SIEGE

Day 3

1

A gallery of tired faces filled the castle yard in the misty morning, formed up for a roll call; tired, but living for the most part. Yet, mixed in those ranks of cold stares was also a slight but sure shade of angst. One name was taken off the list. A watchman had thrown himself off the castle wall in the early hours of the new day, down into the eastern gorge. The incident was not discussed in public, or acknowledged at all by the commanders, but the troops from the squad of the deceased knew the story well enough, and there was no way to keep the ill news from spreading. By breakfast, there was likely not a soul left in the company who hadn’t heard and it did wonders for the general mood.

Thanks to this unfortunate distraction and the collective lack of appetite, very few paid attention to how thin the breakfast porridge had become. But worse was on the way.

—“We have a problem.” One of the officers delivered the bad news to the leaders in the conference hall a short while later.

“We’ve secured the castle kitchens and pantries,” he reported, “but found the stores entirely emptied of supplies. We’ve scoured every corner of the castle by now from basement to roof, but there is not a morsel of food to be found. The supplies we brought with us from the Firras and Grelden are spent. We’re going through our emergency munitions now, but I fear they won’t last us two days. Two hundred and thirty mouths eat a lot each day.”

The castle had its own water supply, the courtyard well was found clean and plentiful, but such an army wouldn’t get far without more substance. The average person could survive over two weeks without food—but not soldiers in full gear, expected to keep vigilant with little sleep.

Deterioration of morale, rioting, in-fighting, neglect of duty, reduced alertness...Such were doubtless what the enemy desired, and it seemed they were going to get their way. Of course. It was very unlikely human hands had emptied the pantries, or that they had coincidentally been exhausted right as the calamity fell. What else could this sudden shortage be but a prearranged move to test the opposition’s fortitude? Before long, the daemons’ mental pressure would begin to corrode even the more hardened spirits, as their bodily strength waned. All of this in a situation, where a mere moment’s oversight could cost all of them their lives. It was a problem fit to be called a problem.

“Can’t your wizards spell us more food?” Colonel Foulton voiced his—at least half—joking question.

“The Law of the Conservation of Mass prevents material from being manifested out of nothing,” Court Wizard Laukan answered him in earnest. “Raw mana cannot be made into bread, even us wizards need ingredients to work with. And if such were at hand, magic would be an altogether unnecessary step, and a capable cook superior to a wizard. I could, in theory, infuse a person with vital energy and temporarily take away their sense of hunger. But it would do little to fill their stomach, on top of leaving myself twice as hungry. I don’t suppose our cirelo friends have a handy solution for such a bind?”

“Unfortunately,” Carmelia answered, “being of a species capable of lasting more than half a year without any food or water whatsoever, the conjuration of provisions was never the focus of my studies.”

“That’s bloody great,” Foulton wryly chuckled. “At least we have someone to bury us!”

“Tell them to butcher the horses,” Miragrave told the officer.

The soldier replied with a grimace, “The men will not like it. Nor the servants. Not all will agree to it, I think. They will rather starve themselves than eat their steeds.”

Horses were highly valued in Tratovia, as in most of the human realm, being the most dependable means of transportation, as well as loyal companions in labor. Some treated them in Millanueve’s fashion as intelligent beings equal to people, and viewed their consumption as nothing short of cannibalism. A taboo. Forcing the troops to eat the horses prolonged their lives, perhaps, but unrest was guaranteed and the benefits questionable.

“Then let them starve!” the Marshal replied with little sympathy. “Assign heavier punishments for disobedience. All grumbling must be nipped straight at the bud. But they will do their duty, bowels empty or full!”

“There are other options,” Colonel Foulton remarked from further down the table, impatiently tapping the surface with his fingers. Everyone knew what his options were by now without his spelling them out loud.

“I can’t say I love the idea of living off horse meat myself,” Yuliana said, “but I will not willingly send anyone outside the wall. It is much too dangerous.”

“The last I checked, your majesty, starving was likewise a condition dangerous to human constitution,” Foulton pointed out. Having made the girl crawl through mud and sleet while she was still a cadet, he didn’t mind his manners too much even after her ascent through the ranks.

