Earl Thomas Mondrake suppressed a quiet belch.

He was grateful that at that very moment, the tent flap pulled back and Baroness O’Lear entered, her beautiful face set in a scowl as she moved through the busy and somewhat crowded tent.

Everyone’s attention went to the Baroness, and the Earl’s social foible went unnoticed.

Before they could turn back, the Earl tore another chunk of meat off to the turkey leg he had been eating, then downed the rest of his wine cup. This almost resulted in yet another belch, but he managed to stifle that one as well. He did not want to be rude.

As the Baroness came closer, he thought about greeting her from his seat, because he had just eaten so much and was feeling quite lethargic and content. But he decided against it. Some conventions, after all, demanded adherence.

Grunting slightly, he adjusted the ever-tightening gray breeches around his waist and unbuttoned the fine green vest to allow his ever-expanding gut some room to move.

Both clothing articles had been about to burst in any case, so Thomas felt he was just heading off trouble.

Now, with an even more pronounced grunt, Thomas gathered his enormous bulk and forced himself to his feet. He realized he had forgotten to wipe his hands, and proceeded to do so on his heavy, flowing brown beard. The beard grew almost down past his chest, so it was always handy to use as an alternative napkin.

He teetered a bit when he reached his feet and became lightheaded.

No bother, he thought, that always happens after a good meal.

Although he also felt a little nauseous, too. That never happened to him.

The Baroness finally reached the group in front of Thomas, still scowling. He sometimes wondered if that was her only expression.

He knew people thought he was nothing more than a fat fop. Someone who didn’t deserve his Earldom… but he saw things. He noticed things that other people didn’t.

Sometimes he saw things because others assumed he was a fool and didn’t bother to hide them.

The people in front of him were those he considered friends, but he knew that they also discounted him.

Right now he could see that Baroness Elsa was, as usual, focused on Avalaine, who she obviously considered herself to be in some kind of competition with.

Elsa was usually in an unhappy temper, and Thomas could see it had to do with her ambitions and, frankly, her commoner attitudes. There was nothing to be done about that, though.

Lady Avalaine, by contrast, was always a delight. She lit up every room and always had a kind word for those around her…

… unless Baron Varsus was around. Then she mostly ignored everyone else.

Oh, to be young again, he thought, smiling.

It was obvious to all except Varsus that Avalaine quite fancied the Baron. Thomas had noticed that she would not allow more than three paces to grow between the two.

The Baron himself was an honorable man. Righteous, but not self-righteous. Upstanding and quite likable. The man had an affable nature and good humor, willing to take a jest at his own expense. That meant a lot to someone like Thomas.

However, his inability or unwillingness to see what was right in front of his face worried Thomas. The man was either less intelligent than Thomas had thought, or he just didn’t want to see it.

Their respective provinces were on opposite ends of the Kingdom, so they did not see each other often, but they corresponded regularly, so he felt he knew what was happening in the young man’s life.

Still, some things were none of his business, so he put it out of his mind.

His eyes rested on Viscount Brandu next.

Brandu was a serious man. A man with no humor to him that Thomas could find. However, the Viscount was especially good at Luneboard, which they played via correspondence.

The Viscount had also come to Kaston and set up an observatory to the stars in his very castle. The two men both enjoyed viewing the stars, but for very different reasons.

Thomas enjoyed their beauty, but Brandu kept going on and on about gasses and reactions. What in Maeraland was the man always talking about?

Sometimes Brandu could forget that others were not well-versed in his studies of natural laws. Was it insufficient simply to appreciate the world’s beauty? Brandu always wanted to know why this, and why that. Thomas found it tiresome.

Even so, he considered the man a good friend.

The Baroness’ raised voice interrupted his thoughts.

“My lord, WHY ARE ALL THESE PEOPLE HERE!?” she shouted at him. It was not the way a Baroness should technically address an Earl, but it amused Thomas, so he allowed it.

