They didn’t ride to Parth immediately since they needed to report to Hadrian, who currently was at the stronghold of Levanore, according to Parceval. The fortress was situated north-east of Parth and was quite a detour. Parceval had forgotten to tell him of their delay in returning to Parth which had, in turn, soured Arthan’s mood. It was five days from Parth and they would have to cross several large rivers, some almost comparable to the Lameine on which Parth lied. The trip back and forth would take at least ten days, probably more.
And to his frustration, that passed so close to Parth that he could glance to its walls and even see the palace faintly, reaching to the sky from the island. He was dangerously tempted to simply leave Parceval to make his report alone. That conduct would hardly be fitting for a knight, however, and he resisted the urge. He was worried for Stella, alone in a palace full of vipers. And he wanted to see Geraldine too, despite what Parceval had told him of her.
They followed the road of pavement that had been built between the fortress and the city. He had been to Levanore before since Hadrian often resided there. It was the base from which the prince recruited and trained the standing army of Azure, a professional force many thousand men strong. Most kings relied on a small contingent of knights supported by masses of conscripted peasants, but not the king of Azure. A standing army was an extremely costly expenditure, and no other kingdom truly had the means.
Only the last vestiges of the Kroman Empire in the south could compare, still fielding the old legions, but the empire had slowly been declining under corruption and hordes of enemies over almost a millennium. The southern parts of Azure had once been under Kroman rule but had been reconquered centuries ago. Now the border between the two had been drawn over the mountains of Satenaire, high and near impassable with an army.
Even then, they were still a force to be reckoned with. The Kromans were masters in the use of war galleys though, so they were always a constant threat. They had a few times attempted to reconquer their lost dominions, without lasting success.
And if the mountains defended the south, then Levanore was the keeper of the far north of Azure. It was a fortress in all senses of the world, built to protect against the north-eastern enemies, mostly the Prossians. These easterners often looked south greedily from their cold and barren northern forests. Thus, Levanore had been built, a large fortress atop a hill overlooking the landscape. Its inner walls were massive, too large to be taken down by catapults, with large and square towers which were low but wide. Parth’s high towers were built just as much for majesty as for defence, while Levanore was built only to be impregnable.
The outer wall of the fortress encompassed a large territory, as large as the isle of Parth itself. Inside, there were mostly barracks to host the many units of permanent soldiers. In between them, there were paved paths to offer secure footing in times of rain and mud, but the rest was left for vegetation. Large grassy fields were dedicated to exercising and training for the soldiers. Then there were smithies, tanners, butchers and bakers, and large barns and granaries to keep all that the army needed to sustain itself. The many soldiers needed both equipment and food, and the fortress had formed a veritable town to supply the Azurian army.
The gates were open at day, though heavily guarded. Hadrian’s security measures were as thorough as always, he would not risk an enemy poisoning the wells or otherwise trying to sabotage his army. Every stranger to the guards was therefore searched extensively. Arthan and Parceval were known silvered knights, however, and they were let through without trouble.
They rode through the first gate into the fortress’ grounds, where already they passed a bunch of soldiers marching in a square formation, all armed with spears and shields. They had open helmets which covered both the cheeks and the nose and were heavily equipped with both chainmail and hardened leather, the whole covered in a deep blue tunic. An officer was screaming his lungs out trying to command them around, but they seemed to be newbies, fumbling a bit around.
They followed the path, walking in between large barracks entirely built of stone to limit the risk of fire in a siege. They received many brief stares, but knights passing through was business as usual, even so for silvered knights, so they didn’t get any special attention.
They reached the second gate, passing under a portcullis which could be descended at a moment’s notice if the outer walls were lost. This one led to the fortress itself, and not anybody could simply enter here. Thus, they were stopped.
“Sirs?” The guard in command inquired respectfully. It was only a formality though. Silvered knights were men personally selected by the prince, who he trusted and who therefore had access to his residence.
“We’re here to report to Hadrian.” Parceval explained.
“He’s in the southern tower, in his office.” The man said helpfully.
They rode into the fortress’ inner yard and dismounted, the two knights leaving their horses to the pages. They began striding to the tower, and then Parceval fell behind. Arthan glanced back and saw him unsubtly checking out the figure of a petite girl drawing water from the well. She didn’t notice though; she was trying to pull the full bucket up but was having a hard time. Parceval graciously appeared behind her, a shining knight at her rescue.
Arthan sighed, exasperated with the knight. Did he have to delay their return further? “Parceval!” He called out; perhaps a bit harsher than he had meant to.
His comrade excused himself to the girl as soon as he had finished pulling the bucket up. “Excuse me for helping a girl in need.” He said with an arched brow.
“It’s her job. If she can’t do it, she should be fired or moved to another position. You’re not helping her.” Arthan vented irritatingly as they walked to Hadrian’s study. His reproach didn’t faze Parceval in the slightest.
They took several sets of stairs up and were stopped by two soldiers outside of the study.
“Please wait, he will receive you in a moment.” One of the two assured them.