Miragrave, on the other hand, wouldn’t let such comments pass. “Colonel, this is your last warning!”

Judging by his face, Foulton was about to reply to this ultimatum in no less thoughtless words, but couldn’t make it. Another voice interrupted the starting quarrel.

—“I’ll go.”

Everyone fell quiet and turned their eyes to the Prince of Luctretz.

“…Excuse me?” Yuliana raised her brow at him, as if she actually hadn’t heard.

The Prince stood up, the air of determination already upon him. “I’m going. To find supplies in the city, that is. Just tell me where to go and I shall be on my way.”

“What? Do you have any idea what you’re getting yourself into?”

“No,” he denied outright with a carefree shrug. “And that’s why I want to go. I need to see this for myself.”

Here Yuliana had to admit he was being serious. She bounced up from her seat and her expression turned upset. “You’re not going anywhere!”

“Good then that I am not one of your beloved subjects,” he told her. “The last I looked, I was the Prince of a sovereign nation, and in no need for permissions from the Empress of Tratovia. So would you kindly bring up the map for me?”

Instead of answering his request, Yuliana turned her eyes to Miragrave and the General for help. “Say something to this man! Tell him he’s insane!”

Miragrave clicked her tongue and looked away, finding no cause in her heart to keep the man from his fate, and sanity she never thought he had. Likewise, acknowledging that he indeed was a prince and outside his jurisdiction, General Monterey could only toss his shoulders. He then took out the city map from his coat pocket and began to roll it open onto the table. “If it is his highness’s will, what else can we but honor it? But I hope you understand, we cannot spare any men to assist you on this quest. You’ll be entirely on your own out there.”

“And I would strictly refuse chaperons, even if offered,” the Prince said and stepped over to examine the city layout.

“Stop that!” Yuliana exclaimed and strode up to them, turning red. “This isn’t funny! If you go out there, you are going to die! Do you know what that means? No miraculous maneuvers will avail you! No dragon is there to rescue you! There may be hundreds of those things lying in wait—thousands!—while no sword is of use! It is sheer madness! And you are an idiot to even consider doing such a—”

All of a sudden, the Prince leaned forward, seized her majesty’s chin between his fingers, and shut her lips with a kiss.

“Well, well!” he exclaimed with a laugh as he quickly retreated. “A lese majesté! I believe I have earned my death penalty now. If you allow me to choose the method of my execution, I shall take being banished outside the castle wall as it. Yet, should I, by some chance of a miracle, return alive with the supplies we need, I hope you may find it in you to grant me pardon this once.”

Yuliana replied with a scowl, slowly wiping her lips,

“You’d better work hard for that pardon.”

2

The main gate was not the only way in and out of the royal castle. On top of the north-side battlement could be found steep stairs taking down to a narrow recess. From the end of the stairs followed a dark, low corridor deeper into the depths of masonry, at the end of which awaited a furtive side door punched into the base of the wall, barely tall and wide enough for one person to pass through at a time. It was secured by a stiff oak door eleven inches thick, with a fist-sized window near the top, a hefty lock, and multiple bolts. The door had been further reinforced with spells and a mage of the Magic Battalion was stationed there around the clock to ensure the wards held.

Beyond the postern lay a bare, narrow rock terrace, and a bewildering drop to the canyon spreading beneath the castle. Yet, sticking close to the wall, inching westward along the rocks, an agile scout would come to the edge of the moat, nearly twenty yards below the gatehouse and the bridge. The cliff here was in its natural state, rough and with an abundance of footholds, allowing descent to the bottom of the waterless ravine. From there, a slim, precarious trail climbed up northwest, taking to the city unnoticed.

Employing this roundabout route, it was possible for a solitary entrepreneur, or a small group, to pass between the castle and the city without opening the main gate, thereby to escape detection by possible watchers. A vital lifeline at times of crisis and war, although generally used for purposes less noble.

The Prince went to get his old gear from the chamber upstairs and then departed without further ceremonies, without seeing anyone. Yet, on the way across the yard to the wall, he found his path blocked by his two retainers. As if they had somehow foreseen this turn of events, they were already waiting for him in their travel wear and knowing looks on their faces.

