What Enchantment Hides - Book 1

Chapter 14

         Fallon had made his way down a back alley and climbed up the side of a house against the wall to the upper level. As he reached the top, he looked around. He was around the side of the enormous royal hall. Hmm… Orin sent his guards into the battle. Poor choice. It seems his knowledge of war has slipped from him over the years. Hearing the sound of screaming from behind, he glanced back. A soldier had tried to escape down the same way he had come and was caught by a shopkeeper. He cried out for mercy as the other man took a brick from a ruined home and beat him to death. The tide is turning, Fallon thought to himself as he turned and continued his analysis of his position. Above him, he could see the top of the roof for the stables. He racked his memory for some piece of the castle blueprint the mercenaries had commissioned to be drawn for them years ago. He searched the wall before choosing a spot about two meters away that was slightly broken and had enough footholds for him to scale to the palace yard. He leaped up and grabbed hold of the stone wall, pulling himself up by his arms until his feet reached a piece of stone jutting out.

         Those in the back of the charge who had been following Fallon to the hall shouted ahead. Orin’s men were charging from behind. They had followed in through the gate and Raimor’s men were struggling to discern who was who as the two groups began to mix. A scream was heard as one man was shot through the back and dropped from his horse, trampled under the hooves of those behind him as he hit the ground. This wasn’t over yet.

         Fallon climbed nearly three meters to the top of the wall and pulled himself up and over, hiding in the bushes behind the stable. He listened intently, all the noises sounding distant despite their volume. The battle below him raged on, and the sounds of death and pain resounded off the stone walls of the city around him. He scanned the walls of the palace above him and mentally walked through the blueprint he had seen a few years ago. He had never really acted as an assassin before, as he had tended to not take assignments by himself. It was not how the mercenaries functioned. This situation was new to him and more invigorating than he had expected. Yet despite his excitement, he kept himself under control and focused on the task ahead. Bolting from the bushes, he skirted the building, making his way around the corner. He again scanned the area, making sure everything was open and safe. A few large food barrels were standing beside the entrance to a lower kitchen. This was most likely the kitchen for the servants which would have been on the lower, ground level. He heard a noise like footsteps and ducked down behind the barrels.

         A guard walked out of the kitchen and yelled over his shoulder, “If you see anyone come in here other than me, yell! If anyone gets in this building all of you will be to blame.” The man’s hands had spots of red covering them up to the middle of his forearm. Fallon could assume he had punished someone before his warning to make sure that no one doubted his authority to inflict whatever punishment he saw fit.

         Fallon watched from a small space between the barrels and pulled out a knife from his belt. With a motion almost faster than the soldier could perceive, the bodyguard leaped on top of the barrels, grabbed the man’s head and shoved the knife into his throat. His victim dropped heavily into the dirt as a loud gasp escaped from the kitchen area. Fallon dropped from the barrel and looked inside the doorway. “Don’t worry. You are all safe. Do not raise an alarm and I’ll leave you all untouched.” He nodded toward the main part of the hall. “Do any of you know where Orin is hiding?”

         No one dared move or speak. Calmly, Fallon waited and sheathed his knife, spreading his hands in a gesture of peace and good will. An older man was pushing a girl in the midst of the kitchen staff and a young woman stepped forward, her head lowered in fear. Fallon seemed to soften his stare slightly. He had never learned how to talk to women, including Calya, but he had learned that if you keep from looking angry it helps to ease a woman’s fear. “Please speak. The queen has returned and Orin’s time is at an end.”

         The girl’s head came up in surprise at his words and murmurs began circling through the small group of cooks and other staff. “Sir, if you promise that no harm will come to me, I will lead you to his grace.” The young woman had to be no more than fourteen years old, but it was obvious she knew where Orin was for reasons that made Fallon sick.

         The man nodded and told the others they were free to leave if they chose to do so. The people looked around at one another and hurried from the room in relief, running to the stables to hide and plan their escape. When it was only Fallon and the teen girl left, the man nodded and gestured for her to show the way. The young woman nodded and hastened from the room, coming out to a grand hallway. Despite being on the lower level in a dirty kitchen, the hallways here were just as grand as the rest of the palace. The carpet was soft and muffled any footsteps. Fallon could make the sound of his steps silent with no effort at all.

