Linford wasn’t far from Darluth. It was the closest town in the Near End, but it was the last stop on Princess Halia’s itinerary. Just as they had all week, the Kingsguard had been up before dawn so that they could scarf down a quick breakfast, limber up, don their armor, and ready Princess Halia’s caravan so she could go shopping. They had planned to leave shortly after morning mass was finished so she could have a full day, but as she was wont to do, Princess Halia slept in well past the breakfast bell and mass and didn’t deign to come down until almost lunchtime. The Kingsguard, meanwhile, had to stand at attention by the caravan the whole time, saying nothing to each other during the sweltering tedium.

  The princess pulled on her riding gloves as she skipped down the steps, a choice of fashion rather than practicality as she only traveled by carriage. Her groomed tawny curls, pulled into a waterfall at the back of her head, bounced vigorously and the heels of her polished boots clacked on the stairs as she went, a sharp sound against the babble and banter on the other side of the courtyard gate. “Hello hello!” she trilled, barely looking at the Kingsguard.

  Captain Tammer bowed and said, “Good morning, your highness.” The greeting was enough of a direct communication that only the captain could respond; the rest of the guard was quiet and still at attention.

  “Are we all ready to go to Linford?” she called rhetorically. Tammer pretended not to see Liesl bite her cheek or Gentren discreetly smack the shaft of his lance against Ferg’s leg, who had opened his mouth to retort.

  “As soon as you are comfortable, highness, we will head out,” Tammer said.

  Princess Halia fluttered her oiled eyelashes. “Oh, Captain, you be sure to keep me safe! I hear that there are rabid foxes or badgers out on the roads now!”

  “Wolves, highness, but only in the countryside,” he said, taking his seat astride his horse. “We won’t be venturing near so far out. The biggest danger we should fear are potholes.”

  “Well, if the wheel falls off, I’ll ride with you then,” she said, flashing her most winning smile. “I’ll be safe with your arms to keep me steady.”

  The rest of the guard, now out of sight from Princess Halia, barely kept decorum. Liesl and Gentren snorted, Ferg rolled his eyes, and Taryn quickly turned his gag into a cough. The princess heard none of it.

  Tammer bowed his head graciously. “We do not want to put you in harm’s way, highness, and the carriage is certainly the safest place for you. We will not allow it to become damaged in any way.”

  Princess Halia pouted, but she quickly hid it behind her royal facade of gratitude. “I trust no one to do so but you, Captain.”

  That was the closest she had ever come to saying, “Thank you.” As a rule, the royal family did not ever thank the Kingsguard for their work. Offering thanks implied that the guard provided services beyond their expected duties, and since their job was to see to the family’s safety and every need, nothing was beyond their expected duties.

  Tammer accepted the dismissal and rode to the front of the caravan. “To Linford!”

  It was common knowledge among the whole Kingsguard that Princess Halia - widely touted as virtuous, demure, and chaste - had about as much control over herself as a cat in heat. Though she had kept a lonely bed as her duty required, it was no secret that she was looking to reinstate the Alfreyadan Order. The Order was, of old, a group of “advisors” and “confidants” of the reigning monarch - more accurately, a harem. The Order was dismantled three centuries past because the very idea of it was unseemly to the Eternal Hearth and caused political unrest.

  Princess Halia, however, thought herself a great beauty and thought her looks wasted if she was to only experience one man her whole life, a man who may or may not be as attractive as her. It was a source of great amusement among the Kingsguard; the twelfth section had penned a ditty called, “Roll in the Haylia,” and it quickly spread through the barracks. It was rumored in the castle that she and her mother and maids were in a constant tug of war as to how low cut was too low cut, how thin was too thin when it came to fabric, and how many if any romantic novels she was to read. The king was more or less indifferent towards his daughter and her extracurricular ambitions; so long as she didn’t embarrass him or smear their reputation, she could do as she wished.

  Though she flirted with much of the Kingsguard, the princess gave Captain Tammer most of her attention. It was no secret that he had a beloved back home and was due to bring her to Darluth at any time, but that didn’t seem to dissuade Princess Halia. Supposedly, she was behind the pay cuts two summers ago that saw the Kingsguard’s pay nearly halved. The reason given for those pay cuts was that room and board were paid for and given the demands placed on the guard, there was little time for them to spend their money anyway. The rest of Tammer’s men thought it was suspicious that the cuts came so soon after Princess Halia was made aware that his heart belonged to Kata, as he then had to write home and tell her that it was going to be closer to six years before he could bring her to Darluth instead of the three he initially thought. Tammer, on the other hand, thought that it was just a coincidence.