“If you’re going, we’re going,” Jude announced to his highness, defiantly crossing his arms.

The Prince groaned in annoyance. “I’ve left you in the dust every other day, how come you’re ahead of me this once I didn’t want you to be?”

“Uh, because we were there at the door, listening to every word of the assembly, and took a shortcut to get here first?” the young man reflected.

“Eavesdropping, you mean!” the Prince cried. “Jude aside, I confess I expected better of you, Laine!”

The lady knight closed her eyes in shame, with a faint blush, but made no effort to deny the accusation or move out of the way.

“We will not back down on this,” she said.

“No. You two are staying right here, that’s an order,” The Prince told them and strode past the pair. Paying no heed to his order, they turned to follow along, up the stairs to the wall.

“I don’t think ranks and titles apply much in a situation such as this,” Jude said. “If you want us to obey, you’re going to have to beat us first. And two-on-one, I don’t think you could do it. We’ve gotten better, you know.”

“I don’t feel like losing today either,” Kingsley concurred. “But dead or alive, we’re still coming with you.”

“Rock-paper-scissors?” Jude suggested. “The loser has to find bacon.”

Seeing their unrelenting attitudes, the Prince could only admit that changing their minds was going to waste more time and energy than was rational.

“You’re damned fools, both of you!” he told them and gave up arguing, secretly a little assured. “You heard what they said. Can’t claim you weren’t warned!”

“The more you’re told not to do something, the more you want to do it. Isn’t that the same for everyone?”

The three hiked up to the top of the wall walk, strolled a distance westward, and found the recess and the descending stairs. But there was an unexpected person waiting for them next to the opening.

The sight of Carmelia’s graceful yet foreboding figure in the pallid light of the forenoon made them halt out of surprise.

“Is there something I can do for you, your grace?” the Prince asked the sorceress with caution.

“No,” she replied. “But it is in my ability to help you. Put these on.”

The cirelo gestured at a neat pile of dark gray clothes beside her on the ground. The three went on to pick them up as instructed, unfolding discreet, hooded cloaks embroidered with faint, geometric patterns. She had somehow foreseen the number of explorers too.

“There is a spell woven into the fabric, which muffles sound and veils your vital signs,” the Court Wizard explained. “Wearing them should make you slightly more difficult for the enemy to perceive. But the protection is far from perfect. Daemons navigate not by light, but by sensing life itself. They are able to peer directly into your bodies, see the reactions occurring in your organs, your brain, what you think, what you feel, and track you down by these impulses. Your emotions are as bright flames in the midst of an endless darkness for them. If you encounter any, empty your minds. Restrain your feelings and be as calm and still as you possibly can. With luck, they cannot tell you apart from lesser life forms and may leave you be. They do kill animals too, should they get too close, but you will have a chance. I imagine you’d welcome even a minor improvement over none.”

They thanked the sorceress for her gifts and counsel.

“Keep within sight of one another,” Carmelia added. “As they are made with magic, these cloaks will disintegrate if worn by beings that repel spells. If, for whatever reason, you find your companion deprived of their outfit, you should assume them an imposter and avoid contact. The spell pattern also serves as your passport by which the mage corporal keeping the door will identify you. You will not be allowed in without.”

“Very well,” the Prince nodded.

“I cannot stress the importance of this: under no circumstances must you attempt to engage the enemy. Do not fight. Do not run. Suppress your fear, lay low, and do as I’ve instructed, and you have a chance to survive.”

“Your grace,” Jude said with a playful grin, “you speak of chances. As something of a pathological gambler, I’m curious—what would you say are the odds we do get back alive? All three of us?”

Carmelia spared the youth not a look, but turned and left without further comments or farewells. The young knight saw her off, hoping to the last for a clue, but was given none.

“...What?” he spread his arms in confusion. “They can’t be zero, can they?”

3

The lock let out a drawn out, grating creak, and then all was silent. The postern sealed once more behind them, safety out of reach, a keen sense of loneliness and abandonment fell upon the adventurers. But they spoke nothing of it and left without looking back.

