Ash was sitting on the balcony and watching the garden. His chambers, in his opinion, were far too luxurious for his taste. His eyes hurt from the white marble, and his bed, which stood at the east wall, was the size of a smaller room.

Sighing, he returned his gaze to the book of legends he had been reading. He liked them more than the tragic history lessons and boring rules of etiquette. However, he had no choice but to study those. Not even he could go against the king’s orders.

When Garangan suggested that he moved to the palace, Ash immediately agreed as he was tired of hiding from strange people and events in his shed of a home in the middle of nowhere. His heart had always yearned for adventure and travel, but something seemed to always be holding him back from following it on his own. It wasn’t until Garangan’s arrival that he finally managed to release himself from the shackles of whatever force had been keeping him in place for so long.

The price he had to pay wasn’t all that big: learn to ride a horse, use cutlery (this took him some time to master, and he even managed to cut his fingers and tongue a couple of times), write, and even learn the basics of the economy. To this day he didn’t know what the whole fuss about money was about. He still couldn’t figure out why a musket cost a gold coin. The gun was so big, and the coin so small, it made no sense. Now, if you were to trade a musket for a good slice of grilled meat, that he’d understand. Meat filled your belly and you could go a day without eating. He couldn’t imagine himself eating gold coins.

He also didn’t understand why girls looked at him so strangely, why they wore dresses and men wore suits, or why they had to use separate baths. In general, he didn’t understand what the difference in the two sexes was, save for the fact that they had different genitals.

Because of all these gaps in his knowledge, he was very thankful to Garangan for teaching him a lot for free and for sometimes sitting with him on the roof under the stars, playing cards, and drinking rum. Ash, who so far showed nothing but disgust toward strong spirits, fell in love with rum, and Garangan seemed to share this sentiment. To make sure that they didn’t empty the palace’s cellar too soon, they’d often swap this wonderful drink for tea.

A knock on the huge, mahogany door snapped Ash out of his reverie.

“Come in!”

Clicking with his shoes, the majordomo walked in.

“Sir Nameless, his Majesty King Garangan IV summons you to the Throne Room,” he announced.

Remembering the page he was on, Ash closed his book and got up. He had recently been given the title of a baronet, but nothing else that’d go with it, like land or inheritance that he’d one day pass on to his offspring. Not that this bothered him, he just found it slightly annoying since he didn’t like the fuss that came with having such fancy titles.

Jumping off the railing, he walked into his chamber and took the ornate staff that Garangan had gifted him. Putting on his cloak, he followed the majordomo through the winding hallways. Amid the splendor of gold, velvet, brocade, and stained glass were elaborate bas-reliefs, sculptures, and paintings made by the most famous artists. Ash still couldn’t figure out what was it about their works that was more valuable than a child’s drawing. Or why their sculptures were better than the works of apprentice potters. All these things, dresses, jewelry, books, and pieces of art looked the same to him — without a purpose and soul. To him, a painting worth two hundred gold was equal to a brooch made of wire and glass.

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Turning the corner, they entered a wide, spacious hall and stopped in front of a tall door decorated with gold and ebony plates. One more thing that Ash didn’t understand was why they called the throne room small when it could easily fit about two hundred people.

“The Lord is waiting,” the majordomo said and bowed.

Ash nodded to him and opened the doors wide open, greeting both Garangan and Master Arthur. He was clueless to the fact that the latter feared him and wished to get rid of him. Not that it’d matter to him if he did, as he knew nothing of the pain of betrayal or love of another. To him, everyone was the same.

“Your Majesty,” he greeted a bit quieter than the majordomo had taught him.

“My friend!” Garangan said and, much to Arthur’s displeasure, got up to embrace the young man. “It’s good to see you. I’m sorry that our last game had to be postponed.”

“Think nothing of it. I see Master Arthur is with you,” he said and greeted the old wizard with a nod.

Arthur narrowed his eyes. He didn’t like it that the young man had been given one of the rarest privileges a noble could be granted — sitting while the king stood. To Garangan, however, this seemed but a trifle. Had it not been for Ash, he never would’ve gotten the chance to hold his lovely wife in his arms.

“Come and join us,” he said and sat down with Ash. “We were just talking about you, actually. He had nothing but praise for you.”

“I thank you for the kind words, Master Arthur,” the young man replied and bowed to the old wizard. Arthur didn’t so much as acknowledge him. “But I fear that you’re exaggerating my successes. I still have a lot to learn.”

“Modest as always!” Garangan burst out laughing. “Many of my subjects lack that quality. But now’s not the time for modesty, my friend. A storm is coming, and I’d like you to help me fight it.”

“My—” Arthur began, but Garangan cut him short with a wave of his hand.

“It’d be an honor.” Ash bowed yet again. “Your orders, my Lord?

“All in its due time, my friend,” the king said with a hint of youthful cockiness in his tired voice. “First I must check to see if you’re suited for this assignment. Guards! Bring in the convict!”

The doors opened almost immediately and two guards in light armor dragged in a man in dirty, tattered clothes. His hair was unkempt and his body unwashed, causing the majordomo to put a handkerchief to his nose and grimace with disgust.

The guards threw the man in front of the king’s feet and drew their swords. Only the royal guards were allowed to draw their weapons in the palace, anyone else who dared present their blade would be killed immediately

Ash looked down at the man who, curled up, was coughing and groaning. He didn’t care about his pain, he didn’t understand why he should care about a stranger.

“Your Majesty?”

“Patience, my friend.” Garangan turned to one of the guards. “Give him your sword.”

The man stood motionless, staring at his king in disbelief.

“I said give him your sword!”

“Y-Yes, my Lord!” the guard exclaimed nervously. Throwing his blade to the convict, he dropped to his knee.

The man didn’t waste a second. Immediately grabbing the weapon, he leaped to his feet and bared his yellowed teeth. Through the scars and locks of dirty hair, shone eyes of a madman. But even he wasn’t that mad as to jump at the king.

“This, Ash, is a swordsman from the city of Felsham, convicted of violence, robbery, murder, and looting. He was to be hanged tomorrow morning, but I pardoned him. Do you know why?”

“I do,” Ash lied.

Truth be told, he didn’t care about what the man had done or what would’ve happened to him. All that the man was in his eyes was a sack of flesh and bone.

“I’m willing to give him a chance to save his life. If he defeats you in a duel, I’ll give him a horse and three days of advantage. Then I’ll send my men after him. If he escapes them, he’s free to live his life as he pleases.”

“So, I have to fight him?”

“That’s right.”

“As you wish, my Lord.”