Part 1

Epigraph

Knights.

Venerated warriors of unparalleled ferocity.

Keepers of the peace of the realm.

These brave souls embody the spirit of The Glorious Empire itself.

Where The Empire goes, the knights go eternal.

They march in metal.

They were born in fire.

They will forever ensure that The Empire and its people are safe from indignity or injustice.

Hail The Glorious Empire, and forever hail the knights.

~ Preface from “The Neo-Saracen War, An Oral History by Sovereign LXII”

A Rather Drunk and Reckless Prologue

“Bloody knights,” Guy muttered. He leaned back in his pine chair, at his oak table, in the corner of the grubby inn.

Four knights clad in plate armour filed through the door, hooting and celebrating. The chill from outside wafted in with them and through the building. The knights sat down at a table in the corner, hugged on all sides by smokey-brown walls and frosted windows. The door swung shut and the warmth of the inn settled back down again.

Guy, a larger gentleman wrapped in a green medieval tunic, took a messy swig of his drink and plopped the tankard back down, spilling it at every step.

“Hey, guess what came…” Guy began, before frowning as he glanced left. The open-plan server’s area adjacent to him was empty.

He scanned the rest of the inn for who he was looking for. The few patrons still around this late were either making last-ditch efforts to bring their unenthusiastic dates home for the night, or were vacantly staring out the window. The sudden jump in the energy of the establishment that came with the knights made no impression on them.

Guy scratched at the grey stubble growing out of a green swirl tattoo on his cheek. He looked left again and jumped back at the sight of a scrawny, black-haired kid who had seemingly appeared out of thin air beside him.

“Great Sovereign, kid,” Guy shouted, “don’t sneak up on someone like that.”

“Oh, sorry,” the kid said, sheepishly withdrawing the yellowed rag he had been using to wipe down the table. He stuffed it down his apron pocket and made to leave.

Guy narrowed his eyes.

“Wait, you’re not Rhonda,” he said.

“Yeah, you just missed her. I’m her nephew Danyll and I’ll be closing up tonight.”

“Hm,” Guy thought aloud, finishing off his ale. “Shit, have I been here that long?”

The kid shrugged and made an unsure noise to match. He took Guy’s empty tankard and headed for the server’s area.

“Give me another while you’re at it, kid,” Guy shouted, startling the kid as he was right next to him.

After busying himself at a keg, the kid came back with a frothy tankard in one hand and a wood block in the other. The block was caked in a gum of old ale and metal shavings, sliced up by knife marks.

“That’ll be an eighth crown pl—”

“I know how much a fucking ale costs,” Guy roared with such ferocity that the kid dropped the wood block on the table, scattering metal shavings. Guy dug through his coin purse while the kid placed the ale down and looked anywhere else.

Guy placed a coin down on the wood block. The coin was separated by eight equal score marks, each eighth slice stamped with a circle and cross symbol.

Guy pulled out a toothpick-thin dagger, not longer than a letter opener, and rocked it back and forth along the score marks. After an agonisingly long time, the dull ironsteel dropped down onto the wood with a thunk.

He divided it in half, then that half into a quarter, and then that into an eighth piece, holding it up for the kid. The kid carefully pinched the eighth crown from Guy while avoiding the dagger swaying drunkenly in his other hand. Guy swept the other segments of coin back into his pocket and grabbed the tankard.

While Guy was sipping, the dribble running down his chin, the kid hovered for a moment longer near Guy. After Guy noticed, the kid sat down in the seat opposite and leaned in.

“So what’s your deal with those knights?” he asked, pointing at them.

Guy finished his mouthful and planted the tankard down.

“You heard me muttering?”

“You’re louder than you think. Do you know them or something?” the kid said.

Guy glanced over to the knights, who launched into another barrage of laughing and slapping each other on the back. The swords on their belts swayed with each jostle.

“It’s not those knights in particular, kid,” he said, “it’s all of them. These ones just happen to be nearby.”

The kid sighed.

“That’s not very helpful.”

“Knights bring nothing but pain and suffering. Having them at this inn is a very bad idea, and if you have any sense you should chase them out. Ideally with something big and sharp. It’s as much as they deserve” Guy said.

“That’s harsh. I mean, my mums are both knights and I think they’re pretty alright,” the kid said.

“I’m sorry to be the first to say it but your mums are probably power-tripping megalomaniacs. Get yourself emancipated from them,” Guy grumbled before downing another mouthful of ale.

The kid narrowed his eyes at Guy.

“I’m an adult and I don’t live with them.”

“Then hire a hitman I dunno,” Guy said, sipping down some of the foam on his drink.

“Do you know them?” the kid asked.