They crept along the wall to a spot near the southwestern turret, where descent seemed possible and began to climb down the naked cliff face. They had no mountaineering gear, not so much as a rope, but were all young and able-bodied. Nimble as guenons, they descended to the bottom of the treacherous moat that split the castle from the city. One with the cliffs in their grayscale outfits, they were virtually imperceptible from above, even if the watchers knew where to look, and hoped the enemy would be none the wiser. Progress was in no part a great challenge, but they couldn’t have done anything to defend themselves if ambushed in such a terrain. Yet, the silence persisted and they made it to the shadow of the mainland, and began to look for a way up along the opposite side.

They found the trail used since ancient times and carried on. The footpath was barely wide enough to fit a man sideways, chest close to the wall. Jude at the front, they followed this serpentine path southward and up, coming shortly to the corner of the city wall. A larger drainage pipe exited to the moat, its mouth uncovered, and through the line they passed under the barrier, and up a lone manhole to the city streets.

Jude removed the metallic sewer lid and took a moment to survey the surface, while the other two waited in the dark of the pipe below, alert and tense. Only the top of his head above the ground, the youth peered carefully in every direction, and listened, ready to pull the lid back and fly at anything suspicious.

A quarter hour passed like this and they saw and heard nothing.

The solemn stone buildings occupying the corner block were at peace, and nothing about the neighborhood suggested anyone had ever lived there, save perhaps the conspicuous absence of wild flora and fauna. The windows were dark. No ravens circled over the rooftops. No stray dogs traced the curbs. The doorways were all securely shut, as if the occupants had merely left on a long trip and would some day be back. Whatever calamity had taken them, it had either happened in an instant, or else all traces of it had been conscientiously erased by the culprits.

The three Luctretzians knew daemons only by hearsay, but observing these indirect signs, they could begin to grasp the unusual character of their enemy; the lack of wanton destruction, the total disregard for property and riches, the silent efficiency with which an entire city had been scrape clean of life without alarming anyone outside of its boundaries...It spoke of a formidable intelligence and calculative power, as well as an utter lack of feeling, of soul, of conscience.

But the only thing they found truly worthy of attention now was the fact that the coast was clear.

Jude pushed the sewer lid fully out of the way, climbed up and helped the other two onto the street, and they ran on without wasting another moment.

They stuck close to the houses and avoided larger clearings as they made their way to the place Yuliana had pointed out for them, San Mihel’s general goods store at Acker Street 12. It was far off, but the shop was of better than average quality, with a generous selection, and they could likely get everything needed from the same place.

Profitable stores had minor charms and cooling chambers to ensure ingredients remained fresh for extended periods of time without constant supervision. The daemons couldn’t have emptied every shop in the city in such a short time, surely.

The place itself was easy to identify. A large signboard hung above a wide display window, upon which the name was spelled in green serif letters against a white background. But the street before the shop was awkwardly broad and the establishment nestled between larger apartment buildings. It would’ve been easy for anyone—or anything—inside those buildings to see the three coming, as they had no cover on the sunlit street.

There was no choice but to risk exposure.

The Prince and Kingsley remained at the mouth of a narrow alleyway across the street while Jude sneaked over to examine the storefront closer. They watched him without daring to blink, expecting an eerie shadow like the one they had seen the other day spring at the youth at any given moment. But nothing moved behind the windows, or in the streets. Colorless sunshine continued uninterrupted and the cold winter air stood still. There was not even the slightest breeze.

Jude made it to the shop in safety, peered around and through the glass in the door, and soon turned to signal back. The entrance was locked. It was primarily a good sign. The wares should’ve been untouched too. Like a grade school student on the way to class, the Prince looked once more left and right along the length of the street and then hurried to Jude, Kingsley following a distance behind. Equipped with a tried and true set of lockpicks, the Prince undid the door, ignoring the smug face Jude was making next to him. Kingsley double-checked the interior through the display windows but saw no motion. Once the door was open, Jude slipped in first to carry out a cursory inspection, but didn’t take long to call back to the other two.

All was clear.

They went in.

Even if anything was missing inside, they had no way to tell. The shop looked every bit ready for business, every shelf, table, and wall hook loaded. Kingsley kept close to the door to watch the street, while the Prince took out the “shopping list” he had in his pocket.

