After they finished training in the morning, Oracus rested and bathed in his new room in the palace until evening arrived. Then, accompanied by Bandor, he navigated his way along corridors and down staircases to the grand hall. It was time for the evening feast, and when Oracus arrived in the hall, he was received by tumultuous applause from the many soldiers who filled the long tables.

After being shocked by the warmth of his welcome, Oracus was ushered to the top-table where Torvanon, Garrin and another man were sat. The three of them each had a goblet of wine in their hand and a plate of food on the table in front of them.

Torvanon poured wine into a fourth goblet and gave it to Oracus as he approached. “They love you already!” he said happily of the soldiers who were staring up at Oracus and the top-table. “Alright now!” he bellowed loudly to them. “Back to your meals.”

When Oracus took a seat at the table, Garrin offered him a smile. “I hope you’re not hurting too much from practise earlier,” he said with a sly wink.

Oracus scowled. “I’m covered from head to toe in bruises,” he complained quietly.

“Oracus, I would like to introduce you to Horvos,” Torvanon said, gesturing to the third man at the table. “Commander of Afarra’s soldiers.”

Horvos was the same size as Torvanon, with both a barrel chest and broad shoulders. But his hair and beard were grey and wiry, and his skin weathered and dark. He wore metal gauntlets on his arms and a plate across his chest, as if convinced a battle was likely to break out during the feast. He gripped Oracus’s hand firmly and nodded his head once.

“It's great to meet you,” Oracus returned.

Within seconds of Oracus sitting, a huge plate of food had been placed in front of him. He took a sip of his wine, and began to eat with his hands, tearing pig meat off the bone with his teeth.

“This reminds me of the day you arrived, Garrin,” Torvanon said with a loud guffaw. “Have you told Oracus what you first thought of Ursus?”

Garrin’s cheeks turned pink when he faced Oracus. “I was warned Ursus devoured anyone who looked him in the eye, and I believed it,” he said.

Torvanon laughed louder still. “Every time Garrin walked by, Ursus snapped his jaws and Garrin would run!”

“It took a whole month for me to realise it was a joke,” Garrin added. “I was terrified.”

Oracus ate until his belly was full, drank until his head was spinning, and laughed until his cheeks hurt. For the whole evening, Bandor slept soundly on his knee. Only when the early hours of the morning came did he bid his farewells and retire to his room.

Once undressed and lying on his bed, Oracus was able to relax, and he felt for the first time he could learn to like Afarra. He missed Thessley greatly, but at least the people in Afarra were kind and welcoming. And it was clear there was much more to do and see in a city so vast, rather than a village so small.

Looking at the patterned ceiling above through drunken eyes and darkness, Oracus’s attention turned to his connection with Bandor. If the Lavorian hadn’t been by his side then he’d have been far less accepting of the transition from Thessley to Afarra. And since the Lion had broken into his mind during training with Garrin earlier in the day, he had felt especially close to him. There was an even greater trust and respect between them.

“How did you enter my mind at the sparring area?” Oracus asked aloud.

“I’m not sure,” Bandor replied. “I could just feel your presence and I forced my way in.”

As they were speaking, Oracus could feel a strange presence in his own head; in fact, he’d felt it for most of the day. It was an unusual tingling sensation behind his eyes. By now, he had assumed it was Bandor’s mind, and he was eager to enter it.

“Go ahead,” Bandor offered, predicting Oracus’s intentions.

Oracus focused his inebriated mind and closed his eyes. It took several seconds, but suddenly his concentration peaked, and he slipped into Bandor’s head.

The room that had been dark only seconds before, suddenly became as bright as if it were daytime. The ceiling above was full of colour, and the thin drapes hanging from the posts of the bed were as golden as sunlight. There was a babble of voices from other rooms in the palace that Oracus hadn’t noticed before, and he even spotted the movement of a tiny moth outside the window. Compared to his own senses, Bandor’s were incredible. The Lion was so attuned, in fact, that Oracus struggled to maintain his focus. And as quickly as he had fallen into Bandor’s mind, he fell back out, and was once again consumed by darkness. Instantly, the last of his energy was drained from his body, and he plunged into the deepest of sleeps.

*

As was to be routine for the foreseeable future, Oracus and Bandor made their way to the sparring area at the break of dawn the next morning. Daylight was beginning to creep over the pines in the woodland, but the sparring area was still cast in shadow.