“No, but I know they’re knights. I don’t hold it against you,” Guy continued, “You weren’t around during the war.”

The kid perked up.

“You fought in the war?”

“How old do you think I am? I was alive during the war but I was a kid, about your age. We lived on a communal farm shovelling shit and planting crops.”

Behind the kid’s back a shaggy drunk stumbled tankard-first to the server’s area. He topped himself up from a keg. The drunk nodded at Guy and he stumbled out of sight. The kid looked behind him but at that point there was nothing to see.

“I don’t remember what the food was for,” Guy continued, ignoring the distraction, “I think one of the older workers said it was for a noble’s personal banquet or something. This was in the central territories, about as far away from the war as you can get. Just about the most exciting thing that happened was when we found our resident knight-at-arms pale and hunched over a toilet.”

The kid’s face contorted into a grimace.

“Your noble’s most important knight went out like that?”

“Yep. He was using it while he checked up on us. It was a heart attack. Almost gave John one too when he found the body on his porcelain throne,” he said, an odd smile spreading over his face.

The knights across the inn gave a grand cheer, clonking their tankards together and momentarily distracting the kid and Guy, who dropped his smile.

“It was the next day that the knights turned on us. That’s when the harassment started. They kept telling us how ‘fishy’ it was that their knight-at-arms died so unceremoniously. It obviously had to be foul play. Their glorious leader was too glorious to go out on the crapper. It became dangerous to walk alone on the streets because of them. When you heard someone shouting ‘knight slayer,’ it was time to curl up and protect yourself. Otherwise, if you ran from the beating, you were labelled a ‘fugitive’ and hauled back in.”

“Great Sovereign, that’s awful. I’m so sorry to hear th—”

Guy slammed his drink down, spilling half his ale on the tabletop.

“Don’t fucking do that.” Guy pointed at the kid, flicking spilled ale onto his face. “Get pissed off, sure, but don’t you dare pity me. I am not a victim. Got it?”

The kid took a moment, staring into the well of fire in Guy’s eyes, and gave a shaky nod. A scraping of wood and the clanging of plate ironsteel over by the knights’ table broke Guy’s concentration. One of the knights, the tallest, the one with flowing blonde hair, had gotten up and was walking towards them.

“Our knights were eager to fight, and they wanted to join the war. But they were stuck essentially babysitting villagers like us. I don’t know if it was resentment or just plain bloodlust, but they were waiting for an opportunity to start harassing us. And the next knight-at-arms stood by, encouraged it, and sometimes participated.”

“Excuse me, sorry to interrupt,” the knight said, “but could we get four ales?” He gestured back to his table.

“Sure. If you’ll excuse me,” the kid said, getting up from the chair and walking to the serving area. He approached one of the massive kegs and started filling tankards. Guy took a deep breath in and threw back the rest of his ale.

“You don’t become a knight because you want to protect the realm or whatever bullshit they like to say, y’know?”

The kid froze in place, almost letting the ale overflow the tankard before shoving it to the side and filling another. The knight gave no response and kept looking at the kid.

“You become a knight because you like power. They’re addicted to it. And it didn’t take long before the knights at our village started ramping up their punishments. We weren’t just knight slayers, now they were saying we were also colluding with the enemy. We were Neo-Saracens, or in their pocket, or whatever they decided was the deal on any given day. Every person who whispered gossip to another. Every farmer who’s harvest was a bit too large. Every craftsperson who made a dull blade. They did what knights do. They abused us and their power.”

The kid, white as a sheet, took the tankards and fumbled them over to the knight. The knight took his four drinks and Guy watched him walk back to his table, this time with far less pomposity than before. Guy smirked and turned back to the kid.

“Eventually, our village was—”

“Did you have to say all that while he was here?” the kid protested.

“No,” he said, smiling. “Eventually, our village was burnt to the ground.”

“Wait, what?” the kid said, reeling from the shift in tone. “Holy shit.” He leaned in closer. “Was it the knights?”

“Probably. We had been planning for some time to go to the noble with our complaints. The night before our little delegation was set to leave, I was woken up by smoke and screaming. It started on the outskirts and consumed everything in a second. Our village was made of thatched roofs and wooden walls so good luck escaping the blaze if you weren’t on the village outskirts in a second. Those of us who could, fled. My mother…” he trailed off, following that thought into a swig of ale.

“Anyway. We all decided that, since we could be reasonably presumed dead, it was time to leave and never come back. I can only hope the knights burnt up in their own fire, incompetent boobs that they are.”

The kid opened his mouth to offer sympathies, but thought better of it. He massaged his hands into his sopping rag. “What happened to the rest of your village?”

“Maybe you should ask your aunt about it if you wanna know more,” Guy said.

The kid cocked his head.

