Part 1

Epigraph

Excerpt from “The Second Neo-Saracen War: A Core History” by Sovereign LXII. May their highness rest easy.

”[…]though the process of peace can not be discussed without an inclusion of The Knights’ Society, and their role in the war’s conclusion. Knights are the backbone of The Glorious Empire, and any peace negotiation would have required their complete and total co-operation. I made sure, at the negotiating table, to include as many as I could. Only they knew the troubles that existed on the ground floor.

At the risk of starting potentially unnecessary fights with many I call my friend, only the knights had a clear idea, not the nobility, of the necessity of peace. At such a high station, the nobles were unable or unwilling to reckon with the human cost of the war. It is only the knights, rulers of their own small parcels of land and fighters of many of the battles of the war, who were able to advocate for peace and remain in my corner. Long live the knights, and long live The Knights’ Association.

~ 20 years ago

A Rather Drunk and Reckless Prologue

“Those fucking knight pricks,” Guy grumbled to himself, leaning over the sticky bar and gripping his drink tight.

The chilled air that had breezed in from the knights entering hadn’t even finished wafting through the inn before Guy had made his comment. Nor had the knights yet even taken their seats.

Through the quiet, late night bar, the few patrons there were variously flirting with whomever they had with them, or absent-mindedly staring out the frosted windows into the inky-black void. The smokey dark-brown walls and cross-beamed steep roof were all that was keeping the elements out.

The inn was distinctly unpretentious, with everyone wearing simple garb, mostly tunics, and the occasional shiny ornament. Presumably family heirlooms.

The middle-aged Guy, dressed in what can only be described as dirty rags, scratched at his stubble that grew out of a faded green tribal tattoo and rotated around to the bar. He was taken aback by the young, scrawny, raggedy looking man in front of him. The young man glanced up at him as he was idlly cleaning out tankards.

“You’re not Rhonda,” Guy stated.

“Yeah, she just finished and she’s heading off. I’m her nephew Danyll,” Danyll said.

“Hm,” Guy thought aloud as he threw back the rest of his drink, “Great Sovereign, have I been here that long?”

The kid shrugged and took the empty tankard from Guy.

“Give me another, while you’re at it,” Guy said.

The kid nodded and withdrew the wet, discoloured rag he was using to clean it.

“Sure thing, that’ll be 1/8th crown pl—”

“I know how much a fucking beer costs,” Guy forcefully grumbled. As he dug through his pocket, the now-troubled kid produced a wood block coated in a gummy mixture of old ale and metal shavings.

The kid picked off the shavings, tossing them behind the bar, as Guy placed down his coin. It was segmented into eight pizza slice sections separated by score marks. Within each eigth section was a circle with a plus-shaped cross going through it. Guy pulled out a toothpick dagger, not longer than a letter opener, and sliced away at the score marks.

He divided in half, then a quarter, then finally an eigth. Danyll tentatively, trying to avoid the drunk’s dagger, took an eigth piece and plopped an ale on the counter as Guy stuffed the coins back in his pocket.

While he was sipping, the kid was momentarily flitting his eyes around the bar, avoiding Guy’s eyes.

“What’s wrong with those knights?” He said.

Guy finished his gulp and placed his tankard down on the bar.

“What?” Guy asked.

“You were mumbling pretty loud,” Danyll said.

“It’s not just those knights in particular. It’s all of them, frankly.”

Guy didn’t elaborate and shot an expectant glance at Danyll. Guy sighed.

“Knights are harbingers of ill-will. I don’t think there’s anybody who’s a good one,” Guy said.

“My brother’s a knight,” Danyll protested.

“Then I’m sorry for your loss,” Guy grumbled as he downed another mouthful.

Danyll had taken to tokenly wiping the sopping wet bar with the same yellowed rag in the same repetitive circular motion.

“I don’t hold it against you,” Guy said to Danyll, who was taken aback by that, “You weren’t around during the war.”

“Where were you?” Danyll asked.

Guy smiled. Danyll had said the magic words.

“I used to work at a farm in my home village as a kid. I was shovelling shit, planting wheat crops, the whole nine yards. I don’t remember what it was for, I think one of the older workers said it was for a noble’s personal banquet but I could be wrong. This was in the central territories, about as far away from the war as you can get. But one day, our knight-at-arms died.”

The knights continued variously breaking out into guffaws when someone said something that was surely jolly well funny. Danyll and Guy looked back at them, momentarily distracted.

“It’s crazy how much one little decision can change so many lives,” Guy said, turning back to the bar, “The knights of the area were antsy to fight in the war, but were kept in check by the knight-at-arms. And then he died. And then another one took over. And he not only was okay with letting the knights loose on us, he encouraged it.”

“Great Sovereign, I’m so sorry to hear that,” Danyll said.

Guy waved off this pity and had a sip of ale.

“Don’t fucking do that. Get pissed off on my behalf, sure, but don’t pity me.”

Danyll took a moment, not doing anything and looking around awkwardly. He let off a nod. A familiar clanging of ironsteel came from behind Guy, heading to the bar. One of the knights, the tallest, the one with the longest flowing blonde hair, leaned on the bar and left some space between him and Guy.

He motioned to Danyll for four ales.

Guy was staring daggers at the knight. He left a pregnant pause.

“You don’t become a knight because you don’t like power. You know what I’m saying?” Guy continued.

Danyll froze in place, almost letting the ale overflow the tankard before hastily placing it to the side.

The knight looked over at Guy. Whatever emotion he might have been feeling was not being betrayed by his face.

“And the new knight-at-arms started seeing Neo-Saracens around every corner, constantly coming around with his goons to harass us. Every person who whispered gossip to another, every farmer who’s harvest was too large, every craftsperson who made a dull blade. They did what knights do, and abused us.”

The knight took his four drinks, walking back to his table distinctly less quiet and with less pomposity than before.

Guy smirked and turned back to the bar.

“Eventually, our village was—”

“Did you have to say all that while he was here?” Danyll asked.

“Yes. Eventually, our village was burnt to the ground.”

Danyll was visibly taken aback. Both by how quickly Guy had brushed him off but also by the whole village burning thing.

“Holy shit,” Danyll exclaimed. He leaned in closer and whispered, “Was it the knights?”