  The road to Linford was ten miles of open fields and the occasional copse of trees. The air shimmered in the heat as they rode, the second section melting in their armor while the princess gently fanned herself in the cool comfort of the carriage. They had made this trip many times and the most exciting thing to have happened in all their travels was when a cow broke through a fence and decided it lived in the middle of the road; it took almost an hour of pushing and yelling before the blasted thing moved. The fences had been repaired since then, so the guard spent most of the ride in their own thoughts.

  Tammer kept his eyes scanning their surroundings for trouble, but his mind drifted to Kata. It had been a couple of months since he’d last heard from her, though he’d sent a handful of letters. He was concerned that his last had been waylaid by the series of storms, but all of them?

  He hadn’t seen Kata since the day he left for Darluth. Her father had never been fond of the farmer boy with childish dreams, especially not for his daughter, but he was going to become a member of the Kingsguard. While he may not have liked Tammer at all, there was no denying that in a few months he would be a more than suitable match, which is why he grudgingly allowed the courtship. On Tammer’s final night in Castoon, he went to go see Kata one last time. It was late, her father said, eyeing him up and down. He could see her in the morning.

  Tammer was devastated. He wanted more than just a quick goodbye in the gray dawn. After Kata’s father shut the door, he wound back around their house to Kata’s glowing window. He tossed a pebble and without waiting another instant she snuck out to him. She used to sneak out all the time, she told him, to go down to skip rocks on the moonlit lake or chase the fireflies in the nearby forest.

  That day, that last night, Tammer held her close, her soft brown hair smelling like woodsmoke and hay, and made her promises he intended to keep. “It’ll only be a few years,” he said. “I’ll write to you every week, and I’ll save every coin I can until I have enough to bring you to me. And when you do come to Darluth, I’m going to be the greatest knight in the Kingsguard.” He was just a boy then, strong, but scrawny compared to the hardened soldier he would become.

  Kata had tears in her eyes, but there was also hope. She nodded, told him she trusted him, and gave him a kiss before climbing back into her room. The next morning, she gave him a flower and her handkerchief. “A token of affection for my knight,” she said.

  He kept the flower pressed in his Book of Flame and the handkerchief was tied around his wrist at all times. It was more soiled now, but even through the wear the soft embroidery of her name shone through in the corner.

  Tammer furrowed his brow as he thought. Her last letter to him had been relatively short. She still signed it with love, but it was...colder, somehow. He was open and honest with her about the situation in every word he wrote to her, encouraging her to not give up hope, that he was nearly there, that only three more months and he could afford the cart to bring her, his family, and their things to the capitol. She told him that she couldn’t wait, but it had been a long time since she hoped and planned and dreamed with him in her letters. He would show her, though. He would keep his promise.

  Gentren trotted up next to him, breaking his thoughts. “Nothing new to report, Captain,” he said.

  “Then why are you here?”

  “The silence is making my skin itch, sir,” he said.

  “That’s fair enough. I am surprised it’s this quiet.”

  “Sir?”

  Tammer looked over at Gentren, a handsome man with sharp features, like a statue brought out of stone by a master and yet to be softened and refined. He smiled, forcing down his sullen mood. “You’re doing a better job on Ferg duty than I expected.”

  Gentren rolled his eyes, chuckling quietly. Ferg was a good guardsman, but he was prone to petulant outbursts that almost saw him formally reprimanded more times than Tammer liked to think about. “I bet him ten coins he couldn’t keep his mouth shut all the way to Linford.”

  “Do you even have ten coins?”

  “A handful of coppers I picked up in the street.”

  “That’s foreign money. They’re completely worthless.”

  “I didn’t specify legal tender now, did I?”

  Tammer ran a hand through his beard to keep a straight face. “I don’t want to hear about the fall out from arrangement,” he said.

  “The trouble is, sir, that I think you won’t be able to hear the end of it.”

  Tammer shook his head. “We should be approaching Linford soon.”

  “Anything we should prepare for?”

  Tammer almost responded sarcastically, but he cleared his throat, well aware that Princess Halia could probably hear him. “Nothing has been reported about any sort of disturbances or unrest in Linford,” he said. “It should be a standard day.”

  Gentren nodded. “Thank you, sir. Liesl has already agreed to take point when we get to town.”

  “Lost boulder, parchment, shears, I take it?”

  “Spectacularly, sir.”

