Lunar awoke to the steady clip-clop of a horse’s hooves.

She slowly rose from her cot, blinking sleep from her eyes as she struggled to find the source of the noise. The exhaustion veiled her gaze, but she could faintly make out the blurry outline of what she thought was a cart being pulled by a mounted horse. The squeak of the wagon’s wheels rang as the cart was pulled, and she peeked her head out of the tent, still blinking at the wandering trader. And her eyes cleared just in time to see the trader’s fine invik shirt, the superior silk a brilliant crimson barely visible beneath a traveller’s coat.

“Wow… That’s impressive… How’d you get that?” she wondered, believing she was barely audible. The trader’s gradual stop, and his stare sweeping across to rest upon her, proved her wrong. His emerald eye, the other veiled beneath a thick cloth, locked onto her, and she took a moment before flushing with embarrassment. Michael cast a worried glance over at her, his fingers fluttering for the hilt of his sword. But the trader spoke first.

“Good trading merits bountiful reward,” he noted, his faintly accented voice devoid of emotion. Lunar paused at the dispassion in his tone, his stare not quite cold yet certainly lacking warmth as it met hers. His words were spoken as matters of fact, and she could not help but note the gravity surrounding each one. Traders were, indeed, an odd breed, she thought.

“Sure but… Palitraks are rare,” she objected, hauling herself from the tent with a weary sigh. “Their hides are expensive, and not many people around here could stitch them together to make a shirt like that!”

“I have my sources,” the trader replied cooly, his voice still flat as he met her eye. An odd light she could not place flickered in the glimmering green stare, though she did not turn away. She was only just beginning to understand the danger she had put her friends in, the sword sheathed at the trader’s hip suddenly quite obvious to the former princess, and she became all too aware of the lump in her stomach.

But Amelia chipped in.

“Where are you heading from, then? Your trading’s clearly been successful!” she exclaimed, and the trader’s gaze, thankfully, turned to rest upon her instead. Lunar breathed a minute sigh of relief, glancing worriedly at Michael, whose hand was now resting on the pommel of his blade. But the tension dissipated by the moment as the trader’s tone seemed softer, and his gaze grew a little warmer.

“I ride from Govenheg to Covenhaven,” he said. “Govenheg’s market for apparel is booming, while their market for weapons is not. So I am off to capitalise on Covenhaven’s poor armament.”

Lunar was stunned into silence, the sudden influx of information startling the blonde as she gaped at the trader. She had regretted flagging his attention but began to wonder if it was a blessing in disguise.

“Govenheg’s got a market for clothes?” she wondered, and the trader made a negative gesture.

“Armour. Clothing means little to them, but they seem to enjoy the comfort of steel,” he remarked. “They have enough weapons, but they rely on wood and leather for protection. Covenhaven is rumoured to be its polar opposite, given its central location. Armour is plentiful, but their weapons are poor.”

With that, he gestured to the carriage his horse was pulling. A stockpile of weapons heaped upon one another, neatly tied in bundles and fastened in place with bolts in thick woven baskets. A twoscore selection of swords, axes, and maces rested in harmony. All potential weapons used by Gratsinmornian’s armed forces, from the lowest ranking member of a town’s Watch to the Royal Guard. Lunar studied the weapons and displayed her awe in a dumbstruck nod as she noted how many there were.

“In that case, we won’t hold you any longer!” Amelia assured him, her cheery tone breaking Lunar’s train of thought as the brunette beamed at the trader. “Thank you for the advice, though!”

“I’d hesitate to call it advice, but I am glad it is of use,” he noted dryly, offering a curt nod before snapping his horse’s reigns. The beast whinnied before continuing to march along its merry way, leaving the three friends to exchange glances.

“All things considered, that could’ve gone worse,” Lunar murmured, and Amelia arched an amused brow.

“Could’ve gone a lot worse,” Michael agreed, shaking his head. “That man’s too confident for a trader. Too quiet. I didn’t like him.”

“I did. He was helpful,” Amelia decided, and Lunar shrugged as the one in the middle.

“Like him or not, he gave us some good intel, and he’s got a good head on his shoulders,” she declared. “He’s right that Covenhaven needs the weapons. Most of the outer villages and towns can get away without much of an army, but not a place like Covenhaven. They’re in the middle of Julian District, and I doubt Cashin Fief cares about it that much. Not like it’s anything special.”

“But there are still people there!” Michael protested, to Lunar’s glum nod.

“Exactly the problem. All the earls and barons, except maybe the northern ones, seem to forget that the villages are still theirs. The people are still theirs. And they need to protect them.”

“Well, if the districts won’t protect them, then at least we can give the villages the equipment they need to protect themselves,” Amelia resolved, and both Lunar and Michael nodded assent.

