Saradas Torviir knew himself as a murderer.

He had never been a “wild” Knight, but he wasn’t a prince or the son of an Earl, and so he still had to fight his way to the top of the order. His prowess in battle and control of his Knighthood earned him ample renown and respect, but the souls of those he’d killed screamed from the darkness every time he closed his eyes.

One thousand two hundred and fifty-three, he thought to himself as he wandered between the caves in the Hollow, and there are only more to be added.

He remembered when he was named Earl of the city of Delgund, after a long series of battles at this same Hollow where he took up the mantle of authority following the deaths of the previous Earl Delgund and his son.

Three weeks of fighting, he reminded himself, four hundred and nineteen deaths by my hand alone.

The faces started to flash before his eyes of each of his one thousand two hundred and fifty-three murders. Young and old faces, staring dumbly at the armor-clad Knight that had stolen their intelligence only seconds earlier.

He still couldn’t think of his title without those faces returning and thus he was the only one of the five Earls that still thought of himself by his birth name.

Saradas finally arrived at the cave being used as his office and war room. Two officers were standing with reports in hand waiting to deliver them.

“Give me your reports,” Saradas stated, shrugging off the formality of the courts.

The first officer stepped forward to hand his papers to Saradas as he explained their contents, “Our fresh water supplies are holding out well, my Lord. As well as our grain and wine stores, though we do seem to be having a rat problem.”

“Get with the wizards to see if they can craft a spell to turn the rats away.” Saradas ordered. Without waiting for a response, he turned to the second officer, “What do you have to report?”

“My Lord,” the officer reports, “Faelhart forces have arrived and begun blockading the entrances to the Hollow.”

Saradas jumped to the alert, “Why was this not brought to me right away!? Mobilize the fifth and seventh Units to the south-east entrance and get me immediate reports of our forces and any information that we have on the enemy forces!”

“Yes, sir!” the officer replied before rushing out the entrance to the cave.

“You,” Saradas ordered, pointing to the officer that delivered the first report, “Send for a pair of squires to meet me with my armor and sword.”

The officer nodded briefly and rushed out while Saradas left to get the report on which units were on duty at which entrances.

Two squires were already in the command cave with his armor when he arrived, and three officers were arguing.

One of the squires took his coat as he approached the three officers. The other squire began slipping padded sleeves and vest over his shirt.

“What units are on duty at each entrance,” Saradas demanded, “and what is the status of the army from Faelhart?”

One of the squires threw his chainmail hauberk over Saradas’s head as the officer wearing Captain’s bars reported.

“The first, third, fourth, sixth, and tenth are currently on assignment at the entrances. Per your orders, the fifth and seventh are being deployed to the south-east entrance.”

One squire was working on each leg as Saradas stepped into his sabatons and had greaves and cuisses strapped on.

“And where is the enemy attacking hardest?” Saradas pressed.

“They’re not.” The Captain reported, “They’re setting up camp just outside the north entrance and moving around the Hollow in an attempt to establish a blockade.”

Cuirass and faulds were strapped on next as Saradas pulled his thick leather gauntlets on.

“We can’t let them get comfortable. Do we know how many men they’ve brought?”

“Only 5 units, we outnumber them two to one.”

Saradas nodded as the squires buckled on his rerebraces, vambraces, couters, and gorget.

“Alright, send for my horse to be taken to the south-east entrance along with the fifth Unit.” Saradas announced, “Disperse the seventh Unit into Squadrons and send one to support each entrance in case they get bold. Send the rest of the seventh Unit back to await orders.”

Another of the officers – one wearing the single bar of a Lieutenant – nodded, and turned from the cave, knowing without instruction to take the orders to the appropriate parties.

Pauldrons and sallet attached to the gorget as Saradas pulled the metal backed gauntlets over his leather gloves. Taking his sword from the squire, he began to step out of the cave with the other officers behind him. The small entourage moved quickly and silently through the Hollow.

The south-east entrance was alive with activity when Saradas arrived. The Torviir house surcoat was thrown over his shoulders and he buckled his sword belt over it as the matching cape was clasped around his neck.

Taking the reins of his horse from the squire, Saradas mounted with expert skill and began to guide his armored warhorse to the front of the line. It wasn’t a large force establishing the blockade, but it was easily five Squadrons against the ten that Saradas currently had in the fifth Unit.