“Probably. We had been planning for some time to go to the noble with our complaints. All we know for sure is that it started on the outskirts and consumed everything in a second. As it turns out, thatched rooves and wooden walled houses are perfect kindling. And we all fled. My mother…” He trailed off. “Anyway,” He mumbled, taking a gulp of his drink.

Danyll didn’t know what to do with his hands. He was massaging them into his sopping rag.

“The ‘Scourged of Vinland’ we’re called. To this day I’ve never talked with any of the others. They’re probably dead at this point anyway.”

Danyll stared incredulously.

“‘The Scourged of Vinland?’ That sounds like something you made up,” He said.

Guy shrugged and rotated around again to the knights. They had stopped their lively discussion and were muttering amongst each other. Every once in a while they shot a glance Guy’s way, and none more so than the knight that had gone up for the drink. That knight, after some more discussion, slid his chair out ready to stand up.

Guy leaned back on the bar, looking at the kid. He fumbled into his coin purse and produced a whole crown.

“I’ll bet you that violent moron is about to knock my teeth out,” He said, placing the crown on the bar.

Danyll hastily opened the till and placed a matching crown next to Guy’s.

“I’ll take that bet.”

The knight strolled up to the bar towards Guy with a quickened pace. Guy gritted his teeth in preparation. The knight moved past him and sat in the chair next to him.

“I listened to your story,” The knight began, “I understand why you see us the way you do.”

Guy snorted dismissively and took a drink.

“I get what happened during the war. Knights took it upon themselves to act as authoritarian as they wanted to, and The Knights’ Association acted with callous indifference to what was going on at the very least.”

The knight scanned for any response, but Guy remained tracing the rim of his tankard with his finger, staring squarely forward. Danyll made every effort to avoid crossing this line of sight, pretending to look for something on the other side of the bar.

“The perpertrators of every crime that evidence could be found of were brought to justice. If your former knights treated you that way, there’s a good chance they treated others the same

Guy, still avoiding eye contact, noticed a shadowy figure in his peripheral vision. Guy wheeled around and a shadowy figure outside disappeared down below the one non-frosted window.

“Look,” The knight continued, speaking to the back of Guy’s head, “I’m young. Me and my friends, we were all born after the war. Just about all of the knights that participated are either dead or retired.

Guy, wordlessly, gently placed his tankard down on the counter. For the first time he looked the knight square in the face and a pale look overcame him. He stared for a moment longer, finally spitting out, “You and your scumbag group should leave, now. Get in your turrets, and fly back to your lands to bully your peasants.”

Guy’s voice had been progressively raising over the course of the sentence, and the other knights had perked up to pay attention to the ruckus.

“You heard me,” Guy addressed the other knights, “Get the hell out of here!” He shouted, waving his tankard around and spilling ale to punctuate his point.

A thick silence hung in the inn’s warm air. Guy wasn’t looking at Danyll but could tell from the silence that he was too horrified to speak. Guy reflexively started crawling his hand towards where the crowns were on the counter.

The knight gave the hint of a nod and turned to his cohort. He made a circular hand motion with his finger and the knights got up and left.

“Yeah, that’s right. Go to your peasants who ‘love’ you so much.”

The door swung shut and Guy stared, smirking. The icy hand of the town air hit him in the face, but his shit-eating grin stayed. He turned around.

“Did you see that k—” He stopped himself. The kid was gone, and so were the two crowns.

He stared at the spot where they were for a moment longer before blowing air out of his mouth and sliding off of the chair.

“Thieving bastard,” He muttered.

He reached into his coin purse to pay for the ale, thought for a moment, downed the rest of his drink, and left without anything more.

Using the tables as guides he laboriously breezed towards the door. He shoved it open and took in the frosty night. There was a roar overhead as four round stone turrets, as if they had been ripped straight out of the corners of a castle, roared past. Their engines glowed a vibrating, deep blue that eminated from flat-planed engines at the back, taking up the entire surface area of the base.

Their spotlights traced four wide beams over the village, overpowering the street lamps and illuminating the houses. The simple plastered brick and thatched roofing of the houses were each briefly exposed. Scrawled on the walls of each house, a net faintly pulsating blue wiring sprawled on each side. Little pulses of electric blue each wormed their own way along the wire paths.

Guy was looking at the quickly disappearing and smiling to himself, feeling that white hot joy inside him. He turned to his right. A rustle came from behind him. A sharp sensation of his skull cracking was all he felt before everything went black.

Gallant is now Lady Hope’s chosen knight

Sir Gallant sat, his head depressed into his gauntleted hands which were reassuringly massaging his face. In the simple, exposed grey stone brick room, books messily filling up the shelves, and spilling out onto the floor, that flanked them on every side compressed them all against the tiny stilted coffee table.

The two men on either side of him looked at him expectantly. The one on Gallant’s right was burly, soot covered, and wearing a filthy apron that covered a simple, yellowed tunic. On Gallant’s left was a bejewelled man with a maroon getup and a tan that looked like it took an hour to apply every morning.

They were staring, with equal parts enraptured expectation and impatience.

Gallant finally rose his head high enough to stare into the ceiling.

“This is about copper?” Gallant asked.

“SUB-STANDARD copper,” The burly man said.

“Hugo…” Gallant exasperatedly chided.

“What would you know about copper standards?” The bejewelled man accused.

“Blanc!” Guy shouted, plopping his arms on the table and the ringing bouncing around the cupboard of a room.

He took in a laboured breath for a moment.

“I mean, I know more than you about it,” Hugo grumbled.

“Oh really? Please, pray tell,” Blanc said, starting to stand up.

Gallant was taking a moment to think, staring at the empty space in front of him.

“Are you trying to say that I, with my twenty years of toolmaking experience, doesn’t know how to tell if a metal is cheap slag?” Hugo said, not shouting but raising himself up to match Blanc.

“If you’re saying that my metal is anything but pure, then you’re not just disagreeing with me, you’re disagreeing with my purity checking machines as well.”

Hugo sat back down.

“Then either your machines are faulty, you’re a bad calibrator, or you’re lying. Either way, I don’t care, I just want my refund.”

“Oh yeah, sure,” Blanc shouted, pulling some crowns out from his pocket, “Does the dog want his treat? You want me to pelt you with this?”

“Alright, Blanc, sit down or I’ll hold you down and take the refund for myself.”

Both men were unhappy about this arrangement and were seated in no time flat.