         The townspeople picked up stones from the ruins of their city and homes and threw them at Orin’s men, knocking them off their steeds, unconscious or dead. They attacked many of the men before they even hit the ground. They were emboldened and given the courage they needed by the sight of their queen on horseback with her guard, rallying the people to revolt. The people recognized the corrupt soldiers. The men had ruined their livelihoods, taken their wives, harmed or killed their children, banished their friends and families and more. Orin’s soldiers began abandoning their pursuit as they saw they stood no chance. Some of them jumped from their horses and tried to flee down back alleys, only to be cornered by husbands who had lost their shops and fields because of the steward.

         “What is your name, girl?” Fallon suddenly asked as they made their way through the royal hall, his voice little more than a whisper.

         She stopped momentarily and looked at him with surprise. “I am Dara. I am Orin’s personal… maid.” With the last few words, her face dropped and a look of despair overshadowed her childish features.

         The man’s stomach turned. “I am Fallon. A mercenary.” The girl seemed not to have any reaction to his words and he nodded ahead for them to continue. Whether it was because her life held no value anymore from the hell that Orin had already put her through, or whether she did not yet understand the reputation the mercenaries held, he could not tell. She turned them down a hallway and up a slight incline in the floor. The halls became more grand, with swords hanging from the walls, their blades glinting in the torch light. There were no windows here and Fallon assumed they were heading closer to the middle of the structure. He listened intently, hearing nothing out of the ordinary. They turned down another couple hallways before moving to the outer part of the palace again. They reached another place with windows that seemed to differ from the blueprints that the mercenaries had been given all those years ago.

         A moment later, Dara nervously unlocked a door, her hands shaking uncontrollably. Fallon, grabbed her hand and slowly took the keys out of her grasp. “Stay here. I’ll find my way from here.” He pushed the door open to reveal a collapsed hallway. This was indeed different from the old blueprints. He had extended the palace. It must have been a portion by the forest outside the city. From the size of the hallways and this section, Orin must have extended the city wall and made himself a private corner to the great hall. So this is where you are hiding, mutt. Fallon gently pushed the servant back the way she had come, putting a finger to his lips. Caution and stealth were his greatest allies here. With the hallway collapsed, he had to proceed with care as to not kick over any loose stones. It was better to continue alone.

         The front doors of the hall had been attacked multiple times to no avail. The angels and men could not get through, and the battle continued to rage on. The queen's men had rushed into the courtyard, only to be followed by Orin’s soldiers. Forest angels had stood ready to defend the army, but even as prepared as they were, it was difficult to pick out those loyal to the royal family from those who were traitors. Soon the yard was littered with bodies and those that still poured through the entrance rode through with their open hand raised to prove they were friendly.

         Crimson eyes searched over the debris of the collapsed portion of the hall, taking in his surroundings and making a plan of approach. And then he was moving again. He scurried over the large rocks to the base of a tower-like structure. The wooden door was shut and locked. When the man unlocked it and threw it open, there were iron bars locked and blocking the entrance. He looked through the keys and tried the last two in the lock. They would not turn. These keys were useless to him. He put them in a pouch on his belt and scanned the bars and up the side of the stone wall. He clenched and unclenched his fists and took his gauntlets off. This was going to be one difficult climb. He jumped onto the debris and found an outcropping of rock. Launching himself into the air, he grabbed onto the large piece of stone jutting out from the tower. He found another stone and grasped it. Looking above him, he noticed that the stones stuck out at regular intervals. Apparently, they had constructed this tower completely differently than the rest of the hall. Fallon’s muscles rippled in his shoulders and back as he pulled himself up and found footholds. After the battle in the field, his arms and legs burned with the strain. Gritting his teeth, he continued to climb. Gray clouds rolled in and made him uneasy. The last thing he needed was to try to climb up wet, smooth stone in the midday twilight. He approached a small window in the wall and peered through, squinting to see into the opening. Fallon smelled blood, a metallic taste playing on his tongue. The mercenary recognized the scent better than he recognized almost anything else. Putting one arm through, he grabbed onto the smooth stone and squeezed his body through the gap. Sucking in his gut to make it easier, he grunted, feeling his ribs bruise against the rock. A moment later, he dropped in and broke his fall with his hands, doing a messy roll onto his knees. Fallon looked around and saw blood stained floors and walls. A feeling of dread dropped over him like a curtain and he swallowed hard. The man steeled himself for what may lay ahead. Assuming Orin was alone did not make it true. There could be others and they may be a match for him. He had realized immediately that this was a private interrogation or torture chamber. He assumed it was made for people who were still loyal to the royal family to just disappear and never be seen again without there being any evidence of them going to the dungeon. He moved to the next door and saw a hallway. Making his way down its length, he noticed rooms off to one side. Glancing into the rooms, his eyes caught the sight of body parts. There were some that were old, but some that had been there less than a week. The rooms and hallway reeked of decay and stale blood. The metallic taste in Fallon’s mouth made him spit in disgust. He will pay for his crimes here. Hurriedly, he walked down the hall, his ears always listening for any noise that would give away his prey.

