Hours after the massacre, Lord Bovera and Lord Para walked towards the small tent that housed the Arcane Master sent from the Great Shrine. The misting rain caused drops of water to cling to their hair, which occasionally dripped into their eyes, but it didn’t change their smiles.

  Limping, Lord Para winced as he put weight on his bad leg. “You took your sweet time saving me,” he complained. “If you were a couple of seconds late, I would be dead.”

  “You know we had to wait for the Great Shrine to strike before our forces could join the battle,” Lord Bovera retorted, throwing his arm around Lord Para’s shoulders. “But it all worked out in the end. With this, the lands of Baura and Leora are ours.”

  “You are right about that!”

  Laughing, the two lords reached the tent. Pushing aside the flap, they stepped inside, escaping the rain. Their voices fell quiet. The interior was dry and sparse, with a single table and chair set off to one side. In the center knelt the Arcane Master—Father Santaten. His hands were clasped together in prayer, his sword resting on the ground by his side.

  “Father Santaten, thank you for joining us in this most holy endeavor,” Lord Bovera said, bowing slightly. “Without your help, we would not have been able to kill Lord Leora.”

  “It is the will of Alumus,” Father Santaten replied, standing up and picking up his sword. Holding it behind his back, he turned his attention to the two lords, his eyebrows lifting in a question.

  “Father, when will your troops be ready to depart for the lands of Leora?” Lord Para asked, his head bowed low, his voice rising with anticipation.

  Glancing at Lord Para’s face, Lord Bovera could tell he was eager to prove himself in battle, the humiliation of losing to Lord Baura still fresh in his mind.

  “I will be taking the Warriors of Light back to the Holy Lands at first light,” Father Santaten answered, his face expressionless, his hands still behind his back.

  “WHAT!”

  Hearing the words, Lord Bovera could not help but shout, his mind reeling at the unexpected news. This was not what he had promised! Without the Shrine’s soldiers, they would lose many men in the upcoming battles.

  Next to him, he heard Lord Para stumble back a step, his mouth open, words failing him.

  “Father, I was under the impression that you would help us take the lands of Leora and Baura!” Lord Bovera stammered, his eyes wide as anger crept into his voice. “This is not what I was promised!”

  Facing Lord Bovera without changing his expression, Father Santaten spoke, his words even and steady.

  “Lord Bovera, I was told by his eminence, Father Benedict, to help you kill Lord Leora and nothing more. Now that he is dead, I will be taking my warriors and returning.”

  “This is not what we agreed on! Saint Santius himself gave my family three wishes! How dare you go back on his word!” Lord Bovera shouted, his fists clenched in rage.

  As soon as the words left his mouth, the temperature inside the tent seemed to drop, an ice-cold chill sinking deep into their bones.

  “You dare take more than what was given?” Father Santaten asked quietly, his mere presence making it hard for both lords to breathe. A primal part of their brains screamed at them to stop moving, even breathing.

  The moment seemed to linger much too long before Father Santaten turned away, the freezing pressure vanishing as if it had never existed.

  Gasping for air, Lord Para collapsed to his knees, his hands clutching his throat. “Father, please—we are at fault,” he choked out, terror driving him to beg. “We would never dare take advantage of the Great Shine. Please… forgive us.”

  “And you? Lord Bovera?” Father Santaten questioned.

  The words seemed to stretch for eternity as Father Santaten stroked his sword, his eyes radiating a darkness that seemed to swallow the very light in the tent.

  Throat tightening as he stubbornly tried to think of a way out of this mess, Lord Bovera felt his knees hit the ground.

  “I was wrong, please forgive me,” he finally stammered.

  Glancing down at the two lords without any emotion, Father Santaten nodded, “You may both leave,” he said, turning back to his prayers.

  Scrambling back out into the rain, Lord Bovera cursed loudly as he hurried to where his men were setting up camp, Lord Para close on his heels. Reaching his soldiers, he raised his voice, waving his arms around in anger.