With wordless signals, Saradas formed up the archers to support the cavalry charge. Raising his sword, Saradas turned his warhorse toward the Faelhart forces and signaled the charge. The pound of hooves thundered across the plains, accompanied by the song of bowstrings as a volley of arrows darkened the sky overhead.

The soldiers ahead scrambled to drop their spears into defensive formation before the cavalry charge. Flinching against the death ahead, Saradas reached out with his power and the half dozen soldiers immediately in front of him dropped their weapons and stared dumbly at the charging horses.

Saradas reached out with his blade and murdered the soldier in front of him, letting the soldiers behind him finish off the rest of the Faelhart line. All around him soldiers dropped their weapons as Saradas carved a wedge right into the Faelhart line, murdering five more nameless victims. Reigning in to prevent getting too far ahead of his cavalry, Saradas cut to the left back along the back of the Faelhart line.

Without swinging his blade, Saradas stole the thoughts out of the minds of the Faelhart spearmen, causing their line to break without resistance; he sent over half of the Faelhart line scattering back to the neighboring blockade camps.

One thousand, two hundred and seventy nine, Saradas thought.

Jurod retrieved one of the discarded gladii as he cradled Ilays protectively, facing the seven-foot-tall, brown-skinned, brute of a man. However, the Tyrn did not move to attack Jurod, Ilays, or Xardan; he moved away from the trio, and began to run across the rugged grassland in gradually increasing loops. Jurod turned with him, staying with Ilays and not letting the Tyrn get behind him.

After several loops extending to almost a half mile away, the Tyrn turned back to the trio and came running back.

Jurod braced for the charge, lowering his stance slightly to get under the oncoming brute. The Tyrn slowed as he approached, until he was simply at a slow jog and eventually only walking toward Jurod as he placed his axe into his harness and retrieved his other blade.

The Tyrn sheathed the blade at his hip and then proceeded to remove both scabbards and held them out to Jurod.

“I’ll have to ask you to carry these for me, Master Knight.” The Tyrn asked, “Among my kin it is a death sentence to even carry a Lythrain weapon. They’d kill me on sight if they saw me with these.”

Jurod looked to the unconscious Ilays, then to Xardan for guidance. The Shadow Knight sat on his knees in the grass, his Knighthood sword lost in the grass, a defeated look on his face. He stared toward the horizon, unaware of the world around him.

Jurod sighed and took the other blade first, then the empty scabbard. When the Tyrn turned away from him, Jurod slowly sheathed the blade he was holding. Since the sword belts were fashioned for the Tyrn’s much larger waist, Jurod shifted his knives to his waist and strapped the gladii around his chest so that each sword hilt protruded over a shoulder. He placed his quiver across the back of his thighs drawing over his right hip, and then hefted his pack.

Testing his reach, he raised his hand over his shoulder, feeling the length of the blades nearly stopping him from pulling the weapons; thankfully, his knives were within easy reach on his belt.

“I’ll need to know what supplies we have,” the Tyrn stated, “I see you have a bow and arrows, are you a fair shot?”

Jurod ignored the question, noting that the Tyrn was approaching Ilays.

“Who are you?” Jurod asked, aggressively taking a step forward to keep himself between the two.

The Tyrn simply looked up at Jurod with a confused expression, “Xardan didn’t tell you?”

Both men turned and looked at Xardan, his long white hair blew uncontrolled in the breeze as his gray eyes simply stared off into the distance.

Xardan Ta’Caran was oblivious to the world around him.

Grunting several curses under his breath, the Tyrn continued, “I am Duryg, an old friend and ally of Xardan.”

“Then why did you fight him?” Jurod asked, “Why did you stop us from killing the King?”

“Because I know of his ward,” Duryg explained, “I knew it would stop you from killing him, and I couldn’t risk revealing myself a traitor unless I knew you would succeed. I never would have killed you, and I would have ensured that you were able to flee if I could have.”

Jurod considered Duryg for a moment and then looked around at the sprawling grasslands they were in.

“You still haven’t properly answered my question, Duryg.” Jurod repeated, “Where are we?”

“We are in Wilderland,” Duryg answered, “Ancestral homeland of the Tyrns; my kin.”

“And how do we get back to Faelhart?” Jurod asked.