         There was a great iron door ahead that led to another hall and a stone staircase. Carefully he approached it, his senses on high alert. As he neared it, he noticed a small shining line that lay just above the floor, leading to the side of the metal bars. Crouching down, the man touched it. It was string, wet with the humid air of the dungeon. Following it, he saw that it was wrapped around a stake driven into the floor and was tied to a metal pole that stood, barely visible, against the dark doorway, propping up the heavy door. How pathetic. Fallon easily stepped over the string and proceeded up the steps. His elven senses allowed him to hear heavy, panicked breathing in the room above him. The steward never anticipated someone to make it to the stairs. Orin also would have never anticipated a mercenary to be the one coming after him.

         Fallon came to the door and stopped, his footsteps silent up till now. Slowly, he unsheathed his broadsword, careful to make no noise. His ears picked up the faint sound of flickering torches and quiet mumbling. The dark man smiled sickly to himself. It’s time to end this. Holding the hilt of his blade with both hands, he used all of his strength to break the latch on the door. The heavy breathing stopped and he heard a creak a few feet away. Assuming the steward moved away from the door to hide, the mercenary threw all of his weight against the heavy wooden door and broke through the planks and into the large, circular room.

         Just as he was turning to find the steward, an iron torch bracket hit the side of his head, causing white hot pain to shoot across his skull. He faltered and his shoulder hit the side of the opening. He was at a severe disadvantage since he was still mostly under the floor. He refocused in an instant, blocking out the pain in his head. He felt hot liquid forming a trail down over his temple as he shot out of the stairwell to roll across the floor, away from the steward. The older man was taken by surprise and stumbled back unexpectedly. Fallon was on his feet, crouched and panting, ready for the next blow.

         “Who are you?” the steward said fearfully. That blow with the bracket would have knocked out a normal person.

         “Calya’s bodyguard,” Fallon responded, his voice low and menacing. A snort came from Orin. “And a mercenary,” he finished with a deadly smile on his face.

         The terrified expression that covered the old man’s face came on so suddenly that it was as if a mask had been pulled over his head. His features contorted in horror and his yell caught in his throat. “No!” he shrieked. “I paid you! I gave you everything you asked for! Please!”

         “Who said I wanted your money? Hannon is dead.” The mercenary slowly rose to his feet and glared at his prey with disgust.

         “No! F-Fallon will hear of this! He w…will k…kill you!”

         A low, guttural laugh came from Fallon’s throat. “Who do you think I am, bastard? Who do you think killed Hannon?” The younger man drew himself up to his full height, his adrenaline pumping and hatred flowing through his veins. Orin’s eyes became giant teary orbs in his sockets, his fear nearly palpable as it seemed to flow off him in waves.

         Orin backed up and threw a torch at Fallon. It hit the floor and the fire caught on the large, round carpet. Quickly and very concisely, Fallon stomped it out as he slowly approached. The mercenary wanted Orin to feel all of the fear that Calya had felt because of him. The man stumbled backwards, stuttering to himself. “No!” he cried out again. Reaching behind him, his hand felt for a longsword. He felt the hilt of an old blade propped up by the wall and yanked it out of its resting place.

         The sneer on his face just made Fallon laugh a second time. “I may have made your death quick, old man, but you’ve chosen to die the hard way.”

         The steward swung the longsword at his attacker, but Fallon easily swiped it away. Moving to the side, Orin stepped along the wall, hoping to reach the opening in the floor where the door had been splintered. Fallon sidestepped and pushed him back the other way. Panic had set in for the older man and he lunged at the mercenary, only to be thrown to the side like a ragdoll. He was now opposite the doorway again. Like a wild, cornered animal he growled and rushed forward, dropping the sword and diving past Fallon. The mercenary walked slowly toward him, enjoying this game of cat and mouse, knowing that Orin would not be able to keep his footing on the stairs. As predicted, Orin reached the opening and stumbled down the steps, losing his balance and careening down the stone stairs. Fallon calmly walked down behind the terror stricken steward, like a wraith in the dark. The mercenary sheathed his sword and took out his bow. Reaching back for an arrow, he dipped it into a deep pouch attached to his quiver before touching the tip to a torch on the wall.

