“This forest really doesn’t end,” Palimedis said, tightening the strap to the luggage on his back. “After spending a week in the village, I was glad we were moving again. Now it’s been another week and now I’m wishing we were cooped up back in the village.”

“You not like my kindness?” Glausus asked. “You not like my yam?”

“Apologies,” Palimedis immediately offered.

Velias walked on ahead to scout the trail. “My father is humoring you,” she said without turning her head.

“Then no, I didn’t like the yams,” Palimedis tilted his head.

“I once heard from an elder that life began as a seed,” Hirodias said, “and the forest is its cradle. Still, through all the lessons the elders gave me in Isimil, it is difficult for me to piece all of their descriptions of the forest together. It is much bigger than I thought.”

“Nine days to Crownwood,” Glausus said. He let out a sigh loud enough for others to hear. “Nine days to Damocle. So just two more days.”

“If he’s on your throne, we’ll get it back to you,” Symian said.

“The Seat of Kings is my birthright,” Hirodias said, helping Palimedis with a loose strap. “Though I have never sought it. I am not sure I want it.”

“But it does belong to you,” Symian said. “If he doesn’t want to give it up, can’t we make another?”

“That throne has been there for over two thousand years, my boy, unmoved,” Iosifus answered from behind. “Legend says it took years to haul a rare Blue Chalice-stone from the sea, and a few more years to chisel it into what it is today. Arkromenyon took the title of the First Sunset King when he sat on that seat himself! Are you going to find another such stone?”

“And this Damocle is sitting on it now?” Symian asked.

“Only Sunset King can sit on Seat,” Glausus said.

“And it’s been over a hundred and sixty years since the last Sunset King,” Iosifus said.

“Hesperyon,” Hirodias said. “He left behind a line of chieftains. My father was the last chieftain of his clan. If any of his clan exists, I must find them.”

For the past seven days, a band of twenty had departed for the Crownwood. While Glausus had animosity against Damocle, he wouldn’t let Hirodias visit him alone. He had noticed Hirodias was spending more and more time with his daughter. At first he attributed it to her grasp of the language that made her easy company, but later he noticed Hirodias would simply choose to walk beside her without even talking.

He thought of the last man who took an interest in her. It was the Easterner who hired her as his guide through the forest and taught her the language. Glausus had taken him into his village, and he lived among his clan for nearly six months. That was the last time he saw his daughter happy, right before the Easterner departed without a word. He knew better than to ask her how she was doing. She was of age and didn’t need to stay in the village. She chose to, and for that, he was grateful. Through the last few days he watched her when Hirodias engaged with her, hoping to catch a glimpse, or a glimmer of the joy he once saw in her. He kept watching.

When they were about a day away, they were greeted by the display of three dead men tied to an even more dead tree. They were bloodied and their lower bodies eaten by the animals of the forest, but their heads, torsos, and arms were so far intact.

“Welcome to Crownwood,” Glausus said as he passed the tree. “Mana na mas evlogei.”

Mother bless us. Hirodias had learned that phrase in the last few days, as Glausus had used it many times. “Mana na mas evlogei,” he repeated as he passed the dead men.

It was not long after entering the Crownwood when they encountered Damocles’ men. There were only five of them, but the numbers didn’t matter. They were in Damocle’s territory now. The soldiers wore leather armor and brandished spears or swords and shouted at them. Glausus spoke with them for a while and got them to calm down. The men pointed at the direction they were headed and gave Glausus instructions. He nodded and returned to the group.

“That way, we get there tomorrow,” he said.

“What did you say to them?” Palimedis asked.

“Foros,” Glausus said. “I come to pay.”

“Tribute,” Velias explained.

The soldiers also joined them and motioned for them to march ahead.

“They stay with us tonight,” Glausus said. “Tomorrow we see Damocle together.”

The continued walking without speaking to each other much. The soldiers took them through a very direct path without much rest. They saw another group of soldiers and saluted but continued on into dusk.

The soldiers led them to an abandoned stone ruin with half a roof. There Glausus’ men set up a canopy in case it rained that night. On a rough stone floor they built a fire and roasted yams.

“What do you think this building was?” Symian asked.

“Someone’s home, likely,” Iosifus said, huddling by the fire. “This part is probably the supping room. It has been a while since I slept in an actual house, falling apart or not.”

