The word broke fast, not by messenger but the black ominous plume of smoke lofting towards Keesh. It was the early days of spring, and yet the south was a blaze. In reply, Sir Bradfrey amassed his retinue of heavily armored knight. The insignia of Duke Del La Castell raised high upon their banners, they hurried to relieve what they believed to be a besieged Rekinvale. By the time they reached the gates, the smell told the story. It was a ghastly one in need of strong stomach and iron courage. There were no cries for help, only the growls and snarls of scavengers completing for the scraps.

The first responders scoured the battlefield before relaying safety back to Sir Bradfrey. Who, at the sight of the returning horseman, dared not wait for their response. As Sir Bradfrey rode in, less the composed leader of a victorious army, but with the desperate urgency of the bereaved, he trotted forth from a cross-country galop to an all-out sprint. The hooves of his horse kicked up a dust storm as he raced towards the broken stone keep at the town center. He then searched for the remains of the blue and white checkered commander, finding nothing but unrecognizable remains and scorched earth.

‘Over here, my lord,’ said the knight. He then led Sir Bradfrey down to the opposite side of the barracks, where blasted walls and fire-etched remains withdrew to trampled turf, leading to the forest edge and a group of gypsy wood folk who tended to Lord Hendricks’ last dying moments, offering their pagan concoctions to ease the pain. The sight of Sir Bradfrey sent them parting with subservience withdrawal.

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Sir Bradfrey embraced his old mentor and friend.

‘Tell my family I died leading the charge,’ said Lord Hendricks with a faint murmur as he held his cross with his one functioning hand until every breath meant a loosening of his grip.

‘Who did this?’ said Sir Bradfrey.

‘We can’t always choose our battles, but we choose how to confront them.’

Sir Bradfrey fought back the tears while he held his mentor until his dying breath. The realization of birth, life and death became more real than it had ever been before. And he searched for clear thought, only to find his mind trapped at the banks of the river wild, having never crossed it without the reassurance of a seasoned guide. Now he was the guide, with the legacy of a generation weighing upon his shoulders, and with every man-at-arms looking for leadership, and him knowing the journey from now on to be long and uncertain. ‘WHO DID THIS?’

‘The great phoenix of fire and destruction, and it’s master … Kulum,’ said the gypsy.

‘Where do I find him?’ said Sir Bradfrey with an unsettled stillness and not much in the way of patience.

‘The bandits of Husah. They hold the highlands overlooking the northern trade routes.’

‘Your instructions?’ asked Amos to Sir Bradfrey. He had arrived in time to witness Sir Bradfrey’s outburst and immediately took the lead in crossing Lord Hendricks’ arm, laying the old warrior to eternal rest, with all respect deserving of such a statesman.

‘We have secured Keesh. Yet wherever we go, our enemies just move to the point of least resistance. Perhaps it’s time we act indiscriminately. Find me your most trusted. Be discrete and cleanse these lands of anyone related to Husah.’

‘And what of us?’ said his loyal knight of Duke De La Castell’s crest.

‘We shall return to Vasier. I have a demand to make of Draconian, and the queen’s blessing to beget.’