“Wait, was Rhonda…”

Guy nodded and turned to face the knights. They had halted their lively discussions and were muttering amongst each other. Every once in a while they shot a glance Guy’s way, none more so than the knight that had gone up for their drinks.

That knight slid his chair out and stood up. Guy leaned back on the creaky two legs of his chair and looked at the kid.

“I’ll bet you a half crown that that violent moron is going to knock my teeth out,” he said, dipping into his coin purse and tossing the half crown on the table.

Before the kid could speak, the knight strolled up to Guy’s table. Guy smiled in anticipation, and the kid backed away towards the serving area.

“I listened to your story, or, what I was able to catch,” the knight began, plopping himself in the chair opposite, “and I’m sorry about what happened to you. You have to understand that knights are decent people—” Guy snorted and shook his head. The knight clamped his eyes down and continued. “Knights used the war as an excuse to act like animals. But The Knights’ Association has been reformed. There’s a good chance the knights who hurt you, and the knights who hurt everyone, were arrested and put through degradation. They won’t be knights anymore.”

Guy refused to make eye contact. He leaned back in his chair and stared straight up at the roof. He could see its gutted skeleton, exposed crossbeams showing where an attic should be.

“Look, me and my friends want to do right by you citizens. Is there any way we can show you that things are better? Any way at all?”

Guy gently placed his tankard down on the table. For the first time since the knight’s monologue began he looked him square in the face. He gave a tortured laugh.

“‘You citizens.’ Great Sovereign, you are one condescending prick.”

“Excuse me?” the knight said.

“You heard me. You want to act like everything’s better and you’re just a bunch of innocent do-gooders when you’re not. There’s no way that rot ever goes away. Not without mass-executions, anyway. Want to show me that things are better? Get in your little ships and fly away. Leave us alone,” Guy said.

His voice had been raising in volume, and drunken incoherence, as he ranted. And the other knights had perked up to pay attention. There were no other patrons left at the inn to witness the ruckus.

The knight closed his eyes, taking in the thick silence, and stood up.

“Us knights have gotten better since the war. What about you?”

The knight walked back to his table. He sat down but took on a hunched, defeated posture. Guy turned to the kid who seemed to breathe for the first time since the altercation began. Guy scrutinised the kid’s face.

“You still don’t believe me, do you? You still think they’re great,” he said, an eerie calm descending over his voice.

“I mean… The guy has a right to be upset. That was kind of brutal.”

“How about this,” Guy said, downing the rest of his tankard, “is our bet still on?

“You were serious?” the kid said.

Guy dramatically placed his hand on his heart, as if he was taking an oath.

“Of course. I’m a man of my word. I am still willing to bet that these knights are no different to the ones back at the village. How’s about it, you game?”

The kid paused to think. After a few moments of marinating in Guy’s expectant gaze, the kid stood up and walked to the server’s area. He fiddled around with the till and came back with a half-crown.

“They seem like really nice people. And I want to get myself some new shoes.”

The kid placed his crown on the table, next to Guy’s.

“Sorry to say you won’t be getting them,” Guy said.

In a flash Guy shot out of his seat and aimed a tankard at the knight, his body swaying and wobbling as he was more alcohol than man at this point. The kid made a move to stop him, but Guy lobbed the metal object before the kid had a chance. In spite of Guy’s extreme level of sloshed, the tankard sailed clean across the inn and made a sickening crack on the knight’s head.

The knight wheeled around as Guy fell back on his chair, arms folded defiantly. The knight glared deep into Guy’s eyes with a gaze of naked contempt, dabbing the back of his head and checking for blood. The other knights shot nervous looks between each other, Guy, and the lead knight.

After an eternity the knight turned to his cohort and made a circular hand motion with his finger. They promptly got up and walked out the door. It took a moment for Guy to realise what was happening but, in his drunken rage, he stood up.

“Yeah, that’s right. Go to your peasants who ‘love’ you so much. I know you’ll love taking your anger out on them tonight,” he shouted in a cloud of spittle and ale as the door swung shut.

Guy sighed with satisfaction. He looked over to the kid, who was so pressed into the wall he looked like he was about to pass through it.

“And that’s how you deal with knights,” he said.

The kid stiffly peeled himself off the wall and, without saying a word, walked to the tankard lying on the floor and picked it up. He walked back over to the table and collapsed into the chair opposite.

“Why in the name of The Sovereign did you do that?” he said, placing the dented tankard down.

Guy shrugged.

“Trying to win the bet, I guess,” Guy said, leaning on his hand as the room started swirling.

Guy looked around the empty inn. Even the wall lamps had grown dimmer, and some of the outside’s chill had seeped in in the absence of warm bodies. He noticed at the same time as the kid that the crowns still sat on the table.