  Tammer nodded. “Very good. Back in line, Lieutenant.” Gentren pulled back to resume his place along the caravan.

  Within the hour, the town of Linford came into view from behind the rolling hills of the Near End.

  It was a collection of farms and boutiques that attracted a wide array of the wealthier citizens from all over Alfreyad, its quaintness a big draw for the highborn to get out into the “country.” The buildings were kept short with the only spire belonging to the Spark of Flame Cathedral, a faction of the Eternal Hearth. The gilded flame at the top of the spire, made of mother-of-pearl, opals, and gold inlay, caught the sunlight and shone for miles around, guiding travelers to its hallowed doors.

  As they approached the gates, the small faction of soldiers formed a line in the road. Tammer raised his hand and the caravan came to a halt. “In the name of the king and his laws,” the soldier in the middle called, “the way to Linford is shut to all those who do not have honest business. Please state your reasons for entry.”

  Tammer raised an eyebrow. It was obvious to everyone who exactly was calling. They’d never had a line before now. “I am Captain Tammer of the Kingsguard, second section,” he said. “Her highness, Princess Halia of the house of Ashfall, wishes to take in the shops at Linford today.”

  While it wasn’t the first time he came to Linford for that exact reason, this was his first time saying it aloud. He felt ridiculous.

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  The leader nodded, and the soldiers moved towards the caravan, weapons not drawn, but wary. “Thank you, Captain,” the leader said. “We will just need to do a quick scan of your party, and then you will be escorted within the walls promptly.”

  “What are you doing?” a shrill voice cried behind them. “I am the ! I have a right to be anywhere I wish!” The soldiers bowed their heads, forbidden to speak to Princess Halia, and continued their work.

  Tammer leaned forward and spoke quietly to their leader. “This is the first time we’ve been met at a checkpoint here,” he said. “What has happened?”

  The leader saluted quickly. “Sergeant Tocks, sir,” he said. Now that he was speaking directly with a captain, he looked worried, almost fearful. “I don’t have a whole lot of details, sir, but there has been a...person, I suppose...spotted on the outskirts of town.”

  Tammer frowned. “That’s all?”

  “Well, a few people have gone missing in the last few months,” Sergeant Tocks continued. “Strange, but not so many that there’s been alarm. We hear wolves howling pretty close at night, too, sir, and then with the figure appearing right outside town, people have been getting pretty scared. People say it’s an Abyssal sorcerer that’s turning the people into wolves.”

  “That sounds like superstition to me.”

  “That’s what they kept saying from the top, sir,” Tocks continued. “They haven’t even told the capitol about it, but today we got the order to set a checkpoint at all entrances. This came from the governor, but rumor has it that the request was made by the Hearth, sir.”

  Tammer sat up and bit his cheek. If that was true, then it was indeed strange for the Eternal Hearth to put in an official request for extra security just because of some superstitious fears of the people. It was the Hearth’s job to assuage those fears. If they had made the request, then something extreme must have happened for them to take a step that could incite panic among the people.

  “Is it still safe for the princess to go about her day?” he asked.

  Tocks rolled his lance between his palms. “I don’t see why not,” he said, looking out into the middle distance. “We were not given orders to actually turn anyone away.”

  “I believe if the people see Princess Halia going about her business, it will help calm everyone,” said Tammer. “They will see there is nothing to fear.”

  Tocks nodded, “That is true,” he said. “Either way, I have no real reason to turn the princess away, sir. You may proceed.”

  Tammer thanked the man and entered the town, passing the intimidating oaken doors of the Spark of Flame Cathedral. Everyone, even the princess in her carriage, kissed their thumb and pressed it to their heart as they passed the holy site.

  Despite Princess Halia’s attempts at playing coy, Tammer was adamant that he would maintain his position outside the shops while she went inside. As Liesl was taking point this trip, she was the one to follow the princess around the stores, providing opinions when asked (though the princess never seemed to care, so she didn’t ask) and carrying her bags to the carriage when she was done. The rest of the guard stayed outside with Tammer since most of the shops were too small to accommodate more than one of them at a time. It was up for debate which was the worse option - following the princess around while she did her shopping, or standing outside at attention for hours with no break.

  Ferg, Taryn, and Gentren stood equidistant from each other between the carriage and the shop windows, occasionally shifting weight between their feet and if no one was looking, rolling the stiffness out of their neck and shoulders as best they could in plate armor. Tammer had a little more freedom; he patrolled around the exterior of the shop in case anyone tried to sneak in through the backways. No one ever did, but it afforded him some time in the shade. Storm clouds were rolling in, which would bring a relief to all his men.

