Aalis sat next to Caste, a book of anatomy in her lap and a dagger in her hands. Now and again she would glance at Caste who twitched at her gaze. Finally he couldn’t stand the looks anymore and snapped his book shut.

“Do you need help understanding some of the words or the illustrations?” His condescension was barely masked, if at all.

“No…I was just looking at you, trying to determine if I could identify where your primary arteries are in order to know where to stick a blade.” She said lightly and Caste’s face paled even as his eyes narrowed.

“I am not a practice dummy.” He said, returning to his book.

“Well…I had a thought that perhaps this is not the best book to study.”

“You’re a book critic now?”

Aalis tied her dreadlocks back into a knot. “No, what I mean is that I am not likely to be defending myself against humans. Judd is not ridding Terra of bandits but of monsters.”

Caste paused, looking up at the sky that was turning all shades of yellow and orange. “That is a good point.” He rummaged through his pack. “So…a book on monsters…which would you like?” He held out three. “This one is a dissection manual by Archdeacon Orto, this is ‘Monsters and Mayem’ by Deacon Pek and this one, by Deacon Peele, is the definitive edition of all monsters, creatures, beasts and other deformations known to exist.”

Aalis stared at the books. “Caste…how can you possibly carry all these around on your back?”

“I know,” he nodded, “the weight of being responsible for this wealth of knowledge is a heavy burden to bear…” He lamented with self-righteous pomposity.

“No,” Aalis took the biggest one, nearly dropping it, “this one weighs more than my cast iron cooking pot…and you have more in your pack!”

Caste hesitated. “Well…I couldn’t be unprepared for the wilds, especially with an ignorant soul like Judd LaMogre to advise…not that he listens.”

“He listens more than you realise,” Aalis heaved the book onto her lap and opened it, “however, he has to sift through your negativity at times.”

“I’m not negative. I’m realistic.” Caste retorted.

“Deacon Peele…is he not Bishop Peele now?” Aalis asked.

“Yes. It was his attentiveness to detail and dedication to accuracy and authenticity that drove him to write such a comprehensive manual.”

Aalis was not as impressed as perhaps Caste wanted her to be as she flicked through the pages. “This section,” she gasped, “is just the forward alone…”

“A big book requires a big introduction.”

Aalis looked up thoughtfully. “Bishop Peele has been the head of the Order of the Grail for quite some time now, has he not?”

“Twenty eight years. Longer than any other bishop in history except for Bishop Sagges who led the order for thirty years.”

“So this book, while comprehensive, might be a little out of date? After all, he wrote it when he was just a deacon, not even an archdeacon…” Caste looked at her strangely. Aalis paused. “Unless this is an earlier edition…”

“There was only ever the one edition,” Caste said as though Aalis was a little foolish then leaned over and pointed to the title on the cover, “the ‘definitive edition’.”

“Would that not mean there was more than one?”

“Perhaps books by other deacons but this,” Caste tapped it, “has no peer. It stands alone and is irrefutable documentation of the monsters of Maul.”

Aalis had nothing to say to that, moving on to the first illustration in the book and read the caption.

“Agiokampus…a monster of Maul with the head of a goat and the tail of a fish first documented in the fifth year of King Fashal…” She studied the illustration and shook her head, turning the page. “Basilisk, a reptilian monster whose gaze turns those who look into its eyes to stone, not dissimilar to a cockatrice however they inhabit different environments…but the cockatrice did not turn me to stone.”

“Perhaps you did not look into its gaze.” Caste said offhandedly, studying a diminutive volume that looked like it had seen better days.

“What about Giordi or Judd?”

Caste faltered for a moment before saying hastily, “It is simply possible that the two creatures operate in the same manner and so, Bishop Peele simply references one in the same category as the other.”

Aalis frowned and flicked across several pages, the light becoming faint so she had to squint.

