Galor, brother of Ser Ganator, and the young Prince Rohinar had decided to wait until morning to make any approach. Maykeep’s host had set camp outside Cobbleton’s small fortress and small wooden walls. Logs had been chopped and stacked to form a five-foot tall barricade, but any army of men could scale the walls and set it aflame with little to no fuss. Galor had made the executive decision to wait it out until the morning to approach Maykeep’s camp. There were men sleeping around the fires already, sprawled out with swords laying across their chest. They would be on high alert for any unexpected attacks and Galor had decided it would be better to approach them in the light of day when they were not anxious. Guards paced the perimeter of their camp. Sentries posted along Cobbleton’s wooden walls kept their bows in hand, switching outposts every couple of hours.

“Maykeep wastes energy on such a small province. It makes no sense,” said Galor. His eyes were scanning the camp as he lay on his belly. Prince Rohinar was on his back, staring up at the stars in the night sky. “Cobbleton have no more than fifty armed men at their fortress, and less than a hundred villagers inside. This may be a good chance for you to exercise good judgment as a prince, Rohinar.”

“I have already made judgment,” replied Rohinar, disinterested. “Maykeep will be punished, and we shall be the ones to exact that punishment.”

“Punishment? Rohinar, the point of us coming here is to deal diplomatically and de-escalate the situation. Provoking Maykeep any further would only result in deaths here. The princess is not seeking violence, and I can guarantee you that your father would not want that either.” Galor shook his head. Rohinar was hasty in his decisions. He was young, Galor knew. But youth could not be an excuse when there were human lives on the line. The people of the kingdom needed to know that Rohinar cared about their lives, especially if he were to garner their respect on the throne someday.

Rohinar narrowed his eyes, thinking as he stared at the formations of stars he saw in the sky. “I think sending a message could scare off Maykeep. The men of Cobbleton will follow suit if we attack now from our side. The Cobbleton sentries releasing rounds of arrow from their wall while we emerge from the east with our swords drawn.”

“Let me stop you there, young prince. Firstly, I don’t care how skilled we are with a blade, we are not slicing through twenty men on our own. Secondly, if we were to harm Maykeep we could turn the entire kingdom against us. Besides, we don’t know who is out there. Maykeeph himself may not even be there. In fact, I highly doubt he is. He would have a trusted warrior take a squad of men, sure. But not himself. He is no doubt snug as could be in his bedchambers with a roaring fire to keep him warm and ten concubines swirling about him as he sips on the finest ale of Wexocar. He’s a squirmy bastard. If I were to guess, I’d say he’s testing us. He wants to know how far he can push the limits, and that is why he has decided to raise this rift here, with the small stronghold of Cobbleton. If he were really upset about the trade and the dealings he’s having, there are far bigger fish in the sea to contend with besides Cobbleton.”

Rohinar said nothing. He clasped his fingers together, resting his hands over his stomach. His sword belt and scabbard were resting beside him over a layer of pine needles. The thin trees of a forest’s outskirts offered light coverage in the night. The men by the fires would have no way of seeing them from the two-hundred yards away that they were.

“She is so fine. Beautiful, beyond imagination. Her hair…” Rohinar trailed off. His voice was a whisper, but Galor could still hear.

Galor turned his gaze from Maykeep’s men. “Whom do you speak of? The princess?”

“No, although she has beauty of another quality as well. I speak of the other girl…the one whom I might love, although I cannot be sure.”

“Which girl?” asked Galor. He laid down beside Rohinar, content to forget the troubling’s of politics for the night. Galor re-settled his head, feeling a root under his head. He furrowed his brow, bundling a cloak into a ball and using it as a pillow.

“The one with rich silk hair of brown beauty. Her eyes are like a fine chocolate, a delicacy. The richness of their hue…oh, it is intoxicating. Her name is Vaya…she was at the betrothal.”

“And who offered this girl to be your wife?” asked Galor. He was intrigued. He hadn’t remembered seeing this girl.

“She was a nobody. I found her. She was along the Crag, hiding. I was returning from a trip and Ser Sledda and his men found her. We took her in, thinking she was a spy. But she is anything but an enemy to the crown. She is an asset, based upon her beauty alone.”

Galor held in his laughter. A smirk formed on his faced and his mouth moved into motion to speak but nothing came out. What had caught his mind so suddenly to bring on such strong emotions? He had picked Elswitta Valnarak—an adversary to Dalrin but a lady with such fine beauty that no man could fault Rohinar for his youthful desire. Who else could compete for the space of Rohinar’s heart besides Elswitta the Lovely, as some were calling her?

