The king held his son’s armor before him. His face was passive, but his eyes held a storm of emotion.

“It said what again?” asked the king’s advisor.

“Refill,” said Britina quietly. She didn’t like what that had implied.

“You killed it?” growled the king.

“Yes, sir,” Britina said with a frown.

“Shattered its spine and burned it back to re-death,” Prunhiline added, with perhaps more glee than was warranted.

“Good.” hissed the king.

A tense silence filled the throne room as the king stared at his reflection in the armor. His son’s armor. His son! They hadn’t parted on the best of terms; the king had been furious at his son’s refusal to marry.

“I want him found!” shouted the king, hurling the armor against the far wall. It struck with a loud bang, echoing through the room. He turned his glare to Prunhiline and Britina. “All is forgiven, all charges dropped. I won’t send my letter to your king. Find my son!” He stood up from his throne, gave the two heroes a stern glare, and stormed from the large room.

All eyes turned to the two women. Prunhiline smiled; this was a rescue mission or, worst case, a body retrieval. Either way, there’d be fighting and possibly re-killing. Britina, meanwhile, was already planning. They needed information and supplies.

“Where was the prince patrolling?” Britina asked, turning to the gathered dwarves.

“He was on patrol duty in the forest.” Said the one advisor. "Since we were short-handed, he volunteered to go.” The last part came out as a sneer toward the mage. Britina flinched despite the king forgiving their crimes; the people still regarded them as villains. Perhaps that would change if they returned with the prince.

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“Good. We will begin our search in the forest,” Britina said, “we will need our mounts and supplies.”

“And beer!” Answered Prunhiline. All eyes glared at the warrior, who didn’t notice.

The advisor sighed, “We'll provide you with your horses and supplies. Even a cakset of beet. But we cannot send any troops with you, unfortunately.” Britina felt the advisor regretted that they couldn’t spare any men to search for the prince.

“We don’t need backup.” Said Prunhiline, insulted that they would think she and Birtina needed help. They were seasoned adventures (sort of), and they could handle anything but squirrels.

Britina quickly intervened, “Prunhiline is correct. We’ll be fine, and the city may rest easier with us away.” The advisor nodded in agreement.

Britina and Prunhiline walked out of the side entrance they had been guarding that morning. The smell of burned flesh still lingered in the air. It would be some time before it would finally dissipate.

Britina checked her brown-and-white horse, making sure everything was in order. Her bags were still packed with books, quills, parchments, and other magical supplies. The dwarves had added food as an afterthought, just some loaves of bread and cheese. She frowned at the “provisions.”

Prunhiline happily patted down her massive black war horse. Like the warrior, he was larger than life. Various weapons were strapped around his saddle: knives, swords, and axes of all lengths. Her prized war hammer hung within easy reach. She checked the barrel strapped haphazardly to the horse and was happy to find it was filled with beer. The forest would provide the rest.

“Well, dear love, we are off to save the prince,” Britina said, mounting her horse with ease.

Prunhiline lept upon her horse and shouted with glee, “Let’s go!”

Britina stared at her. Prunhiline’s grin widened, and she shouted again, “Let’s go!”

Britina shook her head in disbelief. In their excitement, they’d forgotten to ask for the prince’s patrol details. A polite cough from the doorway caught her attention; it was the royal advisor. With a stern look, he handed Britina a rolled parchment.

“Here is a map outlining the prince’s scheduled patrol route.” He turned and walked back into the city. Britina blushed, embarrassed by their oversight.

“Let’s go!” Prunhiline pointed excitedly down the hill.

“Yes, dear love, let’s go,” Britina agreed.