Before the kid could do anything, he scooped up the coins and dumped them into his purse.

“Hey! What about the bet?” he said.

Guy took an age to get to his feet, and he leaned on the chair to stop him crashing to the floor

“Call it an IOU,” Guy said.

Using the tables and chairs as guides he stumbled to the door. He pushed it open and the frigid nighttime air hit him full force.

“You’re gonna get yourself into trouble treating promises like they’re disposable,” the kid shouted, wiping down a table.

“Uh huh, and you’re going to get into trouble trying to give people advice,” Guy said. Or, at least, that’s what he tried to say. The words came out more as an incoherent slur of garbled syllables. And with that he left, allowing the door to swing shut behind him.

Despite the booze and adrenaline swirling around in his system, the frost of the night air crept under his skin. A low rumble, weak, but still requiring Guy to hold onto the wall for support, rang through the streets. The rumble turned into a roar overhead as four stone turrets, looking as if they had been ripped right out of the corners of a castle, screamed overhead. Their flat-planed engines glowed a pulsating deep blue and propelled them with lumbering speed through the skies.

Their spotlights traced four wide beams over the village, overpowering the puny street lamps and flooding the houses with light as they travelled. The simple plastered brick walls and tiled roofing of each was briefly exposed when the turrets rolled past. Sprawled across the walls of each house, a net of pulsating blue wiring sprawled out on each side with little blue pulses tracing each path.

Above him, a wooden sign hanging from two chains rhythmically flapped back and forth. ‘THE DRUNKEN COCK’ was emblazoned below the silhouette of a rooster with a drink.

A wind howled past, breaking Guy out of his stupor and he took that as his cue to leave. He pulled his tunic closer in and stumbled off, grinning as he watched the turrets disappear over the horizon of village buildings.

Guy, oblivious to the desperate crunching of footsteps on dry grass and the sound of scraping metal behind him, muttered to himself, “Honestly, people keep trying to teach me life lessons like I’m some kind of—”

A blow cracked him in the back of the skull, and Guy fell out of the world.

Gallant

Gallant sat with his head depressed into his ironsteel gauntlets. Compressed into a room not much bigger than a closet, he was hunched in his rickety wooden chair over a tiny stone table. The table had enough room for one single person to read one single book. Three men cramped around it.

Their breathing at varying intensities reverberated around the walls An uncomfortable punctuation to the silence. Bookshelves that adorned the room, haphazardly shelved books spilling onto the floor. Above, a dim lamp eked out a few embers of light. Blue, pulsating wires crawled out behind the lamp like spider webs.

The man on Gallant’s right kept his arms folded and cleared his throat. He reeked of coal dust, which he took a moment to dust off his filthy apron. The specks of black tumbled onto the floor, joining the rest of the dust and books below.

The bejewelled man on Gallant’s left glanced at the filthy man, rolled his eyes, and looked back at Gallant. He sat with regal poise, wrapped in a maroon fur coat. His skin had a tan that looked, and smelled, like it took an hour to apply every morning.

They both stared at Gallant with equal parts expectation and impatience. Gallant finally rose his face off his hands and stared ahead of him into the middle distance.

“The problem is copper?” Gallant asked.

“Garbage copper, Sir Gallant,” The burly man corrected him.

“Garbage? That copper came straight from the refinery. If you’re unable to use it, then obviously your incompetence is to blame,” The bejewelled man accused.

“MY incompetence? That’s rich coming from you. That metal was so mixed it might as well be an alloy,” The burly man growled.

“And I’m certain this has nothing to do with your ineptitude as a toolsmith, right ‘Hugo?’” The merchant said, standing up.

As this battle raged, Gallant had once again taken to burying his face in his hands. He took in a laboured breath for a moment to think.

“I have twenty years of experience. Are you saying I don’t know how to tell if a metal is cheap slag? Because clearly you don’t, ‘Blanc.’” Hugo said, standing up like Blanc but towering effortlessly over him.

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

“Then either your machines are faulty 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 and waving them around, “I might let you have your full refund. But you have to beg for it. ”

“Alright,” Gallant said, slamming his hand down on the table and wincing, “Blanc, sit down. And put those away or I’ll break your arm in three places.”

Hugo, seconds away from leaping over the tiny table, breathed out some of his fiery hot rage.

Blanc dropped back onto the chair, causing it to creak and drop ever so slightly. All three men paused to see if there would be a sudden snapping of wood and Blanc hitting the floor.

Nothing.

Hugo grinned like a fool before Gallant continued. “You too, Hugo, or I’ll have your licence to do business here revoked.”

“Seriously?” Hugo protested.