“Are they just gonna let us take everything?” Jude asked as gazed at the tables throughout the shop lounge and their generous offerings. “For a mission labeled as ‘impossible’ and ‘suicidal’, this is almost boring. Who do you gotta kill to get some action?”

“Shush,” the Prince told him. “We’ve barely started here. Did you check the basement yet?”

“Aye-aye, all’s clear and ripe for the taking, your highness.”

“Then give me your backpack and keep watch here with Laine, while I go and take it.”

“Mind if we stop by the liquor store on the way back?”

“Hold your horses, lad. It’s no pleasure trip we’re on.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

The Prince went behind the long counter desk and down the stairs further back to the cooler basement, silently reproaching the young knight’s attitude. But had Jude been given one good reason to act otherwise? On some, no amount of warnings could leave an impression, they had to see things for themselves to understand. He knew for he was the same. Under different circumstances, he would’ve agreed with the youth and joked along with him. But he couldn’t shake off the terror he had seen in Yuliana’s eyes. And if it was a menace that could even put that fiendish Marshal on the edge, then it was no jest.

Keeping his idle reflections on the threshold of awareness, he got to work. The list consisted mostly of light, easily preserved ingredients: oats, flours, yeast, seeds, nuts, dried vegetables and mushrooms, peas and beans, anything with a high nutritional value that kept edible long and could be further processed to feed many people. The store had been recently restocked and carried almost everything in good quantity. The scouts had backpacks and a large capsack to carry the loot. The Prince loaded the capsack to the limit, measuring in fistfuls before ounces. With everything packed, he was confident even two hundred people could survive for a while, maybe not in luxury, but lucidly.

If only they could get everything safely delivered too.

But nearing the end of the list, the Prince’s face fell.

“Damn.”

He closed the packs and the capsack, and returned upstairs to the others. Kingsley remained at watch behind the front door. She made a sign with her fingers saying all was fine. Jude crouched by the counter desk, snacking on a bag of roasted nuts he had found.

“You got everything?” the youth asked.

“No,” the Prince replied. “The herbs have gone bad. We have to look up a pharmacy, and pray their keeping enchantment has held better.”

Such a crowd of people couldn’t remain in perfect health forever. The winter days were cold and the long journey had taken its toll on some. Add stress, poor diet, and the bleak circumstances, and there were always patients at the sick ward. The patients’ ailments were not life-threatening, perhaps, but unpleasant all the same. Select herbs could restore them all to action but the company had none left. To save the mages’ efforts, the explorers had been tasked with retrieving the necessary greens. Most herbs were common and could be found at virtually any shop, but the herb selection at San Mihel’s had gone bad a good while ago.

Apothecaries in larger cities tended to protect their wares better and paid more for the spells of the Arcanists’ guild. They could get what was missing and more from a specialized drug store, but the unscheduled detour would cost them more time. But they were safe so far. It was worth a try.

“Show me the map again,” the Prince asked and Jude obliged. “All right, there’s one, at the crossing of Churchill and Earnshaw. It’s a bit far. We’re going to have to leave the bags here, pick up the weeds, and then come back the same way.”

“Do we really have to?” Jude asked. “Nobody’s gonna die of a little fever, or diarrhea. At least, not too soon.”

“You may have a point there. I admit, I was a little worried what sort of substances might end up in your pockets if we went. Might be better to go straight back.”

“Oh, your highness! I couldn’t ignore the colon pains of a fellow man! What are we waiting for? Let’s go pick up some flowers!”

Jude’s mind was quickly changed. They exited San Mihel’s and headed further westward along the streets, taking shortcuts through the backyards and alleys where able.

Even now, the enemy made no appearance.

Were there really any? Maybe they had miscalculated the numbers and there were a great deal fewer of the monsters than expected? Or maybe there had been only one, after all, and it was now dead. Or maybe they had abandoned the dead city and gone to seek new prey elsewhere? It would’ve made a great deal more sense.

By the lightness of his steps, Jude seemed to have forgotten about the daemons long ago. He scouted over forty yards ahead of the other two, and spent continuously less and less time checking the corners before carrying on. But the youth was not made to pay for his carelessness, and they advanced one block after another uncontested.

