Year 3043 AGD

Month: Preparation

Night of the Third Day

Continent of Terroval

City of Safeharbor

Royal Quarter

Royal Palace

The people that funneled out of the great gilded doors at the top of the staircase were what Victor assumed would be the most intimidating and powerful procession that he would ever see exit a single room. Even in a space the size of the Grand Hall, their presence commanded attention.

As the doors opened, the murmured conversations died out completely, and Victor could almost hear the sound of hundreds of heads turning towards the staircase. The weasel-like man who stood at the top right of the stairs would announce each person as they walked onto the landing above. He motioned to the trumpeters as they were ending their second round of the call to arms, and they stopped playing immediately.

“His Royal Majesty, Theodrik Theromvore the Second, and Her Royal Majesty, Sophiana Theromvore,” the herald intoned, with a resonance that Victor would never expect to come out of such a small man.

Theodrik Theromvore looked every bit a king, and he was dressed in golden robes that were lined in the black and dark purple of the Protectorate. At age forty-two, he was just starting to show the signs of time catching up to him, the most noticeable sign being the crow’s feet which framed his hazel eyes. His robes hid the well-muscled and fit frame that Victor knew the man possessed; the royal family had a long tradition of training with the knights until they assumed the throne, and it was expected that they remain in battle-ready shape until the day they die or cede the throne to their heir. His dark brown hair, which had several strands of grey now, was concealed by the golden crown he wore upon his brow. The crown was as simple as Victor imagined a crown could get; it was a band of gold with several points and it had writing around it that Victor wouldn’t be able to make out from where he was. He knew from Nim’s notes that the crown simply stated “Watch, Listen, Act” in Draconic, a warning from Dalton Theromvore to his predecessors to never become too comfortable and never dally, or all would be lost.

Sophiana Theromvore wore a white dress with golden trim that flowed behind her, which complemented the robes her husband was wearing nicely. Nim’s notes said that she was as beautiful at thirty-eight as she had been when Theodrik had married her nineteen years before. Seeing her now, Victor didn’t doubt this as she seemed to float forward beside her husband. Dusty blonde hair flowed over her shoulders, framing her petite features and accentuating her sea-foam green eyes. Some of the queens in the past had come from families that had sent their daughters to train with the knights or the mages, but Sophiana was not one of those. She had been trained as a noble, and most considered her nothing more than a pretty face. Those that thought of her as such were wrong. She possessed a keen intellect and a deft mind for the politics of the world. In a sense, she was more of a queen than those who had been fighters or mages.

“His Royal Highness and Heir to the Throne, Prince Theodrik Theromvore the Third. Her Royal Highness, Tatiana Theromvore, and His Royal Highness, Theodore Theromvore,” the man intoned in the same attention commanding voice.

Theodrik III was a head shorter than his father and a hair taller than his mother. He had just celebrated his eighteenth birthday last month. Even though father and son looked so much alike, the clothing that the prince was wearing made it easy to tell that Theodrik the Third was in much better shape than his father. As expected of the royal heir, he trained with the knights daily, and he would do so until he took the throne. His hair and eyes were a near match to that of his father’s.

Tatiana Theromvore looked much like he assumed her mother must have when she was ten years old. Her hair, however, was a bright red compared to her mother’s dusty blonde, and her green eyes were of a much clearer quality than those that the queen possessed. Nim’s notes had said that he felt like those eyes could look into one’s soul; Victor now understood what he meant. As those green orbs scanned the crowd, he swore they stopped for a moment on him, sending a chill down his spine that he barely repressed.

Theodore Theromvore, age six, trailed after his brother and sister in as regal a manner as he could manage. He seemed to be a mix of his mother and his father, with light brown hair and hazel-green eyes. He would begin his training with the church of Cypheria soon as a cleric or a priest.

“His Majesty’s Royal Advisors; Miss Analya Theromvore, battlesorcerer and daughter of High Lieutenant Commander and Lord General Theromvore, and her husband Lagelion Daystar, former member of the High Elven Guard of Eske’Taure.”

