Knight of the Princess

[Arashi_Leonhart]

Okay, here, this is an old draft to the prologue of a novel I'm working on. If anyone steals this...I'm going to laugh, since it really is draft material and not worth anyone's effort to be stealing yet. Also, I have things logged for copyright, so the concepts within are gonna stay mine.


Prologue
Chapters 1-5
Chapters 6-10
Chapters 11-15
Chapters 16-20
Chapters 21-25

Knight of the Princess
Prologue
Dreams, Nightmares, and Starlight

There was no moon, no stars, nothing to punctuate the black in any semblance of light. She could not see anything above or below, and as far as she knew, she was standing on the same darkness that surrounded her.

She could see the darkness moving. A storm gathering over the horizon, it veiled the lands in a complete and perfect black. It was not such that the sky was itself only shadow, but that something was there, something with a life of its own. It caused all to fade away, a canopy over life with no sunlight to reach anything below.

Then a change. A burst of white flame explodes before her, startling and swift. If one could explain it, it could only be...

The darkness was surprised as well.

It did not recede or lift yet it flinched away from the fire and the wonderful glow it produced. A candle lit amidst the veil of deep nothing.

It does not last.

The flame dances strong for a moment, then begins to recede as if whatever is fueling it is slowly running out. The shadowy presence begins to move in on it like the approaching twilight before the night, or the darkness consuming a dying star. It fades slowly, both growing smaller and moving away from her...

And she knows.

She must find this fire. This light. She must reach it, touch it, embrace it.

Soon.




Astra startled awake.

Candlelight greeted her.

Her eyes burned with fatigue and the pain of adjustment from the absolute dark of slumber to the harsh visible waking world. The young woman blinked in rapid succession to quell the stabbing irritation of sudden wakefulness. She shivered, realizing her clothes clung to her sweat-soaked body. Although this dream was not a nightmare, it did cause a cold fear to creep along her skin.

A hand clasped hers. She turned to meet the gaze of a dark eyed young man. Blue eyes—eyes she had once mistaken for a dark brown. Had the vision not disturbed her so, she would have been forced to hide the haze his touch always brought to her senses.

Instead, she asked, “What is it, Cyrus?”

Withdrawing his hand, Cyrus Lighleir knelt before Astra’s bed. She noted that he was already fully dressed in the blue coat that he wore over a chainmail hauberk, causing her senses to clear and attempt to broaden in search of danger. “We need to leave, now. Some are in search of you...in large groups amidst the streets.” His voice was serene in pitch but sharp, precise in tone.

Her knight. Her bodyguard. A man who had once intended to be a historical scholar but, for her sake, taken on a completely different life path. He was also Astra’s company for this trip, a trip she had fought for. A trip she had to make in secret or else risk kidnapping or assassination.

Because she was a princess.

Right now, however, she was a spy. A spy with orders from a superior—even if she did not know who that superior was. But she knew the mission, knew the parameters of the assignment. She went over the briefing in her head every night.

The dream.

The candlelight.

Cyrus was her partner in this. Of course, this was also deemed by law: Astra’s father, King Virel of Aerowlyn, had knighted Cyrus into the country’s order Heithai Valis; a royal guard, one for each member of the royal family. He was required to follow her everywhere she went outside of the palace. But beyond that, beyond his duty, she had wanted him to be with her for this.

He could see things.

He could see candles.

He could see a person’s star.

A star’s light reached out to others. To be known. To exist. So when Cyrus says, “Some are in search of you”, he has seen stars turn toward her. He has seen their intention to reach her.

It would help her find the fire. The light in her dream.

She climbed out of bed and made her way to the possessions she had brought along on the trip. She did not rush—clear thinking would be faster than a panic. Cyrus moved to stand by the window, his hand resting on the blade that hung at his waist.

A blade, curved, single-edged. But a special blade, given to him from the same superiors that had her on this mission. A holy weapon, originally believed to be wielded by an angel in mortal guise. The sigil on it marked it as the Aleraynic, Blade of the Dawn. He was knighted as the representation for the Heithai Valis Aleray, Knight of the Dawn.

He could see stars. To protect Astra from them, he could unveil the harsh morning light.

Astra had changed within moments, stuffing the sweat-stained clothing into a saddlebag, having taken on a simple green travel dress that suggested “soldier’s wife” instead of “noble”. She threw the saddlebag over her shoulder and took her last possession—a cloth-wrapped length that could be held as a walking stick—before turning to her guardian. “Ready,” she affirmed.

Cyrus had already shouldered his own travel pack and he handed her a cloak. “Put this on with the hood up. I know that it will look suspicious in this summer weather, however suspicious is better than obvious, as it would be with your hair exposed.”

Sighing, Astra wrapped the cloak around herself and drew the hood up to conceal the long, silvery-highlighted blond hair that was tied in a braid over her shoulders. It had not been silvery when she was younger, but ever since the dreams had started, silver glinted like veins of platinum through a miner’s cave. She wondered, sometimes, what other effects these dreamsights would come over her.

Dreamsights, considered a blessing of divinity in ancient times.

A possible curse to her personal health, it would seem.

The knight led her out into the hall of the inn they had stayed at for the past few days, dark eyes glancing about as they ventured to the stairs. The pair descended, footsteps echoing horribly loud to her ears as the wood floor creaked. Cyrus quickly placed the keys to their room on the desk, along with coin enough to pay for the time spent occupying it.

Yes, their room. Cyrus slept propped up against the wall, blade at the ready. He always insisted.

Sometimes, in the most carefree recesses of her mind, Astra wished she could manage the courage to ask him to join her under the covers.

But princesses cannot do that, of course. Especially when they are already betrothed. Or when their father is Virel Aerowlyn.

Because, if her father knew what she and Cyrus did when they dropped the titles—even though all was innocent and harmless—he would probably desire Cyrus’ head.

The horses were in the stables across the street. Cyrus led her to the door only to halt upon its threshold and hold out his hand to stop Astra. “Wait, they know we come.”

“How many of them are there?” Astra glanced back into the foyer of the inn, checking for other exits. There appeared to be none.

Cyrus glanced around, as if walls and doors were not present. “Two groups, at least. I count a group of at least seven in the stables and a group of five outside. Possibly others...but I can’t tell for sure at this distance.”

He could see people’s stars.

Of course, it is difficult to count the stars without getting lost or overwhelmed.

Sometimes, Astra wondered what her star looked like to him.

“I do not want to involve others. But if there are that many...” Astra’s voice trailed off. Although she could not see the stars of a person’s life force, she could intellectually surmise how many innocents were around and in harm’s way if a fight broke out.

Cyrus glanced back over his shoulder to her, brushing strands of coarse black hair out of his view. “Any kind of illusion you could make that could get them away from the horses?”

Like all people of Aerowlyn, Cyrus had some level of control over magic. Like philosophy, one only needs study a little to apply the basics. One also had to study more and have an innate talent or drive to even begin to touch the complexities. Cyrus, while trained in some physical enhancement abilities and spells that would help him offensively as a soldier, could not weave the subtle powers that she had studied in the solace of the palace. “Yes, but—“

The bolt from a crossbow pierced Cyrus’ right breast and sent him reeling. Astra cried out, grabbing her fallen guardian and pulling him further back into the inn.

The echo of frantic footsteps and the constant groan of wood indicated the princess’ difficulty in dragging her fallen companion into the building. The man who had shot him stepped out of the shadows along with the four others in his group.

“To think the Ascended fears them,” one said.

“Do not dare question His authority!” another warned. “If they are dangerous, we should not take them lightly.”

Reloading his crossbow, the shooter nodded. “Brothers, let us end this dreamer and her lover-knight. Then we need not have any fear involved.”

The five men followed their quarry in.




In their wildest dreams, they know only bliss.

These men are followers of the Ascended. An angel of dreams. Ascended to power by falling from grace.

He inhabits dreams and makes them real.

They form groups of followers everywhere. Men, women. Old, young. Children, somehow, are insusceptible to the Ascended’s call. But it is enough people to form churches. Here and there, known only to those whose dreams he touches.

After all, angel or not, he had turned away from the path of the other churches.

He is the Lord of Nightmares.

He has the power to remove your fear of those things which can only be tangible when reality is not. He has the power to likewise strike fear into those who embrace their dreams. Dreams, after all, can turn into nightmares.

In their wildest dreams, they know only bliss.

They are his followers. The Cult of Nightmares.

To dreams her wish no ill upon their night, they are merely known as the enemy.




In their wildest dreams, they know nothing.

They do not know that it is easier for one such as Astra to plant an illusion in the minds of those who want to see their enemy fall. They do not know that the bolt missed Cyrus, or that the two of them had escaped through a side window and managed to cross the street into the stables.

Astra knows they will be quite confused once the illusion dissipates in the enemy’s mind.

For those who can see dreams clearly know what they are capable of.

For a woman who has Dreamsight, she knows who she is.

She knows that, in her dreams, she is capable of throwing lightning from her hands. Unlike the enemy, she can see her dreams come to fruition.

Two men are blasted into a manger, crushing the wooden construction with the force and weight of convulsing, deadweight bodies. A third is merely glanced by the violet and white lances and falls to the floor in seizures as his nervous system is disconnected from his mind by random fluctuations of energy.

Four more are cut down by a blade of steel.

Stars can be read to find direction, to navigate north and south, east and west. It is believed by some that one can read the stars and see their fortunes told in them.

Cyrus reads a person like a navigator reads the sky. He reads their star.

The first man to draw a sword brings an overhead swing down on Cyrus.

The stars say to go right.

Cyrus throws himself to his right, spins a complete circle, and swings his blade. The weapon arcs down to cut the man at the knee and sends him face-first into the ground.

Two more men reach Cyrus at the same time, one with a curved blade, another with a dual-edged short sword.

Back.

Cyrus spins back around on the same pivot that brought down the first cultist, twisting out of the way of the sword and using the centrifugal force to bat aside the blade. The move, however, has put him back into the range of the cultist he injured. But it has also restricted the footwork of the two attacking men in the tight confines of the narrow stables.

The injured man swings a wild attack at Cyrus’ legs.

Up.

A whispered word and Cyrus leaps over the swing and flips mid-air, landing with such balance that could only have been achieved with supernatural assistance. The attack instead comes across the shins of the two standing attackers who stagger forward, howling in pain.

Cyrus faces the last of the cultists, who comes around from the other side of the firstly-injured attacker, jabbing at the knight with a short spear. Cyrus blocks one attack, then another, then a third.

Forward.

Cyrus steps forward as the cultist stabs again. The strike goes wide and cuts at Cyrus across his left flank, but the angle of the hit is deflected by the hauberk, the chainmail turning the spearpoint aside. Cyrus slashes parallel to the spear’s thrust and catches his attacker across the chest.

Quickly tossing his saddlebag to Astra, Cyrus then kicks weapons away from the injured men who—obviously bred for assassination and not active combat—are suffering the mind-numbing shock of pain from their injuries. He then goes to throw open the doors of the stables.

“Those who defy the Ascended shall endure never ending torment of dreams,” one cultist croaked.

Astra guided out both of their steeds and Cyrus made a check outside to be sure no backup arrived for the cultists. “My dreams of late are not nightmares,” Astra said. “Except, perhaps, to your master.”

“They will be,” the cultist said, attempting a threatening tone.

It was not a mocking smile that came to the princess’ lips. It was genuine. But it was also tinged with sadness. “Besides,” she said, “My dreams, even my nightmares...they are my only freedom. It is the day I do not look forward to.”

She climbed atop her mount, Cyrus already atop his and waiting by the door. As she trotted her horse out, the knight started loading his own one-handed crossbow.

The five men who had entered the inn were just now coming out, looking perplexed. The leader, the one with the crossbow, was too confused to even raise his weapon before Cyrus shot it out of his hands.

They looked up as if in a daze. They studied Cyrus for any signs of a wound. There were none.

“Your master may be the Lord of Nightmares,” Astra said, “But no matter what he says, his power cannot give you everything you need. My power can.”

Before the cultists could say or do anything, the pair rode off under the fading starlight. Morning was already approaching to guide their sight.




She did not tell them.

Nor did she tell Cyrus.

Sometimes, she could not even admit it to herself.

The only other dream she ever saw more than once beside the candlelight dream. This dream was a nightmare.

This dream was of despair.

This dream was of reality.

Dreams—and nightmares—can be real too.



Prologue, End




I'll show you how things change in the drafting process, though. This is the dream as it stands now:


Tiny candles.

It was a greater distance than the night sky, the lights piercing the endless black so far from reach. Nothing could be seen above nor below, and as far as could be told, existence itself stood on the same darkness that made up the surround.

Those lights did nothing amidst the darkness, flickered and wavered, only offset by the absolute black that made up this existence. They moved, acted, but failed to give off more than the knowledge of their presence; no shadows were cast, no shape was given. The darkness merely was, and the candles merely were.

Candles in a sky bereft of stars.

At once, unexpectedly, there was another. Seemingly, in the endless nothing and the faraway, unreachable lights, a greater candle, a brighter flame. A flare of bright, not a flicker of dim.

The darkness was surprised as well.

It did not recede or lift yet it flinched away from the fire and the wonderful glow it produced. A candle lit amidst the veil of deep nothing.

It does not last.

The flame dances strong for a moment and then begins to recede. Whatever is fueling it is slowly running out. The shadowy nothingness begins to move in on it like the approaching twilight before the night, or the darkness consuming a dying star. It fades slowly, both growing smaller and moving away from the center of existence…

[Sherrinford]

First thoughts:

Not bad. Are you going to continue this? (you have quite many active projects, don't you)?

What is the genre? Classic fantasy?



Oh... and the very first part is clearly inspired by fate/Zero. I liked it .

(rereading...)

[Arashi_Leonhart]

This is my center project. Literally, fanfiction is me doing something that is mindless (relatively speaking) while taking breaks from working on this.

Fantasy, yes. It is meant to be a world that will slowly introduce Eastern fantasy elements to a Western base because I feel like there's uncharted possibilities in Eastern-style fantasy novels that isn't being explored.

And the very first part is not inspired by Fate/Zero. None of this is. The concepts are all something I came up with in 2002, and I've been working on the dream aspect for the entire time. I only read all of F/Z like, this year, and this draft is over a year old.

[Sherrinford]

Well, it may be bias on my part, but the first part strongly reminded me of Gilgamesh's resurrection from Angra Mainyu (only this time the Darkness is more passive than active)

This, in particular:

Then a change. A burst of white flame explodes before her, startling and swift. If one could explain it, it could only be...

The darkness was surprised as well.

That is right. The world was originally already like this. Since the truth has been put
before your eyes, then why do you sigh? Why are you surprised?

"——!?"

I'm not saying you copied Urobochi, just that those two scenes seem really similar to me. First you have a generic description of the Darkness, then something unexpected happens into the Darkness (of course, the ending is different in this).

[Arashi_Leonhart]

Never really thought of that.

If you read the Revenge of the Sith novelization (which, as much as I loved the movie, I loved the novelization about as hard as I can love an inanimate object), you could easily see what it was I actually imitated.

[SeiKeo]

If you read the Revenge of the Sith novelization (which, as much as I loved the movie, I loved the novelization about as hard as I can love an inanimate object), you could easily see what it was I actually imitated.

Oh, wow, yeah, that's right. I LOVE THAT BOOK SO MUCH TOO

[Sherrinford]

Ok, I have to ask: what is

He could see a person’s star.

a star? It's [classified information] or you can tell us?

and this

Cyrus glanced back over his shoulder to her, brushing strands of coarse black hair out of his view.

... a warrior should keep his hair short... :3

/ nitpicking.

[Arashi_Leonhart]

a star? It's [classified information] or you can tell us?

He's perceiving their state of being. Not exactly life force like one might expect. He describes it as a star, though if it were me, I might describe it more like seeing a person as a tree: you can see how they exist, see how they might branch out and grow from that point on, and so you can see where they're going to go.

... a warrior should keep his hair short... :3

A lot of medieval warriors had very long hair. Ties also into the samurai aesthetic that I'm slowly working my way toward. Also, Cyrus' isn't very long, not even shoulder length. Too, as the story progresses, you find he isn't really much of a warrior, nor does he think like one. His sword style is even crap.

[Sherrinford]

I meant, the hair could get into his vision. Warrior or not, he should care for this details :3

Ties also into the samurai aesthetic that I'm slowly working my way toward.

... really?

[Arashi_Leonhart]

I meant, the hair could get into his vision. Warrior or not, he should care for this details

Not touched on in the prologue, but he can't turn star-vision off. Overflow issues kinda like Shiki. So it literally doesn't matter if he has hair in his way.

... really?

Dunno if you're talking about the samurai and hair, or the fact that I'll be bringing in samurai. On the former, they wore intricate braids and topknots that could still get in the way of vision depending on the style. On the latter, I've already pointed out that Cyrus' sword is curved, right?

[Sherrinford]

Not touched on in the prologue, but he can't turn star-vision off. Overflow issues kinda like Shiki. So it literally doesn't matter if he has hair in his way.

I meant that long hairs may cut off your peripheral vision.

Dunno if you're talking about the samurai and hair, or the fact that I'll be bringing in samurai

The former. I see.



/ serious mode off

I don't trust you! You won't bring in samurais!

/ serious mode on

[Arashi_Leonhart]

Without internet for a day in a few hours, so I'll just like, put up a bunch to occupy, since I don't have a chapter of F/FS done yet.


Chapter 1
The Princess' Duty


“I'm beginning to think this is a bad idea,” Cyrus said.

The sun was beginning its ascent to noontime as the two of them made their way down the road. Riding the rest of the night, they had briefly stopped to rest another hour or so just off the road, eat and drink, then start again to their next destination along the eastern slopes of the Aero Mountains.

Astra sighed. “I know, I know, not two towns into our trip and there has already been an attempt on my life. Exactly the reason this needs to go on.”

Although most definitely loyal in every shape and form to her, Cyrus was clearly unconvinced when weighing his charge's safety against this mission he had only a faint understanding of. He believed her when she told him about her dreams--having visions was not new for Astra. As the first person she turned to with this information, Cyrus knew better than to question it. But this one was the vaguest dream yet and now, with some kind of fanatic religious sect out for royal blood, he disliked the idea of Astra out in public and vulnerable.

Cyrus was her knight. He had been granted his status and standing equal to that of experienced soldiers—at sixteen even—because an ancient power had bequeathed him the position. Now, approaching twenty-two years of age, he had grown comfortable in his role as her ordained guardian and not just her friend. Comfortable enough to express his displeasure, at least. “They were amateurs at combat, but the fact that there were so many of them disturbs me. Especially the fact that nobody knows our itinerary.”

“I know...” Astra trailed off.

Cyrus was silent for a while, mulling over the events of the night. He glanced to his charge, then back down the road. “Was it the same dream?”

Astra nodded, vacantly staring off ahead. “White fire. Slipping from my grasp.”

“And you are certain this fire is a person?”

Astra gave him an even stare. “When you look at a person, what do you see?”

Shrugging, Cyrus returned her stare. “I see a star. When at a distance. If I get close enough to a person, I can see the pulses within the star, burning life through their veins. Wisps from the star arc around when a person is in certain moods or experience certain feelings.”

“I see a flash of light,” Astra said. “It blinds me for a moment, it is so sudden. It is bright and harsh, but it is warm. Before it, there was all blackness, all nothingness. The only reason I feel blinded is there was nothing else to see by before. Maybe, a life being born?”

“Perhaps.”

Astra gently nudged her steed along when it paused to huff at a passing butterfly that tickled its nostrils. “It is radiant and powerful for a short time, but then it flickers. It starts to look like a small candle instead of a star, and it slowly weakens. You know how a candle can produce a giant flame if you blow on it just right, but will snuff out into tiny embers if you blow too hard?”

“So it is blown out?” Cyrus pondered that for a moment. “That is what confuses me. If you really believe it a person, I do not see how that works.” His voice fell. “A person’s death does not look like what you describe, at least.”

“Then maybe it is not death, but something else.” Astra struggled for words. “Something happens. Something very wrong. And I know if I cannot find out what, it will bring misfortune.”

They ambled on in silence for a while, their shadows becoming smaller and smaller, then longer and longer as it passed the midday marker. At that Cyrus led them off the pathway and into the shade of some trees.

“I think we should take rest during the day and travel by night. It is nearly a full moon to see by, and,” he patted at his steed as he dismounted and started rummaging around his saddlebag, “I think our rides would be obliged to stay out of the summer heat during these hours.”

Astra grinned faintly. “You just say that because you are in full armor and do not want to be out there yourself.”

“That too.”

Fishing out his waterskin to take a sip, Cyrus glanced about the road to gauge distances between trees and bushes and to see if he could make out any other travelers in the distance. He turned at the sound of running water—Astra had removed the waterskin they used for the horses and had woven her hands before her such that the magic of her body responded, gathering up the moisture in the air and coalescing to create a babbling-brook sound. To Cyrus, it was like watching the shimmering of a star reach out through her arm and touch the air, bending the existence around her fingertips to her will.

The horses drank and while Astra pulled out cots to rest on, Cyrus retrieved some food from their packs to keep their energy up. Once their temporary camp was made, he then anchored the horses to one nearby tree but slacked their tethers enough to let the creatures graze. Astra was already atop her cot when he finished, though her eyes were staring up at the canopy and she absently ate some dried pears.

“Are you going to read?” Astra asked.

Snorting in a close approximation to a horse himself, Cyrus nonetheless fished through his pack to find the item in question. “You get attacked and yet you are still concerned about hearing this story?” He took a pear himself and had a couple of bites before continuing. “Is it not a bit...superfluous?”

She eyed him for a moment and Cyrus watched as her star flared about, through a couple of emotions like annoyance and sympathy—but, as was the most common with her when it was just the two of them, she let those same emotions play out readily across her face. “How many times must I remind you that I enjoy them and like how you narrate them, so just play along and keep going?”

He pretended to count, holding out fingers for visual assistance.

“Mm, that’s what I thought,” she glared up at him.

“Thirty-four?” he asked, but was now turning the pages to find where they had been last.




As Astra slept, Cyrus sat against the tree the princess had put to their backs, staring out through the tree line toward the road. While Astra had put out a warding runestone that would protect the campsite—at the very least it would ring an alarm if any other sentients approached within two-hundred paces and completely turn away any predators looking for a human snack—Cyrus had long become accustomed to long hours and only moments of sleep at a time. Occupants of the palace back at Mount Aerowlyn told him he slept as a stone when not on duty, and Cyrus now held the belief that he made up for his sleepless nights with Astra on those few days when nothing commanded his attention.

On the princess’ travels about the country, Cyrus found himself sleeping an hour at the most. He found that, with the responsibility of Astra’s wellbeing firmly on his shoulders during these trips, his body worked overtime to keep him alert and capable.

So long as it would receive the stone-like sleep every once in a while in return.

It helped that Astra was nearby; her presence anchored him like the Sentinel Star remained anchored in place over the northern sky.

Glancing down at the book he had been reading to Astra, The Siren Constellation, Cyrus’ thoughts returned to the road ahead of them. Their next destination, Milasa Car, would be a safe haven for them; the home of the Twilight Knights, they would not experience any kind of attack from cult zealots. Beyond that, however, had Cyrus worried.

As much praise as Astra put in his abilities, he sometimes wondered if her image of him was clouded by the stories he read to her. The knightly hero in The Siren Constellation ironically had an ability that was the exact replica of Cyrus’ own star-sight: that very detail had been the one to pique their interest. The one problem Cyrus found in it, however, was that the knight had seen warfare and trained at a young age, successfully defending the royal family from an attack when he was still just a squire.

Random fanatics of little battle experience were one thing, but trained warriors and assassins were another.

The similarities Cyrus and this fictional knight shared overshadowed the differences, and Cyrus thought Astra might be romanticizing his own limits based on that fiction. He worried over the thought that somewhere down the line, Astra would assume he could handle a problem he could not manage.

