“An elf, in our lands?” one of the Knights grumbled towards the other.

“Dark tidings,” the other Knight responded.

The Knights glanced between one another for only a moment, before returning back to their duty, riding along the carriage.

Duke Lionheart looked down at his hand, towards the ring on his finger. It was made of gold, with the sigil of his house on the flat edge, that of a standing lion. He circled the ring around his finger using his thumb. ‘It’s a good thing I didn’t bring my Lionguard,’ he thought. He could only wonder how much blood would have been shed.

He had no faith in his siblings, who would be using this opportunity to try and take his seat, so he left his Lionguard behind, a warning to any who would dare to go against him. His siblings had their own Knights, as expected of them, but none were as brilliant as his Lionguard, the six greatest Knights in the west, and none as fanatical.

“Goddess Elaveil, I hope that you balance out their emotions,” the Duke prayed, smiling slightly. A Duke moving alone through the land with only six Knights, it was unheard of. Yet, that was his pride as the man with the lion heart.

It was a declaration.

Come, if you feel like you have the guts. I only need so few Knights to deal with the likes of you.

Though they weren’t the Lionguard, they were each powerful Knights. If any of his Lionguard fell, they would be replaced by one of the six around him. The strength of the Knights would fall, but only by the smallest amount.

The Duke reached down towards the pommel of his sword, which had been shaped into the head of a lion, feeling its ridges through his gloves. He stopped shifting his ring around with his thumb, distracted by the blood lust he was emanating.

His Lionblade was hungry.

“You know,” Adam said, glancing towards the Iyrmen. “This has been a wonderful tale so far, one of the best I’ve ever heard. Yet, I can’t help but wonder…” He narrowed his eyes towards the muscled people around him. “So far it hasn’t really revealed why the King wouldn’t dare to point his sword at the Iyr.”

Dargon exchanged a look towards Argon, smirking at his older brother. “You should enjoy the tale,” the Iyrman said, “while you still can.”

“I feel like it’s going to have a very tragic ending,” Adam replied, frowning.

“There is no need to spoil yourself, young man,” Tazwyn said, patting his shoulder. “Enjoy it. You will only get to hear the tale once before you know the ending.”

Adam glanced at the female Iyrman, seeing the look in her eyes. They definitely viewed Adam as a young duckling, innocent and naive of the world. Adam turned to Jurot, who remained silent. He didn’t want to ruin the story for Adam, for the first time was precious.

“If you hear the tale’s ending, you will be unable to sleep,” Tazwyn said. “So let’s end it here for the day.”

“I want to hear more though.” Adam’s frown continued to grow. It was just getting to the good part. “At least tell me this, did he slay Dark Wing? If I don’t know that much, then I won’t be able to sleep.”

“Don’t spoil yourself.” Tazwyn slapped his shoulder gently, as though admonishing him, before laughing and continuing on.

They veered off the main road, heading further into the forest proper, where there was a small encampment of half walls, like those he first saw when he had awoken in this world.

The Iyrmen made their camp with an experienced quickness. They grabbed their blankets, which were patterned with the same patterns as their forehead tattoos, and used the blankets as roofs, as well as to cover themselves. Each Iyrman had two blankets, one thin, one thinner.

Dargon started the camp fire, and Adam noted there were two Iyrmen missing. Eshva and Kandal were gone, though Argon and Tazwyn remained.

As Adam dropped down, grabbing his bedroll, he turned to see Jurot with a small block of wood and a knife. The Iyrman was cutting into it, formed a rough shape. He blinked. “You can carve wood?”

“Yes,” Jurot replied back. “It is the trade I learnt.”

“I didn’t know you could carve wood.” Adam tried to recall whether Jurot had done so in his last life, but he had only known the Iyrman for a short while. ‘Wait, now that I think about it…’ He wondered why he was going so far for a guy he knew for roughly a week.

No.

It wasn’t for Jurot.

Adam recalled the warmth that he had felt in the Iyr, and how Sonarot had taken good care of him. He wasn’t helping Jurot for the Iyrman’s sake, but for the sake of his mother, his sister, and for his own guilt.

“Every Iyrman learns a trade,” Jurot said. “Every trade is required in the Iyr, from wood carvers, to masons, to brewers. Everyone must do their part.”

“Sounds like a nice place.” Adam leaned back, looking up towards the sky, which was still light out.

He heard a thump beside him, taking him out of his thoughts for a moment. When he looked down, he saw the boar which Eshva had brought back, its head smashed in, its chest dented.

As Tazwyn started to butcher the boar, Dargon put the pot over the camp fire, ready to cook. He brought out a small pouch full of spices and aromatics, sprinkling some into the water, before Tazwyn handed the meat over to him. Beside the pot, Dargon roasted the meat against the fire.

“Are you the cook because you’re the youngest?” Adam asked. He had noted that Dargon had set up the camp most out of everyone, and now he was cooking too. ‘Is he getting bullied?’

