The Last Son of Dominus: Chapter 2

The coming months would be difficult for the ShadowFire prince, each day a grueling test of his will, endurance, and determination to succeed under the Enforcer's cruel hand. The combination of brutal physical conditioning, vicious combative sessions, and lack of sleep from every other duty that did not fall into warrior training would have broken a young man either in body, mind, or spirit. Yet Vieft was set apart from his peers. Challenged by the tactics of his harsh instructor, he poured himself into swordsmanship training and anything else that would increase his skills as a warrior. Tales of battles long past, studies of exotic techniques, even legends of famous swordsman. The Dominion prince filled his mind even as he honed his senses to become stronger. Pennock had remained true to his word, improving the subtle points that Vieft could not discover on his own and teaching him more balanced skill sets - field medicine, survival tactics, and strategic warfare. He had become a far greater warrior that he thought he could become.

All for this opportunity.

Caron stood before his student with an amused smile on his face. "A wager, boy?" he questioned, ensuring that he had been heard.

"Aye," Vieft dared, "if I can best you with a sword, that you grant me a week of rest. No more, no less."

Caron gave a hearty laugh at the challenge. One of the few ways to become an Enforcer was to challenge them to a duel and best them - and Vieft knew this was how his teacher had been given such a high position to begin with. The odds for victory were not in Vieft's favor.

"Very well then. I accept your challenge."

Vieft stood and assessed his surroundings. It had been only a few weeks prior that he had requested a better variety in training environments, a request granted after a well-planned argument by Vieft and Pennock. Since then, Vieft had learned much of the terrain features surrounding the grove they had come to use most frequently. The morning sun provided just enough illumination for them to see, yet still cast shadows beneath the trees and near the wall. A gentle breeze swayed the trees around them and the air was crisp enough to ease laboring lunges. Perfect conditions for the feat that was to be attempted.

Both prince and Enforcer raised their wooden swords to each other, arms extended and both hands on the handle. Each waited for the other to strike, the way Caron had instructed in order for the defender to take advantage of any flaw in technique and render a critical blow - thus gaining the advantage. There was a long wait as both remained perfectly still and focused, yet it was Vieft who moved first, leaning forward and bringing his arms up as if to strike. Caron fell for the feint, underestimating his younger opponent and attacking with a probing thrust. Vieft leaned back, avoiding any contact, and brought his sword down to Caron's, circling the wooden blade fast enough to nearly disarm his teacher. Acting before the Enforcer could counter his move, Vieft released one hand from his handle, slapped Caron's cheek, and fled with such fluidity that it seemed like a single movement. The prince knew he had several things to his advantage: surprise, a young heart, and sheer audacity that his arrogant instructor would never have seen coming. First would come the shock, then the anger that was integral to Vieft's plan, and of course the head start he was already gaining.

It only took a few moments for the elite soldier to begin pursuit, but that was all Vieft needed to move into the tree line. Swift feet allowed the prince to choose his terrain wisely, only engaging Caron where it suited him - sloped hills, uneven footing, even in a creek bed. Each engagement was fierce, both combatants struggling for a decisive upper hand. And just when the tide would favor the more experienced swordsman, Vieft would dash to the next promising place that would grant a quick advantage.

The final engagement was also the fastest. Vieft swung back low and wild with his blade, a move he had performed a dozen times during the chase, but this time once it was blocked, he quickly brought the blade up to catch Caron in the armpit - a move that would have been near-fatal regardless of circumstances or level of armor worn. Despite Vieft's successful strike, however, he had a heavy price to pay once the Enforcer caught up with him. Tucking his blade in after the strike, Caron slammed a fist into Vieft's jaw with enough force to jar his entire body and send spots dancing before his eyes. Following that strike, his wooden blade was brought hard into the prince's abdomen, causing him to double over. Still growling, the Enforcer grabbed the back of Vieft's neck. He threw the prince face first into the ground before bringing his sword down hard onto his back.

Disarmed and in pain, Vieft groaned and hissed through his teeth to dull the pain that Caron had delivered in only a few moments. His own haggard breathing was the only thing he could hear besides the thundering of his heart. Yet his assumptions had been correct. Conditioning and strategy had won the day, and all the mental notes and observations had paid off in the long run.