Gallant said nothing and Hugo plopped back down, the vibration ringing through the room and hitting Gallant and Blanc like an earthquake.

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

“I think I understand the problem,” Gallant said. He looked at Blanc. “Can’t you just refund him?”

Blanc was aghast.

“I can’t!” he shot back.

Gallant frowned and looked at the crowns 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 repeated, exasperated.

“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 folded.

“Certainly a lot more than you. Have the ape tell me about morals, good lord,” Blanc said.

Hugo tilted his head with murderous intent.

“No offence, Sir Gallant, but when are we going to meet Lord Commodus?” Blanc asked. “We only came to Velvet Chiffon because we were expecting him to mediate this dispute himself.”

Gallant raised an eyebrow.

“What are you talking about? I’m mediating. Did Lord Commodus not tell you two?”

Hugo broke his death glare from Blanc and looked at Gallant with confusion.

“Tell us what? All I got was a letter saying he’d deal with it.”

The two, almost in unison, produced two different letters and held them across the table to Gallant. Gallant took the letter from Hugo and read it.

Dear Master Hugo,

I have read over your letter and, indeed, this is a rather vexing issue. Know that the stability of this realm is of utmost importance and I am personally organising the mediation of your dispute. Please meet with one of my knights at Velvet Chiffon on day 125 of 1105 AE in order to discuss this. There, I hope, your issues will be solved to your satisfaction.

Regards, The Office of Lord Commodus

“We didn’t realise we were going to be, no offence, pawned off on his knight. And not even the Knight-At-Arms, either,” Blanc said as Gallant handed back the note to Hugo. Hugo stuffed it back into his front apron pocket.

Gallant produced a letter of his own and read it.

Sir Gallant,

You are to be entrusted with an assignment of the highest order. There is a great dispute that I am unfortunately incapable of mediating. You are entrusted with full discretion in its handling. May The Sovereign walk with you in this matter.

Regards, Lord Commodus.

A frown grew across Gallant’s face. He sighed, taking a moment to realise the reality of the situation and scrunching up the paper. He tossed it across the table and folded his arms.

“I thought I was doing something important for once,” Gallant mumbled.

Hugo and Blanc looked at each other.

“Sir Gallant?” Hugo asked.

The door behind Gallant swung open and hit him in the back of his chair.

“Ow!” Gallant shouted.

“Oops, sorry Sir Gallant,” The high-pitched voice on the other side apologised.

A boy of no more than 17 squeezed through the doorway, the cool air of the corridor breezing in with him and affording the three men a moment of relief. He ran a hand through his wild, curly black hair and ruffled it out of shape.

“Sorry I was late, I got distracted talking about swords with…” he cut himself off as he saw the three men not at all having a good time. “Not relevant. Meeting’s in an hour.”

“Who is this child?” Blanc asked with a touch of indignation.

Gallant stood up and tucked his chair in.

“Uh, that’s my knight-apprentice Page,” Gallant said, frantically heading for the door and letting Page out.

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

“I’ll be back in a bit,” Gallant said, half out of the doorway and forcing a smile. “But in the meantime, maybe you two just need to hash this out by yourselves. Really have at it. Leave no stone unturned. See you in a few hours.”

“Wait…” Blanc said, standing up.

“Hours!?” Hugo shouted, straightening up in his chair as Gallant shut the door.

Gallant quick-stepped into the stone corridor and breathed a long, tense breath out.

“Of course,” Hugo’s voice boomed at Blanc from behind the door, “We’d be done in a minute if you just did the right thing.”

“Me?” Came the reply, “Have you considered just not being shit at your job?”

A shout and the sounds of a muffled scuffle rang through the stone hallway. A lone female guard standing by the door looked at Gallant with shared disbelief. Gallant leaned over to her.

“Go in there and make sure they don’t kill each other,” he said.

The guard nodded and hovered her hand in front of the door.

“Although,” he interrupted, giving her pause, “Maybe give them a few minutes to get it out of their system.”

She looked at Gallant, puzzled, but nodded and checked a nearby clock.

“I don’t get why they’re fighting over a big refund,” Page said, a little too loudly, “Why not just give a discount on future products and, like, guaranteed purity checking or something.”

The scuffling stopped in an instant. This gave way to more reasoned murmuring on the other side.

The guard, looking to Gallant for support that never came, opened the door and some of the conversation escaped.

“…could structure the discounts in such a way that it essentially adds up to a full refund.”

The guard closed the door behind her and Gallant dropped his head.

“What the hell was that?” Gallant said.

He looked to Page who was at that moment was fiddling with the lamp opposite them.

“Huh?” Page asked, turning to face Gallant.

“How did you get those idiots to stop fighting?”