         The steward lay on the floor at the bottom of the stairs, groaning and writhing. When he looked up to see Fallon, descending, still smiling, he struggled painfully to his feet and hobbled slowly down the corridor toward the large iron door. Fallon’s arrow had caught the flame on its tip from the powder that had coated it from his pouch and he took his time to notch it on his bowstring. He was going to allow Orin to kill himself even if he helped him along a little. As much as he knew Calya wanted him to publicly hang for his crimes, the part of him that had trained for years in execution had won out. Although he was indeed a different man, this part of him was still ingrained, still as much a part of him as the affection he felt for Calya. She had every right to be worried about him returning to the battlefield. She had every reason to doubt his self control. And this very moment was why. I'm sorry, Cal. I just need this kill. Just one more. He drew back his arrow, aiming for Orin’s pathetic, retreating form. The old man stumbled and clambered back to his feet, screaming in fear. He had been so injured from the fall down the steps that his progress down the hall was agonizingly slow. Fallon waited another moment and then released the arrow. Its point flew straight and quick, into Orin’s back, lighting his cloak on fire. The oil that had begun to dry was potent and lit up like a bonfire. The old man tripped and fell, knocking the iron bar out from the heavy door, causing it to close on him.

         As much as Fallon had enjoyed this hunt, he turned away as to not see the final end this man had come to. With a sigh, he made his way back up to the top room. With one last look around the room, Fallon took some documents, stuffed them into his tunic, dropped a lit torch on the floor and turned to leave. There was one window in this room and he deftly climbed out through it, struggling to find handholds before the lower part of his body exited the room. The clouds had cleared and no rain had come, making the descent easier than he had anticipated. Fire shot out of the opening above him as he made his way down. He ducked his head instinctively before continuing his descent.

         “Fallon!” a rough voice yelled out. Raimor yelled out at the battered young man as he pushed open the doors to the great hall. The forest angels and soldiers all hurried to bring Calya inside to get her medical attention.

         “Raimor,” Falon greeted with a quick nod of his head. His eyes took in the scene in the courtyard. The forest angel studied him for a moment before speaking. The young man’s appearance had changed. It was not his injuries or the labored way he carried himself. In fact, labored was hardly an appropriate description of how he walked. It was more that it was apparent that he was in pain despite the fact that he walked with confidence and a deadly air about him. Something happened where he had been, and from the looks of it, he would rather not know. “Where is Gammir?” the queen’s guard asked, completely ignoring the urgency with which Raimor had approached him.

         “He has yet to show himself.”

         Fallon cursed and reached into his tunic. “Give him these when he returns. They are documents of the steward’s atrocities that must be reviewed by the queen when she recovers.” Glancing at the large forest angel, he hesitated.

         Raimore took the crumpled pages and nodded toward the city entrance. “Prince Ferut requests an audience with the queen. No one felt it would be right to go meet with him in your place, since her highness is currently unwell.”

         Cursing again, more loudly this time, Fallon greeted the messenger with a nod as he spotted the queen's horse across the courtyard. Mounting up, he prepared to meet with the prince. Waving to a few men to follow him, he led the horse down, out of the courtyard and through the littered streets. Townspeople waved and cried as he passed with his men. Two forest angels followed in the air, above the houses and buildings.

         When Fallon came to the gate, the prince sat astride his horse, patiently waiting for the queen. He looked concerned when he saw only her guard. “Where is the queen?” he asked.

         Fallon pulled the horse to a stop in front of him, nodding in respect. “She is unwell, prince. She is alive and uninjured. However, she was unprepared for what she encountered and has been brought into the hall to recover from her shock.”

         The prince nodded with understanding and looked grave. “If you would allow me, I would like to have the privilege of personally checking on her.”

         After a moment of thought, her guard agreed. He nodded back toward the castle for the prince to follow him. They made their way back to the hall and dismounted in front of it. Fallon knocked on the doors and they were pulled open. The soldiers who had carried Calya in led them through the massive room with the two thrones and down the ornate hallway. They were brought to another room and let in. Calya lay on a bed surrounded by maids and servants. Fallon stood at the foot of her bed and watched her. The prince stood beside the bed and took in the sight of the young queen. “I hope she recovers quickly. The Highlands and Lowlands both owe her everything. I couldn’t bring myself to leave without seeing the one who succeeded in liberating all of the lands from the hand of such a dictator. Please send word when she awakes.” He nodded to the maids and bowed his head in respect to Fallon before taking his leave.

