The next day, after the sunrise prayers and breakfast, the knight went once more to meet with his master, who welcomed him with the same warmth as the night before. Upon entering his quarters—modest, considering the high rank of Rhien Mildavar—he invited him to sit.

  "Brother Kalen, have you heard anything about the High Solífice during your travels?" Rhien asked.

  "The last I heard, he was crossing into Elbarie on a solification mission in the warm lands… but as far as I know, he should already be on his way back. And how have things been around here with the king?"

  At that moment, the master leaned back and raised his arms to the sky.

  "Our great Kendraith III personally entrusted us with the care and education of the two princes… for an entire season..."

  Kalen opened his eyes wide.

  "The princes spent a whole season at the fortress? That’s hard to believe."

  "Indeed… and, if I’m being honest, I’d rather be caught in the middle of a skirmish in the frozen lands of Rimdail up north than look after those little br— ahem… the princes."

  He paused for a few seconds.

  "Prince Jordian is a good boy… maybe a bit reserved, but he seems to have a noble heart. Prince Caradhian, on the other hand, the heir to the throne..."

  "What about him?"

  "We had to scold him twice. Once for killing one of the stray cats that used to go to Brother Weylam’s for food. But he didn’t just kill it—he tortured it first… I had to calm Brother Weylam down; he wanted to smash the boy’s head with a hammer."

  Sir Fal shook his head.

  "Another time, he tried to make an initiate give him his sword, and as you well know, we train them to never hand over their sword unless it’s the High Solífice himself or a brother of the order who requests it. When the initiate refused, the prince picked up a rock and bashed his head with it. That’s when we got the king’s permission to whip him, though the queen was not pleased. A few days later, they were taken back to the palace."

  "Hard to believe we’ve known those boys since they were infants."

  "Well, the heir has nothing infantile about him, even if he’s not yet thirteen," he said, his face darkening. "I have a feeling he’ll bring us trouble in the future. But politics is not the concern of a knight—our duty lies with our order and our god. Now, to matters that do concern us… have you heard of the Brotherhood of the Black Flame?"

  Kalen nodded.

  "I know they’re a cult of fanatics devoted to Demento, god of darkness; Tak-Ma, goddess of treachery and blood; and Bug-Bukran, god of pestilence. They’re convinced their mission is to open a portal to the abyss so demons can invade Alandavor. I had to study those cultists during my initiation years. I understand the brotherhood is extinct… they were relentlessly hunted down by the Inquisition."

  "Looks like someone did his homework," Mildavar let out a nervous laugh, and Kalen felt compelled to smile. "Truth is, they never vanished. And now they’ve started scheming again."

  He paused for a moment, stroking his chin, then stood and began pacing the room.

  "An old elven prophecy foretells that with the blood of the last Dragon Knight to be born, sacrificed at the site where a mountain once fell from the sky and cracked the earth, the gates to the realm of darkness will open, allowing demons to pass through unopposed. That crater is known as the Quarry of Avernus, and it lies in the southern region of Bloodmere. I’m sure you’ve heard of the place."

  He swallowed hard and paused again.

  "The thing is, according to the magic academies and a few scholars, certain signs have begun to appear, suggesting the birth of the last Dragon Knight—like that strange lightning storm a few months ago on Dorlan’s west coast, or the lunar eclipse from two or three weeks ago..."

  Kalen ‘Fal remembered perfectly the stories of the Dragon Knights. He knew there was one for each dragon species present in the world, although, truth be told, most of these majestic creatures had been eradicated by the Order of Dragma several centuries ago.

  "Dragon Knights are born every hundred years, exactly, following the death of the previous one. According to scholars, the dates line up with the signs," Sir Rhien Mildavar continued, as Sir Kalen looked on, somewhat perplexed. "Coincidentally, groups of orcs have been reported in southern Dorlan, strange ships spotted near the cliffs, and profane cults gathering in the forests at night. It all points to one thing: the last Dragon Knight has been born, and the Brotherhood of the Black Flame is searching for him. We must not, under any circumstances, allow that newborn to fall into their hands. The region of Dorlan and the kingdom of Doknar depend on it… all the realms do."