Analya Theromvore was a member of the Sorcerer’s Council and a very powerful battlesorcerer. When the Sorcerer’s Guild had approached her father with the intent of training Analya, the lord general of the infantry was appalled by the idea and had said his daughter would not be a weak mage! It was then that Simon Windsbane, who had been tetriarch of the sorcerers at the time, had assured her father that she would be trained as a battlesorcerer. Since the general had been greatly impressed by a young battlesorcerer he once knew, named Zander Halcyon, he agreed to let her training proceed. The general since commented that he must be one of the proudest fathers in Safeharbor. Analya possessed the beauty of her mother—who would be on the landing shortly—in a less grand scale. Her sandy blonde hair fell to her shoulders, and her light blue eyes shone brightly. She stood a head shorter than her elven husband.

Lagelion Daystar was large for an elf; not abnormally tall, just large. His muscles were not as densely concentrated as many others of his race, and more like those of a human warrior—bulky and intimidating. Like most elves, he stood over six feet in height, his face was slender, and his lobe-less ears ended in points. Not even Nim could find out much about Lagelion; the government of Eske’Taure wouldn’t comment on his current position, and they seemed to ignore that the man existed at all. It was known that he was three hundred and forty-eight years old, still below middle-aged for an elf. His hair had a silver sheen, and his eyes were the color of mercury. His pale skin also possessed a slight silver sheen.

The king stood at the head of the steps with the queen on his right and his heir on his left, followed by the princess and her younger brother. Analya took up a position to the right of the queen, with Lagelion to her right and slightly behind in a clearly protective position. The next few people to come out of the doors would file in to the left of the royal family.

“Arch Magus Simon Windsbane.”

Simon Windsbane was the arch magus, which was the head of the council of the mages, sorcerers, and priests. Nim wrote in his notes that he knew for a fact that the man was one hundred and thirty-four years of age, and yet the arch magus still moved like a man a third of that. His grey hair was short, and his face was clean-shaven as a silent protest against the classic depiction of older mages, which he despised. He was considered the strongest mage in the world—perhaps the strongest that had ever lived—and it was said that his intelligence matched his power. His clear blue eyes seemed to crackle like lightning crossing a summer sky. His presence was awe inspiring, and Victor had to stop himself when he realized he was gaping. He was glad he was in front of the rest of the crowd, so that no one but those above him could see him doing it.

The little man continued with a pause slightly longer than it should have been; Victor was glad that the old mage had affected the announcer as much as he had himself. “High Mage Dodrick Flanteel; Tetriarch Zander Halcyon; and High Priestess Megan Lane.” When the remaining three members of the Mages Council stepped forward to take their place beside the arch magus, Victor was yet again gaping before noticing that Nim was making sure that no one had seen him gawking.

Dodrick Flanteel was one of the few dwarves in the history of the Protectorate to take up the mantle of mage. Sorcerers were becoming more common amongst the dwarves because of the draconic blood that was slowly changing the long-lived race, albeit at a much slower rate than those races with shorter life spans and higher birth rates. He moved up through the ranks of the mages due to his keen intellect and sheer strength of will, which Victor could see was quite substantial. Nim’s notes said the dwarf was four hundred and fifty-six years old, which was pre-middle-aged for dwarves. Dodrick’s red hair covered his head and face, a match for his fiery temperament and the little patience he held for fools.

Tetriarch Zander Halcyon stepped up next to the sturdy dwarf, and Victor heard a collective intake of breath from many of the women in the room and some of the men. This was a man that legends were made of, and whose exploits would be sung for a thousand years to come. At forty-seven years of age, this man was in a shape that anyone would be proud of, even amongst the ranks of the knights of the Protectorate, let alone a sorcerer. His corded muscles were that of an arena fighter, and he had the grace of someone who was intimate with the dance of the blades. Not only was this man a sorcerer, but he was also the highest ranking battlesorcerer.

The battlesorcerers emerged sometime after the reformation of the city and had become instrumental in its defense ever since. Battle mages are sorcerers who focus their powers into things that aid in battles, whether that be throwing a fireball or bolts of lightning at the enemy or shielding their forces from another mage. It is said that not many survive the training, but it is believed amongst their Order that if they cannot handle the training, they would not survive the battlefield, either. Ever since their inception, battlesorcerers have been regarded even above the clerics and priests in importance on a battlefield. All of which only half explained the awe that Zander inspired amongst the crowd.