“I don’t understand, my lady? What people?!” Thomas asked, honestly wondering.

“THESE!” Elsa shouted, waving her arms about her.

Thomas surveyed the tent. Besides her and his friends, there was only his meat chef, currently preparing what smelled to him like some sort of delicious pork delight. Then his dessert maker, but she was on the other side of the tent icing up a few small cakes. Thomas licked his lips.

In another corner, his bread maker was busy preparing the rolls, toasted breads and his other doughy side dishes that went well with any meal. The soup maker was positioned next to him.

Each of these people had various subordinate staff with them, but that could not be helped if a decent meal was to be cobbled together out here in this uncivilized wasteland at the end of the world.

Finally, there was also his personal cupbearer, but surely Elsa could not be upset at his presence. Who else was going to pour his wine?

It was only then that the Earl realized his error. He felt his stomach drop away in shame and embarrassment.

“By the Gods!” he cried, “I have not offered you any of my glorious repast! Forgive me!

“YOU THERE—!” The Earl snapped his fingers at one of his many servants. “Get these good people some chairs and make room at my—”

A collective groan went up from the assembled nobles before him. They began begging off, politely (mostly) refusing his largess.

Thomas did not know whether or not he should be offended, and was about to speak when a burst of coarse laughter erupted outside of his tent.

All turned to watch as someone thrust aside the tent flap and a large, imposing man draped in a long cloak ducked inside. Leather armor could be seen underneath his cloak, and the man was armed with an oversized great sword strapped to his side.

At once all the nobles cried out in unison.

“GEMPLE!!” the cry was excited and happy, as with this man’s arrival, their unofficial group was now complete.

Thomas examined the newcomer. Tall, blonde, beardless, heavily muscled Sir Rodrick Gemple was a young knight of what the Earl took to be twenty-eight to thirty summers. Still young, but also a bit too old to be a landless, wandering knight with no wife and family.

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“By LaKrona’s gaze, I’m so hungry I could eat a horse! I think I came to the right place!”

Everyone stepped forward to greet the latest arrival, but just then Sir Gemple removed his cloak, whipping it around in front of him in a flourish.

Unfortunately, his cloak was dripping with water, mud, latrine runoff and other undesirable substances. His motion sprayed the oncoming nobles with the residue before they could realize the danger.

Then another cry went up as the group reared back, hands flying upward to protect their faces. However, they were too late to avoid being splashed with the foul ooze.

“GEMPLE!!” they all cried again, almost in unison, but this time it was not as friendly.

Gemple’s face turned red. He always had to good grace to know when he had munged things up.

Earl Mondrake had reflexively leaned forward in an attempt to protect his table full of foodstuffs, but he conceded to himself that it had not been necessary. He sighed in relief at his good fortune.

His meal was safe.

Sir Gemple, however, was not. When Thomas returned his attention to the group, Baron Varsus and Viscount Brandu grumbled to themselves as they wiped what they could from their own garments. Baroness Elsa was upbraiding the young knight, while Lady Avalaine attempted to wring some of the wetness out of her hair.

When Gemple saw Avalaine’s distress, he stepped past Elsa, who was mid-tirade, and approached the young Lady.

“My Lady Avalaine,” Gemple said, “my sincerest apologies!”

Thomas noticed a distinct huff of annoyance from the Baroness, but she simply folded her arms and glared at Avalaine.

Avalaine smiled, her good humor apparent.

“Good Sir Gemple,” she said, laughing, “I will thank you to leave my hair arrangements for me and my ladies-in-waiting.”

Everyone joined in then, laughing along with Avalaine. Except for the Baroness, who shook her head and muttered under her breath.

Gemple’s booming laughter subsided, and he began fishing inside of his cloak.

“Ahh, I can make it up to you!” he declared, producing a small leather pouch from the nether regions of his cloak.

Holding up his hands, he dumped out a small, faceted crystal that was about as big around as a large walnut.

