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They had been working at a breakneck pace between research and preparations, and Sorin was exhausted. The morning after his talk with Anselem he had woken Bron and the others with a decanter of coffee in hand. They had made the most of the night before and had paid for it dearly that morning. They groaned in response to Sorin’s request that they help him with his research in the library. It was a task that none of them relished.
Research wasn’t the only thing on Sorin’s long list of preparations. It had taken days to convince the council to allow his mother to rule in his stead. He had pleaded with them to agree to him taking his small party to find the girl and collect the relic, explaining that sending an army north would draw too much attention. If what they believed about dark magic users was true, then Sorin would need a scouting party he could trust.
Sorin, Bron, Elijah, and Anik were now riding down the main road, surrounded by travelers headed to Aramoor for the festival. Sorin was tired and it did not help that he smelled like a horse’s arse. Bron was leading the way into town on his massive warhorse, Altivo. The midnight black, muscled horse was drawing too much attention for Sorin’s comfort, but he tried not to worry about that.
Bron tossed a flask at the newly appointed King. Sorin was possibly the first king in Asterion history to be on a quest instead of sending his most trusted knights in his stead. But Sorin had not been born heir to the throne. Nobody had ever groomed him to do things a certain way and he certainly was not about to start now. Once his father had taken the throne and crowned him as the Prince of Asterion, Sorin had found that he preferred training in the yard with the other soldiers to sitting in a stuffy room replying to foreign correspondents.
Even the crowning ceremony had been very unking-like, consisting of a few words and blessings from a jewel-adorned priestess in front of the court. There had been no grand ball in celebration afterwards, as was the custom in Asterion’s past. Instead, his mother had organized a large feast for the court and the foreign emissaries who resided permanently at the Summer Palace, excusing her son from attending, as he’d had to meet with stranded sailors from both Skag and Sagon.
It was all a cover of course, so nobody would suspect what he was really doing. His mother had sent Larken and Cerwin in his stead to meet with the tradesmen, dressing one of their attendants in Sorin’s kingly garments in hopes that anyone watching would believe that he had gone with them.
He had full faith in his mother as regent, believing without a doubt that she could handle ruling for a while longer. She had done an impeccable job of it over the years by his father’s side, advising him in all major decisions. She knew the formalities and enjoyed being helpful. Most of all she understood that right now nothing was more important than getting their trade routes opened back up and the blight off their land. Even if it meant allowing her only beloved son to run headfirst into the danger.
So, with everything set in place, they now found themselves on their way to get a girl. Not just any girl, but one with an ancient link to the land itself. Sorin wiped his brow with the back of his hand. This was ridiculous. He felt like a fairytale knight off on an impossible odyssey. Real life was messy, there was no magical fix. At least not in the Asterion he had been raised in.
His mother had made a good case for taking this course of action. Even the council had unanimously agreed that this was their best chance. Just as Anselem had predicted, the records had stated that she was the last of her kind, as far as they could tell. Weeks of searching the dusty archives had shown that there had been a young girl, who had come from just such a line, in the palace before the uprising.
His father was a meticulous record keeper and they discovered that she had fled the uprising, ending up down south in the Aramoor harbour district. How someone so young had managed that he could not imagine. She had been registered by a successful family there as one of the orphaned Magi.
His father had insisted on the registration. He had claimed it was his responsibility to make sure that the children were relocated and safely cared for, integrated into the new non-magical society he had created, and had hoped it would be enough for a smooth transition.
Sorin recalled the meetings he had attended as a young boy. They had been held in safe houses down by the docks. The plan had been simple at first; surprise the old king’s court on their most beloved celebration of the year. His father would take a group of supporters there to make their voices heard and to damage the regime beyond repair by taking the King prisoner. All so that he could take the crown and craft a whole new Asterion. An Asterion that stood for the people, all its people. Sorin had heard countless speeches and endless accounts of the atrocities the old king and his Magi had committed on anyone who had spoken out against their abuses of power. All Sorin could hope for now was that the girl was alive and well, and not the type to harbor a grudge. He rolled his eyes and cursed out loud.
“Where’s your head?” Bron cut into Sorin’s thoughts.
Sorin took a long swig from the flask. Whatever was in it burned deeply. “Oh, you know, just wondering how I ended up here on this smelly brood, riding alongside a stubborn ass.”
“Whoa, don’t talk about my horse that way.”
“I wasn’t talking about the horse,” he laughed, throwing the flask back to his friend.
