After the ball, Alfyn insisted on having a family dinner. Despite his desire to stay as far away from his brother as possible, on the advice of his mother, Aeolwyn consented to go. At least there was no barley soup this time.

  What had replaced it was a dozen guards. Aeolwyn had brought some of his, and Alfyn, not to be upstaged brought some of his own. Neither group looked fondly at the other. At one point, they looked ready to draw weapons, until Alfyn had to tell his men to stand down.

  “I’m leaving,” Aeolwyn said during the dinner course. His brother had prepared a roast boar, seasoned with rosemary and sea salt. Aeolwyn wanted to enjoy it, but he spent most of his time worrying about whether it was poisoned or not.

  “So soon? We’ve only just started the boar,” Alfyn replied.

  Aeolwyn ignored his brother’s comment. He didn’t want to get into a japing contest with him. He had already disrespected Alfyn enough during his time here. He didn’t want to push his luck. And with both of them having brought personal guards, any offhand comment could cause mayhem.

  “In the morning,” he said. “I’m going to take Filliya with me.”

  Davinya’s hollow eyes lit up at Aeolwyn’s comment, but quickly sunk back down. She had been quiet during most of the dinner. She’d only spoken up to agree with Alfyn. He didn’t know what was happening to her, but she seemed to be getting…darker.

  Filliya on the other hand had been getting much better as of late. Perhaps her young age had helped her fight off Alfyn’s poisons. Or perhaps he was afraid of sending the poisoners to her while Aeolwyn was in the palace. Either way, he was certain the poisoning would resume as soon as he left.

  “No,” Alfyn said. “She’s not well enough to travel.”

  “She can make the journey,” Aeolwyn said. “The doctors at the fort are the best in the nation. They will cure what ails her.”

  “I forbid it, and that is final, Aeolwyn. Be happy that I am allowing mother and that wretched handmaiden to accompany you.”

  Aeolwyn glared at him. “You forbid it?”

  Aeolwyn’s army could lay waste to all of Teorton in a day, and his brother knew it. The walls were certainly tall and well defended, but the soldiers manning them wouldn’t know to bar the army from entering until it was too late. They were all on the same side, after all.

  “Yes,” Alfyn said around casual mouthfuls of food. He washed it down with a cup of wine. “I am king, after all. I’ve given you too much leeway because you’re my brother and a member of the royal family. You refuse to return that courtesy. Instead, you insult me and make demands of me.”

  His face reddened and he slammed his wine cup on the table. Wine sloshed out and soaked the table. “Aeolwyn, I am your king! You will respect my command, or I will have your head on the chopping block tomorrow. The soil will be drinking your blood long before your army will be able to do anything about it!”

  Aeolwyn’s guards shifted nervously. A few reached for their swords. He waved his hand to calm them. He had pushed the king too far, and if he pushed him any further Alfyn would act, consequences be damned. Aeolwyn didn’t really want to lay waste to Teorton. There were too many innocent lives that would become victims.

  “As you command, Your Grace,” he said as condescendingly as he could. He couldn’t protect Filliya, but he could protect his mother. He would have to be satisfied with that.

  Aeolwyn didn’t speak for the rest of the dinner. He had said his peace. His mother tried to bring up some safe topics, such as the terrible storms that had passed through the city or how the Captain’s Guild was going to deal with the bubbling conflict with the Porter’s Guild, but those quickly fizzled out.

  Even Wolfryn stayed silent. He just kept staring at the empty spaces where 3 chairs used to be. The ones for Filliya, Ulfnar, and the seat Alfyn used to sit in when their father sat in the big chair. After Aeolwyn and his mother left, the room was going to be lonelier still.

  ***

  In the morning, Aeolwyn, his mother, and the rest of his entourage left the palace without any fanfare. No one even came to see them off. Not even his family members. He wasn’t surprised. Alfyn had probably forbidden it.

  Egne met them at the city gates, strangely, alongside Jor Bashi. Both of them were dressed in similar robes. The elder mage also wore a thick, fur-lined cloak. Jor Bashi’s bald, tattooed head peeked out of the cloak like a turtle looking for food. His sad expression was made worse by his dark, sun-lined face.

  “Prince Aeolwyn,” he said, bowing. “I request the honor of accompanying you to Fort Camulan.”