“Was it common for people to have stone houses?” Palimedis asked.

“Probably not. This was a wealthy family.” Iosifus sighed. “I hope my Niko is well.”

“He is watching over the boy Beni,” Hirodias said. “Being responsible for some one else will keep himself busy and safe.”

The five soldiers were alternating between sleeping and keeping watch. Hirodias noticed that they had been watching him the whole time, fearful of someone his size turning against them. He didn’t trust them enough to fall asleep, so he started to keep his eyes on them, studying their movements. He noticed that Velias had the same idea, as her eyes were fixed on them as well. That gave him comfort and his eyes grew so heavy that he fell asleep immediately.

At dawn they skipped the breaking of their fast and continued through more ruins. Though Hirodias had heard about what the city looked like, seeing the remnants gave him chills along his arms and back. He saw past the overgrowth of vines and roots and ruins, and imagined the city standing tall and proud, full of living people.

As they reached the gates to Damocle's stronghold, Glausus stepped forward and set a decorated box on the ground. He put his hands out and began speaking.

“He is telling them that he is Glausus, chief of Fringewood folk,” Iosifus translated. “He has come to pay tribute to Damocle. He is now telling them about you, that you seek an audience with him. Damocle the Great, he’s calling him.”

Several soldiers marched forward. One of them picked up the box, while the others pointed to Hirodias to come forward.

“I do not speak the tongue,” Hirodias said. He pointed to Iosifus. “The elder speaks for me.”

“Milao gia afton,” Iosifus said.

The soldiers grabbed him by the arms and pulled the elder forward. When Palimedis protested being left behind, the soldiers pointed their spears at him. Hirodias held his hands out and Palimedis quieted and turned away.

“Tell them Glausus is here, for an audience with Damocle,” Hirodias said.

Iosifus relayed the message, and one guard said simply “Mono aftos kaleitai.”

“Only you are summoned,” Iosifus shrugged.

Glausus nodded at Hirodias. “It will be my turn soon.”

Hirodias entered the gates with Iosifus. There were probably a hundred warriors, both men and women, standing in formation. Some dressed in the pelts of animals while others wore bits and pieces of armor. Dozens of torches lit the way.

Hirodias ascended wooden steps that were lined with soldiers in formation. Some of these soldiers were tall, much taller than Glausus’ villagers. He walked through what must have once been a great stone hall, the missing parts of the building reconstructed with wood and metal. On the wall he spotted something curious. A war hammer hung from the wall. He recognized the fashion of the hammer as the style of Gamesh, one of the Yghr cities of the Smote.

At the end of the hall was a large stone throne, on top of a set of steps. The steps and the throne were carved from one giant stone, twelve feet high.

“That is the Seat of Kings,” Iosifus said.

Hirodias found himself drawn to it. The size of it, the way the torches highlighted the edges, the brown veins of the stone running through the entire sculpture—it all made his heart race at being so close to something that tied him to his ancestors.

A guard put his hand on Hirodias’ chest. He didn’t realize that his attraction to the throne caused him to walk toward it.

“The Chieftain Glausus is among us,” he said to the guards in the hall. “He should be here as well.”

Iosifus translated the words as Hirodias said them.

There was no response.

Hirodias turned to step down from the wooden platform but the guards blocked his way. He sneered at them and grabbed one of the spears and yanked it out of the guard’s hands. The others took their stances with their spears pointed forward.

When Hirodias realized the spears were also pointed at Iosifus, he tossed the spear down. The guard picked it back up and took a step closer to Hirodias.

A loud ringing thud stopped the guards. They stood straight in formation and stomped the butt of their spears on the floor in response.

A hefty and grizzled warrior covered in strips of fur and leather strode onto the platform with several guards beside him. The warrior’s staff stomped onto the ground as he walked. He had a chain of large links of different metals around his neck, and had a sword strapped to his side. The warrior motioned to Hirodias to come forward.

"Fimi kai pelateia," Iosifus said, bowing.

“And goodwill to you, elder,” the warrior said, his grey beard bobbing as he spoke. “And you, I know who you are. The long lost son of Herodotis, and heir of Hesperyon. I am Damocle, Chief of all Chieftains. Welcome to the Crownwood.“