Duryg looked at Jurod with a look of depression and sorrow.

“Unless your Lythrain recovers from her magic, we walk.”

Duryg walked around in the tall grasses as they spoke, selecting various strands and weaving them together. Now with a rope several feet long, he moved to Xardan and recovered the Knighthood blade from the grass beside him, tied the rope to the hilt and blade, and tightened the weapon onto Xardan’s back.

Stirred from his obliviousness by Duryg’s actions, Xardan rose slowly and followed the Tyrn as Duryg gently picked Ilays off the ground, letting her long silver hair fall in waves around his arm, and led the group off to Jurod’s left.

As they walked, Duryg instructed Jurod to look for good firewood, when they eventually came around the base of a ridge and found a cave, Jurod was carrying a significant stack. They lit the fire, and prepared a stew made from their meager cooking supplies. Duryg took one of the Lythrain blades and chopped a large portion of grass clear around the entrance of the cave and began weaving a sleeping mat.

Meanwhile, Jurod Focused through Father Nikolas’s ring and started casting minor spells over Ilays to see if there was anything that he could do to help her. Without formal training there was little Jurod could do, but at least he knew she was breathing, and her heart was beating. As far as Jurod could tell her entire body was functioning normally. With nothing else he could do, Jurod cut the bottom of his cloak into strips and made a pad as best he could that he dampened from his water skin before tying it to her forehead.

With nothing else he could do for Ilays, Jurod strung his bow, checked his knives, and went to sit by the entrance to the cave; he plucked some grass as Duryg had done, and wove a short rope to tie back his dark brown hair as he kept watch for anything aggressive. Off to his right, back the way they had come, Jurod noticed the sun setting and determined that had to be west, meaning their cave was facing north.

But which way is Faelhart? He thought to himself, and how far away is Faelhart? It will take us days simply to reach each horizon with Ilays unconscious and Xardan barely walking. What did Ilays’s magic do to him?

The night was uneventful, as were the next three days of walking. They maintained a due north course, now that Jurod had established their bearings, and it wasn’t until the fourth day of travelling that Jurod first saw the great beasts of Wilderland.

They were unlike anything Jurod had ever seen before, with a fat body on six thick, short legs. Their heads were square, with a wide, massive snout bearing one large horn directly between the nostrils at the end, and a smaller horn directly behind the first. The largest in the group were easily twice as tall as Jurod was, and nearly fifteen feet long.

“Kurga,” Duryg explained, “They’re the life source of the Tyrnish tribes. A pack this size means there’s likely a tribe nearby, and hunters. Keep your half-Lythrain eyes and ears alert; we need to be on our guard.”

Faelhart was in chaos after the events of Xardan’s “execution”. Tennlka was livid; five military commanders had been executed, and soldiers were being recalled back to Faelhart from all around the kingdom.

In the aftermath of the executions, many officers were promoted, and Jaysin finally found himself wearing the Sergeant Commander’s stripes that he had been working toward for years. Jaysin’s Unit was assigned to searching Faelhart high and low for the King’s would-be assassins, and Jaysin was assigned the greater residential portion of the outer city to sort through with his Squadron. It was obvious that the Lieutenant was testing Jaysin’s capabilities, and Jaysin immediately stepped up to the challenge.

However, the challenge seemed akin to chasing ghosts. Everyone had seen the two assassins Travel away from the execution with Xardan, and the King’s bodyguard. It was assumed that they Traveled within the city, but the farther they got through their search, the more Jaysin believed that they had left the city entirely.

After several weeks, Jaysin finally returned to the Lieutenant with the final report on the outer city. The Lieutenant considered Jaysin carefully and then sent him to report to another Sergeant Commander in their Unit, to help him finish an area of the inner city; and so Jaysin found himself aback his horse in the middle of a small road along the east side of the wall. Immediately to his left was a butchery, with a small inn cramped between that and a tannery.

Jaysin gagged against the stench of the tannery as one of his Sergeants pounded on the door of the butchery and another moved up to the inn. Jaysin watched lazily as the butcher opened his door, looked at the papers the Sergeant produced, and let the Patrol into the building.

At the inn however, the innkeeper seemed to be giving the Sergeant some trouble. Jaysin waved a cadet over to take the reins of his horse and dismounted to join his men.

