He comes for us.

The whisper hisses, like steam from a kettle, and hovers at the edge of his ears. Two unhuman voices converse amongst themselves; pulling him from his sleep. He isn’t ready to face the morning. Shutting his eyes, he refuses to accept that its already dawn. The person beside him doesn’t stir, but her warmth is comforting.

… for us…

But this time it’s a knock at the door. Dragging himself from the covers he reaches it as it rattles with enough force to spring from its hinges. It flings open at his touch and Theo, drench in sweat, stands before him. He can’t hear the panicked words from his trembling lips, but a black flame flickers in his eyes; making his blood run cold.

Bang, bang, bang!

Zack bolts upright, sitting in his bed in a knot of blankets. Its not a dream, someone’s at his door. Throwing on a shirt and pants he crosses the darken room, trying to avoid the discarded boots and uniform parts thrown on the floor. He answers, greeting Lex who has a pep in his tone and wide alert eyes. Its not even dawn, he groans.

His stiff muscles remind him from days of riding. And the dull headache recalls the wine from last night’s reception. Everyone was there to welcome the delegates to the kingdom. Food, wine and beer, and music flowed all through the night. But Lex isn’t affected by any of it, he talks a mile a minute which his brain can barely comprehend and hands him a list.

“They need to be fresh, no time to waste!” he raps on the door frame then trudges down the hall.

Through blurry eyes he reads the items on the shopping list; all scribbled out in an excited hand. How long has he been up for? This isn’t the usual logistic orders, it’s the shopping for breakfast. They have bakers in Alexanderia, there are chefs in the castle, but apparently none compares to Madame Boutin's cinnamon rolls and cheese loafs.

He glances around his room, a bed with a straw mattress is against the wall and a heavy chest at the foot. The narrow bare fireplace isn’t across from the bed isn’t lit. Dawn creeps across the night sky, casting traces of light from the tall slim window. It’s the first time he notices the crooked carpet and mess over the floor. Did Lex see this? A blush creeps up his neck, I can’t leave it in this state.

After rescuing his boots from under his saddle bag, he tosses everything else into the chest. Before he shuts it, he grabs his coin purse and tucks it inside his jacket. Once he uncurls the corner of the rug, he climbs to his knees; under his bed, is his sword, and he grabs it as well. There’s a morning chill in the air from the open window but the steel is warm to the touch. Odd, it’s never done this before. A memory of black fire flutters in his mind but vanishes in a blink.

Lollardum is preferable at daybreak, the streets are empty save from the soldiers on patrol and the stray cats mewing as they hunt rats. Its two things the kingdom has too many of; people and rats. But its quiet for the time being, allowing his mind to drift to the day’s tasks. Despite his protests Lex insists he attend the opening remarks at the Royal Assembly, but he never said he had to attend all of it.

His brain, now awake from the sleepy fog, plans the optimum escape plan. There’s no way he’s spending all day listening to politicians; there’s things to do and people to see. One in particular is long overdue. Officially he’s a contact he uses for intel, but the thief has a way of attaching himself to people. And Zack’s not against having one friend he can trust in a kingdom full of thieves and pretenders.

After wandering the streets, he stumbles upon the modest bakery with puffs of smoke streaming from a crooked chimney. The soft glow from Madame Boutin’s windows floods over the flat paving stones. The delicious smell of bread, spice, and butter drifts over the street. She’s, a short plump middle-aged woman greets him with a broad smile. The encounter is short but sweet and he hurries with the crinkling paper bag to the castle with his spoils.

At the castle, he pushes past nobles and their entourages to Allan’s quarters. Various perfumes dampen the air and tiny dogs bark from the laps of lavishly dressed women. Attendants rush past him, weaving between wandering visitors to complete their duties. Inside the king’s room the morning fire crackles while Allan studies the carved mantle. Lex, in his ceremonial uniform slouches in a high back chair. His eyes widen as their gaze falls upon the bag in his hand.

“Good show!” he smiles, directing Zack to the table under the window. He unpacks the prize, placing the loaves between used teacups and a now cold teapot. But there’s something else, wedged between the cheese loaf and the baguette is a folded parchment sealed with wax. No address, crest, or emblem. He holds it to the sunny window, squinting to read the message, but Lex snatches it from his hand.

“Wait, is that yours?”

“Your uncle has his ways of gathering information,” Allan muses but frowns upon discovering the empty teapot.

“You use that nice old baker as a spy?”

