King to have a son of his own, it would be safe to quietly bring our son back to us. But you know his attempts so far have failed to produce even illegitimate male offspring..." Jarod looked to Knight Commander Gerald. Gerald and Jarod had been friends since childhood. They had grown up, adventured, lived, laughed, and fought wars together.

"It will be done your grace," Gerald said as he held the swaddled newborn heir gently. Gerald loved the Duke and Duchess as if they were his own true-blooded siblings. He could be counted upon above all others to ensure that the boy was raised in love and security.

"We will have to have a falling out. It would make no sense for you to just leave my court one day. Tomorrow I will have my agents spread rumors of our dissatisfaction with each other, and a week from now I will banish you using the royal seal from the ducal capital on pain of death," Duke Hexenguard spoke, and as he did so his heart fully died and turned to stone. Lady Ashton cried even harder as she finally internalized the reality of their situation and the lengths to which they would have to go to protect their child. All three adults in the room felt like family to each other.

Gerald simply nodded his head. He had helped Duke Hexenguard rebuild this duchy, transforming it in the process to a mighty seat of ducal power. Now he would have to leave his home. Finally, he dared to look up and meet Duke Hexenguard's eye. "Though he cannot have the love he deserves from two fine young parents, he deserves something. A name. Even if he cannot possibly know the heartache and struggle that comes attached." Both Duke and Duchess started at the firm and commanding tone of their friend. Gerald had always presented a subservient demeanor, even in private, even when encouraged to yield and show familiarity due the best friend of the Duke and Duchess. Never before had such a stern utterance come from the man in their 19 years of friendship. Still, Duke Hexenguard hesitated, to give the boy a name might be too much for him to bear. It might make it too hard to let go and force him to keep tabs on the child, endangering him. Duke Hexenguard opened his mouth to say as much when suddenly Gerald stood, and it seemed to the distraught couple that he towered over them, a mighty man in possessed by wrath and fury.

"Name him, Jarod," Gerald said in a quiet but furious voice, shocking the Duke to hear such a grave tone from his friend directed at him. "Name him or do not ask this impossible task of me, to leave you both weakened and vulnerable in this state, distraught and broken while still needing me to fulfill my duty. Name him this very moment or take him back and I will travel to the Royal Seat and see what might be done," Gerald thundered, causing the boy to begin to wail.

Duke Hexenguard felt deep and heart-wrenching sorrow at these words. No anger could he feel in his heart for this man was offering to sacrifice his life in a thinly veiled threat against the king's life. Suddenly Duke Jarod Hexenguard stood and matched Gerald's glare eye to eye. "Aye I will name the boy, and then you will be gone from my sight this very moment!" the Duke shouted, fit to bring the roof down with the thunder from his voice. "He will be Zariel, after the founding father of our country." Gerald and Minerva understood this anger from the duke to be a farce, Jarod was using this as a pretext to banish Gerald - disrespecting a Duke by using his name in familiarity was a capital punishment.

Just as quickly the thunderstorm in Gerald's eyes passed and he bowed low over Zariel, holding the child out to Lady Ashton. "Minerva," he said quietly. Lady Minerva Ashton Hexenguard understood that this was her last chance to hold her beloved son. She took him from Gerald and cried as the child cried. Anguish crushed her soul and she gripped him as tight as she dared, showering him with what seemed like a lifetime of love and affection, raining kisses on his sweet caterwauling face.

Finally, she held Zariel up for Jarod to hold. Jarod took his son and held him, swaying gently and calming the distressed child. Tears marred his own cheeks as he whispered inaudible words to the boy. Eventually, he held Zariel out for Gerald to take. "Fortune separates us for now," Jarod said to his son.

"But our own mastery of fate will see us reunited" Gerald continued their ritual of saying goodbye softly as he took the babe and turned to leave.

"Fair weather and calm breezes bless your journey," this from Minerva as she watched Gerald walk away, his shaking back visible through the door. She could hear his faint sobs as he left his friends.

"And woe to those who delay our coming," Jarod completed the years-long ritual between three friends as he crumpled into his seat and began to sob. In his heart of hearts, he knew that he would never see either of them again and that their family was shattered.

Somewhere far away a few days later...

"Something is wrong with the King, father," Theresa said as she paced. They were seated in Master Scholar Tika Armstrong's study. His daughter and fellow mage Theresa Marcel Armstrong had been sending him letters for months and now had traveled directly to his home in Agile Valley.

Marco, the royal mage who headed the Institute in the capital Kinghold had also been pestering Tika. As the countries only Archmage, Tika was offered rights and respect that no other man could claim. As Tika eyed his daughter, he figured that Pervalia would soon have another Archmage. And at only 50 years old, she would achieve that status earlier than he had. The youngest in the history of the country.

Tika sighed and rubbed his tired eyes. "I know Theresa. Marco has also been sending me updates from the capital. I have people in place already investigating the situation. We will act soon."