"Clever," Caron admitted, his tone dripping with venom. "Three days. No more, no less," he conceded, throwing the wooden sword at Vieft's head. "And we begin with real blades next session."

"Unbelievable," Alis murmured once her younger brother finished his story of outsmarting the Enforcer. She regarded him for a moment, still in a state of disbelief. Vieft retained the victorious smile he had taken on after the sharp pains of his beating had dulled. He nursed the bruise that was developing on his stomach with one arm and hissed occasionally from a spasm in his back.

"Believe it. I picked myself up and navigated my way back to the palace grounds alone." Steel blue eyes looked about and Alis looked away. Vieft paused to study the garden that his dear sister tended when she was home. Flowers of myriad colors and their combined fragrances were enough to make anyone pause to appreciate the beauty of this place. Once the moment had passed, the prince smiled to the princess. "Why else would I be wandering about the gates of your garden like an injured animal seeking shelter?"

Alis laughed softly at the description, and shook her head. "I suppose you're right," she conceded as they entered the palace. The aspiring swordsman escorted the way faring diplomat to her quarters. "I always miss this place of serenity when I travel abroad. The world beyond is unmistakably a chaotic and dangerous place, but in my garden, I have control - I can make it better by tending to it, nurturing and culling where I see fit."

She stopped for a moment to meet her brother's eyes. "Do you understand, Vieft?"

"I believe so," he said, nodding to her.

Alis sighed and continued on towards her chambers. They would always discuss her journeys to the various cities of the Imperium, though the Imperial Ambassador would not bother her brother with the minute details related to her duties. There were some things he did not need to know, nor would he care to know. Vieft had begun to wonder where such moments of seriousness had come into the life of a once carefree girl. Was it the stress of her office, despite its low station in the political hierarchy? The two of them were changing, and the bond they had always shared seemed to erode during their time apart from one another.

The princess rejoiced once she entered her chambers, glad to finally be away from prying eyes and venomous tongues. Even before Vieft closed the door, she flopped heavily on her bed and stretched out with legs extended beyond her mattress. Chuckling awkwardly due to his injuries, the younger of the nobles looked about the chambers his sister claimed. Antiques lined the edges of bookshelves. Some Vieft recognized from their childhood, while others had sentimental value only to her. An avid reader, Alis had collected a large number of books on a variety of subjects, ranging from states craft to books of old lore to grand tales of romance. All of her furniture, from the armoire and chests to her book shelves, had been cleaned and organized save for a table in the center of the room, piled high with books, maps, and a collection of documents he could not recognize in a glance.

"So," Alis mused as she sat up to remove her slippers, "now that you are a free man, what shall you find to fill these three days?"

Vieft smiled mischievously and pulled up a chair. "I knew you would ask. Among other things, I have to keep a promise made to a friend."

"What friend would this be?"

"Do you remember me talking about-"

"Shaden," she interrupted with a smile, "of course I do. It is rare that you have someone to befriend. A kinsman who endures the same training indoctrination you are receiving."

"Then why do you ask?" Vieft teased before continuing. "There is so much more to the world than training areas, but that is all Shaden has known. We have had a few conversations, he and I, when the opportunity has presented itself. He was an orphan who was raised by Count Nimor from early childhood. Nearly every waking moment he has spent either on the Counts estate or under his supervision - and I believe it is time for us to see what is beyond those iron gates."

Alis looked surprised for a moment, her hazel eyes brightening at her brother's scheme. "It sounds like you have an adventure in mind." Her voice grew softer than before, in case someone may be listening to their conversation.

Vieft nodded in reply. "I have it all planned out, thanks to some particularly helpful servants. We will steal away with the palace supply detail when they depart for Izibelica. The seneschal has granted them an extended stay due to the festival that is going on there tonight at dusk."

"A festival?" she mused with a coy smile. "I am surprised at your change of behavior, brother. Years of the finest education, diplomatic training, and disciplined martial indoctrination, and now you cast it all aside to attend a festival."