  Sir Kalen let out a heavy sigh, furrowing his brow and clenching his teeth.

  "What must I do?"

  "You must head west, toward Hobbaristal and the villages around it, especially the coastal ones. You must track down the child of prophecy and bring him to us. The greatest experts on the Prophecy of the Abyss and the history of the Dragon Knights are in Trabarioth, the Frozen City, but at the very least, the child will be safe here until we figure out what to do."

  "I will carry out the will of Leiorus, Brother Rhien."

  "Brother Kalen, this is the most important mission a knight could ever receive. The fate of Dorlan lies in your hands..."

  "I know that now more than ever, I need Leiorus's help... but I would also like to count on the help of a friend for this task."

  The master began shaking his head.

  "No. Not him. He's unstable, and you know it. Besides, he's currently serving time in The Confinement."

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  "And why is he imprisoned this time?"

  "You know exactly why..." Sir Mildavar let out a sigh, already realizing he would have to give in to his subordinate’s request. "He knocked out three guards. One of them ended up crippled."

  "When he was Captain of the City Guard, Doknar was the safest it had been in years. If he clashed with those guards, I’m sure they were harassing some girl or abusing someone weaker. Galfrido may be a bit... ahem... rough around the edges, but he has a noble heart. And he’s one of the few people I trust to watch my back. Please, Brother Rhien, let him come with me."

  The master of Reidos let out a heavy, exaggerated sigh of annoyance.

  "Very well, Brother Fal. But you will be responsible for his actions. You and no one else," he said, pointing at his face with a rolled-up scroll, which he then used to write a letter sealed with the sigil of the order, requesting the prisoner’s release for urgent business of Reidos.

  The paladin’s superior knew well Galfrido’s martial skills—and the importance of Kalen having at least one trusted ally in a mission of this magnitude.

  The cell was no more than a few paces wide, with a small opening that barely allowed a view of a cloudy, somewhat stormy sky. The Confinement, as the massive prison of Doknar was called, was a sprawling penal complex filled with all kinds of dungeons and cells, and Galfrido was locked away in one of the worst isolation blocks.

  Those bastards had it coming. All they wanted was to stir up trouble at the tavern. They even went so far as to harass the waitress, flaunting their status as guards of Doknar. Like he gave a damn about the guards of Doknar. He had once been their captain and knew exactly what kind of men they were made of. He gave them what they deserved, that’s for sure.

  Still, he was charged with assaulting guards on duty—a crime that could very well cost him a hand, or even his head.

  “There’s no axe even remotely sharp enough,” he muttered under his breath in a low, gravelly voice, eyeing the thickness of his forearm, laced with thick veins.

  His thick dark brown beard concealed numerous scars across his face, and his short but messy hair made it clear that his appearance was of little concern to him.

  "What did you just say?" asked the guard, who was sitting behind a desk near the exit door and just a few meters from the cubicle where Galfrido was being held.

  "I wasn’t talking to you, mediocre. I was speaking to the only decent person in this place right now: myself."

  "If you’re trying to be clever..." The guard stood up, swinging his wooden and leather baton. But at that very moment, matching the threatening gesture, Galfrido rose to his full height, glaring down with nearly two meters of muscle and a back so broad he could barely fit through the doorway.

  "Did you have something to say?" the hulking prisoner asked.

  "You’re not worth it... Better stay where you are. There’s no point in placing you with the other prisoners. You just stir up trouble... You only make things worse."

  "They’re the criminals, and they provoke me. There’s every kind of lowlife in here—murderers, rapists, bandits, highwaymen... and when I give them what they deserve, I’m the one who ends up in this shithole of a room. Some justice..."

  "Well, enjoy it while it lasts."

