Chapter II

“Lords and ladies, gentlefolk and common-folk, it is my great honor to present to you Sir Branson of Morgan's Brook, knight of Nihilus and thrice tournament winner!” The crowd roared with applause as the tall, orange-haired Sir Branson rode onto the field, his lance in hand. His colors were brown and green, and his family crest a river with three forks. Sir Branson waved to the crowd and bowed to the young Prince Khol.

Tamas gave his son a proud pat on the shoulder. Khol gave Sir Branson a polite nod. Tamas and Aryn had taught their eldest son all about acting dignified in front of the crowds. He couldn't gush with exuberance each time a famous knight or warrior waved at him, not like he had on his last name day. With Sir Branson this proved to be particularly difficult as Khol had heard all the stories of Sir Branson's courage and strength. The word was that he defeated ten raiders from Shadia single-handedly, and even wrestled their attack bear into submission.

“And may I also present Dame Althea of the City of Palus, heir of the Pervigeo family and champion at the battle of the Desolate Road.” Again, the crowd applauded as Dame Althea rode out onto the field, lance in hand. She waved to the crowd and gave Prince Khol a bow, just as Sir Branson had. Again, Khol gave only a nod in return, in spite of the fact that he'd eaten up this knight's stories like candy for years. For six years, almost as long as he was able to even understand an adult's stories, he'd heard all about the Scion of Pervigeo.

Akim, one of Khol's friends, turned to him and said, “A shekel says Sir Branson unseats her.”

Khol said nothing at first, he merely chuckled that his friend was trying to coax him into betting. Why did he insist on putting money on every joust? Then Khol's friend Dara, who sat on Khol's other side, leaned across Khol's lap and said to Akim, “Double the bet! My money says Sir Branson gets unseated today. He lost last year, and he'll lose again.” Khol felt his face burn as Dara sat back again. As her head passed his face he caught the scent of her hair. He'd never noticed before just how sweet Dara smelled.

“What say you, Khol?” asked Akim. “If you're going to bet you'd better do it soon, they're about to ride.”

“Sitri has warned me not to gamble with you anymore,” said Khol. “I lose more shekels that way.”

Akim rolled his eyes. “Sitri ruins all the fun!”

“Sitri?” Tamas repeated to Khol. Khol looked up at his father, seated behind him and simply gave a nod. Tamas' dark eyes met his son's for a moment, both trying to communicate their point to one another.

Tamas' brow furrowed with worry, and he was so lost in thought about this troubling matter that he almost missed the first ride-by.

The sound of the splintering lances snapped Tamas back to reality, along with the shouts from the crowd. Both riders were still on horseback, and both took new lances from their squires.

“Only two more rounds to go,” said Akim, and he tousled Khol's black hair. “Come on! You really think Dame Althea will unseat Sir Branson?”

Khol looked at the two riders carefully as they prepared for the next ride-by. A smirk slowly formed on his face, and he said, “I'll bet you both, three shekels each, Dame Althea wins this joust, but neither knight is unseated.”

Dara gave Khol a questioning look. “Why?”

“Are you in or not?” Khol pressed. The riders both re-adjusted their helmets and visors, now prepared for the charge.

“I'll take that bet,” said Akim.

“I won't,” said Dara. She could see the lamps burning in Khol's head and knew he'd seen something that almost guaranteed he'd win the bet.

The two riders took off into their second run, lances raised high. As they drew closer and closer to one another, however, Sir Branson's lance drifted lower and lower, while his shield raised higher and higher. Sir Branson's lance missed Dame Althea completely, while Dame Althea's lance shattered against Sir Branson's shield.

The two of them arrived at opposite ends of the field, and their squires rushed to their sides. Sir Branson leaned over and spoke some words to his squire. His squire nodded, took Sir Branson's lance, tied a white cloth around it and waved it high.

Most of the crowd booed, though some cheered for Dame Althea's victory. Khol held his hand out to Akim with a smug smile on his face. Akim turned up his nose and placed three shekels in Khol's hand.

“How did you know?” asked Dara.

“I could see that Sir Branson's right arm was hurt,” said Khol. “He does a good job of hiding his injuries, but the way he kept clenching and loosening his fist...Althea's strike was on his shoulder, he'd lost the feeling in that arm. I'm surprised he still tried to go again after that.”

“A good warrior always gives it his all,” said Tamas. “So, Dame Althea has a shot at winning the tournament, it seems?”

“Aye,” said Khol. “All she has left to do is defeat Sir Erez of Mt. St. Orson.”

“Who do the odds favor?” asked Tamas. “You keep better track of this sort of thing than I do.”

