They made good time riding on the road that night.

They rarely travelled past sundown. It was too hard to make camp in the dark, and now that they were avoiding roads, they risked Agatha tripping and falling on something she hadn’t seen. Bernard had been dead tired when they stopped, but his recent memories of waking up drenched in cold morning dew drove him to put up the tent.

When Bernard did wake, the sun was above the horizon. He appreciated the warmth of the later morning. Getting up before dawn was never pleasant.

Agatha was foraging in the grass by their camp. Bernard didn’t bother making a campfire to cook breakfast. They’d lost a lot of daylight already. He didn’t want to slow them down further. A biscuit would do. He ate it while he folded up the tent. Conversationally, he said;

‘Perhaps we should stick to the road, but ride at night. I think we went further in that short time last night than we’d get riding a whole day in the woods.’

Agatha snorted.

‘You’re too much of a morning person to cope with regular late nights.’

He thought about it. It was probably true.

‘Still, riding on the road was nice.’

‘It is nice. We’re likely past Ailbern’s area of influence. If you want to risk it, we could go back to using the road for a while. Maybe until we’re near Vivecabruck. The bridge would be a good place for an ambush.’

‘Don’t we need to use the bridge to cross?’

‘No, not this time of year. It’s shallow enough I can wade across. Your toes probably won't even get wet.’

‘Alright. I defer to your greater wisdom.’

‘Shut up, or I’ll deliberately throw you in.’

‘I’m not being sarcastic! I mean it!’

‘That’s it. You’re going in the river.’

By sunset, Bernard was certain.

They were being followed. At first, he assumed the weird effect in the air above Nemeduro looked larger from the west. When it hadn’t shrunk at all after most of a day, he couldn’t ignore it any more.

‘Agatha? I think that guardian is following us.’

She wheeled immediately, standing in a wide defensive stance in the centre of the road, scanning the treeline for signs of movement.

‘Where is it?’

Bernard leaned forward so Agatha could see him pointing to his best guess at the location of the source. She said;

‘I don’t see anything.’

‘I can see its shroud in the air. It’s been at the same distance the entire day.’

Agatha narrowed her eyes, frustrated she couldn’t see what Bernard saw.

‘We won’t be able to outrun it. It kept pace with me at a canter, and it said it doesn’t sleep. If I gallop, I might be faster, but I can’t keep that up forever.’

‘What do we do?’

‘We don’t have many options. We could ignore it and hope it’ll lose interest eventually… or we could try to invite it into camp to explain itself.’

Bernard shivered. The evening breeze was warm, but not enough to counter the icy fear that clamped itself around his heart. He hadn’t expected Agatha to react so seriously. It frightened him more than the idea of being followed had. He said;

‘It didn’t seem like it meant us any harm when we spoke to it…’

‘It might not have wanted to risk killing and eating you where the townsfolk could easily find evidence of your death. You helped that boy. They’d be upset if they knew you were dead.’

‘Agatha… please, don’t say that.’

Agatha turned again, cantering away from the guardian. Bernard hissed;

‘You said we couldn’t outrun it!’

‘That doesn’t mean we can’t find a more defensible position.’

‘I’m invulnerable!’

‘It’s not worth the risk.’

Faramund loped along at an easy pace.

He wasn’t sure what had spooked the pair, but they had stopped a moment to look around, then sped up. When the not-prince pointed back towards him, Faramund imagined they might have seen him. He was so far back, so low to the ground, so still. It was impossible. He couldn’t smell any wolves nearby, nor any bears. He could smell rabbits, hares, a few kinds of bird - those didn’t make especially upsetting noises though. A person might be startled by the sudden hoot of a bubo owl, but once they had time to think about it, it’d be fairly clear that it’s the sound of a bird. Nothing to run from.

He reached the point where they paused. He inhaled deeply, trying to identify the source of their concern. He could smell a badger. Its stale scent was everywhere, but the creature itself wasn't present. If the not-prince didn’t know what sound badgers made, it might be frightening. Their cries were harsh and loud. The not-horse should’ve been able to recognise a badger, though. A Prince lives in a big stone palace, but even a King’s horse lives out in a stable. It would have heard badgers before. He inhaled again as he followed. They must have heard a fox. The fox scent was distant, but their voices carried. Their vocal range made them much harder to identify than badgers and owls. Humans and horses were frightened by their calls all the time. The sound hadn’t carried all the way to where Faramund was hiding, but a favourable breeze could have pulled it right to the ears of the pair on the road.

