The next two days we had very little control over our own time. Preparations had already been going on, and the ceremony would take place in the temple of Hanuos—the major deity, the Giver and Nourisher. It was the very same place—ancient beyond counting—the old king Danton Landoros, the father of Gussario, was privately coronated.

During these precious days that felt surreal, the town itself was abuzz with activity to celebrate the last days the King would stay there.

There had been very little cause for celebration over the past months, and it felt the whole town took this as an opportunity to liven up before the year’s end. Colorful flags, tablecloths, ribbons, and rugs were brought out. Mandolins, bouzoukis, and violins played fast-paced songs, and laughter and dance were in many corners. The smell of roasted lamb, pork, and turkey filled the streets, and carrots and beets and thick sauces and dried figs and dates and apricots were served in wide bowls, and many baked goods were made in the hours before sunrise.

Families got together and the many quarters of Loran were made lively for a few days. The good mood infected us as well, and our hearts felt lightened.

But to contrast the joyous Loran, none of the populace was allowed inside the quiet temple of Hanuos, where people would usually come for peace, solitude, and contemplation. The walls had been hauntingly quiet for decades. It had not been a place where many citizens of the town came, though most in Loran were religious in their own way. But lately, with worrying news of wars, the temple would see a resurgence of interest.

The interior was austere—tall walls of grey stone, ancient beyond counting as the temple was an old place, and none could guess its foundation. Ghostly monks and sisters of faith walked, hooded and cloaked, who all but one had sworn an oath of silence.

It was there that we had the ceremony, and we all stood before a single shaft of light that entered from the high ceiling. Bitter and aggressive incense burned in the censer, and the walls echoed with silent prayers and words of power and worship.

The King was before us, wearing his most celebratory outfit—a white and red fur coat was draped on his shoulders, and a necklace of jewels and gold gilded his appearance. A tunic of royal blue with embroidered patterns of the Landoros house decorated it. He looked down at us with the Crown upon his head, the Staff of Rulership in his right hand, and in his fanciful sword in his left. He had discarded his medallion of Coeccedus for this occasion.

Prince Ames stood to his father’s left, dressed in a no less grand outfit, and the Queen was by the King’s right arm, dressed in a long and dark dress, and a black veil before her face, as tradition.

Rainier Pitties was there also, standing somberly in the back, shaded from the light and only his eyes barely glistening in the dark. Beside him stood Captain-Castellan Dienne and countess Patricia de-Braccarte. Behind them was the tiny door, which was the only entrance into the temple. None of the King’s Guards was allowed inside the holy place, and many of them patrolled the nearby streets or scouted the land beyond Loran.

There was probably no safer place in Lienor at this moment.

For the duration of the lengthy sermon spoken by the wisest eremite, the only one who had not given up their right to speak, the five of us were made to kneel. My nostrils burned from the thick incense and smoke from the braziers, and the floor was cold and hard beneath me. It was dark grey but laid in an impeccable mandala of flower petals, and at the crossing points of the stones were tiny chalk-white pieces of marble.

In the middle of this eight-pointed circle, symbolizing the three major and five minor deities, we kneeled and listened and waited for our rewards.

The bald monk with a wrinkled face and deeply set eyes that were almost black, spoke words of old wisdom, passed down through countless erudite generations. Jace, kneeling beside me, held on to every word as if the truths here would slip through his fingers, forever lost. His eyes were almost tearing up as he clutched his now-empowered amulet.

Under my weight, my knee ached, and to my right, I sensed Florencia’s stiffness as she found the whole thing close to unbearable. But we listened and appeared humble and thankful. I could not speak for the rest, but I was, at least, both humble and thankful.

Gussario Landoros II bestowed Florencia, Jaxine, Iskander, and Jace their reward for their actions—the Marbled Cross for Noble Deeds in Aid of the Kingdom, with honors. Around their necks were hung the eight-tipped medallion, adorned with zircon and sapphires, made from silver and copper woven together marvelously.

The Marbled Cross was definitely considered an honor, but not the highest award the King could give. Perhaps this was why Florencia was sour, but it was still an award that granted all of them the official title of the Honorable. Even Jaxine and Iskander must officially be addressed as that, and they were now also free citizens of Lienor.