“No,” Dargon said, smiling towards the half elf. “I cook because I’m the best.”

Argon whacked him across the back of his head in a brotherly manner, which was quite rough. “Can you really say that in front of me?” Argon asked, raising his brow.

“Father says my roasted boar is better than yours.” Dargon rubbed the back of his head.

“What of mother?” Argon replied. “My spice mix is much better than yours.”

“What’s the use of spicing when you can’t cook?”

“What’s the use of cooking when you can’t spice?” Argon whacked his brother across the back of his head again before walking off, shaking his head.

“…” Adam blinked. ‘Will the Iyr be the same place I remember?’

Once the food was cooked, Adam bit into the meat, and tasted the soup. It was fine, slightly bland, but well salted. Adam looked to the others, who were eating the food which had been made rather than their rations. He wondered if he could make the meat taste better.

“Oh,” Adam whispered.

Spell

Tricks

He spiced the food to taste like a chicken tikka masala, quite a popular dish from his country. He bit into the boar, which felt very different to chicken, and it wasn’t as creamy, but it was still delicious.

“What did you do?” Dargon asked, feeling as though someone had messed around with his food.

“I made it taste like food from my home.”

“Using Tricks?” Dargon asked, recalling how a few mages would do the same in their journeys.

“Yeah, that’s right.” Adam looked at him, surprised that the Iyrman knew what he had done.

Dargon nodded his head slowly. He had heard that Adam could use magic, which wasn’t a surprise considering how he was still an elf. “What does it taste like?”

“I can show you if you like?” Adam cast the spell once he had been given the go ahead, not daring to mess with an Iyrman’s food without permission.

Dargon bit into the meat, and pulled back, chewing slowly. Argon and the other Iyrmen glanced over his way, wondering how he’d respond.

“What is this?” Dargon asked, tasting flavours he hadn’t tasted before. There was something off about it, but he wasn’t sure why.

“It tastes like chicken tikka masala, but this is boar and it’s not quite as creamy, unfortunately.”

Dargon nodded his head slowly. “It’s very… very spicy,” he said, licking the phantom tingling on his lips. It was something which he had never tasted before, and something which he’d need to consume properly in order to create an accurate assessment.

More importantly, Dargon and the other Iyrmen pulled their hands away from their weapons. All still wondered why the half elf wanted to go to the Iyr. They were trying to piece together where he was from to create a profile for him in order to make it easier for themselves to figure out his motives, and the food would allow them to narrow it down.

“We will take watch,” Tazwyn said. “You two can sleep in peace.” She threw a glance towards Dargon.

“It’s definitely from the south east,” Dargon said. “Very far east.” The flavour profile matched those far from the south east.

“He doesn’t look like he’s from the east, he’s too pale.” Tazwyn shook her head. “He’s given us more questions than answers.”

“At least he likes our stories,” Dargon said.

When the Duke’s carriage had arrived at the gates, the guards remained standing upright, filled with pride as they displayed their banners.

A guard blew a horn, and a procession of more guards walked out to greet the Duke, standing at attention with their companions. The Captain of the Guard, Harold, approached the carriage’s side. He was a middle aged man, with salt and pepper hair, and a magical sword at his side. He was no match for any of the Knights who loomed over him, but he’s at lead spill their blood.

The Duke stepped, seeing the guards all around them. ‘I’m sure the Countess knew I was arriving at this time.’ He glanced to Harold. “I’m here to meet with the Countess.”

“Countess Redoak has asked us to accompany you, your Grace,” Harold said, not introducing himself since he hadn’t been asked for his name.

“There is no need,” the Duke said, intentionally making it difficult for the Captain. The Countess had no doubt ordered him to accompany the Duke, but that was no matter to him.

“As you wish, your Grace,” the Captain replied, understanding what the Duke was trying to do. The other guards looked at their Captain, but the Captain rather liked his head connected to his neck.

The Duke marched with his Knights through the streets, causing all the people to step aside for him. He marched as though it were Lionsgate. ‘Most likely this is the least likely place he’d be from my calculations, so he should still be here.’

His eyes were focused on the people, trying to find the traitors, as well as the most dangerous weapon against him. ‘Just what did I have do to deserve an older brother like you?’

As he marched ahead, a few more armoured individuals appeared. The leader wore breastplate, stamped with the sigil of the Redoaks, that of an oak tree, and he had at his side a magical sword, which was gifted to all of the Oakguard.

“Sir Merrick Crimsonbark, Seventh Branch of the Oakguard!” the Knight declared loudly, causing the warriors behind him to stamp their feet and exclaim with him. “At your service!”

The Duke sighed, seeing how the Countess was playing her game. If he dismissed the guard, it would be difficult. A Captain of the Guard was easy to dismiss, but one of the pillars of the Redoak family, that would be more difficult to deal with. There was no need to aggravate the woman further, since he still required her assistance.

‘I wonder how she’d feel if I slew him?’