Vieft returned the smile, and countered her playful argument. "Yet to fully become a man, one must first be a boy, yes?"

"True and well met, brother," she said, impressed by this shift in her formerly doubtful brother. "I am sure you have some preparations to see to before departing for your grand adventure."

The prince sighed, nodded, and stood from his seat. "I do, actually, and I am sure you have plenty to keep you from growing idle." His hand gestured to the curious collection atop the table he had noticed earlier. For a moment, she became anxious, looking at the table, then back at her brother who now bowed in farewell. Smiling warmly, she returned the gesture and watched her brother depart.

His time has not yet come, she reminded herself and closed her eyes. Soon, Emor. Soon.

_______________________________________________

The supply caravan arrived as expected, just as the sun began to set, and entered the outer province of Segen from the north. The journey was uneventful. Few bandits would dare to attack even a lightly guarded supply caravan bearing the Imperial Crest, for fear of retaliation by the detachment from the seemingly invincible 25th Imperial Legion of the Black Lion. The roads from Izibelica to the palace were heavily patrolled, even more so when a caravan or dignitary was to travel along them. The trade routes, however, were the responsibility of the local city garrisons and their militiaman who proved inadequate given the long stretches and the secondary nature of the duty. Defending the township or city was always the priority.

The province was bustling with activity. Vendors clamored for better locations from which to sell their products to the gathered festival participants. The supply caravan was not the only one just arriving. Many others were rumbling down the road behind them and ahead of them, hurriedly searching for a booth to rent, or for a place to stable their weary horses. No caravans, regardless of number, were allowed to enter the walls of the city proper during holidays, though carriage shuttles provided transportation for a fee. The streets would be packed with visitors from all the surrounding provinces and even citizens and figures of renown from abroad.

The Dominion Prince emerged from his carriage and began to stretch his weary body. He'd passed the time by sleeping, watching the scenery, or talking to his accomplice if neither of these sufficed. Vieft readjusted the ill-fitting servant’s garb and traveler’s cloak which were part of his master plan to escape notice. The palace escort took no accountability for the servants on the detail until it affected their ability to meet delivery quota's or scheduled check-ins.

Shaden was not far behind. He'd let his platinum blond hair grow out enough to cover his head, and his complexion was much darker than when he had first arrived at the palace. Pale blue eyes absorbed unfamiliar surroundings and faces. A slight feeling of apprehension tugged at his courage, though it was eventually forced down as he rose to the challenge. Tonight, he and Vieft would be normal – or at least try to be. It was overwhelming and thrilling at the same time. Vieft gave him an inquisitive glance and was met by a reassuring gesture.

Turning about, Vieft hailed one of the city–bound shuttles, while the other servants prepared to leave the caravan for the rest of the evening. The twin horses and the carriage they pulled came to a halt and the rider smiled widely at the two members of the imperial convoy. “Hail the Emperor! How might we be of service, brothers?”

“Two humble men on their way to the festival, good sir,” Vieft responded.

“It should be a tight fit,” the driver said, casting an unsure glance at the attendant who hung onto the side of the carriage. “If you’d still like the ride, it shall be three bronze Doran per head-six Doran total.”

The dark-haired prince nodded, pulled a small cloth pouch from his belt under the folds of his robe, and extracted the fee. After receiving it, the attendant tested it authenticity, placed it in a satchel at his hip, and dismounted to open the door. The occupants roared as the door was opened, some groaning or protesting and others laughing at the reaction and inviting the additional passengers in. Shaden was waved in first, and he reluctantly boarded as the current passengers moved closer to accommodate. Vieft, the larger of the two, followed. The driver had been correct in his assumption. A sweaty, burly looking man was sitting nearly on top of Vieft. Once the doors closed, the extreme heat of the shuttle returned and they all sat talking in near-darkness. Only brief flashes of torch-light from the city streets illuminated the other faces.

“So, what’s yer name?” a fairly attractive woman much older than Vieft asked.

The ShadowFire heir gave pause for a moment before replying, “V-rand. Vrand Tarnos.”