Oracus was unsure how he’d cope with another day like the one before. His muscles were sore, and he was unimpressed with having to wake up so early. But when he and Bandor approached the sparring area, there was a small crowd of soldiers gathered in a circle, and they were cheering two men who were sparring quite ferociously.

With Bandor in his arms, Oracus squeezed through the audience and saw the two fighters were Garrin and Torvanon. Garrin in his green leather, and Torvanon wearing majestic golden armour. Against Torvanon, Garrin looked small and weak, and he was beginning to hide under his wooden shield, while Torvanon was trying to smash through it with a heavy axe. For a worrying moment, Oracus thought Torvanon might chop Garrin in half, but Torvanon relented for just a second and gave Garrin enough time to escape. Garrin staggered away from his stronger foe and discarded his broken shield, and then the two men faced each other for their final assault.

There was a glint in Torvanon’s eyes now, and he looked confident. Garrin, on the other hand, already looked defeated.

“This is it, Garrin,” Torvanon provoked. “It’s your chance!”

Torvanon raised his axe and charged forwards. Garrin braced himself, and then a clump of loose gravel rose from the ground and struck Torvanon in the face. The leader of Afarra came to a halt and began to cough heavily, and then more gravel was flung at him until his bushy beard and eyebrows were full of dust.

“Your power is getting stronger, but it’s not strong enough,” Torvanon said hoarsely. He raised a hand and wrenched Garrin’s sword out of his grasp with his own power, and then used the sword to pin Garrin to the ground.

“He can manipulate metal,” Bandor said inside Oracus’s mind.

Garrin struggled against the sword momentarily, which Torvanon still held firmly in place with his power, and then went limp.

“I concede,” he said. “You’re far too strong.”

The audience burst into applause and Torvanon bowed proudly to them all. He offered a deep booming laugh, and then released the sword.

“I could have carved you into a sculpture with your own weapon,” he said playfully. “Imagine that!” It was then that Torvanon noticed Oracus in the crowd. He offered a broad smile and spread his arms wide in greeting. “You saw me defeat your friend,” he said.

Oracus nodded. “It was really impressive.”

Torvanon’s expression of triumph eased slightly. “Well, I have had more than half a century of practise. You both have quite a lot of catching up to do.” He shrugged and then twirled his beard with a finger. “But I didn’t come here this morning to train. I came to inform you and Garrin that a meeting is due to take place. Messengers have arrived from across the land and I need you both to be there.”

“You want me?” Oracus asked, surprised.

“You’re a Rider, so your involvement is important,” Torvanon explained. “The meeting will start within the hour. I’ll see you in the council room.”

*

Instead of spending his morning being tortured by Garrin, Oracus found himself sat at a round table in a room at the back of the palace. The council room was a tiny, windowless box that would struggle to fit a dozen people inside. It was cramped and stuffy, and it carried a similar aroma to that of the flowers in the meadow outside. On two of the walls, oil lamps offered a dim orange glow in the darkness.

When Oracus and Bandor arrived with Garrin, they were met by Torvanon and Horvos, as well as two other people that Oracus didn’t recognise, who were both of a similar age to him.

“Oracus, Garrin,” Torvanon said. “Meet Kivali and Quent from the city of Tallarin. They’re here to warn us of increased activity from the King’s soldiers.”

“Nice to meet you both,” Kivali said quickly. She was dark-haired with flawless skin and blue eyes that glowed warmly. She turned her attention back to Torvanon. “There have been scouts observing Tallarin from afar. We think an attack is imminent.”

Quent stood up from his seat. He was almost half-a-foot taller than Oracus but looked like he needed a good meal. His limbs were long and gangly, and his red ears stuck out quite noticeably. “It has taken us weeks to get here when it usually takes days,” he said in a hostile tone that Oracus didn’t like. “King Jowra’s soldiers are camped all over the land and their patrols are on all the main routes.”

“We’ve seen no more activity than usual here,” Torvanon advised. “A few groups of scouts have been spotted, that’s all.”

Horvos cleared his throat. “If Jowra was to send his armies to Tallarin now he wouldn’t be triumphant. He doesn’t have enough troops.”

“Who says so?” Quent replied sharply.

“We send scouts to his cities too,” Horvos countered. “We have a fair idea how many soldiers he has.”