“Sir Erez,” said Khol. “He was last year's winner, and they say there's no better rider in the Empire.”

“Thank you,” said Tamas. “Knowing that I can place a few bets of my own. Shamira, would you keep an eye on him?”

“Of course, your Majesty,” said the paladin. She took Tamas' seat while Tamas stood from the stands and motioned for Aryn to follow him. Aryn kissed Macrae and Shael, her youngest boys, on the forehead and left them in her mother and father's care.

Tamas and Aryn met away from the crowd. “What is it?” asked Aryn, annoyed. “What has you so worried that you'd have us miss the final joust?”

“He's still talking to Sitri,” said Tamas.

Aryn scoffed. “Khol still speaks with his imaginary friend? Why does that matter? Many children have imaginary friends.”

“Not usually children his age, and not usually children with four siblings and friends their own age. I spoke with him before, tried to tell him Sitri isn't real. He insists that Sitri is a real person, even though no one else has ever seen him. Worse, he claims that Sitri gives him advice. He's acting on the advice of a voice in his head.”

“I still fail to see the problem,” said Aryn. “The scholars we've consulted all say Khol is just honing his social skills when he talks to his imaginary friend. If he's going to rule the whole Empire some day he'll need those social skills. Love, why does this worry you?”

“Because a boy not much older than him listened to the voices in his head over a decade ago and got killed because of it.” Tamas let the words spill out, and the second he voiced his fear he realized just how much this terror had been eating away at him.

A chill washed over Aryn. She'd never considered this possibility. The first man she married, well, boy, Prince Paolo claimed he could hear God's voice in his head. In truth, it was really Tamas' sadistic brother, Sahar, manipulating the boy. Because of Sahar's manipulation, Paolo walked right into an assassin's blade, and that started a war. Since then, Sahar had been slain, but there was always the possibility that his spirit could be at work.

“What should we do?” asked Aryn. “You know more about this sort of thing than I do.”

“This sort of thing?” Tamas repeated.

“You know, demons, the Void, your maniac brother, all of that. Crazy runs in your side of the family, you know.”

“Ouch!” Tamas said. “Seriously, low blow!”

There was a loud crash from the jousting field, and the crowd roared. Aryn smirked, “I'm sure whoever just lost the joust can share in that sentiment.”

Tamas laughed. “Hope the injuries aren't too bad. But seriously...I don't know. All I can think of is that we need to discourage Khol from talking to Sitri. And...maybe allow him to spend even more time with his friends. Particularly Dara. He's getting to that age, you know? And then he'll have no time for imaginary friends, not with real girls to worry about.”

“Dara's not his match,” said Aryn. “She can't be. We need someone from a noble family in the West in order to further cement ties with them. Only a strong marriage alliance will ensure this empire stands.”

Tamas sighed and nodded. “Fine! I won't encourage him to pursue Dara. But still, we need to allow him more time around his real friends. If Sitri only appears to Khol when he's alone we'll make sure Khol is rarely alone.”

“Agreed,” said Aryn. “Let's get back to the tournament. They're starting on archery next.”

Tamas and Aryn returned to the stands. Tamas sat behind Khol and his friends while Aryn sat with the younger boys. Tamas patted Khol on the shoulder. “That took longer than expected. Who won?”

“Dame Althea,” said Khol. “She unseated Sir Erez and took his horse. Sir Erez has got to be furious! That horse was a thoroughbred, and one of the few that can gallop that fast while carrying all of Sir Erez's weight.”

“Well, looks like I lost that bet,” said Tamas with a laugh. “Now, archery. Who are the odds on for this one?”

“Out of all of the archers present? Me,” said Khol.

“You're not allowed to compete,” said Tamas.

Khol nodded. “I know. Why not? Really, Pa, you've seen me shoot. You know I'm better than any of these competitors!”

“He has a point, your Majesty,” said Akim.

“I'll thank you not to take sides,” said Tamas, giving Akim a dismissing gesture. “Khol, the reason why princes cannot compete is that none of the competitors would give an honest effort. No one wants to risk making the heir to the throne angry, even when that heir is known to be kind.”

“Then next year I'll compete in a mask,” said Khol.

“We don't let archers wear masks, and there's a good reason for that.”

“I imagine there's a good reason for everything,” said Khol with a heavy sigh.

Tamas opened his mouth as if to say more, but then closed it again and shrugged. Deep down, he wished Khol could compete. He was proud of his son's archery skills, and certainly wouldn't mind if the people could see that their future emperor was so talented.