Immediately, the candlelight in the tent dimmed, and it seemed many of the candles might blow out, even though the air was mostly still. A wave of cold washed over those in the tent. Not one of them could prevent a shiver.

Baron Varsus looked around the tent, his eyes narrowing.

“That was not normal,” he said, “Gemple, what is that thing?”

Gemple handed it to Avalaine as he responded.

“It’s an odd-looking rock I found while in the castle with the Royal Family. It looked interesting so I—”

Gemple was not able to finish, as outbursts from everyone surrounding him interrupted him.

“You were with the Royal Family?!” demanded Elsa.

“Sir Gemple, what did you see in the castle?!” shouted the Viscount, his usually low voice loud with excitement.

“Is the Princess with them??” Varsus shouted.

The vocal bombardment continued for some time, preventing Gemple from answering even a single question before another was asked.

Finally, Varsus held up one hand and put fingers of his other hand to his mouth, producing a loud, sharp whistle that silenced everyone.

“Let us all be quiet and allow Sir Gemple to tell his story. He will likely answer all our questions on his own.

Then the tent became still, and Varsus thought he could not even hear the omnipresent wind.

“Speak, fool!” shouted Baroness Elsa.

Gemple flinched, but began speaking.

Soon all assembled heard the tale of how Sir Gemple had arrived here some weeks earlier with men from the province of Royal Maera itself. He had been in the province for the tourney season, but joined with the men from the Royal Army when the banners were called.

There had been hard fighting when they arrived. An unexpectedly large number of mercenaries, far exceeding Gemple’s expectations, had united and were displaying impressive precision in battle.

The fighting had lasted those long weeks, with the men being told only that they must take the castle, and that everything depended on it.

As more banners and fresh troops arrived, they pushed the mercenaries further and further back until just days earlier there had been a massive final thrust to take the castle.

Gemple had fought hard, striking down man after man. He found himself in the company of Prince Ryan Maera, the oldest prince of the Royal Family.

With twenty men left in the company, they at last made it inside the castle, running from hall to hall. Gemple did not know what they were running toward, but the Prince bade them keep going, and he seemed desperate.

At the last, a feeling of terrible dread overtook them as they reached a large room that must have been some sort of audience chamber.

Gemple saw a figure standing with none other than Princess of the realm Regina Maera. Gemple had seen her several times the previous month in Royal Maera, so he knew it was her. But the figure, so dark, he could not see the details of the man, if it was a man.

As Prince Randall screamed and rushed to his sister, mercenaries caught up to them and fell on them from behind.

Except these mercenaries were not normal. Gemple recounted how they fought in complete silence and never said a word. The lack of life in their cold eyes had frightened Gemple, but he fought on.

Gemple swore that some mercenaries kept coming even after being stabbed through the heart or enduring other wounds that should have stopped them cold.

Elsa snorted at this, but quieted down as the others shushed her.

Gemple continued, explaining that the strange mercenaries pushed them back out of the chamber, and would have eventually overwhelmed them, as they did not seem to tire, except then the event happened.

“Event?” Varsus asked, then held his hands up in supplication, knowing that he should have kept quiet.

“Yes!” Gemple said, his excitement clear as he recounted his tale of heroism.

The ‘event’, as he called it, was when everything became “wobbly”, and the air took on a thick, molasses-like texture. Every sound was audible, and every hair on the back of his hand was magnified.

Then there was a massive ripple, as if the air were water, and some “force” exploded outward through the air.

The force of the impact knocked everyone to their feet. Gemple heard a massive cry of anguish from the other chamber, and it sounded like it came from the Prince.

Then the world shook, the castle began to crumble, and an inhuman cry washed over them.

After that, everything seemed to snap back to normal. The mercenaries dropped dead where they stood, and just like that, the battle was won.

“But what happened!?” cried Brandu. Varsus thought he had never seen the man this animated.

“What do you mean?” Gemple responded, confused. “I just told you.”

“No no!” Brandu said, “What happened in the chamber? With the Princess?!”