And then, after another lengthy introduction from the ancient monk, wearing his wrinkled face proudly, was my turn.

And not a moment too soon, as my knee was now aching sharply, and my calf began to cramp up—all the lingering effects from Rasmog’s poison. I still needed a long rest to get rid of it entirely.

The old monk spoke slowly, and made his way with words: “…and under the light and blessing of the Single Master from whom all came, shall our King Gussario Marquize Landoros bring to pass the ennoblement of this man, Jonas Espian.”

Gussario Landoros stepped forward, his face masterful and kingly, and with the Staff of Rulership—a cubit long, made from wrought black iron, and weaved in magnificent patterns between the crevasses was the purest gold—he touched my left shoulder first, to indicate the weight of my new burdens, and then my right shoulder, to indicate I was not alone in my tasks.

I met the King’s eyes before the final moment, and there I saw burn a flame from a time now gone. This moment in time marked the passing of the previous age of wealth and prosperity, into a new one, however that would be called by those who would come later.

I was told to bow deeply and then to touch the floor with my forehead. I did so, my spine and elbows creaking.

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The King spoke: “To Jonas Espian, hero of the battle of Poscale River, the Krastarn Pass, the tragedy of Veneiea and Scorro I, King Gussario Marquize Landoros II, Duke of Fondesia, King of Lienor and its vassals, hereby ennoble you above the commonfolk and bestow upon you the title of viscount!”

Still kneeling, while looking up at the ceiling from where I saw that single shaft of light shine upon our ceremony, I spoke the words I was told to: “I swear, under the light and truth of Yannua, the giver of life and the final judge of all deeds, to uphold my promise and act in accordance to my honor. In the face of death or danger, I shall not cower, and I shall act in the highest interests of morals, truth, and the light of the One.”

The King nodded and with a slow bow, hung a modest medallion around my neck and spoke: “Rise now a nobleman, Jonas Espian, viscount of Oscarian.”

*

The following day another ceremony was arranged, this time a private one in the King’s estate, where his Chancellor of Chivalry—a short and thin man, wearing wiry spectacles on his nose that made his eyes double the size—added the Order of Hiskandrios to the Roll of Chivalry, bestowing upon it the seal of officiality.

Royal warrants were sent out with riders, messenger pigeons, and telepathic channels all around the kingdom. That day, the fifth of midwinter, marked the beginning of my order.

Florencia and I, along with Pitties’ advice, had come up with the emblem for my order—the H crafted from two long swords, united by a silver chain. Each blade pointed in opposite directions: one aimed at enemies within, the other pointed at our enemies without.

And later, under the veil of night, when the others were asleep, Florencia and I spoke with the King and his son and Pitties. He left me some funds to not leave me impoverished. It was an incredibly generous donation of aurnos—gold coins—and cuenos, the amount of which could’ve sufficed me for decades of humble living somewhere far away. Florencia suppressed a surprised yelp and dug her nails into my forearm, and I all but choked on my liqueur.

“It is a very generous amount,” said Ames and smiled as he loved to do. “We are certain you will put that to good work. This is for your personal use, Jonas, not for your order. That comes later when things are sufficiently far along.”

“Of course. We’re very honored, Ames,” I said and bowed politely.

Another few days passed after that, with some busywork and talking. Florencia and I slept very little and spent many long hours with Pitties and Ames discussing the minute details of what things must be done with the Order of Hiskandrios, and in Lienor in general. We also had to familiarize ourselves with the laws and privileges our titles allowed and obliged us.

And while our time was occupied with dull legalities, countess Patricia de-Braccarte spent those days with us, taking temporary residence in the room beside Iskander and Jaxine. She and Iskander seemed to get along well, and the two of them spent many hours together. For probably the first time, I saw Iskander crack a smile when countess de-Braccarte teased him about his sour temper. To his charming reply, she flicked her hair aside and smiled widely at him.

While I did not understand why Patricia had such a liking for me to gift me the estate of his late uncle, I did know why she and Iskander got along. She was rather taken by his gruff and direct mannerisms and his adventure stories spanning close to fifteen years. Because Patricia was closely protected by her stern father for many years, she never had many adventures in her youth and would listen to Iskander talk for hours.