“Why don’t you just refund him?”

Blanc was aghast at the suggestion.

“I can’t!” He shot back.

Gallant frowned and looked at the coins still in his hand.

“Well,” The merchant said, stuffing the coins back in his purse, “I CAN, technically, but I can’t morally.”

“Morally…” Gallant mumbled, his head heading palmwards.

“YES. It’s not about the crowns, it’s about the principle.”

“Oh, so you have principles, now?” Hugo said, balancing on the back two legs of his chair, arms still folded.

“Hugo, stop. And sit back down, you’re going to break that thing.”

Hugo plopped back down, the vibration from it hitting Gallant and Blanc like an earthquake.

“You got cheap chairs? I know a woman who can—”

“Oh lord, here we go.”

Hugo tilted his head with murderous look.

“Look, I don’t think this is working. When are we going to be able to meet Lord Commodus? We came to Velvet Chiffon because we were expecting him to mediate this dispute himself,” Hugo said, still looking at Blanc.

Gallant raised his eyebrow at Hugo.

“What are you talking about. Didn’t anybody tell you I was going to be the one to mediate you two?”

Hugo finally broke line of sight with Blanc, who was looking straight at Gallant and trying not to acknowledge Hugo, and he looked at Gallant with confusion.

“Well, we got a response from Lord Commodus direct that he would deal with this. No offense, but we didn’t realise we were going to be pawned off on a knight. And not even the Knight-At-Arms either.”

The facts clicked in Gallant’s head. Earlier he had received a letter direct from Lord Commodus, the only such contact he had had in about five years since he’d been vassalised.

“A matter of great importance,” He had claimed, “You are to mediate a dispute that I am unfortunately incapable of doing.”

Gallant had reacted with awe that he had been chosen for a job that Lord Commodus was ‘incapable’ of. The realisation now was hitting him like a ton of bricks, and the awe was wearing it off.

”…Pawned it off on me,” Gallant mumbled.

Hugo and Blanc finally looked at each other.

“Sir Gallant?” Hugo asked.

The door suddenly swung open, hitting Gallant in the back of his chair.

“Ow!” Gallant shouted.

“Oops, sorry Gallant,” The voice on the other side apologised.

Out popped a boy of no more than 17, black and wild curly hair.

“Here’s that notification you asked for. Meeting’s in an hour.”

“Who’s that?” Blanc asked, with a touch of indignation.

Gallant stood up and tucked his chair in.

“Uh, that’s my knight-apprentice,” Gallant said, almost scrambling to get away.

“Wait, so you’re leaving us?” Hugh asked, unfolding his arms and placing them on the table.

“I’ll be back in a while, but in the meantime maybe some alone time will be best for you two.”

The two were too stunned to say anything. Gallant walked past the doorway and leaned into the female guard who was standing by.

“Go in there and make sure they don’t kill each other, but only intervene then. Fighting is fine,” He mumbled. The guard nodded and marched in.

“I don’t get it,” Page said in the open doorway, “Why not just give a partial refund and, like, a discount on future payments or something.”

Blanc and Hugo looked at each other in amazement.

“I mean…” Blanc began.

“Well…” Hugo also began.

They were thinking.

“I mean,” Blanc started again, “It would be a gratuity on my part to give you some money back. And I could keep you on as a customer.”

“And I’m sure we could structure the discounts so that it essentially adds up to a full refund for this one. I will have to insist on verified metal purity reports.”

“Sure, I can dispatch a messenger if you need it.”

They continued chattering as Gallant rolled his eyes and nodded at the guard as she closed the door.

“I don’t get it.”

“Get what?” Page asked.

”…Nevermind,” Gallant said as he headed off, Page in tow.

They walked through the cramped roving stone hallways barely illuminated by thin torches. Page had already moved on to talking about million things a minute.

“I’m just saying, a party for only knights isn’t sending the right message to us apprentice-knights. Aren’t we supposed to basically be knights in all but name?” He said as they were descending the curved staircase that could fit maybe one and a half people.

“I still have yet to get money from my friend John for a bet ages ago when we were going through education. He said no knight would touch me with a ten foot pole,” He said as they stood crampedly to the side of let a guard pass. The guards gave a brief bow to Gallant as they passed. Gallant was throwing out the occasional, “Uh huh.”

“Okay, but why not compressed air? If gunpowder doesn’t work anymore why not just hook a gun up to a cannister and crank the pressure up,” He said as they crossed over a high gangway. A grand cylinder chamber that shone more brightly than any other room in the ship.

Gallant looked below and the thatched rooves and vividly green fields with terraced crops that were coming in plentifully. The people below were contentedly walking around, eating, talking to each other. A cafe that Gallant had opened himself had civilians chattering amongst themselves and drinking.

“It wouldn’t work,” Gallant said, flatly, still looking down.

“Why not? If gunpowder’s out—”

“Trust me. No offense, but smarter people than you have tried and failed,” Gallant said as they crossed a hallway, this one much wider and marginally more busy, to a vast round open doorway.

A doorway opened, and Gallant reacted with the welcome due to the sight. A woman, white hair gathered at the top of her head and in full plate armour, stood in a doorway on the side of the hall.

“Sir Gallant!” She shouted, waving for attention.

Gallant walked over. Behind her, was the hayed grounds of the battle arena. A wooden structure in the middle housed training sections that spanned from archery to swordplay.

“Battlemaster Elise,” Gallant mumbled as he walked over.

“If you’re doing the rounds then I have a severe issue I need to raise with you,” She said, gruffly.

“Oh yeah?” Gallant said.

“Yeah. We’re having an issue with members of this vessel not coming to their mandated training sessions. The ones that you mandated,” She said, folding her arms.

“Oh yeah?” Gallant said, folding his arms in kind, “Who’s been skipping out on their training?”

“Well, the biggest offender is one Sir Gallant who hasn’t been in for training for the last two months now,” She said, each word turning Gallant’s face slowly into a shade of red.

Page swooped in, tapping Gallant on the shoulder.

“Uh, Sir Gallant, the meeting,” He said, pointing to the doorway to the docking bay.

“Oh yeah. I’m so sorry, Battlemaster Elise, but I urgently have to go to this meeting that Lord Commodus set up,” He said backing away.

“I’ll get you soon,” Battlemaster Elise said, disappearing back into her domain.