On the other hand, Kingsley was getting left further behind. Seeing this, the Prince stopped, crouched by the wall, and waited for the other knight to catch up.

“You okay?” he asked the woman as she reached to him.

Kingsley looked pale and moved with visible effort.

“I feel strange,” she reported with a nervous glance. “Like there’s something cold and enormous standing right behind me. But I can’t see anything...”

The Prince looked back the way they’d come. All he saw was the sun-bleached street. He could sense nothing. No presences, nothing moving. The lifeless district was nothing if not ominous, but the effect was thus far purely psychological.

Yet, Kingsley’s arms trembled, her skin on goosebumps. Jude might have made tactless jokes at her expense, but she was still a royal guard and not the type to jump at shadows.

“I just can’t help it,” she said, unable to explain her dread.

“Can you keep going?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Go ahead then,” he said, patted her shoulder, and let her pass. “If you feel like something’s behind you again, you’ll know it’s just me and my larger-than-life fame.”

Leaving a cautious gap of some thirty yards between them, he followed after Kingsley, twice as attentive as before. But no matter how quickly and carefully he looked, he saw no sign that they were being followed, and in another quarter hour, they reached to the crossroads with the apothecary in the closer left-hand corner. Churchill Street continued straight onward to the western city, whereas the wider Earnshaw Street went across downhill towards the north wall.

If San Mihel’s had seemed prosperous, the drug store was twice so, being of roughly the same size, but with a more limited selection and cleaner premises. Even the black-yellow paint job on the storefront looked still fresh and oozing quality.

The exquisite display window carried over the corner, granting a generous view from the pharmacy over the crossroads. The interior connected inside with the neighboring flower shop on the Earnshaw side, where less valuable herbs were sold alongside decorations.

The Prince unlocked the door once again. He signaled at Jude to keep watch outside at the corner, and Kingsley at the door, and went to search the interior by himself.

The floor was clean of footprints and blood stains, the shelves and displays untouched. No signs of struggle. But if the streets were barren and the buildings without movement—then where was the enemy hiding? No, now was not the time to think about it. He went to search the herbs.

There was a little recess in the facade, before the door, with short stairs. Kingsley crouched at the steps and shook her hand that wouldn’t stop trembling. She didn’t think it was fear—there was nothing there to be afraid of, not a single rational cause to be uneasy. Yet, her body felt like a bowstring drawn to the limit and she had to put her knee on the pavement to hold still. She looked back down the Churchill street and saw not a single piece of trash to spoil the bright cityscape. But despite the sunshine, it was cold. Ever so unpleasantly cold.

On the right, the clean-paved Earnshaw street curved gently towards lower ground, while its left half proceeded uphill at the northern plaza. In the corner of the building, Jude squatted, looking bored. He stared idly downhill for a long time, every once in a while checking over his shoulder that Kingsley hadn’t left the door.

Kingsley rose and peered inside but didn’t see the Prince past the reflection. He had disappeared somewhere between the display shelves, but the sound of him opening the drawers could be faintly heard through the part-open door. She turned back to the corner. She saw Jude stand up. The young man peered past the corner at something upstreet. He looked long and intently, his back turned towards her, his expression hidden. He then shot a brief glance back at Kingsley. The look on the young knight’s face appeared bewildered, profoundly confused. Why? He quickly gestured at her with his hand. I’m going to take a look.

In dismay, Kingsley watched him slip around the corner. Even though they had been warned to keep within sight of one another! She looked back. There was no one else around. Whatever Jude had seen was a mystery.

The Prince was still inside. To keep Jude in view, she would have to leave the door. She let out a quick, warning whistle, imitating a thrush, a warning system they had adopted on their journey. No one responded, inside or outside. The anxiety she had felt since a while back gripped her with tripled intensity.

Kingsley let the shop door close and ran to the corner of the building. She could still see the entrance from there, and the store interior through the window. She knelt and peered towards the upper Earnshaw. She saw Jude, now a solid sixty yards off, trotting across the street towards the mouth of a narrow alleyway. Why? What was he doing? She could see no trace of what he pursued. He was alone in the wide lane. Kingsley whistled again, louder, in an effort to bring the youth back to his senses. As if he hadn’t heard, or simply didn’t care, Jude kept running and vanished between the red brick buildings.