         The days passed and Calya recuperated well enough. Fallon worked with his men to clear the bodies of the dead out of the city streets and bury them in the field beyond the walls. The forest angels stayed only another day or two before heading back to their own city. Even still, Raimor asked that they send word when Calya was fully recovered and in control.

         As the men went through the bodies of the people that had been felled by the angels, they were distressed to see how many had been mistaken for Orin’s men in the rush to the courtyard. Fallon took over managing the mass graves and the clean up effort while Gammir stayed by Calya’s side in the castle. It was an efficient arrangement, partially because Gammir knew the royal hall somewhat already and partially because Fallon was the only one that could easily stomach moving and looking at so many dead bodies all day and night. As they emptied the streets, they began to find townspeople who had perished. Children with their mothers and fathers. The men working to remove the bodies worked shorter and shorter shifts, switching out with fresh workers to ease the emotional and mental strain of dragging children’s bodies into a mass grave.

         Fallon stared at one family that was brought out to the graves together by some of the men. He remembered the day he rode through his town at five years old and saw his father nailed and tied, spread eagle, on the door to the tavern. He was a town official and therefore had been made an example of. Fallon swallowed his rage and pointed to where they should put the family. They brought out more innocent citizens and Fallon’s chest tightened and his stomach turned. He remembered the last time he saw his mother and the moment he watched her and his brother ride off in different directions. He remembered the day he saw his brother again. He felt nauseous. They brought out a boy the same age as Jain was when the family separated. Fallon walked away, behind some bushes and vomited. When he returned, they were covering the corpses in dirt, hoping to beat the vultures and ravens so the people could rest in peace.

         As they finished burying those that were slain during the battle, Fallon walked away, through the fields to a lake nearby. He stared into the water at his reflection. He felt the scarring on the back of his neck and cursed. He cursed because of himself and what he had become. He cursed Hannon for turning him into that. He cursed the things he had done. He cursed the years that had been taken from him. Finally, he dropped to his knees at the water’s edge and let out a scream of utter despair. He stayed there on his knees, numb and depressed for what felt like hours. He couldn’t cry. He expected he didn’t know how. He couldn’t even remember a time when he ever did cry. Night fell and he slowly made his way back to the city in the moonlight. He felt drained and miserable. The only thing he wanted to see was Calya awake and well. He needed to see that she was okay. As he neared the city, a man ran up to him with a lantern. “Gammir! He’s here!”

         The burly hunter-turned-military captain barreled through the open gate and shouted to those still behind the wall. “I told you he was alive! You really think anything could kill this man?” Then he turned to Fallon and said, “You look like you got run over by a few hundred boars since I saw you last. Are you alright?”

         The young man shook his head meaning to imply it was nothing but looking like he was about to fall apart and couldn’t speak. A moment later, he looked up. “Gammir, I need a drink.” The other man hesitated. “I need a drink and an ear.”

         A concerned smile spread over Gammir’s kind features and he put a hand on Fallon’s back. “I have two.” He called to someone to make sure the tavern was serving drinks. They ran ahead to the bartender in the city and convinced him to open his tavern and give the queen’s guards some ale.

         The two men sat at a table the entire night. The bartender eventually left the key to the building with them and went home to his family. Gammir listened intently while Fallon talked. He wasn’t shocked, but he didn’t expect most of what he heard, either.

         Dawn was just beginning to lighten the streets before the sun crested the horizon when Gammir looked out the window of the bar. They had ceased drinking many hours before since neither of them were inclined to drunkenness. Fallon had laid out his entire story and Gammir was patient, understanding and kind.

         The queen’s guard stood and looked at the younger man. “When was the last time you slept, Fallon?”

         Fallon looked wearily at him. His eyes were bloodshot, his skin pale, and he looked like he was ready to walk into the graves he had just filled himself. “Uh… I don’t know. Maybe three days ago?”

         The older man put a hand on his shoulder. “You need to sleep, brother. We can talk more later, but you are no use to anyone dead.” He walked to the door and waved Fallon over. “Come on, we’re going back to the castle and you are going to sleep.”