They walked out to a vast hall, behind them, above the doorway, was “Sir Gallant, Royal Knights’ Society.”

On the few windows that dotted the top tenth of the halls, revealed a landscape dominated by yellow-green noxious fumes. The gases swirled outside and threatened the inside with choking death if it ever got in.

“By the way, I got those status reports you were looking for— Oh hey Gladius!” Page interrupted himself, pointing at a civilian with a green tunic and a wide-brimmed straw hat.

“Page! How’ve you been? Great Sovereign, how long have you been on board Velvet Chiffon?” He responded with equal enthusiasm and pointing, ignoring Gallant who’s face was at that moment screwing itself up.

“Got transferred out of the border territories thanks to this guy,” He said, sticking his thumb towards an impatient Gallant. “What are YOU doing here, more to the point?”

Gladius shrugged.

“Haven’t you heard about the skirmishes? It wasn’t really hitting my end of the neighbourhood, but I’m not taking any chances, y’know?”

“I hear that,” Page said, smiling and nodding, “Glad you’re doing alright. Smart move.”

Gallant made movements to talk, but Page noticed it and cut him off.

“Oh, by the way here’s my mentor Sir Gallant.”

Gladius noticed him for the first time and waved.

“Heysirgallant,” He said in one mouthful.

Gallant pursed his lips and waved from behind his folded arms.

“Anyway, I’ll catch you around. I’m trying to hit every inn in Velvet Chiffon,” He said.

“Ha, you’re going to be at it a while, then.”

“We can only hope. Man, small empire, huh? Seeya,” Gladius said before speeding off.

“Sorry about that. You know how it is with old friends,” Page said.

“I wish I did. What reports did you get?” Gallant asked, finally unfolding his arms as they crossed the busy hall.

“Oh yeah, so no complaints from any of the civilians about the new rotation of guards on board. It seems that everyone’s actually quite taken with them.”

Gallant nodded.

“Good, good. I’m glad I didn’t have to mediate any of THOSE disputes.”

“Battlemaster Elise is worried that…Oh wait you already know that one,” He said, flicking over the pages.

The further along they went, the more knights were joining up and heading the same direction. Everyone parted and let the awe and majesty of these knights wash over them. Many walked with a procession of their own guards, and civilians clapped, cheered and threw adoration on them. They were lauded for their achievements.

And then Gallant walked by, not even catching the afterglow. It was just him and Page, and the cheering stopped as this happened. It wasn’t that they were hated, but the people just had nothing to cheer.

They emerged from their docking hall to the grand central promenade of Velvet Chiffon. The same luxurious walls that they walked alongside swooped around this vast chasm, with a grand walkway that girt it.

All the way down they could see floors and floors that looked just as functional, that all, naturally, snaked out into their own hallways, their own rooms, their own businesses, their own inns. The central hole delved so deep that the lower floors disappeared beyond where light could escape.

Above them, the same noxious gasses blew around from behind a grand metal framed dome.

“You wanted to hear about the skirmishes on the border territories?” Page said.

“Uh, yeah,” Gallant said, half of his focus on the other knights in this grand knight procession.

“Another attack on a ship. This time it was a smuggling ship from City 2.”

“A smuggling ship?” Gallant asked, “Last time it was a civilian escort. What is going on?”

Page briefly scanned his notes.

“Uh, well,” He said, leaning in closer, “Just about everyone I’ve asked said it’s the Neo-Saracens. Some have said they had surviving family members and they were able to identify the ships from the war. It IS them, right?”

“Yeah. It has to be,” Gallant said, growing quieter.

Going down several floors, they arrived at a wide open cavernous entrance. The craggled rocky mouth poured in light, and even the most detached of knights had to shield their eyes. Revealed, once their eyes had readjusted, was The Emerald Horizon.

Presented to the crowd was a platform, train tracks at the very end. Suspended by metal rods sticking out either side above them, two sets of chains in V-shapes were all that was preventing the platform from dropping below. And it was a long drop.

They were suspended who knows how high above the rolling green hills below them that stretched off into the distance, stopped by the interior of the cave. Gallant didn’t know how tall it was, but you would have a lot of time to think about your life before you hit the ground. And yet sections of thin railings at the far ends were all that kept people from falling.

Vast farm estates with housing and castles in various styles dotted the landscape. Gallant and Page walked to the platform. Page was instantly and utterly transfixed on the majesty of the hills. Gallant was looking at the knights and making sure they weren’t jostled onto the railing locked in place that separated them from the tracks.

“Is that every report?” Gallant asked, looking at the suspiciously populated pile of papers.

Page flicked through the pages. Gallant glanced and they were either scribbled on in an indecipherable scrawl, or just blank.

A gust of wind whirred through and all of the pages that Page was holding landed on the tracks, and were promptly obliterated into confetti by a maglev train whirring into the station

“I guess not.”

The train gently lowered itself so that the entrance doors

The railings that the two were being ever so slightly pressed against by the crowd retracted sharply into the standing poles with a CHUNK.

Gallant and Page raced in and managed to snag two seats, which were all lined up in sets of two on either side into the distance. The other processions stuffed themselves in to the single long carriage, some standing in the aisle.

“Oh yeah,” Page said, “One more thing. You know Dame Petra?”

“Yeah?” Gallant said, not knowing who Dame Petra was.

“Well she got a grant of land by Lady Hope and she’s transferring.”

The train raised itself up and hummed into life as it sped off, putting sitting passengers in a lurch and standing passengers were holding on for dear life like they were in a storm.

“How much land did she get?” Gallant asked.

“Well, you know (Planet name)?” Page asked.

“You mean the barren scorched planet with about ten inhabitants?”

“Yep. She got it.”

“Huh. Lucky her, I guess.”

Gallant looked out the window. The rolling hills had trenches cut deep into each hill, as if it was a river coursing through. They were, at that moment, curving around ready to plunge into the trench that Gallant could see running around the border of a dark, gothic castle town.

Gallant was taken aback by the sudden hit of darkness, the train illuminated by lights adorning the top corners. As his eyes were hit with nothing, his ears were adjusting to his surroundings.

“Did you hear about the election for the noble of the central territories?” One of the guards of one of the knights asked.

“Oh yeah,” Another one responded, “Can you believe it was the previous noble’s SON. I don’t know how you can see it as anything other than nepotism,” The second guard said, getting more and more outraged.