“Curses…”

Kingsley knocked on the shop window to signal the Prince something was wrong, and continued around the corner. She followed the sidewalk up to the flower shop’s door in an effort to see even a little deeper into the passage. What could Jude have seen? Was it the enemy? Or something else? Maybe survivors?

No, whatever it was, it didn’t matter.

The mission was compromised. They had agreed on the rules. As much as it tore her heart, she could only give up Jude for lost, and evacuate his highness immediately.

That was what she should’ve done. But she had known Jude for years. He could be a pain at times, but he was a good man deep down. Losing him like this, in such a place, for a reason so whimsical, senseless—it was too unfair to accept. She wanted to scream.

Right when Kingsley had made up her mind about retreating, a miracle happened. Jude reappeared from the alley. Looking none the worse for the wear, if not a tad guilty, he glanced along the street left and right, found the coast clear, and began jogging leisurely back towards the shop.

False alarm. Kingsley let out a soundless sigh of relief and relaxed her shoulders. She would never let him hear the end of this, for as long as they lived. Then the flower shop’s door behind the knight discreetly opened. Strong arms reached out, grabbed the woman and pulled her forcibly in through the crack. A cry was already on its way to her lips, until she realized who was holding her.

“That’s not Jude!” the Prince whispered into her ear. “He’s not wearing the cloak!”

As he said, the knight coming their way had discarded Carmelia’s gift somewhere along the way. But did such a small detail alone prove him a monster? He could’ve lost the garb for any number of reasons. Maybe it had become caught in a fence, or a trash bin, and he didn’t have the time to take it off cleanly. But the Prince didn’t entertain such theories. He brought Kingsley across the floor behind the register in the back, where they fell huddled behind the desk, out of sight.

In front of them stood a wall-mounted display cabinet, on the clear glass doors of which they could see reflected the front door and its surroundings. With bated breath, they watched Jude approach the door—and keep on running past it, though he should have easily seen them and known where they had gone.

Unless.

Unless the eyes in his head were a sham, and he had not the reasoning faculties of man.

“What—” Kingsley gasped by reflex, but the Prince covered her mouth with his palm.

“Empty your mind,” he whispered, as quietly as he could. “Think and speak nothing. Hide your feelings.”

He then took his own advice, but kept his eyes on the reflection, listening for any sounds from elsewhere in the store. The apotechary door was unlocked, if the daemon found it and entered, they would have to flee by the flower shop entrance. If there were more of them lying in wait, it would be the end...

But they soon saw Jude pass the other way again, like a child abandoned by his friends, unable to tell where they had gone, desperate and lost, his face twisted in anguish. Then they saw someone else. A middle-aged man wobbled past the knight, a chubby fellow with a thick mustache, dressed in a gray-blue tuxedo of white strips. He kept restlessly rummaging through his pockets as he went. Then came a woman, a lady in her early forties, dressed in a bourgeois, peach-colored dress and a wide-rimmed hat adorned with white roses. A pair of boys ran the other way, aged seven or eight at most. All of a sudden, the previously desolate streetscape before the shop had become full of life, as if the city had been resurrected from nothingness in the span of a heartbeat.

The pair in hiding followed the reflected traffic with astonished faces.

Visually indistinguishable from conventional human life, all of the show proved upon a closer scrutiny queerly off and unnatural. As hard as the tuxedo man scoured his small pockets, he found nothing. The woman strode forward twenty steps, turned around, strode back the same way, traveling an endless loop without a destination and didn’t seem to mind. The children were engaged in an animate conversation, but produced no audible sound. It got stranger still. A riderless horse passed down the lane, unsaddled and without reins, galloping aptly backwards, as if its conjurer couldn’t be sure which end was supposed to face forward.

Why? Was it only madness for the sake of madness?

Suddenly, a terrible idea dawned on the Prince.

They’ve caught scent of our fear, and are trying to rattle us to make it stronger…?

