Is this city as big beneath the earth as it is above? The thought followed Stephan down the spiraling stairs.
The steps were uneven, made by the same drunken mason, threatening to betray him at any moment. He took a step, and his foot dipped just enough to threaten to unbalance him. With the next, his leg jolted as his boot hit the stone hard. The step was barely an inch lower than the previous one.
“Lord Marshal,” Stephan said as he steadied himself against the wall, “couldn’t you have found better craftsmen for the stairs? I have a feeling I’ll break my neck going down them.”
Torchlight danced along the walls, throwing restless shadows on the uneven stone that seemed to shift when he wasn’t looking directly at it.
“They are designed that way, Sir,” Lord Marshal explained while walking. His boots found each flawed step without wavering. “The first Paladin, Valerio the Valiant, had ordered the creation of seven castles around the country to act as the final shield in case humanity ever faced a dire threat. He has left whole books on the subject. I don’t mind guiding you through them and answering specific questions, but my instructions say you should read the books. From my personal experience, reading promotes thinking and prompts more questions than listening to someone explain things.”
Stephan nodded and kept quiet, trying to work out the answer while focusing on his footing.
Final shield…
If it’s made to serve as the last shield of humanity, then the castle was designed with war in mind. And they might have built the stairs with the intent of breaking necks. It certainly explains the suddenly narrowing and widening corridors.
Still, isn’t it madness to live for decades or generations like that just in case at some point in time a siege happens? Or is it perhaps foresight?
He replayed the city in his mind. The odd angles of streets to break momentum, the massive inner gates, the strange bridges connecting homes, the dungeon. Things he’d dismissed as architectural quirks revealed themselves in a new light.
They reached a thick door banded in iron. A heavy drawbar locked it from the outside. Six armored Knights stood guard, saluting without a word at their approach.
“Thank you,” the marshal said. “Wait here to escort our guests to their own rooms.”
The Knights saluted and moved down the stairs just enough to make way for Stephan and the marshal.
Stephan watched the drawbar as Marshal Harrington reached for it.
“I’m surprised you don’t have a code,” Stephan said jokingly.
“The authority I project cannot be faked, Sir. Should a senior Knight ever fail to feel it, they are under orders to kill the false marshal immediately.”
Stephan frowned, and Marshal Harrington waited, hand on the drawbar.
“I’ve never felt anything like that from you.”
“That’s because I haven’t ordered you once, Sir. I can only advise,” he paused. “Now, shall we?”
Stephan nodded, and the drawbar lifted with a heavy scrape. The chamber beyond was no dungeon cell. It was a carefully appointed suite with a thick carpet underfoot, tapestries warming the stone walls, and a long table laid with fruit and bread. A double bed rested against the far wall, linens still untouched.
Three men rose when they entered. Stephan’s gaze passed over them quickly. His lips curled into a slight smile. He had saved one of them after the battle, but in their new clothes and with clean faces it was hard to tell which.
They stood before the princess, shielding her with their bodies despite being unarmed.
Her hair was brushed smooth and neatly pinned. She wore a dress in Harrington’s colors. A bit of the haggardness was gone from her along with the dirt, but the bags beneath her eyes and slightly wan face would take time to heal.
Stephan would have offered help, but he had learned better than to waste his healing powers on aesthetics.
“Good day, Your Highness,” Harrington greeted.
She acknowledged him with a proud nod before he turned towards her escorts.
“I recognize Rowan and Godric, but I’m afraid I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting this fine gentleman.”
The man in question bowed low. “Brother Thomas, Priest from Highglen. I helped Her Majesty escape after the count’s betrayal—”
“Thank you,” Harrington interrupted gently. “Her Highness will elaborate. You may leave us.”
All three looked at the princess, who nodded, and a moment later the door shut behind them, leaving Stephan and the marshal with her.
“Please have a seat, gentlemen,” she motioned to the chairs across the table from her, and Stephan took his seat without ceremony while Marshal Harrington gave a slight bow before taking his.
“You’re very kind, Your Royal Highness. Speaking of kindness, do you remember when you came to visit…”
The marshal wasted no time and went back and forth with the princess. He asked about her visits to his domain years ago. Specific banquets. Names of minor nobles. The wording of a trade dispute. Court gossip that only someone present would know.
The questions groped like blind fingers, testing for cracks.
Stephan found the broad spectrum of topics educational, not in the sense that he learned anything new, but that he was only discovering how much he needed to learn. Since he lacked expertise, he focused on what he could notice. He kept an ear out for the princess’s tone, on alert for hesitation or strain.
He noticed none and wondered whether that was due to his lacking ability or because the princess was genuine. It was probably the latter, and the conversation shifted towards a topic he was more intimately familiar with: war.