Page shrugged.

“I just listened to what they were saying. Blanc doesn’t really care about the money, he just doesn’t want to refund Hugo. If he does then that’s him accepting that he made shitty metals. Hugo actually does just care about the money. It was the solution they both would have agreed on.”

Gallant shook his head.

“What?” Page asked.

”…Nothing.”

Gallant headed off with Page in tow.

The hallways didn’t afford Gallant any escape from cramped spaces as they walked through the roving stone hallways of the turret. Elderly lamps along the walls glowed just enough for the two to see where they were walking. And to see bits of loose equipment from the training grounds strewn on the floor.

As they journeyed, Page talked from stream of consciousness topic to topic. The more Page talked, the more that Gallant’s scowl, which he had worn since the mediation, began to soften.

“I’m just saying: A meeting 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?” Page said.

“Uh huh,” Gallant replied.

They descended a staircase that girt the outside wall of the turret and curved in a wide arc. Cramped into a space that could fit about one and a half people, Gallant and Page walked single file.

“I have ideas, I have tons of ideas,” Page said, “Like, instead of having a bunch of space stations all spread out across the Empire, why not clump them together into one mega-station.”

They stood cramped to the side of the infinitely curving staircase to let some guards pass. Each guard that passed gave a token bow to Gallant and he returned the gestures.

They stopped by a doorway in the side of the staircase wall, the rest of the stairway continuing its descent round the corner into darkness. The doorway spewed light out into the hall and Gallant took a moment to adjust his eyes before he entered.

In front of them was a thinly constructed steel catwalk hanging from the ceiling. Around them, a gargantuan round chamber of mottled stone that shone with solar intensity.

“If gunpowder doesn’t explode anymore then why not compressed air guns?” Page continued his monologue that Gallant hadn’t been listening to, “Just hook a gun up to a canister and crank that pressure up.”

They crossed over the high metal gangway. Gallant looked over the railing at the distant thatched roofs and fern green fields of the turret village far below.

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

“Why not? If gunpowder doesn’t explode anymore—”

“I don’t know about you but I’m not carrying a heavy metal canister of air for the rest of my service.”

“Okay, but—”

“No offence, but smarter people than you and I have tried and failed. Whatever you suggest won’t work,” Gallant said.

Page scoffed.

“Then clearly we need to genetically engineer a new race of super-knights and have them replace you.”

“Clearly.”

The fields below had terraced crops which shot up in abundance. The specks of people below mingled with each other, the white noise of their distant conversations filtering up to the walkway. A cafe directly under them, that Gallant himself had opened a year back, was far and away the busiest hub of activity.

They crossed through to a hallway, this one much wider and marginally more noisy than the rest of the turret, sans the village. At the other end the docking bay bled light in through the open doorway. Gallant walked with a quickened pace past a door which was lined with scrapes, scores, and slashes. Before Gallant could quite make it into the docking bay, the latch behind him clicked open and a shout came from behind him.

“Sir Gallant!” A woman shouted in a gruff voice, waving her free arm as the other rested on the hilt of her sword.

A woman, white hair gathered at the top of her head and in full plate armour, stood half out of the battlegrounds.

Gallant walked back. Behind her, the hay-lined grounds of the battle arena sat in a steel warehouse of a room. An open wooden structure in the centre housed training sections spanning from archery to swordplay.

“Battlemaster Elise,” Gallant mumbled.

“You’ve been ducking my messages.”

“I’ve been busy.”

Battlemaster Elise bristled and leaned on the door.

“We’re actually off to—” Gallant said.

“I’m having an issue with members of this vessel not coming to their mandated training sessions. The ones that you mandated,” Battlemaster Elise said, folding her arms.

“Oh yeah?” Gallant said, “Who’s been skipping out?”

“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 a deeper shade of red.

Page tapped him on the shoulder.

“Uh, Sir Gallant, the meeting,” he said, pointing to the docking bay with one hand and masking his smile with the other.

“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, “It really is such a shame.”

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

“You do understand I’m your employer, right?”

“Yep!” Came the reply from the hall as she slammed the door.

“I wish guns haven’t stopped worked because I want to shoot myself.”

“I’m actually trying to find a gun I can buy, but I can’t seem to find them anywhere.”

Gallant looked at him incredulously.

“You won’t be able to fire it.”

“I know. But it’d just be nice to have as a souvenir. Reminder of the past and all that.”

They walked out to a mahogany box of a room decked out with ornate chairs, which had the stale smell of furniture that hadn’t been used in some time. Adorning the walls, framed squares of patterned carpet displayed scenes of a knight impaling a silhouetted figure, and a glowing yellow figure emblazoned with a circle and cross symbol.