Everyone knew that Zander hated his position; he found it weak and demeaning, and just another thing that took him away from the battlefield, which he insisted needed him more and more each day he was in office. The only reason he accepted the position was that he and many of the other sorcerers knew that he was the right man for the job. The fact that he didn’t want it and yet carried out the duties of his office without fail stifled any objections there may have been from within the Order.

It was said amongst the soldiers that Zander had won more engagements for the Protectorate than the knights had, and not many were willing to dispute that fact. A joke had spread a few months earlier in the form of a list that some soldier or another had compiled and titled ‘Top targets of import for the Dracair,’ which listed Zander Halcyon as number one, two, and three on the list, followed closely by the arch magus. Zander was considered to be near equal in power with the arch magus, but no one held the arch magus in higher regard than Zander did. When he was training with the sorcerers, it had been Simon Windsbane who had taught him several of the Shapings he used most often in battle.

Zander’s smooth scalp seemed natural with the ebony grace of his corded body, and the violet sheen in his eyes allowed people to see his gentle nature.

Megan Lane seemed small in comparison as she came in beside Zander, both in size and power. Yet anyone who called this woman weak in the earshot of others would probably be challenged to several duels by soldiers, if not pummeled on the spot. Megan Lane was the High Priestess of the Council of Churches, coming from the church of Cypheria, the largest church in the Protectorate. That alone would have been enough to garner such support from the men of Safeharbor, but to her eternal chagrin it was not the main reason. At fifty-two years of age, she still maintained the figure that she possessed when she was twenty. Her strawberry blonde hair fell to the small of her back, and her sky blue-green eyes have made more than one man stop dead in his tracks. Many of the soldiers harbor a secret love of this woman, but rarely has she been known to reciprocate these feelings.

The powers which she calls upon through the goddess Cypheria are only rivaled by one other in the church, according to Nim’s notes. Victor then remembered the name which had been written as a side note after the comment and thought of the conversation Ashur and Nim had earlier, wondering if there could be two Dunnagans.

The mages took their places, lining up along the railing to the left of the royal family. Dodrick chanted a few words and lights erupted above the nobles in a display as grand as any fireworks. This display earned him a glower from the arch magus and a slap on the back followed by a hearty chuckle from Zander, which Dodrick reciprocated with a wink for the arch magus. He then turned to Zander, his chuckling soon turning into a full belly laugh for the pair when the arch magus turned Dodrick’s clothing to that of a jester and quickly back again without saying a word. This exchange made Victor wonder if it had really happened, or if it had only been an illusion.

“High Commander of the Knights, Stewart Cantel,” the announcer continued, seemingly unperturbed by the display.

The man who came out was completely hidden behind the royal family until he stepped out to the right of Analya and Lagelion. At just short of five feet, Stewart Cantel did not appear to be the man one would be expecting to oversee the entire military strength of the Protectorate. However, he was considered almost as dangerous as Zander Halcyon. His keen intellect had been disputed to be equal to, if not more than, that of the Arch Magus Simon Windsbane, and on several occasions the arch magus had said that he would not wish to match wits with the high commander. His brown eyes reflected that intelligence, and Victor noticed that Stewart’s hair was cut to a shorter, regulation length.

Nim had gone into great detail about the battle prowess of High Commander Cantel and his skill with the short swords he wore at his sides. It was a running joke amongst the knights that either Stewart’s daggers had grown long from the speed in which he moved, tempering the weapons like a blacksmith, or that his swords had grown short out of respect of the man’s stature. It was also said that he only wore armor when he headed home to his wife. The closest description Nim could ascribe to the commander in a battle was that he had the senses of a spider and the reflexes of a cat, if ever there were lords of the respective species. Nim noted that at forty-eight, Cantel hadn’t slowed a whit since he was twenty. Victor knew that if Nim couldn’t notice a difference, there either wasn’t one, or it was replaced by skill and experience to make up for the lack.

“High Lieutenant Commander Elyse Winterstar-Theromvore.”