Thus, their plan was set. Within the hour, they had gathered the remains of their campsite, packed their tents and belongings, and set back out on the road. The fireless campground was ideal now, as, while the night had been rather chilly, the time they spent tidying after themselves was minimal, as there were no ashes to spread nor rocks to replace. Just their tents and goods to gather before they set back on the road and let the endless pitter-patter of travelling feet ring out against the dull kavetstone path.

They passed many other travellers on their journey, but few paid them any heed. Some were merchants, some were groups of men and women, and some were, Lunar noted with surprise, families. She could barely disguise a frown at one such group, led by a haggard old man and woman harbouring two children no older than three, dragging along a depressed mule labouring beneath large bags piled onto a carriage. A case that was duplicated across many other groups and one that began to worry her as the count grew to twenty. Her friends said nothing as she breathed a sigh, and she grimaced as she continued to walk the trader’s path. Michael likely wouldn’t pay the travellers much heed, but by the look on Amelia’s face, the brunette was noticing the same things Lunar was.

But before Lunar could wonder too much, the gates of Govenheg came into view. The structure looming above them, towering poles of sharpened halken logs packed tightly together and sealed with wet dirt, guarding the allure upon which guards marched. There weren’t many of them, nor were they particularly well armed, but there were guards nonetheless. A few swords, crossbows, and spears sprinkled in with the clumsy axes and clubs. But they would get the job done, given the more intimidating state of the town’s wall. It would take an effort to break through the halken barrier. The wet wood was nearly impossible to burn, and any attempts to break through the structure would be punished severely by the awaiting defenders.

As the trio approached the gates, the wooden structure swung open to the bustling town. The dark brown of an exposed earth path contrasted with the untouched greenery that surrounded it. Hoofprints and deep markings of shoes were evident throughout the streets, and Lunar nearly tripped in one such groove as they entered. Tightly packed homes lined the town square, which was hampered by dozens of market stalls littered with vendors advertising their products. Butchers, jewellers, and cooks sat alongside artisans and craftsmen, all clamouring for the attention of the bustling market. As Lunar searched the market, her gaze was drawn to a blacksmith, whose smithy was home to a metal pot being battered by tongues of flame erupting from blazing hot coals.

As she watched, the pot was rotated, and a silvery liquid splashed into a rectangular mould until it was filled, at which point the smith leant upon his clumsy anvil and set the pot back over the flames, resting the mould to cool against the side of the forge. With a hammer in his hand and a light of cheerful exhaustion in his eyes, the smith waited a moment before splitting open the mould, fine-tuning the shape of the weapon with his hammer as sparks flew from his fierce impacts. The smith was, as she could expect, broad-shouldered and heavily built across his arms and back, though she noted with a slight grin that his legs were grossly disproportionate to his lumbering torso. A common mistake amongst the Gratsinmornian smiths. But it left them able to fulfill their duties.

“It’s one heck of a marketplace,” Michael noted, and Lunar’s attention broke away from the smith to hear her friend speak. “It’s larger than I thought it’d be.”

“It really is! There’s so many stalls, too!” Amelia exclaimed, and Lunar couldn’t help but smile as Amelia began hopping from foot to foot. Bouncing with excitement, she gazed upon all the stalls, looking at the various products. The brunette always loved exploring, especially where she could buy things, and this was no different. “Let’s go!”

“Hold on,” Michael murmured. “Can we please sell some of this first? I can deal with the swords, but the armour’s getting annoying.”

“Right!” Amelia cried, hurrying to lead the way to the smithy as the knight voiced his concerns. “We need to sell a bit of that! Take a load off your shoulders!”

“I would like that,” he admitted, and the trio hurried to the blacksmith.

The younger craftsman’s gaze lifted as the jingle of armour caught his attention, and he greeted the trio with a jovial nod. The cheer faded, however, as his eyes rested upon Michael, whose face was shrouded behind a visor. Lunar frowned, noting the displeased expression, before stepping forward and greeting the smith with a warm smile.

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“Good pastnoon!” she exclaimed cheerfully, catching the smith’s eye as she drew near. He paused, his gaze softening as she approached before greeting her with a wary smile.

“Hello,” the smith said. “How can I help you today?”

“We’re just looking to sell some armour!” she explained, gesturing to Michael as the knight lowered the bulky sack of equipment before beginning to strip off the armour.

She saw the smith pause as the armour was set down, only rummaging through the bag once Michael gestured for him to do so as he took off the plate. The smith hesitantly opened the bag, peering at the contents within before gingerly pulling out the various pieces. The two nearly untouched suits of armour, the two punctured chest plates and their pristine accompaniments, and the chain mail that accompanied them all. Each one was held in the light and examined with a critical eye, and each one seemed to garner his seal of approval.

“They’re… Actually, quite good,” he observed, echoing the earlier beliefs of the group as he examined the equipment. Appraising the steel suits of plate with an appreciation nearing reverence as he rattled off his observations. “They’re well-made, they’re substantial, but they’re a general fit to the usual people who wear them. I can think of more than one person that would be able to, and willing to, wear this.”