“THIS is the guy we’re stuck with for life? Not a good time.”

Gallant looked next to him and Page was gone. He twisted and turned looking for him but Page had just disappeared. The train shuddered to a stop and the hum lowered in pitch until it was inaudible. Once the train had lowered down again the doors flung open and Gallant joined the fray.

Out into a pavillion that was also suspended far in the air. Carved and painted into the main plaza was the symbol for Lord Commodus: A simple blue vertical cross splayed out on the grounds. Trees adorned the plaza in little pockets of dirt between the textured white stone.

”…And don’t worry, you’re not doing as bad as you think.” Gallant heard Page’s voice reassuring someone.

He wheeled around and saw Page, having cut his way through a knight’s procession, all looking grumpily at him as he pat the knight on the shoulder.

“You may be worrying about what she thinks of you, but you’re doing so much better than you…Oh, hey Sir Gallant!” He said, bounding over and leaving the knight. The gruff knight wiped a few stray tears from his eyes and motioned for the rest of his procession to follow him.

“What in The Sovereign’s name was that?” Gallant asked as Page approached.

“He was just a guy I met. Sorry for running off on you like that. Wow, look how amazing the place is,” Page said as he looked around, awe slapped on his face.

“Yeah, sure,” Gallant said, trying to look around but squinting as all the light from the white stone blasted into his eyes.

While looking away, Gallant spotted, at the far end of the pavillion and just as the train was speeding off, Dame Faulkes arriving.

Even the other knights stared as a veritable horde of people followed Dame Faulkes. A combination of guards, stewards, and civilian hanger-ons joined the rest of the chorus in the pavilion.

Page, once again, excitedly sped off and Gallant sighed before persuing. Page ran right up to one of the guards, the tallest and the one with the most gold-trimmed uniform. The other guards made movements to block Page but the target guard held out his arms to stop them.

“Page! Nice to finally meet you,” He said, embracing Page.

Gallant caught up, and Dame Faulkes was looking with incredulity. She wandered over to the commotion and everyone parted to let her through.

“What’s going on here?” She asked flatly.

“Page is my brother’s friend. I keep meaning to meet the dude,” He looked at Page, and then expectantly at Dame Faulkes.

She looked over at the still-unmoving crowd of knights still waiting. She nodded at the guard, and Page and the guard started chattering away amongst themselves. Gallant could only hear sentence fragments like, “Sparring” and “Gotta keep your parry up.”

The way the crowd was oriented, the only way for her to get away from this commotion was to head closer towards Gallant. Gallant was looking anywhere else he could, trying to ignore Lord Commodus’ Knight-At-Arms right next to him.

“Hi, Dame Faulkes,” Gallant finally wheezed out.

She looked over to him with surprise.

“Oh, hello. I’m sorry I don’t know your name.”

“It’s, uh, Sir Gallant. I’ve been vassalized under Lord Commodus for about five years.”

“Ah,” She said, “Sorry about that. I’m usually busy.”

Her sentences were getting more curt and coming out more like relaxed bullets. They stood around for another agonising few moments as their respective subordinates kept talking.

“Are you…” Gallant began. Dame Faulkes stopped avoid Gallant and looked directly at him.

”…Do you know what this meeting is about?” Gallant asked.

“You’ll find out,” She said.

The crowd stirred, waves of motion eminated from the front of the crowd back, as a clunking door sound rang out through the stone around them.

“Nice talking, Sir Gallop,” She said as she walked away briskly.

Gallant furrowed his brow, and Page met him on his side.

“Hey, you got to talk to Lord Commodus’ Knight-At-Arms. What did you think?” Page asked.

Gallant walked with the rest of the crowd, at a slow pace as Dame Faulkes disappeared into her crowd.

“We should get to the doors,” Gallant said.

And they approached it: The tower.

Carved into the side of the cave, it shone out in bright white stone against the dark, craggled cave interior.

Page continued looking up and around, in ways that only a teen could do without breaking their neck. Gallant was trying not to bump into anybody as he was, at that moment, partially blinded by the white of it all. However, there was so much clunking of armour that it wasn’t an issue.

The trip was agonizingly plodding, but as they got closer more details were discernable. The grand palisades that flanked either side of the tower in tiered layers. A fleet of guards manned in regular intervals, scanning the participants below. Especially of note to Gallant were the men and women wielding the stationary and gargantuan crossbows. Fish in a barrel.

The crowd thinned out as Gallant and Page made it to the stairs and climbed up. A smattering of polearm-wielding guards lined the open doors and acted as a filter, ocasionally barking something to somebody who shouldn’t be there. Gallant tried to pass, and was unmolested, but the same couldn’t be said of Page.

“Absolutely not,” The guard shouted.

“Wh—”

“Knights only!” The guard yelled.

“Sorry, Page,” Gallant began.

“Don’t worry, Sir Gallant, I’ll occupy myself around the pavilion,” Page said. And he was gone.

Walking through the grand hall, and straight ahead up another darkened patch of stairs to match the rest of it, revealed inside was a long table within a carpeted, maroon hall.

(Describe hall here)

Gallant walked, scanning each seat carefully with their engravings made plain across the heads. Gallant approached on the right side, reading each empty seat’s nameplate. Sir Hope of Resus, Sir Gallihad of World’s End, Sir Gallant.

Of course, it was on the other side of the table, and right in the middle too. He trekked back to the other end and up to his assigned seat.

The men on either side of him chattered through him, peeking their heads out so they could see each other. Gallant looked over and saw that Dame Faulkes had already taken her assigned seat at the far end of the table.

In the middle of the far end was a grand chair, simple in shape but grand in stature. Gallant sat back, sinking a little bit and looking at everyone talking to each other. He noted the feast in front of him, but only one or two of the younger knights had picked a few pieces of ham or a leaf of salad, only to be berated by the older knights and then putting their food back.

The unlocking of the grand door behind the grand chair hushed everybody. It opened and the green light of the room flooded the entrance and part of the hall. Any remaining talking from the knights turned into hushed tones. Gallant was trying to make out the figure with the chair in his way.

A man, grey haired, stubble, gawdy cloak being carried from behind by two servants, began descending the few stairs separating the dining hall and his chambers. He stepped off to his chair and pushed it back, giving himself room to stand. Dame Faulkes was already at attention, looking inscrutibly back and forth between the table and Lord Commodus.