  “I want all prisoners brought here—now! You! You there!” he barked, pointing with a quivering finger. “Gather twenty men and dig a large pit. Now!”

  “Brother, what are you doing?”

  Hearing the commotion, Tulka came running from his tent, the confusion on his face obvious to everyone.

  “The Great Shrine is abandoning us!” Lord Para spat in response.

  “What! What is happening?” Tulka exclaimed.

  “They claim that our wish was accomplished with the death of Leora!” Lord Bovera yelled, pacing back and forth. He was starting to feel hot.

  “Where are the prisoners!”

  “My lord, it will take over an hour for all the prisoners to be brought here. Many of them are injured!” A soldier reported his face pale as he watched Lord Bovera and Para yell indiscriminately at the surrounding men.

  “I don’t care if they are injured—drag them over! I want all the prisoners thrown into the pit and buried!” Lord Bovera yelled, spit flying everywhere as drops of rainwater sprayed from his flailing arms.

  Hearing their lord’s command, the soldiers who had begun digging froze, their blank faces lifting at him in disbelief.

  “Bury them, my lord?” one asked.

  “YES!” Lord Bovera roared. “Keep digging!”

  Seeing them standing there in a daze, Lord Bovera kicked a soldier, causing him to tumble into the shallow pit.

  “NOW!”

  Moving as if they could not believe what was happening, one soldier helped the kicked man to his feet while the others resumed digging, their eyes repeatedly flickering to Tulka, silently asking for help.

  “Brother, we can't,” Tulka finally said, turning to Lord Bovera. “The warriors of Leora and Baura have surrendered. Killing them would dishonor us. Lord Para, please convince my brother to stop this madness.”

  “No, your brother is correct,” Lord Para said, shaking his head. “With Father Santaten no longer supporting our invasion of Leora, we must kill them.”

  “Brother, we can ransom the captured warriors back to Leora and Baura for a fortune!” Tulka argued desperately, stepping in front of Lord Bovera. “With that money, we can raise a larger army and invade them next year!”

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  “NO! I will not be disobeyed!” Lord Bovera screamed, rage flooding his voice. The helplessness he felt in front of Father Santaten was still fresh in his mind. “Keep digging! Summon the Arcane Warriors— they’ll help with the digging!”

  Slowly, the muddy pit grew wider and deeper, the horrified soldiers throwing out buckets full of dirt and small rocks. The rain soon caused a puddle of dark water to pool at the bottom, turning the ground to mud that covered everyone from head to toe.

  By the time the bound prisoners were brought over, the pit was enormous—deep as two men standing on top of each other and as wide as seven men lying down head to toe.

  A great mound of dirt was piled next to it where the soldiers had dumped it.

  Watching his shaking mud-covered soldiers clamber up the steep sides, Lord Bovera raised his voice, his hands signaling violently.

  “THROW THEM INTO THE PIT!”

  Shouts and screams of protests filled the air as frightened soldiers began to drag, shove, and finally throw the kicking, struggling warriors of Leora and Baura into the pit. The screams quickly turned into curses.

  “Lord Bovera! You have no honor! How dare you!” one warrior shouted before vanishing into the pit of bodies.

  Ignoring the captives’ pleas, Lord Bovera turned to his own men. “Bury them alive!” he commanded coldly. “Shoot anyone who tries to climb out.”

  Pale-faced and trembling in fear and horror, the warriors of Bovera began shoveling dirt onto the screaming captives. Each heavy load sent the cries from below spiraling to them. Occasionally, the sharp twang of an arrow was added to the chaos, a resisting soldier tumbling back into the pit.

  Lord Bovera watched as the captives slowly vanished beneath the wet soil, his breathing short and fast. His heart was beating painfully in his chest. One by one, the screaming faded as the mouths and faces were buried—until silence.

  “Brother… was this really necessary?” Tulka asked, his gray eyes were hard as ice.