  Galfrido dropped back down and leaned against the cold stone wall. His chestnut eyes, nestled beneath thick black brows, tried to catch a glimpse of the sky through the small window of stone, if only to feel a bit of the outside breeze.

  Suddenly, the door opened, and in walked the captain of the City Guard. He was a short but burly man with curly blond hair and a prominent mustache. He said something to the guard in a low voice that Galfrido couldn’t make out, no matter how hard he tried. Then the captain waved a scroll and shrugged, clearly resigned.

  The guard looked at him, then turned his gaze to the prisoner and shook his head.

  "Let me guess… today’s my lucky day."

  The captive stood up and rested his forearms on the bars, as if lounging.

  "Seems like you have powerful friends, Galfrido," said the captain of the guard.

  "When you do your job well, you make good friends. While I was captain of the City Guard, there were hardly any criminals in the streets. Look at you, you damned pygmy… ever since you took over, it’s all gone to hell."

  "If you don’t want to rot in here forever, shut that big mouth of yours and get out of my sight for good!" the captain snapped, making no effort to hide his irritation. The flush of anger was plain on his cheeks, as was the twitch in his left leg.

  "You, open the door."

  "Don’t forget my things," Galfrido said, sounding much more cheerful now.

  "And give him his damn things already!"

  As he stepped out of the cell, he did so slowly, savoring the clear victory. The real question was: who had pulled him out of there? Of course, he was grateful, and as the saying went, close your eyes, shut your mouth, and accept it.

  When he walked past the captain, he stood barely a hand’s breadth from him, looking down like a father might look at a child, and muttered:

  "I’ll be seeing you again."

  At last, he left The Confinement.

  They had returned his belongings, so he was fully dressed now and no longer shirtless like he had been in prison. His outfit was simple: a white shirt with a leather vest on top, studded leather bracers, black linen pants, and short riding boots. He also wore a wide-buckled belt and a dagger at his side at the height of his lower back—and, of course, his enormous greatsword, which he never parted with, not even to sleep.

  "Ahhh, sweet, sweet freedom… By Kramer’s axe!" he exclaimed when he saw who was waiting for him. "Kalen, it’s you!"

  The knight smiled silently, but that was enough. The burly warrior rushed over and hugged his friend, lifting him as if he were made of feathers rather than flesh and bone.

  "I… am also… glad to see you," Kalen said, trying to catch his breath.

  "I knew you’d be the one to help me… although, to be honest, I had no idea where you were or when you’d be back. Would’ve been hilarious if you came back only to find my head on a spike, huh!" He laughed as he punctuated the last line with a punch to Kalen’s shoulder, still grinning.

  Once again, Kalen questioned his friend’s odd sense of humor. What could possibly be funny about finding his head on a spike?

  "I had a string of missions to the south and east of Dorlan…" They started walking toward the central plaza. "Now I’m back for a bit of rest…"

  "But…?" Galfrido asked, raising an eyebrow.

  "But?" Kalen replied. "There’s no ‘but.’ Why would there be a ‘but’?"

  "Come on, friend. There’s always a ‘but.’ And besides, you didn’t spring me from prison for nothing. You need me for something…"

  Kalen let out a long sigh.

  "I would’ve gotten you out even if there wasn’t a mission."

  "Aha! I knew it! So there is a mission."

  "Of course there is. There always is."

  "Well then, I’d like to hear all the details in a tavern, with a good beer."

  "It’s a bit complicated. There won’t be a tavern… but don’t worry, I’ll get you some beer."

  "You’d better. Those bastards in there thought I was some damned plant—only gave me water… and that’s when they gave me anything. I was about to grow roots and sprout leaves. I’m thirsty, Kalen. By Kramer’s axe, I’m thirsty."

  The knight shook his head, smiling. Galfrido hadn’t changed a bit. As rough as he might seem, Kalen knew he could trust the huge warrior with his life. More than once he had rescued him, and even bled for him without hesitation. If there was anyone who had his back, it was this crude but loyal man.