         The young man refused. “I’m not sleeping until I see Calya. I haven’t been able to see her since I have been out here for days.”

         Gammir rolled his eyes. “She will still be there tomorrow. You know, she may even be there the next day as well.”

         Fallon glared at him, exhausted and run down. “You really know how to make a man feel better, don’t you?” The other laughed heartily and clapped him on the back as they locked up and dropped the key by the bartender’s home.

         Calya wandered the halls of her castle with Gammir and Cornelius. She felt so small and out of place. She felt alone. “Cornelius.”

         He stepped up beside her. “Yes, your highness.”

         “When Fallon comes back and is settled, I want you to make sure to give him the choice of position, whether that be commander of my military, a head strategist, or anything else he may desire. He has earned whatever title he could ever want.” She sighed as her eyes scanned everything. This was not a home. Not for her. Not while she felt so alone in her own halls. And yet if she was being honest, she had no concept of what a home for her might ever look like. She spent the next day attempting to memorize the layout of the castle, storing all weapons in the armory, and speaking with Cornelius and Gammir about who may be appointed to which post. Many of Gammir’s men which he had brought with him proved to be incredibly skilled swordsmen. Some had even left Kezna’s army immediately after Orin took over and had continued to hone their skills. She was bringing her own army back to their homes, Fallon’s stallion had been found and Gammir had agreed to stay in Kezna as her chief guard until she found a suitable replacement, which he hoped would be Fallon. When Cornelius asked about his family, they all agreed that word would be sent to Tant for Kikarii to escort Gammir’s wife and children north to Kezna. Things were finally settling down in the city. People were rebuilding their lives. A few merchants who caught wind of her victory and the fall of the steward took their chances in coming to the city in hopes to renew trade. They were given what simple and few hospitalities the city could offer before being told to spread the word and bring whatever supplies they were able back to assist the rebuilding of the kingdom. They were guaranteed compensation for whatever they could return with by the queen’s treasury.
         Despite the official crowning ceremony not taking place, everyone recognized her as their ruler and followed her every word.

         Fallon had finally come back. However, before Calya had even received word of his return, he had collapsed in the vast hallway just beyond the throne room. Gammir had followed him in and passed through the doors just in time to catch him before his head hit the stone. He had over exerted himself and was paying the price. The older man knew he wasn't used to dealing with the emotions that hit him over the past week. That, on top of the physical strain wore him down too much. Gammir was a big man, the type that would make you think mountain man, but Fallon was packed with muscle and was large himself. Gammir held him off the floor while he looked around for anyone else that might be walking by. A maid came into the hall and gasped.

         Gammir hollered to her, "Find Cornelius!" The young woman scurried away quickly in a panic. The newly appointed guard looked down at his friend and sighed heavily, hoping that the old man would be quickly found and quicker to arrive.

         Cornelius was quick. He rushed through the doors and grabbed Fallon under one arm opposite Gammir. "How long ago did he collapse?"

         Shaking his head the guard responded, "Only about five minutes ago. Thank you for your haste. We cannot let her highness see him like this."

         Cornelius nodded in agreement. "That would be wise. Let us get him into the first room. He'll need to be undressed and checked for wounds."

         Gammir grunted his agreement and helped drag the young man down the hall. "Knowing him, even if he was injured he would have kept it to himself." Another grunt was heard as he struggled to open the door to a bedroom. "How is he this heavy? He isn't even fat."

         The prophet let out an involuntary guffaw despite the seriousness of the situation. "It must be his ego and pride weighing him down." Gammir also laughed now as they got him onto the bed, both men heaving as they gasped for air. They pulled off his tunic and boots and pants, before covering him and calling for some maids to see to his care and find someone to attend to his medical needs. The wound on his head was crusted over and his hair matted.

         The men left the room and made their way to the dining hall where Calya should have been sitting through a meal as she worked through policies and sorted through political punishments for Dorsha. They rapped on the door frame and bowed as the queen told them to enter.

         She caught sight of Gammir and jumped to her feet. "If you've returned then Fallon must be back as well! Where is he?"

         Holding up a hand, he calmed her. "He is resting, your highness. He hadn't slept in days and I made him go rest." He saw her expression darken with disappointment. "He insisted on making sure you were well, but I forbid him to do anything more before he slept off his exhaustion."