  Linford was much quieter than normal. In the past, children played in the alleyways and women bustled to and fro between the shops and stalls, lured in by the exotic wares from the coastal Far End and the mouthwatering smells of roasted meats and fresh baked pastries. Minstrels and buskers could be found at practically every corner, vying for attention with their stringed instruments and passable voices. Today, though, hardly any of the local townsfolk were out and about. There were no minstrels, no buskers. The few people that did walk the streets were visitors from out of town, the fine fabrics of their clothes and brass-tipped canes showing their large means. The smells were the same, though, and his stomach growled.

  The silence bothered him. It was one thing to have irrational fears about a sorcerer in the dark, but this was eerie, like any sort of ill-intended despot could jump out from around the corner in a moment.

  “How’s it going?”

  It was only Tammer’s extensive military training that kept him from jumping out of his plate, but even he released a curse as he pivoted around. A woman stood there, smiling at him like they were the best of friends. She was short and slight, but had a soft curve to her arm that showed she was not a stranger to hard work. Her forest green hood was up even on this hot day. Her skin was the color of roasted chestnuts and nearly every inch of her was covered in blue, brown, or black markings and tattoos that Tammer couldn’t place. Her boots were worn and the longknife at her hip had a tarnished hilt, the bow at her back polished smooth by years of use. She smiled easily, but the most off putting things were her eyes. Green like her hood, but they were much too cold, much too

  for her age.

  “Can I help you, miss?” Tammer asked after he regained his self control.

  “Not one for pleasantries, then,” she said, still grinning up at him. “Typical.”

  “Miss, if you do not have official business with the Kingsguard, then I must ask you to move along.”

  “You’re Captain Tammer, right?”

  Tammer blinked. “What do you want with him?”

  The woman smiled and leaned against the nearby shop wall. “I don’t want anything from him,” she said with a shrug. “I just heard he was planning on participating in the games next week.”

  Tammer scowled. The King’s Games were a yearly contest held in Darluth. Anyone could participate, regardless of station or means, in the tests of strength, agility, speed, and skill. It was all good fun, and the winner could ask the king for a boon of whatever was in his power to grant. It was also a good opportunity to scout for any talent to fill the ranks of the military.

  Tammer was competing in the games. His hope was that if he won, he could ask the king for assistance to bring Kata and his family to Darluth that much sooner and keep the coin he had saved.

  “It’s a thought that’s crossed my mind,” he said, vaguely. This stranger irritated him.

  “The thought crossed your mind that Captain Tammer is competing in the games?” the woman said, tilting her head. “How prescient of you. Or perhaps you are Captain Tammer and it has crossed mind to maybe join the games?”

  Tammer scowled. “I am Tammer.”

  “Nice to meet you,” the woman said, extending her hand. “I’m Abel Issa.”

  Tammer didn’t shake it. “I’ve never heard the family name Issa in Alfreyad before.”

  “It’s not very common,” Abel Issa said. “Not here in the Near End, anyway. But who knows if there are any Issas around nowadays.”

  Tammer still didn’t shake her hand. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Miss Issa. Please have a nice day.” He started to continue his patrol around the shop.

  “I’m competing in the games, too,” she said.

  Tammer looked over his shoulder. “I suppose I’ll see you there.”

  “Guess so. Hope you put up a good fight.”

  “Captain ” Princess Halia called out in her best attempt at a sultry purr. “Where are you? I’m ready to go back to Darluth!”

  Abel raised her eyebrows. “Sounds like the princess is ready to ride,” she sniggered.

  Tammer blushed but said nothing. He strode to the carriage as the wind picked up, the sky darkening even more.

  “So soon, highness?” he asked, extending a hand to help her into the carriage.

  “Yes, I am,” she said, yawning. She stretched as she did so, well aware that the motion lifted her bosom even higher. Tammer resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “There really isn’t anything new since the last time we were here, and I’m starting to get hungry.”

  “We will make as much haste back to Darluth as possible,” he said, shutting the carriage door. He looked up and Liesl, who was usually so even tempered, glared at him like she wanted to skin him from eyebrows to toenails.

  Tammer mounted his horse, scanned his troops, and motioned for them to ride. A small group of visitors, an older man and his three daughters, whispered to each other, pointing at the princess’s carriage and exchanging excited looks. Tammer nodded to them as they passed the Cathedral. All of them, visitors, guards, and princess made the same gesture as before, but as soon as they put their hand to their breasts, a long black arrow shot down from the sky and buried itself in the father’s chest. He dropped, dead before he hit the ground.