“The baker, the butcher, candle stick maker, and most likely a chimney sweep,”

“You laugh your majesty, but Alexanderia has benefited from each and everyone of them. Now Zack, get going. The conference’s starting soon and I'm didn’t train you to be a slacker.”

“Aye aye,” he smirks grabbing a roll before leaving. As the door clicks behind him, Allan’s quiet tone floats through the keyhole and draws his curiosity towards it.

“Did they find them?”

“Afraid not Sire, but we'll keep searching.”

“What if we’re wrong, how do we know they will appear here?”

“Because they will. If they need to replenish anything this is the place. I have someone on the look out. We’ll get to them.”

“I asked for discretion.”

“And I obeyed, no one knows the details. Only a description.” The doorknob twists as his hand hovers over the smudged brass. “Zack? I thought I sent you to get ready?”

“Uh you did, I mean…” His brain searches for a lie, “did you want me to meet you here before it begins or…”

“Head straight there, we’ll reconvene after.”

Anxious grumbling settles over the Assembly as the audience settles in the viewing gallery. He moves through the rows of benches on the balcony, finding a spot beside a woman in the front row. Smiling at his good fortune, he makes his way to the chair. She wears a fashionable dress with a green cap and black veil.

“Excuse me my lady, but is this seat taken?” Before she answers an impatient lord hushes him. Ignoring the man behind her, she motions for him to take the seat.

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The dignitaries and high-ranking officers fill the chairs below. Arranged in a horseshoe before the throne are four highbacked chairs on raised platforms. Of the four, two remain empty. Allan, resting his head against the cushioned headrest, ignores the man sitting one chair over. In turn, the slender man in ivory robes refuses to acknowledge the king’s presence.

“Were your travels with King Avalon pleasant?” The woman beside him whispers.

“How did you know I accompanied the king?” She motions towards the ruby emblem embroidered on his uniform collar. Ah...

“I am surprised to see a young knight choosing to listen to these snobbish lords speak instead of indulging in all Lollardum has to offer.”

“The General suggested I stay,” he ran his sweaty hands through his hair, “calling it a ‘learning experience.’”

“Ah yes, General Stone; a wise steadfast man. I bet he has plans for you.” She gazes forward but he senses a smirk under the veil.

“Lex has plans for his plans, it’s hard to keep up most of the time. What about you, you must have a love for politics to suffer the pretentious company.”

“I have a desire to remain informed of the events of the kingdom in which I live.” She stretches her neck to watch the wide carved doors, anticipating King Castellan’s arrival. “My husband believes it is a ridiculous interest, which is why I steal away from my duties to come here. I dread his displeasure when he discovers my absence.”

“Any man should consider himself lucky to have such a passionate wife.” The blaring trumpets silences her and orders the crowd to stand for the king’s entrance. A barrel-chested man resembling a bear, barges through the trumpeters, and stalks towards the throne. Adjusting his fur cloak, he addresses the attendees.

“I welcome you all to our beautiful kingdom. Before we commence, I wish to address our absent friends. In case it is not apparent, there are two representatives absent from the proceedings. Given the unexpected passing of king Winterman his widow, the Queen Regent, declined the invitation. She expressed her duty is to her people during this difficult time. We have sent our sympathies and understanding of the matter. The other chair is always left for the High Priest of Sherseas, and as usual, he refuses to attend. But I am happy to see the representative of the Kingdom of Ancients; Imperial Council member Toranis. Also, the warmest welcome, Your Majesty of Alexanderia, King Avalon.”

As the opening statements drone on, the boredom tugs on his eyelids. The room, crammed shoulder to shoulder with people, grows warmer with each new talking point. The roof, a beautiful display of ornate windows absorbs the morning sun, creating a hot box below.

His skin itches as the sweat pools under his tunic. But what is worse, as Allan speaks, the soft regal voice begins to lull him to sleep. His heavy eyelids flutter, shutting, then fling open as his chin touches his chest. He comes for us. A whisper tickles his ear. Then Castellan’s voice booms through the hot air jarring him from his nap.

“With regret, I must report a disturbance brought to my attention. As you are aware, Lollardum is plagued with violence, but it is currently reaching a record high. And I will no longer stand for it. I must advise caution of similar actions in your respective nations. It is my greatest fear that these events will become widespread.”

“An effective way to create panic, my friend.” Allan remarks, “what is it you are referring to?”

“Buildings in the Theatre District were deliberately set afire, killing many and destroying homes. What is most tragic is according to my sources these fires were set by a pocket of Mage radicals.”

