“What do you mean, ‘the Duchess won’t be coming?’” Induen pronounced each word very deliberately, teeth clenched tight in anger. The prince was in a small, shabby room that seemed to be abandoned. It was poorly lit by moonlight through covered windows. Just behind him, his escort of four disguised royal knights stood alert. Their focus was devoted to the man adjacent to their prince, each very wary as though the man was likely to lunge at any second.
“Just that, Prince Induen,” the man replied. He was smaller than Induen, but his presence had an indomitability one might liken to a rock. He wore rounded steel armor that seemed especially thick and heavy, so one could not see his face. A warhammer hung from his waist. His helmet was wrought in the shape of a boar.
“The Duchess will not be coming,” the man repeated.
“Why?” Induen insisted. “Has something come up? Something more important than her prince?”
“The situation has changed. The Duchess does not feel it is in her best interest to meet,” the boar-masked knight laid out plainly.
“House Parbon does not think it is in their best interest to give faithful service to my father.” Induen stepped forward, moonlight dancing across his face until he came to stand before the man, peering at his eyes inside the helmet. “Are these two things related, I wonder? I should hope not. If you need an example of what defiance brings, you need only look to Parbon’s vassals. That should be clear enough message.”
Despite Induen’s formidable presence, the boar-helmet knight did not move at all. Though the prince’s breath came close enough to fog the well-polished steel helm, his hands stayed at his side, disciplined and unafraid.
“The situation has changed,” the knight repeated.
Induen seemed to have some difficulty restraining his irritation. When he seemed liable to lash out, he turned away quickly, leaving his back to the boar-masked knight. “How has it changed? What’s changed?” the prince asked coldly.
“The Duchess said it is because Jast has allied with House Parbon.”
Induen’s breathing grew quicker, and he reached at his side, pulling free a white dagger gilded with gold. It was the same dagger that Margrave Reinhardt had used in their fight together, and it still shone with enchantments. He stared at it, fixated, slowing his breathing until it was calm. “This is… news to me.”
Induen put away the knife, and then turned around. “You. The Duchess belongs to House Cael. The sigil of House Cael is a boar. Are you a scion of that house?”
“No,” the knight said.
“A champion, then?” the prince pressed.
“Once,” the knight said. “Now, I am someone the duchess is willing to let die.”
“It seems she is quick to discard things,” the prince noted.
“Yes,” the knight agreed.
Induen placed a hand on his hip. “What is your name, knight?”
“Unimportant. If you need a name, most call me Boarmask.”
“Hah.” Induen scoffed. “Which came first—the name, or the helmet?”
“Helmet,” the knight replied seriously.
“Well, Boarmask.” The prince stepped closer. “I dislike the idea of going to fetch something and returning with nothing. You said you were once a champion of House Cael. Do you care to champion your prince?”
Boarmask stared at Induen. “No.”
Induen raised his head, evidently not expecting that answer so quickly. “’No,’” Induen repeated. “I often like brevity, but yours infuriates me. Why do you refuse me? Do you not realize your situation?”
“I am leaving Elbraille tonight,” Boarmask said. “In search of the ideal master.”
“Yet you decline me, a prince,” Induen said.
“Would you die for me?” Boarmask asked.
Induen laughed. “A master to die for their knight? Perhaps you’ve the order reversed. You will die an errant knight if that is what you seek.”
“So it shall be,” Boarmask said. He stepped forward past Prince Induen, past his royal guards, and opened the door, leaving.
A silence settled in the abandoned room, the moonlight moving ever so slowly and reflecting off the dust hanging in the air.
“Prince… if you wish, we can…” one of the knights alluded, knowing well their master’s vindictiveness.
“No. I know that one. He had another nickname, but it seems that it’s changed. He was the Romantic Warrior. Perhaps he disliked the implication and donned that helm. It seems he is ever in search of the ideal master.” Induen shook his head. “A fool. He’ll die one, too, but not by my hand. I doubt you are capable enough to dispatch him, anyway.”
Induen pulled out the Margrave’s dagger. “I will not return to the capital with empty hands.” He ran his gauntleted finger across the blade, scratching the steel armor. “Neither the Duke nor the Duchess will break cleanly. What I bite, I hold ‘til I die.”
#####
Argrave adjusted the things on their carriage, settling everything into place. Beside him, Galamon lifted one more chest and put it in the luggage compartment. Argrave looked behind him, but there was nothing more to put on the carriage. Argrave did one last examination to be sure everything was secure, tugging on what was there and testing it. Content, Argrave turned his head back towards the distant black walls of Jast.
They had gotten everything they needed from Jast. Galamon’s newly forged greatsword hung from his hip, just opposite his dagger. Both were enchanted. Argrave could not deduce the quality by sight alone, but he supposed they would soon have occasion to test them out. In addition, his armor had been remade, covering the gaping hole in the torso. The crown taken from the ruins near Barden rested in Galamon’s helmet, hidden beneath steel. The elven mercenary had always been potent, but with the crown enhancing his physical abilities, he would be a force to be reckoned with. To top all of that off, Galamon had both Ebonice arrows and enchanted arrows, each numbering near twenty.
Argrave and Anneliese had donned their enchanted gear, clothed in fine leather and wearing rings with B-rank warding magic engraved into them. They could cast a B-rank warding spell twenty times before a recharge was necessary. Argrave hoped to learn how to recharge enchanted gear himself eventually, but that was a distant goal.