She would not, however, hear anything of him halting the book. Cyrus regularly read to Astra as a way to pass time when there was little else of interest, so the book and its accompanying second and third acts would be their travel companions this time. He only hoped the squire in the story might prove less adept than he, or that the prince—betrothed to the knight’s childhood friend of a princess—would take a larger role.

Placing the book back with his things, Cyrus pushed those thoughts from his mind. He told himself face that bridge when you cross it, and returned his attention toward the road, where a group of four and their travel pony made their way down the path to the town Cyrus and Astra had come from. With the trees between them, he could not make out their physical makeup or if they were even armed, but he made sure to keep track of them until they had continued out of his range of awareness.

Assuring himself Aleraynic, the blade he wore in the defense of the royal family was still resting at his side ready to be drawn, Cyrus settled in to take what sleep his mind and body would allow for the moment.

No stars appeared within his senses until the ones that twinkled every night started to glow. By then, both he and Astra were ready to move on.




Chapter 2
The Twilight Knights


The town surrounding Milasa Car was nothing more than a little hamlet made up of a handful of farmers, herdsmen, and other agricultural types, but the keep itself was a sight to behold. With a five-sided wall that, due to the incurve, caused the birds-eye view to appear as a star, the tower was of a deep blue hue that stood clearly with the snow-capped Aero Mountains as its backdrop. About eight times the height of the treetops surrounding the keep, one had to crane their neck painfully to note the bright silver jewel that crowned the tower—shining at night like the stars in the sky.

It was very early in the morning—the last day of June, Astra remembered—as the two of them made down the road toward the gates to the keep. The morning breakfast fires of most of the farmhouses left a baked scent wafting through the air, which clearly promised something to Astra’s mount Sungold as the horse reared its head a couple of times in delight.

Only a handful of guards stood atop the battlements, none of which moved to halt Astra and Cyrus. With the main gates open, the two simply trotted into the keep grounds and dismounted upon spotting a stablehand and two soldiers approach. Upon the removal of her hood, the three men immediately bowed. “Lady Aerowlyn,” one guard acknowledged.

Cyrus bowed in return and Astra said, “I would like to know if Commander Irashin is available to speak with?”

“He has been waiting for you, Lady,” the guard said. “There is also a guest here that heard of your approach and chose to stay and greet you.”

Blinking simultaneously, Cyrus and Astra let the stablehands take their mounts after asking the horses be fed something special—and Astra could hear Cyrus’ stomach rumble at the mention of food. Smiling, she motioned for the guards to show them the way to the commander.

Astra had never seen Milasa Car up close. She had traveled past the Twilight Knights’ keep years before, while touring Aerowlyn’s lands and borders with her parents and sister present, but the caravan had done little more than stop for an hours rest in the town and had not taken the time to enter the keep. The Twilight Knights were not an official part of Aerowlyn—recognized as a sovereign nation despite having land irregularly located all around the world, it was regarded by Aerowlyn as a sister nation, their relations always having been good.

Looking around, it felt familiar enough as the architecture was similar in make to the Mount Aerowlyn palace. The main foyer they were led into had banners hanging from the walls—twelve in total, depicting the standard for each battalion of the knighthood.

Despite her curiosity, Astra felt her eyes drawn to Cyrus, and was unsurprised to see him looking at the fifth battalion’s banner: a curved blade head, an azalea, a gray falcon, and five stars in a circle.

She gently swayed into him, bumping her shoulder against his. The knight glanced over to her, and his distant expression shifted back to the tiniest of smiles. “Sorry, we should not keep whoever it is waiting.”

Astra glanced at the banner herself before continuing, letting Cyrus open the doors to the main hall for her. She thought of Cyrus’ father—a man somewhat infamous for his rebellious tendencies tempered only by his success in strategy—and his death four years before, mere days after her own mother, Queen Stella of Aerowlyn had died as well. Cyrus hardly spoke of his father’s death—Stella’s death had vastly overshadowed it in social importance—but occasionally Astra recognized the slips in Cyrus’ otherwise impregnable selflessness.

He hides his feelings from the rest of the world well, Astra thought. But I am not the rest of the world.

The main hall was not the ostentatious, grandly decorated thing like the throne room of the Mount Aerowlyn Palace that Astra was used to. The cobblestone flooring was simple and undecorated and the ambient light was such that it felt cozy rather than grand. No throne graced the room, although there was a table near the center with a clear head and twelve others—six on each side—down the length.

None of those waiting for them sat at the table, however. The five men were instead standing of to the side, near a fire pit to the right that acted as the central illumination in the hall. It was impossible not to notice Commander Irashin first, standing at least fifteen centimeters over the next tallest man, broad shoulders cloaked in an indigo mantle that glinted with silver threads in the firelight. Well-groomed dark brown hair graying at the temples and a close-cut beard and mustache gave him the air of a finely tuned warrior-noble.

“Hail, dear guests,” the commander greeted, stepping aside. There was little use to introductions—they all knew one another well enough, and the commander was a stoic type that cruised through formalities if possible. “My other guest has extended his stay at a chance to catch you.”

Beyond Irashin’s large frame was a man still taller than Cyrus by some centimeters but with a lighter coloration. His blue eyes were light, striking counterpoints to the red and gold tabard he wore, with fair, combed hair and close-cut beard. He reached out a hand, which Astra made to grasp instantly. “Lord Nuit.”

Lord Nuit Cordel pulled the princess close and embraced her, smiling as he pressed his lips to hers. “My love, how have you been?”

Coloring faintly at his words, Astra bowed slightly even within his embrace, before her lips found his once more. “Very well, thank you. It is a pleasant surprise to find you here.”

“I came to hear the latest on rumor of raiders that have moved to the mountains beyond here and now terrorize both Enralyn’s borders and your own. When I learned of your intention to be here, I delayed my own return home.” He smiled and drew back, finally to address Cyrus. “Sorceress’ Knight Lighleir, it is good to see you and the princess out of the palace.”

Cyrus bowed. “Lord Nuit, likewise.” He bowed once more to Commander Irashin, then gave acknowledging nods to Irashin’s aid and Nuit’s own two royal guard, one of whom he even recognized. “Astra, if you wish to catch up with Lord Nuit, I am sure I can do the same with the commander.”

Astra nodded and turned to the commander, who waved away her question. “I shall speak with you later, Princess Astra. We will be eating in three hours time.”

Bowing, Astra and Nuit wandered off, up a flight of stairs that took them higher to the keep.

And while they attempted to talk, in the end Astra had three hours to study the stone patterns of the ceiling and the silken covers of the bed in Nuit’s room.




Admittedly, when they made it down to breakfast, Astra had a ravenous appetite.

She listened as Nuit and Cyrus spoke, guiltily thinking about how her knight had been down here getting business done while she had been, well, getting business done, she thought, blushing. Much more pleasurable business. Embarrassed, she avoided Cyrus’ eye, despite the fact that she knew he knew what had been happening anyway.

“So the attackers on you and the princess,” Nuit was saying, “undisciplined, you say?”

Cyrus nodded. “None of them worked any magicks or even wore armor. They looked completely common but for weapons in hand. And they fought with no tactics in mind.”

Nuit pondered at this, looking to Commander Irashin as he did so. “The mountain raiders, they are the exact opposite, correct?”

The Twilight Knights’ Commander nodded. “Highly efficient and trained, such that we’ve only managed minimal resistance against them. They are in and out of their target villages in moments with no wasted effort.”

With no connection between the two, Astra wondered if they were related. She glanced at Cyrus and was unsurprised to see him contemplative.

“Is it because of these raiders that you have traveled here, Lady Astra?” came Sub-Commander Domar Larson, a slight man with an easy presence. “The raider attacks?”

Astra finished a bite before speaking. “In an indirect sense, yes. One of the things that I have learned is to put a face to the people I will be in charge of and be aware of what things are like out there.” She left out the dream—it was always a secret between herself, Cyrus, and her sister Luna over things like that. Not even her father knew.

“You have taken tours like that before, correct?” Nuit asked.

“Twice before,” Astra said, sipping at some tea. “When I was sixteen and nineteen respectively.”

“And you are unafraid of attack? No offense to your royal sentinel,” he said, nodding to Cyrus, “but assuming someone truly wanted you harmed or taken, would it not be safer to have brought more than one bodyguard?”

Astra detected that Nuit knew already—that he was asking to see how she responded. “I decided that I wanted to be as unobtrusive as possible. And it is much more difficult to strike such a small target than an entire entourage because two individuals can slip away very easily.”

Nuit nodded, and the princess could see that he thought there was more to it than that, but his smile told her it was a secret he intended for her to keep. Soon, so soon, it will be that you will know.

A part of her wondered, though, just how deep she would let him. Because she knew it would mean displacing something—or someone—else from that side of her life.

She glanced at Cyrus and was annoyed to see him smirking at her, probably aware of exactly what she was thinking. He always did find it amusing when she fought so hard to protect his feelings. Because I am defending him from myself! And he knows!

“It worries me,” Cyrus went on, with one last look that Astra always knew him to give in place of doing something rather childish, like sticking out his tongue or jabbing her with a finger. “Both that they were able to find us so easily and the fact that the things they said sounded bizarre.”

“Religious fanatics,” Commander Irashin said. “From what you told us, zealots of the Nightmare King. ‘The Ascended’ is a name his priests have been known to use.”

Ascended to challenge the Lifebringer and deviate from his charge over the dreams of mortals. Astra knew the story well—her name taken from the sister angel that took over the realm of dreams. Aerowlyn-born all believed Astaraia to be their patron—and the reason why many named their children after celestial worlds and stars. “The actual danger was minimal once they were uncovered. It was the fact that they found us despite our discretion about announcing our presence that is mostly disturbing.”

“Well, it will not be an issue here,” Domar said. “With the future King and Queen of Aerowlyn present, no raiders or zealots will set foot on these grounds.”

“Thank you,” Astra said. “I am sorry for the inconvenience.”

Both the commander and sub-commander waved off her words, seemingly a practiced move for the both of them. “Now then,” Irashin said, finishing his plate, “I would steal Lord Nuit and your own knight to show them the latest intelligence on the raiders’ movements. If it would be acceptable, Sir Larson can show you into town? I have three others waiting to escort you—at a discreet distance, as well.”

With the princess’ permission, the elder soldier motioned for the Cordelyn prince and Aerowlyn knight to follow him, food included. Once they had gone, Astra turned a grin over to Domar. “Why do I always have the impression that he wishes to stuff food down the boys’ throats?”

Domar shook his head, clearly restraining a smile of his own. “I think he believes he will manage to make another person as large as he with more food. He has referred to Sir Cyrus as ‘elfin dainty’ before.”




As promised, Astra was shown the small village that surrounded the keep, and as noontime neared she begged to be allowed to retire. The schedule she and Cyrus had kept made midday the point in time she felt the most ready for sleep. Told Nuit had also retired—he had been keeping a similar travel schedule for much the same travel logic she and Cyrus had—she made her way up to his room to bid him goodnight when the commander intercepted her.

Despite his tall, imposing figure, there had always been something grandfatherly about Irashin that Astra had found pleasing. She thought it might have something to his hands, slightly spotted with age and wear, which he always held before himself in a dignified manner.

It also probably came from the concern he had always shown her and Cyrus the times she had met him when they were younger. “Lady Astra, I had hoped to speak with you alone for a moment?” he had asked coming down the stairway she was to ascend.

“Of course,” Astra replied. “I had hoped so as well, for I had a question. How do you keep in such shape with how you eat?”

Blinking, the older man took a moment before deciding to chuckle and give her a toothy grin. “You are one to speak, young lady. I saw how you attacked those loafs of bread earlier. No wonder that knight of yours always looks so emaciated each time I see him.”

Astra sighed in mock haughtiness. “He eats when I tell him to.”

Irashin smiled, but it was a thinner, less energetic expression. “To be honest, he is the reason I wish to speak with you.” He eyed the princess carefully. “Has he spoken of Tyrest lately?”

Astra lost the amusement she felt and shook her head at the mention of Cyrus’ father. “No. I...well, I have tried to bring it up. And for a short while, he will speak of it.” Astra thought of the last time, a few months ago, and had been encouraged when he had stated how much he missed his father’s counsel and companionship. “But then he suddenly stops, as if there is something he is feeling and about to express, but cuts himself off.”

The commander nodded as if expecting this. “He did something similar when I have brought it up before.” It was well known that Irashin had liked Tyrest and clearly thought much of Cyrus as well.

“I think he told Alisia what it was,” Astra admitted, somewhat guiltily.

“The Midnight Eyes Captain?” Irashin blinked once more in surprise. “When she was investigating your...Queen Stella’s murder?”

The guilt felt to Astra like it showed on her face as clear as if she were blushing or crying. She always felt such when thinking of Cyrus’ lover, whom he had eventually had to let go of to maintain his duty as Astra’s knight. She thought sometimes it was simply easier for her to feel guilty instead of think about such depressing times—her mother, Cyrus’ father, deaths days apart. “I think he hates thinking about the events of those few days and closes himself off when being drawn back.” In that way, Astra supposed they were too similar.

“I see.” Irashin looked thoughtful.

Astra sighed, glancing up to where she believed Cyrus was probably in a nearby assigned room, sleeping now that he had the chance. “I worry about it, because she is not here for him to speak with about it.”

The commander eyed her, and Astra could hear the silent why does he not speak with you? in it. She once again kept silent, despite the fact that she knew the answer. Cyrus wears his heart on his sleeve for those who know him, and I most certainly know him best. He does not have to speak of it for me to know.

It has nothing to do with his father. It has to do with my mother, and how much he believes he failed her when she died.

She just wished he would speak of it aloud, wished he would come to her about it.

“Thank you, princess,” Irashin said, bowing. “I would take no more of your time. Rest well.”

While she did not have Cyrus’ ability to read people’s emotions—their stars—she could tell Irashin was withdrawing because he thought she was feeling hurt over the unasked question he had just posed. He probably believed it was a sour note that Cyrus would not confide in her and that she had gone silent, mulling over his inability to open up to her. She said nothing to refute his belief; not telling him the truth was once again in the defense of their circle.

Her circle with Cyrus. Sometimes it was just they and the rest of the world.

Upon reaching Nuit’s room, however, her fatigue was forgotten the moment his hand came up to touch her cheek, and once more she tumbled into the euphoric oblivion that could only be reached by pure exhaustion.




Despite her weary mind and pleasantly worn body, Astra found she could not sleep. Nuit slept peacefully aside her, a hand still on her hip. She had known when he had fallen when the light circles his fingers made against her skin had ceased.

Unsure what compelled her to do so, she carefully withdrew from her betrothed’s embrace and crept over to the curtained window. With no cover to hide her body and considerate of her sleeping lover, she merely pulled it aside enough to peek out with a single eye.

Daylight was still strong, but with the sun further down toward the horizon—and with west to her back—the keep threw a long shadow out over the part of the village she looked over. But the shadow did not reach as far as the line of trees beyond the village borders, allowing the sun to shine clearly off the bits of silver mail Cyrus’ midnight tabard did not cover. In a sunlit area, his coal-dark hair was also oddly distinctive.

The young knight merely sat at the edge of the forest, having found the stump of a tree recently cut to sit on. He was looking out into the forest, but Astra knew he was not looking for anything particular.

He looks away from me. She shivered, though not from her nakedness. Because once again, he could not help but see Nuit and I.

It was not something Cyrus could control; he always saw everything she said or did, felt or sensed, and it embarrassed him, upset him that he invaded her life so. Distancing himself hardly worked either: while whatever power was blessed by the gods of him or ran through his blood would cease working at great distances for the people he came across irregularly. For someone like Astra, whom he had known since they were three years old, he had never been far enough for it to stop working.

And while it bothered him, and was a little embarrassing, it was oddly comforting to Astra. Nothing she ever did she had to explain to him even before he had ever manifested this power; nothing he saw, therefore, would be too candid to outweigh how she loved him for his support.

It upset her though, that he sought to escape it like this.

It reminded Astra how much he had sacrificed to stay by her side—when he did not want to. It reminded her of how forlorn he looked when he thought of his failure to protect Astra’s mother. It reminded her of injuries he had sustained defending her family that, while nothing life threatening, had to have been painful. It reminded her of Alisia, called away for her duty as an independent worldly guardian of peace, and how he did not follow to continue their growing relationship.

A hand came up to brush up her back and another curled around her waist. “Couldn’t sleep?” Nuit asked.

She blushed, leaned back against Nuit’s chest. “Yet for the life of me, I cannot understand why, because I am very much exhausted.”

She could feel Nuit grin as his lips pressed to her neck. “Just be careful, the entire village could see us from here if that curtain shifted any further.”

Astra’s voice shifted deeper, like a challenge. “Oh, and I thought you loved the attention?”

“Oh, that does it,” he muttered back, and Astra could feel it very much now.

Before being pulled back, however, she espied Cyrus glancing back over his shoulder right up to the window she and Nuit stood at. Though at the distance she could not see with her eyes, she knew he was giving her a half-annoyed, half-bemused smirk and roll of the eyes.

She felt behind her for her lover and saw her knight disappear beyond the forest line.




Chapter 3
Master of Earthen Power


It was dark when Cyrus found himself once again wandering the village’s streets. After Astra had finally taken to sleep, the knight had allowed himself rest as well, feeling safe enough with Astra’s safety to allow slumber to truly take him. Between the Twilight Knights and Lord Nuit—the latter of whom was an expert swordsman and duelist—he did not believe Astra would be wanting for protection.

After seven hours or so, he woke once more, his senses overwhelmed by feelings and images that were not his own. He knew Astra had woken as well, and as such, he had quickly dressed and made his way outside again.

Cyrus had always liked looking upon Milasa Car, the architecture much more angular and sharp than Mount Aerowlyn, which was more prone to smooth, arching design. He supposed his favoritism came from growing up with a craftperson as a godfather; Forlan was graceful in his design of armors and weapons, but it still had a geometric twist.

The jewel atop the tower was fully lit, casting a full silvery glow over the town as if the moon were out and full, instead of descending over the western sky, obscured by incoming anvil-shaped clouds. The jewel light would not reach much further beyond the town, however, and even if Astra wished to continue on her journey at that very moment, Cyrus could not risk traveling without starlight to guide their way and storms that might throw lightning at them.

Not that any storms would stop Astra, Cyrus thought. She probably knows some kind of technique that would keep lightning from hitting anything but her. He, on the other hand, would probably be the anything, wearing and carrying all the metal armor and weaponry of a soldier.

Glancing up at the tower, Cyrus felt a sudden release of euphoria. He stared strait at the glowing jewel, blinding his sense of sight so he could dull the images he knew would be accompanying the feeling of ecstasy.

“Excuse me?”

The words were not directed at him—in fact, they were not even on the street he stood at—but they immediately piqued his interest. Turning his stare to one of the largest buildings in the village, Cappeli’s Inn, he blinked away the spots in his vision and centered on the slabs of wood that made up the back wall.

It was not really “vision”, despite both he and Astra referring to it as such. More like knowledge—information he already had and was simply recalling. Cat sitting at the windowsill far to the south end of the inn. Three people inside three different rooms, all asleep. Five inside, four of whom are drinking, one of whom is attending them at the bar. One just inside the door on the other side of the building from me. Six standing in the road, one of whom, the person I heard.

That speaker was clearly addressing one of the inn’s staff. “There’s a storm comin’ and we be needing some rooms?”

Cyrus was only dimly aware of the innkeeper’s response. He crept up around the building and glanced around the corner, thankful that at this very moment, he had forgone his mail.

The six men he sensed stood there, looking for the most part innocent travelers. They all wore similar brown and green clothes, worn with use, and one or two of them carried crossbows slung over their backs. There was nothing particularly special about their appearance.

But their stars tell otherwise. Cyrus could see flickering, the same kind of fidgety energy one could expect from a child caught lying, within each of their stars. Physically, they showed no sign of anxiety, but on the inside, it was clear they were on the watch.

Thinking back to his conversation with Commander Irashin and Prince Nuit, Cyrus felt that this would be trouble. They had spoken of the raids on Aerowlyn’s borders, getting closer and closer to both the capitol of Mount Aerowlyn and Milasa Car to its north, but none had come to the Twilight Knights’ territory yet, and Irashin was expecting them to attempt it anytime. The raiders were getting more daring, and were ready to push their luck.

The problem being, they also seemed to know much about the village they attacked before charging in. Irashin and his strategists theorized that advanced forces would move into the town in some fashion and then notify the outside raiding team when the town was quiet. Nuit had concurred with the idea and posed that they might appear as travelers, showing themselves publicly instead of sneaking around like thieves in the dark. This not only fit the strategy, but Cyrus could see well into their souls.

These men are dangerous. Their stars flare with intention, not escape.

He tried to reach out into the forest beyond the village, but with so much life already out there, he could find no specific presences, human presences, unless he got closer.

But he had other things to do.

Cyrus crept back the way he came for twenty paces before taking off at a full sprint to the keep, glancing across the rest of the village as he did so. The main road of the village started south of the keep, arched around the east side, then continued on northward. The inn was located on the southern end while many of the professionals that lived in the village—the blacksmith, the carpenter, any others of the sort—made abode at the other end of the road to the north. As Cyrus made his way to the keep’s main gate, he could detect others with the same flickering presence at the north end of the town, probably asking the local workers where the inn was located.

Upon seeing a Twilight Knight at the gates to the keep, Cyrus waved him down and was glad to see the knight spring into action. “I believe the village is going to be attacked tonight,” Cyrus said. “I intend to speak with the commander immediately, and I know I cannot give you orders, but...”

The soldier nodded in acknowledgement. “I will alert the watch and those of us on duty will prepare in case.”

“Thank you.” Cyrus quickly bowed to the soldier, then darted into the tower.




Irashin was the kind of old soldier that suffered a permanent kind of insomnia—never sleeping for more than a few hours before waking and feeling the need to be active in some kind of fashion when not resting. He regularly played cards with off-duty soldiers or wrote in a journal in the late hours of the night until he felt sleepy, then quite often walked the battlements early in the morning upon waking.

As such, Cyrus had little compunction with seeking him out, finding him amidst the small library the knighthood kept and the commander used as a place to write his memoirs. The old knight looked up from his writing upon Cyrus’ hasty entry into the room.

“Boots on fire?” Irashin asked.

Cyrus motioned out the window. “Remember how you spoke of advanced teams for raider parties?”

“I do not like where this question is heading.”

“I spotted half a dozen men at the inn, paying too much attention to their surroundings. I detect another five to the north, now venturing through the city. Their words are of shelter from the storm, however...”

Irashin nodded. “I see.” He leaned back in his chair and gave the young knight an appraising look. “There are travelers that pass through here, you understand, and some might not be of the most upright manner—”

“Sir!” A young knight announced himself behind Cyrus, politely refraining from rushing in past their guest. Cyrus moved to let the knight properly address his commander. “Watch reports animal disturbances amidst the forest consistent with military forces stalking toward the keep.”

Irashin sighed, standing. “I almost never get to be right.” He nodded to the reporting knight. “Begin a quiet rousing within the keep. No alarm bell is to go—we do not want to spook anyone until we know for sure what is going on.”

The knight departed and Cyrus found himself staring out the window. “Do you think they mean to assault the keep?” he asked.

“I do not believe so, but it is wise to prepare for the worst.” The commander motioned for Cyrus to follow him as he made his way to his quarters. “I think they wish to simply raid the town from under our noses and retreat before we can mobilize a sizeable resistance.”

“Is there—”

Cyrus could not finish before the commander cut him off. “You must do your duty to Princess Astra.”

Yes, and Astra will just want to help the village, Cyrus thought. And she will assure that I will do everything in my power to help by throwing herself into the thick of it since I must follow her. Cyrus bowed in deferment. “You are correct. I will go and find her now.”

He found Astra already in the room assigned to her, dressing in a hurry. “I heard the village may be attacked,” she said over her shoulder as she donned a leather overtunic that Cyrus insisted she wore when they were traveling through potentially dangerous areas. “I want to see.”

“It is my duty to keep you away from danger,” Cyrus reminded her.

“It is your duty to listen to what I say,” Astra said.