It has been said that when Elyse Winterstar agreed to marry Adrian Theromvore, she broke more hearts in a single night than had been broken in the time since the disaster. Even at forty-six, she was still the ideal that any soldier held for a woman warrior. Her golden blonde tresses and her piercing blue eyes caused more soldiers to follow her blindly than even her strong battle presence could account for. Her skills were considered superior, even in a land where the common man has to be as well-honed as an elite soldier on one of the other continents on Terrazil, and she wore her longsword at the ready. Before taking her place beside Commander Theromvore, Elyse stopped next to her daughter and gave Analya a hug.

“Lord General Adrian Theromvore, Cavalry Commander Rigel North, and Admiral Abe Swiftflow,” the herald said, announcing the last three men who would appear. Once he was done, the announcer stepped back from the landing to disappear through a side door.

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Adrian Theromvore was everything you would expect from an infantry general and more. Standing much closer to seven feet than six, the Lord General commanded respect simply by being. It has been said frequently and without much dispute that the man was as broad as an ox. His size belied a speed near that of High Commander Cantel. The lord general was said to wield two war-hammers, each of which would be more than enough for most men to use with both hands and still be unseemly, and soldiers would often find a dracair scout for their general in order to place bets on how far the thing will fly when hit. At fifty years old, the lord general still had men steer clear of him, and not many would make him angry on purpose.

Adrian’s mother had come from the Stroml’dier in the north, and when the blood of the Stroml’dier joined with that of the Theromvore line, it made one of the greatest infantrymen the knights had ever seen in their long history. He went to take his place beside his wife, High Lieutenant Commander Winterstar-Theromvore, trying to avoid the same public display of affection that his wife had given their daughter. When he was nearly to his position, his wife turned and simply smiled at him. He backed up as if a Magnus Dracani were charging him before walking over and giving his daughter, and then his wife, a hug. High Commander Cantel bade him bend down and whispered something in his ear that made him smile and chuckle before taking his place to the right of his wife.

Rigel North could only be described as average: average height, average strength, and average presence. He achieved his position through cunning tactics and the respect of his fellow cavalrymen. He was the kind of man who could get lost in a crowd, his black hair cut just short enough to keep him from being bald, and his hazel eyes reflecting a man somewhere between nonchalant and brilliant. One thing that could be said for him, though, is that he could ride a cradium lizard like he was born to it. When the thirty-six-year-old cavalryman stepped beside Adrian Theromvore, it was easy to forget he was there.

The last man of the procession was Abe Swiftflow. Everyone knew that Abe had been a pirate before the king enlisted him into the navy, and it was only mildly surprising to see how quickly he rose through the ranks. A hair above six feet, his light brown hair was put back in a ponytail and his sea blue eyes reflected the element he is most comfortable in. He was a swarthy fellow, showing his time at sea with a gait of confidence that came only from manning a ship and facing death from forces most mortals can’t control. The swagger that came with it was all Abe. That was one of the only faults that people found with him, but his cockiness stemmed from the knowledge that he was the best at what he did, and he did it with a great deal of skill. There were many rumors that said that he was one of those rare individuals who can control the element to which they are akin; some call them warlocks, but in his case, they refer to him as a sea mage. He swaggered up to his position to the right of Rigel North and grinned broadly.

When Admiral Swiftflow took his position, the king looked about ready to speak, but before he could, Adrian grabbed the handles protruding from his back and pulled out his hammers. Those near him pulled back to give him berth and he took a step back to give his massive weapons the space they would need. He began juggling the weapons from one hand to another, and after he got the rhythm down, Victor was thoroughly impressed. As soon as he seemed comfortable with the rhythm, High Commander Stewart Cantel pulled one short sword out in the blink of an eye and tossed it into the fray, where it joined the hammers in their revolutions.

A moment later, Cantel pulled his other short sword and threw it into the mix. Now, Adrian was juggling his two massive war hammers and two short swords, grabbing the hilt of each as they spun with expert precision. Abe made a low whistling noise and the lord general nodded to the man a moment before the admiral’s curved cutlass joined the display in a gasp of approval and applause from the audience and even from the royal family and the mages. Without slowing or changing rhythm, Adrian threw first one sword and then the other back to Stewart Cantel, then he threw Abe his cutlass. In what seemed to be the same motion, his hammers disappeared into their positions behind his back.