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Chapter One

6 Year Old Zerial and 28 Year Old Gerald

"Father, did you see!" a handsome young man shouted at Gerald, who stuck a finger in his ear and made a pained face. The boy and his father were standing on the side of the Royal Highway that ran through the market square of Coluria. Market stalls decorated with all sorts of colors marked the edges of the trading zone and large poles held streamers and lanterns, with the mayors house, a local barracks, a local jailhouse, and several other important places of administration surrounding the entire thing and three primary roads connecting the highway to the rest of the town.

"Keep it down Zerial, I am right here. You don't have to blow this old man's eardrums out!" Gerald smiled and mussed Zerial's hair. Yeah. It's me, obviously. Wouldn't be much of an autobiography if it wasn't.

I immediately latched onto the hand that was on my head, bouncing up and down in excitement. Today a company of royal knights paraded across the district capital. "Do you think that one day I could become a knight?!" I screamed at the exact same volume, to punish my father further for being so old.

"Hrmm," Gerald thought for a minute, rubbing his mustache with his free hand and glaring seriously at young Zerial. I peered at my father with very wide eyes and awaited the verdict... "I suppose... if you trained hard... and you studied harder... and you grew a bit more... yes, yes that's quite possible...," every word out of Gerald's mouth filled me with excitement and trepidation in equal amounts. Dad was a serious knight, a man among men! His opinion of me would let me know if I was doomed or not! Suddenly Gerald had a mischievous twinkle in his eye as he finished his sentence, "quite possible for you to become a stable boy at their barracks! Hah!"

I groaned at my father and released the hand, punishing the old man by latching onto his leg like a lamprey and headbutting his leg over and over.

"Ah! Stop you little leech!" Gerald squawked and shook his leg frantically, trying to escape the evil clutches of his son's torture. We made quite a spectacle, causing not a fair few of the bystanders to turn and watch the sideshow to the main attraction of the military parade. Some chucked, some scowled, but most grew bored quickly and turned their attention back to the parade.

After a minute or two of smashing my head into my dads knee, I grew distracted and sat in the dirt at my father's feet, watching through the throng of legs as the military parade continued with the men-at-arms following the royal knights dutifully.

Behind and towering above his son and the crowd itself, the former Knight Commander watched the passing parade with an unusually grave expression on his sun-beaten leathery face. Although only 28, he seemed a man much older and more in his prime by the very presence. Even in this crowd, a small circle of free space was awarded to the father-son pair, as if Gerald's presence was creating a field that none could inhabit for long

Gerald knew that this military parade presented by the royal family would be happening across villages and districts all over the county. It was a prelude to war, for their King had designs beyond the borders of their country. Expansionism and conquest were ever a favorite pastime of Kings and Emperors, and Gerald knew that the King of Pervalia fancied himself an Emperor. To claim such a title, he would need to begin to subsume land around him. When he had enough, he would be able to elevate himself to imperial status and set up minor kingdoms within his borders.

"Come Son," Gerald stated in an unusually serious voice, one I had never heard before. I looked up at his father. "If you wish to be a knight... You must begin training now,"

"OHMYGODS WHATAREYOUWAITINGFOR LETSGOLETSGOLETSGO", I shrieked at the top of his lungs, trying and failing to drag my massive father out of the crowd. Gerald just sighed, picked me up by my ankle, and carried me upside down by one leg through the crowd like I was wriggling giggling creature that he was afraid of, and towards our horses. We had a long ride ahead of them to get back to the estate.

9-Year-old Zerial and 31-year-old Gerald

Over the last three years war had erupted across the kingdom, and many men had been drafted for the King's expansionary wars. Things were going well for Pervalia, for now, and the Kingdom prospered as a whole even as entire villages were decimated. Of the forty thousand conscripts from the first war, only a little more than nine thousand had returned home to their villages. During that time, Gerald had to provide his own tithe of four hundred men-at-arms and three hundred militia archers to the country's military pool. Thankfully their domain had been spared the wider fighting as garrisoned border castle troops and suffered through only one light siege. Many of the domains men came back to them. Now nine-year-old Zerial and thirty-one-year-old Gerald faced each other at the barracks training grounds with a few men-at-arms watching.

"You call that a thrust? You're meant to KILL your target, not tickle it! Don't poke AT the target, stab THROUGH IT!," the master man-at-arms trainer, Knight Roderick, screamed at me. While his arms trembled and legs cramped, my expression was one of fierce concentration. He could do this, he knew he could. Gathering up the last dregs of his rapidly fading enthusiasm and energy, I brought my stance in line, toes pointed forwards towards my most hated foe, cocked my arms back until my right hand rested against my hip, leveled the spear and let loose a primal scream, looking just past this unyielding enemy and thrust forward with everything I had, my hips, torso, and shoulders rotating perfectly while my arms shot forward with the force of a thousand hurricanes.