“Knights!” Lord Commodus commanded, any remaining idle chatter being cut off as he leaned on his outstretched arms on the table.

“This is a special meal. For some of you newer knights, this may be the first time you’ve done something like this. And I see a few have you have already dug in.”

Some isolated chuckles came from the knights.

“Please, go ahead and feast. My words go down better with suckling pig anyway.”

There was a moment of expectant silence. Lord Commodus looked across the room like a dad at the dinner table with their kids. A woman two thirds towards the other side of the long table made the first move to rip some chicken off the bone with her teeth. Soon a great deal of the other knights had joined in, but many still had their beamy gaze fixed on Lord Commodus. Gallant ripped some pork off of the pig in front of him and took a few uncomfortable nibbles.

“Great, now that we’re on the same page it’s time to get to business. I have called an all-hands meeting for news that many of you will be familiar with. And some of you…” He paused for a moment, ”…Have been keeping a rather close eye on.”

Gallant frowned as an uncomfortable sense of being observed came over him, despite nobody looking at him.

“I mean, of course, the myriad attacks on the border between The Glorious Empire and The Neo-Saracen Empire. The people of The Sovereign’s Second Great Megacity, and the planet of Burning Sapphire as a whole, call out for aid. As does Lady Hope of the border territories. City 2 will not abide by this. Burning Sapphire will not abide by this. The border territories will not abide by this. And most of all: WE will not abide by this.”

As soon as that ‘we’ left Lord Commodus’ mouth, the banging of gauntlets balled up in fists rang out across the table. Those who were still eating held their plate in one hand above the table, and the other hand banging with the rest of them.

“However, I must unfortunately address a rumour before I continue,” He said as the ruckus began to settle down. “Some among you may have heard the rumours that the Neo-Saracens are reigniting hostilities in order to begin another war. I wish to dispell this immediately.

We have recieved no reports whatsoever that it’s the Neo-Saracens. In fact, nobody can positively identify the attacking ships.”

He breathed in, attempting to alleviate the weight of the news he was delivering.

“So I don’t want to hear anything about it in my feifdom. I don’t care if it’s here or anywhere else in the central territories, it ISN’T them. I harbour no ill-will towards the Neo-Saracens. We don’t know if they are the ones behind these attacks on civilian ships. And so soon after our previous war with them, I would not think of it. So I would caution against spreading so firm a fact.

We have enjoyed twenty years of lasting peace, and I am certain that neither of us want to enter another war. I would not be so ready to spread the idea of a fact that has no grounding in fact. From what little we have right now, we have suspects ranging from pirates to simple raiders.”

There were a few agreeing mutters. Lord Commodus cleared his throat and continued.

“Lady Hope of the border territories has reached out to me for assistance. And I have told her that, in no uncertain terms, we will throw our entire weight behind this. When one limb of our Glorious Empire is under attack, the rest of the body attacks. Just as The Sovereign wants it…”

A thump was heard outside the door. Lord Commodus briefly paused before continuing.

“I have sent word that we shall be sending our finest champion. We will be sending…DAME FAULKES!” He said, motioning to his left.

Dame Faulkes nodded carefully, basking in the raucus applause that was enveloping her. Gallant politely clapped as everyone else cheered, whistled, and banged on the table.

Lord Commodus raised his hand and the noise dropped off a cliff. There was the hint of scratching and bumping from the far end of the door. Gallant could barely hear it, there was no way Lord Commodus could.

“With Dame Faulkes heading the defense of these territories, we can ensure that our brothers, sisters, and all in between can be defended. And we can ensure peace for another tw—”

BANG BANG BANG. Lord Commodus was sharply cut off by the scuffle behind the door.

“Unhand me, I have an urgent message for Lord Commodus,” A gruff voice on the other side shouted. The banging and clattering of metal kept ringing out as Lord Commodus nodded at Dame Faulkes, who stood up and began the long trek past the table. She un-barred the table and a messenger and two guards burst in and fell to the ground.

The guards grew red in the face and scrambled to their feet, holding the messenger.

“Apologies, Dame Faulkes, we caught this messenger attempting to barge his way through. Says he’s from Lady Hope.”

She nodded, and they unhanded him, eager to leave and slam the door behind them. Dame Faulkes escorted the messenger alongside the table, with Lord Commodus, having shed his cloak, meeting them halfway.

“Uh,” The messenger said, looking at all of the knights who were staring and chattering amongst each other. They were talking not too far away from Gallant. “I have a private message from Lady Hope.”

“Well it’s a bit late for private!” Lord Commodus shouted, laughing, all ringing out around the hall. Half the knights in attendance were laughing in kind.

“Come on, lad, just out with it. If it’s from Lady Hope then everyone can hear.”

The messenger sighed.

“Lady Hope would like it known that you need read her first message more carefully, and that for this mission Dame Faulkes need not be sent…”

He paused for a moment, and seemed to be scanning the room.

”…In Sir Gallant’s stead.”

A murmur began from the knights, working its way outwards from the knights who were closest to the messenger. They were telephoning the news off to the far ends of the table.

The knights all looked around, scanning each person at the table. Lord Commodus and Dame Faulkes, however, in their stunned silence, shot looks at Gallant. Gallant sunk as far down as he could in his chair while being in full plate armour.

Soon, a lot of the nearby knights were also staring at Gallant. Lord Commodus, after entirely too long, waved off the messenger, who dutifully bowed and walked out with Dame Faulkes in tow.

Lord Commodus drifted back over to his seat, the rest of the room having be shot into silence. A silence that Gallant was suffering under the weight of. Lord Commodus eventually made it to his chair, and stood straight.

“Sir Gallant,” He shouted, his voice so loud that he may as well have been talking to Gallant right next to him, “Arise.”

Gallant was knocked out of his stupor and shot to his feet. He could just about make out Lord Commodus raising his hand, and Gallant did the same.

“Do you reaffirm your solemn duty of fealty and loyalty to me and The Chivalric Code, and in doing so swear to execute Lady Hope’s task to the highest of The Knights’ Society standards?”

“I d…” He squeaked, before clearing his throat.

“I do, I swear all of this,” He bellowed.

Gallant could just about make out a smile crawling across Lord Commodus’ face.

“Then by the majesty of The Sovereign and by my will, you are bound to see this task to completion. Now, let’s feast!” He shouted, clapping his hands.