“Well Vrand, ah got ta say you and your friend there are some handsome devils.” Her compliment was followed by giggles from her fellow female passengers who must have been in agreement, chuckles from the men, and a bellowing laugh from the giant who sat too close for comfort. Luckily, the darkness helped conceal Vieft’s embarrassment, and Shaden’s face was completely enveloped in the shadow.

“My thanks,” he stammered, trying not to sound too awkward. The advances and questions continued, and Vieft’s embarrassment continued to increase. It was a blessing when the shuttle finally stopped and the doors were opened, allowing the fresh night air to invade the hot, musty interior of the carriage. The passengers all poured out, the lady who flirted with Vieft giving a final, “see you around later tonight,” before blowing the two young men kisses and skipping off merrily into the gathering crowds and out of site. The prince let out a sigh of relief and ran his fingers through now dampened hair.

“Quite the romancer, eh Vieft?” came a familiar voice from his side. Shaden displayed a playful smile, not looking at the dark-haired noble who laughed hard at the joke. “So where do we go from here, Sir Vrand?”

“Well, I suppose we should follow the crowd for now. It appears that most of the activities are going to take place there.” His head motioned to a multi-tiered market place with buildings constructed on the summit of a man-sculpted mountain.

Both the adventurers nodded in mutual agreement and blended in with the jovial crowd as it navigated through the city streets. They passed through the bazaar, a market place for rare and exotic foods, items and the like available for traveling merchants who care to pay the fee. The smell of foreign herbs and spices lingered in the air even though booths had been vacant for hours.

The Lower Market was literally and figuratively a level up. It boasted finer amenities meant for the citizens who were looking to make a little extra coin, while the high decorative High Market was the place for particularly affluent local merchants with higher end wares. Both had been constructed by the finest craftsmen in Izibelica and decorated with the colors of white, green and gold. It was on the higher level that most of the early crowd settled with only a few tables left for those who were fortunate enough. On each of the tables was a large bottle, loaf of bread, and an assortment of fresh fruit and dishes native to the city prepared by the finest cooks.

“This one looks good enough,” Vieft said, finding a promising table with a good view to the plaza above. Both young men broke from the crowd in time to beat a party large enough to occupy the space. Any protest was quickly silenced by an icy glare from Shaden, which persisted until they had all moved to a different area. Many more groups passed, though all of them went to look for a larger, more accommodating spot.

Within the hour, the crowd had settled and attention was directed above, where the speakers gathered in preparation for the next phase of the ceremony. North, south, east, and west they gathered, dressed in long flowing robes like the Sage for whom they spoke.

“Welcome all to Izibelica as we celebrate the birth of our city 272 years ago. Amis Rhauntis led the expedition to these fair lands and built the first homes that grew into the city around you now. Though short of stature, he possessed a great vision that was Izibelica, and a bigger heart that compelled others to join him as he birthed his dream.

"For those who joined us from lands afar, there was a gathering in our cemetery and in all places where our lost loves have been trusted into the care of the earth. Their memory was remembered and their graves blessed at dusk, just as our ancestors did every year since Izibelica was young. Now, we remember the acts of heroism committed by the sons and daughters who have gone from these mortal lands to serve the gods.”

Tales were told of the bravery of Vlan, who defended the city against waves of bandits in the cities infancy and trained the first guard. Of Candra the Wise, the first Sage who healed the sick and protected the people from the illness that destroyed many of the neighboring cities. Vieft held onto every word of these exploits with childlike wonderment – the tales he knew from the days of old were all of conquering warlords, sprinkled with the occasional knight’s tale. Shaden's amused smile brought him briefly back to reality, but even the other man's amusement could not hold him once the tale began.

The speakers raised their hands and spoke in perfect unison. “Now let us raise our glasses in honor of those past. We celebrate our heritage and drink to a prosperous future, and to grand Izibelica!” The crowds all responded with a mighty cheer from the High Market to the streets below. Drink flowed freely, as did conversation as the people of Izibelica commenced the Feast - Vieft and Shaden included. Minstrel's filled the market and the streets below with lively music that swept many of the revelers into a dance.