  “Yes, it was!” Lord Bovera snapped, turning away from him and locking eyes with Lord Para. “Ulric, we march for Leora’s undefended castle. We will take it in one swoop.”

  “My men will be ready,” Lord Para replied, his eyes bulging out. His composure was entirely gone. “We will finally rid ourselves of House Leora. Let us move—now!”

  Leagues away, in the lands ruled by the Great of House Ruscell, stood the fortified Keep of Silverclaw—an ancient white fortress built entirely from an unknown pale stone. Vast sections of its walls and battlements appeared to have been carved from a single enormous boulder, with no visible seams or signs of individual blocks used in its construction. Looking up at the walls, many could not help but wonder how such a feat had been achieved. Historians and engineers alike agreed that Silverclaw was the only place in the world that boasted such a building.

  Within the keep, seated upon the Silver Throne, Lady Isles Ruscell stared in stunned silence. Her mouth opened and closed in disbelief as her mind struggled to process what she had just heard—something that was happening more frequently as the years passed.

  Did I mishear? she wondered, touching her ear with her hand.

  Lady Isles was nearing old age with silver-white hair framing her weather-worn skin. Large scars covered her whole body, trophies she had acquired through a lifetime of battle and duels—her still being alive proof of her martial skill.

  She was the only woman to rule one of the Vanura’s Great Houses, a position she had claimed after her husband passed away from illness. Traditionally, a male relative of her husband was supposed to take over until her son came of age, but she had gone about ruling Silverclaw as if it were hers—even after her son grew up.

  “What?” she finally stammered, her eyes wide. “Lord Leora and Baura died in battle? How certain are you? Did you see it with your own eyes? How could Lord Leora die in battle?” Her gaze locked onto her son.

  “Mother,” her firstborn son Beniti replied, his cheeks flushed. “Our scouts confirm that the combined forces of Leora and Baura were defeated by Bovera, Para, and an unidentified army. We are still gathering details, but if the reports are accurate… Lord Leora was killed in single combat.”

  “You lie!” Lady Isles growled, squinting as a dull ache began to pulse behind her eyes. The pain seemed to come more frequently over the past couple of years.

  Massaging her temples, she looked at her son. “Lord Leora is not someone who can be killed in single combat! Lord Hector is the only man capable of defeating him! Who are these unidentified soldiers!”

  “We are trying to find out, but so far, we have no leads,” Beniti admitted. “They fly a yellow banner with no visible markings. Worse still, after the battle, they vanished. Entirely.”

  “Vanished?” Lady Isles echoed. “Where did they go?”

  “We are still looking.”

  Lady Isles knew her son didn’t know, but she still slammed her hand against the table. “Beniti, we must know where that army went!”

  “Yes, Mother… but we may have another problem,” Beniti cut in, his words tumbling out of him before her anger could grow. “Lord Bovera and Para are moving their forces close to our castle. They are requesting permission to march through our lands on their way to Leora.”

  Lady Isles took a deep breath to calm herself, forcing her anxiety down. “We cannot allow that,” she said firmly. “If they conquer Leora, we will be cut off from the rest of the kingdom. With Para to our right and the newly conquered lands of Leora to our left, we will be surrounded by them. It would only be a matter of time before they turn on us and unite the lower lands under their banner.”

  Beniti’s face turned pale, his handsome face turning deathly. “Mother… what should we do? We cannot ally with them. And from what we have seen from the fall of Nazau, House Salizia will not help us.”

  “Then we must prevent Leora from falling,” Lady Isles replied, rising from her throne and pacing around the room. “That’s our priority.”

  “Mother, we’re outnumbered,” Beniti protested, the gravity of the situation causing him to stutter. “And with the unknown army vanishing, we can’t commit our full strength to any one fight. If that army were to appear behind us, they would destroy us! We cannot engage in battle. It would be suicide.”

