Two soldiers drug a shackled Skah through the glimmering halls of the Ashmet palace by his arms.

Skah didn’t mind, he simply stared slack-jawed at the enormity of the pillars, the majesty of the art, the beauty of the cloths, and the prolific amounts of gold lining white marble.

“You know,” Skah said as he stared at the height of the ceilings, “I could’ve used more than just a bath and new clothes. Heck, with a palace like this you could have afforded me a better bed than that wooden bench.”

The guard on the right shook his arm. “Quiet you, you’re lucky to get a wood bench. I personally requested them so you prisoners would quit yapping about cold stone. Now you complain about hard wood. Never should have done it.”

“Oh,” Skah tried to shrug but only achieved a head bob, “That changes things. I didn’t say I didn’t like the bench, just that it looks like you guys could afford something better. I’ve been sleeping on sticks and stones recently, the bench was actually rather nice compared to that.”

“Oh, you hear that?” The guard nodded his head at Skah to the other guard. “This prisoner has a modicum of respect, I’ll actually be sorry to see him stoned.”

Skah snapped his gaze away from the tall ceiling. “Wait, what? Stoning? I don’t want to get stoned, stoning is bad, very bad.” He wriggled in their grip and tried to look up at them.

“Shh, shh,” The guard shook his head, “I should say that there is a possibility.”

“That’s still bad, you can take me back to the prison now.”

The guard shook his head. “Too late, we’re here.”

They rounded a corner and three great rectangular arches stood before them. The largest was flanked by two smaller ones to each side. Large gilded reliefs of men standing with staffs stood on the sides of the doorways. The stone was painted with brilliant blues and greens and bright white cloths were draped across openings in the ceiling that allowed shafts of light into the grand hall of pillars before them.

At the end of the rows of pillars was a golden throne with the iridescent blue-green tail feathers of the Oasha bird overshadowing it.

No one was sitting in the throne. Instead, the guards drug Skah to the arch to the left. They passed through the arch and Skah could see that it was still a part of the main throne room, the only thing that separated the two were the rows of large columns. Scenes were painted upon the columns and walls depicting scenes of workers in fields, soldiers at battle and rulers sitting upon thrones.

Attendants were gathered at the other end of the hall where a woman with light yellow hair sat in a brilliant white sheath dress.

Skah thought her hair was oddly shaped on her head, but the guard’s comment about stoning reminded him it would be better not to say anything about it.

“You know,” Skah said out of the corner of his mouth, “this long hall makes it kinda awkward when we’re walking towards them. They’re just staring at us.”

The guard squeezed his arm. “Shhh.”

Despite his feeling of awkwardness, Skah survived being dragged the length of the long hallway. Someone had been kind enough to lay out a long rug to save Skah’s sore feet.

About a stone’s throw away from the throne, the guards lay Skah upon his face and kneeled in reverence themselves.

“Princess, the one who came to the city in possession of Adhiam and the flaming sword is the one lying before you. Do with him as you deem just.”

The rug tickled Skah’s nose. He tried to stifle the sneeze, but he couldn’t help it.

“Achoo!”

The guard on the right grabbed a handful of Skah’s hair. “You dare sneeze in front of her majesty?!”

Skah suppressed a chuckle. It came out as a snort instead.

“Guardsman.”

The man bowed low. “Yes my majesty?”

“Let the man stand.”

Skah was hauled to his feet. Since his face wasn’t buried in the rug, he could see the princess more properly. In a word, she was more vibrant and beautiful than he had imagined, despite how her hair was fashioned to look like a basket plopped on her head.

“You’re very baskety, I mean, beautiful miss.” He blushed a deep red.

She arched an eyebrow.

The guard jabbed Skah in the ribs with his elbow. “She didn’t say you could speak, cur.”

“Oh, right, sorry, sorry.” Skah bowed at the waist while holding his side.

Safira eyed Skah with a level gaze. “Warrior, how did you come by the sword of Adhiam?”

“The cold sword? I fought a guy for it. He said his name was Yucko or something.”

“Describe him to me.”

“Well, he’s sunburnt, has black hair, on the small side, about this high…and he has a temper.”

Safira nodded. “What else?”

“Oh! He has beady eyes like he wants to stab you with them.”

Safira leaned her head towards one of the attendants standing by her.

“Majesty, that lines up with what we know so far.”

She nodded and turned back to Skah. “What was he wearing?”

“Um, he had his face and head covered like this,” Skah put his hands over his face so only his eyes showed, “and the rest of him is covered too. But then he took it all off after I took his sword from him.”

“Oh? And what does his face look like?”

Skah thought for a moment. “Well, his face is kinda…” he stroked his chin, “Its kinda…like…young-looking.”

Safira thought for a moment, then asked, “Why did you come to this city?”

The corner of Skah’s mouth twitched upward. “I didn’t want to walk the rest of the way into your city so I hired your guards to drag me the rest of the way.”

Safira blinked.

“That isn’t the case your majesty!” The guard to Skah’s right protested. “He lies and makes a mockery of you!” He grabbed ahold of Skah.

“Wait.”

The guard stopped.

“I’m sure it was all in jest.” She looked at Skah, expecting an answer.

Skah grinned. “Ya got me. I’ll tell you why, because it was on my way to the Star of the West. But you guys don’t allow swords here, so I was just going to go around.”

Safira contemplated this. If what he is saying is true, she thought, we may have invited destruction upon ourselves.

The prophecy of the Swords of the Heavens wasn’t a well known one. In fact, it was only the mention of a man coming with a sword of fire and a sword of ice that jogged her memory of it. The painted scenes were just barely visible where she had seen them last night. They were in a shadow on the ceiling between two pillars.

She regarded the man before her. The guardsmen had dressed him in a simple white linen skirt. There were wraps around his torso where he had been injured in his battle, but she could still see the musculature like that of one of her soldiers. A man familiar with the rigors of battle and fighting.

Skah fidgeted under her gaze and at the silence. Why am I even here? He thought. What could that annoying idiot have done where the simple sight of his sword gets me brought before the rulers?!

Safira stood and walked over to the place beneath where the prophecy was recorded.

Skah turned his head to follow her movement but met the eyes of the guard next to him.

The man’s eyes said, “Don’t look at her, you cur.”

Skah batted his eyes at the guard but kept his eyes forward.

Safira read the prophecy again and the scenes around it but didn’t find anything new. The prophecy did not say anything about if the man brought the destruction or if the swords did. But perhaps it is implied the man brings the destruction. She thought.

What should she do? Keep the man in prison? Send him away from the city? Kill him? He seemed nice, how could this man bring about disaster upon the city? This man could be an enemy or a possible strong ally. She needed to know more.

She walked back to Skah and patted him on the arm. “Come, let’s talk more in the gardens.”

Skah looked into her crystal blue eyes and blushed.

She smiled, “Where did you last see the man you fought? We call him Zaim, and he brought both a blessing and a curse upon our city.”