“Who shall challenge the Lord Hasali this year with bow and arrow?” a crier shouted through the High Market. “The Annual Archery Contest will begin shortly in the North Western Plaza. Only 20 Doran to compete - a modest price for pride and prizes!”

He continued to advertise the event, moving down each level on his way to the streets below. “I think I will,” Vieft said with a boyish smile on his face. There was something that came to life in his eyes as he turned towards his recent partner who could only laugh at the proposal.

“If you choose to waste your ‘wages’ then so be it, Vrand,” the blonde-haired young man replied, looking about the crowd behind him to find the best passage to the upper plaza. He turned back in time to see Vieft on his feet, heading towards one of the four staircases that would lead to the plaza above. After catching up to the prince, Shaden slowed his pace to take in the scene before him. Buildings made of polished stone glistened in the moonlight. These served as storefronts for the few merchants affluent and powerful enough to claim such princely property. The largest of them served as the hall for the Council of Trade and Commerce – a collection of merchants and nobles who managed and regulated all business both in the Northern Market and the Southern “Farmer’s” market. There was a gathering in the northwestern corner of the plaza; most were spectators who gathered to see if anyone would give the four-year champion a true challenge.

“How many contestants?” a young, well-dressed man said with a yawn. Vieft held up a single finger and began collecting the fee from his pouch. A calculating eye scanned the crowd around them as the prince performed the steps necessary to compete. Shaden noted the faceless crowd all about the area, then the smaller gathering of archers who gathered at the center. “Over there,” he said to Vieft once he rejoined him, directing his attention to the crier who had walked the streets advertising the event. A stocky man dressed in robes of earthen colors, shades of green and brown. His arms were raised in the air, bringing the roaring crowd to a rumble low enough for him to shout over.

“Greetings, beloved citizens of Izibelica and honored guests to our fair city. In a few moments, we will begin the annual archery contest, sponsored by Mayor Elem. While our contestants get into place, let me direct your attention to their targets; first, a target placed on a standard archer’s practice post. The second, a smaller target placed on the chest of a scarecrow, just above the heart. The third target is a chicken hanging from a tree in the far corner of the plaza. The final target is an apple placed on top of a stake. Now please direct your attention to the first event in the 272nd Celebration Archery Contest.”

Vieft took a quick assessment of the target and his competition before stepping to the ready line. Three was a post for each of the contestants, each with a bow and a calibration arrow and a second arrow to compete with at the beginning of each round. The target was medium in size, it’s diameter around two feet – bigger than what Vieft had trained with in the past. His competition would not be so easily overcome. One was a peasant boy younger even than he, with a gleam in his eyes and an easy smile. His fellow peasants were not as jovial, focused and concentrating on the task at hand and the prize they would receive and how it would fulfill their dreams, noble or otherwise. There were two elegantly dressed men; one had long brown braided hair and somewhat feminine features, and the other carried himself like a man of great importance. A member of the city guard was also competing, though he stood off by himself, as did a young man with dark red hair that gazed intently at the remaining targets.

“Archers ready!” the crier called out, signaling the contestants to prepare their calibration shot. Each took a single arrow and awaited the command to release the notched arrow and taut bowstring toward their designated target.

“Fire!”

Upon the crier’s command, eight arrows flew down-range, striking the red and black targets. A moment was given for each competitor to observe his arrow’s placement so that they could make whatever adjustment necessary to their technique. Afterwards the crier began to call out the competitors sequentially, beginning with those of the lowest standing. “Vrand” was fourth in that order, the peasants before him faring well enough to advance to the next round. A little to the right, Vieft thought to himself as he readied his stance and weapon before focusing on the center of his target. With a whistle and pop, the arrow struck the inner circle true – more than enough to advance. A small smile of satisfaction came upon his face, which rested there until the auburn-haired archer beside him nearly hit the target center mass. A look of surprise from the prince was met with a coy smile and a wink. He had underestimated his opponent, but wouldn’t repeat that mistake. The Bard, who turned to incite a cheer from the crowd after his shot, fared equally well, only bested by the former champion. Lord Hasali awed the crowd with a bull’s eye, though few were surprised that he would surpass the others. The guardsmen also proved himself worthy to advance.