Bron took a drink and gestured around them, “You mean you’re not enjoying our little adventure into town? Perhaps you should have left this job to the real knights. Just think, you could be sitting around your cozy palace, making plans with those stubborn old owls as we speak.”
“Ah but you forget, I am a man of the people.” Sorin puffed up his chest, doing his best impersonation of General Tyrell. “A good King goes headfirst into battle with his men.”
“Except this isn't a battle. This is a kidnapping mission.”
Sorin rolled his eyes. “This girl may very well hold the future of Asterion in her magical hands. And we most certainly will not be kidnapping anyone. She must come with us willingly.”
Bron scoffed, “There are so many things wrong with this plan. One day they’ll write a tragic comedy about it to perform in theatres around the world. Just think: The Tale of King Sorin and His Knightly Ass.” Anik and Elijah chimed in with laughter and Bron continued, “Sorin, who’s to say the girl is even going to be there. It has been years; she could have moved on, she could be dead for all we know. And say she is there, why in The Mother’s name would she help us? We expelled her people and slaughtered her kin. Wounds like that run deep. Those sorts of scars don’t fade.”
He was right. Sorin had been running over every possible scenario in his head since the moment they left the Summer Palace. “You think I don’t know that?” He ran his hand through his hair, wishing he would have cut it before they left. “What other option do we have? It has been weeks since my father’s death, and I have not even had a moment to grieve, yet here I am off on some ridiculous mission with the lot of you. It’s not like I have another relic I can whip out to save the day. The fact that my father found that damned thing in the first place was a miracle. And those old owls you speak so fondly of, have no alternative ideas of what to do either.”
He paused long enough to notice the city coming into view. They would be approaching the merchant’s district soon. The day had been warm and the roads had been crowded. He was ready to get into a soft bed. “I’ll be honest with you boys. I don’t have a whole lot of faith in this little adventure of ours. If anything, it’s a chance to get away from the hopeful eyes at court. I need to think. I need to get my bearings on this whole thing. I mean really, King? King of a dying Kingdom. I didn’t even have a chance to mess it up myself.”
They made it into town by nightfall. The stars gazed down at them lighting their way. Asterion was the land of stars, famous for its open skies, its Northern lights, and its magic. At least, it had been.
They checked into a rickety old tavern where the innkeeper eyed them warily. Sorin had decided it would be best if they donned modest clothing, hoping it would help them go unnoticed, as they were doing their best to appear as farmhands headed to the docks for a few nights of ale and girls. Sorin had to admit that Bron looked ridiculous in farmer's trousers and boots instead of his usual armor, and Elijah kept readjusting the straw hat he had insisted on buying from a peddler on the road.
The men sat at a cramped table full of crumbs from the last guests who had eaten there. They kept their packs with them, worried that the locks on the doors to their rooms would not hold against thieves wandering through town. Girls paraded through the dining room, complimenting lonely men in hopes that they could make some extra money off them.
Bron leaned back in the rickety seat he had taken. “A King’s fortune, and this is the best you could do?”
Sorin laughed, “Beats sleeping outside.” They had stayed in plenty of places like this before during their time with the military. They had often traveled on patrol, settling any unrest, and checking in on any rumor of black magic use.
Elijah hiccupped, already drunk from the strong ale. “Does it?”
The men laughed and shoveled down the drab food that was being served, having their fill of porridge, no doubt left over from that morning. It was dry and required a great deal of mead to swallow. Sorin forced it down, giving the innkeeper’s wife a grateful smile as she slopped a second helping onto his plate. He nodded his thanks, thinking it was best not to offend her, especially when they weren’t sure of how long they would be staying. He ate half of it before setting it aside. Anik was across from him struggling with a stale piece of bread. The tavern was packed with people traveling from all over the continent for the famous springtime festival.
The patrons drank and danced well into the night. When Sorin excused himself to go to bed, his men were still drinking and singing with the other guests. Elijah had been roped into a dance with a haughty woman, old enough to be his mother. She was wearing his straw hat and leaving smears of red lipstick on him as she kissed his cheeks. Sorin shook his head and chuckled to himself as he made his way to his room.
The sounds of fighting and laughter drifted up through the thin walls for the better part of the night. Sorin laid in the rock-hard bed, gazing at the stars through the crooked broken window. He wasn’t sure how long it was before he drifted off to sleep, but that night, he dreamt of something he had not thought of in a long time. He dreamt of a girl with golden eyes. A girl he had not thought of in many years, with long chestnut hair tied in a ribbon, her face rosy, with tear-stained cheeks. The girl he had risked everything to save.