Gallant and Page walked out of their alcove into the monumental round promenade. Above the doorway read a plaque: “Sir Gallant, RKS.” Row upon row of identical docks stretched out forever on the curved walls on either side, each with their own plaques. Some were blank slates, some had names etched in. Under those that had names listed, knights and their processions intermittently spilled out.

The promenade in front of them crackled heavy with business. Shops lined snaking laneways, each with their own inviting windowed shopfronts and hanging wooden signs. As the knights rolled past, each with at least 5-10 people behind them, applause and cheers broke out from the people in and out of the stores. And as Gallant and Page walked past the people continued applauding the other knights. Despite wearing the same ceremonial black ironsteel armour, the people didn’t register Gallant and his posse of one.

Far in the distance the central point at which the walls of the hall rotated around: An enormous bullet-shaped column of slatted wood that towered over the little people. It pointed up to a domed glass ceiling that let the noxious green-yellow clouds of the planet outside roll past.

The central column, reaching up several storeys, had hundreds of doorways cut into it. A crowd of people, knight and civilian alike, chattered in the generous waiting area as people filed into the doorways once they opened. About twenty apiece entered the seated luxury pods and the door closed. After much whirring from the mechanisms, getting softer then getting louder, the door reopened ready to take another load.

“Was Battlemaster Elise right?” Page asked after a period of conspicuous silence.

“Yeah, alright, I really haven’t shown up for two months. But in my defence—”

“No, I mean about the skirmishes on the border with the Neo-Saracen Empire.”

Gallant was silent for a moment.

“We’re not that far from the border but all the attacks on civilian ships have been far from here. Usually near Burning Sapphire with City 2 designation. So don’t worry, we won’t be hurt.”

“Oh, yeah, I don’t care about that. I just wanna know what the Neo-Saracen ships look like.”

Gallant shrugged.

“Seriously?” Page said, “After all this time?”

“Yep, we haven’t heard a peep from them since the war. Which I guess makes sense.”

The more often the pods came back up, the more often starry-eyed civilians had returned. They made a beeline for the knights, showering them with adoration. One kid walked up to Gallant and looked confused.

“Why are you wearing knights’ armour?” he asked.

“Because I am one,” Gallant said.

“Trust me, he’s the real deal,” Page said, gesturing at Gallant who was clenching his jaw.

The kid gave him an up and down scan.

“How come I’ve never heard of you? And where’s your group? Why don’t you seem like a knight?” The kid asked like a machine gun.

Before Gallant could respond the kid walked away to another procession behind them. And that was the only civilian that interacted with him before it was their turn to enter the pod.

They dropped down to the bottom floor. Even with the immense acceleration of the pod, they spent minutes blasting past floor upon floor of luxury. They arrived at a cragged rocky mouth that poured in a heavenly glow. Even the most distracted of knights had to take a moment to shield their eyes.

Revealed, once their eyes had readjusted, was The Emerald Horizon: A vast midday cave with deep green hills that rolled off into the horizon. Page was instantly and utterly transfixed on the majesty of the hills, twinkling wonder in his eyes. Gallant dragged Page through, trying to not get themselves jostled by the other knights.

The crowd had assembled at a stone train platform, suspended by metal rods drilled into the roof of the cave. Gallant peered over the thin railings separating him from a splattery death, the wind howling in his ears. The view down looked like a satellite image or the view of a field from an aeroplane. If he fell over he’d certainly have a lot of time to think about his mistakes before he hit the ground.

Vast farm estates rubbed shoulders with imposing castles despite there being enough room for a million estates. The platform, even with a heaving crowd of people, was colder than the depths of space. Gallant tried to rub his frigid hands, forgetting he was still in his complicated ceremonial armour and clonking his gauntlets together.

“Is that every report?” A knight next to Gallant asked, looking at her assistant’s pile of papers.

The beleaguered assistant flicked through the pages. Gallant snuck a peek and they were either scribbled on in an indecipherable scrawl, or just blank.

A gust of wind blasted through and yanked all of the pages out of the assistant’s hands. The maglev train whirred into the station and promptly obliterated the pages into confetti.

“I guess so.”

The train gently lowered itself so that the foot of the entrance doors lined up with the edge of the platform. The railings that separated the crowd from the train retracted sharply into the standing poles with a ka-chunk.

Gallant and Page raced in and managed to snag two seats, 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.

“Three cheers for me. 50 million kilometres baby!” A knight shouted as an accompanying gang of knights, hoisting her as high as they could in the train, rolled by.

“What was that about?” Gallant asked.

“That was Dame Demona. 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, sitting passengers thrown into a lurch and forcing standing passengers to hold on like they were in a storm.

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

“Well, you know Witch’s Lair?” Page said.