I wonder why I even try. Cyrus crossed the hall to his room. Throwing off his coat and travel boots, he started the annoyingly long process of donning his mail and weapons harness.

He barely had the hauberk on when he felt Astra’s hands tying the back of the mail closed. “How many of them are there?” she asked.

“A dozen in town already,” the knight replied, pulling his greaves and combat boots on while she closed up the hauberk. “More in the forest beyond. I cannot tell how many exactly, though once we are back outside I might be able to see better.”

She threw his tabard over his head and pulled it strait, then brought his weapons harness up around his waist while he pulled his gauntlets on. Her arms lingered at his waist, pulling him into a hug. “I’m sorry for keeping you awake.”

Cyrus closed his metal-clad hands over hers. “He is your husband. What else are you supposed to do?”

“Soon-to-be-husband,” Astra corrected. “There is no expectation there, just acceptance. I do not have to see him until the wedding—”

Cyrus rolled his eyes and reached for Aleraynic, withdrawing from Astra’s embrace to strap it to his harness. “Yeah, and that would just drive you mad.” He shook his head. “I would never hear the end of it.”

“You are probably right.” Astra said. “Are you rested enough, though?”

“I’ve not engaged in any strenuous workout to make me tired, no,” he replied, smirking at her.

“Bitter? Or jealous?” Astra started down the stairs to the tower’s main floor.

“Jealous of what?” Nuit asked, joining them in their descent, his own guard trailing behind. The prince was dressed in the same travel-armor and red-gold tabard as before and had the same look in his eyes as Astra: the desire to do something.

Astra waved it off. “The knights are assembling?”

Nuit nodded. “I want to see these raiders firsthand if I can help it.”

Cyrus could see this was a very unpopular idea amongst Nuit’s guardsmen. They looked to Cyrus as if to ask for his assistance in the matter, but the Aerowlyn knight shrugged. As much as I wish Astra to be far away from any danger, I want to do something too. He piped in with a compromise, however. “Perhaps we can ask to stand on the keep battlements to watch the forest line for raiders. We will better know what, if anything, we can do to help if it comes to that.”

From Astra’s smile, he could tell she detected the attempt at blocking her from the potential of battle, but could also see the compromise. “That sounds like a fine idea.”




It did not take long for danger to come.

Commander Irashin approved of their place on the battlements, and while he cautioned them from further action, he did not have the authority to tell the lords of other nations what to do. Nor, in Cyrus’ opinion, did he have the desire. Old men like him must be used to dealing with the rambunctious youth like us.

The Twilight Knights moved in small units into the village, first to Cappeli’s Inn, then to the outer fringes of the grounds. Within an hour, there was a mass of torchlight that sprang forth at one side of the town—either the knights or the attackers ready to forgo concealment for better sight. Shortly after, shouts and metal clangs could be heard.

And twenty minutes after that, there was the rumble of thunder in the distance.

As if battle were not dangerous enough. Cyrus could tell the battle would move toward the keep sooner than the storm would, however. He glanced to Astra to find her looking at him expectantly, and he shook his head. No, the villagers are safe as far as I can tell.

Appeased with that, Astra returned to watching and was even admirably quiet when the battle spilled out onto the main street within sight of their position. The Twilight Knights on the battlements signaled to others on the ground and another unit moved out while archers at the walls pulled arrows out, waiting for targets to appear.

Nuit, however, was not so satisfied. “I am going out. My sword hears the Nightmare’s work in this.”

With a kiss to Astra’s forehead, Nuit went for the stairs, his guards shadowing his every move.

“You do not wish to go out too?” Cyrus asked, surprised.

“With every breath,” Astra replied. “But if the village is alright, I will not put us in danger needlessly.”

Cyrus noted the us.

Nuit and his men made for the flanks of a Twilight Knights unit that looked harried, diving sword-first into a group of armored raiders. The raiders were, as Irashin had noted before, organized like a military unit as opposed to the rabble one usually expected from marauding groups, but it mattered little. The best swordsmen on the continent had trained Nuit and his experience in battle was not lacking.

Armored though the raiders were, Nuit’s sword shot through steel and skin like an arrow and many of his opponents dropped, clutching a sizzling wound. Cyrus hardly registered that it had begun to rain until such an opponent fell before the prince. Nuit spun in place and slashed another raider’s own sword aside before thrusting into his sternum with his sword, once more causing steam to rise from their body.

“His sword is called Sulfur True for the smell and heat it gives off,” Cyrus told Astra before she could ask. “It is made of some kind of deep metal that always has a searing temperature.”

“I have never seen him in battle before,” Astra said.

Cyrus nodded. He had not either, but he could see it in Nuit’s star: one who thought and fought much faster than those before him. He always moved to the higher ground, always attacked first, always sought for the advantage. His opponents, trained, disciplined, still found parries too fast and slashes too painful.

Nuit was the master in this battle.

He was, though, still human, and while the battle he and his men brought to the raiders became pitched, more raiders now charged through the northern half of the city on horseback.

“Now it is time to go out,” Astra said hurriedly.

Sighing in acceptance—he was impressed with her patience up to now—he drew his blade and pressed his free hand to her shoulder. “I am assuming you mean right now.”

Astra nodded, clutching the focus staff she carried with her. “Keep a hold and take a deep breath.”

Cyrus closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, waiting for the stars to show him the way.



Chapter 4
Knight of the Dawn


Weaving Step was the name for when a magician could find the layers of reality around them and, upon finding a gap wide enough for them, slip between them to move rapidly to another place. Most sorcerers described it as maneuvering themselves through an awkwardly shaped hole, twisting their bodies through a web of material bodies. It was like taking a step through a woven thing, and weaving to get through safely, thus the name.

For Astra, it felt like a thousand hands were on her at once, attempting to grab her and keep her from her destination. She was only proficient in it—her sister, Luna, was much more masterful at the art for a variety of reasons.

However, pulling Cyrus through it always felt easier, for some reason, as if he were hacking at the hands reaching for her, keeping them at bay.

The benefits outweighed the costs, however, as it only took knowing how to find these gaps and cycling enough arcane power through oneself to transport through space. In the blink of an eye, the two of them were at street level and moments from the riders bearing down on them.

Cyrus wasted no time in acting, running out into the middle of the street. One of the advancing riders maneuvered to trample the knight over, a mistake if Astra ever knew one. Despite the armor he wore, Cyrus was much quicker than he appeared and the rider much more restricted than he believed.

Just as the horse was ready to bear down on him, Cyrus dove to one side, coming up in a crouch and slashing with his blade. It caught the belly strap girdling the saddle in place, cutting cleanly through the leather but leaving the horse untouched. With a few more strides, the horse continued to go while the rider and saddle were facedown in the dirt.

Cyrus had to dive aside once more to avoid another horse and rider, and then deflected an axe-strike from a third. Some of the raiders that had flown past him to begin with now wheeled their mounts around to take on the lone knight, clustering up beautifully for Astra to make her move.

With the air so charged and humid, lightning was a natural occurrence. Astra felt the energy coursing through the ground, building up in the clouds, and all it took was a nudge for the lightning to blast up in just the right place. And when a lightning bolt parted the air right in front of the horses, trained for combat or not, they spooked. Three riders went flying when their horses reared suddenly while another two lost control of their mounts, who bolted from the spot in any direction they could see a clearing.

A volley of arrows flew overhead and struck at the group of horsemen that had continued on deeper into the city and closer to the keep. Astra briefly checked the battlements to see the archers taking aim, then turned back to find one of the raiders and his mount bearing down on her.

There was little time to think. Astra’s lips called out the words and she dropped her staff to grasp her hands before her in the rune sign for “hold”.

The horse halted in place.

It was, in fact, the kind of magic she was most proficient in. Perhaps because people generally found her presence comforting or pleasing, her ability to enthrall minds was something she managed better than her sister. While truenames—words in angelic tongue that denoted a person, place, or thing’s absolute nature and controlled their very existence—were fleeting things that Astra could not recall in hindsight, the right word always came to her when looking at her target. Between the calling of the name and the manipulation of her own magical flicker—the same life force Cyrus called a person’s star—to generate “hold” magic, the horse halted in place and stared at her as if in a trance.

And then you forget about the rider, Astra scowled at the mistake as the horse’s rider raised a spear to thrust at her.

A crossbow bolt caught him in the unprotected armpit and the raider dropped his lance in the ensuing shock. Astra carefully moved aside before releasing the horse from its trance, allowing the beast to ride past her unharmed, injured rider still mounted atop.

The princess looked over to find Cyrus hooking his crossbow to his belt and pulling his blade from where he had staked it in the ground. “I have some of them at the north end of town, not moving. I think it might be some kind of temporary command group.”

Astra looked toward the northern end of the city, but could not see anything in the gloom of night. The Milasa Car jewel was not that bright. “How many do you think?”

“A dozen.” He shrugged. “Of course, if they are leaders of any kind, they will be better armed or trained than the ones we have been fighting.”

Glancing over to where Cyrus had been, Astra saw five other raiders on the ground in various states of injury. “I think we will be fine.” She scooped her staff up from the ground. “Where do you want to step to?”

“Can you manage to put us behind the most northwestern building in the village?” Cyrus once again put a hand to her shoulder.

Astra nodded and took a cleansing breath. Manipulating the currents to dictate where lightning would strike or enthralling another creature was something that came to her very naturally—she could basically envision it and it would happen. The Weaving Step was sometimes more exhausting.

Finding the gap, Astra pressed through the ripples in reality and tumbled them in place behind the building. Immediately assaulted with the warm rain of a summer storm, the princess shuffled up next to the building and underneath the eaves, Cyrus a step behind her. The storm had clearly moved in and was attacking from the north and moving its way down through the village.

She followed the knight in creeping around the building and while she kept her ears out for the raiders, kept her eyes on Cyrus. The princess always found it oddly fascinating to watch him in these dangerous situations, fierce and dangerous in a way that was so very unlike him in daily life. It was uncommon enough that when situations like this one appeared, she made sure to take in as much of it as she could.

The patter of rain concealed the noise they made but also drowned out much of what the raiders in the street beyond were saying. Cyrus looked back to Astra and raised his fingers in count and location: two just around the corner, five in the middle of the street, six others slightly down the street closer to the battle. He then motioned for the one he thought the leader, standing in the middle of the street with the group of five.

Astra once again centered herself, grasping her hands together in the runic sign for “release” and spoke the angelic words for her eyes and ears. Cyrus was always aware of those around him, but with so many to deal with and the rain deafening her senses, she had to hyper-attune her sight and hearing to be safe.

With the spell awoken within her, she could hear the whispers from within the building—villagers within that hid from the battle. Astra signaled that she would take care of the two closest to them and keep anyone from ducking into the buildings.

Cyrus took a moment to reload his crossbow, then nodded his readiness. He mouthed a count to three.




Battle was not unknown to Astra. The first tour of the country she had made had found a kidnapping attempt made on Luna and herself. She had first slain one of the would-be kidnappers when the stolen carriage had been caught at a ford and the lightning she let fly coursed through the man’s body much more efficiently when he was standing ankle-deep in water.

That battle had also been Cyrus’ first, and since then the two of them had worked on ways to act in concert with one another. The attempt the cultists had made on her earlier in the week was one such example. Between the two of them, they could predict how the other would react to given situations.

Astra wasted no time in running right up the stairs of the porch at the front of the building, surprising the two men there. She pressed her left hand up to the closer one and sent an electric jolt through her fingertips to spark against the man’s sternum. With her other hand, she raised her staff and pointed at the other raider.

The spark of lightning sent the first raider flying into the front wall of the building. The staff, instead of harming the second raider, caught the man’s eye and did not cease to be fascinating. Glowing like three fireflies circling around the staff’s head, the light filled the raider’s vision and as Astra moved the staff back, the raider’s eyes followed intently.

“Sleep,” Astra whispered into the man’s ear with the kind of intensity one heard from a lover.

The man seemed to find this an amicable idea, carefully setting himself down on the porch to do so.

Astra turned to make sure no others would come storming up her way or toward any of the buildings on the street. She decided, after a moment, that it would be a moot point.

Capable of generating intense flashes of light, Cyrus’ blade Aleraynic flickered like torchlight before him as he moved amidst the raiders he had identified as the high-ranking team. The other group down the street was dealing with an intense light hovering about them, like a miniature sun had appeared directly overhead and scorched their eyes.

Watching Cyrus battle was like watching a professionally choreographed stage play. With each move the raiders made, Cyrus was waiting for that exact event to occur and respond with a move the knight had rehearsed out in his mind. One raider would swing an axe overhead while another would charge in sword-first, and both would be deflected aside or countered with a slash to the legs and a shoulder to an unprotected chin.

The leader Cyrus had pointed out was a skilled warrior wielding a two-handed longsword, which he swung expertly at Cyrus own unarmored head. The knight, however, was not only expecting this but had shifted to step perpendicular to the slash’s arc, sliding up right next to the man’s exposed flank. Instead of cutting the man, however, Cyrus took his steel-clad fist and dug it into the man’s unarmored armpit—a seemingly common target for the knight—causing the man to stagger in place.

With one of the other raiders struggling up to confront the knight again, Cyrus quickly followed through, kneeing the raider’s leader in the kidneys and finally dropping the man at least temporarily. Cyrus spun around in time to deflect a hip-aimed slash from an axe, twisted Aleraynic against the weapon to hook his blade under the axe’s chin, and jerked hard, pulling the weapon free from the raider’s grip. Raising the pommel of his blade, he pressed it hilt-first into the man’s chest. “Halt!” Cyrus ordered.

Unlike her own manipulation of reality, Cyrus’ “spells” worked differently. The knight had once told Astra that when she summoned lightning or stepped through space, she manipulated reality, using her star as a fuel source. Cyrus’ abilities, divinely gifted by one of the angels Aerowlyn called their own, acted as if Cyrus’ star shifted or changed. He could make himself slightly stronger or faster than he normally functioned physically, or he could reach out with his own presence and touch another presence, affecting them as if the angelic spirit were using him as a medium. As such, no truenames were required, no runic patterns to manipulate the body’s energy—just the command. Using the blade usually helped expedite things as well.

So the soldier halted in place, though he struggled against the command, his eyes furious and his muscles twitching—though his feet stayed locked to the ground.

Cyrus glanced over at Astra, and after a nod from the princess, turned back to repeat the same command to the leader he had knocked down. He then turned his attention to the blinded men, and with a flick of his wrist, the light dissipated, leaving the area to once again appear as the gloomy, rain-drenched night it was.

Astra moved out into the street as the raiders slowly regained their sight, though too late to save themselves. With Cyrus keeping watch in case one of them charged in a blind fury, the princess once again wove her fingers together, the staff between her palms, and with both the enchanting quality of the staff’s light and the rune pattern for “hold”, Astra called out the truenames she sensed in the air. One by one, each of the men halted in place, transfixed by the light hovering about Astra’s staff, or in Astra herself.

“Lord Nuit will get jealous of all the stares you are getting,” Cyrus sing-songed from behind her.

Grinning over her shoulder at him, Astra said, “Yeah, and he has a standing warrant out for your left hand the next time you look at me.”

Cyrus blinked at her. “You told him about that?”

Astra sighed. “Of course not, you dummy. I am teasing.” Turning back toward the men, she pointed the staff to the ground. “Sleep, each one of you.”

As the men obeyed, Cyrus went to check the three men he had physically injured before grabbing the spell-frozen leader by the ankle. “I think we need to drag this one back to the keep for interrogation. We can get knights at the keep to grab the others? Especially the wounded, since I do not have the ability to keep them from death with how I injured them.” Cyrus did not like to let those he fought suffer needlessly if he could help it—on the occasion he could help it.

Astra nodded. “If you have hold of him, I will take us back immediately. I would like to have the village cleared by dawn anyway—so the townsfolk can get on with their normal lives as soon as possible.”

Cyrus nodded, sheathing his blade to have a free hand. Astra was surprised to find that with the light from the weapon covered, it was actually difficult to see, and she wondered when her perception enhancement spell had worn off.

Smiling to herself as Cyrus took hold of her shoulder again, she took her breath. Not that it matters any. We could be underground at night...his angelic blessing would give us enough to see by.




Chapter 5
Starseeing


The man Cyrus had pegged as the leader turned out to be partially true—he was the field commander to the operation, but not the absolute leader. Between him and another half dozen or so men they managed to capture alive and in the condition to speak, the Twilight Knights managed to get enough information to at least get a general understanding of what these raiders were like.

“Nine thousand total,” Cyrus muttered. “Two thousand over the current garrison in Mount Aerowlyn. They only attacked the village here with a force of two hundred and fifty. This is officially a problem.”

Astra nodded, her eyes up at the sky. The two of them had helped take the raiders back to the keep and then worked with the teams moving through the village to mop up the remaining enemy forces. With the fall of their field leader, the attacking force had tactically made a retreat, surprising the Twilight Knights with the efficiency of the withdraw. They had went around afterward, checking on the people in the village, Astra offering her own presence as an assurance that the danger was receding. Now they waited in the room assigned to Astra, out of the way of the knights as they went about their assignments.

“If they are at the behest of another nation, it is too small a number to be an attack force,” Cyrus continued. “But it is too large a group to be counted as some small alliance of men-at-arms or mercenaries.” He sighed and looked at the princess with a weak grin. “Well, insofar as my knowledge of mercenaries goes.”

“If you have not read of an occasion when mercenaries are gathered in such a large number for their own purposes, I have little doubt it has happened before.” Astra motioned toward his room, across the hall, where his things were stored. “The book you read to me speaks of mercenaries though, do they not?”

“As hires for a larger army,” Cyrus said. “Possibly as many as nine thousand, but as a separate group of battalions amidst a national army.” He shrugged. “These raiders seem to be like the moral antithesis of the Twilight Knights: organized and structured and large enough to be their own nation, but with the intention of actively harming their neighbors.”

They lapsed into silence and Cyrus wondered if these raiders would continue to escalate in their violent acts. With the Twilight Knights having won this round, it might be they decide to rethink their decisions and strategies. He looked at Astra and frowned. I do not want to face them again, especially if they find out Astra’s identity. Their skill is just enough to become a serious danger if they know her vulnerability.

He sighed. Being the fact that she trusts me with her safety more than she ought. If they come at us in any number, I am still just one man.

Astra’s hand came up to grip his despite the cool feel of the steel gauntlet he wore. “Cy, stop worrying. This may just be what we need to be looking for.”

The knight looked surprised. “You dreamed again?”

“No, I just think that all the pieces of the dream have to be in place.” She nodded at the window overlooking the village. “Darkness needs to spread for the light to be valuable. If more things like this keep happening, there will be plenty of the former.”

“I like to think we can find what you are looking for without, you know, the world falling apart around us.”

Nuit popped his head through the doorway, his hair in disarray but otherwise looking unharmed. “Commander Irashin wants to speak with us.”

Astra nodded over her shoulder at the prince, then to Cyrus. “Time to tell the commander our farewells, I think.”




The horses were at least very happy to be back on the road; Sungold continually shook her mane in pleasure of their freedom. With the clouds having passed on, the sky was clear to see by, though Astra had lit her staff to glow like a torch and Cyrus maintained a faint light some meters ahead of them for the horses to see by.

Neither one of them felt as happy as their mounts to be traveling again. Cyrus was starting to feel anxious—something about the last battle felt disconcerting to him. When he looked at Astra, he could tell she was as discontent as he, though for completely different reasons.

She and Nuit will not see each other until the end of the year, when they are to be married. Cyrus could see her star turned, reaching out for Nuit’s, though the prince had long since turned southward back to his own home. Bards always attempted to sing about how romantic it was to witness one person whose heart longed for another, but to Cyrus, it was something more melancholy: her star would reach out, find no response, and would try again—and with each attempt, go dimmer and dimmer. Disheartened by the failure.

Outwardly, she appeared simply distant in thought, but he could tell otherwise. Be happy, face the world. Get lost in the joy, or do the thing you feel you must, though you derive no pleasure from it. It was a feeling he knew intimately.

Well, mostly. I am not exactly displeased in what I do. And to be fair, he knew Astra was not displeased in her own decision to pursue this vision either. It was not uncommon in the history of the Aerowlyn royal family to have some magical talent bestowed upon them that requires them to work all the harder to do their duty correctly. The whole basis for the Sorceress’ Knight tradition was the fact that the first matriarch in Aerowlyn’s history had been given such power and required physical warriors to protect the vulnerabilities that came with attunement and awareness of the magical art.

“Nuit wants you to review his guard assignments before the wedding,” Astra said suddenly. “He also wants to speak with you about moving your family into the palace, if you wish.”

Cyrus blinked at that. “I never really considered either.” His surprised turned to a frown. “Why would I need to review his guard assignments? They are his guards—I do not intend to disrupt his procedures for my own.”

“I think he wants to include you, wants you to like him.”

What is that supposed to mean? “I do like him.” He smirked at her. “I do not believe I need to be further included in your lives, though.”

Pursing her lips—Cyrus could tell she was refraining from childishly sticking her tongue out at him—Astra shook her head. “That is not what I mean, and you know it. He knows how important you are to me. He wants to make sure you know that makes you important to him.”

Cyrus gently kicked his mount, urging her forward to sidle up next to the princess. “I'm not going anywhere.”

There was the tiniest flinch to that, and Cyrus knew he had hit the underlying concern. “I should think you would want to get out of here the moment you had the chance. You do know that Nuit’s own guards are capable enough and that Sildan, once my father has officially stepped down from his post, will be available to sentinel in your place.” The Heithai Valis—or Holy Knights—were the spiritually ordained Sorcery Knights, one for each member of the current royal family. When Astra’s father Virel stood down from his rulership, Sildan Maliarn, the Knight of Wind, would be a “free agent” so to speak and capable of doing anything from commanding a specific military unit to taking up the post of Sorceress’ Knight for Astra if Cyrus were unavailable. Currently, the idea was that Sildan would become Nuit’s official sentinel, though Nuit had his own guard and Cyrus would technically assumed to be responsible for the both of them.

“I am not going anywhere, Astra,” Cyrus repeated.

Astra’s face fell, and Cyrus sighed. It was something the princess seemed to think he should do, felt guilty for being the reason he did not. Cyrus shoved those thoughts away, unwilling to mull over them yet again, especially when they had other pressing matters to be concerned with, like the raiders and the assassination attempt. Stop trying to get rid of me for my own good, Astra. If you want to get rid of me, at least do it because you want me to stop being the third wheel in your life.

Then I might just comply.

“What is our next stop?” Astra asked, looking away. Cyrus could tell she was unwilling to have this conversation with him much for the same reasons he did not.

“There should be another two villages before we get to Temptress Cliff,” Cyrus said, pulling out his map to confirm. He reached behind him to partially draw his blade from its sheath to get a better light to read it by. “Jeltan, another farming village, and then Kendall’s Quarry. We should be to Jeltan in two days, Kendall’s Quarry five days after that.”

Astra nodded. “I feel more anxious to get to the Cliff after all of this. I want to read up on groups like these raiders while we are there if there is any information like that.”

“There is,” Cyrus said. “Though how helpful it will be, I cannot be sure. Just like I do not know if there will be anything resembling your dream, you know.”

“Anything is good if I get to see how excited you get in a huge library like that,” Astra said, smiling. “Speaking of which, you going to keep reading that story now?”

Cyrus gave a long-suffering sigh, but reached for his pack. With the glow of Astra’s staff and his blade and the relative easy pace they had the horses going at, reading on the go would not be a terrible difficulty. “What page were we on again?”




When Astra had visions, Cyrus watched.

It was a noticeable thing when she was suffering from dreamsights, at least to him. The way her presence shifted was akin to a person suffering a wound, the way they closed in on themselves to protect their remaining vital organs without even consciously controlling their bodies. Astra always said it was nothing like a nightmare, but when she woke, it was too similar for him to tell the difference.

The assassination attempt had kept him from being concerned over her last dreamsight, as her physical safety had been his primary concern. Now, hours after they had settled down to sleep, he moved to sit right next to where she laid and waited for the inevitable reaction when she woke.