“Showoff,” muttered Dodrick in a tone loud enough to be heard by all those around while still a whisper. The dwarf and the general exchanged a glance and broke into laughter, setting a festive mood for the event.

When the laughter had died down a bit, the chatter started up. The announcer started up the steps to stop the noise when Lagelion held up his hand, forestalling the man, who bristled indignantly. Lagelion then walked over to General Theromvore and whispered in his ear, and then walked back to his position. Victor wasn’t sure what was about to happen, but he knew it would probably be entertaining.

“Attention!” barked the general, his tone conveying that he expected to be obeyed. The effect was as it should be in a city where everyone trains with the knights at one time or another: everyone went silent and rigid, and Victor noted that quite a few lines had appeared amongst the crowd where there had only been a milling mass a moment before. Adrian Theromvore nodded with a smile of approval and looked back to Lagelion to acknowledge him as speaker.

“Lords and ladies, there will be plenty of time to converse in the hours to come. I would request your attention for the following minutes to be directed towards the king and the council of the protectorate.” His voice also seemed well suited to giving orders, but he was able to do it in a way that made them more of a request, as opposed to the general’s tone that had been an order. Lagelion Daystar then turned to his king and bowed respectfully, acknowledging him as the new speaker. “My lord.”

“Thank you, Lagelion.” The king had never lost his composure throughout everything that happened—as is expected of the king—but now his stoic features broke out into a grin. “Citizens of Terrazil, another year has come and gone, yet we see, we hear, and we act.” This brought a rousing applause from the citizens of Safeharbor, who knew he was referring to the advice handed down from Dalton Theromvore to future kings and citizens of the city. As the king looked around the room, Victor noticed that somewhere in the process, the king’s grin turned into more of a mischievous grin than a cheerful one. “There is one matter, however, that needs to be resolved before I can continue with my speech.” This started the murmurs up again, no matter what scowls the general gave in people’s directions.

Theodrik Theromvore the Second turned his head downward, looking toward the people at the bottom of the stairs, and Victor gulped at having the king’s attention so close at hand. “Cousin, you have been away from us for far too long. You have always had a place among us, and it has been vacant far too long. More than that, though, I need your advice now more than ever. Come, join your family, join your comrades, and more importantly, join your friends.” Victor just figured out who the king was looking at when he felt Nim’s hand come to rest on his shoulder. Theodrik Theromvore held out his hand towards Nim and motioned him forward. “Some of you may know him as Nim Mithriannil, but most do not know that his given name at birth was Nimus Theromvore, son of my aunt Natalia Theromvore, who later married a wealthy merchant named Pierre Mithriannil.” Nim’s hand involuntarily clenched as the king let this become public knowledge; in fact, it was information that Nim had never given to Victor, either. He didn’t like not knowing things, and as Nim reminded him often, it is the information that you don’t get that can get you killed.

One instant he had been standing amongst the crowd at the bottom of the steps, the next he found himself being slowly propelled upward by the pressure on his shoulder. Every head in the room turned to the two figures climbing the stairs, and Victor was sure that most of the eyes were not on his companion. Keeping his head straight and his wits sharp, Victor matched Nim’s pace up the stairs so that he wasn’t being pushed along by Nim in a disgraceful manner. Victor was glad when Nim removed his hand from his shoulder when they were about halfway up the stairs, because it said that Nim trusted him to do what was needed to be done without coaching.

“My lord,” Nim said, and Victor bowed in the same manner at the same time as his mentor. “I am honored to have earned your attention.” Victor felt himself being summed up by all the eyes in the room, but it was the ones in front of him that weighed the most upon his psyche. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see both the knights and the mages looking at him, and he could feel the noose tightening around his neck. It was the appraising looks he was getting from the royal family that was making his hair stand on end, though. The princes and the princess seemed to be somewhere between considering him a threat and feeling elation at finding out they had a young child in their family they didn’t know about.

The queen had a look of recognition in her eye that Victor couldn’t quite place. It was the same look he was getting from the royal advisors Analya Theromvore and Lagelion Daystar that really confused him though. He couldn’t quite place the emotion in Analya’s eyes; he thought it was somewhere near hope, which didn’t make sense in the least. Lagelion, however, had a look of worry carefully concealed within his stoic elven features, only visible to someone who knew what to look for, as Nim had trained Victor to do.