  Aeolwyn patted Sefalus while he contemplated what was going on here. Jor Bashi was the king’s mage—his place was supposed to be here in the palace. Could he be a spy sent to learn the secrets of his new mage corps? Possibly.

  “Aren’t you the king’s mage, Jor Bashi? Has the lord king sent you on a mission?”

  “I was your father’s mage, Your Highness. King Alfyn has dismissed me.”

  Now that was interesting. It was well within his rights as king to choose his advisors, and he had no reason to keep the ones his father had chosen to use. It was politically expedient to do so, however. Most of the advisors were high ranking members of the nobility, so it befitted the king to keep them happy.

  Jor Bashi, however, was not among the nobility.

  “What are your plans, then?” he asked.

  “I seek out the Magicians of the Isle,” he said. “With no king to advise, I would like to return to my research.”

  That meant that he would not be staying in Fort Camulan to spy on Aeolwyn. That didn’t remove it from possibility though. Aeolwyn had brought the entire mage corps with him to Teorton. Bashi would no doubt be spending time with them as they traveled.

  In truth, Aeolwyn had no reason to distrust him. He’d always been a kind mage, if a little strange. If Alfyn had truly dismissed him, he could be a valuable resource for Aeolwyn to mine for information.

  “It would please me if you would join us, Jor Bashi,” he said. “Would you like a horse to ease your burden?”

  “Thank you, Your Highness, but no. Unless you’re traveling with speed, my feet will suit me just fine.”

  With all the infantry he had with him, they would not be traveling in haste, despite his wishes to get back to Fort Camulan in a hurry. He didn’t have the best memories of his first trip. Galafar had almost been killed, he had survived two assassination attempts, Egne had nearly died as the rest of them starved as they made their way to the fort on foot.

  “What’s going on with you, Egne?” Aeolwyn asked as they rode back to the army camp. Egne had been lost in thought the whole journey. He seemed to be carrying a new weight, whether it was the burden of a secret or one of new responsibility was unclear.

  “It’s Jor Egnever now,” Jor Bashi called out behind them.

  He stared at his friend. “Jor Egnever?” Aeolwyn knew that jor was a mage title, but he didn’t know how it was earned, or even if it was earned. Egne could have just paid for it for all he knew.

  Egne smiled. “Yes,” he said. “That’s why Jor Bashi wanted to see me. He said that my efforts at Fort Camulan had made me worthy of it.”

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Aeolwyn reached over and put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. It was a stretch, as the horses put them at a distance from each other. Egne had to lean over to receive the stretch.

  “Congratulations, my friend!” he said. “Even if I don’t know what it means.”

  Egne smiled but shrugged and made no further explanation.

  Aeolwyn was on edge as they rode back to the camp. He wasn’t sure why, but he couldn’t escape the feeling of being watched. He didn’t know why that made him uneasy. He had a dozen soldiers and two mages with him. No brigands in their right minds would make the mistake of assaulting them.

  He was wrong.

  A quarter mile from Teorton, they were set upon by two dozen rough-looking men holding their grandfather’s swords. About half of them held bows. Two of them stood in the middle of the road halting their progress, while the rest stood in double ranks on either side of the road’s bank.

  “Greetings, milords,” one of the men in the road said. “There’s a tax for passage.”

  He was thin, dirty, and had a scraggly beard. He gave Aeolwyn a lopsided grin. His clothes were dirty rags, but they looked like they were once of a fine cut. His companion seemed just the opposite. He was clean shaven, and his clothes were washed and in good repair. They were of a less-fine cut and pegged him as someone who worked in the Docks. He had a jagged scar running down his face. What strange circumstances brought two men of such diverse backgrounds together?

  “This is the king’s road,” Jor Bashi spat out. “We’ll pay no tax!”

  “Was the king’s road,” the fine-looking man corrected. “That ended about a quarter mile back.”

  “Do you know who you dare speak to like this?” Bashi added.

  Aeolwyn reached down and put a hand on the older mage’s shoulder. “I’ll handle this,” he said softly.

  He turned to the two men, deliberately ignoring the ranks of bowmen and swordsmen on either side of the road. His guards shifted uneasily behind him. A few loosened the swords in their scabbards, but didn’t pull them all the way out. They were excited for some action. Aeolwyn motioned them to stay calm.