“Well met, gentlemen!” the crier called out before the impact of the perfect shot could be wholly felt. “Let us advance to the next round.”

Apprentices from the Archers guild worked feverishly to remove the targets and take them from the competition grounds where they would restore and restock both targets and arrows. Beyond the first set of targets were the dark silhouettes of the scarecrows. Light was soon cast on them with a similar target above their hearts. Again, the contestant’s names were called sequentially, this time the youngest archer and one of his two fellow peasants did not meet their mark. Their failure was met by a soft sound of disappointment from the audience. The next peasant’s arrow landed in the outer circle, enough to advance but also a sign that the following round may not be so successful. Still he threw his hands up in joy and was given a round of applause by the crowd behind him.

Vieft took a deep calming breath, bringing the bow and arrow to readiness. As his eye focused on the red circle at the middle of his target, the sights and sounds around him blurred and became muffled. He could hear his heart thundering and hear the deep breaths he took to keep his hands steady despite his burning muscles. At the zenith of a breath, he found that that golden moment and released his arrow into that center – a bulls eye. Exhaling in a sigh of relief, the roaring cheer of the crowd behind him rushed to the forefront. Though he wore the robes of the empire, every peasant, legitimate or otherwise, was the celebrated underdog who carried the hopes of the average people.

Surprisingly, the following competitors all struck either bull’s eye or close, though the crowd’s reaction varied. “We thank our noble competitors for their efforts this day,” the crier announced dismissing the two to an applauding crowd who welcomed them back. “Now gentlemen, let us move to our next area across the square. The competition will resume momentarily. In the meanwhile, freely drink and be merry!”

After the crier stepped from his pedestal, the crowd began to shift towards the opposite corner of the plaza. Vieft’s steel blue eyes idly sought his companion but could not locate him in the midst of the faceless people who surrounded him.

“Excellent shot, my friend,” an unfamiliar voice complimented as a hand patted the prince on the back. The archer with the dark-red hair came to his left side, walking in stride and extending his hand. “I am Aldyn, a visitor to this city but a friend to the Empire.”

Vieft shook the man's hand firmly and offered a smile. “Vrand. Well met. Nervous about the coming targets?”

Aldyn returned the smile and shook his head. “Nothing I can’t handle,” he said with a confidence Vieft couldn’t place. “I wish you best of luck, Vrand,” he said with another pat on the back as they reached the competing site and the tall tree that stood before them. At it’s base the apprentices prepared the next target, slinging a thin rope over one of the branches and tying the other end around the foot of a chicken who milled apprehensively about the working crews. It was with a wave of the crier’s hand that they were hoisted into the air where they flapped and swayed wildly in panic. The crier then stood on a pedestal similar to the one he resided on previously. “Gentleman!” he shouted, “take position on your given lane.”

As the contestants moved to the positions marked with their number, the Bard drew the attention of the crowd. “I withdraw!” he shouted in protest, casting down his bow in a show of defiance. To some it was obvious that his reason was far more selfish than the inhumane treatment of the livestock. He was dismissed graciously where his fans eagerly received him. The five that remained stood on opposing sides of the tree, everyone weary of a stray arrow despite the shown proficiency of the competitors.

The first peasant aimed and fired, but his arrow fell short and struck the tree. The crowd responded in the same manner as they had with the peasants before him. His hopes dashed, he cursed and threw the weapon to the ground in disgust. Vieft did not allow the display to distract him as he channeled his focus toward the target. His steel blue eyes followed swaying chicken, trying to pinpoint that window of opportunity that would give the best result. With a sign of impatience and a swift breath Vieft released his arrow. The shaft of wood tipped with an iron arrowhead severed the rope cleanly, sending the chicken sputtering to the ground below. The crowd erupted in laughter as the apprentices sprung forth to seize the furious fowl. Only slightly disappointed, Vieft set aside the bow, turned, and observed the rest. Aldyn assumed a relaxed stance, letting his body sway in rhythm with the chicken. Releasing the bowstring, he landed a direct hit, stopping the animal's thrashing but setting it swinging again. The Guardsman and Lord Hasali followed suit though the Lord’s eyes grew ever more angry. Both men were accomplished archers, but none had ever bested him in the final event.

