Baron Kent sat before a plate of fragrant steak, buttered vegetables. and a loaf of soft, freshly baked bread. Steaming white trails rose above the food. He wafted the delectable strands of steam towards his nose with vigor, savoring every moment and ever grateful that his personal chef had joined him on this expedition. Topped with a strong brown sauce, he cut into the meat first; soft and pinkish-red, it had been cooked to the perfect degree, and as he chewed it slowly every taste bud on his tongue celebrated. Truly, bringing his chef had been the best idea.

The tent flap opened slowly, a stream of sunlight flooding in. At the entrance stood none other than Viscount Robert. Haggard, the man stumbled in, plopping himself in the seat across from Kent. A pale man with short cropped brown hair, the Viscount had always had a noble, if mundane, appearance. Now, however, he appeared as pale as death, despite the orange glow of magical lights, and beneath his eyes were dark bags that spoke of sleepless nights. Even the smell of the man spoke of his ordeal, a sour stench that overtook the Baron’s meal and sent his appetite into retreat.

Kent pushed his plate aside. “Robert,” he said. The Viscount did not respond. “Robert,” he repeated sternly.

Viscount Robert looked up, as if awoken from a dream. “Ah, Kent. I apologize, it’s just… I am quite tired, as you’re no doubt aware.”

“Are you hungry? My chef can prepare something for you, if you’d like. A copy of my own meal, perhaps?”

The Viscount looked at the plate of food, then shook his head. “I do not have the stomach for it, at the moment.”

“Then tell me. What happened?”

The Viscount leaned forward, placing his elbows atop the table and cupping his hands together. He opened his mouth with a wet smack, then put up his hands in a shrug.

“An ambush, I suppose. In plain day. My ten thousand men stood outside the walls of Grensfield, staring down the archers on the walls. A siege. That was the plan, anyway, after the ladders and towers were built.”

“Then what? Did they open the gates and attack?”

Robert chuckled, the sound dark and humorless. “They came out of nowhere. We’d been there two days already, preparing the towers when it happened. One second it was me and ten thousand men and an empty field all around us. Then the next moment twice our number appeared out of thin air on either side, fell on us like a wave. A damned miracle we only lost half our number.”

“Appeared? Out of thin air?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve never heard of such magic.”

“Neither have I, and my mages have not been particularly helpful in that regard, either. None of them have heard anything of the sort. We’re dealing with something completely novel here, Kent.”

The Baron stood, his legs suddenly anxious for movement. He paced back and forth, thinking and doing his best to shake away the shock. Teleportation? No, such magic was hundreds of years away.

“Did you hear or see anything strange before it happened? A loud noise or uh… a shimmer or something?”

The Viscount thought for a moment. “An um… it was louder that day, the camp. Like there were more men and horses walking about.”

Invisibility. The word nearly escaped from his mouth, stopped only by the clenching of the Baron’s jaws. It had happened, then. And in Hilva, no less. He’d prayed it was some trick, basic camouflage magic perhaps. But no, it had to be a damned Discovery.

Baron Kent doubled his pacing, his hand pulling at his chin. Stopping, he turned to the Viscount, who had gone back to staring blankly at the table. Kent shuffled over to him, placing a hand on the Viscount’s shoulder.

“Robert,” he said. Robert turned slowly to look at him, his focus waning in and out. The man needed rest. “Please, Robert, get some rest. I can handle things here.”

The Viscount nodded, then stood on wobbly feet. Kent caught him as he tripped. He looked positively small in the Baron’s flabby arms, and it was clear by the man’s weight that he had not eaten in days. Robert had never been a large man to begin with, either. Concerned, Kent carried him to the tent’s entrance, flagging down a passing knight to escort Robert to his own tent.

Alone once more, Baron Kent sat back in his chair, the wood creaking underneath his weight. Glaring at his food he found his appetite had not returned. He called a servant to take the plate away, as well as to give his chef his most sincere apologies. The man was truly an artist, and to leave his meal uneaten was close to heresy. Still, the twisting pit in his stomach would allow nothing inside, lest it return from whence it came.

Invisibility. Again the word nearly escaped into the open. He would never have believed it if not for the Viscount’s details. A hundred years of study by the greatest mages in the Empire, and not once had any of them come close. For it to appear so suddenly now…

With delicate fingers, the Baron scrawled words in the secret code of the Drygallis nobles. Allowing the ink to dry, he sealed the letter in blue & red wax. He would send a messenger at dawn on the morrow—no, it would need to be today, and with all haste. Struggling up from his chair, the Baron sauntered out of his tent and approached the knights on duty.

“Summon Alfred,” he ordered.

In minutes the Knight Captain Alfred stood before him in gleaming armor—by far the most impressive of the knights present. He bowed to the Baron, then stood tall such that Kent had to look up to meet his eyes. An imposing figure, if not for the fact that the man had served Kent since childhood.

“My lord,” Alfred said.

Kent presented the letter to him, making certain none saw. “I want you to present this letter to Duke Shallmore. Personally, mind you–you are not to present this letter to any but the Duke himself, or the Duchess if he is somehow indisposed.”

“Certainly, my lord, but what of the battle?”

“This is more important,” he said. “And one of my cousin’s soldiers can use magic, besides, and has chosen the frontlines; the lad has potential, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

“I have, though frankly I am uncertain that the boy can replace me.”

Kent chuckled. “You, replaceable? Never.”

“It is good to hear you say so, my lord.” The Knight Captain smiled a toothy grin, his straight teeth glimmering white almost as brilliantly as his armor. The man always did enjoy praise.

“The letter must make it into the hands of the Duke as soon as possible. You are to ride out today, as soon as you are ready. Do not stop, Alfred. Not for anything.”

“Yes, my lord,” Alfred replied. His body shifted, his body becoming rigid, as if any wrong movement could cause the letter to slice him open.

“Good, then on with you, and return as soon as you can.”

“Yes, my lord.” The Knight Captain bowed once more, then left with haste, his powerful strides cutting through the crowd of soldiers.

Watching him go, Kent breathed a sigh of relief. The Empire would know, at the very least.