The was a few seconds of uneasy inaction. But a few murmurs of activity and nibbles of eating soon expanded into a great cavalcade of activity.

A few knights walked over to Gallant and clonked a hand onto his back, giving an obliging, “Good luck.” Gallant smiled uneasily and nodded as these knights did their rounds.

He spotted Dame Faulkes at the far end, staring down at her meal but not taking a single bite. Lord Commodus, however, motioned over a servant and said something to them, pointing over at Gallant.

The servant rushed over and whispered into his ear, “Lord Commodus wishes to meet you in his chambers after the feast has ended.”

Gallant looked again at Lord Commodus, who had already moved on to jovially talking to the people around him. Gallant pushed his plate away and looked over to the door at the far end of the table, where Page surely was beyond.

A Sober and More Well Informed Prologue

“Shit,” Magnus muttered to herself, as she held the sketch into the light. The chicken scratchings revealed a portly man with a green tribal tattoo splayed across his face.

(Describe same surroundings as prologue)

She stumbled for a moment as her feet started walking before the rest of her was ready. She steadied herself, but heard the sounds of someone grumbling and walking towards her.

Magnus slinked off into the side gardens of one of the houses, out of the dim spotlight of the lamps. A stocky woman, reeking of booze and with an apron slung over her shoulder, walked by down the road soberly.

She looked back as this woman disappeared down a side road, and Magnus continued. Magnus slinked back into view and started walking. She pulled her coat closer in than it already was. It was fucking freezing.

It didn’t take much more before she was there. The inn, the only thing still lit up and…well, not full of noise. But the only thing in this entire village that made any kind of noise whatsoever.

She moved away from the front door and stared at the tiny grassy alley. There was just enough room for her to walk in, albeit at a slight angle.

All of the windows were frosted and Magnus could just about make out four figures around a round table hollering, slamming, laughing, and drinking. There were a few more blurry figures. However, getting closer to the end of the building, a single clear window was spewing light out onto the fence.

She slinked around and tried peeking one eye in. She was immediately hit by the two figures talking. Facing away was a knight, looking exactly like the blurry figures.

“Fucking four of them,” Magnus muttered to herself.

More cautiously, she slinked ever so slightly into the darkness. The knight moved and revealed him. Guy, that green tribal tattoo, middle aged and scruffy. He matched the sketch she had as much as anyone could match a hastily drawn sketch.

Guy glanced right into Magnus’ eyes and she dropped out of sight. She sighed and, not hearing any further commotion, awkwardly contorted herself until she was in something resembling a comfortable position. Her back was to the mottled wall of the inn, her head just under the window, and her legs were stretched a little bit out to the fence.

She reached into her coat and produced a rolled up piece of paper. She tossed it over in her hands a little bit before unfurling it. In the low light conditions, it was nigh-impossible to see what was written unless she held it in the light. Uncomfortably high and uncomfortably exposed.

She read and smiled, breathing out to calm herself.

The back door around the corner opened up and Magnus heard the sounds of a guy, either late teen or early twenties, coughed and grumbled to himself.

Magnus quickly furled the letter and stuffed it back in her coat. The guy walked around to Magnus’ side of the fence and he began hiking up his apron. He glanced to his right and suddenly jumped back.

“Fuck me!” He shouted, “Sorry, lady.”

He put his apron back and grew more red as he did.

“Sorry,” Magnus grumbled as she made the long trip to stand up.

“Oh no, it’s alright you can stay there. I just need somewhere to…” He trailed off, scanning around and disappearing out of view.

After a bit of rustling of garments Magnus could hear the sounds of liquid hitting grass.

“I’m really sorry to give you a scare. Are you doing alright?” He asked, as the stream was letting up.

“No, don’t worry about it,” Magnus began, “It’s okay I can leave.”

“Alright, but I really am sorry,” The guy said, rustling garments.

“It’s okay,” Magnus said, more curtly this time.

Magnus had stood up and was doing her awkward side walk out.

“Are you sure you want to stay out here?” The guy asked, “It really is much warmer in the inn. I can let you stay as long as you want.”

“No, I’m fine,” Magnus said, drifting further away. Suddenly, the blurry figures of the knights started shifting about. They all got up as shouts were coming from the inn. Magnus hastily side walked back into postiion

“Actually, I think I should be fine sitting here,” She said, plopping herself back down.

“Um, okay, yeah no problem,” The bartender said.

The door on the other side suddenly breezed open. Magnus could hear the clonking of marching armour and shouting.

“…right. Go to your peasants who ‘love’ you so much,” The gruff voice shouted. The knights marched out and Magnus looked over to the guy, who was still looking at her with concern.

“My name’s Danyll, by the way,” Danyll said.

“Uh, I’m Avina,” Magnus replied.

He nodded, and they stood in suspended awkwardness for a moment.

“Look, I’ll go back inside but I’ll be back to check on you after I close to make sure you’re okay,” He said. She smiled and nodded.

He got a few steps in before turning over.

“Who’s your sister?” He asked. She shot her head up and glared at him.

“What do you mean?”

“I have to admit I glanced at that note when you were reading it. All I saw was it was from your sister. Do—” He cut himself off. She was boring her eyes right into his skull.

“Right, sorry. I shouldn’t pry. Have a nice night and stay safe,” He said.

She said nothing as he left.

On the other end, a guy stumbled out, muttering smugly to himself. She sidle-snuck over to the corner, backing away as a hover cart rolled by. Illuminated in the dim light was DRUNKE VAGRANT TAXI SERVICE. As it rolled by, Guy strode off. Magnus popped out of her alley, taking a second to stretch. The turrets of the four knights roared overhead, covering the village momentarily in a thick layer of spotlights.

Magnus, once these lights had passed, quick-stepped to Guy, unsheathing her sword. Before he had a chance to turn around she clocked him on the back of his head with the butt of her sword.

He crumpled into a pile, the grass muffling the sound of his collapse. She sheathed her sword and checked his breathing. A gust of laboured air hit her hand and she sighed with relief.

She began dragging Guy to the side alley she was sitting in before, but finally compared the size of the alley with Guy.

“Shit,” She mumbled to herself.

On the fence on the other side next to a delapedated house she saw, barely reflected in the light, a tarp. She stuffed him under the tarp and crouch-stepped back to her alley.