  “Fighting them head on with our army is suicide,” Lady Isles agreed, the lines on her forehead deepening. “We must use another tactic. I want you to position half our troops along the Tanchun river, let them see you, the river will keep you safe if they try anything. Once their supply line comes into view, follow it, make it obvious that that’s our target. Make it clear that if they are to invade Leora, we will be in the perfect position to burn their supply line. I want the second half of our army to search for the missing army. When you find them. Do not fight them. We will make plans when we figure out their location.”

  “Would the threat of losing their supply line be enough to prevent Lord Bovera and Para from invading Leora?” Boniti asked. “Would they not simply attack us if we threaten them?”

  “They don’t have any legal reason to attack us,” Lady Isles said, “and I doubt they would throw away what little honor they have left. But if they do, our walls will hold them until Leora sends their warriors to our aid. Even without their elite troops, House Leora is still a formidable force; they will fight to the last man to avenge their Lord.

  “If we can burn Bovera’s and Para’s supply lines, they won’t be able to attack either Leora or us without risking everything. The battle would drag on for months—months without food. If Lord Bovera and Para realized that invading Leora or us would cost them most of their soldiers, I believe they would withdraw.

  “Beniti, send word to Lords Bovera and Para that we will not grant them permission to cross our lands. This should buy us time to gather our warriors. From this moment, I am giving you full control of our army!”

  “Thank you, Mother,” Beniti said, saluting crisply. “I will also arm the farmers and begin evacuating the villages along the road to Leora. I’ll make sure they’re out of harm’s way before any fighting starts.”

  “Good,” Lady Isles praised, nodding proudly. Her son’s priorities were well placed.

  Just as Beniti turned to leave, the door to the hall burst open. Lady Isles’ youngest son, Mihail, rushed inside.

  “Mother! Brother! I bring urgent news from Leora! Lady Tricia, Lord Leora’s daughter, is requesting aid. They claim their father was killed in battle, and that an attack is imminent!”

  “We know,” Beniti replied sharply. “Our scouts brought us the same information. What do you know of Leora’s situation?”

  “The message says that not only Lord Leora, but his son and brother have also fallen,” Mahail said quickly. “Lady Tricia is rallying the villagers and guards, but they won’t be able to stand up against a trained army.”

  “Did they mention anything about Lord Baura or a third force?” Beniti asked.

  “They did,” Mihail answered. “Yansen of Baura survived the assault and brought them news of their Lord's death. He’s currently riding for Baura with the remaining Bauran soldiers. As for a third force, nothing was mentioned.”

  Cursing out loud, Beniti balled his fists. “Yansen should have stayed to help Leora repel Bovera and Para. That coward is running home.”

  “He does not have the authority to decide the fate of the remaining soldiers,” Lady Isles sighed, turning to her son. “If Lord Baura brought both of his sons to the duel and Yansen now leads the survivors, it’s safe to assume that Lord Baura’s two sons are dead. From Baura’s perspective, Yansen is doing the right thing. The main house must learn the truth and preserve what soldiers remain. It may seem cowardly, but he has no choice.”

  “I know you’re right,” Beniti said, shaking his head in frustration. “It just leaves a bad taste in my mouth. If I were in his position, I’d fight to the death.”

  “Dying for honor may be noble,” Lady Isles said, meeting his eyes, “but remember, sometimes living is more important. As stewards of the land and its people, we must place duty above honor.”

  Lowering his head slightly, Beniti nodded. “I’m sorry, Mother. I spoke ill of a man fulfilling his duty.”

  “There’s nothing to forgive my son,” Lady Isles said, smiling. She was glad he understood. “But now is not the time for words. You must hurry. Mihail, go with your brother.”

  “Yes, Mother!” Mihail said, then hesitated. “Should we send word to our sister?”

  There was a short pause before Lady Isles nodded. “Yes. Writing to Yahella would be wise. I’ll do that now. You two should go now.”

  “Yes, Mother.”