He picked up his pace. He was impressed by the not-horse. It was faster and had better endurance than any true horse he’d followed before. It might even be as fast as a nykur. He wondered if it was a nykur. The one he’d glimpsed when he was alive was beautiful, with a long white mane and tail. He’d been terrified it would try to drown his children. He couldn’t remember what the village elder did to drive it off. Something to do with forged iron. The memory was more elusive than a rainbow’s end.

Darkness settled on the road, and Faramund wondered when his quarry would stop. They’d lost the last of the light to make camp by. The not-prince kept looking back, up at the sky. Faramund could see insects, bats and night birds flitting about on their usual business. Nothing sinister. He grew concerned. The not-prince said it had some sort of fae-sight that worked on humans - it might also have the ability to see things that were invisible. He’d planned to wait out the night a reasonable distance from the pair, so they wouldn’t be disturbed by the smell of him. If they were being hunted by an invisible beast, he’d have to risk standing watch much closer to them. He wouldn’t let them get eaten. The fairy wouldn't help him if he let her agents get eaten.

They left the road, crossing a rocky field. Finally, they stopped, huddled in the lea of a pair of large boulders. The not-prince put up its tent, then tended the not-horse as though it were a real one. No campfire was set. They were clearly worried about their pursuer. Faramund climbed a tree, listening and testing the night air, hoping to find some sign of the thing that chased them. Whatever it was, it wasn’t something he could sense. Perhaps it was further back or higher up than he’d guessed. He couldn’t know without asking. He didn't want to approach unless it was absolutely necessary. If they didn’t know he was accompanying them, his presence wouldn’t bother them. They wouldn’t tell him to leave.

Out of Faramund’s earshot, hidden under the tent, Agatha whispered;

‘It’s gotten much closer. I can smell it. Keep your sword ready.’

Bernard cradled the sheathed weapon in his arms like a favourite toy as he fruitlessly tried to sleep.

Despite their fears, dawn came without incident.

Bernard was already tired of the increasingly stale biscuits he’d packed for provisions. The little piece of cheese he added to the dense bready mass was barely worth the effort. He had a bow. He wanted to supplement his meals with fresh meat. Stopping to hunt rabbits and birds was out of the question while they were being followed so closely by the guardian.

They rode as fast as Agatha was comfortable, taking the north road when the way split. The south road lead directly to Lake Gewaltsee. Bernard had never been there, though his brothers had. They went for some kind of boating event for visiting foreign dignitaries in late spring when the lake was at its fullest. Something to prove that their kingdom had more to it than endless trees and altitude. Given the scenery leading up to the lake, he wasn’t sure the gesture would have been effective. Perhaps the route looked different coming to it from the capital.

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

The pair didn’t stay on the north road long - they cut into the trees shortly after they were passed by a man-at-arms on horseback. He wore nothing to identify which house he belonged to. Even after he passed, he kept glancing back at Bernard until the bend of the road broke his line of sight. It made Agatha nervous. She decided to leave the road early.

Hidden among the trees, Bernard strung his bow. He held it ready, a hand close to the quiver hanging from Agatha’s saddle as they picked their way through the underbrush. She found a well-worn deer trail and increased her speed. The track meandered along, seemingly without a destination in mind, until it came close to the river. They broke off the path to stay among the trees, away from the exposed bank. Agatha was right. From his place seated on her saddle, Bernard could see the river was barely a trickle. A wide expanse of smooth stones and dried up water weeds bordered the little stream. They rode north along the bank until after sunset.

The sky was clear and the moon bright. It was easy to see the opposite bank. Agatha picked a spot with a gentle slope to make their crossing.

'I'm going to cross here.'

'Wait, not yet.'

Bernard dismounted and threw his blanket over her to keep her from sight. Her bright coat would make her easy to spot in the dark. He wrapped a spare shirt around his head, like an old woman’s scarf, to hide the reflective surface of his crown. Task complete, he settled back into the saddle. Agatha began her descent down the bank, placing her hooves carefully.

A river bed like this was a great place to fall and injure herself. Large, loose stones and slippery mud made every step feel precarious.

Despite the distance, Bernard could see the tiny glimmering torch lights of the guards high up on the bridge. The bridge fort belonged to some distant cousin whose family had been awarded it and the surrounding duchy for their diligence in serving the crown. It was nice and close to the comforts of the capital while still being a key strategic location to prevent an invading army from reaching the King’s home before midsummer. A few torches on the bridge weren’t unusual.

That wasn’t all Bernard could see.