         Calya sighed. It could not be helped. He needed to recuperate the same as she had. In all their travels, she had become so used to him functioning on so little sleep, sometimes she failed to remember that he still did need rest. She slumped back down in her chair and looked at her plate that was mostly untouched since she had gotten word that Gammir and Fallon were seen back in the city. She had hoped to send for Fallon when he arrived and so she had been trying to wait to eat her breakfast. She stared, frustrated, at her picked over food.

         Gammir made his way to the table opposite her and spoke, "If I may, your highness." She nodded, "I have worked many hours at night while Fallon oversaw the burying of the dead. I would like you to approve the blade I have completed for your bodyguard."

         Calya was surprised by this as she hadn't known he had been given access to a blacksmith's shop in the short time since the war had ended. "Yes please. Bring it to me at once."

         The man nodded and hurried down a different hall from where he had come, returning a few minutes later with a gorgeously constructed sheath in his hands. He handed the weapon to the queen and stepped back. The woman examined the leather work before pulling the blade from its sleeve. The blade was perfect, not a single unintentional mark anywhere. The hilt was expertly crafted with the royal emblem that was duplicated on the sheath. The balance was flawless and the weight was similar to Fallon’s current sword. The large broadsword wore on her arm as she held it in her hand. She slid it back into the leather and told Cornelius to find a wooden box or chest to place it in and then to keep it in the armory until Fallon awoke. Handing the blade back, she dismissed them. Sitting at the table, she was left alone with her thoughts. Maybe Fallon wouldn't leave. He implied that he cared for her. Did he not? Or did she misread his comment back then when he said he could not answer her. She had felt slightly giddy back then. However, after her weakness in the face of true pressure, there was no way he would stay. Would he? Even though he would never choose or even agree to be a king, he may agree to stay as a guard or commander or strategist or something. Wouldn't he? She had come to rely on his presence, his sarcastic humor and his fits of childish upset. She had even felt lonely without his waking up from nightmares this past week. She hadn't realized just how used to him she had become until he was absent. She would not say she missed him, but a queen has a right to keep secrets.

         Fallon awoke to light pouring into his window. He was in a guest room in the castle. There was a mirror on one wall, a large dresser, a four post bed with draperies that hung down in green, gold and blue. There was a large window on one side looking out over a forest and a decent size table next to the bed with drawers in it. He sat up stiffly and stood. His body ached and his head felt foggy. The room spun and he stumbled, grabbing the bedpost to steady himself. Waiting for the dizziness to pass and swallowing down a short lived feeling of nausea, Fallon dropped his hand and stood on his own. He went to the dresser after he realized that he wasn’t in his other clothing. He tried to think back to earlier that morning. He barely even remembered entering the great hall, nevermind what he did with all his clothes. He opened the large dresser and looked at the clothing. None of it was anything he would normally wear. It was all so intricate and flashy. Who would wear these clothes? A king would, or a court official, but not him. He chose the most simple out of them all and got dressed. He rubbed his eyes and made his way to the door. When he opened it, Gammir was standing outside.

         “You’re alive, my friend!”

         Fallon seemed utterly confused. “It’s only been half a day since I laid down. Why would I not be alive?”

         Gammir looked at him, amused. “Fallon… You’ve been asleep for nearly three days.”

         The other stared at him in disbelief. “What?”

         “You came in here almost three days ago. It is late afternoon, just before sunset. At dawn tomorrow, it would have been three full days.”

         Fallon tried to wrap his head around that. He had never slept that long in his life. His stomach growled and he looked around uneasily. He was out of his element and uncomfortable.

         The guard chuckled and started walking. “Come with me. I think you need some food.” He led the young man to the kitchen area where they were preparing dinner for the queen. “Get this man some food, ladies.”

         One of the maids looked up. “Is he eating with the queen?”

         The guard looked at the young man, waiting for a response. “Well?”

         Fallon was caught off guard and hesitated. “Yeah. I guess I will be.”

         The maid shooed them both out. “Well then go to the dining hall and we will be out soon.”

         When they arrived at the dining hall, Calya sat, dressed as a queen at the head of the table. At the door, Fallon stopped. He stared at her, his mind blank. Could this really be the same woman that traveled with him? He entered and walked up to her. She smiled when she spotted him across the room. “Fallon, you’re alright! Gammir said you went to sleep a few days ago and hadn’t woken up. I feared the worst so I stationed him outside your door so he would be there when you awoke.”