“She’s got a way about her, I don’t know, Galor. I cannot explain it. But she seems to have this glow about her. My family saw it too, I know it. But I could not pick her at the betrothal because I knew she was seen as a nobody. We don’t know her family and neither does she. If I had picked her, she’d have no alliances or political gain to bring to the crown. I couldn’t pick her at the time. But now she is all my heart desires. Elswitta has proved to care for nothing but her own power. She sends me on errands like a little child who must be kept busy. She is a few years my senior, but she acts as if she was made for ruling.”

“Well,” began Galor, “She is a Valnarak. And, given their family history, ruling is what they are best at. I can’t imagine ruling over Venistar. The land is like a poison upon this realm. Of course, we weren’t much better until we had the influence of the Silver Tree all those thousands of years ago.”

“You are right, Galor. She is a Valnarak…but that is the part that scares me. I feel as though all she has done since becoming princess is precipitate chaos and uprising in the capital. At times, it feels as though it is on purpose…” Rohinar trailed off, as if coming to the realization as he was saying it. “And Vaya…well…I don’t know what my parents have done to her, but I assume she is back in that tower again at the mercy of my mother, just as the other women I have known are.”

“She is protective of her boys. That has never been in question,” said Galor.

“And how would you know that?” asked Rohinar. He turned his head toward Galor, a defensive look painted on his face. His long hair fell over his eyes.

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“People talk. Taverns and lodges litter the northern reach all the way to Wexocar. What else is there to talk about besides the weather and politics? Better yet, family affairs. And better yet,” Galor’s voice got louder, “Royal family affairs and politics!”

“I suppose you’re right.”

The two men allowed their conversation to trail off before Galor agreed to take first watch for the night. They’d switch offer after a couple hours. Galor watched the position of the moon. His thoughts wandered between Maykeep’s men, the girl Vaya that Rohinar spoke of, and finally his brother. Ganator. He was dead. The greatest tournament warrior in all of Dalrin—dead. It still did not feel real. Those thoughts were what helped him stay awoke. And, in fact, he never did wake up Rohinar, for he knew sleep would never come anyways. Tears trickled down his cheeks, but he did not shudder nor weep. It would not bring his brother back. He knew that it was healthy, but the crying and the sobs would not come. Only the slow, trickling tears that welled up in his eyes and blurred his vision. He kept his eyes fixed on the moon. It’s crescent shape was fuller than most days.

His gaze shifted to the red moon that sat just beside the normal moon. It was the Bolg Moon. It had been a fitting year so far for the year of mourning. Galor sat his back up against a tree and withdrew a pipe, lighting it, and hoping that Maykeep’s men would not see the pipe or its smoke from their distant camps.

Morning arrived, and with it came shouts and loud commands. The sound of water sloshing over fires and hissing carried across the plains toward the outskirts of the small forest that Galor and Rohinar lay in. Galor had dozed gently but the sounds jerked awake. Rohinar hadn’t stirred.

“My prince, wake up! You must get up now, we ought to watch and see what happens next,” said Galor. Rohinar got up slowly, rubbing his eyes and groaning at his soreness from sleeping on roots and pine needles. When he remembered where he was he yanked himself up from the ground and perched his elbows atop a fallen tree where him and Galor watched the action from afar.

Maykeep’s men had begun an assault right at dawn. The sun was still gently rising in the east. A pink and orange haze was still coming above the horizon line and the sounds of murderous men bit back at the sun’s gentle offering of a slow morning.

“They’ve got more men,” noted Galor. “Not many, but more than twenty. Looks to be about thirty now.”

“Perhaps you miscounted before,” suggested Rohinar. Galor’s eyes were intent on the scenes in front of them.

A row of men with shields taller than they approached the five-foot tall timber gates, huddled tightly together. Arrows sprayed against their shields but it was no use. Once they arrived at the foot of the walls, they lifted their shields as a canopy. Men came charging underneath them. It was a clever tactic. The men of Cobbleton could not reach the attacking men with their arrows. The attackers wore light chain and leather skirts. They bore hatchets, hammers, and axes—slashing viciously at the timber of the wall. They were going to break through. Their grunts and shouts echoed through the plains as they slashed and battered. Five of Maykeep’s men sat back behind tall, rectangle shields with bows at the ready and arrows knocked. They were aiming for the sentries on the wall, but none came close to hitting their target.