Shrouds trailed out from between the bridge’s battlements, exposed in the moonlight. They flapped among the trees and rose, undulating from the bushes around the approach at the far end. This mass of people carried no torches. If Bernard didn’t have fairy sight, he’d never have known they were there. He whispered;

‘There’s definitely an ambush at the bridge. There are an awful lot of people up there.’

Agatha had expected it, but she’d hoped that they would be lucky. The further they went without seeing any of the King’s soldiers, the better. She paused at the edge of the water. For all her brave talk earlier, she dreaded entering it. It was meltwater from the lower regions of several perpetually frozen peaks. Even in late summer, it remained ice cold. She couldn’t rush through - she had to go slowly to limit the sound of splashing. Alerting the ambushers on the bridge to their presence when they’d gone to this much trouble to stay out of sight would be a fool’s blunder. She braced herself and stepped in. With her first step, the water was already above her foreleg’s fetlock. She shuddered and kept going. It passed her knees. She felt the water start to pull on the edges of the blanket. Flicking her tail did little to help her shrug off the discomfort - it was wet too. It dragged sodden behind her in the water. The motion was unsatisfying. Bernard shifted in the saddle, not complaining, but lifting his feet. Then, she felt the touch of ice water on her belly. She wanted to shriek.

An unearthly howl echoed through the night. They both turned to look. Agatha saw nothing. Bernard saw the guardian’s transparent shroud warping the light of the stars in the sky. For some reason, it had gone to the bridge. Dark tree branches shook, and with an ear-splitting crack, an entire tree flew through the air, crashing down at the mouth of the bridge. Stealth forgotten, Bernard said;

‘I think the guardian’s making a distraction for us…’

Agatha didn’t need more prompting - she splashed for the far bank to get out of the water as fast as she could. Once her hooves were back on dirt, she took off into the trees. They didn’t have the benefit of a deer track on this side. She pushed her way through, ignoring the tearing brambles and branches that caught on the wet ends of the blanket. She felt Bernard wince as unseen tree limbs slapped him in the dark. Finally, they reached a space where the trees thinned. She paused to get her bearings. In the distance, she could still hear the faint shouts of men on the bridge. Bernard didn’t seem to hear anything. It was a small mercy. She said;

‘I can’t see enough of the stars to know which way we’re going. What can you see?’

Bernard craned his neck. He couldn’t see much either. He asked;

‘Aren’t we far enough to make camp for the night?’

‘The further we get before we drop, the better.’

‘We can’t see the stars, though. We’ll get lost.’

Agatha flicked her wet tail again. It slapped disappointingly against a tree branch. She was cold and uncomfortable, but stopping wouldn’t fix that. Without a campfire, they’d both stay wet and unhappy until the sun rose. They couldn’t light one until they were much further away. An out-of-place fire would be a beacon to their pursuers. She said;

‘We’re not stopping here. We’re too close to the bridge. If they send out hunters to go after the Guardian at dawn, they’ll find us. I’d rather risk being lost but safe than stay here and get caught.’

Lothar’s rage was incandescent.

(Content warning for this section)

‘They let him get away?!’

The Dovemaster shrank back. He knew what Lothar had done to other servants who displeased him. Those poor saps had mostly been from lower-class families, and while the Dovemaster was from a noble family who had the power to make themselves heard in court, that didn’t offer him much protection. He’d never heard Lothar refer to him by anything other than his title - he was almost certain Lothar didn’t know his name. That meant he didn't know which family he belonged to either. The consequences for killing a noble without reasonable cause wouldn’t even cross the King's mind. Stammering, the Dovemaster said;

‘The message says that demons attacked-’

‘They attacked that night! Not in the middle of the day! They lost Bernard in broad daylight!’

‘Would you like me to send summons to the Duke so he can…’

‘Get out!’

The Dovemaster turned and fled, not bothering to hide his terror. Lothar didn’t notice. He was too consumed with his own thoughts. Bernard wasn’t content to be a minor annoyance. Instead, he went about skillfully undermining Lothar’s authority at every turn. He had become a serious threat.

When reports said that he’d turned back from his mad dash to the east, they said he was armed but alone. It was inexplicable. The only feasible explanation that Lothar could come up with was that Bernard had got his hands on some shiny trinkets and, with the bravado of a naive child, chose to stand and face his inevitable death.