This new friendship, perhaps the beginning of something more, as Florencia suspected, annoyed Jaxine beyond reason. By the second day, began to follow Jace around, her face scorned and not speaking a word.

Accompanied by this sour follower, Jace spent much of his time in the temple. He spoke with the erudite, and bargained for their oldest books, for Jace had the idea that the older a book was, the more wisdom it held. Payment was agreed to be an exchange of ideas and dialogue and for many hours they discussed matters of faith and morality. In the later hours of the day, when the monks retreated into solitude and silence, I saw Jace deep at work scribbling his symbols on any drawable surface that he found.

But after those days, Florencia and I spent more time than I could suffer talking about matters that were dark and troubling.

“Concern yourself little with laws or morality when you conduct your work within the Order,” spoke Gussario at our final evening in Loran. “The Great Work demands we sacrifice our morals for victory.”

Florencia and I wanted to protest, but the King was having none of it. He shut us up with only a stare. This was his command to us—victory at the cost of morals and justice.

Could this be done? We did not know and agreed in private to tread this terrain with utmost caution.

*

Then, at last, when there was a lull in the winter cold, and a warm breeze blew from the southeast, travel was again easily possible and it was time to leave. The King and Pitties would leave north, to speak with the King’s brother, and we would head south, to the Pania peninsula along with countess Patricia.

In the early hours of the morning, we packed our equipment away and gathered from everywhere that we could find foodstuffs and wines and liqueurs and ciders for the road. Waybread and sweet pastries we stuffed into our pockets and saddlebags.

They would hold well and long in the cold.

The royal family had all gathered in the courtyard, ready for the long road ahead, and the twin princesses Ivette and Corette stood in the back, giggling and making fun of Andry, while the young prince himself mumbled and hid behind his older brother. He was forced to say goodbye to us instead of sitting in his room. He only meekly stuttered a pathetic “good bye” to us before retreating beside his mother.

Before leaving, Ames suddenly put his hand on my shoulder.

“Jonas,” he said. “Would you do me the honor of accompanying me in Lottie? I will be at the formation of the new corisseri of Lottie. You were there the hour they perished, and their new captain Attonio would be glad to have your blessing.”

“I would be honored, Ames,” I said, after a reaffirming nod from Florencia.

“Then it is decided. We will travel together to Lottie. Besides,” the Prince smirked. “I trust I’m safer at your side than the dozen of my father’s Guards.”

“I’m sure the Guard are without equal in battle!”

“They have not been fully tested of late,” said Ames. “But I believe their time will come soon enough. There we shall see whether their grandeur in appearance shall match their ferocity in battle!”

And so it was decided that Florencia would ride directly to my estate, along with the others and countess Patricia de-Braccarte, while the Crown Prince and I would take a detour through Lottie.

I did not mind too much, as I fully trusted Florencia to keep everything under control until I joined her. But I wanted to speak with Viola and ask her to visit me at the estate when she has the chance. She had too much experience and potential to waste away under the captainship of the city guard.

I would make much better use of her.

The King spoke: “Things have settled for the time being. Retreat to your estate until springtime. Rest and regather your strength. Think and weigh the possibilities, and I shall set in motion the necessary things to make your Order a fortress from where you shall conduct the war on our terms. It shall be a place with deep cellars and strong vaults, for there shall be many things that need hiding away. Good travels, viscount Espian! Let us meet again before midsummer.”

I bowed deeply and we said the proper goodbyes to the royal family as the traditions demanded.

But before leaving, Rainier Pitties caught me and said: “Keep in mind the King’s words, and we have a long road before us but don’t forget to rest and relax. None of us can work tirelessly. I’ll try to visit after the newyears, if my duties allow me. I trust the armies are organized under Hugues, and Our Majesty can handle his affairs enough for me to take a few weeks to visit your estate.” He looked at me with a levity that was unfamiliar. “Take time to spend with your loved ones and make your new home a place to rest and heal.”

And with those words, three parties rode from Loran into the lands of Lienor once more.