Parceval crossed his arms impatiently, while Arthan narrowly kept himself from doing the same. He had to show respect to the prince, however, no matter how bad his mood was. Moments after, the doors were opened and they were led inside by an official, probably serving as a scribe.
The room was large and lit by several slits in the wall, as well as oil lamps. There was a large desk with a mountain of paperwork between them and Hadrian, who was reading a scroll attentively. They walked in, their armours chinking and clicketing in the silent room.
“Your Highness.” Parceval and Arthan greeted him as they both bowed deeply.
Hadrian looked up from the document, his sharp eyes gauging them keenly. He was a large man, which was evident even as he sat behind a desk. His unruly hair was thick and black, and his beard was full but short. He had a square jaw and had that rugged handsomeness that many ladies adored. Wrinkles were appearing in the corners of his eyes though, along with strands of grey hair. He was middle-aged but still as strong as an ox and a formidable foe on the battlefield. “You’re back.” He let out in a deep and slightly hoarse voice, leaning back in his seat.
“We found and killed the witch. She won’t be bothering the smallfolk anymore.” Parceval said.
Hadrian stood up from the desk, stretching his limps. He was taller than both of them and larger. It was rumoured amongst the populace that he had once wrestled a bear and come out victorious. The rumours might not be entirely unfounded, Arthan figured. “Anything else to report?” The prince questioned, enjoying a moment of respite from the paperwork.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Parceval felt Arthan’s insistent look and reluctantly obliged. “We ran into bandits. There might be a real affliction south of Parth, though we took care of some.”
“Well done. I will see to it.” Hadrian said, looking down at the papers at his desk. He didn’t seem overly enthusiastic. Even in his own stronghold and surrounded by loyal men, he still carried a sword at his side and was clothed practically, in leather and wool and steel. At heart, the man was a warrior, a protector of the realm. “I wish to spar. It has been too long.” He suddenly declared, looking thoughtful. “If you are not afraid of fighting a prince?”
Parceval grinned excitedly, while Arthan raised a brow. He had only been a silvered knight for a few months and had not seen Hadrian fight yet, but he knew that fighting a royal was rarely a good idea. “As you wish, Your Highness.” He nevertheless said. Hadrian was not the type to execute people because they landed a hit.
Hadrian gave a few instructions to the scribe, who sat at the desk and took over the mountains of paperwork. The official didn’t have as much authority, but he could take the smaller cases and prepare the larger ones.
Hadrian walked first, followed shortly by Parceval and Arthan. Servants and guards alike made space for them with respectful curtsies and bows.
Arthan felt his chest swell up in pride at being in the personal company of the prince, a man he truly respected. They reached the training grounds reserved for knights, a small square of carefully fitted pavement, with an armoury next to it. There was a wide array of weapon choices, including ones of wood made to imitate the weight and balance of swords as well as possible. Only trainees and soldiers fought with those however, knights were supposed to know their craft good enough to not injure or maim in training matches.
Arthan would feel uncomfortable raising his sword against the prince and was relieved when Parceval was his first opponent. He would never forgive himself for wounding the prince, and thus he would never be able to fight effectively. And despite Parceval’s grin and excited manner, he could still feel the tension lying underneath.
After having swung the sword around a bit to unstiffen the muscles, they faced each other. Both extremely concentrated, Arthan was surprised when Parceval was the first to move. A series of exchanges followed, but none were really threatening to the prince. Parceval was holding back though, his aggressive demeanour was hollow. He was punished for it, hesitating at a crucial moment and Hector’s sword hit close to the guard and smashed the blade out of his hands.
“Stay on the defensive, I will attack,” Hadrian ordered after the brief exchange. He was used to this and knew that Parceval wouldn’t attack wholeheartedly, so instead, he simply made him focus completely on the defence so that he could give it his all.
Before they began the next round, however, he waved a guard over who had been standing at the edge of the square. “Find me Lavance or Hector.” The prince said.
Arthan felt a wave of chills run down his spine in excitement at the mere mentioning of the name. Was Sir Lavance truly at Levanore? He had only heard stories of the famous of the silvered knights, a man who had been away for almost a year on a quest for glory in the name of Azure. He had won tournaments and defeated champions all over the continent. A man whose fame was comparable to Hadrian’s, or even Arkansas.
Hector was, in contrast, a man of a more subtle character who had served as Hadrian’s shadow for years. Arthan had met him under several occasions, but he was a quiet man and not much of a talker. He did not need the spotlight or the glory but his devotion for Hadrian was complete. He was the most loyal and dependable of all, a knight whose skill was supposedly only really surpassed by Lavance’s.
Parceval didn’t have a chance against Hadrian unless he truly fought seriously, which he refused to do as he would risk wounding the prince. And once couldn’t win when focusing entirely on defence. Arthan observed with intrigue as Hadrian drove Parceval around the square, the knight trying to parry or get out of reach of each attack. He tried to stand his ground, but it was next to impossible against such an adversary when he couldn't hit back. The two were drenched in sweat now, though the prince didn’t seem to be slowing down at all.