“Let us sneak up and prey on those men,” said Rohinar. Galor could see the youthfulness in his face. It was a childish excitement. Only experience could bring down his adrenaline.

“No. We have to see this out. The men of Cobbleton are on their own. To attack would be a death sentence. And we are here to negotiate, not to start a war.”

“A war? We are not starting a war, we are getting involved in a massacre. A massacre against innocents! There are commoners, women, and children inside, Galor. Use your eyes!”

Galor grew firm. “Maykeep’s men will do their damage and we will have a full report of it. Let your father, the king, decide on Maykeep’s punishment. If he is to be punished, Dalrin will deal with it in the throne room.”

“But we are watching a slaughter here, Galor. We can at least take out those archers that are cowardly hiding behind their shields.”

“We will not get involved. I get the feeling this may very well be a trap, Rohinar. Maykeep is a smart lord, albeit a rotten one at that that. The last thing the princess had meant for us to do was begin a rift with lord May—” Galor gasped, dropping his scabbard. Rohinar had gathered his sword and was charging across the plains. He was headed for Maykeep’s archers.

“Rohinar, no! It is a trap,” shouted Galor, sprinting after the prince now. “This is going to be a disaster,” muttered Galor to himself.

Rohinar gave himself away before he even came upon the first archer. He screamed a war cry with his sword lifted high. The archer still had no time to adjust his position. His face of sheer surprise burned itself in Rohinar’s head for that split second that he hoisted his blade. He brought it down in the man’s helmet. The helmet didn’t crack, but the blow was enough to send the archer to the ground with a thud.

Up ahead, the wall had broken in and the swarm of Maykeep’s men charged inside to being their pillaging. Screams of death and slaughter rose with the smoke of the fire. Some of the attackers had brought torches and they launched them onto the wooden infrastructure and onto bails of hay that sat in the open. Like a sweeping storm of death, the wave of Maykeep’s men ate through the men and women inside like a flame on oil.

Galor had just arrived at the next archer, realizing that there was no turning back now that Rohinar had started the fighting. He hacked once, then twice, and then on the third volley of the swords, Galor got the better of the man. He hardly knew how to use a sword and his bow had been discarded to the ground as soon as he saw his assailant. Rohinar took out one archer and then the other three had already charged into the sieged fortress by that point.

Galor called toward Rohinar, who was staring after the slaughter taking place inside Cobbleton’s walls. “We should go, Rohinar. There will be no diplomacy here. Besides, Lord Maykeep’s not here. We leave now, before they spot us and come for us next.”

But Rohinar did not move.

“Rohinar, we have to go,” shouted Galor. “Let us return to our horses that are tethered by the trees. It is not too late for us to go undetected. This is a trap, Rohinar. A trap.” Galor’s shouting had finally turned Rohinar’s head. “It’s a trap!” Galor shouted again. It finally clicked in Rohinar’s head. His face had gone ghostly pale. He had never seen such slaughter and chaos before. The entirety of Cobbleton was in flames. Children went running from the fortress, running towards nothingness since their home was being burned to the ground.

Rohinar and Galor turned, making for their horses. Galor felt something skim past his head. It was an arrow. It thudded into the tree that his horse was tethered too. A head popped up from the shadows a mere twenty feet away. He had missed on purpose. He did not knock another arrow, but instead stared after them as they rode away. The man had a hooded veil covering his face. He watched them mount and ride off, staring until they were out of view.

“I told you it was a trap,” said Galor, once they were clear of Cobbleton. “That man could have killed us if he wanted to know. They knew we were there all night, most likely.”

“Why didn’t he kill us then?” asked Rohinar.

“Because that’s not what Maykeep wanted. Instead, he got exactly what he wanted.”

“Which is what?”

“You killed one of his men. Maykeep will hold that over you or your father for whatever his next move is.”

“But what about the slaughter we just witnessed? You mean to tell me that the couple of men we took out, trying to protect all those innocents, will be held over our head? How does that make sense?”

“In his mind, those weren’t innocents out there,” said Galor. “Those were men who had done injustices against Maykeep. And Maykeep has ambition, and he has an agenda. We saw that at the betrothal. For now, it is best we get you back to the capital as soon as possible.”

After a few moments of riding in silence, Galor had a thought. “The next question is…if Maykeep wasn’t there during that siege, then where is he?”

The answer awaited them upon their return.