He hurried to further stifle his feelings. As one who had faced the terrors of the boundless ocean and her storms, those fathomless abysses below, dragons and heartless scoundrels, he had far better control of his mind than the average man.

Whenever greatly distressed, he escaped in thought to the deck of the Tempest, the only place where he truly felt at home, and behind that helm could nothing worldly disturb him. Steeling himself, he forced his awareness clean as the surface of a windless water.

But his companion wasn’t of the same make. Holding Kingsley in his arms, he felt her body anxiously tremble. She was a bodyguard from a civilized world, a standard human being unaccustomed to magic and monsters, and the unexplainable carousel outside pushed her sanity to its utmost limits.

Then a bald, old man appeared in front of the store door and peered in through the glass pane. He didn’t look like a living man at all, but one long drowned, his face purple-gray and features horridly swollen. His yellowed, blurred eyes stared on rounded and bulging like those of a spoiled fish.

“Hi—!” Seeing that grotesque visage out of nothing, Kingsley jolted and let out a sharp gasp, unable to help herself. The Prince covered her eyes with his hand too, and held her tighter. But the ruffian wouldn’t leave the door. His gaze was fixed in the counter’s direction, as if he could somehow peer through all matter. He raised his misshapen hand and knocked lightly on the glass, twice. Bang, bang. Even though her eyes were covered, Kingsley could hear the noise and whimpered in terror, kicking. Bang, bang. The man kept on knocking, mechanically like a wound-up doll. Bang. Bang. On each recurrence, the force was steadily increased, to all the more daunting effect. BANG, BANG. The glass was beginning to fissure. The pungent stench of urea drifted up. Kingsley had wet herself. She was losing control of her mind. Panic began to build up in the Prince as well. The daemon would locate her, break in, and kill them both. The people waiting in the castle wouldn’t get their supplies, but starve and devolve into fighting each other. But what could he do? Abandon her, leave her as bait, and try to escape alone? Let them rip her apart, limb for limb? No, the mere thought was shaking his own heart to the core. He owed her better. But there was no way he could take her fear away. He had no such power.

Or did he?

There was no time to think it over. The Prince reached into his pocket and took out the slim metal cylinder. He bit off the lid, shook out the black pill onto his palm, brought the medicine to Kingsley’s lips, and pushed it into her mouth. With hungry eagerness, she ground the medicine to dust between her molars and swallowed it.

The effect was immediate.

Her breathing grew at once calm and easy. She ceased to shake and tension withdrew from her body. The banging at the door stopped, but the Prince didn’t need to look at the door to tell the menace still lurked. It darkened the whole room with its shadow like a cloud of miasma and the presence of death hung dense. He stayed still and waited. Not a word could he afford to spare the knight, to thank for the years of service, or to apologize. He embraced her close against his chest, his stare past her at distant sights. Windless sea in the first light. The sound of canvas full of eastern wind. The song of brothers brought together. The play of dragon on the blood-red horizon...

The woman closed her eyes, like one going to rest and drew her last breath. In another minute, he felt her neck and found the pulse no more. Laine Kingsley was gone.

As if it had forgotten what it was doing altogether, the daemon at the door turned and left slouching off, like a bum dreaming of his next drink.

4

A wide crowd gathered in the north side yard below the castle wall. The report had spread like wildfire among the force. Unable to believe their eyes, they followed the returned man descend the stairs to their midst. He’s back? they spoke. He came back. He did it. I don’t believe it. He did it.

“Make way for a hero!”

The “hero” stepped off the stairs without a smile, his boots leaden. He met no one’s gaze and spoke not a word, but shed off the capsack and the backpack, both stuffed round as cannonballs, dropped them to the ground, and walked on. He strode through the gathering crowd and the cheers and smiles quickly died as they saw the look on his face. They parted before him like seas before a prophet, not daring to stay close to his forbidding presence. Was it really the same man who had come back?

The Prince walked halfway down the yard before he hit his limit. He had restrained his emotions this far, but couldn’t keep up the act a step further. He fell on his knees in the dirt and struck his fists hard in the ground, and let out a drawn out bellow of rage and despair at the vacuous sky.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH—!”

No one dared to ask what he had seen.