“Is there a problem here, gentlemen?” Jaysin asked, stepping to the front of the group.

“You have no right to force your way into my business and disturb my customers.”

“I am sorry, sir.” Jaysin replied, “But the King’s orders are clear. We’ll be in and out within minutes, as long as you’re not trying to hide someone from us.”

“And what if I refuse to let you in?”

Jaysin’s sword flashed from its scabbard and leveled on the innkeeper as he replied, “Then we’ll have to force our way in. As I said before: The King’s orders are clear.”

Under the pressure of Jaysin’s blade, the innkeeper reluctantly backed away from the doorway and Jaysin lead his soldiers into the common room. In the early hour of the day, the common room was nearly empty save for a woman and her son with a pips board between them.

“Start searching.” Jaysin ordered, “Kitchen, stables, cellar, and all the rooms upstairs. Wake the guests if you have to.”

“Do not wake my guests!” the innkeeper objected.

“You are in no position to be making demands, sir.” Jaysin answered, “So which of your guests do you not want us to find?”

The innkeeper stammered as Jaysin rounded on the woman playing pips with her son, “You two, what’s your purpose in Faelhart?”

“I am Myrin, an innkeeper and merchant from Learth. We came here to sell our overstock of rice and beans, and to buy more wine.”

“And you couldn’t make those trades in Learth?”

“I don’t trust other merchants with my inn’s wines.” Myrin replied, “I always travel here myself when my stock is running low. Though usually I’m back after only a couple weeks, I’m losing business and money while you’re not letting anyone leave the inner city.”

“No one can leave until the assassins that attacked the King are found. We apologize for the inconvenience that this causes you.”

“Apologies don’t keep my business running!”

Before Jaysin could respond to Myrin, shouts came from upstairs. Jaysin signaled the Sergeant to block the stairs into the common room and waved a cadet to follow him through the kitchen and out into the stable yard in the back.

As he entered the stable yard, three men ran out of the stable and leveled crossbows at Jaysin and the cadet. Cursing himself for not bringing a shield, Jaysin ducked behind a barrel by the door. One bolt landed loudly into the barrel, though the other two found their marks in the unfortunate cadet that Jaysin had brought.

Grabbing a hand axe that he saw on the woodcutting bench, Jaysin bolted from around the barrel and rushed at the three crossbowmen as they struggled to reload their weapons. The first crossbowman raised his weapon and fired just as Jaysin jumped to the side, feeling the bolt catch on his tabard and glance off his chainmail hauberk. Jaysin continued forward as the second crossbow raised his weapon.

Jaysin threw the axe, missing his mark and landing the axe onto the crossbow itself rather than the crossbowman. His poor aim became a stroke of luck however, as the axe broke the string and stock of the crossbow.

Jaysin closed on the crossbowmen, catching the second, disarmed crossbowman across the throat with his blade as he passed to run the third crossbowman through the midsection. Behind him, Jaysin heard a sword clear a scabbard and he turned just as first crossbowman slashed a short sword at him. Without time to pull his sword back, Jaysin raised his arm and caught the blow on his vambrace. Jaysin followed the catch with a kick, knocking the first crossbowman back.

Bending down, Jaysin grabbed the hand axe from where it lay in the broken crossbow and turned back to the crossbowman. After recovering from the kick, the crossbowman saw that Jaysin once again had a weapon and threw his down instead. Carefully, Jaysin advanced and retrieved the fallen short sword, leveling the weapon at the man.

The crossbowmen were not men that Jaysin recognized from the execution, but as they had attacked his men, he didn’t want to let the last flee. Holding the man at the point of his own sword, Jaysin escorted him back through the kitchen and into the common room. Upon his return, the Sergeant had his men coming back down the stairs, escorting two other prisoners.

“There are three dead outside,” Jaysin reported as his captive was ushered over with the other two, “Send someone to loot the uniform and weapons and retrieve my sword.”

Orders were barked around the common room as the Sergeant sent one cadet to follow Jaysin’s orders and another to fetch a prison cart for the captives.

Jaysin returned to Myrin, though instead of addressing her previous concerns, he simply stated, “Master innkeeper, you are to send all your guests to stay in the guest chambers while they are investigated. You however will be joining those three men in the prison cart.”