“We’re looking to sell them,” Lunar reminded him gently, and the smith seemed to snap back to reality as he nodded.

“Of course, of course,” he agreed. “I’ll have to piece the armour back together and melt down the broken pieces, but they’re excellent sets.”

He held the coming silence for a moment, lingering over the price as he gazed upon the equipment. Smiths rarely bartered, Lunar noted, and he was the same as he contemplated the goods at hand before making his offer.

“Twelve gold pieces?” he wondered idly. “I’d offer more but… Business is a little slo- What’s with the looks?”

The “looks” were gawks of awed disbelief, wide-eyed stares from the travellers as he offered. Their shock was more than tangible as Lunar exchanged a glance with her friends, gulping down her surprise as she flailed a hand at the suits of armour.

“Twelve gold!? I thought they were a few silver at best!” she exclaimed, and the merchant couldn’t choke down his laugh as he shook his head.

“I should offer more, but I don’t think I could sell it anywhere near here if I did. They’re made of steel, and they’re standard issue suits of armour for Gratsinmornian soldiers. No one around here can afford the full price, me included. But if you want to take them elsewhere for a better price, you can.”

“No, no,” Lunar assured him at the latter statement, still trying to dispel her shock at the value presented. She probably should’ve expected that a full suit of plate armour would gather a weighty cost, but not as much as he’d offered. It was fortunate, she realised, that they had approached such an honest man, and one who was also probably wealthy thanks to the necessity of a smith in a village like Govenheg. His wares, on display behind him, were anything from weapons to equipment, and the village needed this. “That’s more than enough. Are you sure that won’t bankrupt you?”

“The Village Headman pays me enough to keep me afloat. I can’t imagine I’ll be in the hole for long, though,” he assured the travellers, at least having the decency to offer an embarrassed smile. But it went unnoticed as one of his other comments finally roused Michael’s attention — though Lunar doubted anyone in her party would object to this price.

“Wait, you said standard issue?” Michael wondered, and the vendor paused, recalling his words, before glancing at the plate. Recognition dawned in his eyes, and he nodded. “What do you mean by that?”

“He means this is what the Kingdom outfits its soldiers with,” Amelia explained patiently, drawing the smith’s grateful gaze as she smacked the knight across the shoulder. “What else would- Ohhh…”

The meaning of the words dawned on Lunar as the spark of cheer faded from Amelia’s gaze. And Lunar, for the second time that day, became acutely aware of a large rock that had taken residence in her stomach.

At best, the assassins had overwhelmed a group of travelling soldiers. Taking a group of knights by surprise and stealing their armour or perhaps slaughtering them in their sleep. At worst, one of Gavleni’s Fiefs had sent the assassins their way, or even Earl Patriak himself aiming to dispatch her. She was not sure how many people knew of her departure from the capitol, but she knew that, if anyone would, it would be the earls and barons. And they would seek to take advantage of it as soon as possible.

It was a suspicion she’d had for some time, but this seemed to point toward politics being the motivation behind the attempts on her life. They were never very good attempts, but they were attempts nonetheless.

“Is the deal still on the table..?” the smith asked hesitantly, breaking through Lunar’s thoughts. She hurried to nod, nudging the sack of armour toward the smith and accepted the gold, handing it to Amelia as the brunette filled her purse and smiled at the blacksmith. Michael hurried to voice his appreciation while Lunar offered a final winning smile to the young man, who had already begun piecing together the suits of armour and throwing the broken pieces into his forge before the group departed for the markets.

But their smiles faded as they turned away and exchanged glances. They may have just quadrupled their collective net worth with this extraordinary find, but it had come at a great cost. And Lunar was the first to voice it as they made their way to the stalls, not allowing the silence to stretch for long.

“We’ll have to do something about this,” she whispered begrudgingly. “We can’t just leave it like this and call it a day. If it’s an earl or baron, we’ve got to do something.”

“Could we tell the King? Maybe he’d help you!” Michael suggested hesitantly, and Lunar shook her head to his chagrin. “We have to do something! More of these goons are going to be sent after us! Do we just kill more people until we’re numb to it?”

“But what can he do? Kill the earl?” Amelia wondered, and Michael grimaced. He paused to contemplate her answer, but Lunar was the one to reply.

“He can at least rebuke him. He’s the King. He can do whatever he wants,” she pointed out. “But I don’t think he’ll be too happy to see me. I burned my bridges with the Royal Court and its occupants a long time ago. It’s not like I left him a note. He probably thinks I’m dead.”

“Do you think…” Michael voiced, though Lunar’s voice and stare turned cold as she shook her head.