He was becoming good at it, he might even show talent, but warfare would forever be something he hated. Leading from the front—great; planning supplies and defenses—fine; but sending his soldiers into the forest to hunt bandits under arrow fire was something he hoped would never occur.
He felt that woman’s final breath, her frantic, desperate grip.
It would happen again. He knew it would. He knew that if the marshal and the Knights hadn’t waded into adverse terrain, the archers would have harried them, causing more harm. He understood. The losses still hurt.
Stephan found himself distracted, but half an hour into the talk, he sensed something about the marshal change. A hidden sharpness left him, and the tone with which he addressed the princess turned several shades friendlier and more respectful. He was convinced.
Stephan took it as his cue and leaned forward slightly.
“Your Royal Highness,” he said, “could you tell us what happened at the capital?”
Her fingers tightened in her lap, but she nodded, flashing Stephan a nervous smile.
“I was outside the capital,” she began, voice steady. “on a picnic with my entourage. Martha spotted them first. She screamed and pointed at the sky, where three giant dragons were descending toward the city. I… We were too far from them to make out any other details. Seven crimson lights shot off from their backs, and a golden dot that must have been Sir Danso rose to meet them.”
The princess’s breathing quickened and turned shallower.
“He flew straight at the green dragon, and they all unleashed their breaths upon him. They rained them on the city, killing Hope knows how many, but Sir Danso passed right through the green dragon, then beheaded the red one.”
Her hands trembled.
“They fell, and light suddenly flashed before my eyes, telling me I was the Queen. A moment before, I couldn’t tear my eyes off the sight; the next, I was sobbing, Rowan and Godric pulling me towards the horses, shouting at my entourage to scatter and flee for their lives.”
The Queen fought back her tears and kept talking.
“I don’t know what happened. The next thing I knew, we were riding away, hiding in the forest. Later, they told me that the fighting had stopped and the black dragon was still inside the capital, which could only mean one thing.” She didn’t say it. There was no need to. That was the moment Stephan had become the Paladin.
The room went silent, each of them busy with their own thoughts.
“Could you tell me about your journey here?” Stephan said gently. “Where did you stop? Who pursued you? Who helped you?”
Stephan listened as the Queen explained everything in detail. The nearly one thousand miles they covered in a bit over a month, their route, the towns and cities they stopped at, and the nobles which had turned against them once they received the news that the capital had fallen and that the princess had become the Queen.
“I don’t know who wanted to kill me, and who wanted to become the King through a forced marriage.” She suddenly broke down into sobs.
“I’m level two,” she said through tears. “A helpless level two leading to the throne and one of the most powerful classes. I can only be grateful for Rowan and Godric being men of integrity. I can imagine more than one bodyguard from my brother’s retinue unscrupulous enough to act.”
She shuddered, and something twisted uncomfortably inside Stephan.
I never even considered that. What if those hounding her weren’t doing it to kill, but to capture her and become the legitimate King?
“Did you tell anyone you were the Queen?” Stephan asked.
She sniffled and shook her head. “No. Any Priest divining me to confirm my identity would know, but no, we kept our lips sealed. Our luck held for a week until we reached Highglen.”
Stephan made a mental note of that. “And why did you choose Cliffort as your destination?”
A flicker of embarrassment crossed the Queen’s face.
“We didn’t, not really. We were six miles east of the capital, and we fled from danger. Highglen is a major city with strong walls, and we thought we could find refuge there and plan our next steps. Count Highglen received us courteously. While throwing a feast was distasteful given the circumstances, he arranged a formal state dinner, subdued and tactful.”
Her jaw tightened.
“I didn’t realize until three days later that I was a guest who could not leave. Fortunately, Thomas the Priest and the rest of the temple smuggled us out of the city, the luminar covering for our disappearance.”
The Queen then continued narrating her troubles and the eventful journey. Stephan noted who the real loyalists were, as those men could be trusted in the future, but he had reached several conclusions.
First, not all of humanity had betrayed them to the fiends. Nobles were fighting over who would be the King. Second, he would need to intercept the Queen before she entered Highglen to avoid fracturing the kingdom. Third…
“May I ask why you decided to trust Lord Marshal so unconditionally?” he asked.
“Lord Marshal is a Royal Knight, a high-level unique class holder. He wouldn’t be interested in the King class, and his reputation is impeccable at court. He is the perfect soldier and the perfect marshal.” She inclined her head towards him. “If a Marshal class is to appear, it would be because of your great contributions, Lord Harrington.”
Stephan turned slightly toward Marshal Harrington, about to ask what she meant by that, but the marshal spoke first.
“You think too highly of me, Your Majesty,” he paused.
“Yet you seem to forget that I have an unmarried son.”
Stephan’s heart skipped a beat, and the Queen paled.