Sunset was starting when she finally did so, shooting up so fast from her bedroll that it startled some of the birds in the tree above them. He halfway got up behind her, careful to be ready to catch her in case the blood rush caused any dizziness.

Astra stood, wavering in place, glancing here and there in an attempt to get her bearings, confused as to whether she was even still dreaming or awake, where she was, what she was supposed to be doing. Cyrus knew how unnerving it was for the first few moments coming out of that dream from the few times he had woken to nightmares.

He supposed the only difference between himself and others is that he woke to nightmares, not from one.

The princess’ eyes finally settled on him and she stopped pacing around, slowly settling back down onto the bedroll. She moaned in frustration. “Sorry.”

“Same one?” Cyrus asked.

She nodded and accepted the damp washcloth he put to her forehead to wipe the sweat away. “As always.”

“Anything I can do?”

She motioned for him to come closer. “Just stay here, okay?”

Cyrus pulled his bedroll up next to hers, settling down and pulling the book he had been reading out. Reaching out to shift the lantern he had placed nearby to give him enough light once the sun was gone, he was unsurprised when Astra curled up next to him and made him put his arm around her shoulders—something she had made him do since they were kids.

And he read to her until the stars came out.

[Arashi_Leonhart]

Chapter 6
Enemies and Allies


Astra supposed reality would not make her journey easy.

Nor would her morals.

Seven days after dreaming once again and only a day away from Kendall’s Quarry, Cyrus had detected a large group ahead of them—larger than any caravan he knew of that traveled through the area. They had ducked into the rocky terrain that made up the land at the base of the mountains they traveled by, found a concealed place to leave the horses, and slowly made their way closer to this group.

Just as with the attack on Milasa Car, the raiders were an organized group. They held in a loose rank and file, skirmishers before archers, and a group of horsemen off to one flank. Larger than the force that had attacked the Twilight Knights—an odd decision, Astra thought—this group was fully capable of completely annihilating Kendall’s Quarry, which Cyrus had recalled a population of some two hundred.

When they came across the group, Astra counted at least two hundred and sixty foot soldiers and cavalry numbering in the fifties. “They are waiting for the deepest part of the night to attack?” the princess asked.

“Catching any men at arms without the hours of rest that allows them to be fully restored, nor waking them after they have just settled down and are still active enough to continue on.” Cyrus had a calculating look about him. “From what I have read, no raiders are this organized. They would set up for a night attack, but they would have moved within sight of the village and then attacked once they saw for themselves the coast is clear. How they move is more like a military force utilizing hit-and-run tactics.” He looked displeased. “My father would have been properly impressed by them, I am sure.”

Astra noted the melancholy that came over his voice when he spoke of his father, but decided now was not the time to press further. “Is there anything we can do to help?”

Cyrus gave her a look that caused an almost full-body blush. It was then she decided that she was too much of a doormat to people’s causes—since they were only two people and she had other responsibilities than to get physically involved with combat. She justified it much better than before, though: “They are my people. It is my sworn duty to do everything in my power to see to their prosperity.” Not like the people at Milasa Car, who were completely the Twilight Knights’ responsibilities. She gave him a look as if to communicate those thoughts. You could not convince me to stay out of it there, you will most certainly not convince me to stay out here.

“Why do I put up with you again?” Cyrus muttered, loading his crossbow.

“Because you love me and want me to have your babies and nobody else could stand to have as huge a library in their house for you?”

“Right.” He gave her a glare. “Although sometimes I wonder why the first one applies, too.”

“Because—”

The knight put up a hand. “Forget it, you win, I do not need to hear anything more, I withdraw the question, I do not exist and have no argument, lets get going.”

She grinned at his cavalier response and pulled the cover from her staff, beckoning it to start glowing.

They both surveyed the area, attempting to figure out the best approach. Astra knew they would not be able to eliminate the threat completely, but she thought they might be able to attack the leader and give them something to think about. The terrain was not in their favor, however: so close to the quarry, the area was very rocky and open—the trees of the nearby forest stopping far short of the incline that lifted the land toward the tall foothills of the Aero Mountains. If they attacked from where they were, it would not be long before the enemy had a good angle on them and overwhelmed them with arrows.

Cyrus suddenly went still, his eyes narrowing, though Astra noted his gaze was simply to the back of the boulder they hid behind. She could see flickers of light shifting amidst the dark blue irises. “What in the hells?”

Blinking at his curse, Astra crouched next to him. “What?”

Before he could answer, there was a cry from the raider’s group. Astra peeked out over the boulder to see some of the men running off toward the tree line. Scanning the mass, she noted two or three of the torches granting them light converge on one point, though from the distance she could not tell what they were doing.

“A couple of them just got shot by an arrow,” Cyrus said. “There are two presences near the forest.” He met Astra’s gaze. “Seems we are not the only mental ones here.”

More raiders were charging into the forest, though the majority stayed at the staging area, now more alert than ever. Astra checked the situation again, then turned back to her knight. “What should we do?”

“Go help whoever attacked them, probably,” Cyrus said. “Their eyes are open to any further attacks—and we will need any help we can get, if they continue with the attack.”

Astra nodded, looking out toward the trees—at least four hundred meters away. Some of the raiders were already disappearing beyond the edge of the forest. “Where are they?”

Cyrus moved behind her, pointing directly over her shoulder to give her a good approximation of where he sensed the new presences. “Forty meters in. They are tagging some of the skirmishers that chased them in. Hopefully we can catch the raider’s flanks.”

“Hold on to me,” Astra said, taking a deep breath.




They stepped into a small clearing, startling a couple of raccoons and sending the black and gray creatures darting off for cover. Astra looked to Cyrus, who had his eyes in one direction, glints reflecting off his eyes signifying their movement through his field of “vision.”

“That way,” he motioned. “Two dozen in number.”

Astra followed as Cyrus broke trail, moving carefully through the undergrowth as stealthily as possible, generating as faint a light before him that could grant him both enough light to see by but not be immediately spotted by the raiders.

“Get up close to the shorter one!”

The shout came just up ahead of them and Astra reflexively flinched and glanced around but found nothing near them besides more trees. She looked up ahead and could barely make out some humanoid shapes just beyond a grouping of small-trunk trees. Even further up were a couple of torches, though still distant enough that she could not make out what was going on exactly.

There was the distinctive twang of a bow and a grunt from further back. Cyrus caught Astra’s eye and motioned four on your side, five on mine. The princess acknowledged it with a tilt of the head and slowly crept to the left while Cyrus moved right, arcing around to the raider’s flanks.

Within moments Astra could see her targets: crossbowmen, all, with shots ready but not raised to fire. Beyond them, Astra could see more men with swords and torches, and finally, the ones they were chasing. A man and a woman, tall, the man with a shield held to partially cover the woman, a longbow in her hands.

Stopping behind a tree, she peered through the darkness and could barely make out the faint glow from Cyrus’ spell.

The raiders all stood at the ready, a lull in the attack. Astra made out the one that had called out the order earlier, speaking again. “Give it up, pretty ones. If you drop your weapons here, we’ll let you go on your way.”

Astra blinked at that; could make out the two figures probably doing the same. She looked Cyrus’ way and saw him blink his spell twice—a sign for no. The men had no intention to halt from what Cyrus could tell. The princess lifted her staff and blinked back at him once: her sign of readiness.

“How about I give you the same warning,” Cyrus called out, his voice echoing in the gloom. The men startled and turned; Astra ducked back behind her tree. “In the name of Astaraia, Mistress of our skies, you will surrender your arms here, one way or another.”

Astra heard some of the raiders moving toward Cyrus’ voice and the twang of the bow the woman carried. The foot traffic increased and, with no response, she saw the glow from Cyrus’ weapon unveiled and make a swipe. It was immediately followed by the distinctive groaning sound of a tree collapsing—and the cries from some of the raiders as they either cleared way or got caught under.

Leaping out from her hiding spot, Astra took a full body swing with her staff, catching the closest of the bowmen across the back of the head. Though the sapper helm he wore was built for absorbing blows, Astra had enough leverage to completely knock the man prone. The other two turned at the attack, one even panicking and making a hasty shot, though the bulky crossbow missed the mark and went far wide. The princess raised her left hand with the sign for “open flame” which also allowed her thumb and pointer finger to make a circle. With a muttered word, she took a deep breath and pressed her circled fingers to her lips.

With her exhale, flames shot out like a backdraft.

The blast caught both bowmen squarely with enough explosive force to throw them back and into the foliage beyond. Astra watched as they hit the ground and made sure they did not get back up.

Groaning, the man she had hit with her staff was getting up. The princess reached out with her staff and pressed the end to the man’s shoulder. He shook violently for a moment and then collapsed back to the dirt.

Astra spotted Cyrus moving in. While she could not see him clearly, she could make out the waving of his weapon as it cut through his opponents. The raiders were now in disarray, torn between attacking their original targets—now firing regularly—and the tree-cutting enemy now tearing through their forces. And probably wondering why they are getting no ranged support.

At least three more cries of pain sounded out before the leader called a retreat. Astra zeroed in on him, though the distance between them was too great to bind him with a spell. So she raised her hand and, with the energy she felt most comfortable with, let fly with a blast.

The lightning bolt caught the man in the left shoulder, spinning him in place before he hit the ground.

The woman shot down two more in rapid succession and Astra could not see any others, nor hear any more running or engaging Cyrus in blade battle. Double checking to make sure those she had downed were not getting up anytime soon, she trudged through the growth with her staff lighting the way. The woman with the bow waved her down and as she approached, the tall, slender statures and downy hair from both of them told the princess they were elves.

Both stood much taller than Astra, the woman probably even almost at Cyrus’ height. Elves always looked generally more dreamlike than humans, always slender in bone structure and taller on average than humans. Elves from Enralyn—the elven nation west of Aerowlyn—generally also had fair hair and a slight sun-kissed gold tint to their skin, though only truly noticeable when standing opposite of those with more porcelain skin. They were both dressed in brown, green, and gold travel wear, though Astra could make out silver mail peeking out from underneath their tunics.

The elven man was checking the bodies of the men for signs of life. The woman bowed at Astra’s approach. “Greetings, good friends. You might have just saved our lives here.”

Astra shrugged and bowed in return. “We were considering the exact same course of action, to be honest, so had you waited one minute longer, it would probably be the other way around.”

At that, the man looked up from one body to smile, then did a double take upon seeing Astra’s face. He glanced out toward where the princess could hear Cyrus making his way toward them, then back to Astra, then finally to his companion. He said nothing, but the elven woman looked at him regardless.

“What?” The woman looked confused. “Do you know them?”

The man shook his head, and Astra realized he was mute. He motioned to Astra and then pointed to his forehead.

The woman contemplated this for a moment before her eyes went wide. She turned to peer closer at Astra. “I must apologize. My brother cannot speak for himself. I am Elreia Leness. His name is Elrodan. What might your name be?”

Cyrus came up behind Astra and, with a glance to her knight—who nodded his trust in their stars—she bowed to the elven siblings. “I am Astra Aerowlyn. This is my knight, Cyrus Lighleir.”

Elrodan stood fully and bowed, and Elreia also bowed again. “What is a princess doing in a place like this? What is a princess doing throwing herself into battle?” The elven woman looked very bewildered.

“I would counter those questions with ‘what are two Enralyn border rangers doing in Aerowlyn lands?’” Cyrus said before Astra could respond. The princess looked to her knight and could tell by his smirk it was more of a wit jab than an actual question.

The elves looked rather embarrassed. “Well, pretty much, what you just helped us out with.” Elreia planted her bow in the ground and leaned on it. “We were tracking this raiding party from the mountains on our side of the border and, when we realized they were going to be attacking a village on this side, thought we would intervene. A little nosy of us, I suppose, but your village has little in the way of defenses.”

“Probably because usually the only problem out here is the occasional daring predator or dumb ghouls wandering in looking for trouble,” Astra said. She motioned back toward the main raider party. “These organized attackers are something new.”

“Indeed,” Elreia nodded. “We knew our harassment could do little to stop them completely, but we had to try what we could.”

Cyrus smirked. “Sounds familiar,” he said, looking at Astra.

“Two dozen here, but another three hundred or so to go,” Elreia said. “And they are probably ready to go any minute now.”

Cyrus gave Astra’s arm a squeeze—something he did when he wanted her to know he had an idea—and he retreated back to where Astra had taken down the bowmen. Astra said, “The best idea may be to get the villagers all gathered together and make a run for it. Even if we mustered a defense, the village in total is smaller than the raiding party.”

“That also seems bizarre, since everything I have heard has been raiding teams that swoop in, take goods, and then make a run for it. This seems almost like an invasion force,” Elreia posed.

Elrodan made a motion like being bound at the hands, and Elreia nodded. “Or they could have other ideas for ‘goods’ now—like slavery.”

I had not considered that. Astra paled at the thought. She glanced back to Cyrus, who was collecting the crossbows and had slung a quiver of the quarrels over his shoulder. She could tell he was listening in because he looked distressed at the idea as well. “We need to get back to our horses,” the knight said. “I may have something that could work.”




Chapter 7
Burning Homes


“You are absolutely insane,” Elreia said.

The elven woman was watching Cyrus uneasily, like an animal waiting for a hunter to make their move. He supposed it was understandable, considering what he was handling.

“He has done this kind of thing before,” Astra explained, though her voice had a slight hitch to it. She then bent to whisper into Cyrus’ ear, “I did not know you had brought that.”

Crouched over an unwrapped item—what looked like a wet brown clay brick—Cyrus shrugged. “I had thought to use some for Temptress Cliff, on Diranel.”

“So you brought enough burn-clay to destroy a city block?”

The brick—a solid clay-like substance with a propensity to generate explosive force—was ironically used in the mining of iron ore that Kendall’s Quarry worked to procure. Cyrus thought it only fitting that it might be used in the village’s defense.

“What would Sir Lighleir be doing with such a dangerous item?” Elreia asked.

Cyrus started hewing small pieces from the brick using the broken shaft from one of Elreia’s arrows. Astra answered for him. “Cyrus and I sometimes...well,” she stumbled, probably over how incriminating the explanation was. “We have something of a way to…make sure the various nobles do not take themselves too seriously. We like to startle them and remind them of their, uh, mortality.”

Elrodan made a surprised face, exaggerated to characterize the supposed expression a victim of one of the pranks might make. Elreia said, “Seems rather childish for the future ruler of a country and her sworn guardian.”

Cyrus did not need to look up or even watch her star to know Astra rolled her eyes at that. The princess said, “We started to prank other children when we were very young, and the ones we still antagonize are usually ones that have still learned nothing. It is better than Cyrus walking up to them and decking them.”

“Anyway,” Cyrus said, pulling the quiver he had taken from the bowmen and pulling a bolt from it, “We might be able to trick them into dealing with a full assault before they invade the village.” He began pressing the bolt shaft into the clay material.

Elreia said, “I see what you are doing, but it will shift the flight of the quarrel such that it will not fly well. In addition, you have more crossbows than you have hands.”

It was Astra to comment on that. “I can do something as simple as pulling the trigger on a crossbow, even remotely. And they will fly far enough.”

“But five shots,” Elreia counted her own longbow and Cyrus’ crossbow in addition to the three taken crossbows, “is still not enough to worry an army of over two hundred.”

Cyrus looked at Astra and grinned. “Five is enough when they think it is five hundred.”

At the elves’ confused expressions, Astra said, “You know that the Aerowlyn Royal Family has a strong magical line, correct? My talent is in the enchanting and manipulating of the mind. If people hear a loud noise, feel the concussion of an explosion, it will be very easy for me to trick them into believing there are more.”

Elreia looked at Cyrus with a slanted expression. “Is it not your duty to protect her? You would let her casually walk in close enough to death to enchant them?”

I would love to see someone try to let Astra do anything. Cyrus finished wrapping the first bolt in the clay, careful to both press enough up to the metal tip to ignite upon striking another hard object while not causing enough friction to explode the material while he worked the clay. “This is the most expeditious way to harass the raiders while giving the villagers time. It is also the princess’ decision to do what we can, so the most efficient way to combat our enemies is going to best guarantee her safety.”

“That is Cyrus’ way of saying one does not let me do anything,” Astra said.

Well, the woman does know me. Cyrus looked up at the elves. “Once the explosions go off, we can go around back and start evacuating the village. Astra can maintain the spell for about half an hour, then catch up.”

“You are sure this is the best course of action.” Elreia looked dubious.

Cyrus shrugged. “I admit to not being much of a tactician. I do know how people typically respond to given stimuli, though, so it is the best I can manage. Do you have any other ideas?”

Elrodan shook his head and gave a helpless open-handed gesture. Elreia said, “I just hope you know what you are doing.”

Cyrus and Astra looked at each other and grinned. “We have a lot of practice on the prank side, at least.”




Kein hated when things went unplanned.

When two of his men had fallen to arrows and another three had to retire with injuries, Kein had ordered the immediate pursuit of whoever had attacked them. It was not unknown for the raiders to sometimes catch the eye of local hunters or scouts that decided to harass the party, but usually such attacks were snuffed out quickly enough by his men, well trained to combat in nighttime conditions and with at least one skilled tracker in each squadron. Locals may have the terrain knowledge advantage, but his men were not amateurs.

So when the entire pursuit party had failed to report back in, Kein became concerned. With the attack an hour away, he had to decide whether to send more men to check on the pursuit team or forgo it completely in favor of full strategic use of his raiding party. In the end, he favored the latter and would send men once the village was secured.

But the missing team continued to plague his thoughts, even as the red flare from the village scouting team flew into the air and signaled Kein to start the raid. As the first group of skirmishers approached the bend in the road that led to the village, he wondered if the village had any surprises in store for them.

The first explosion struck the rear-guard team, causing Kein and his horse to wheel about. Three of his men lay facedown near a head-sized crater, the others scrambling to find where the attack had come from.

Then another explosion hit near the cavalry team, and while this one injured no one, it spooked the horses and the riders all had to start circling their mounts to get them back under control.

Kein started shouting out orders when another explosion hit behind him once again, this time at the front of the raiding party. Peering through the gloom, Kein could see no attackers ahead and since there was little cover this close to the village, he turned his attention back toward the tree line.

“Get archers back here!” Kein ordered. “I want a barrage out toward the trees to give them something to think about!”

By the fifth explosion, Kein had archers firing fire-tipped shots into the foliage and was pleased to see at least one or two areas start to ignite.

But the explosions kept striking, and at every conceivable target in his unit.

Kein hated when his concerns were justified.




Cyrus and the elves had made short work of the scouting team inside the village. Knowing what to look for after the attack on Milasa Car, Cyrus had easily singled out the four village “visitors” that had called in the attack. Barging in on them holding the innkeeper and his wife at sword-point, Cyrus and Elreia had shot the nearest two while Elrodan had charged in with spear and shield, jabbing past the other two men’s defenses while deflecting blows with the shield.

Ushering the innkeeper outside with Elrodan to guard them, they had split up to wake and warn the rest of the town, banging on doors and hurriedly explaining the situation.

They were down to the last dozen or so houses when the arrows started coming in. Cyrus startled at the sight and cursed their luck. They must have one ruthless unit leader if this is their automatic response to a threat: destroy everything in sight.

Down the road, Astra’s star flickered into being. He turned to look and saw the princess running full-tilt toward him, her staff in one hand and two of the crossbows hanging from her other arm. “They are sending the cavalry in right now!” she shouted.

Gritting his teeth, Cyrus turned back and saw Elreia further down, still knocking on house doors, but Elrodan had gone and gathered up Cyrus and Astra’s mounts and was ushering them toward their owners. He waved them over and turned back to Astra. “Are you okay?”

The princess nodded. “They overcame the illusion a lot faster than I thought. Their leader is well-organized and pragmatic. Once the spell failed, I stunned three or four of the mounted riders before stepping here.”

Cyrus nodded and, the moment Elrodan handed him the reigns, was heaving himself up onto his mount. “Give the bows to a couple of the men and have them help cover everyone else.” He tossed both the stolen quiver and his own crossbow and quiver to the elf.

Astra eyed her knight warily. “What do you plan on doing?”

He pulled out the remaining brick of clay.

Elrodan waved his arms in the air and made the universally understood sign for are you crazy? by slapping his hand against his own forehead.

“He makes a valid point,” Astra said.

More arrows started coming in; one even came close enough that Elródan raised his shield to deflect it away. They were fire-tipped this time and the straw thatching on two nearby roofs started to go up.

Cyrus gave Astra a look.

Astra met his gaze, sighed. “I will have to be thinking of other ways to surprise Diranel, I suppose?”

Grinning, the knight wheeled his mount around in place once, then took off down the road.




The cavalry was just entering the village proper when Cyrus caught up with them. Peering behind them, Cyrus could make out the skirmishers moving in steadily, and behind them the archers mass-firing into the village.

One of the lead cavalry raiders spotted him and signaled the group to halt. Cyrus could see the lead rider’s star flicker, his attention turning to the area behind the knight. Waiting to see more cavalry knights, and in absence of that, wondering what kind of trap I am leading them into.

Cyrus eyed the brick in his hand. It is only a trap if it works right.

Trotting his mount forward, he called out, “This is the sovereign territory of Aerowlyn. You are hereby ordered to withdraw at once, or be disposed of accordingly.” He hated the fact that he could not identify himself. The Sorceress’ Knights of Aerowlyn had a large history and mystique about them that could give him a mental advantage that he did not have when regarded as a single soldier. Announcing his presence, however, would give an intelligent leader enough to figure out that one of the royal family was present, dangerous information for an armed enemy force to possess.

“If you are all this ‘sovereign territory’ can muster, then it deserves what it gets!” came the shout from the raiders.

Not untrue, Cyrus thought. Eyeing the distance between them, he kept edging toward the group. “Last warning. If you do not want to end up flat on your asses, you will turn around and leave.”

There were no more words after that. Cyrus picked up speed and saw the raiders kick their own mounts into action. More arrows resumed firing overhead.

“Solamali!” Cyrus called to the patron of the dawn. Charging in, he waited for the enemy group to be within ten meters before heaving the brick into the air.

The riders watched the thing fly, but did not slow down, simply pulled their mounts to avoid the fall of what must have looked like a stone.

That is your mistake. Cyrus swept Aleraynic out and shouted the command, “Dawn before me!”

A flash of light continued from the arc Cyrus made with the blade, shooting toward the falling clay like a flash of lightning. The beam struck the brick, sparked, and Cyrus watched as the world polarized before him, the power granted to him in wielding the weapon protecting his eyesight from the brilliant flash of light that accompanied the explosion. He urged his mount, also protected, to drive right into the gap the raiders had made to avoid the brick.

His enemies were not fortunate to have adequate defenses. Two horses and their riders were completely crushed by the concussion, slamming them into the ground like a hammer to a nail. At least ten other horses stumbled and their riders were either thrown off or slid right down their saddles to the dirt. Those remaining still could manage little, the flash blinding them or their mounts, sliding to a halt as fast as possible.

Riding through the throng of men and mounts, Cyrus swept his blade back and forth, catching men across chests and arms, only one managing to raise a shield to deflect the knight’s assault. Cyrus cut a swath through the forty or so remaining cavalry, watched as another half dozen stars snuffed out of existence.

Gritting his teeth, the knight came out the other side of the riders unscathed besides the dirt the horses had kicked up, and, seeing the skirmishers beyond, charged once more to the enemy lines.

This group was unluckier still: the skirmishers were sword and axe wielders, only a handful of them using long polearms, much less spears. Without an adequate defense to a cavalry soldier, most of the raiders dove out of the way and those that tried to stand their ground were either cut down or trampled.

The archers, on the other hand, were a danger and now turned their attention to him. Once he passed the line of skirmishers, he immediately made a hard turn to the left and raised his blade to deflect the incoming shots. Again, his sight prevailed: the presence of the enemy archers still stood at a distance, but, their intentions and aim came across his awareness and flashed toward him like shooting stars. He had just enough time to know when one would be close enough to hit, could raise his blade and bunt it aside.

But mass fire will get me in the end, Cyrus thought, kicking his steed and darting for the road. Hopefully the loss of many of their cavalry will be the delay we need.