  “What is your name, sir?” he asked of the finer-dressed man.

  “The men have taken to calling me Prince Bawdy,” he said with a short, mocking bow.

  “How dare you—”

  “Shh!” Aeolwyn admonished Jor Bashi. “I’ll not tell you again.”

  He regarded the so-called prince. His men were well-disciplined to hold their fire when the Aeolwyn’s guards seemed eager for a fight. That was good.

  “We are well met, Your Highness,” he said. “What brought someone of such high birth to something as low as banditry?”

  Prince Bawdy chuckled, and a few of his men outright laughed. The dockworker beside him just sneered, the scar running down his face wrinkling and bending as he did so.

  “I apologize if I confused you, milord. I am not really a prince.”

  What game was this man playing at? Of course he wasn’t a real prince. He wasn’t even a real noble. If he had been, he would have certainly recognized Aeolwyn. The fact that the bandit didn’t made Aeolwyn wonder if the clothes he wore were even his.

  “The question still stands, Your Highness.” He was really curious who these men were. From the looks of Bawdy’s ‘soldiers’ they weren’t just ruffians who’d recently learned their weapons. They’d had some training in them.

  “We were sailors,” the scar-faced man said. “Our ship was wrecked in the storm, and the new king doesn’t seem interested in helping anyone whose livelihood was destroyed.”

  “Is that so? Have you petitioned him for redress?”

  This time the crew exploded into laughter. A few dropped their weapons and held their sides as they guffawed. Others smacked their compatriots on the side and stomped their feet.

  “Redress?” Prince Bawdy asked. “You think the king would even see lowborn scum like us?”

  Bawdy looked nervously at his companions who were just now picking up their weapons before looking over to Aeolwyn’s men, who still were chomping at the bit to fight. If his men were less disciplined, they would have taken advantage of the opportunity and cut the men down as soon as they dropped their weapons.

  But Aeolwyn had no stomach for bloodshed today.

  “You may be lowborn, but you’re not scum,” Aeolwyn said. “Were you their captain, Prince Bawdy?”

  “No, good sir, I was a bosun’s mate,” Bawdy said. He gestured to the scarred man beside him. “Arvard here was a gunner. The rest were regular seamen. Our captain went down with the ship.”

  “Idiotic fool,” Arvard said.

  “I agree with you,” Aeolwyn said. “New ships can be had. A good captain is impossible to replace.”

  Arvard cracked a smile. He didn’t look any less intimidating. A few other men nodded their approval.

  “Sir,” Bawdy said. “I fear we have taken up enough of your time. If you would just pay the tax, we will let you on your way.”

  “Don’t want any of your men sneaking up behind us,” Arvard put in.

  A valid concern. They certainly knew about the army camped up the road and were probably smart enough to recognize that the uniforms his guards wore matched the uniforms the soldiers in the army up the road wore.

  “You have nothing to fear from me or my army,” Aeolwyn said. “They won’t act without my orders.”

  A murmur ran through the group. A few excited comments about them hooking a general burst from their lips before Prince Bawdy could motion them to silence. The longer this went on, the more uneasy they were getting. Aeolwyn started to worry that someone might loose an arrow before long.

  “Then why waste our time, general? You could have cut us to ribbons by now.”

  “I see no reason to harm you or your men,” Aeolwyn said. “In fact, I think I could use disciplined men such as yourselves.”

  “We have no interest in joining your army,” Arvard said.

  “Sailors make poor infantry,” Aeolwyn said. “I had something else in mind.”

  Aeolwyn hopped down from Sefalus, gave him a quick pat on the flank, and moved to stand in front of Prince Bawdy, who looked around nervously. His men shifted their feet, but none made moves towards their weapons.

  “I will fund your entire operation,” he said. “Provided you don’t tax legitimate travelers. But I will need certain conditions met.”

  “And those are?” Prince Bawdy asked.

  “There is something more valuable that travels to and from Teorton—information. Rather than collecting gold from travelers, I want you to learn everything that is going on here. Both here on the road and in the taverns in town. Just be discreet about it. I don’t want the king or anyone in the nobility hearing about it.”

