A bird chirped joyfully in the forest to welcome the new morning. We had been riding for a several days but still had over a week of travel until we reached the capital of Paravel. The morning dew was evaporating from our equipment as the sun strengthened and warmed us.

Our little party consisted of Barnabas, myself, six of Duke Benedict’s most trusted soldiers, and Rafe. Barnabas chatted easily with me by this time, at ease in my presence. Friendly by nature, his company was welcome, especially since his chatter was slowly giving me an understanding of the kingdom in which I found myself. The other guardsmen were more stoic, but they responded to me without reservation when I addressed them. A couple of them had expressed gratitude for my efforts in the battle against the orcs, so I knew that my actions had garnered me admiration and regard.

Rafe...was mostly silent. His answers were clipped and monosyllabic when addressed, and he never spoke unless absolutely necessary. Despite his standoffish behavior, his ease in the saddle and competent help when setting up and breaking down camp indicated a man well-used to travel.

After that terrifying display of martial skill at the tavern and acceptance of the role my benefactor had somehow placed upon him, he gave no indication of what he could do or what he intended. The others gave him suspicious side-glances when they thought he wasn’t looking, though after seeing what he was capable of, I didn't doubt that he was aware of their behavior. Still, I was starting to wonder what good he would be to us--to me.

I was laughing at a story Barnabas was telling about a pig-keeper losing his charge as she fled her pigpen when Rafe finally spoke up on his own for the first time since we had begun our journey.

“You say the orcs are massing and readying an attack on the eastern border?”

“That seems to be the case,” I answered. “I’m no general, but that’s the logical reason for them to be fortifying Spiral Castle, yes? That was my understanding.”

“And you’re sure the leader’s name was Julius?”

His voice was clipped and harsh.

“Yes. I’m positive of that. At least, he responded very badly when called by that name, and he didn’t deny it.”

For a little while there was silence between us. I wasn’t sure what to ask this man. I knew absolutely nothing about him, only that my savior had deemed him a good man who would aid me in...whatever I needed.

Barnabas offered up, “It’s been over two hundred years since the last major incursion into Paravel by the orcs. They’re a barbaric and fractious race that never works in concert unless cowed by someone powerful.”

Rafe said nothing, and I thought his brief social activity had ended.

“Who’s the king right now?” he asked.

Barnabas blinked.

“You don’t know?”

Rafe shrugged. “I lose track of these things. There have been so many kings.”

An odd thing to say.

Barnabas answered, “King Melias ascended to the throne almost a dozen years ago. How could you live here and not know that? Did you only recently arrive in Paravel?”

Rafe ignored the question.

“Does Michael still command the military?”

Barnabas seemed taken aback.

“Do you mean the Knight Protector?”

Impatiently, Barnabas barked, “Yes, who else would I be talking about?”

Barnabas’s eyes widened. “Do you know Lord Michael?”

“Just answer the question,” Rafe demanded.

“Yes, Lord Michael is in charge of the king’s armies, though he has had little enough to do the past few decades. We have been at peace since before I was born.”

Rafe shook his head and muttered something under his breath that sounded like ‘mayfly.’

Finally, he pronounced, “We’ll need to see Michael. He needs to be informed of Julius’s presence.”

My head had been swivelling back and forth between the two men as they spoke.

“Who is this Michael? Why is it important that we talk to him?” I asked.

Rafe took a deep breath and then let it out.

“Michael is a legend. A warrior without equal. His swordplay is unparalleled, and no one alive can match his experience and understanding of the art of war. For some ridiculous reason, he feels bound to defend this nation and has lent himself to its protection. He needs to be told about Julius’s presence in this orc invasion because he’ll need to prepare.”

Barnabas whispered, “You know him, don’t you? How does a beggar like you know the king’s general, the Knight Protector of Paravel?”

“We were...friends...when we were young.”

Barnabas’s eyes bulged.

“They say the Knight Protector is old beyond imagining. He has guarded the kingdom and protected us for centuries. No one knows his true age. The stories told about him are innumerable and difficult to believe, but they all agree on one thing--he does not age. How could you have known him when he was young?”

Without answering the question, Rafe ordered, “Leave us alone. I need to talk to Paol.”