“Cockatrice,” she announced, “part rooster, part snake that can kill a man with a single scratch or turn them to stone with its stare.” She looked at Caste. “If that had been true, then we would all have been dead.”

“You’re reading the captions,” Caste blurted, retrieving his book with a resentful glare, “undoubtedly the in depth description and detail of the monster would have more accurate information. And it’s also possible,” he said, still defending the book and its author despite the fact that Aalis had said nothing, “that the person who illustrated the monsters for the book made inaccurate captions.”

Aalis felt like she had pushed him a little too far and was relieved when Verne and Giordi approached the campfire. She stood and brushed her skirts straight.

“How goes target practice?”

“Once he put his ego aside, not bad.” Verne flopped onto the ground. “Turns out he might have a natural knack for it and could get quite good…if he wasn’t so lazy.”

“I will take that as a compliment.” Giordi grinned then looked around. “So…supper?”

Aalis shrugged then heard Judd speak up. “Sorry, on my way.” He set Aalis’ cooking pot down near the fire then made a frame of metal rods. On the one that went over the fire he threaded several fish that he’d gutted and descaled.

“Fish?”

“That stream was brimming with trout. I blocked their escape, put the pot in and dragged it along, scooping up half a dozen.” Judd explained. “I can’t cook a stew but I can catch fish.”

“I thought you hated fish.” Verne muttered.

Judd floundered but Aalis knew what it was he really hated.

“It was the life you could not stand, was it not?” She asked.

“That’s it, really.” Judd nodded. “These won’t take long…and you’ll be able to write the ballad of LaMogre and his fish banquet which he caught and served with his own two hands.” He looked at Giordi.

“I think that should be set to a three/four time…I can even hear the chorus…” Giordi chuckled.

Aalis offered some salt and seasoning for the fish and they all shared a laugh when their stomachs grumbled in unison at the aroma of freshly cooked fish. The colours of the sunset were all gone now, the wash of navy chasing the last glow of light on the horizon, highlighting the eastern slopes of the ‘Hump’ in the distance.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“I can’t imagine that Sir Rylan ever had a song written about himself that involved cooking.” Judd poked the fish with a fork then turning the spit some more.

“No one’s written any songs about Sir Rylan.” Giordi responded, yawning.

Judd looked at Giordi in horror. “Surely you can’t be serious. Other than Sir Andigre, Sir Rylan is the most famous, the most experienced and skilled knight in all Terra.”

Aalis looked up, her brow furrowed with concern.

“Hero worship, same as Sir Egrette much?” Verne questioned.

“You’re not going to tell me that Sir Rylan doesn’t deserve our respect. He’s legendary. The way he brought down a griffin without spear or sword or shield…” Judd looked at Giordi pointedly. “That has to be a song!”

“Songs aren’t usually written until the person who inspired them is dead.” Giordi explained. “Makes it harder for them to protest the details of the chorus and verses.”

“So you’re just following Judd around until he dies then cash in on his demise by demonstrating all the songs you’ve written about him?” Caste asked dryly.

“It’s not that I’m hoping he’ll die, especially before his time…but songs are a way to capture the knowledge and inspiration of heroes and battles.”

“All the fabricated lyrics of all the melodies ever written cannot hold a candle to the documented truth of these,” Caste brandished a book, “tomes!”

“I guarantee more people have heard me sing than anyone who has ever read…that.” Giordi retorted brightly.

Judd wrapped a piece of leather around the spit and lifted it off the flames. Aalis held out plates and he slid a piece of fish onto each one.

“I thought Sir Rylan was dead.” She said as she handed the plates to the other three.

“Surely you’ve heard me talking about Sir Rylan’s knighthood quest. Who did you think started it?”

“Oh…well…I thought that it was in his name, as a way to honour him.” Aalis shook her head. “The village where I lived only heard news by way of rumour and gossip. No heralds ever came. I thought I heard of his death but I…”

“I don’t think anything could kill him.” Judd took his plate and sat back. “I mean, I know knightly deeds are generally exaggerated,” he caught Caste’s glare, “except, of course, for the painstakingly accurate chronicles of the Order of the Grail…but even if only half of what is told is true, he’s on par with Sir Andigre.”