She peeked though the open window and Danyll was absent-mindedly wiping surfaces, putting chairs on tables, and at one point produced two whole crowns, staring at them for a moment before chuckling and putting them in the till.

Magnus slinked back and forth between where Guy was and observing the bartender. Until, eventually, as Magnus was crossing back over to Guy, the front door blew open and Magnus hot-stepped it behind the fence.

The bartender hummed some monotone, indistinguishable tone to himself as he took his key, locked the front door, and put the key back in his pocket. He walked over to the alley and had a brief glance in. Eventually, satisfied there was nothing existing there, he walked off, not noticing at all the hand that dipped in and out of his pocket.

Magnus, key in between teeth, ripped the tarp off of the still unconscious Guy and laboriously pulled up his torso by the shoulders.

“Come here, you lazy shit,” Magnus muttered to herself, dragging him over towards the bar.

***

Guy groaned. He was groaning about everything. The crown of his head screamed at him with pain. The light pointed at his face was just a bit too bright. He was slowly coming back into his own the moment before the sharp light yanked him fully into reality.

“Good morning,” Magnus said.

Guy’s vision came back into view. Opposite him was Magnus sitting stiffly on one of the bar chairs, a gap behind her between the rest of the chairs placed carefully on the table. Guy instinctively jolted up at the sound of a strangers voice, but found his arms both immediately pinned back in place. Rope.

“Settle down, I need to have a chat with you. And apparently none of my letters have been making that clear enough.”

“What the hell,” Guy slurred out, “Who are you?”

“You do realise the people who contract your services can’t exactly stick around for very long. And it’s been two months since your last letter to me. I get that we all miss sending wireless messages to each other but come on. Ink isn’t expensive. It’s free, actually.”

“Okay, wait,” Guy said, very visibly concentrating on what he was saying, “You’re a client?”

“Wonderful! He’s with us,” Magnus said, “You promised me, again, two months ago, that work was happening on getting me out of here. And listen, Guy, I only didn’t go out looking for your identity because you were doing me a solid with that discount. Your initial letters made you seem like knew what you were doing.”

Magnus scooched her chair forward, the scrapes stabbing Guy in the ears.

“I’d say you’ve used up all of your leeway.”

“I can’t tell you what you want to know.”

“Because?”

“Because it would jeopardize the ongoing relationships I have with existing clients.”

Magnus scoffed.

“Would you not say that stealing customer money and pissing it all away on cheap ale isn’t already jeopardizing your relationship with them? And you call yourself a smuggler?” She asked.

“I’m not your man!” He shouted, finally, “I’m just a middleman. I forward people like you on to the person who actually plans how to smuggle you from point A to point B. If I had anything to tell you, I would.”

“That would work better on me if I wasn’t actively following you for the last week or so,” She said.

Guy turned a lively shade of sheet white. Magnus continued.

“I didn’t just figure out your name and where you live. Which, as far as I can tell, is essentially at this bar. I figured out who else you’ve been (check outline). I have enough information to have you arrested—”

“You wouldn’t!” He shouted.

“I have enough information to hsave your husband divorce you, oh yeah, I know about your husband, too.

“Don’t you dare hur—”

“I have enough information for the other people you’ve been ‘smuggling’ to be arrested, too. I have enough information to make your life hell. And I imagine the only reason you haven’t been caught for all this yet is because whoever you work for is too busy with less parasitical middlemen who actually provide clients.”

Guy hung his head. He was slumped forward as if he had just recieved a brutal pummelling.

“So, what,” He said, “You’ve got enough to make my life hell. What do you want from me?”

“Well my initial plan was to get you to do your actual fucking job, or at least give me what you’d planned so far. But now I want to know your boss’ identity.”

Guy shot up again, glaring at Magnus.

“You can’t.”

Magnus sighed, this time hanging her head. She unsheathed her sword, its light glinting in the harsh lamplight, and placed it gently on her lap.

“Might I remind you I know where your husband lives.”

“I really can’t, I don’t know anything about them.”

“Uh huh,” Magnus said, standing up and taking a step towards the front door, sword in hand.

“Wait wait wait,” Guy said, hurriedly, “I really can’t. Our relationship is exactly like yours and mine. We use what we assume are codenames. We haven’t met in real life ever. I don’t know who they are or even if there’s just one of them.”

Magnus stopped walking, sheathed her sword, and plopped herself back on her chair.

“Well then how did you even start doing business with this per…With these pe…With whoever.”

“I did a job for them. Some side help for a big job they had with a client. And they liked me so much they kept me on retainer. I know whoever it is is in City 2 but that’s as best as I can do. I just sign their name on the letter, use the seal they gave me, give it to the woman who takes the village’s letters, and that’s it.”

“Hm,” Magnus mused, leaning back and interlocking her fingers on her stomach.

“You wouldn’t happen to have any of their letters on you right now, would you?”

“No, I burn them after I read them,” He said.

“Uh huh,” She said. After a moment’s silence, Magnus shot over to Guy and started rifling through his tunic.

“What the fuck, get off of me!” He shouted. Magnus ignored Guy’s sad attempts to kick her through his bindings. She pulled back and landed back on her chair a letter in hand.

“Good lord, you’d think being tied up would lessen your penchant for arsing me about.”

“Please, for The Sovereign’s sake, don’t mention me.”

Magnus put her hands on her knees and stood up, turning around and carefully placing her chair in the same position as the rest of them.

“Can you at least untie me?” He shouted.

“You should take tonight to reevaluate your life choices. In the meantime…” She said, reaching into Guy’s coin purses (not that one) and producing five crowns. She walked over to the bar, pulled out the woodblock, and got to cutting.

Guy couldn’t see her, but she arrived with a neatly cut three-eighths crown, depositing it into his purse.

“I’m taking my money back for the job you didn’t do. However, I’m giving you back three crowns. One we’ll call a ‘referral fee,’ and two for the broken window.

“Wait, what?” He asked, sobering up by the second. She walked out the front door.

“What broken window? Don’t you dare do what I think you’re going to do.”

Magnus closed the door, ignoring the muffled shouts of protest behind her.

Gallant talks to Lord Commodus

---

Lord Commodus greeted him at the door, so soberly dressed that Gallant was taken aback.

Magnus Finds The Smuggler

---

Guy wasn’t lying about burning the letters, however.