Deflecting aside a couple more shots, Cyrus took off to where Astra and the others would hopefully have the villagers gathered. Errant shots occasionally flew past, but he could tell the group leader was more interested in regrouping than pursuit.

As he passed the village, the knight found more buildings on fire than safely untouched, flames licking the sky.




Chapter 8
Night Protector


Astra was thankful that they had managed to start the villagers on the road before Cyrus even rejoined them.

The arrow fire certainly was a part of that, giving them the physical motivation to get moving quicker. Within moments of Cyrus charging down the street to engage the incoming forces, most of the villagers gathered at the other end of town and Elreia was bringing the last few groups to join them.

Assigning the local hunters in the village to lead the way, Astra started calling out that they get moving. Watching them pulling along what possessions they were to bring—some of them with pack animals carrying spare food and water—she felt guilty for being saved the physical labor up on her horse.

Cyrus caught up with them when about a third of the village was already clear of the buildings and the rest were on their way. She noted his hair looked a little singed but only raised her eyebrow at him.

“Their cavalry should be reduced enough that we can handle any they send at us, but the skirmishers can still move as fast as these people. We just have to hope they do not wish to pursue.” Cyrus flinched when one of the houses nearby spouted a fireball that shot past his shoulder.

Astra pursed her lips, her eyes turning to the road. “How far is Temptress Cliff?” She knew, at the least, the city was large and very defensible.

“Cutting through the Whiteleaf Forest like we intended still puts us ten days out—more even with this large a group.” The knight was gritting his teeth. “South is blocked to us now, so we cannot take them to Milasa Car. Echo Valley is closer than Temptress Cliff, but it is no more defensible to an attack than this village was. I do not see any other option.”

One of the men Astra had given a crossbow to came up and bowed. “Everyone is accounted for. The scouts ahead signaled clear.”

Astra nodded to the man. “Local town guard needs to be at the rear, non combatant men-at-arms up front. The elves, Elrodan and Elreia will keep the lead.”

The man nodded. “Captain Dane is waiting for you, your highness.” He bowed again and went to catch up with the head of the group, being one of those with weapons that had no actual combat experience.

Pulling her mount to follow after the column—the last of the village’s people now on the road—Astra glanced back at the fire-scorched houses and the smoke rising above. “What are they doing?”

Cyrus followed after but was peering over his shoulder. “They are keeping in pretty tight to formation—I think they are cautious of another surprise. My guess is we have another ten minutes before they storm the village grounds.”

“Then we had better hurry.”




Camp was made only after a hard march through the remainder of the early morning all the way to dusk. The villagers were understandably tired and the handful of children were at their wits end. The elves found them a small clearing that fit most of the villagers and had the town guard set up a perimeter to keep watch. Astra used her warding runestone to protect the general area from animal attack, but it would not keep the soldiers at bay nor was its area of influence large enough to cover the entire area the villagers occupied, to warn them in case of enemy attack.

After setting the stone, Astra vaguely recalled giving her bedroll to one of the elderly villagers and had then settled down with Cyrus under a tree before sleep overcame her.

She woke to voices and reached for another pillow to cover her ears before she remembered what was going on. Her eyes flew open; Cyrus looked down at her upside-down.

“No matter how hard you pull, my clothes are not coming off,” the knight teased.

Glaring up at him—she remembered and realized that she had put her head in his lap while he was strategizing with Captain Dane—the princess said, “I thought you were a pillow.”

“I am a man of many talents, it seems.” Helping her up, Cyrus motioned to Elreia and Elrodan. “They went to check and see if the raiders were following us.”

“Were they?”

Elreia nodded. “About nine kilometers south of us, though they have also stopped. I do not think their commander intends to exhaust his men for when they overtake us.”

Astra frowned. “When they overtake us?”

Cyrus answered. “We have elderly and children with us, and these people are not used to long hard travel. I had hoped they would choose to cut their losses and decide not to pursue...because otherwise they will take us before we reach the cliff.”

Elrodan nodded and mimed a gradual overtaking of one hand to the other. Elreia explained, “They could probably overtake us right now if they wanted, but their soldiers in their armor and heavy gear would not be in tip-top condition and what fighters we do have could actually offer a decent resistance. But if they conserve their energy and time their attack, while all we do is push as fast as possible to get to the cliff...” she trailed off.

Astra looked up at the sky—could make out a few stars peeking out between some thin, long clouds. “How long have we been resting?”

“About six hours,” Cyrus said.

“The two of you looked so cute together,” Elreia said, smirking. “It was so difficult to wake you.”

Astra wondered if all elves were so quick to pick up on the teasing manner she and Cyrus shared. It was barely one day and Elreia had already gone from “your highness” to making light of her. “How long has the enemy camp been set up?”

The elves looked at each other. Elreia said, “Four hours, I would suspect.”

Cyrus was eyeing his charge. “You want to take the fight to them?”

The princess nodded. “If what you said earlier is true—that they would withdraw if the costs of chasing us outweighed the benefit—then attacking them and causing as much damage as possible is the best option, right?”

Her knight looked at her askance. “It might be, but it has a very good chance of backfiring. If we throw every fighter we have at them and something goes wrong...there is nobody left to defend the villagers.” He leaned in and, quieter, said, “The village soldiers are not at all experienced like the Mount Aerowlyn garrison. These raiders are well trained. In an actual fight, which is ten-to-one odds, I would at best say our people could manage two raiders each. It would be much more likely to be one-for-one.”

Astra looked at him carefully. “And you?”

“Thirty-to-one, easy,” Cyrus rolled his eyes. “Honestly, I cannot be sure. I just do not want to throw these villagers’ soldiers to the wolves if it can be helped, no matter how much you or I can even the odds.” At Astra’s look, the knight relented. “However, once we are closer to Temptress Cliff, and if they have not relented, yes, attacking them may be the best option. We will think of something to even the odds.”




They woke the villagers two hours later and, after quickly eating some food, had them on their feet and on the move again. The moment they were ready to depart, Elrodan spotted one of the raider’s advanced scouts and Astra bolted him with lightning, but Cyrus told them he expected they would still be in pursuit soon after they had the villagers on the move.

“There are probably other scouts out there. We just need to get moving and pray something delays their departure,” the knight had said.

Four hours later, Elreia spotted another scout and nearly took him down with a shot from her bow, but the figure disappeared into the shade beyond her sight. Astra watched her knight as his gaze turned to the left flank of the refugee column, clearly attempting to track the scout, but he eventually shook his head and returned his gaze to the people before them.

“They want to keep us predictable by scaring us into taking the route they want,” the knight explained to her. “Each time they crop up, it will be because we are going too far west or east for them to easily follow.”

By noon, another couple of scouts were spotted on their left flank, though they retreated for cover before any attack could be made on them.

“This is very irritating,” Astra said, glancing around. “Having them so close but not able to do anything.” She paused and then said, “Can we not send someone ahead by horse to contact the cliff, get help from their knights?”

Cyrus was looking back in the vague direction of the raider force. “One less to defend us, plus the moment they realize we are missing someone, they attack before we can get help.”

“What if they never knew there was one less horse and rider?”

The knight whirled to look at Astra. “No.”

Captain Dane, a middle-aged man with what Astra’s sister had described as a “salt-and-pepper” beard, rode up next to the princess, looking back and forth between her and Cyrus. “What are you speaking of?”

Astra shrugged. “I can create an illusion in their minds that we appear as we are now while we send a rider on ahead. Simple, really.”

“Simple,” Cyrus growled, “except for the fact that maintaining that kind of illusion for so long means she will not sleep and probably fall into a stupor the moment she releases the spell.” He continued to glare at his charge. “Darcia said the last time you did it, had you not been so young, you could have killed yourself.”

“Darcia?” The captain asked.

Astra waved it off. “My spell study overseer.” She met Cyrus’ glare and crossed her arms. “I am a lot better than I was then. I know my limits better as well. I can do this.”

“Then?” The captain continued.

Cyrus was not backing down either. “When she was nine, she maintained an illusion that the waterfall near the palace had run dry, tricking some of the other children into walking right into the spray. She fainted immediately after and was bedridden for two weeks.” He had his mount sidestep closer to the princess. “Your safety is just as important as these peoples’ and we are not sacrificing one for the other.”

Astra switched her course of attack. She gave Cyrus her best pout.

“Stop it.” He was avoiding her gaze now.

“Cy,” Astra leaned in, “you know this is a good idea.”

The knight glanced back toward their pursuit, then back at the princess. “If you make yourself sick, I will hate you.”

Smiling in triumph, the princess leaned up to kiss his forehead. “You always know the sweetest things to say.”

Cyrus fished a tiny square out of his pack, unfolded it, and checked to make sure it was blank. He handed it to Astra, who whispered the spell commands for remote scribing. While she worked on the letter, Cyrus turned to Captain Dane. “Get one of your men to ride on ahead to the Cliff. They can take the letter Astra is writing for verification.”

When Astra had finished the letter and conjured a bit of wax to close it, Cyrus marked it with his ring and handed it over to the captain, who then handed it to one of his men. Astra watched the man speed off toward the front of the column. She then turned to see her knight staring at her with concern. “I will be fine,” she reassured him.

“Just be sure to release the spell if you feel it draining too much,” he said.

Astra pulled within herself, reaching deep into her own mind. Affecting the minds of so many required her to feel the limits within her own self before touching others. She knew the danger was not the spell itself—it was returning to her own mind upon the completion of the spell without dragging in foreign thoughts or memories.

Practicing with Darcia, with sis, even with Cyrus is simple. Bringing a part of them back with me is actually comforting. Part of her wished she had Cyrus’ odd ability, to see the souls of others, as it would be much more simple to separate herself from another. I have to do with what I can.

Taking a deep breath, Astra whispered the command.




The spell seemed to work if the continual presence of the raiders was any indication. When Cyrus called for camp to be broken that evening, the elves had spotted the scouts again, who retreated back toward the main force. As Astra settled down, her eyes roamed over the site—much more enclosed this time as nobody had found a big enough clearing to fit them all—and fought back a yawn.

“They are six and a half kilometers to the south according to Elrodan,” Cyrus said, sitting down next to her.

Astra nodded. “And they must not have seen our rider if they are not gearing to attack right now.”

“So now we wait and hope the rider gets to the Cliff and brings reinforcements back with them.”

“Now we wait, and hope,” Cyrus affirmed.




It became worrisome when the next day shortly before noon, the raiders escalated their harassment. The moment one of the town guards spotted the scout was not too soon as the scout took up a bow and shot at one of the villagers.

Cyrus was closer than the elves and pulled his crossbow to return fire, though his shot was too late and embedded itself into a tree rather than a raider. Cursing, the knight called out orders and got shouts back in return. “This may be a problem.”

Astra kept her eyes on the convoy ahead. “What do you mean?”

“They might start trying to whittle away our defenses. Even failed attacks are going to be terrible morale for the villagers.” Cyrus looked at the princess carefully. “You are sure you are not tired?”

“Of course I am,” Astra said.

“Sure, or tired?”

By nightfall, three such incidents had occurred—arrows firing out of the trees, one of which struck one of the village guards. Luck managed to save the victim’s life, however, as the shot deflected off his helm.

“Why now?” Astra asked as they settled down for the night.

Cyrus shook his head and surprised Astra when he started dabbing at her forehead with a damp cloth. She was surprised to feel him wipe sweat away. “I cannot be sure. Their stars are simply focused on their task.”

“You can see them?”

Nodding, he peered back to the south. “Five kilometers away. Some of them I can just see if I focus hard enough.”

“The scouts?”

“A lot of life around us, princess. I can discern the main group because they bundle up and cause a really intense light—the one or two taking shots at us are spread out and amidst other wilderness noise that makes it hard to see. Like how deep in Mount Aerowlyn, if everyone has torchlight out, it is difficult to make out the distant stars. I know they are there, but discerning specific movements...very difficult.” Cyrus sighed. “And then there is your star to consider...”

Astra glared him into silence and, after drinking some water and eating some dried fruit—she did not feel terribly hungry—lapsed into a half-awake state that she felt most comfortable in when maintaining a long-term spell. She admitted to herself that she had become an expert at finding that balance: within the palace making appearances at meetings or dinners where the nobles surrounding her digressed into the backhanded small-talk, finding a state between awareness and absolute oblivion was a necessity for her sanity.

It had been a couple of hours in her estimation when Cyrus was suddenly standing before her, hand on the hilt of his blade.

“What is it?” she whispered, glancing carefully about. The darkness of the night kept her from seeing much—the moonlight only pierced so much of the canopy above them.

“A group of them have gathered close to here,” he whispered back. “However, I do not want to spook them.” He turned to crouch down next to her and placed his crossbow in her hands. “Since you cannot break the spell to initiate another, just keep this at hand instead.”

She nodded. “Have you managed to signal anyone else?”

“No. We will have to wait for them to make a move.”

They fell into silence, and only in hindsight did Astra realize that the sounds of the forest had disappeared. She could not hear any crickets chirping—an unusual occurrence in the middle of summer—and the owl hooting she had grown accustomed to during the trip had ceased as well. Detached as she was for the continuation of the spell, she had failed to notice such signs of active foreign presences in the area.

“The hell are you doing?” she heard Cyrus whisper, though clearly directed at the intruders.

“What?” Astra asked.

The knight moved closer to her. “Their attention is all over the place, so I cannot be certa—”

He was cut off by the sudden crackling of foliage—the intruders sounded like they had broke through a large bush—and Astra thought she heard metal scraping on leather, the sound of weapons being drawn. She tried to peer through the gloom in that direction, but could barely make out silhouettes, much less tangible shapes.

“Dammit!” Cyrus cried, suddenly shifting before her.

Astra heard the twang of two different bowstrings and flinched when Cyrus moved between her and the noises.

“To arms!” Cyrus shouted, drawing his blade. “Guards, on your feet!”

There was the sudden flash of fire jetting toward them and it dawned on Astra what was going on: the raiders had a magus with them and they had sought out the person responsible for the glamour illusion touching their minds.

They do not know who I am, but once again I am at the center of attention. Dropping the illusion from her focus—if there was a magus here, it would not matter if the spell had worked since the enemy would know something was amiss—Astra instead got up to her feet and prepared to take a shot over Cyrus’ shoulder—

Light blurred at the edges of her vision, which suddenly turned hazy and distorted. She was suddenly against Cyrus’ back—she could not remember getting there—and it felt like her head was suddenly empty and hollow while her legs were pumping lead instead of blood. She vaguely heard her knight, knew his words to be frantic and scared, but she could not understand with the rush of wind that cycloned through her ears, deadening his meaning.

There was a rush of cold that assaulted her from the inside and Astra could just make out the sound of battle before succumbing to that cold, her muscles giving out completely. She felt no jab of pain, however, and the distant presence of a warm pair of hands cradling her let her know that Cyrus was still next to her, had her safe.

And as she lost consciousness, the strangest sight assailed her eyes as she stared up between the trees out at the night sky.

The silhouette of a demon, wings eclipsing the moonlit sky.




Chapter 9
The Mystery Tassoran


“They are in full retreat,” Captain Dane reported in.

Cyrus nodded, though his eyes never strayed from Astra’s sleeping form. While the princess was still breathing and her pulse was strong, he was still worried as to how healthy it had been to once again maintain a link with the minds of so many people. The last time she had used such a glamour it had been difficult for her to shut out the feelings and emotions that her own mind had invaded and as a result...

As a result, she was quick to anger or depression for a month afterward. Cyrus made sure the princess was as comfortable as possible, having begged a pillow from one of the villagers and covered her in her cloak. She had not stirred since collapsing against him, however, and would probably sleep for at least the next full day. “Keep your men on the lookout regardless. I do not want any further surprises that we could prevent in the foreseeable future,” Cyrus told the captain. “Keep torchlight high; no point in trying to be subtle after what just happened.”

When the captain was gone, Cyrus turned his attention to more pressing matters. As suddenly the raiders have the least of my attention. He shifted his gaze from the sleeping princess to the man before him. “Who are you?”

The man gave a grin full of teeth, clear even in the faint torchlight he held aloft. “Your savior’s name is Tassoran.”

Cyrus craned his neck to meet the man’s stare, his hands never too far from his weapon. He pondered the self-righteous phrasing, despite the apt description. “And, besides decimating the raider force, what is it you are doing out here?”

Grin widening, the man started shuffling through his belt pouches. “I should probably find it, because I never wear it...” he even crouched down to set a travel pack down and rifle through it.

As he did so, Cyrus regarded him carefully. Tall, white-haired and porcelain skinned—almost to the point of an albino—this Tassoran was not a difficult read. It was not his outward appearance—odd though it may be, even if he were an elf—that was different. Nor his soul, as his star flickered in a straightforward manner much as a simple farmer or professional might, so single-minded on the task at hand. It was his presence, which shifted unlike the souls of mortal kin that Cyrus was confused by. The mortal beings under the Lifebringer were all similar in his experience: elves, dwarves, and humans had little visible differences in their stars, and even the savage goblin men that roamed outside of society, and likewise Cyrus did not believe that some of the stranger creatures in the world would appear much different. So long as they could die, they would look the same.

This is different, strangely so. Cyrus could see the star fine, see it pulsing and glowing like any other, but it was strangely shaped. The pulses that Cyrus knew to mean a shift in thought, the sharp stabs of coronal light that meant it was active, they came arbitrarily. Stars flicker at night like a candle such that people even say they “twinkle”. This...has shape, defined shape. Dangerous shape.

Tassoran finally fished a brooch from his pack and awkwardly pulled it apart from where it clung to some spare clothing. “I am officially a Watcher in the Midnight Eyes.”

Though the pulse of his star said he spoke the truth, Cyrus was still hesitant. He trusted the Eyes—knew their leader very well—but this was not their leader. “You could have slain one of their number and taken the sigil. Watchers are not known for their combat prowess.”

It seemed that everything Cyrus said or did made this man smirk or grin in a variety of ways, as if everything Cyrus said was confirming some kind of impression in his mind. But it was not Tassoran who answered. “He speaks the truth. We sent for him.”

Cyrus glanced over his shoulder at the elves; they had been silent the entire time, having fought their fair share of the raiders and had been examining the clothing and equipment of those they had felled. “When was this?”

Elreia looked only faintly abashed as she held out a brooch almost identical to Tassoran’s snowflake-shaped identifier; another Midnight Eyes brooch, declaring her a Patroller within the order. “I’m sorry I did not speak of it earlier, but we wanted to observe you first.”

Feeling as if he were the punch-line to some kind of long-winded jest, Cyrus glared at Elreia as he saw the climax rising from her star. “For what purpose?”

Tassoran said it before the elven woman could. “To see if what Alisia told us was true.”

Cyrus sighed. Alisia, Captain of the Midnight Eyes, had spent time in Aerowlyn three years prior during the investigation of Queen Stella’s assassination. The Midnight Eyes, regarded in Aerowlyn as half vigilante peacekeepers and half information brokers had been asked, by Cyrus himself, to look into the situation; his own confidence at figuring out what had transpired bottomed out since the murder had occurred under his very nose. Still a teenager at the time, Alisia had breezed in, figured it out, and rather enchanted him at the same time, and he had been swept up in what Astra described as a “storybook romance.”

He also knew that it galvanized some in Aerowlyn’s hierarchy to dismiss her as a mere knight’s consort, so Cyrus understood it possibly made him the target of a similar opinion within the Eyes’ order. “And did I pass your test?”

“She did say you would go against your natural instincts if the princess’ concern was your first priority,” Tassoran said. “I could certainly see you thinking through every scenario even though you know we are trustworthy.” His eyebrows twitched in a way similar to a waggle.

Then again, I suppose it is their job to observe and identify personas, Cyrus thought, coloring at his own assumptions. I suppose if Alisia spoke of me, it would be about my habits and nature. She’s not stagnant like the Aerowlyn knighthood and nobility are. He supposed he ought to be thankful they did not also think he and Astra were having an affair, as many of their peers seemed to think. Of course, why they think that is a possibility after seeing Nuit is incomprehensible to me.

Cyrus did wonder how much they knew of his insight into people’s thoughts, considering Tassoran’s words—though he knew Alisia would not have spread that kind of information around lightly. “Fine,” he muttered, looking once again at Astra before scanning the field with scrutiny. “You used some kind of explosive spell to destroy a group and terrify the others into retreat?”

Tassoran nodded. “I suppose ‘explosive spell’ is close enough, but I certainly did do it to cause retreat.” He shrugged. “I tracked you from the village; it was to be the place I meet Elrodan and Elreia at. I’ve been watching since yesterday, though I wanted to be a surprise in case they made a move.”

“I see.” Cyrus did not fully, as the shape of Tassoran’s star still bothered him, as well as the outcome of the battle. He disliked the idea that anyone, even a trained magus, had the kind of power Tassoran had only even briefly displayed—as the “explosive spell” had, in fact, vaporized a dozen of the raiders, half a tree, and about twenty centimeters of dirt and growth beneath the raider’s feet. Not even dust had remained.

Seemingly aware of Cyrus’ constant glances at him, Tassoran hefted his pack on again. “If you want to get these people to safety, I would suggest we move now while they are in retreat. They can rest when we reach Temptress Cliff. The raiders will be more careful now, though with me here, they will not cluster themselves so closely for me to strike at, especially since I missed hitting the magus they had with them. He will warn them. So we should move now while we have the chance.”

“Right.” Cyrus glared at his presumptuous tone, but could not disagree. He motioned for the nearest of the town guard. “Pick up arms from the fallen and issue them to any other volunteers from the village. We move as soon as everyone is rearranged for travel.”

Elrodan made some motions at Astra’s sleeping form and Elreia translated, “What about her?”

Cyrus took a deep breath.



“Aww, is that not just adorable?” Elreia mocked.

The children giggled at that. When Cyrus had realized he would not be using the horses he and Astra had brought, the knight had offered to let some of the children take turns riding so they would not be as tired and restless as children became on a long trek as this. The village’s children had swarmed him, and after he had changed out of his mail and replaced it on his mount, had helped the first four children onto Sungold and Starmane, then draped Astra over his own back for the travel ahead.

The kids delighted in this and asked him all kinds of stories about their princess, eventually deciding that they would spend the remainder of the trip in his presence as opposed to their parents’. Even as the hours passed the horse riding turns were forgotten in light of having a real-live knight-in-shining with his princess tell them firsthand stories.

And then the elves came as dusk approached the next day. Cyrus, who had not met many elves before, wondered if they were all this teasing, or if it was something about he and Astra in particular that tickled their sensibilities. “I thought you were tracking the raiders?”

“Came to report,” Elreia said. “They seem to have given up on us. I suppose they might have kept at it if they knew your princess walked with the villagers, but I think they decided that it was becoming costlier than they wanted to pursue this group.”

Cyrus thought about that for a moment. “I somewhat wondered why they would even pursue us so far from the village. I had to prepare for the worst, but did not necessarily expect them to follow through. The raids on our border villages before were swift affairs: come in, steal food and money, kill a few, kidnap for ransom or slavery a handful, then leave. Strange that they felt it necessary to outright assault this village.”

“We noticed no slaving cages either, so the earlier idea of slavery seems unlikely” Elreia said. “It appeared they wanted a full slaughter.”

Elrodan elbowed her and motioned around, and the elven woman finally seemed to realize she spoke amidst a group of wide-eyed children no older than ten. They stared up at her with a kind of distant worry—like they could not quite believe, even as they traveled far from their homes so quickly, that such a thing would happen to them. She quickly changed the subject. “How is the princess?”

Giving the slightest tilt of the head, Cyrus said, “Recovering faster than I thought she would.” He did not go into detail as to how he knew, though between feeling her breath on his neck and the slight twitches she would give, he could tell she was on her way to wakefulness even without his star-sight. “In fact, if you could watch the children, I should probably go find Captain Dane to get an estimate on our messenger rider’s status and when we can expect help.”

The elves nodded, and after promising the children he would return—hopefully with Astra awake—he stopped his stride off to the side of the column and waited for Dane and his men to overtake them.