And lastly, the Amaranthine Heart had given Argrave gallons of liquid magic over the course of days. It had been an expensive endeavor. All of the liquid was stored within the main portion of the carriage where he and Anneliese would sit. With so much excess, he had decided to have Anneliese drink the stuff as well. Provided she was diligent in expending magic in practice, it would enable her magic capacity to grow faster just as his did.
“That’s quite a lot of stuff you have,” commented Elias from behind.
Argrave looked to him, and then shut the luggage compartment’s lid. “So it is.”
Perhaps if the bronze hand mirror in his pocket had any use beyond telling him things he knew, it might not be so troublesome to bring his books and the liquid magic produced by the Amaranthine Heart. It was a wonder the protagonist of a game could haul so many things around.
Then again, a protagonist did not need to sleep, eat, or drink, and was incapable of feeling fatigue. A playable character was quite a terrifying figure, bluntly—they blindly rush into any danger, they never fail, and each has a single-minded drive towards achieving just about anything.
That role had been delegated to Argrave.
“Now…” Elias’ voice brought Argrave from his hazy thoughts. The red-haired young lord rubbed his hands together as though they were cold. “I have to get my father’s permission for all of this.”
“Incorrect,” Argrave shook his head. “I don’t think he can reasonably renege. It would do too much damage.” Argrave poked his chest. “All you have to get is his forgiveness.”
Elias blinked for a few seconds. “But you said… I could always get permission later.”
“You’ve been cheated. Duped.” Argrave clapped his hands together. His newly worn metal ring beneath his gloves struck his knuckle, and he winced. Damn. Not used to that.
Argrave parted his hands, rubbing his tender knuckle. “I only said that so you would agree. I’m sure Margrave Reinhardt will be furious at the liberties you’ve taken.”
Elias did not know how to process this, standing there mouth agape.
“Let me teach you a valuable lesson imparted unto me by sages of old. It is better to seek forgiveness than ask for permission.” Argrave nodded, and then patted Elias’ shoulder. “On that note, please forgive me. It had to be done. If you wish, lay all the blame on me. I am perfectly willing to accept yet more of your father’s loathing.”
“No, I…” Elias looked at the ground. “It was still my decision. I cannot let you suffer for it.”
“I knew you would say that,” Argrave nodded. “It’s why I even brought up the idea: I knew you’d never do such a thing. It’s too reasonable.”
“You are…” Elias paused. “A real bastard,” he finally said, with brief laughter.
“So I am often told,” Argrave nodded. “One more thing. Be careful on your journey home,” he said sternly, stepping closer to Elias and staring down at him. “I’m not telling you to drive safely, but rather make sure you don’t end up in a ditch with a knife in your gut. Just because it feels like things have settled down doesn’t mean you can relax. Delbraun might have other plans for that contingent of mages following you home, if you catch my drift.”
“Gods, you sound just like Helmuth.” Elias shook his head. “All near me have made that clear. And besides, my… betrothed…” he stumbled over the word, evidently unused to saying it. “…will be coming with us. I doubt Delbraun would try anything.”
Argrave spread his arms out. “Good. In that case, I’m leaving. If you don’t hear about me for months, assume I died horribly. Hold a funeral, maybe.”
“What are you…?” Elias trailed off confusedly, but Argrave had already turned to walk to the carriage. Galamon followed just beside him. “Hold on. I have more.”
Argrave turned. “Is this about Stain? He’s a tough kid. He’ll be fine.”
“No,” Elias stepped closer so he did not need to shout. “I decided to take Vel—err, Stain, with me to Parbon. He has some insights about subterfuge that I think would be helpful to my father.”
“Good idea,” Argrave nodded. “What, then, is your question?”
Elias bit his lip, brooding on where to begin. “My mage, Helmuth… he told me not to associate with you. He told me he saw something within you… an abyss,” Elias outlined. “It may sound strange, but Helmuth’s ascendance to an A-rank mage gave him unusual abilities. His eyes—”
“He has a touch of Truesight. I know.” Argrave nodded. “And I knew what he would see. That was why I brought Rowe—so things wouldn’t get out of hand.”
Elias swallowed. “So… you knew, this whole time. Maybe you know my question.”
“Not hard to guess, exactly,” Argrave chuckled. “Anyway, I’ll see you later.”
Elias’ face morphed in confusion, and Argrave turned once more. Argrave opened the carriage door, and Anneliese lifted up her head from within, looking at Argrave. He took one step into the carriage when Elias called out, “Wait!”
Argrave waited, leaning off the carriage while holding the door’s handle.
“What is it? What did Helmuth see?” Elias asked.
“Like I said, I know what you wanted to ask me.” Argrave sat inside and started to shut the carriage door. “This is called stonewalling. I taught you about it a while ago.”
Elias stopped the door. Galamon stepped closer, standing over Elias and looking down at him, as if in warning.
“Why don’t you wish to tell me?” Elias insisted, unintimidated.
Argrave sighed. “You’re the ‘honest to a fault,’ type. You’d make a good friend, but a poor confidant for that reason. I have secrets. I’d like them kept.”
Elias mulled that over for a time, staring Argrave down. Eventually, he released the carriage door. Argrave took the opportunity to shut it.
“Here we are once more,” said Argrave to Anneliese, quickly dismissing the former conversation from his mind to dispel the guilt he felt. “Long drives, nothing to do but read and talk. Plain, tasteless, but preservable food. And at the end, a promise of misery and hardship.”
Anneliese nodded, a book already open on her lap. “The first part is not so bad.”
Argrave raised a brow. “I’m glad you agree.”