“Couldn’t bring yourself to kill it,” Shaden commented with a tone of disappointment as Vieft rejoined the cheering crowd.

Looking at his blonde friend whose arms were crossed over his chest, Vieft smiled sheepishly. “Actually, I’ve never been good at moving targets,” he admitted, turning his attention back to the final round of competition. The three gentlemen gathered now before three posts each with a single apple with a target painted on it. The first in line, Aldyn assumed his normal stance, though this time his eyes remained closed for several moments. As he raised the bow and notched the arrow, his brow knitted together in concentration. The expression seemed vaguely familiar to the prince though he could not place it. At the end of that long pause, his eyes opened and the arrow released to impale the apple through its center. The awed crowd responded accordingly and cheered for their remaining peasant champion.

The soldier was not as fortunate. After releasing his arrow, he grunted in instant recognition of his error—just as the shot hit the post below. The crowd gave their defender a hearty round of applause for getting so far, even as Lord Hasali prepared his next shot. Another bulls-eye. “Citizens of Grand Izibelica, it would seem tonight that our competition has its first draw! Please, let our judges deliberate as to how we shall proceed.”

“A fair night gentlemen,” a voice called from behind the two young nobles. Turning about, both steel and pale blue eyes beheld a young woman of unparalleled beauty, little older than they were. Her blonde hair seemed to shimmer in the moonlight, the curls framing her noble features. The girl’s smile was warm and bright, ensuring that at least one of the two was put at ease. She nodded to Shaden as well as an afterthought, acknowledging his presence and possibly dismissing him if he were not affiliated with the one she sought. “I come to you with a proposition.”

“Go on,” Shaden replied coldly to mask his curiosity.

“I represent the Order of the Eternal Flame, knights of the Church of Vryce. I am seeking capable ‘adventurers’ willing to travel to a local tomb to reestablish contact with the priest charged with its care.”

“We will oblige you,” Vieft responded eagerly and with a large grin on his face. He caught sight of Shaden's surprised expression out of the corner of his eye, but his attention was immediately stolen by the bright smile the maiden graced him with.

“Well met, sir. Meet me at the southern gates by mid-morning tomorrow. Further details will be given at that time. I shall be there with transportation for both of you.” She bowed in gratitude to the pair. “Enjoy the festivities.”

Once the gesture was returned, she moved off into the crowd and out of sight. Vieft was still awestruck, enough that he paid no mind to Shaden’s scowl at being volunteered without any input. Yet before he could chastise his royal companion, the crier motioned for the audience to be quiet once more.

“A test of skill shall determine this year’s Archery Champion. By prescription of the judges, a single apple will be thrown by a member of the audience with all their might. How the contestants engage their moving target and their accuracy in doing so shall determine the winner. As agreed by the contestants, our current Champion Lord Hasali shall go first.”

The skilled nobleman took his place next to a rather burly commoner. His expression was not one of worry, but of utter confidence as he drew the arrow from the quiver at his back. A few words were exchanged between himself and the commoner participant before the apple was launched high and far into the air. Almost instantly, the arrow was loosed, striking the apple and causing it to spin. A second arrow was drawn and fired, this one nearly splitting the apple just before it hit the ground. The crowd erupted into cheers at the impressive sight and the proud lord turned towards his redheaded opponent.

Aldyn nodded to acknowledge the noblemen and his impressive display. Turning then to his fellow, of equal girth as the other participant, he also shared a few words. On command, the commoner threw the apple as hard and far as he could while Aldyn simultaneous fired an arching shot into the air. With blinding speed, two arrows were fired, each halving the apple upon impact and the original shot skewering the pieces to the ground. The crowd remained silent in disbelief as apprentices rushed down to confirm what had happened. When they returned with the still skewered sections above their heads, the spectators could no longer hold back their surprise and amazement. The cheer they gave Aldyn shadowed that of Lord Hesali’s, who slinked away in defeat.

“Aldyn of Iredell is the new champion of the Izibelica Archery Competition!” The crier shouted over the crowd. “His reward is 100 Doran and a golden arrow to commemorate this victory! Give him a rousing round of applause!”