With almost perfect timing, he heard Astra take a deep breath; her natural habit when waking from a deep sleep. He felt her eyelashes flutter against the back of his neck. “We received unexpected help and drove the raiders away,” Cyrus said over his shoulder to the first question he felt rising in her consciousness. “You passed out from spell fatigue.”

“I saw a great creature rising over the trees,” she said as he slowly let her off of his back.

“Our help,” Cyrus said. “I think the beast was an illusion...I will speak of it later.” He turned to hold her by the shoulder as she was still unsteady on her feet. “How do you feel?”

“Tired, mostly.” She rubbed at her temples. “Not as bad as last time. Where are we?”

He explained their situation and then called Captain Dane over once the knight came into view. They made a plan to break camp only after complete twilight had fallen. The captain also thought the messenger would have made it to Temptress Cliff by then, so they would hopefully have an armed escort arriving within three days—two if they were very fast about it.

“And so,” Cyrus explained once they had dismissed Dane, “he looks a lot like that illusion on the inside. I do not detect lies or malevolent direction in his presence, but I’m not exactly sure what I am seeing in its stead.”

Astra mulled this over, yawned, and looked somewhere between embarrassed and annoyed. “Both he and Elreia spoke of Alisia, right? I really doubt she would be the type to speak much of her relationships unless she trusted whoever it was she spoke to. Unless she really had a lot to say about how you perform in bed.”

“I have not heard from her in over a year due to the situation in Rokamura,” he continued, as if he had not heard the last comment. “For all I know, she is dead and they stole this information from the journal she kept.”

“You did not detect deception from any of them.”

He sighed. “Tassoran though, he is hiding something. Or concealing something, at least—it may not have anything to do with us, but whatever it is, it speaks of danger.”

“Yes, and we would not want that, danger is such a rarity in our lives.”

“I’m supposed to be the sarcastic one.”

“Must be contagious. You did have every part of my body pressed up against you.”

Well, here come the spell side-effects. The raiders must have been full of sarcastic, sex-deprived warriors. “Do you need to go back to sleep?”

“Oh, so you want every part of my body pressed against you.”

Cyrus began to wonder if going to a city named after the word temptation was such a good idea.




Chapter 10
Song of the Temptress


The three-day estimate of escorts proved to be correct, as a unit of sixty fast-riding cavalry were dispatched to escort the villagers the remaining distance to Temptress Cliff while another dozen were dispatched to nearby villages to alert them to the possibility of attack. By the time the entire refugee group reached the city, it was over a week since the initial attack and all parties were exhausted.

And I’m tired of being a sharp-tongued mercenary, Astra thought. The days following the retreat by the raiders had not left her relieved—instead, the lingering essence of aggressive, self-important warrior minds in her head left the princess feeling emotionally drained. Each day the spell side-effects lessened, but she knew that even the occasional bitter, snide remark to a given villager was a problem.

The sight of the city did nothing to improve her mood, so much so that Sungold was acting restless beneath her, aware of her rider’s mood. The people here were the reason Cyrus brought the alchemy kit. I wanted to maintain the minimum amount of contact with this place’s leaders, but the villagers deserve better consideration than that.

Astra found herself looking to Cyrus, who had allowed the children to continue riding his horse in turns, guiding them along and telling them an abridged version of the story Astra had him reading to her as they traveled. Her knight was the real reason she disliked the people in Temptress Cliff: owning to the fact that the city was the best-guarded citadel in Aerowlyn besides the capitol, many of the knights residing here were of long family lineages and disliked any disruptive force to their established tradition. Cyrus, while descendant of a noble family, had not been raised as many of his peers were in a combat and leadership academy nor privately tutored as such. Instead, he had been raised closer to his mother’s educational background, learning primarily of history and literature, hoping to be apprenticed to a historian.

As such, many of the knights in the city were the most resistant to Cyrus’ elevation as a knight and, because of his position in the hierarchy of tradition in Aerowlyn, their de jure leader. Something they took umbrage to and resisted in childish ways. Not that prank-attacking them in return is any less childish. Still.

Cyrus was now telling the children that they would have to return to their parents’ side for entry into the city. “Less confusing for the inns to take head counts, you understand.”

With disappointed groans, the two currently on Starmane were helped down and then ushered off to their respective families hovering nearby. Cyrus glanced back at Astra. “Do we announce our presence immediately?”

Astra sighed. “We, or should I say you, have been taking command of everybody here. It is not like they will deny us the information we seek from the citadel archives if they know we are here—they will just give us all kinds of lip for it.” She waved off what she knew to be his next concern. “As for assassination attempts, all of the villagers already know we are here. At least, theoretically, we would have the city guard on our side.”

Nodding, Cyrus mounted up and the two of them kicked up their speed to reach the front of the column where Captain Dane and Tassoran were already to the city gates.

Which, Astra noted, were not open. “What is going on?”

Captain Dane was glowering—a mean looking sight considering the man towered over even Tassoran and Elrodan. “They are not allowing us entry. Shoved some order in our face about taking everyone east toward another village that has inn vacancies.”

“Inn vacancies?” Astra knew her face was scrunching up in an expression of disgust that she normally kept well in check. “What in god’s name does that mean?”

“I have a theory, though best to confirm before throwing accusations,” Cyrus said, staring hard at the gate. Astra recognized his expression of deep concentration; an attempt at picking out individuals within the city and perceiving their thoughts even from so far away. Not that we don’t already know how Diranel is an old-fashioned self-serving type.

“Whatever the case,” Astra growled, dismounting and marching up to the gate, “we’ve traveled far and along with everyone else I am tired and hungry and ready to vaporize the next idiot to stand in my way.”

Pressing her right hand to the gate, Astra watched as thin lines of glowing light corresponding with her blood veins lit up along her fingers, flashing silver and spreading out until they reached her wrist. The light blinked twice, then faded away, and she could hear as the bars of the gate slid unlocked on their own accord.

“What was that?” Dane asked.

There was a similar exclamation of surprise from the other side of the gate, followed by a flurry of footsteps. Astra huffed and turned to grab the reigns of her horse. “Major cities of Aerowlyn with magical wards recognize the royal family; we are, after all, the Sorceress’ children. They do what we tell them to.”

Dane still looked baffled and Cyrus further clarified, “She was linking with the spells protecting the city walls and gate from magus attackers and telling it to recognize her.”

The creaking of heavy, strained wood signaled the gate opening; beyond the city guard had arranged a phalanx to combat whoever was trespassing. Astra glanced back at Cyrus, who in turn looked to Dane and the soldiers escorting the villagers and motioned for them to follow. The Sorceress’ Knight then trotted his steed up and addressed the assembled soldiers. “Recognize the Princess of Aerowlyn, who demands entry into the city. Then go get Diranel and tell him Cyrus Lighleir demands his immediate attention.”

All of the soldiers looked to the apparent leader out of the corner of their eyes; Astra’s appearance, while not instantly telling of who she was, definitely stood out once one knew her identity. Astra could see their thoughts play out: who are they, Princess Astra, oh damnation are we in trouble, what do we do? The leader finally motioned for his men to stand down, then pointed at one and told him to go alert Diranel and the city leaders.

With the soldiers dispersed, Astra marched right down one avenue where the majority of the city’s inns were located. In an attempt to calm herself, she started stroking Sungold’s mane as the villagers slowly gathered along the street and began unpacking the few pack animals they had brought.

Cyrus wandered up next to her, having also dismounted, and took her free hand in his. “You are not going to shoot Diranel, I hope,” he said, gently nudging her with his shoulder.

“Sorry,” she said. She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. “You know as well as I that there are plenty of vacancies here. He just did not want to care for some penniless refugees.”

“Probably,” Cyrus agreed. “But let us find out why so we can play with him all the better.” He pulled her along, and she reluctantly followed.



At this point, playing with him would be a kindness, Astra thought.

It had not taken the city’s resident steward very long to appear, frowning the entire time. Diranel always had a wrinkled forehead whenever Astra saw him, but since other members of the Aerowlyn court got along with him, the princess had decided either Cyrus or her own presence was the reason behind his constant squint-eyed look. This time, she figured they had brought along a rather serious issue, though it was hardly her own fault.

“Local economics have to come after the safety of your ruined neighbors,” Cyrus was saying in the village’s defense.

Astra felt like her knight was being too diplomatic this time. Diranel had quickly pulled them into one of the inns and had commandeered the innkeeper’s pantry to speak in privacy. He then tried to explain how the rooms taken up by refugees would displace incoming merchants that were due in from far-away Denmora to export their summer crop. He attempted to negotiate the suggestion that the refugees be sent to Echo Valley, the village they have bypassed to reach Temptress Cliff’s defensible walls. “Your raiders would think twice of attacking Echo Valley now that its watch has been tripled and populace warned,” he had said.

“Echo Valley is not equipped to handle refugees two-thirds the size of its own population,” Cyrus had countered.

Now Diranel was in a long, drawn-out argument about the innkeepers and how they would be ruined by refugees unable to pay for rooms, how they relied upon the Denmoran trade to break even for the season. Astra could see that even Cyrus was struggling to bite back on saying something rash, and it occurred to the princess that her own collapse and fatigue from the past few days overshadowed the fact that her knight must be exhausted as well. Cyrus never complained, but she could see it in the droop of his shoulders and how hazily he was looking at Diranel.

“Then some of the refugees can be placed within the citadel itself. There should be enough room to fit a third of them at the least, which will leave each innkeeper some space.” Cyrus said.

“That also will not do,” Diranel said, as if Cyrus should already know that his idea was impossible. “The citadel storerooms are already half-filled with supplies for the winter. You do recall that we are not a farming community and rely solely on imports for food. Since the roads are often blocked during the winter and fishing in these northern waters at that time is virtually impossible—”

Astra had it. Sidling up to Diranel’s side, she bit her lip until it bled, then pitched her voice nearly to a whisper. “Then it is not a problem to leave the refugees with the innkeepers.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Astra could see Cyrus immediately shut his eyes and cover his ears. Diranel, however, was not aware of what was happening, swaying in place and nodding. “It is not a problem to leave the refugees with the innkeepers,” he mimed.

“Once word reaches Mount Aerowlyn, relief support and money should eventually make its way here, as well as plans for the permanent residency of these people. Correct?”

“Correct.” Diranel’s eyes were drooping, as if he were falling asleep in place.

“Then your princess commands you to make sure the refugees’ comfort is seen to. Lord Lighleir and I will be staying near the refugees for now, and we will be visiting the citadel archives upon the morning. If we have any use for you, we will send word. You are to wait patiently for such a message. Do you understand?”

The baron nodded. “I understand.” Blinking, he regained his clear-headed look, glared significantly at Cyrus, but made his way out of the pantry. Astra could then make out Diranel’s voice moving into the street where the refugees were gathering.

Astra wiped the bit of blood trickling from her lip with her finger. With that, Cyrus removed his hands from his ears and shook his head violently, as if he had just downed a very potent drink and were now regretting it. “Warn me the next time you plan on doing that?” he complained.

“I should have just done it from the very beginning.”

Cyrus slowly led the way out of the pantry and glanced at the entry to the inn, where he could see Diranel addressing the refugees out on the street. “He is going to be very irritated with you once that spell wears off.”

“He will be irritated with us either way. He’s already irritated with you because he believes you talked him down.”

The two of them then divided up, with Astra speaking to the innkeepers about what would be happening while Cyrus directed the refugees to rooms, attempting to cram as many as could comfortably fit into each room. Once things looked to be in order, Astra sought out the elves and Tassoran, who were patiently standing aside it all, though Tassoran had been grinning quite menacingly at some of the soldiers as they passed by.

“And what plans do you have from here?” she asked, unable to help but look at Tassoran as opposed to the elves.

“Alisia spoke to us of you as well,” Tassoran said, as if would answer her question. “She said you were a visionary.”

Astra frowned, thinking back to the Eyes’ visit. She was well-aware that Alisia knew about Cyrus’ sight and how he perceived the world, but she had never thought to share anything about her own magic to the woman. Astra began to feel the uncomfortable sensation Cyrus had spoken about when dealing with Tassoran—as if he were not quite what he said he was. “I...suppose you could say that,” she said.

“Would your current reason for being out amidst the country be due to a vision?” Tassoran pressed.

Astra found no harm in answering, “Yes.”

“Then, could it have something to do with these attacks on your sovereignty? A looming threat?”

With the safety of the villagers at the forefront of her mind, Astra had not stopped to consider that. Her dream was such an abstract image, with no clear markers as to what-equaled-what, she could not be sure of anything until she found the exact match in her mind’s eye. “Perhaps,” she said.

Tassoran grinned at the elves, and Astra was beginning to dislike how arrogant it made him look. The elves nodded back. “Then, if it does no harm, we would like to accompany you for a little while—to the eastern coast, at the very least, assuming that is within the scope of your planned travels,” Tassoran said.

“I will consider it,” Astra said. I think now I need to grill Cyrus on what it is he sees with Tassoran. “For now, you can take a room with one of the inns here at my expense. We will speak of it later—Cyrus and I have business here before we can plan on further travel arrangements.”

The three of them bowed, and Tassoran said, “Understood. You know where to find us, then.” And with another smirk, he and the elves followed after the villagers as they were organized into groups.

Astra watched them go, her mind still on Tassoran’s expressions. Every time he grins like that, I can’t help but feel danger is lurking nearby.

She hoped it was just her imagination.

She felt it was not.



“I don’t know what to tell you,” Cyrus said. “Your impression is the same as mine.”

After all the villagers were seen to and the innkeepers satiated with promises of reimbursement from the capital, the two of them had finally settled into a room. Despite the exhaustion she felt, Astra had yet to make for the bed, instead pacing up and down the room and glancing out the window, though the sky had grown dark and the lantern light from inside blocked all but shapeless gloom from without.

“I want to trust him, but his appearance is a little convenient, and while you say you sense no deception in his story, I do not want to risk the city’s safety, nor our safety. But if he truly knows Alisia, and they are a part of the Midnight Eyes—”

“Astra,” Cyrus said, “shouldn’t you be thinking of rest now? For the time being, at least, we’re okay, everyone is okay.”

She looked at him, his back set against the bed’s headboard and his sword propped against the bedside, ready to be drawn. Her eyes narrowed into a glare. “I’ll rest when you will.”

“You’re still exhausted from the illusion spell,” Cyrus said. “You need not worry this instant about Tassoran or the villagers or even Diranel.”

Still glaring at her knight, Astra nevertheless started going around the room, opening the lamp in one corner and blowing the flame out. When only the one remaining at the bedside was left, Cyrus obligingly turned his back as she stripped out of her travel-dirty clothing.

With his back turned, and before his sight could pick up on it, Astra bit her lip, crawled up onto the bed behind him, and began whispering into his ear.

“Astra…” Cyrus murmured, but the spell was already cast.

The princess continued to whisper, faintly singing a song to enchant her knight. Unlike the command she had given Diranel, or the one she had spelled the raiders at Milasa Car with, this was fainter in power but relied on Cyrus’ familiarity with her voice to hypnotize him into relaxing.

Smiling to herself, Astra recited the traditional song that those in Temptress Cliff believed the siren of their namesake used to crash the ship full of their ancestors against the coast they now called home. Cyrus wavered in place, but finally his head lulled and she felt safe enough to pull him back to lie fully on the bed.

Sighing in relief, Astra pulled his overtunic and boots off, unable to do anything more considering his size and the fact that she was, in fact, as tired as he had pointed out. After changing her own underclothes, she blew out the last lamp and crawled into bed. “As I said, I’ll rest when you will, Cyrus.”

Nestling up next to him as she did when they were children, it was not long before Astra was just as deep under sleep’s spell as he was.

[Sherrinford]

I've read only the first update for now.

Also, I'm afraid I have to call myself out of this. Almost TL;DR

No grudges, of course. I'll try to find the will to follow this, but if this is the normal update speed...

While truenames—words in angelic tongue that denoted a person, place, or thing’s absolute nature and controlled their very existence—

Mah, I didn't like this concept in Eragon...

[Arashi_Leonhart]

Mah, I didn't like this concept in Eragon...

Only using it for the verbal components in spellwork, instead of self-hypnosis like FSN or some made-up language like most other fantasy. It also ties to the idea that this is very Eastern; Japanese, for instance, always imagine kanji in their head when they're communicating.

[Techlet]

I'm only up to chapter 6 but I'm liking this so far.

It's an interesting world but Astra's the one that's really pulling the weight for me. Her character just clicks.

Some of the dialogue, especially in the earlier chapters, felt stiff and out of place when the rest of the narrative flowed so well.

[Arashi_Leonhart]

Yeah, I was still trying to figure out natural talk to exposition ratio and it came out as crap. They sound a lot more natural later on and that's one of the reasons I just restarted completely.

[Arashi_Leonhart]

Here's a complaint: I conceptualized this in 2001-2002, and though a lot of things have changed, pretty much all of the main elements were in place then: Cyrus was a knight that saw lights in people, Astra was a princess-sorceress that had a mother named Stella.

...And then, the plotline for this shows up, with this as the main heroine. Honest to god, I grabbed that picture, showed it to Brittany, the one that I worked this story out with/the one Astra is somewhat based on, and without any context she looked at the image and went, "WTF that's Astra?!"



Chapter 11
Library of the Temptress


Cyrus was still glaring off and on by the time Astra broke for lunch the next day. Waking to Astra curled up next to him with a self-satisfied smile still marking her lips, he felt it within his rights to be annoyed with her as they made their way into the citadel’s historical archive. Astra, talented as she was with compulsion magic, could always make him do things against his will, and she often did so if she felt he was pushing himself too hard to do his job. And what’s the point in doing my job if my job keeps knocking me out?

Astra pretended to ignore it, though she would grin to herself when she thought Cyrus was not looking. After checking with some of the refugees to be sure of their comfort, she proceeded to venture to the keep along the cliff-side of the city, demanded entry, and had Cyrus guide her to the archive library.

Long before starting the journey through Aerowlyn, the two of them had decided that Temptress Cliff would be a destination to access its archive—a library about five times the size of the one at the palace in Mount Aerowlyn. Though Astra’s visions had begun some years before, the last time she had been at Temptress Cliff had been little more than a quick stop-off in which the local nobles had monopolized her time. Now they could mount a significant investigation.

Cyrus could tell, however, that Astra was quickly becoming preoccupied. Though the archive was bereft of windows—to keep the sun from staining some of the old tomes and scrolls that were kept—Astra’s internal clock had always been rather accurate and it was probably the exact hour of midday that Astra decided to take a break and eat. Food was regularly not allowed in the archive for the same reason sunlight was absent, but the archivists clearly had no wish to inspire the ire of a princess that had already neutered their local steward. Once the food was present, however, Astra’s eyes would wander from her bread and pears to the varying bookshelves that lined the walls and then to the silver inlay on the furniture in the room.

“I’m not bothering you, am I?” she asked suddenly.

Momentarily forgetting to scowl—it was half joking anyway—Cyrus fumbled his place in the tome he was searching through. “What?”

“’We will go to Temptress Cliff and do some research there about the Nocturnal Realm and visions’ is what I say, but then we get here and you are doing all the work. Again.”

“Yes, I am your monkey,” Cyrus said. When Astra continued to look frustrated, he nudged at her leg with his foot under the table. “Delegating people to jobs they are best suited for is what you will be doing, you know.”

Astra was quiet again, though her sour expression continued to hold sway. Cyrus returned to reading, absently taking a bite of food here and there as he did so. I know what you want to say, but you are plenty capable enough of bringing it up if it concerns you still. Not fair for me to always anticipate everything you do.

The chapter that referenced visions in his current book was vague and unhelpful, so Cyrus eventually gave up on it and returned it to the stack the two of them had brought to the table. Astra was correct in that of the books searched through, three had been by Astra while he had gone through eight, but it mattered little in the long run: they still had at least three dozen still to go. Even if she were as fast, it would take them a while yet.

“Don’t you ever regret it?” Astra finally said, as he picked up the next book. “Giving all this up? Here I am, asking you to do exactly what you could have done regardless to the whole knight thing, but now you end up doing both?”

“Call me an overachiever.” Cyrus grinned at her, tried to wind her up. “I always did have my work done before anyone else in class, if you recall.”

Astra smiled faintly at that, though her distant look returned. Melancholy, Cyrus had determined, happened when everything in the person’s star was the same color and shape and pulse rate as any other time, but the star itself seemed wispy and transparent, like viewing the sun through drawn curtains. It was almost amusing, since many of Cyrus’ peers often suggested his own natural default expression was melancholy—yet none of them would ever see it on Astra, even though Cyrus thought she probably felt that emotion more commonly than he did. “Not to disparage your work, but, another soldier could have done what you have in my protection. Sildan or Troyen would be perfectly capable of having been my knight.”

Cyrus nodded at that. Sildan and Troyen were both knights, both ordained by the same ritual he had been knighted under, though both were regarded as his subordinates in the hierarchy of their order: Sildan represented a spirit of wind and Troyen a spirit of stone, and both were subordinate to the spirit of morning that Cyrus was held by. Regardless, Cyrus always thought it something of a fluke that he had been picked, as both Sildan and Troyen had thought of knighthood since their childhood and both had the athletic talent Cyrus lacked. “Yes, they probably could have.”

“So...was it necessary to give up what you wanted to do for this?” Astra finally looked him dead in the eye. “It’s not like I would have begrudged you your desired place in the world. I never ordered you to soldier up.”

When the two of them were at the palace, back home, they always had something occupying their attention and Cyrus knew that Astra allowed herself the distraction from this issue. But here, alone as they were, and with the earlier danger ringing in her ears, even Astra’s single mission of researching her vision was failing in maintaining that distraction. Cyrus had wondered when she would finally pose this question and had long ago figured out a reply: “Do you want me here, Astra?”

“Yes.”

“Then I think it was plenty necessary.”

Astra went quiet again, thought her melancholy did not recede from her presence. Cyrus, however, knew that there was nothing he could say that would fix it—it was not his place to anyway. If Astra figured something out that he could be of use, he would, but she would have to come up with that herself. The thing that I can do, however, is find her the information she wants. She always finds her way faster if she has something to concentrate on.

The next book still proved fruitless—its chapter on visions and prophecy nothing more than describing that they existed and citing a couple of examples—so Cyrus returned that to the pile and picked up the next one. So far, nothing he had read through actually recounted specific prophecies, they simply stated that one had been made and then had come true in the form of some war or elected leader or the birth of some child or another that proved instrumental to a given situation. It probably did not help that these books were written by second parties. The Aerowlyn royal family had its secrets that it would not reveal to mere historians.

“I think we’re looking in the wrong place,” Cyrus said as he started in on the next book.

Astra was idly finishing her food and had taken to staring at one of the books in the pile as if intimidating it to tell her what was within so she did not have to read it. “How do you figure?”

“I know these are the books that the catalog said would reference prophecies and dream-visions, but they are all written by archivists and scholars.”

“So?”

“Besides me, would you ever tell some scholar about the visions you have?”

Astra nodded—not at the question, but where it led. “You think anything of value would be from the royal family or its descendants itself. But why then would they record it in a book themselves if they did not want an outside party to know?”

Cyrus thought for a while, leaning back in his chair. Although he knew that few would ever read a ruler’s memoirs—scholars would probably be the only ones in the first place—it was a point that any person could potentially be granted access to the archive. If that person then, for whatever reason, read that memoir and the vision told within, it could lead to any number of things. “Describe the dream to me again,” Cyrus said.

Brow furrowing, Astra nevertheless complied. “A living darkness is before me; not the absence of light, but blackness with shape and form that destroys anything within it. It is then pierced by a white light, which actively frightens the darkness, causes it to shy away.”

Cyrus turned her description around in his head for a moment. He suddenly sat up in his chair so fast that his knees hit the bottom of the table. “Astra, did your mother ever tell you if she had visions?”

“Not really. I always assumed she had some kind of talent, since she was the one to introduce Luna and me to Darcia for sorcery training. Father certainly never showed any interest in magic or sorcery. Why?”

“But she did compose music,” Cyrus went on.