“That…” Caste paused then nodded. “I will concede to that statement, yes. In fact, much of Sir Rylan’s accomplishments are confirmed fact and not exaggeration by other parties.”

“Have you ever been invited to a party?” Giordi returned lightly, unphased by Caste’s barbs.

“In less reputable circles, those with looser adherence to facts and proof, purport that Sir Rylan is the embodiment of the Second Coming.”

“I’ve heard that mentioned before.” Verne pried a fish bone from between his teeth and flicked it into the fire. “I don’t get it. Does that mean Sir Andigre is coming back or that someone will stand out like Sir Andigre did and lead us into a new era?”

“This is the centre of the debate and believe me, more air, words and mental capacity have been wasted on trying to understand a single statement made by Queen Grail after Sir, well, King Andigre’s absence was finally confirmed as a death.”

“What was the statement?”

Caste closed his eyes and concentrated. “Though our first knight, Inigre’s father and my beloved husband, King Andigre, has now been declared dead, I truly believe that it is not the last we will see of him for one day the same determination and force will rise again and finally rid Terra of the threat of Maul forever.” He opened his eyes. “You can see why there is so much speculation about it.”

Judd scraped the remains of his fish onto the fire and swigged from his water pouch.

“What do you think it means?”

Caste looked at Judd with a deadpan expression on his freckled face. “If I give my opinion, would you even hear it?”

“I’m genuinely curious,” Judd glanced at Giordi, “unless you want the minstrel to start serenading us?”

“Now what shall I sing…”

“Fine,” Caste grunted, “you want to know what I think it means? It’s got nothing to do with Sir Andigre coming back. People do not come back from the dead. They just don’t. He’s gone as are all the others who stood with him.”

“So you think another will rise in his place? A kind of…catalyst leader?” Giordi asked.

“Not really, no.” Caste shook his head. “I think it was something Grail said to honour her husband’s memory and encourage others to not give up.”

“You mean, she didn’t say it because she saw it…she said it hoping that one day we would fulfill it because she said it?”

“Oh my head…” Verne grunted.

“Something like that.”

“Then it has to be said, Sir Rylan fits the profile.” Judd announced. “He’s the most decorated and remarkable knight since Sir Andigre, he is entrusted with the grandest and most important fort of all, bar none…and if he needs his ‘four spire knights’ to complete the embodiment of the prophecy, then he’s already got the three other wall fort knights and just needs another, after the death of Sir Bobellion.”

“And you’re thinking you’d make an excellent four spire knight?” Giordi raised his eyebrows.

“Of course I’ve dreamed about it.” Judd admitted easily. “I don’t think there’s a boy in all of Terra that hasn’t.”

“I haven’t.” Caste said, raising his hand.

“Never occurred to me.” Verne added.

“Looks like you’re on your own there, Judd.” Giordi grinned.

Judd shrugged good naturedly. “Oh well…”

They set about spreading their bedrolls out, each taking the time to make their sleeping space as comfortable as possible. Verne was first to sit up and keep watch as they all lay down. It was quiet and still apart from the crackles of the fire as it began to burn down low. Verne gave the stones around the edge a nudge with his boot to keep the cinders from escaping.

“For the record, I don’t give much weight to the whole ‘second coming’ theory either,” Judd admitted with his hands behind his head, “but given the lack of an heir to the throne of Astaril…Sir Rylan might well be made king of Astaril, which does signal the end of an era.”

“There’s no one else of Andigre and Grail’s lineage?”

Caste shook his head.

“King Rocheveron had a son, didn’t he?” Verne asked.