"This is it!" I screamed in his own mind. "I'll surely destroy this target now and they will finally-" i missed and face-planted against the unyielding wood, breaking my nose and falling unconscious.

Roderick, Gerald, and Others

"Gods damn it, kid," Roderick sighed and he grabbed the young idiot by his ankle and dragged him to the infirmary.

Gerald, who had been watching, winced. Zerial's form had been perfect. Well, as perfect as you could expect from someone that young. It was good. But the damn kid had let himself get distracted at the last moment, and his training spear had hit a round edge and deflected easily off the dummy. Oh well, men didn't need to be pretty. Girls loved a little battle scar here and there, Gerald mused to himself while running his finger along a lip scar from his childhood.

"My lord," came a voice behind Gerald, causing him to turn and face the estate steward.

"Argyle, do you have news about the upcoming draft requirements?" Gerald asked gravely gestured his steward to walk with him.

"Yes, Lord Hart. I have not yet opened the letter," and with that, the steward handed Gerald an official missive bearing the royal ducal stamp of Hexenguard. With a sigh, Gerald sat and ripped the seal open while gesturing with his head for the steward to seat himself next to him.

BY THE AUTHORITY OF HIS GRACE

DUKE HEXENGUARD has issued a MANDATE to all LORDS within the HEXENGUARD DUKEDOM.

Upon RECIEPT of this OFFICIAL MISSIVE, you as a LORD who owes FEALTY to HIS GRACE DUKE HEXENGUARD are hereby called upon to provide MEN-AT-ARMS and CONSCRIPTS to fulfill your CHARTER or PATENT OF NOBILITY. Those whose fiefs do not meet the REQUIREMENTS of HIS GRACE in MANPOWER will instead pay SCUTAGE equaling ONE AND A HALF times the amount of COIN required to HIRE MERCENARIES required to meet terms.

FAILURE to meet the REQUIREMENTS of HIS GRACE will be met with full FURY and TERRIBLE MIGHT such as to PUNISH TRAITORS, COWARDS, AND THOSE WHO WOULD CIRCUMVENT THE LAW OF HIS GRACE. If you are UNABLE to meet the MINIMUM REQUIREMENTS as AGREED UPON and ADJUSTED every CENSUS, then you are to make your way to HEXENGUARD with your FAMILY and RETINUE to meet with HIS GRACE and his AIDES to discuss TERMS OF CONTRIBUTION.

You are hereby ORDERED to TRAVEL to the ROYAL MUSTERING GROUNDS no later than SPRING on the 32ND OF THE YEAR OF OUR LORD.

BY THE AUTHORITY OF DUKE HEXENGUARD

- G. M. CARLISLE, CHIEF STEWARD OF HEXENGUARD

LONG LIVE THE DUKE

FOR THE GLORY OF HEXENGUARD AND PERVALIA

Gerald sighed and handed the missive to Argyle. The steward took it in hand and quickly read through the message while Gerald rubbed his eyes and turned in his seat to look at the training yard. "These wars of expansion are going to cripple us in the long run," Gerald remarked off-handedly to Argyle who nodded and put the missive back in its envelope.

"This gives us a little over two seasons to muster and march My Lord," Argyle commented.

"Yes, and we probably have Duke Hexenguard himself to thank for that much time. It is just barely enough to get a harvest in. Argyle, raise the mustering flags across our castles, and send copies of this missive to our strongholds. This year we are expected to provide double the amount of men," Gerald stood up. He felt positively ancient at 31 years old. After his service to Duke Hexenguard ended, Gerald was stripped of all ducual titles and holdings. That still left Gerald with the land inherited from his family and awarded due to meritorious service. As such Gerald was known as a Knight Banneret. One step below a baron, Gerald was responsible and received tithe and tribute from four castles, six towns, seventeen villages, and four abbeys. His manpower contribution to the previous war was waived largely due to scutage fees paid by his holdings in a common agreement.

This time such a strategy would not work, as the country's mercenary population had been decimated in the previous war and the King had issued a decree preventing more than 10% of scutage fees from the kingdom's traditional military manpower providing counties. That meant Gerald and Argyle had to summon roughly 4,000 men across all of his provinces, equip them, and then appoint a commander over them. Military power moved slowly in a feudal society and such a monumental task as raising banners took much coin and much more time.

By edict, much of the nobility owed 2 months of service to their lord, depending on their patents. The Royal Military had much of Gerald's manpower on the hook for 6 months of service paid for by Gerald. Beyond those 6 months, their pay would come out of the ducal coffers, to which Gerald paid a hefty sum every year in taxes, tithes, and tributes. Thanks to the skillful management of Argyle, and the forward-thinking military leadership of Gerald they would be able to meet their minimum feudal obligations this war, and maybe even the next.

But if the casualties in these wars continued to mount Gerald knew that the Duchy would be in trouble before long. As a border duchy, Hexenguard stood as a western warden against aggressive expansion.

"Let's get to work," Gerald told Argyle, and both men headed in different directions.