“It was her job before she married,” Astra said.

Cyrus nodded absently but was already gathering some of the book piles in his arms. He went to dump them on the return table and then turned to the catalog at the front of the room.

“What?” Astra shouted after him.

Without looking up from the catalog, Cyrus said, “What is your favorite thing to do?”

“Er...” Astra blanched.

Stars sure do blush just like faces do, Cyrus thought. Astra was clearly embarrassed by the first thing that came to her mind. “Besides that,” he said, rolling his eyes.

She glared at him. “Excuse me for trying to come up with an answer to a random question.” Deciding she would at least follow his lead, she stood to gather up some of the books and put them in the return pile as well. “Reading, I suppose.” She glared at the books still left on the table they had set up on. “Reading stories, not doing research,” she amended.

“Ever thought about writing one yourself?”

Cyrus could see the thought occur to her and the sudden rush of excitement he was feeling. “You think they would have left things behind, like secret messages?” Astra bounded toward him like a child promised candy or a gift from their parents. “You think my mother would have left any visions she had in her music, or other royal-line in their hobbies or memoirs?”

“It occurred to me that if you arranged the description of your vision just so, it could be a poem or lyrics to a song,” Cyrus said.

“Then we should be looking through memoirs and personal writings from my ancestors, not books on prophecy or magic.” Astra shook her head. “I wish we had thought of that before leaving. We would have copies of those sorts of things at the palace.”

“We’re here now. Might as well make the most of it.”



They finally left the archive long after the summer sun had set with the full city lights and a nearly full moon lighting their way. Though they had quickly found Cyrus’ theory correct—ten minutes into the first book of poetry by Astra’s great-great grandfather spoke of a candle flame—Astra had decided that organizing the information would take first priority. The remaining evening had simply been to organize books and scrolls into specific groups based upon what Astra knew of her ancestor’s magical abilities and the world events at the time. Cyrus could see that it would keep her mind from wandering when they finally started research, since some of her ancestor’s backgrounds were reminiscent of the stories she admired or enjoyed.

Cyrus was pleased to see more soldiers than was probably common patrolling the streets; if nothing else, the refugee situation had caused Diranel to take self-preservation precautions. He turned to say as much to Astra and found she was looking at him, her lips curled up faintly, giving him the tiny little smile he had never seen her give anyone else. And like every other time he noticed her with it, he could not see anything in her presence that gave away her thoughts. “What?”

“Lady Astra, Lord Cyrus!”

A teenage boy—a squire to one of Diranel’s knights, by the look of him—was standing outside the door of the inn and his star immediately pulsed excitement. Cyrus tried his best not to look annoyed. Nobody should be this excited in fulfilling some duty given to them by that man. “Yes?” he called out as they approached.

The boy bowed as they drew close enough to address. “Lord Diranel was concerned when you did not meet with him today, so he wishes to know if you will be requiring any further services.”

Cyrus glanced at Astra and frowned. Forgetting, of course, that we told him where we would be today, and sending some squire on an errand that required him to wait for us—probably for hours, since my guess is such an order came around dinner time. Though Astra could not read minds, Cyrus knew that she knew the thoughts crossing his mind. It was a common enough situation that Astra had long ago deciphered how he felt about a noble’s inability to do anything themselves.

“I will be requiring the services of a courier in the near future,” Astra said, “but that can wait for another few days.” A twitch of her lips then foreshadowed her next words. “It has been decided, however, that we will be staying here for a few days still, and I would beg a reminder to Lord Diranel that my birthday will be soon. As I have grown fond of some of the people from Kendall’s Quarry and thought something uplifting might be in order for them as well.”

The squire’s eyes lit up at the mention of birthday and Cyrus quickly caught on to how sneaky this would be. Even if Diranel himself would never bend to the extravagant whims of a princess he barely tolerates, this boy will have everyone in the citadel informed before the lights go out tonight. “Forgive me, milady, it completely slipped my notice, the date...”

Astra tilted her head faintly, an acknowledgement but not a judgment. “To be honest, the thoughts of the refugees has been my primary concern, as it should be with those that serve the people.” A subtle reminder of the boy’s future duties as well. “Just be certain that Diranel understands.”

“Yes, Lady Princess.” He bowed, and then nearly tripped over himself as he rushed toward the palace.

Cyrus shook his head, but was smirking. “Not to mention that we could have reminded Diranel of this detail while we were up near the palace ourselves. The archive was only downstairs to the hall he must have been dining in.”

“But I am a busy noble,” Astra reminded him, “and must use squire knights with better things to do to errand my messages.”

“Right.”

After peeking her head into a couple of the inn rooms to check on the villagers’ comfort, they finally made it back to Astra’s room after the clocks had begun their midnight cycle. Astra had mentioned vague birthday plans to the villagers, and Cyrus could sense their own excitement at the idea even now.

“Which reminds me, you better have my present all ready by now,” Astra said as she slipped out of her clothes for bed.

“Oh yes, I certainly had plenty of time to sneak a present by you between the road travel, politicking, book research, and protecting you and a bunch of villagers from bloodthirsty raiders.”

“You said to call you an overachiever,” Astra said, poking him in the back as she slid under the bed’s covers. “All your work done early and all that.”

Cyrus sighed as she blew out the lantern on her side of the bed. “I suppose that means I should be thinking of your Winter Solstice and wedding gifts now?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Astra quickly settled into a steady sleep, the sound of her breath evening out into a level rhythm. Cyrus watched as she did so, the slight pulses in her star matching the even rise of her shoulders. It was relaxing, like the small waves of the sea drifting in and out on a low-tide beach, though he had never been as endeared to a beach as he was of this image.

Smiling to himself—because he really felt like scowling instead—he leaned down until he could feel her breath against his face and pressed a kiss to the corner of her lips. “I want to be here too,” he said. When she did not stir, he stayed there for a moment, counting the freckles that appeared during the summer months, then sat back up and returned to reading his book, as if nothing had happened.

He always managed to convince himself that it was all a dream by the next morning.



Chapter 12
A Dream of Days, A Night of Realities


August 6th was upon them not a week after their arrival to Temptress Cliff. Though Astra detested the idea of a large celebration in her name—it was terribly embarrassing—the fact that it gave the villagers something to think of other than raider attacks and burned homes. The children especially delighted in getting out of cramped quarters and into the city streets, which had hastily been decorated with flowers to liven up the otherwise drab brown and gray cobblestone of a cliff-dwelling city.

And draining Diranel’s coffers even temporarily is not a bad present, Astra thought. When it became apparent that the news of her presence and demands for a birthday had spread like wildfire through every ear in the city, shopkeepers had quickly begun their decorations in the hopes that Astra might patronize their establishments for her celebration. Since she and Cyrus could carry little in the way of readily available coin, it was suggested to Diranel that he pay for her capriciousness and be reimbursed by the capital once Astra’s letter reached home and such an order could be carried out.

So the morning of, Astra first set out to the tailor—whom they had visited some days before to take measurements and make arrangements—and slipped into the summery dress they crafted for her. And after gaining an approving smile from Cyrus and the children that had eagerly followed her the moment she had stepped out of her inn doorway, toured the city and spent extravagantly on said children.

And delighted the children.

It was not hard to get into the spirit; though distant clouds threatened rain, none actually swarmed in while keeping the summer sun from beaming down on the city the entire time. The children would grow excited over the prospect of the next place, be it a bakery for a quick snack or a pottery shop to look at local wares.

By the fifth shop—a local magician that sold novelty trinkets with the express purpose of entertaining children—Cyrus had called in a teamster and his cart along with two citadel soldiers to guard it so Astra could carry the gifts she bought herself, her family, or the children and their families. Though no such gifts from the magician went into the cart since all of the children decided to keep their toys in hand (though one young boy later set off the firework he had received prematurely and went the rest of the day with a soot-covered face), the teamster earned his due as knee-high statues, a box of early-harvest grapes, and an antique bastard sword started piling up.

“It is your birthday, remember,” Cyrus reminded her upon her purchase of the sword. “Getting gifts for your sister does not really count.”

“I did miss her birthday for this trip,” Astra said.

Mid-afternoon had them pausing to give the children time to rest their feet and give everyone time to eat. The luncheon, however, consisted of fresh pears and apples from the market and Astra took the time to peruse each stand while she ate. Astra smiled and made sure to say a kind word to each vendor that was likewise considerate and positive while ignoring the few that would heckle the other vendors or disparage a rival in a sales pitch. All the while, she attempted to get a feel for the general consensus of the people, what they thought of her and her family, the upcoming marriage. While they were all polite and always said great things when prompted, she tried to read their emotions underneath and made sure that Cyrus always had a clear moment to discern their thoughts and feelings so she could discuss them later.

They continued on to other tailors, dressmakers, weavers, a sundries shop with a few other trinkets she treated the children to, even a small shop that sold books and artwork. Here, Astra finally started buying some things she would like to have, though secretly she stashed away one or two things for Cyrus, as she knew she would not have a chance to get him anything for his birthday as it fell so close to her wedding date.

By the time it was approaching dinner—with plans to have a huge feast at the city square in which the refugees could take part—Astra was footsore and exhausted. She had the children go to retrieve their parents for the banquet and noticed that quite a few instead went toward other houses as some of the local children had joined up inconspicuously. Astra caught Cyrus’ eye at that, but grinned.

“I hope Diranel enjoys a nice, stressful night once he receives the bill,” Astra said.

“I hope we happen to be far, far away from this city when that happens,” Cyrus said.



The banquet was fun, if not further exhausting. Astra spoke more than ate; it was a frequent occurrence in the courts at home, so it was not unexpected. She simply ate for a while and let Cyrus field some questions or tell a story, then would trade and let her knight eat while she spoke. The only difference this time was the people here she delighted in talking with, hearing stories of mining and hunting that were drastically different from the politicking that went on with the various nobles vying her attention.

It was significantly late by the time they made it back to the inn, helping one couple with four young children who had all fallen asleep. Astra startled herself for a moment when, as Cyrus set the couple’s youngest down on the bed, she thought of a fleeting dream she had of him doing the exact thing, only with a dark-haired little girl clearly of his own.

She hated those dreams, because the visions she had that reoccurred were more likely to happen, while ones she could barely recall seemed to be nothing more than illusions of her mind.

That thought plagued Astra when they reached her room, now piled with scrolls and books taken from the citadel archive. They had nearly transcribed all of the relevant material so they could take copies with them. While still somewhat vague, there were commonalities that gave Astra hope to understanding her visions.

“Going to tell me, or make me guess?” Cyrus asked.

Astra sighed. “I’m just tired. And although I’m happy we have found information, figuring it all out feels like a very daunting task.”

Well, that went over well, she thought. Even though she refused to meet his eyes, Astra could tell he was glaring at her, willing her to cave in. Grabbing her things, she started changing for bed, keeping her back to his stare.

“In any case,” Cyrus continued, “it should only take another day or so. We will have copied everything and might continue on—assuming you do not think you will find the source of the dream here.”

Astra shivered as the air of the room hit her skin. “No. Not with Diranel. Not with the feeling I have here. It might just be the direct opposite here, as if this is part of the darkness, not the light.”

“His stagnation, you mean.”

Nodding, Astra slipped into the bed and finally returned Cyrus’ stare. Nobody as willing to overlook the suffering right before him as Diranel would strike any flame. “And what he brings down upon the people here. You cannot see any difference, right?”

Cyrus shrugged—he went around the room to blow out the lanterns in the room until the one by his side of the bed was the only remaining. “Self-serving merchants and naïve children and the rich who look upon the refugees with disgust and the other working commoners who have some sympathy, no different than home. A fair few were genuinely concerned and interested as you wandered—but you could see that as well as I.” He sat on the bed and pulled his book out. “No white burst of light...just the faint twinkle as always.”

“Then no, I do not believe we will find anything here. I think I will know it when I see it. And you will too, even if you are not the dreaming one.”

“Then we head for the eastern coast once we have copied everything. Do we want the elves and Tassoran with us?”

Astra mumbled a noncommittal sound and waved her arm above her head. “Better than any soldiers or knights Diranel would send with us.” She rolled over to bury her face in the pillow, her voice muffled. “And before you ask, no, I do not think they are the light either. Tassoran is certainly strange, but he is no hope-bearer.”

Absently brushing her hair out of her face and over her ear, Cyrus said, “You never did ask for my present.”

“I thought you said you did not have ti—damn, I hate you and your lies.” Only now did she look over her shoulder toward the doorway. Next to it, leaning against the wall so she could not have seen it upon entering the room, was a small painting. With just enough light from the bedside lamp to see by, it depicted two women—clearly herself and her sister, as one depicted a woman with light hair and the other with slightly darker coloring—amidst children in the street of a city. Though impressionistic, it was still evoking a clear moment some months ago that she and her sister Luna had spent with the children in Mount Aerowlyn. “When was this made?”

Astra could hear the grin in his voice. “Months ago. I sent it ahead by courier before we left and had one of the archivists here store it for me.”

“All to be sent back again with the cart bound for home tomorrow,” Astra teased.

“Oh well.”

She regarded the picture for a moment, thinking to the day she had—not unlike the one in the picture, simply without her sister in tow. She thought about her future, the wedding now only months away, and wondered if this entire trip was setting her up for heartache, for the life she would be leaving behind.

She thought of the vision she had earlier, the family Cyrus was quite possibly giving up. Perhaps I should not speak of heartache—the lack of knowledge he has might be a greater tragedy still.

She wondered if she would ever tell him what she saw.



Sometimes, in her dreams, she knows more than when she wakes.

The future, the past, what she seeks and what she hides from.

She sees a pendant—her own, made by her mother in the form of a winged angel—and sees it amidst the snow.

Blood red snow.

She sees that same pendant, hanging over the head of a young Cyrus, who is carrying her piggy-back across a courtyard during a game when they were children.

It hangs in his face because she leans over him, taller than he is when they are both nine years old.

She sees that white candlelight flicker, the darkness closing in, and then sees the light snuff out...

..turning to a fine dust in the air...

She sees a dragon of a man, one who frightens her, surrounded by true flames, by dangerous fire that burns everything to ashes, leaving only ashes.

Ashes of darkness, ashes of darkness.

And only dust to battle it away...the white light is gone...



Astra startled awake.

Candlelight greeted her.

Her eyes burned and she felt like crying. She was not even sure why, if it was the dream itself, or knowing in the dream...

Knowing something.

She felt Cyrus next to her, felt him reach for her, felt his arms encircle her, and for a moment all she could register was the leathery scent of his tabard and the musty smell of the open book on his lap.

Tears started to fall from her eyes and she looked down to see them hitting that necklace, that pendant, an angel with wings encircling the body, a ruby heart-like jewel at its center...

Ruby snow. Blood-soaked snow.

Before she could ask, she felt Cyrus move slightly, saw the book move in the corner of her eye.

And he read to her until she could sleep once again.



Chapter 13
Eyes of the Leviathan


This is seriously unnerving, Cyrus thought. The questions I can deal with, but...this must be what people feel when I look at them.

Although Tassoran and the elves had proven themselves amiable companions, Cyrus had known all along that they would start asking invasive questions. The Midnight Eyes were information gatherers, deeming that the best weapon was to have the latest intelligence; Cyrus had, after all, been in a brief relationship with their captain. But he was beginning to feel unnerved by Tassoran’s watchful expression and the continuing disparity between the ranger’s exterior presence and his inner star. And then there’s everything else.

The original plan had been to find a ship to take along the Aerowlyn coast, but Astra had decided that finding the available space to spread out some of the notes they had recorded from the Temptress Cliff archives would be problematic. So, both to give them all a little more freedom, and because she had never before utilized one, they had obtained the use of a northern waters couatl. Used primarily as a ferry between Temptress Cliff and the three largest cities on the northern shores, the dragon-like creature was a smoother ride than a boat, faster, and with a smaller crew. The only drawback was that it put both the horses and Cyrus a little on edge.

Couatls, with greater basic intelligence than most animals, gave off a large enough star that Cyrus could perceive some of its thoughts and feelings. When something with teeth the size of your entire leg is irritated by the ferry straps chaffing its shoulders and can’t help but briefly consider eating the offending item and the obnoxious people in it, one has to consider if they are not an idiot for being on such a ferry. Glancing at the horses, just as jittery as he was, he thought, and they say animals are dumber than humans. Yet no horse would willingly do this.

So, he sat uneasily in his seat, too aware of the couatl and Tassoran’s hyper-awareness of his actions, irritated that Astra seemed completely relaxed.

“It was Deneb and Altair, right?” she asked. She sat on the bench lining the outside edge of the couatl’s howdah and was eyeing him with her eyebrows raised.

He scowled, but refused to move from the center of the carriage. Let the couatl curl around and eat her if it so feels. I’ll be plenty safe here where it can’t reach me. “Regarding what?”

Smirking, Astra motioned to one of the books they had brought along. “When Cygnus was King, they were the ones attuned to the spellwork were his siblings, right?”

“Deneb and Altair were Queen Akari’s siblings. Cygnus was Akari’s child. But you are right; they were the spellweavers of the family.” Cyrus shook his head. He knew Astra was trying to get his mind off the ride, but the constant swaying—not from the water, but the musculature of the couatl as it parted the waters—kept him glancing back and forth along the ferry’s deck. “You’re thinking of play they wrote?”

Astra nodded. In their scouring of royal family documents, they had found various songs, narrative stories, poems, and other devices in which to hide a spell vision, but only one generation had gone as far to portray what they saw in the theater. “I can’t help but think that the play used a lot of references to color: yellow masks, red knights, blue priestesses...do you think the white color in mine is specific?”

“I rather doubt it,” Cyrus said. “If you believe what I see is what you’re supposed to be searching for, white probably has no bearing. Everybody’s soul looks white to me. Like the stars.”

“What was that about the color white?” Tassoran asked as he came out from the ferry’s stables. He had been attempting to steady the horses ever since boarding.

“Nothing,” Cyrus said, scowling. He could tell that Tassoran truly had not heard their conversation and only picked up on words, but yet again there was something knowing in his expression. Cyrus wondered if this was how mice felt when a cat made to play with it. “Have the horses calmed yet?”

The ranger shrugged and brushed a hand over the crest of his head to smooth down his hair—a habitual action Cyrus was growing used to—then sat on one of the benches encircling the canopy struts like Cyrus. “As well as any herbivore feels riding a carnivore’s back.”

Cyrus managed a grin at Astra. “Yet one herbivore is still perfectly fine.”

Astra scowled this time, thrusting her finger in the air hard enough that Cyrus could imagine the jabs to his sternum. “I told you, I am a vegetarian. Just on a break while we travel.”

“How long have you been traveling?” Tassoran whispered.

“Two months,” Cyrus whispered back.

“How long has she been on a break?”

“Six.”

“Just checking.” Tassoran settled back in his seat, but continued to look intently at Cyrus, who shuddered.



The couatl swam twice as fast as a carrack at open sea, meaning it only took two days to reach the next major port along Aerowlyn’s northern coast. Shimmer Cove, though fairly small, had a thriving economy due to fishing as well as the hunting of the adamant turtles for hides and shells for armor and shields. Astra said she hoped to at least come by some sort of information here, as rumors and news were less common in the militaristic Temptress Cliff or the mining communities they had visited earlier.

Cyrus and the horses were all too happy to disembark. The knight led them to a run that had been corralled off for such traveling animals just off the beach. After paying a stable hand to take care of them, he caught back up with Astra as she hauled their packs off of the ferry and glared at him until he took one from her shoulder. “You do remember that I’m your charge, right? The one you’re supposed to take care of? The one you’re paid to serve?”

He gave her a look of bafflement.

“That’s what I thought.” She swung another bag from her other shoulder and thrust it into his hands.

Unlike Temptress Cliff, Astra was able to both avoid the necessity of publicly announcing herself, as well as have the time and energy before hand to craft a glamour about herself. To Cyrus’ eyes, it seemed as if the princess lost much of her presence, as if she were constantly surrounded by a crowd of people dressed in the same colors and wearing the same expressions. He could still make Astra out, but he knew that passing her in the street, the average person would take no more note of her than any other random denizen.

And like they had before Temptress Cliff, before the raiders, before Milasa Car, before the amateur attack on Astra’s life in the middle of the night, they slipped into a natural rhythm of a knight errant and his young wife asking around for news, as if seeking out a cause to dedicate their time to.



Since they made landfall mid-afternoon, it was not long before they were forced to retire from their questioning of the villagers. They met back up with Elrodan and Elreia at the horse run, though Tassoran was curiously absent. “Wandered off before we told him where we would be meeting,” Elreia said, shrugging. “He knows our itinerary though.”

They exchanged information; the elves having alerted the local magistrate of the issues to the west and the raiders proximity to Temptress Cliff and other locals within Aerowlyn’s borders. Astra had given them a letter with her personal seal to assure the message made it to the top. “Though they still appeared fairly reticent to believe us,” Elreia added.

“In some ways, it will only get worse the further east we go,” Astra said. “The further away from the capital we are, the more comfortable the local leaders are with their own decisions.”

Cyrus added, “Diranel just happens to hold a strategic location, so he feels more important, making his ego the big obstacle. The further out we get, the more problematic it becomes because other towns and cities have genuine manpower issues or defensive weaknesses. They sometimes only do as well as they do because of their leaders...so those leaders are somewhat more reluctant to listen to outside orders, even from the royal family. ‘They don’t know what issues I have to deal with out here,’ is the mentality.”

Elrodan made a face and Elreia said, “They do have a point, and they obviously don’t know that their future queen is right next to them, looking at the same problems up close.”

“Which is why we can’t really do more than warn them,” Astra said. “I don’t bend everyone’s mind to my will.”

Or so you like to think, Cyrus thought. He suspected that many leaders were, whether they liked it or not, charmed by their attractive young princess and probably gave her more leeway than they would even her father, a less charismatic and sociable person than Astra was. It was common enough in Mount Aerowlyn itself, where men between the ages of ten and sixty had attempted to insinuate their availability as a potential suitor for Astra even before it had been determined she would be the primary heir to the throne. Cyrus grinned at the memories of some of those awkward attempts at gaining Astra’s attention.

“What?” Elreia asked at his expression.

Cyrus shook his head, but paused when Astra glanced his way. It was a fleeting moment, but he could see a strange thought pass her consciousness that caused her star to momentarily dim, though her facial expression revealed nothing. He wondered if it was the glamour still in effect. “Just thinking about what else we could have done to Diranel, for future reference.” He put his hand on Astra’s head, like he would a child. “Now, if you will excuse us, it has been a long day and my wife has yet to fulfill her duties of dinner preparation and readying for bed.”

Astra beamed. “Yes, I certainly have. It is so difficult to prepare a good meal when one’s husband is so pathetic at his job that he earns no money. And then he’s so depressed at his failures as a provider that he cannot perform elsewhere as well.”

“You should have traded me in when you had the chance,” Cyrus said, leading them back toward the inn they had chosen to patronize earlier. “Everyone knows the pretty ones are terrible at their job. By the way, how many men commented on your beauty today? Fifteen, sixteen?”

“Only after they realized you were a man, not a woman. By the way, I think you need a haircut.”



They failed to find Tassoran before reaching the inn, and his absence both served to relieve Cyrus of the constant scrutiny and unnerve him with the possibilities of what Tassoran was doing in the meantime. When they settled into their room, Cyrus attempted to stretch his awareness to look for the ranger, but found that he was still too unfamiliar with his presence to pinpoint who he was amidst any kind of populace.

“Do you think your vision changed because of him?” Cyrus asked as they readied for bed.

“Tassoran?” Astra shrugged, though Cyrus could tell that the shift in her dreams bothered her more than she let on. “Because the vision changed only after deciding he should come along?”

“A little more foreboding when blood starts showing up in your possible future.”

Astra shrugged again before crawling under the covers of the bed. “Don’t read too much into it. Interpreting visions is where every problem my ancestors had came from.”

“You’re interpreting the flames in the vision.”

“That has less to do with interpretation and more to do with feel. I can’t interpret what the flame might be, what the darkness might be, but I know that the light is important to find and protect, whatever or whoever it might be. It feels like the only positive thing amidst a whole lot of bad.”