Irritated now at the other man’s rude behavior, Barnabas wrinkled his nose and opened his mouth as if to protest. I quickly held up a hand. This was the first chance I had had to get the strange, moody man to open up, and I didn’t want to waste it.

“Barnabas, could you leave us alone? It’ll be all right. He just wants to talk, right?” I inquired as I looked over at Rafe.

He nodded curtly.

Unsatisfied but unwilling to gainsay my wishes, Barnabas kicked his heels into his horse’s sides and urged the animal to push forward and draw abreast with the other riders.

“So you’re very old then I take it?”

“Yes.”

He didn’t look like he was much more than thirty, but he had no reason to lie. I tried to Analyze him again.

Human. ???

“I guess that’s why you’re such a high level then,” I muttered under my breath.

My horse stopped abruptly. The other man had grabbed my reins and yanked on them. He had done it so fast I hadn’t seen his hand move.

“What did you say?” he whispered.

“Uh, I said that’s why you’re such a high level. I mean, you’ve had a long time to get stronger, right?”

Shock spread across his face.

“How do you know about levels?” he bit out.

“I, well, I see them. I mean, I see words that tell me about them.”

He paused.

“That’s impossible.”

Exasperated, I stated, “No, it’s not. They pop up in front of my eyes all the time. For example, when I try to Analyze you it says that you’re Human but won’t tell me anything else about you, but when I Analyze Barnabas, it tells me that he’s Human and level 12. That’s what it means, right? That I can’t Analyze you because you're too high a level?”

Rafe seemed at a loss, and I saw his eyes seem to unfocus as he looked at me.

He said flatly, “It’s not possible. You shouldn’t be able to see those things.”

“Did you just Analyze me?” I demanded.

He nodded once.

“Well, you can do it. Why are you surprised that I can do it?”

He frowned and then asked me, “What color are the words when you try to Analyze me?”

“Blue,” I answered.

“And when you Analyze Barnabas?”

“White,” I answered.

He seemed to gather his thoughts before meeting my gaze.

“Do you know what color I see when I Analyze you?”

I was taken aback. “No, I can’t Analyze myself, as far as I know, so I wouldn’t know what you see when you Analyze me.”

He bit out, “The words are white.”

I waved a hand in frustration. “But what does that mean? Why does it matter?”

“Only people whose description is blue can see the words you’re talking about. Your description is white. It’s...impossible. You shouldn’t see anything at all,” he said with a confused and upset look on his face.

My voice started to rise. “But what does it mean?”

I was so tired of my questions not being answered.

He thought about it and then answered very carefully, “Only a limited number of people see the ‘words’ you’re describing. It grants us power in this...world. We are able to get information that no one else does and learn things no one else can. You shouldn’t be able to do these things because the words in your description are the wrong color.”

“Do you mean because I’m not one of the Two Hundred?”

I wasn’t sure if that’s what he was talking about, but I put it out there just to see what his reaction would be.

“How do you know about the Two Hundred?” he hissed.

I asked hesitantly, “Does that mean...I mean it’s crazy...but does that mean you’re almost as old as the world? Are you a god?”

He shook his head emphatically.

“I’m not a god. There are some who will tell you that they are, but they’re not. The Two Hundred...are just men and women. As you’ve undoubtedly guessed, we’re powerful, but that’s because of how old we are, not because of any claim to divinity.”

“Why don’t you look old? Why do you live so long? And there are two hundred of you running around?”

He cocked his head to one side, “I’m not sure how much I should tell you--how much you can handle.”

Damn it! That’s what SHE kept saying to me. My hand brushed Veritas’s hilt.

He could see my distress and anger and raised a hand.

“Okay, I’ll tell you what I think you can handle. The words that you see are descriptors of who we are, as I’m sure you’ve realized. However, only the Two Hundred can do that, and when you look at us, our description is in blue. I assume you see Attributes. Do you see Skills? Anything else?”

“I see Attributes and Skills, yes.”

"What's your Swords skill?"

"Eighteen," I said. "Though I have some Skill points I could use to increase it."

The other man tapped his finger on his chin for a moment and seemed to come to a conclusion.

“At our midday break, we’ll duel. I want to see what you can do.”