“The Crown Prince, Nicolin Rocheveron…died in his sleep before the age of twenty.” Caste recited. “Queen Viene and King Rocheveron struggled to conceive an heir for many years after their marriage and she died when Nicolin was eleven.”

“I guess, because he had a son, the king didn’t think he needed to remarry and try for other heirs?” Verne pulled his quiver of arrows close and inspected each one, always giving attention to maintaining his weapons.

“Actually, King Rocheveron had twins. A boy and a girl. The raven twins they were named on account of their hair.” Caste explained.

Giordi pulled a face. “I didn’t know Rocheveron had a daughter.”

“Neither did I.” Verne added.

“She was hidden away for most of her life. I have heard accounts that she was either a sickly child or King Rocheveron feared for her safety…possibly both.”

“Until this knighthood quest, I lived my whole life in Astaril and I never laid eyes on her.” Judd confessed. “There were those I worked with on the docks who thought she was a work of fiction.”

“Not unlike one of Giordi’s fantasy women…”

“Surely you must have heard of the wedding between Sir Rylan and Genovieve?” Judd sat up. “It was a week long celebration.”

“I hate to break it to you, Judd, but a lot of what happens in Astaril doesn’t actually directly impact the rest of Terra,” Verne said pointedly, “it’s possible that the forts might have held a feast or street party to honour the marriage…”

“Even then…” Giordi huffed. “And do not forget that there are dozens and dozens of villages where there are no knights in charge and no clerics who do the will of the Order of the Grail. A lot of places just get by on their own with very little Astarilian influence.”

“That’s not a word.” Caste muttered as Aalis rolled onto her side.

“Sir Rylan married the princess,” she stated softly, “so, by default, he would become king?”

“Except that not long after Nicolin passed, Genovieve died of the same malady as her brother.” Caste explained.

“Poor girl,” Giordi sighed, “only just starting to live her life when it ends…”

“Please tell me you’re not going to write a melancholy melody based on her tale?” Verne sighed. “That smacks of insensitivity…and that doesn’t usually bother me. Are you going to go to sleep at some point or am I wasting my time keeping watch?”

They all lay down again.

There was a long, quiet pause.

“You know,” Verne groaned and everyone else huffed and looked at Giordi with withering expressions, “if Sir Rylan wanted a straight shot to the throne, even upon marrying Genovieve, he’d need to get rid of the Crown Prince.”

“I cannot believe you just insinuated that Sir Rylan would do something like that.” Judd’s voice was stern. “The man is a paragon of virtue.”

“Besides, Nicolin died of natural causes.” Caste added.

“A healthy young male just dies unexpectedly in his sleep?” Giordi snorted. “You’re telling me that was not investigated?”

“It was by Bishop Peele and two archdeacons of the Order of the Grail as well as the royal physician.” Caste responded sharply, taking offence at the slander that the Order might not have done their duty. “There were no poisons, no bite marks and no physical injuries. Just a little blood in his ear indicating a possible tumour in the brain. He simply died in his sleep.”

“What about his sister? Twins often share traits.”

“Because of the distance between Astaril and Fort Verion, Sir Rylan’s cleric had to see to the formalities of her body’s preparation to be entombed in the royal crypt. The cleric had to make the decision to cremate her rather than let her decay.”

“So no one inspected her body?”

Caste sat up in a huff. “Even if there was foul play involved, why would it be Sir Rylan’s? Genovieve was his unobstructed ‘ticket’ to the throne. If what you’re insinuating is true, Sir Rylan would be the last person to harm her because he now runs the risk of King Rocheveron naming someone else to be king.”

“As if there’s anyone better.” Judd added.

“As much as I cannot stand bull headed, muscles before mind knights,” Caste nodded, “I would have to agree.”

Giordi yawned. “Well, even in the uncivilised land of Terra, I know of Sir Rylan and if his reputation is even a tenth of what is exaggerated, then so do I.”

“I’ll reserve judgement.” Verne muttered.

“Until when?”

“Until you all go to sleep!”