  Prince Bawdy’s face opened wide with shock. “And who are you that I would trust your word?”

  Aeolwyn shook his head. “My identity isn’t important and could be a hinderance to your work. But you will need a name to address me by. Call me Yowen,” he said, thinking about the nickname Filliya had for him.

  “Very well, General Yowen,” and where would we send this information?”

  He considered this. Normally he could have them just send a pigeon to Fort Camulan, but those could be intercepted, both along their way, and when they reached their destination. He needed something more reliable and secure.

  “I will Scry with you,” Egne said suddenly. “As often as I can.”

  Scry? He’d never heard of that before. Was it some sort of spell? He supposed it had to be. He really needed to learn more about magic and what it could do. He was constantly surprised by it, and as a general, being surprised was the worst thing that could happen.

  Jor Bashi nodded in approval.

  “How can we trust that we’ll get paid?” Arvard asked.

  A valid question. “Stollin, Pol!” Aeolwyn called out. “Bring the chest.”

  Two of the guards rummaged around in the back of the carriage that Reiva and his mother were in, and the two of them carried out to Aeolwyn. He opened it and grabbed a handful of gold coins. He had two dozen such chests with them, more with his army, and still more than twice that back at Fort Camulan. The deals they’d been making with the traders had been making him wealthy.

  “The question is,” Aeolwyn said, “whether we can trust you’ll do your job.”

  Bawdy collapsed to his knees, one hand over his chest, the other in the air. “I don’t know who you are, Milord Yowen, but I swear on the gods of Laryn and the hope for my soul and rebirth that I will never betray you.”

  His soldiers around him gasped. Arvard looked down at him in shock, but Bawdy was unconcerned.

  “I am your vassal, and you are my lord, and my Laryn damn me and consign my soul to eternal torment if I should break this oath,” he finished. He looked up at Aeolwyn. His face bore a similar look of shock. He hadn’t expected to do this.

  Aeolwyn hadn’t expected it either. He toyed with the idea that Jor Bashi or Egne use a binding spell on him so that Aeolwyn would know for certain that he could trust the group but dismissed the idea. Trust worked both ways.

  “Prince Bawdy,” Aeolwyn began. He wondered if that was the man’s actual name. It probably wasn’t, but considering Aeolwyn was using an alias, he couldn’t fault the man for using one of his own. “I accept your oath and promise to be fair and just to you. You are my vassal, and I am your lord, an honor I cherish now and to the end of my days.”

  This was the oath his brother would have demanded of him had he gone to the coronation. It was something Aeolwyn was unwilling to give to Alfyn, as he was sure the king would never uphold his end of the bargain.

  “Rise, Prince Bawdy,” he said.

  The man rose and Aeolwyn embraced him. He turned to Pol and Stollin. “Leave the chest.”

  Aeolwyn turned and remounted Sefalus, ignoring the stunned look on everyone’s faces. Not just Bawdy, Arvard, and his group of ruffians, but also on his group, particularly Jor Bashi, who seemed to be looking at Aeolwyn in a new light.

  “I look forward to your report, Prince Bawdy,” he said as he kicked Sefalus into motion.

  “You will have it soon, milord!” Bawdy called out as Aeolwyn’s group left the ruffians behind them. As soon as they were past, Prince Bawdy and his men disappeared back into the trees, taking the chest of gold with them. Aeolwyn hoped they wouldn’t waste it on liquor and women.

  “I was going to warn you about your brother, the king,” Jor Bashi said. “But perhaps I should have warned him about you, my prince.”

  Aeolwyn just smiled and said nothing. He wondered what compelled Bawdy to take the oath. To take the oath was to consign your soul to eternal torment if you broke it. Especially if you said the words.

  He should know—he took the oath before his brother when he promised not to tell anyone about their adventure to the Star Children’s compound—an oath he broke. He wondered if that meant he would face eternal torment when his death came.

  For some reason, he doubted it.

  “I do need to warn you about the soothsayer, however.” Jor Bashi said suddenly.

  The soothsayer? How would he know about their experience with Xabat? None of them had spoken of their experiences since they left that abandoned Shielder outpost. Unless Egne told him?

  “Beware of Xabat, young prince. He holds our doom in his hands.”