“And you would like to gamble he doesn’t have soldiers fighting for him that you don’t know about?” Quent pressed. “He does control most of the land and its people, after all.”

Horvos stood. “I am confident our scouts have passed us accurate information,” he said forcefully.

Torvanon held up a hand and Horvos took his seat again. “I think we can safely assume Jowra doesn’t have the strength to invade both Afarra and Tallarin, otherwise he would have done so already.” He was far more serious now than Oracus had seen him before. “However, we must treat this adequately and ensure there is a plan in place. Catania would not have sent two messengers to the other side of Pharia if she wasn’t concerned.”

Oracus’s attention was suddenly piqued. The name Catania wasn’t new to him. A lady with the same name had been in his dreams recently. “Sorry, but who is Catania?” he enquired.

Quent shot him a stern glare. “The Princess of Tallarin, obviously,” he snapped. “Our leader.”

Oracus scowled at Quent, but then tried to remember his dreams. In one, Catania had been chased through a forest by the King’s soldiers. And in another, she had been locked away in a dungeon by the King himself. He wondered what the real Catania looked like, and if she resembled the blonde lady he had seen in his dreams.

“Catania is readying Tallarin's defences,” Kivali continued. “The blacksmiths are already forging armour and weapons so every man in the city can fight should they need to.”

“She has sent us here to urge you to do the same,” Quent said.

The small room fell quiet while Torvanon deliberated what he had been told. To Oracus, it seemed Pharia was in a much more volatile state than he had first thought, and Jowra may attack at any moment. But if the King did send his forces to Afarra, was Torvanon sufficiently prepared to resist them?

Garrin put his hand in the air to draw everyone’s attention. “Can I suggest something?” he asked.

“Go ahead,” Torvanon granted.

“We should attack Jowra before he attacks us.”

Quent was quick to reject the idea. “That would be playing into his hands. We’ll just be sending our troops to slaughter.”

“Quent’s right,” Torvanon agreed. “Our men would be safer behind our walls. We would kill more of Jowra’s men if he attacked us.”

“But he may not be planning to attack us yet,” Garrin argued.

“It’ll happen eventually,” Kivali said.

“But whenever it is, it’ll be on Jowra’s terms,” Garrin stated. “It will only ever be when he feels he has the highest chance of success.”

“The boy has a point,” Horvos said with a nod.

“I’m not saying we should march right into his palace in Melzor and kill him,” Garrin explained. “We should focus instead on the other cities he controls elsewhere in the land. Fervia, Lalacia, Alvoria, Malum; any of those could work.”

“Taking a handful of soldiers isn't going to be enough to invade any of King Jowra's cities!” Quent declared hotly.

Garrin rounded on Quent. “I’m not talking about just sending men there and hoping we can win,” he said. “We need to scout each city and then send a force capable of destroying it. Even if we only destroy one city, at least it weakens Jowra.”

“We would need to make sure Afarra is still sufficiently defended, just in case Jowra did send an attack,” Horvos added.

“This plan would be a huge risk,” Quent stated unhappily. “Princess Catania suggested nothing of the sort, and I doubt she would agree to it.”

“What do you think, Kivali?” Torvanon asked.

“Well, it’s certainly an option,” Kivali began, but then her voice tailed off…

Since hearing Catania’s name, Oracus had struggled to maintain his focus. The sultry, airless room was making him tired and queasy, and he wished he had a goblet of water to sip from. He shook his head to try and rid some of the lethargy, but succeeded only in making himself feel dizzy. Somewhere just beyond his consciousness, there was a discussion about fighting Jowra; they were considering sending soldiers to destroy his cities around Pharia. But Oracus was more concerned about Catania, and whether his dreams of her had any hint of truth about them. Could he possibly be having visions of Tallarin’s leader?

The air in the room became hotter still, and perspiration began to gather on Oracus’s face. Within his mind, he could feel Bandor, but he could also sense another nearby presence. He concentrated on that presence and found himself able to connect with it. Suddenly, a metal goblet on the table threw itself at the wall and made a clang that wrenched Oracus from his reverie. Everyone in the room jumped with fright and then there was silence.

Horvos looked at Torvanon, unimpressed. “What did you do that for?” he growled.

“It wasn’t me,” Torvanon replied. He looked curiously at the goblet on the floor. “I think Oracus just discovered his power.”