The Marshal kept repeating his concern that Bernard met with that damned wizard. Lothar had ignored his misgivings; They were irrational. What use would a wizard have for a destitute and deposed Prince? Bernard had no rare magical resources to offer in trade, and if the wizard wanted political power, he’d have come for it decades ago. He had no need for a pawn. He was too powerful for that. King Luis had been extremely clear about this fact when Lothar was still a boastful youth.

Lothar thought he was around Bernard’s age when he learned about Schlache. His tutor said the wizard paid no taxes and offered no military service despite his strength. Young Lothar was indignant. How could his Father allow such an insult to stand? He’d seen the pitiful magic of the court wizards - their best conjurations could be torn apart like tissue paper. The immense wealth of his kingdom attracted the very best in all fields. If those were the best wizards in the realm, some elderly recluse in the mountains would pose less threat than an anaemic dormouse. He decided that he’d ride out and subjugate Schlache himself. He’d snatch the glory his overly cautious elders refused to reach for. He'd prove that they were fools.

The King stopped him before he reached the stables. He personally dirtied his hands beating Lothar into submission. Lothar's memory of the event was vivid. Knuckles still red with Lothar’s blood, King Luis had said;

‘My refusal to approach Schlache isn’t because I’m old and feeble. I can still beat men ten times your better to pulp. No matter my strength, I could never beat Schlache. He has the power to conquer whatever kingdom he likes, whenever he likes.’

Still defiant, Lothar spat;

‘How would you know? You’ve never faced him!’

King Luis hit him again.

‘This is why I want you to read your history books. Schlache’s last act before he went into hermitage was to quell a tidal wave that would have swept away the entire capital and drowned people living halfway up Mount Heilag. You can’t defeat a man with that kind of power through force of arms. If you went to him whining about taxes and waving a sword, the best you could have hoped for was your own humiliation when you rode back with nothing to show for your efforts. At worst? If we all died quickly in a rain of fire, it would be a mercy.’

‘Then, why hasn’t he gone conquering?’

‘Because that’s not what wizards do! For some unknowable reason, all wizards above a certain level of strength retreat from human concerns. They prefer isolating themselves in strange towers they build in the distant wilderness. They become deaf to pleas for any kind of aid from their lessers, and in turn, never try to claim the wealth of unmagical men. It’s a small consolation for people like us. You’d know all of this already if you bothered to read!’

Lothar shook the painful image from his head. Because of his father’s words, he had been certain Schlache wouldn’t have wanted anything to do with a wastrel like Bernard.

But, when Bernard turned back to the capital, he wasn’t armed and alone. He’d come back at the head of a host of invisible demons. There was no questioning it now. Schlache had to be helping him. It certainly wasn’t the fairy. She didn’t resort to violence when his idiot father shot her. She preferred playing mind games with the entire kingdom.

He reread the message from Duke Theodoric. It didn’t allow for misinterpretation. Bernard had been seen by a soldier on the road to the fort. He allowed the man to pass without incident, as though he wanted the Duke to know he was coming. If he meant to hide, he’d have shot the soldier to keep him from talking. He might as well have been daring the Duke to attack.

The Duke’s men had orders to watch for Bernard, but weren’t expecting him to come that way. There was no direct road between Ailbern Manor, where he’d last been sighted, and Vivecabruck. Bernard had never left the roads before. They had no reason to think he would. The Duke sent out riders to meet Bernard as soon as he was notified about the sighting - firstly to confirm the rider's identity and secondly to try to bring him in quietly - but they couldn’t find him. He’d vanished. The Duke ordered his soldiers to man the bridge in ambush anyway, just in case the sighting was real.

The moment the sun set, demons howled in the woods. The Duke’s men shot a volley of arrows into the darkness, and the demons responded by throwing massive oaks onto the bridge like they were little more than dry twigs for kindling.

Nobody saw Barnard pass in the night. In the early morning, a sentry saw him riding far in the distance. He’d gotten well past the bridge. The Duke speculated he had been carried overhead by some flying monstrosity.

The letter neglected to mention casualties. Was the Duke that embarrassed by how many men he’d lost? Lothar needed to know how many died to get an idea of how lethal the demons were. Throwing trees was impressive, but less impressive if the creature was slow and clumsy. If a group of knights could close in before it managed to uproot a tree, they might be able to kill it before it did any damage.

There wasn’t any point speculating. Lothar’s only real hope now was that Bernard would be drawn to ‘Castle Star’ by Pepin’s obvious ruse. If Pepin managed to kill Bernard in a surprise attack, the demons might return to their master in the east. If they killed Pepin and a few peasants on their way home, it wasn’t a problem. So long as they left. If they didn’t… the kingdom might fall.