         “I didn’t mean to sleep that long. Must’ve been tired, huh?” He tried to smile, but his empty stomach and uncomfortability were making it difficult. He suddenly looked self conscious. “Should I kneel or bow or something?”

         The queen waved her hand dismissively. “Just sit down.”

         They ate and talked about the state of the city and the people. It seemed as though everyone was working with one another to put the pieces of their lives back together. The next morning, messengers were being sent out to neighboring cities to reestablish trade routes and alliances. Notice had been sent to Ynhilay and Tant that all was successful. Dorsha would be punished and trade would be altered by adding high taxes for everything they received from Kezna for what they had done and allowed. The Lowland kings would be handled when Calya had a chance to look over their political standing with her realm. Eventually, Harta would have to be dealt with, but that was too far in the future. Fallon looked uncomfortable when the subject was brought up. He excused himself and found his way to the courtyard. There was barely any sign of what had occurred just one week before. The courtyard had been cleaned up. The remains of the steward and his wife had been discarded and his children put in the graves beyond the wall. He let out a shaky breath and looked around. Where did he go from here? What was his next step? He remembered his horse that he had sacrificed in the battle to save the city. He walked down to the armory beside the castle. He was searching for his broadsword. After perusing the racks, he spotted it. The blade was beaten up and worn. It would have to be sharpened.

         Gammir came in behind him. “I think that blade has seen enough bloodshed, my friend.”

         Fallon turned around to face him. He nodded in partial agreement and looked over the edge carefully. It was nicked and scratched. It had definitely seen better days. “Yes it has. But it’s the only one I own, so I guess it will stay with me until I decide to replace it.”

         The other man smiled and held up a finger. “I figured you would say that.” He walked to the corner and opened a large chest. Reaching in, he pulled out a bundle of fabric and handed it to the swordsman.

         Fallon put down his weapon and took the bundle. It was heavy; heavier than he expected. He carefully unwrapped it to reveal an expertly crafted broadsword. The blade was flawless and reflected the most minute bits of light as if they were the sun. The hilt was skillfully constructed with the royal emblem shining brightly. Gammir handed him the accompanying sheath, also decorated with the royal crest. “When was this made?”

         Gammir smirked and gazed at the weapon as if it were a small child. “I was up almost as long as you were to get this accomplished before you returned from the graves. I paid one of the leather workers to make the sheath.”

         “Gammir, I can’t take this. I can’t carry this around when I leave here.”

         The older man looked confused and concerned. “Why are you leaving? Wasn’t the queen planning to put you as commander over her military?”

         Fallon shook his head slowly and handed the weapon back. “My job here is done. I never planned to stay even this long.”

         The guard came over and rested a hand on his shoulder. “Fallon, listen to me. I don’t care if you want to or not. I will not let you tell me everything you did and then walk away as if it doesn’t matter.” Gammir turned to see Cornelius at the doorway. Fallon looked uneasily at the prophet, but nodded in greeting. He looked back at Gammir darkly, his frustration portrayed in his eyes. Gammir put his hands up defensively. "Don't give me that look. I know you don't want to leave. It's time you stop running away from everything. Now I'm going to go in there and tell her your decision, so you had better not disappear."

         Fallon looked from Gammir to Cornelius who just turned and began walking away, leaving the young man on his own. "What exactly are you going to tell her?"

         Cornelius chuckled and glanced back over his shoulder. "What do you want him to tell her?"

         The young man looked between the two and swallowed hard, looking back to the hall before answering.

         Calya sat alone at the table and gazed at Fallon’s empty chair. She hadn’t had the chance to really speak with him alone since they entered the battle. She did not have a single idea of what he was doing, what he thought of her now that she couldn’t even handle being in the battle without even having to fight herself. She was embarrassed and ashamed. She had been dazed and weak. The queen expected Fallon to leave now that she had proved him right. His instincts were correct and he now had every reason to walk away. She slammed her fist down on the table and let out a growl of frustration. “You fool!” she cried to herself.

         Gammir entered the dining hall, but stopped in the doorway when he saw the young woman punch the table. He looked solemn as he waited to tell her Fallon’s decision. She saw him from the corner of her eye and tried to compose herself. “Yes, Gammir? What do you need?”

         The corner of the older man's mouth tipped up ever so slightly and he bowed low before her. His smirk was so subtle, she never even noticed. “Fallon has made his decision, your highness.”

         Calya’s face paled and she took a deep breath, placing her hand on the table for support. “When is he leaving?”