“He never cared about me enough. The Kingdom was going up in flames long before I showed up. It didn’t get worse since I left. We just saw more of it from the people’s perspective. Gratsinmorn’s vulnerable right now.”

“Wait…” Amelia whispered, a moment of realisation entering her gaze. Lunar paused, meeting her thoughtful eyes before she turned to her friends. “Do you think that’s why we saw all those families on the way here? Because the Royal Guards are coming, and they wanted nothing to do with them?”

Silence stretched between them. And Lunar’s stomach grumbled in its displeasure for having to care for another lump that lived rent-free within it. Lunar’s heart beat quicker, and she drew a scant breath before she closed her eyes and exhaled.

“If that’s why…” Lunar whispered. “Then this Kingdom isn’t going up in flames. It’s burning as we speak. If they’re so afraid of the Royal Guards, the best Gratsinmorn can offer, that they’re willing to drop everything to avoid them, then…”

“The Kingdom isn’t burning. It’s already turned to ash,” Amelia murmured. “They don’t have the soldiers here to protect them if the By Konda’s Talons…”

Lunar whirled around to stare at her in shock as the name was spoken. A deity of the Dakwon Realm, the realm believed to wreak all havoc and misfortune or bestow blessings and fortune upon life at the whims of its residents. The Dakwon Realm was led by said deity, named only Konda for fear of his full title. The creator and caretaker of the infamous Forgotten Forest, the lifeless pit of blackened trees and colourless undergrowth that acted as a natural border between many of the nations on the Werrek Taron. He was the greatest threat to the taron, yet, simultaneously, its greatest guardian, as his work had slowed Galvic advancements and marred their supply lines during times of war. To die by Konda’s will was to die the death of a warrior and to die a man or woman of honour in the fires of battle. The Dakwon Realm itself was the life that lay behind, fraught with many other deities that were somewhat helpful when the time came to curse or to pray.

But it was a guarantee, some said, to fulfilment past death, to die by a Dakwon’s will or hand. Few were unworthy enough for the alternate fate, and such were known only as the Forgotten Ones, never to be remembered again, for such individuals were beyond hope. Those individuals, brazen or cruel enough to merit no mercy, earned the worst of any curses, spoken with venom in the Dakwon tongue. One of the few words of the Dakwon script Lunar knew, and one she never dared say, for to utter the word was to challenge the right for one to die a warrior’s death and to be remembered as such. The word alone carried power, like most of its language; Dakwonda cursed to an eternity of damnation from memory.

She wasn’t too sure how much she believed all these stories, especially considering how often Michael spat venom on Thavin, a Dakwon deity unique to Gratsinmorn, without retaliation. Konda, on the other hand, was a deity unique to Shadinara, though she knew the name was not uncommon in Gratsinmorn. But her knowledge of the realm and the afterlife were limited. The nations disagreed frequently, though she supposed she was fortunate that the general agreement was that, perhaps, they were all correct or even incorrect and that each nation would carry on with their own thoughts. All that was mutually understood was that the Dakwon would not take sides unless they believed one was objectively just and saw potential in them.

But Dakwon names and titles were to be used sparingly, regardless of belief. Konda’s name itself was a curse that Amelia had picked up long ago, and she dared use it now. And Lunar was about to rebuke her before she realised why.

Red surcoats, lined with the dark yellow of the Gratsinmornian High Court, filled the town square. No fewer than twenty tall, armoured figures had entered the village with the EveningStar emblazon of a grand moon rising behind a brilliant star planted upon the black paint of their large shields. The Royal Guard had arrived for their demonstration and were setting themselves up in the city square. Various dummies, mounted on horse-drawn carriages, were dug into the market square, and the royal guards began to prepare their ring and display. A speaker shouted out the festivities, preparing to unfold, to a crowd that Lunar couldn’t help but notice that they were not exactly pleased with the intrusion. And she hesitated as the royal knights stared around the market as if expecting the audience's applause. To her relief, they had been met with precisely that.

A few crowd members began to clap for the knights as they started their demonstrations, though the three friends did not join the ruckus. Lunar gestured for them to follow her before she slipped soundlessly through the alleys and between the houses to escape from sight. The sounds of mock combat rang out as they fled toward the tavern, hasty to avoid the commotion as the demonstrations began. No commoner, or even soldier, this far from the capital would know that the combat being presented was a sham. Few untrained soldiers could ever tell the difference between combat and mock trials, for battle was never as flashy or coordinated as a hopeful village boy or girl ever hoped. It was a hacking, stabbing mess of kill or be killed, and that’s all there was to it. So Lunar ducked from the demonstrations, and the three hurried to the tavern to find a room and hide well away from the dangers of the town square.

Though there was a chance the tavern could house the Royal Guards, they’d sooner take to their own cots and tents than whatever meagre supplies the villagers could offer them. And Lunar felt both a twinge of disdain and gratitude for the fact as she settled into the tavern for the night.