“Come, join us. We have much to discuss.”

“Yes, I hope my advice can aid you in the times to come.” Victor knew there was a by-play going on between the two, hinting towards more things that Victor didn’t seem to know about. If he hadn’t been scared to show any emotion in front of any of these people, he would have frowned; he almost did in spite of it all. They took their place with the other adviser, and Victor tried to move behind Nim so that he wasn’t in plain sight. It wasn’t a good habit for someone who has made his life as a thief to be visible, however, Nim’s hand came back down on his shoulder, placing Victor slightly in front of himself and destroying any hope for Victor’s peace of mind.

“Good, now that our assemblage is complete, on to the matters at hand. Let it be known that on the Second Seventhday of the month of Preparation, Theodrik Theromvore the Third, who is now of an age to command, will be given captaincy over the Fourth Company of the First Army’s Three Twenty-Third.” Acting as if this were the first he had heard of this, Theodrik the Third embraced his father and saluted his commanders. The Three Twenty-Third was the Third Battalion in the Second Brigade of the Third Division. One of the things the Third Division was known for was reliability, which was probably because that is where most of the soldiers who were getting older got sent.

It’s said by some that the Third Division was for washed up, has-been soldiers, but according to Nim, four out of five soldiers who have been able to walk off a battlefield in the last thousand years have been from the Third Division. Old soldiers have been in war and they know how to kill, and more importantly, they know how to survive while killing. By putting him in charge of one of the companies of the Three Twenty-Third, the king and the commanders were giving him troops that would follow intelligent orders and would also tell him if he was being an idiot, and not as politely as you’re supposed to tell an officer such a thing. The most important thing, however, is that they would keep the prince alive and would each die before letting anything happen to the prince. Victor was nodding to himself when he noticed High Commander Cantel watching him with a knowing smile.

“That is not all of the good news I have about my son, though!” the king intoned loudly, silencing the chatter that had once again started up. “I have been in discussions with His Royal Majesty Gertrude Helmenvier of Tien’Dier about a very important matter. Since King Helmenvier’s last visit to our wonderful city, all my son seems to be able to talk about is His Majesty’s second daughter, Tara.” At this, quiet chuckling broke out amongst the crowd and the prince had enough sense to look embarrassed. “Gertrude also told me that his daughter was similarly infatuated. Thus, we came to an agreement. Without further ado, I would like to introduce my son’s betrothed, Princess Tara Nichole Helmenvier.”

Excited murmuring broke out amongst the crowd. They had been expecting the announcement, but not the woman herself. The king went over to the princess as she came through the double doors behind them and brought her to his son’s side, joining their hands and raising them high. The crowd cheered and then went back to talking amongst themselves about what this meant for the Protectorate.

Victor knew what to expect based on Nim’s short description of the seventeen-year-old girl, but he was still struck by the contrast of the princess from most other people in Safeharbor. Instead of the clearly defined sharp features of most of the people on Terroval, she possessed a smoothness that made her almost exotic. Instead of the striking beauty and captivating eyes of the women of Safeharbor, her eyes were calm, and intelligence shone through like a beacon. The fact that her eyes couldn’t grab on to you and hold you made them more pleasant to look at, in Victor’s opinion. He knew the draconic heritage that the people of Safeharbor shared was the reason for these differences. He also knew that anyone in this room from the continent of Terroval could snap her in half with little effort; she would have some of the best soldiers in the palace as her guard. It wasn’t easy to get an assassin within the walls of the royal palace, but it wasn’t unheard of. Should she live past any assassination attempts, there would still be the problems that could occur during childbirth for any mother without draconic blood. The clerics should be able to control anything that could happen during the time she would carry a child, but there was little that could be done during birth. In short, Victor thought this would be interesting.

The king held up his hand, stopping the various conversations, before motioning for the princess to speak.

“Greetings, citizens of the Protectorate and people of Terroval. It pleases me to be here under such circumstances. It is not often one of royal blood is able to be betrothed to someone they care for. I am lucky to have come to this land and met His Majesty and the other members of the Council. I know that I am not of this land, so there are differences between us, but I will work studiously to earn your respect.”