The targets were set down at the end of the field; bales of hay with bulls-eye's painted upon them. The archers took their stances at the other end of the field and prepared for the first shot. Khol watched each of them in anticipation. He watched every subtle movement, step, and adjustment as they knocked arrows to their bows. Khol's eyes stopped over a young archer with a heavily-scarred face and a missing pinky-finger.

Khol laughed and whispered to Dara, “Bet you the scarred one is going to lose.”

“How do you know?” Dara whispered back.

“He's not even looking at the target,” said Khol. Truthfully, he was only whispering to her so as to have an excuse to remain this close to her for so long. “Look at him, his eyes keep scanning the crowd nervously. He's too worried what everyone thinks of him to maintain focus.”

“Good eye,” Dara whispered back.

“Take aim!” the tournament master called out. The archers drew back their bowstrings and aimed at the targets on the other end of the field. Khol was certainly right about this archer. Even from where he was sitting he could see that his aim was off. “LOOSE!” the tournament master yelled. Arrows hissed through the air at the targets on the other end of the field. So many arrows filled the air that almost no one noticed the one arrow flying way off its mark.

Tamas only saw it once it seemed far too late for him to do anything about it, but that wouldn't stop him from trying. Tamas fell upon his son, in hopes of blocking the arrow, just as it was less than a meter away.

To the shock of those few who even saw what was happening, the stray arrow struck neither Prince Khol nor Emperor Tamas. A savior had appeared, seemingly out of thin air, and caught the arrow in his chest. All most of the crowd saw was this creature, shaped like a man, appear on the edge of the stand, directly in front of Khol and Tamas. This creature, while shaped like a man, clearly was not one, for he had the head of a leopard and wings of an eagle on his back. The arrow was planted firmly in the creature's bare, muscular chest. The creature calmly pulled the arrow from his chest and snapped it in two.

Khol leaned around the creature in the way, as if the creature was merely an annoyance blocking his view, and shouted, “The scarred one! The scarred archer tried to kill me!”

The other archers looked amongst themselves in an attempt to figure out which of them the prince was talking about. Many of them had scars on their faces, but one particular archer stood out as most likely to be the one.

The scarred archer turned and ran. The guards gave chase, but none of them were so quick to pounce upon this traitor as the creature who'd appeared to protect Khol. With a few flaps of his wings, the creature flew down the field and tackled the scarred archer. The archer flailed and stabbed the creature repeatedly with a steel knife, but every wound seemed to heal up as soon as the blade withdrew. The creature pinned down the would-be-assassin's arms and held him still until the guards arrived with their spears. They took the knife, bow, and arrows from the archer and placed manacles around his wrists.

The creature walked back to Khol, only to have every paladin at the tournament surround him and point their diamond weapons at his throat.

Milo, Khol's grandfather, stood among them, with his diamond-claymore raised high. “Don't move, demon!”

“Papop! Papop, that's my friend, Sitri!” Khol called out.

“Your friend?” Milo repeated, incredulously.

“Yes!” Khol shouted. “Let him go! It's alright! You saw, he was protecting me!”

The paladins, all confused about what to do here, backed a few steps away from the creature. There was an uncomfortable silence in the crowd. Nihilites in attendance exchanged questioning looks with their Arxian neighbors. Aryn could already hear the silent debate over whether demons were creatures to be feared or daemons were only as good or bad as whomever called them about to turn quite vocal amongst the Arxians and Nihilites.

Not wishing this to turn into a series of heated arguments, followed by a brawl, Aryn walked down the stands and held out a hand to Sitri. “As far as I have seen you have saved my son's life and helped apprehend the man who tried to do him harm. For that you have my gratitude.”

Sitri tilted his head at Aryn, and his ears twitched. He then turned his gaze back to Khol, bowed his head, and lowered himself to one knee. His wings wrapped around his body, and Sitri disappeared in a puff of feathers.

Everyone stood in silence for a while after that, and then whispers snaked their way throughout the crowd. Khol looked up at his father, “You can let go of me now, Pa, I'm fine.”

Tamas released his son's shoulders and took a step back. “Khol...Sitri...he's your Familiar?”

“What's a Familiar?” Khol asked.

Tamas rolled his eyes. This was the result of only teaching him the traditional Agalmite doctrine rather than teaching him the Nihilite precepts as well. Tamas had been telling Aryn for years that their son needed to know about the Nihilite faith, but she just wouldn't listen. “It's a daemon, Khol.”

“What? No...Pa, that can't be! Sitri saved me!”

Tamas sighed. “We'll have to talk privately. Let's get you out of here. I think it's safe to say the tournament's over, lad.”