The squire took charge of his prince. In the castle, where politics and position dictated leadership, their positions would be flipped. But here in the forest, with Shadow sniffing their trail, the true law of the land took precedence. Those most experienced at survival call the shots, and those trained in the sword keep the weaker live.

Radviken never flinched when taking charge of the prince. He never once thought about any boons from the king he might receive, nor the eternal appreciation earned from the bookish prince. In this dark forest, while death trailed their escape, the disgraced squire of noble birth cared only about getting out with both their lives intact.

Deeper into the forest they ran until the land fell away before them. Skidding to a halt, the young men found themselves standing fifty hands above a wide body of flowing water. They had reached the brackish river delta that opened into the western sea.

“Jump,” Radviken commanded, pointing to the dark water below.

“I can’t,” the prince protested, staring down with wide, terrified eyes.

“It’s our only chance. The Draugar are heavily laden with armor, and we’re only lightly clad. If we swim to the other shore I think we can wait until daybreak, then swim back and make our way home.”

“No!” Rashmere argued, looking over his shoulder. The sounds of guttural howling grew ever closer. “That land on the other side belongs to the Luchorpán and, as son to the king, I can’t break our treaty! We need to find Síth Morkur,” he decided, “and implore him to close these rifts between our world and that of Shadow.”

Radviken had heard enough. With Shadow Beasts so close on their trail there was no time for seeking out mythological creatures. He casually reached out his hand and gave the young prince a hard shove over the side. He landed with a splash.

That decision came just in time. A large hellhound emerged from the thick ferns. Its eyes glowed like sulfur and its hot breath reeked of the same. Without drawing his sword, Radviken jumped off the edge, joining the prince below.

He plunged beneath the icy surface then kicked hard to rise above it, finding Rashmere had only drifted a few arm lengths out of reach. Radviken pointed to the northern shore. “Swim!” he commanded his liege. That order was met by a frantic nod that agreed the squire was now in charge.

It took them twenty minutes to cross the broad river, and both men soon clambered onto a sandy beach. The angry hounds did not follow, but instead paced and patrolled the southern side in case the humans returned.

“We need a fire,” Rashmere decided, rubbing his arms vigorously to increase circulation. He had never felt such cold.

“No. That would attract Luchorpán. We’re going to have to make do with whatever we find.” Thankfully this peninsula was coated with thick grasses. Radviken showed the prince how to bend and pile them to make a warm bed in which to burrow. “This is how hunting dogs stay warm during the night,” he explained. “We won’t sleep in luxury tonight, but we’ll certainly survive until morning.”

“Look at your prince,” Rashmere chuckled as he burrowed, “reduced to life as a hunting dog.”

“Better that than a squire!” Radviken quipped. He waited until his prince had settled in before taking up his watch. With eyes glued on the far beach he scanned for movement. High above, the bright moon seemed to droop in the sky, hanging low and helping him see the other shore. His eyes easily made out the beasts on the far side, hulking lumps of darkness made angry by the body of water.

“Thank you,” he heard the prince manage in the night.

“For what?” the squire asked with irritation. “You lost quite a few good knights, and for what? Morkur never came and we ran away like cowards.”

“Well, for saving my life, for one. That’s the first time anyone has ever had to do that for me.”

“Twice.”

“I beg pardon?”

“I saved you twice, highness. A hellhound almost snagged you at the ledge.”

“I see.” The young prince fell quiet at that. His life now rested fully in his squire’s hands. “Radviken?”

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“Yes, my lord?”

“I’m not going to be much of a king, am I?”

“Why do you say that?”

“I should have put my foot down. Said no to that gaudy procession.”

“Why didn’t you?” the squire asked simply.

“Because nobles are so stubborn, thick-headedly so sometimes, and I figured it would waste time and explanation to make them stay behind.”

“Sounds like you’ve already got the makings of a great king, sire.”

“How so?” Rashmere stirred the grasses around him, shifting his weight to look up at his protector.

“You knew enough to allow others to make up their own minds. It was their fault they died, not yours. You had no way at all of stopping them from tagging along. Perhaps later, when you’re actually king, they would have listened, but I doubt it. Besides,” he added, “I’m thankful they were there. Had they not been, we would have been killed as well.”

“Radviken?”

“Rad,” the squire corrected.

The prince paused then asked. “Rad?”

“It’s what my friends call me, sire.”

“I see. I don’t have any friends, just those sycophants.” the prince admitted.