No one outside of Terroval was supposed to know about the draconic heritage of its people. In fact, many of the people living within the walls of Safeharbor were blissfully unaware of that fact as well. Victor wondered if she was told what she was getting into when she got here, and if she really understood the differences between her and the people before her.

“I thank you for your kind reception. I have only been here a little while, but I feel a kinship to all of you. My father has always spoken well of the Protectorate and the job you do here; you have the respect and admiration of the peoples of Tien’Dier. I hope that this union will serve to bring our people even closer together.” She turned to the king as she spoke the end of her speech. “Your Majesty, I thank you for accepting me into your household, and I hope that I can be as good of a woman and queen as your wife.” The princess then embraced the king and queen before moving back to stand beside Theodrik the Third.

“With that, I would like the ball to…” Before the king could finish his sentence, High Commander Cantel cleared his throat loudly. Victor noticed that the king wasn’t overly surprised by this and expected it was all a part of the planned reception. Turning to Stewart Cantel, the king asked, “Is there something you wish to add, High Commander Cantel?”

“Yes, your Majesty, I believe there is something of importance that I must convey while everyone is present. First, I would like to congratulate the prince on his courting such a lovely young woman. May you both find years of love and a bevy of children. It is my duty, however, to report the goings on in the land of Terroval, even on such a joyous occasion.” Victor yet again didn’t know what the High Commander was talking about, but Nim’s stoic appearance led Victor to believe that he did.

“I have news from the east. As you all know, the city of Asylum guards our eastern border, along with the wardens. Since the end of last summer, we have noticed an increase of goblins, orcs, and other creatures that have been influenced by the Dracair east of the shield wall. Our scouts report a large buildup of encampments south of the elven city Eske’Taure and their Forest of Dreams. We believe that Asylum will start defending against a massive army within the next few months. There is a reason this is called the month of Preparation; as the month turns to Ragnós, we will march. As you all know, we cannot transport troops past the shield wall along the lines of power in any direction since the cataclysm that shook our world more than three thousand years ago. We are able to take them northwest of Asylum and march them to the city. With the help of the mages, we will have our soldiers in position on the first of the month of Ragnós. From the size of the forces amassing in the east, we may have a long campaign on our hands.”

This news was received about as well as could be expected. Some of the ‘softer’ women and men that were assembled let cries of despair escape their lips, while the most common response was a stoic acceptance of the inevitable fate of those who make up the Protectorate. Most of the royalty assembled were commanders, soldiers, mages, or priests. They would all be on the front lines as they had been before and would be again. Victor watched as the information sunk in and was surprised by the response.

The prevailing attitude in the Docks District had always been that the royal house of the Protectorate, and the other nobles of Safeharbor, were weak of not only character, but of arms. Seeing the faces of those assembled around the room however, he was hit with a powerful respect for these men and women who not only keep the order in the city, but march to war when the need arises.

“General Theromvore will go ahead with the First Army’s Two Twenty Second and the Two Twenty-Third to secure our position and guarantee that Asylum isn’t overrun before we are ready. It doesn’t seem likely that the Dracair would be in position before the middle of Ragnós, but we all know they have more tricks than a street magician. I know all of you will make us proud, and as always, we see, we hear, and we act!” As he threw his fist into the air, the mood in the room turned from somber to somewhere between outrage at an invading enemy and a glimmer of the battle lust that befalls most soldiers, especially those with draconic heritage. The wizards call it a genetic memory; the emotions and skills of the parents being passed down to their children and their children’s children. This hatred for the ideals of the Dracair has only grown over the years, and the idea that the defense from this threat is paramount has never faltered, in part because it was bolstered by those same feelings from their ancestors.

“You bring us grave news, High Commander. I thank you for your vigilance. My people, we head to war, but we would not be the people we are if we didn’t know how to enjoy the time we have. Tonight is for celebration. I must retire with the commander and the mages to discuss these important matters, but my son and his betrothed will gladly accommodate your praises for their union.” Watching the people change their temperament yet again to a lighter attitude that a party brings out, Victor got the feeling that people’s emotions were like a tide, always moving and always changing. Having no time for introspection as to where this feeling came from, and if there was more he could learn from it, Victor was led into the double doors at the top of the stairs with the rest of the council.