Then he suddenly stopped, taking a step back and resting his sword over his shoulder. “That’s enough.” Parceval withdrew, panting heavily. Hadrian raised a hand and waved Arthan over. “Your turn.”
“Your Highness?” Arthan said with a nod.
“Stay on the defensive. Try to hold your ground.” The prince ordered grabbing his long sword with both hands again.
Arthan bowed his head in understanding and held up his sword firmly, stepping forward to face him. His stomach was tied to a tight knot of nervousness, and he was already feeling sweat gather under his arms.
The prince attacked with a large and predictable swing. Then at the last moment, it shifted aim for his head instead. He had to step back deflect the strike. As the swings began raining down on him, his nervousness faded, and he settled into a familiar calmness, focusing on the fight.
And he was forced to take step after step back despite his best efforts, to get out of the monstrous reach of the prince. The man’s strength was brutal, and Arthan feared for his wrist if he tried parrying the strikes head-on. Suddenly Hadrian thrust forward instead of swinging and he narrowly pushed the blade away, only to be rewarded with a ruthless descending swing which could no doubt bash in his skull if it hit. In a split moment, he opted to parry the swing instead of retreating away. Maybe because of the prince’s urge to hold his ground.
He felt the strike resonate through his arms and shoulders and his left wrist exploded in pain. He grimaced as he withdrew from the fight. Hadrian frowned, letting his sword fall.
“You have not recovered from your fight with Tristan. Nevertheless, your sword is quick and your reflexes impressive.” He commented. “I am not sure I could best you in a real fight.”
“You are too humble,” Arthan said genuinely, massaging his wrist. “I fought without problems against bandits, but your strikes are of another world.”
Hadrian arched a brow. “Are you comparing me to bandits, Arthan?”
“My apologies Your Highness.” He immediately said and bowed respectfully.
“I jest.” He said dismissively, his attention suddenly elsewhere. “Look who has finally come.”
Another man had just entered the square. He was the shortest of them, though he was still taller than most men. He had long hair the colour of sand, tied together in a low ponytail. His slender but athletic build hinted towards the incredible physical prowess that Arthan knew he had. He was clad only in silk and velvet, well-fitted but comfortable but offering no protection whatsoever. His electrifying eyes met Arthan’s, his pupils the colour of lightning on a night’s sky.
“You asked for me.” He said in a soft and tranquil voice. “But I see that you already have company.”
“Choose a sword,” Hadrian said, his breath almost recovered.
Lavance smiled, exposing a row of perfectly white and straight teeth. “As you wish,” he said and picked a sword from the armoury. It was on the longer size for arming swords, but still shorter and lighter than a longsword.
Hadrian took his guard up, just like Arthan and Parceval had done earlier. Lavance walked up to him and gripped his sword with both hands. Then Hadrian suddenly attacked with a large and powerful swing and the fight begun.
Except that Lavance held his ground, ceding not a single step to the larger man. He was only a wolf facing a bear. His timing was surreal, either deflecting Hadrian’s swings away before they reached full strength or evading them by a hair’s width. It was as if he predicted every strike, moving slightly forward or sideways, but never backing down. He dominated the fight, yet he didn’t attack.
“Where’s the footwork?” Parceval asked incredulously. Lavance only moved his feet when it was strictly necessary, otherwise, they stood still. He was standing still one moment, then he exploded in movement and the magic happened.
Hadrian opted to retreat away to get the space to execute a full swing with all his raw strength behind it. Lavance countered with a full swing of his own to bat the blow out of its course. But just as with Arthan, he changed the target at the last minute. And somehow, so did Lavance, reacting and adjusting his riposte accordingly in a split second.
Hadrian pulled away with a nod, breathing hard. “As impressive as always. You could have killed me ten times over.”
“That is true,” Lavance commented with a grin, nonchalantly throwing and catching his sword. Arthan did notice that he wasn’t entirely unaffected though, sweat glands had formed on his brow and he was breathing heavier than before. “You want another round?” He asked.
Despite having sparred with both Parceval and Arthan, Hadrian still acquiesced. He had to be quite tired though, Arthan figured.
They were about to go at it again when a man came running into the square. Arthan was about to bar him passage so that he wouldn’t interrupt the prince’s training, but the man seemed very alarmed. He recognized him as the scribe from earlier.
“What’s wrong?” He asked.
“Speak, Eujean.” Hadrian ordered.
“Milords, we just received a dove from the capital. The king has broken his betrothal to the princess of Anglearth, in favour of a new mistress.”
“Who?” Parceval let out while Hadrian’s eyes narrowed.
Eujean gave him a brief glance. “The letter didn’t say, because it’s not important.” He said, putting the knight back in place. Parceval fumed but didn’t retort. He knew he had spoken out of place.
“I will have to get back to Parth.” Hadrian declared. He glanced at Eujean and Lavance. “I leave you two in charge here.”
He quickly began dispatching orders, preparing a company that would leave at dawn. Arthan offered to leave immediately with a missive, not entirely without ulterior motive. Hadrian refused, however, sending one of his own instead.
The rest would leave the following day.
day.