Gemple considered for a moment.

“Oh, that,” he said, “I actually don’t know what happened in there. Once we recovered our wits, Prince Randall and Chancellor Brent arrived, then they bade us leave the castle, so I did.”

Everyone frowned and began muttering to each other, realizing that Gemple had little more information than they did.

“That’s when I found that rock,” he said, trying to reclaim attention. “It looked interesting, so I grabbed it on the way out.”

Varsus and all looked again at the small crystalline rock, now held in Avalaine’s outstretched hands.

It looked as if it had a dull sheen to it, and should have been reflecting more light, but for some reason it simply did not.

Avalaine cleared her throat.

“Well, Sir Gemple, I will, um, I will… cherish it?”

She looked to Varsus as she spoke the words, but he only shrugged and smiled wryly at her, offering no help.

Avalaine narrowed her eyes at him, but as there was no way out, she accepted the gift.

“Thank you, good sir, for your generous gift.”

Gemple smiled widely, glad he had managed to recover some good will.

“It’s my pleasure, in fact, I would suggest—”

Earl Mondrake cleared his throat then.

“My friends, should we not all eat?” He gestured at the tables full of food throughout the huge tent. “There is more than enough to go around and we should not waste it.”

Before anyone could answer, the tent flap was thrown open again, and a tall man in the Kaston colors entered.

“Chief Marshall Finlay!” cried the Earl. “Have you come to dine with us?”

The Marshall, a stout man with short cropped brown hair, stepped forward. He was wearing a green and gold doublet with silver inlay, black riding breeches with black boots.

Finlay shook his head sharply.

“My lord, there is no time for feasting! The Prince is coming! Here!! NOW!!”

Earl Thomas Mondrake drew himself up and smiled, knowing all eyes were on him

“No, good Marshall, this is exactly the time.”

Again, the flap was thrown open, but this time a company of Royal Guardsmen advanced into the tent, their steps in practiced unison.

The men formed a column, then stood at attention. All in the tent waited to see who would come next.

A tall man with sandy brown hair sauntered down the column. Earl Mondrake recognized him immediately as Prince Randall, the youngest Prince of the Maera blood.

He wore the purple, red and blue of the Royal Family. His cloak was open, and his doublet, pants and boots were obviously of the finest caliber, and looked as if he were attending a gala, and not traipsing about the battle site at the forlorn end of the kingdom.

When he reached the end of the column, his handsome, square-jawed face twisted into smile, but it was more of an expression of amused annoyance.

“I should think kneeling for one’s Prince is still a custom, even here at the end of the world?”

Then the smile dropped off his face.

***

At the same time, IT was focused only on the faceted stone Gemple had given to Avalaine.

Although it was out of sync with the reality of these mortal grubs, it had almost leaped forth and snatched the stone from the woman’s hands.

Such a stone contained great power, and must have been brought from its own home lands with one of the more powerful of iitscomrades. It could feel the throbbing of the energy within.

Normally, for one such as it, a stone like that would be out of reach. At least until it was ready to challenge one of the more powerful members of his race. And it was nowhere near ready for that yet.

But if it could acquire one now? Perhaps one thousand years of toil could be skipped. It could take its place with the mighty lord. The destruction they would cause…

…it paused then. It was the only one of it’s kind left here on this plane, and there were mortals here that were not insignificant. It dared not show itself now.

Instead, it chanted a low chant of minimal power. He marked the wisp of a woman that held the stone. It would have to find her at a later date.

Time was growing short and it needed to rest. A few cycles of rest, and then it could move forward.

How it wished it could it could reveal itself, tear out the throats of these mortals, none of which knew it was standing among them, outside the limits of their nearly useless senses.

Instead, it gathered information from its new pawn, rummaging through the human’s thoughts as one might hastily sort a sheaf of papers. It found what it needed.

Then it turned and walked out of the tent, no longer caring what sounds might come from mortal mouths.