  “Halt and draw!” Tammer yelled, ripping his sword from its sheath and raising his shield. His daughters screamed, clutching at their father’s clothes, trying to pull the arrow out. The guard raised their shields and readied their lances, but no other arrows came. Tammer peered at the dead man, his blood clotting in the dirt road and staining his daughters’ frocks. The arrow held a note, the parchment pressed against the man’s chest.

  “What’s going on?” Princess Halia asked, afraid. “Captain Tammer? What is it?” She poked her head out the window and saw the man lying in the street. “Oh gods!”

  Tammer kept his shield raised as he dismounted. He looked at Ferg and they cautiously stepped to the victim. Ferg pulled the girls to the shadow of the cathedral while Tammer examined the body; the girls fought against him, straining to get back to their father and wailing, “Dada, Dada, no! Dada!” Blood poured from his wounds and trickled from his mouth, his eyes glazed and staring at the stormy skies. Tammer extended a shaking hand and closed the man’s lids.

  “Gentren,” Tammer called, and the man came forward, keeping his shield over his head in case the assassin decided to try again. “Hold him up.”

  Gentren put his shield down but his eyes scanned his surroundings. He slid his arms under the dead man’s arms and lifted; his blood smeared Gentren’s armor.

  “Dada!” the girls screamed, trying to fight past Ferg’s arms. “Dada, no!”

  Tammer reached around and pulled the arrow through. The fletch cut through the parchment and came through dripping, chunks of flesh clumping on the feathers. “Fuck,” Gentren said, dropping the man back into the dirt.

  Tammer tried not to vomit as he examined the arrow. He had never seen the arrow’s like in all his service. It was longer and harder than anything of Alfreyadan make, with a tip of iron. The fletch appeared to have been taken from a raven, a dangerous omen.

  He picked up the soiled note and read it silently, swatting away a fly that landed on the ruby stains.

  “Captain!”

  Tammer looked up and dove out of the way. A second later, the gilded flame crashed into the road where he had been standing, shaking the ground and reverberating through the street with the sickening screech of twisting metal. Cries of alarm erupted from the streets and nearby homes that turned to shrieks of terror when they saw the sight below. Tammer looked up again and a flash of a black cloak whipped out of sight from the top of the spire.

  Gentren hadn’t been so lucky; he, too, dove out of the way, but his leg was crushed under the metalwork. “Aaagh!” He screamed and gnashed his teeth, pounding the street with his fists. His neck strained as he tried to crawl away from the pain, veins and tendons bulging, to no avail. The steel of his plate armor had flattened and rent, skin and muscle and bone piercing through and oozing through the breaks and mingling with the dead man’s blood.

  “Liesl! Taryn!” Tammer shouted, crawling to Gentren’s side. “Protect the princess!”

  Sergeant Tocks and his men came sprinting towards him, skidding to a stop when they saw the jewel of their cathedral crumpled from its impact with the ground and two bloodied men, one dead and one grievously wounded. “Wh-what happened?” He stammered. “Captain!”

  “There’s been an attack,” Tammer said, trying to keep his voice as low as possible and clasping Gentren’s hand; he nearly broke the captain’s fingers as he writhed in pain. Tocks’s men took defensive stances and also kept their shields above their heads.

  “What’s going on?”

  His duty. He had to do his duty. He was a captain of the Kingsguard. He had to follow his training.

  “I need to get the princess back to Darluth,” Tammer said, his voice shaking.

  “Captain,” Gentren ground out, tears streaming down his face, “don’t you leave me here.”

  “Get this man on a litter,” Tammer said, pulling his hand out of Gentren’s. “He’s in no condition to ride with us.”

  “Don’t you do it -”

  “I’m sorry,” Tammer whispered. “I’m sorry.”

  Tocks approached him, shield down; the threat was gone. “We will take good care of him, Captain.”

  Tammer stood and sniffed. “Good,” he said. “Get that man off the street. I have to get back to Darluth.”

  “Tammer!” Gentren shouted, crying now. “Tammer, you bastard, don’t leave me!”

  Tammer met Ferg’s eye and pointed to his horse, and he nodded. The guard mounted up and hurried as fast as they could out of the gate. The princess was sobbing in the back of the carriage, but it was drowned out by the wind and rain. Tammer’s hand throbbed from the force of Gentren’s grip. It stopped long before they made it back to Darluth, but he knew that he would be haunted by the sensation for the rest of his days.