Once the prizes were given and the crowd’s excitement waned, the musicians began playing vigorously and the drinks flowed like water. Vieft and Aldyn exchanged a congratulatory wave before the crowd forced the prince down towards the lower levels. In passing, Vieft thought he saw the beautiful church maiden approaching the archer, but it was far too late to turn back. The celebration would continue as planned and he would see her again in the morning.

“My apologies,” Vieft heard a young girl say as he was being bumped into. Nearly knocked off balance, he barely caught sight of a raven-haired girl moving rather quickly through the crowd. Immediately, his hands went to his money pouch to find it missing.

“Stop!” he shouted in outrage as he began to give chase. The mob, some already intoxicated, was remarkably difficult to navigate as the prince struggled to follow the fleeing thief’s trail. She weaved seemingly effortlessly through crowded areas, moving about untouched while her less graceful pursuant barely avoided running into each member of the local populace. At one point he was shoved to the ground by a rowdy group of drunkards, but quickly regained his footing and resumed the chase.

As he reached the southern gate leading out of the city, Vieft felt a hand forcefully grasp his arm to hold him back. “It’s not worth it,” Shaden, who had followed only a few paces behind, said in an even tone. Now panting and resting his hands on his knees, the prince growled and cursed, then nodded. “You’re probably right,” he admitted before standing again.

“Tough luck, son,” an older man said as he approached with two drinks in hand. The two eyed him wearily for a moment, each sizing up this stranger before declaring him harmless. “But we are here to celebrate! Drink and be merry!”

The two claimed the drinks provided for them, each giving it a hasty analysis before drinking. Shaden sipped the fiery mix cautiously while Vieft took a large gulp only to burst into a coughing fit. The older man laughed and shook his head. “More than you bargained for, eh? It can be used to fuel a fire or to just set your belly aflame. Tis the type of drink that makes hair grow on your chest and palms.”

“What is it called?” Shaden inquired while taking another sip.

“Tis firewater, lads. Enjoy.” And with that, he walked off. Vieft took another drink, this time grunting as his body began to adjust to the burning that crawled down his throat to his stomach.

“Not bad,” Vieft murmured to himself, getting a slight chuckle in response. The two returned the way they had come, enjoying their drinks, observing the dancing natives, and conversing about their adventure thus far. Shaden was too occupied with the many new experiences and sights found in one night to bother bringing up their impending adventure the following morning.

“Hey you!” a voice yelled, struggling to get the pair’s attention above the music and the people who massed in the streets. “Hey!” they repeated, drawing near enough to catch Shaden’s attention. As they both turned, two larger young men dressed in simple clothes approached. The first, a blonde who swaggered and swayed like one with too much to drink, was followed by another man, who wore a green cap with a patch on the side.

“So, y’think cause y’wit the Empire y’am just over simple folks and not say y’sorry?” he demanded, shrugging off the hand of his friend who was trying to diffuse the situation. “Y’think y’nobles but y’not! I’ma teach y’somethin y’won’t soon forget!”

The drunkard swung once at Shaden, a sloppy right hook that was easily parried and followed by a knife-hand strike to the throat. Before even that, the drunken man’s partner closed in with Vieft, throwing a vicious uppercut. Dodging, Vieft quickly threw the remnants of his drink into his attacker’s face and eyes, grabbed hold of his shoulders and quickly dropped the man to the ground with stunning force. The violence was enough to ignite the brutish spirit in the on-looking crowd and before long the entire area was bedlam. Punches, kicks, and throws were executed wildly and at random, until the situation degraded to level of simple survival. The brawl lasted for over ten minutes before the crowd dispersed under the watchful eye and guiding club of the local militia. Brawls were tolerated so long as weapons were not drawn, but the common folk knew when and where to cause mayhem.

The pair soon found a welcome rest at a hostel, sleeping away both drink and weariness from the festival’s events. The music continued far into the night before dying out in the dark hours of the morning. The crowd dispersed when the music finally stopped, and for at least another hour, the streets echoed the sound of drunken revelers trying to find their way home.