“Then I guess we’re in great company, because neither do I.”

“I’m honored to call you mine,” Rashmere added.

“Then please call me Rad.” It felt strange giving this prince authority to enter his life, but too much time had passed since Radviken had needed or even wanted friendship. He hoped he could live up to the obligation such friendship would require. Selflessness and putting others before himself were never his strong suits.

“How will we summon Morkur?” Rashmere asked, changing the subject.

Rad’s thoughts rushed to the last time he had encountered the entity, when the thing stood over his dying mother and craved her soul. “I think it has to benefit him,” he suggested.

“Git on yer feet!” a voice abruptly broke the still of darkness.

“Stay down,” Radviken hissed to his prince and stood slowly with both hands in the air. He knew better than to turn around, any sudden movement would begin a fight.

“Where’s the other?” the voice demanded. “I ‘erd ya talkin!”

“We don’t want trouble,” Radviken explained, then turned slowly while making sure to keep both hands in plain sight.

“No trouble? Well you found trouble all right!” a second voice added.

Facing inland, Rad found himself standing before two short, stocky men. Thick beards hid their necks, giving them a dwarfish appearance. Neither appeared armed with anything more than small knives, but both wore the light armor of guardsmen. Looking beyond them, the squire did not spot any horses.

“I promise, gentlemen, we won’t be intruding long on your land. We only need to stay the night until the danger passes from the far shore. Then we’ll be on our way.”

“Danger?” The first voice, belonging to a hard looking street thug type, seemed to delight at the prospect. “The only danger you lads’ve found is on this shore!”

Rashmere stirred from his pile of grass, emerging as a ludicrous sight with sprigs and blades poking out from odd places of his clothing and hair. “Gentlemen,” he said, “I am Prince Rashmere, son of Cian, and I beg diplomatic immunity for myself and my squire under my protection.”

“Protection?” The second man mouthed the word as if trying it out. “It seems to us you ain’t protect’n anybody.” He looked up at his companion who Radviken reasoned was higher ranking. “What do we do with a prince?”

“Same thing we do with his squire—slit ‘is throat and push ‘is body out to the western sea!”

“Don’t you even want to know what we swam across the river to avoid?” Radviken demanded.

“Nope. Don’t care, really.” the in-charge Luchorpán said with a shrug.

“Shadow Creatures. Hellhounds and Draugar set upon our land through some unholy rip in the fabric of space,” Rashmere explained.

The two Luchorpán exchanged a look. The higher ranking gnome nodded and the lesser pulled a string of beads from his pocket. He gave them a rub and abruptly winked out of existence.

Both Radviken and Rashmere jumped, startled by the sudden disappearance.

“Relax,” the patrolman growled. “He’ll be back.” Within a few seconds the other guard reappeared.

“He ain’t lyin’, Sarge. Not about the hellhounds. I saw dozens of them on the far bank.”

“The Draugar were there too,” Radviken insisted. “Look deeper in the forest if you need to, but they were after us.”

The gnome called Sarge pulled a set of beads from his own pocket and gripped his knife as if ready for battle. He pointed at the sword at Radviken’s side. “If ye know ‘ow to use that thing, draw it now!” he suggested.

“No! My squire will not fight you,” the prince insisted. “We’re not looking for trouble of any kind, nor do we wish to further inflame this incident.”

Radviken followed the eyes of both guards as they both desperately scanned the water. Without waiting another moment, he drew out his sword and stepped between his prince and the water. “Get out of sight, my liege.”

“I don’t understand, I…” Before Rashmere could finish his comment, a line of revenant soldiers emerged from the river, walking slowly toward the small group. Moments later another row emerged, followed by another. Each dripped with Shadow as the water slipped from their rotting bodies, each in various stages of decay. “Great hells!” the prince cursed, and moved farther inland.

“I hope you two have better weapons than those daggers,” Radviken told Sarge. “I’ve seen them fight. They bested twenty of Enatherr’s finest just a few hours ago.”

Both Luchorpán laughed. “Enatherr’s finest, ‘e says, Rosco! Can ye believe the ign’rance of man?” Both abruptly disappeared.

“Those bastards,” muttered Radviken, irritated by their cowardice, “they’ve left us to our deaths!” With nowhere else to run and a prince… no, a friend to protect, he stood and faced the advancing legion with raised sword, his legs carefully balanced in a defensive stance. I might as well go out with glory! he thought. Letting loose his best war cry to echo in the night, the squire charged the advancing Draugar.