The crowd howls, spitting their anger towards the throne. The woman beside him squeezes her hands in her lap, shrinking under their rage. The tension between the races always existed but he didn’t expect outright attacks. The mob yells, rattling the balcony as they demand Mage blood. But the Imperial Council Member protests the loudest, standing from his chair trying to address them.

A cloaked figure standing with his back pressed against an exit draws his attention. The dusty hood conceals his face, identity, and purpose. Inching slowly, he attempts to blend in with a group of arguing men to his left. His uncle, too distracted with the arguing leadership, is oblivious to what’s happening behind him. The stranger fidgets with something under his cloak, but the guards beside him don't bother to notice. It’s too hot inside for a cloak, that should be suspicious enough. But no one is doing anything.

His hand balls into a fist, along with his toes curling in his boots. Incompetence. From the seat he has an eagle view of the representatives. His heart thumps against his ribs as he counts the paces from the stranger to Allan. He’ll reach his king before Lex can get from his chair.

“You call me a liar Toranis?” Castellan bellows. And the two men shout back and forth. The crowd exclaims their support for their victor as the argument rages on.

He turns to the stranger, who is missing from his gaggle. His heart leaps in his throat, where is he now? No one on the floor is aware of anything. Its like watching a rockslide, and they’ll all be crushed under it. The woman nudges his foot, following her stare he sees the commotion happening in the far corner.

There’s his stranger, but a guard has his hand gripping his wrist. It’s the knife to his throat that sends a chill over his spine. The guard is stealthy, one word from the man and every eye is on them. Another opens the door and the two slip outside. The crowd, enthralled by Castellan’s words, roar in applause. But on the edge of the sound Zack hears a gurgled scream from the hallway.

“The castle guards are expedient,” she whispers. “Unfortunately, this is a common occurrence as of late.”

He sighs, revelling in the thought Allan is safe for another moment. Although judging by the disinterested look on Allan’s face, the king isn’t engaged in anything Lollardum puts forward. Toranis on the other hand, is sweating and red faced, he calms himself while straightening his robes. Taking this as a cue for a break Castellan announces an intermission from the proceedings.

“Come, my wife,” he calls standing from the throne, “I know you are here.”

The woman beside Zack stands and follows the king’s order without complaint. Everyone ignores her presence, but she smiles wearily before exiting through a secluded door at the back of the balcony. The Queen. He regrets the blush creeping up his neck, it reddens as he realizes everyone on the balcony can see it. How dare he talk so flippantly with her?

Without making eye contact with anyone he fumbles and makes his way to the floor seats as fast as he can. At the bottom Lex grins and waves him over. Hundreds of questions run through his head, but the one on his mind is the possible stranger who may be after Allan.

“Sir, these radicals Castellan mentioned, is it true?” But Lex pulls him into a quiet alcove.

“My contacts will investigate Castellan and his motives.” He eyes the lords as they pass but none give the soldier any attention. “Listen, there’s an assignment for you. Strictest secrecy, got it?”

“Yes sir,”

“Three months ago, the king assigned me a person of interest to search for,” he pulls Zack closer and whispers, “a Mage carrying an Opal Staff. It is critical I discover whether this individual is involved with Castellan’s radicals. Find out if this Mage is in Lollardum or is involved, then report back.”

“An Opal—Sir most of them carry staffs. Is there any other description?”

“It’s all I’m warranted to say. Whether they change their appearance the staff is always the same.”

“Do I have orders to arrest the Mage?”

“No, merely information. But if this Mage is who I think it is I suggest you don’t engage. They are unpredictable.”

“Is this Mage behind the attacks?”

“Let me know what you find out.”

Are radicals threatening Alexanderia? He wanders the hallway planning his next move. His knights maintain the peace in the kingdom; there’s racketeers and criminals but not radicals. Either way, there’s no way an extremist will thrive in Alexanderia while he lives. Shouts ring from the upper floor, signalling his presence; he climbs them two at a time and when he reaches the top, he meets the wide eyes of a frantic servant running towards him.

“There’s an intruder!” she pants, “the queen!” pointing to a set of rooms at the end of the hall. He rushes to the door with his sword drawn and flings it open. Standing in the centre of the room is the trembling queen and his most valuable contact in Lollardum. The tall scrawny blonde thief jingles a pair of green earrings between his fingers.

“Chris you bastard!” he rushes for him.

“Did you expect anything less?” he winks.

The thief ducks to the balcony and sprints across the castle wall.