“What!?” the innkeeper roared, “I’ve done nothing wrong!”

“You were harboring fugitives against the King.” Jaysin replied, “It has been known that we’ve been looking for men like these and you’ve kept these men and their companions within your house as well as trying to stop us from entering your house when we came looking. You are under arrest, sir.”

The rest of their morning was occupied with events at the small, cramped inn. Jaysin had to summon three of his other nearby Patrols to handle the captives, unwilling innkeeper, and disgruntled ‘guests of interest’.

Finally, Jaysin was able to get the prison cart rolling toward the palace with three carriages of the inn’s guests surrounded by his entire Squadron. Jaysin kept his cloak drawn the entire trek, covering the hand that he kept on the hilt of his recovered blade.

When the procession arrived at the palace, the Lieutenant was already in the courtyard. Jaysin waved orders to one of his Sergeants and turned his horse over to a stable hand as he approached his commander.

“You seem to have had a productive day.” The Lieutenant greeted.

“You could say that Sir,” Jaysin replied, “I have four captives in the prison wagon that need to be taken down to the dungeon and three carriages of ‘guests’ for the palace, Sir.”

“Well done,” the Lieutenant ordered, “Let your Sergeants handle that. I have… other issues to address with you.”

“Yes, Sir; at your lead, Sir.”

Jaysin followed the Lieutenant through the palace corridors and past the Lieutenant's office. Slightly confused as to why they passed the Lieutenant's office instead of stopping, Jaysin obediently followed until they arrived in the hallway with the offices of the army’s high officers.

“If I may, Sir?” Jaysin asked.

“Of course,” the Lieutenant responded, “What’s on your mind?”

“Where are we going?”

The Lieutenant nodded slightly before responding, “One of the High Generals has been trying to assemble a new Squadron and all the Lieutenants in the city were asked to make recommendations.”

Jaysin was taken aback slightly at the information, and it was confirmed as the Lieutenant stopped before a door marked by a pair of guards.

“We are here to see High General Amakiir,” the Lieutenant announced, “I have a recommendation for his new Squadron.”

One of the guards nodded and entered the office, leaving Jaysin outside with the second guard and the Lieutenant. Several long moments passed before the guard returned and ushered Jaysin into the office, leaving the Lieutenant in the hall.

The office was ornate, and Jaysin found himself in a sitting room with a sofa, a pair of stuffed armchairs, and a low table. Two doors branched off the sitting room, though both were closed. It did not take long however before Sir Sebus Amakiir, Knight of the Open Eyes, entered the room through the door on the right, dressed in a formal coat instead of battle armor.

“Have a seat, Jaysin.”

“Yes, Sir.” Jaysin said as he turned to one of the armchairs.

“Don’t worry about formality, Jaysin; I’ve had enough of it over the years.”

General Amakiir walked over to the other armchair with a bottle of wine and a pair of goblets. After pouring a glass for each of them, General Amakiir walked over to the door and muttered a few words with one of the guards before returning to the second armchair.

“So Jaysin,” General Amakiir began, “I assume that you are aware of the events that have transpired recently?”

“I was in command of Xardan while he was a prisoner and I was on the stage with you at the execution, but I’ve been busy with searching the city since.”

General Amakiir nodded slightly before responding, “The events at the execution are the ones in question here. How much do you know about the Tyrnish race?”

“The King’s bodyguard?” Jaysin quarried, “Not much.”

“Tyrn’s are a wonderful race,” General Amakiir explained, “They’re strong and fast, and capable of going for days without sleep. Overall, they make excellent bodyguards; a single Tyrn being able to replace dozens of regular soldiers.”

“So now that the King’s Tyrn is gone you’re going to be looking for dozens of regular soldiers to replace him?”

“Yes. You see, we have several Knights at our disposal that are filling the role right now, but we need those Knights elsewhere.”

A knock on the hallway door interrupted the General, and a guard allowed himself in with a wide, shallow bowl full of water.

“Thank you,” General Amakiir said, dismissing the guard and turning back to Jaysin, “So, you will return to your barracks to retrieve any possessions that you might have, and bring them back to the palace for your new boarding assignment.”

“If I may, sir… What if I refuse?”

General Amakiir seemed upset by the question.

“You misunderstand, Lieutenant Jaysin – this is an order, not a request.”