Cyrus went around, blowing the lamps out, again leaving the one next to his side of the bed to read by. “Just, be cautious about what you tell Tassoran, anyway. If he can’t keep us up-to-date on his plans, we don’t have to be so forthright either.”



Tassoran failed to meet up with them the proceeding day as well, though Cyrus and Astra spent the entirety of the day hopping from one shop or workplace to the next in search of Astra’s elusive something. While they sought news, the elves went out into the surrounding area to look for evidence of the raiders passing through, though they thankfully found no sign. “We are fairly far from the Aero mountains now, so any movement further out would have a greater likelihood of being noticed,” Elreia said. “And your military is not unsubstantial out here.”

Cyrus booked the couatl for travel again after another night’s stay in the cove, and in the morning as they prepared to depart, Tassoran finally made his appearance. But no matter what they asked, the ranger refused to talk about where he had gone or done, besides the fact that there was “no news on my front.” Without further explanation, Tassoran herded the horses onto the howdah, whispering soothing words to them in an attempt to calm their jittery minds.

Cyrus became aware of the giant leviathan’s eyes on him as they boarded, and he shook his head. Couatls are the ancestors of dragons, from what myth says. I just hope this one’s kind doesn’t hold a grudge on my kind for slaying so many of its kin.

He had a bad feeling the couatl was glaring at him for that very reason.



Chapter 14
The Mark of Poisoned Dreams


The next day and a half had Astra watching Cyrus go from planting himself at the direct center of the howdah to pacing the center canopy strut in an extremely compulsive fashion; she thought he might be counting plank gaps as he passed them, turning at a ninety degree angle every five steps. There were few things that Astra had found could perturb her knight so openly and she found it a highly amusing distraction.

Astra’s dream had persisted two more nights, still with the same additional imagery to the light and darkness: the light snuffing out and becoming smoke, her pendant in blood-stained snow. For the same reasons she had spoken of with Cyrus, she refused to think too hard about the second part. Cyrus paces to get his mind off his fears and I watch Cy. Maybe I rely too much on his support.

By the time they reached Crown Rock, Astra considered other ways to distract him, but thought better of it. The two of them thought it great fun sometimes to actively flirt with one another since nobles and socialites within Mount Aerowlyn’s courts regularly thought them lovers, and neither she nor Cyrus could ever pass on the opportunity to bend such people’s minds in a predictable fashion. But Cyrus is already wary enough of Tassoran. Probably best not to give him or the elves too much to read into. She watched her knight give a relieved sigh as the town came within view. Besides, I doubt he would even notice I was winding him up at this rate.

Smaller still than Shimmer Cove, Crown Rock barely had a population of two hundred primarily due to the difficult cliff-side access, requiring a foot traveler to pass through a rather narrow walkway that did not allow enough space for horses or carts. Ships also often bypassed the town, as Shimmer Cove had easier access for larger vessels and Crown Rock offered no goods that could not also be found in the cove. It did, however, boast cheaper prices and the uniqueness of the homes themselves, built directly into the stone of the northern cliffs. A local underground hot spring provided the town with requisite warmth despite the lack of sunlight even during the summer months.

Astra had never been to the town, having bypassed it completely when her family had come through years before. It was unlike any town she had ever been to, and she had wondered if it would match Cyrus’ description of it, as her knight had been to visit it once before as a child.

“Trouble,” Cyrus said.

Astra blinked at the sudden change in his attitude. “In the town?”

He nodded. “They’re all gathering in one spot. There’s no immediate danger, but they all seem upset.”

“Is it wrong of me to want this to be a ‘normal’ upset, as opposed to the kind of trouble we’ve run across before?”

Cyrus was quiet, and for the first time since they chose the couatl as transportation, Astra knew his mind was anywhere but the ride.



They were careful to disembark normally as Cyrus was unwilling to draw any attention their way. After stabling the horses, Cyrus insisted they retired to a room at the inn and let Elreia ask around. Like having teeth pulled, Astra thought, when I’m fully capable of compelling answers from people. She understood, however, that Cyrus was thinking of the attack on her life earlier in their travels, which had occurred in a small town like Crown Rock.

However, in quick fashion, Elreia had caught up with them. “You will want to see this.”

They met up with Tassoran just outside what served as the local healing house; the town had no temple or priest, and the shrine to Priorshia of the Seas was ill-equipped to handle any kind of crisis. “They think it was an outsider,” Tassoran said to Elreia, shrugging a shoulder toward the docks. “A ship came in for a single day, left, and immediately thereafter they found the man.”

Inside were two healers—an old man and what had to be his daughter, they were so alike in eyes and mouth shape—and Elrodan hunched over a middle-aged man lain out on a cot. Elrodan waved them over next to him while Tassoran and Elreia made for the door. “We’re going to go ask down at the docks about the ship that left,” Tassoran said.

Astra nodded, though her attention focused on Cyrus. Her knight looked significantly upset as he knelt down by Elrodan, eyes unblinking as he took in the man on the cot. “What happened to him?” Astra asked.

The elder healer cleared his throat and moved from the foot of the bed over to a chair opposite of the entryway. “His name is Amaril. We found him near the dock early in the morning two days ago. He has a shallow cut above his right rib, but no other injuries. This was found next to him,” he picked up a dagger from the chair and handed it over to Astra. “The wound size matches the tip of the dagger, though again, the penetration was mere centimeters.”

Astra looked the weapon over. It was fairly simple in construction, with the only distinguishing mark being a pinwheel star-shaped pattern etched onto the pommel. The most dangerous element of the weapon, however, was not to be seen with the naked eye. “Some kind of curse is placed on this.”

The healer nodded. “I had assumed so, though we have no magus or priest in this village to confirm. There’s no other way for me to explain Amaril’s current state.”

Cyrus spoke up, though Astra noted his eyes still did not leave the victim. “He isn’t waking and suffers in his sleep.”

“Yes,” the healer said. “He mumbles as a madman and occasionally thrashes about, but nothing we do can bring him out of it. It certainly is not shock from the wound, which has already partially healed.” The healer glanced over at Cyrus. “How did you know?”

“I can see it,” Cyrus said. He finally turned his attention up at Astra. “Can you decipher the curse?”

Looking at the dagger again, Astra said, “No. My guess is it is an Eloa power, not arcane in nature.”

Elrodan made a couple of gestures and Cyrus watched the elf carefully before asking, “What was Amaril doing at the docks?”

“He works as a dock hand; helps with ships’ cargo and maintenance of the docks themselves,” the healer said.

“And you believe someone on one of the ships that left at the time to be responsible,” Cyrus said.

“We only had one ship at port that day, and it left shortly before we found him.”

Cyrus quieted and returned to watching Amaril’s body; it did little more than breathe and occasionally twitch or clench muscles. Astra thought for a moment, and then asked, “Is there anything else bizarre about this you can think of?”

The younger healer, who had been quiet the entire time, spoke up. “When we opened his eyes to try and wake him, we found something strange.”

Elrodan bent over Amaril’s head and obligingly pulled the man’s eyelids back as Cyrus and Astra leaned in to see. Astra could barely make out the pupils, dilated to pinpoint-sized circles, while the irises were stranger still: like the pinwheel etching on the dagger, a silvery multi-pointed spiral star encircled the pupils.

“That...is very unnerving,” Cyrus said.

Astra nodded and turned to the elder healer. “Can we take the dagger?”

“Yes, your highness.”

She thought she caught Cyrus grinning as she did a double-take on the healer. “Pardon?”

The healer was also smiling. “I have been to the capital before, your highness. It does not take much to recognize your highness or Lord Lighleir if one knows what to look for.”

“You understand,” Cyrus said, “That discretion is desired. We do not want the entire village to know of our presence.”

Both healers bowed, and the man said, “Yes, of course. I simply did not want my princess to think I would hand such a dangerous artifact over to anyone. I will, however, answer to the magistrate or captain of the town’s guard if asked where it went.”

“And I will assuredly send word to Mount Aerowlyn for any supplies or to send a priest if you so desire help with your patient,” Astra said. “I will do anything you think is appropriate to help him.”

“Thank you.”

Astra turned to Cyrus and Elrodan. “I need to get to the inn.”



While the elves and Tassoran went about investigating any news about the boat and its crew, Cyrus and Astra returned to their room at the inn so Astra could perform an identifying and tracking spell.

Not that it could ever be that easy, Astra thought as she stared at the dagger. The spell had turned up nothing, implying its Eloa connections beyond what Astra could discern with earth-bound magic. Eyefire and sorcery can only go so far. “And you don’t recognize it at all?” She asked Cyrus, flopping down onto the bed in defeat. She hoped he had run across something like it in all the reading he had done; she admittedly did not pay much attention to anything that had nothing to do with her visions.

Cyrus shook his head. “It does not resemble anything I have previously read, but I don’t have regular access to the archives; I’m no expert.” He thought for a moment and then added, “But I can’t imagine this was randomly discovered. It isn’t like the Nightmare King suddenly wakes up one morning and decides, ‘Oh, I just realized I can do this!’ and his followers arbitrarily implement the ability. It has to be derived from something, and that something is probably recorded in history. I’m just not familiar with what.”

Astra frowned into the pillow. “Hvv ooh urd ff neeng summer?”

Cyrus grinned. “I’m an empath, not a telepath.”

“Have you heard of anything similar?” Astra said, lifting her face from the bed to address him clearly. “And when did you turn into my mother?”

“Can’t have my future queen thinking she can talk with her face covered, or something more obnoxious like talking with her mouth full.” Cyrus sat down next to her. “I haven’t hard of anything similar in my studies.” He brushed his hand through Astra’s hair and sighed. “But Amaril's state is similar to something I’ve seen myself.”

“You’ve seen this before?”

Cyrus looked away, and Astra could make out his apprehension. “You know what my training was like, right? That we had tests prior to the choosing ceremony that made me a Hethai Valis.”

“Vaguely.” She thought back some five years prior, surprising herself with how long it had been. “Something about facing fears.”

“Yeah.” He leaned back and Astra saw his eyes go up to the ceiling in thought. “They could have sent us into a room with a monster, or something like that, or threaten us with physical danger. But what we all truly, deeply fear? It differs from person to person.”

Astra thought to Amaril and what could be similar. “Nobody likes nightmares.”

Cyrus nodded. “It fits, right? Whatever form they take, nobody wants to experience a nightmare. They always scare or upset us. So, our testers...they induced us to have a nightmare.”

Astra didn’t need to voice her next thought; she simply gave him a look.

“Yes, it sounds kind of dangerous, though I don’t know exactly how to explain it. If the Nightmare King’s domain is of nightmares, we were only at the border, toeing the line. We never fully immersed ourselves in his power, or I’m sure we would be just like Amaril, unable to return.” He shrugged. “People have nightmares all the time, and they come out of it safely. None of us were that far into danger.”

“But Amaril is.”

“When the others, like Sildan and Troyen took their tests, it looked extremely similar.” Cyrus tapped his right temple with his finger. “I mean, to me, anyway. Both inside and out, it looked like what Amaril is experiencing now.”

“An induced nightmare state.” She motioned to where they had put the dagger. “And that dagger is what induces them. Like it’s poisoned.”

“Do you remember what the cultists said?”

Astra made an unhappy noise. “Something about never ending torment in dreams. I thought they were being metaphorical for death and pain.”

Cyrus resumed brushing his fingers through her hair at her groan. “It worries me that this coincides so neatly with your presence outside the capital. First the cult attacks, then the raiders, now this.”

Astra sighed. She wondered if Cyrus knew how hard it was to concentrate sometimes when he did that to her hair; it was very relaxing. “It...worries me too.”

“That the dream changed.”

“Yeah.”

Cyrus brushed his hand through her hair again, then placed his hand over her shoulder blade. “You think that when the dream changed, the first victim fell. Someone other than Amaril.”

Astra nodded. “The timing does seem too coincidental otherwise.”

Cyrus’ hand stopped moving, and Astra thought she heard a flutter in his voice. “It also bothers me, how similar being in a nightmare is to your dream. You describe the fire going out and all that is left is smoke?”

“Like a candle being blown out,” Astra said. “A mist-like smoke remains.”

“The soul,” Cyrus said, “in this state, well, it isn’t an exact comparison, but it does seem somewhat like your description. In that state, the soul is there...but it looks more mist-like.” He paused and Astra could almost hear his eyes closing so he could envision what he was describing. “If the soul is a fire, it looks like smoke when having a nightmare. Like a number of tiny embers, or steam particles, not a cohesive whole, not a single flame.”

“Sounds scary.” Astra turned to look at him and could not help but blurt, “What was your nightmare?”

Astra knew it was not something Cyrus wanted to revisit, and she regretted it the moment Cyrus’ expression changed. What surprised her was that he did not look afraid so much as...sad. “It’s hard to describe,” Cyrus said. “Have you ever had a nightmare that was completely not scary, completely ‘normal’ and everyday, but somehow you were terrified by it? Like you knew something was wrong, or was going to turn out horribly and you were acutely aware the entire time, but could do nothing about it?”

Hoping to distract him, Astra nodded. “I suppose. I once had a dream that Luna cooked for us.”

She was rewarded with a slight smile, then an equally slight shudder. “Now I’m going to have nightmares tonight.”

They both went quiet for a while, and Astra allowed herself to be lulled by Cyrus’ touch, though she instantly felt guilty. I lay here in comfort while another man suffers torment. Possibly more than one man.

Cyrus brushed hair behind Astra’s ear and said, “You know that we will find it, right? And put a stop to this darkness.”

Astra sighed. Sometimes, she wished he could not pick up on her every worry. “Yes. But I like hearing someone else say it.”

“Just rest now. Be ready for when we have the cause before us, and then none of the victims will have cause to complain.”

I hope you’re right, Astra thought.



Chapter 15
Horizon Storms


Cyrus had a headache. It was not just because he was back on the couatl, or from lack of sleep, or even from stress over the situation.

Something is wrong. Even with the disturbing victimization they had found at Crown Rock, Cyrus had only felt determined to help and was bolstered by Astra’s similar feelings. Even when Astra had been unable to track the origins of the dagger, it had not worried Cyrus one moment.

They had left the town after the elves and Tassoran had completed what investigation they could manage. Astra had also sent word to Mount Aerowlyn for a holy priest at the request of the local healer. Following the itinerary the suspicious trade ship that Crown Rock’s population thought might be responsible for Amaril’s injury, the group visited two more villages and found another person in the same nightmare-ridden state with a similar dagger left behind. “I think these daggers are one-use items,” Elreia had said, “Else they would have taken it with them to at least hide the magical signature.” Cyrus had pointed out that it also acted as a calling card for the Nightmare King’s influence.

It was nearly two weeks since Crown Rock and they were now on the last leg of the ferry route; they would have to transfer to a ship if they proceeded further down the coast. It was when they had boarded the ferry for the last time that the bad feeling had begun, and Cyrus had at first wondered if it was the prospect of confronting his father’s childhood, as their current destination was Tyrest Lighleir’s ancestral hometown.

He kept his concerns from Astra, who was still preoccupied with her vision and the daggers they had recovered; although she had been unable to spell-track the dagger’s origins, she was constantly thinking of various other things she might be able to do with a real magus workshop and resources. Although she insisted the daggers’ power resembled Eloa input—meaning the power more resembled the divine manipulation Cyrus himself employed—arcane influence from Astra could still distill some of the effects if Astra proceeded carefully.

Eventually, he began to wonder if it had to do with the weather. The skies were starting to look like they were bringing a late summer storm and if the thought of being on the back of a giant dragon unnerved Cyrus, the thought of being on the back of a giant dragon spooked by lightning did not fill him with confidence.

Astra, however, was thrilled, as she loved lightning storms. She sat with her back to the rest of the ferry, elbows propped up on the railing, almost like a child excitedly watching through a window for something to happen.

“If you fall out or get hit by lightning, I’m not jumping in to rescue you,” Cyrus said.

Smirking over her shoulder at him, the princess shrugged and returned to her watch.

The thick smell of rain hit Cyrus’ nose about five minutes before the drizzle started sounding along the howdah tent. Cyrus glanced out the side just in time to catch sight of a distant flash, though the sound of the thunderclap was a while in coming. For a moment, he was reminded of the flash of magic Tassoran had created when he first appeared, and he realized he had not seen the ranger for many hours.

The moment he set his eyes on the other side of the ferry, he realized what was causing his unease. And here we go, the stars are aligned.

He was a figure cloaked in simple brown. The other people of the ferry also wore cloaks to shield them from the rain in case it blew in from the sides, so it was not at all out of place. Cyrus was somewhat surprised to sense the murderous intent, however, as Astra had woven her glamour spell to keep most people from detecting anything significantly different about her. Cyrus felt it, however, like a dagger jabbing through the air with the intent to pierce Astra’s heart.

Such a strong killing aura, any blade-bearer would feel it. That thought itself momentarily perplexed Cyrus: though the population in general had no idea of his ability to sense presences or read intentions and feelings, it was a fairly common mystique about knights and their ability to perceive hostility and danger—even more so for the divinely-powered Aerowlyn holy guard. That anyone would send an assassin with such clearly malicious focus seemed like a reckless thing to do.

And as the man raised a small crossbow to fire at the princess from across the ferry, the knight understood.

Reaching out, Cyrus managed to get his shield-gauntlet between Astra and the bolt. The shot struck above the knight’s wrist and he felt the wood shaft snap apart against the steel lames.

The cloaked man dropped his current weapon and reached for his belt and a second small crossbow—crossbows were notorious slow-loaders—and Cyrus planted himself between the man and Astra. At the same time as he drew his blade, Cyrus gave the command, “Dawn before me!” and the blade pulsed golden.

A flash of light struck the attacker and sparked even brighter. There was a snapping noise like firecrackers, and when the light faded, the man was flat on his face.

Cyrus ran forward as the man staggered to his feet, and before he could raise another weapon, the knight crashed into him full-tilt in the solar plexus with his shoulder. The attacker’s cloak billowed out almost like a bird’s wings as he tilted right over the howdah railing and fell into the water below.

Without pause, Cyrus pushed off from the railing and back toward Astra, already perceiving the second attack; Cyrus could tell that these would-be assassins were banking on the first attack being a decoy to distract the princess’ sentinel while they snuck a second attacker next to her. Another cloaked man was indeed moving toward Astra and his killing air was significantly fainter, but with his speed enhanced by his own Eloa power, Cyrus was next to the attacker before the man had fully drawn the dagger from its sheath.

Cyrus swept up with his blade; the attacker’s hand, still gripping the dagger hilt, hit the floor.

Astra was not slow in reacting, gripping her staff and thrusting it out to meet the forehead of her attacker. The strike barely grazed his skin, though the spark that leaped out was almost as bright as the lightning flashes beyond the ferry. The man hit the floor, hard, glaring up at his target in a dazed fashion, though he was kept from moving as Cyrus lowered his blade point above the man’s throat.

Everyone on the ferry was now watching them. Cyrus put on his fiercest look and raised his voice to address them. “I am a Lord Knight of Aerowlyn claiming a prisoner. If you wish to remain safe, remove yourselves to the farthest portion of the ferry until I have secured him.” When one man looked ready to protest, Cyrus turned his gaze there. “I am also in no mood to argue, and if you want to return to your mistress without her husband finding out, I suggest you make due.” This caused the man to pale and his star to pulse in the same fashion everyone else’s did when Cyrus challenged individual persons like this, thoughts of is he a mind-reader? and what kind of magic is that? cowing the person into submission.

As the other passengers moved toward the opposite end of the howdah, Cyrus turned his attention back to the would-be assassin at his feet. The man’s hood had fallen back, revealing a man no older than Cyrus, though even without great means of reading a person’s soul, one could make out the cynicism and anger in his eyes. “And now what, Lord Knight?”

Astra said, “We interrogate you for information, of course.”

The assassin gave a knee-jerk reaction, moving as if he could bite the princess like a rabid animal. Cyrus jabbed the point of his blade into the man’s throat to keep his head down. “So, we will start simple,” Astra continued. “Who sent you?”

“Burn for eternity,” the man said.

Astra nodded. “To be expected. I have ways of making you answer, however.” With Cyrus’ blade kept hovering over the man’s throat, the princess knelt over him so her eyes hovered just above his, their noses almost touching. Her voice dropped so Cyrus was sure no one but they could hear, and Cyrus was careful to close his eyes and drown out her voice as much as possible. “You want to tell us who sent you,” she said.

“Waggle your chest at some other bastard, you sl—” made it out before Cyrus crawled his blade up to the man’s chin and dug in just enough to draw blood and force him to close his mouth.

“That certainly is no way to speak to a beautiful woman,” Cyrus said. “Single?”

Astra glanced up at her knight. “Well, that is not going to work. I believe he has some kind of block that actually prohibits him from speaking of sensitive information.”

“Not that I would want your thoughts and his to run parallel, but, could you enthrall him, pierce the barrier, then synch with his presence like that long-term perception changing spell?” Cyrus gazed down and took in the man’s star again, then quickly added, “I don’t think it will be as bad as before since we only have one subject.”

Astra nodded. “That seems meritocratic.”

“Where did you pick up a big word like that?”

Astra turned back to the man and lowered herself over his face again. “You talk in your sleep.”

That argument might work, Cyrus thought, if I actually slept when on duty.

The moment the princess started her spell-weaving, Cyrus felt the spike of danger and feral intent. Only after he grabbed Astra around the waist and pulled her up did he realize that the danger was not directed at either of them.

A dagger with more force behind it than a shot from a Cordelyn cannon struck the assassin right atop his head and embedded itself to the bladeguard into the man’s skull. There was no spray of blood, nor even did the assassin manage any noise in response. Cyrus saw his star simply wink out without any awareness of what had happened.

Cyrus placed himself between Astra and the new assailant. “What was that?!”

Tassoran strode across the ferry, scooped up the hand and dagger Cyrus had severed from the assassin and then knelt by the body. “That would have been dangerous to do, Princess, Knight Cyrus.” He patted the body, searching for what the man had on him.

“He was a defenseless prisoner that we could have gained more information from!” Cyrus growled. He turned on the elves, following at a sedate pace behind Tassoran, though they both seemed to be just as surprised and slightly disturbed by the turn of events. “Are you really fine with murdering someone who cannot fight back, cannot even see death coming for them?”

Tassoran did not flinch, did not react in any fashion. He said, “Types like this are never defenseless. And nobody can truly see death coming for them.” He continued frisking the body. “In addition, you can still learn plenty from a dead person.”

There was amusement to the ranger’s star that Cyrus was unsettled by. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who can be so uncaring after killing someone. “Not as much as you can learn from a live prisoner. And all without the damage to one’s soul from killing.”

“Do I really look damaged to you, my young knight?” Tassoran said, raising his head and meeting Cyrus’ stare. Again, the placement of the word look seemed to take on a double meaning, and Cyrus sincerely hoped Alisia had not in fact told anyone about his ability.

Scowling, Cyrus looked over his shoulder at Astra, who had the same mix of anger, horror, and fear written on her features. Her eyes dropped to the body before them, then back up to Cyrus in an unasked question, and he shook his head. The only thing Tassoran has in his favor is the assassin’s death was completely painless and sudden. He sighed. Not that such a thing makes it justified.

Only then did Cyrus notice that the couatl’s left eye was looking directly at him. Forcing himself not to jump right out of his skin, he realized the creature had curled its long neck around and was peering into the howdah on its own back. It took a moment for Cyrus to realize there was a shin and booted foot of a body hanging out of the creature’s mouth. The knight glanced back toward the area where the ferry had been when Cyrus had knocked the first attacker out of the howdah, but could only make out the overcast skies and gray streaks of rain in their wake. He returned his gaze back to the couatl, who regarded him with a sense of animalistic contentment.

“Is that...” Astra’s voice trailed off.

“Yeah,” Cyrus confirmed.

Maybe the second man was the lucky one.

[Techlet]

I love Astra!

[Arashi_Leonhart]

You only say that because she loves sex.