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

“Yep. She got it.”

“Huh. Lucky her, I guess,” Gallant mumbled, diverting his attention to out the windows.

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

The sudden darkness hit Gallant, 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 lord of the central territories?” A knight’s guard opposite Gallant asked another guard.

“Oh yeah. Can you believe it was the previous lord’s SON. How is that not nepotism?” The second guard said, outraged.

“This is the guy they’re stuck with for life? Great Sovereign.”

Gallant gaze drifted next to him and Page was gone. Gallant twisted and turned in his seat looking for Page but he had disappeared. In that same moment the train blasted out of the trench, flooding the cabin with light again, and began climbing beside the cave wall. In the distance ahead and rapidly growing larger sat a vast stone plaza, overshadowed by a white stone tower carved into the cave wall.

The train roared into the station and shuddered to a stop, the hum lowering in pitch until it was inaudible. Once the train had lowered down the doors flung open and Gallant once again joined the fray.

Carved and painted into the grounds that greeted them at the main plaza was a simple blue cross. The same as the guards wandering the plaza had across their chestplates.

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.”

Page’s voice.

He wheeled around and saw Page patting a knight on the shoulder as the knight’s procession looking on grumpily.

“You may be worrying about what people think 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. He walked over to Gallant.

“He is strange little man, but he speaks like wise oak tree. Thank you for help, little man,” he said, walking off.

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

“He was just a guy I met on the train. Sorry for running off on you like that, but he seemed really bummed.”

Gallant stared slack jawed at his knight-apprentice.

“How do you do that?” Gallant asked.

“Do what?”

“That thing where you control people’s brains with your words.”

Page shrugged.

“I just talk to them, I guess. Wow, look how amazing the place is,” Page said as he spun around, awe slapped across his face. He craned his neck around, at angles only a teen could, to take in as much of the majesty as he could.

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

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

Page, once again, excitedly sped off and Gallant sighed before pursuing. 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.

“Sorry, Dame Faulkes, 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 sea of waiting knights. She nodded at the guard, and Page and the guard started chattering away. 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 trying to look anywhere else.

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

She looked at him with surprise. As if he had just teleported in.

“Oh, hello. I’m sorry but I do not know your name.”

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

“Ah,” she said.

Silence. They stood glued to the rest of the crowd for another few agonising moments.

“Are you…” Gallant began. Dame Faulkes shot him a look. “Do you know what this meeting is about?” Gallant asked.

“You’ll find out,” she said.

A clunking door sound rang out through the stone pavilion. The crowd stirred, waves of motion emanated from the front of the crowd to the back. Dame Faulkes

“Nice to talk to you, Sir Gallop,” she said as she briskly walked through the moving crowd.

Gallant furrowed his brow while the rest of the procession joined her, and Page met him on his side.

“Wow, 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 snail’s pace as Dame Faulkes disappeared into her crowd.

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

“Right, I’ll see you out here. Tell me how your super secret meeting goes,” he said, grinning.

The grandiosity of the tower made itself more apparent as Gallant and the crowd moved closer. And at the pace the crowd was walking, he had all the time in the world to absorb the sight. He found himself at the base of a million stairs which everyone had begun to make the long trek up.

He drew closer and more details became clear. Grand palisades flanked either side of the tower in tiered layers. A fleet of guard on the walls, stacked almost shoulder to shoulder, scanned the participants below. Especially of note to Gallant were the guards wielding the gargantuan crossbows pointed directly at the crowd below. Fish in a barrel.

A smattering of polearm wielding guards lined the open doors and filtered the people entering. They occasionally yelled something to anybody who shouldn’t be there. Gallant tried to pass, but was held back by a guard.

“Absolutely not,” The guard said.

“Wh—”

“Knights only!” The guard barked.

“Seriously?” Gallant said.

Gallant motioned up and down his armour. The guard squinted at Gallant and nudged his buddy beside him.

“This guy look familiar to you, Kate?” he asked.

She squinted at Gallant in the same way.

“Never seen him around.”

“My name is Sir Gallant. Check your records,” Gallant said, with the cadence of someone who’s had to do this too many times before. The guard buried himself in his data tablet and started tapping around.

Gallant put a hand on his hip as he waited, the ascending crowd pouring in around him. Occasionally one would clobber him in the shoulder and mumble a “Sorry” as they passed. As the last few people trickled into the hall, the guard cleared his throat to get Gallant’s attention. Gallant looked back at the now red-faced guard.

“I’m sorry about that, Sir Gallant. I didn’t realise—”

“Don’t worry, you’re not even the first one today,” Gallant said, walking into the grand hall.

The stacked windows behind him flooded saturated light into the gloomy entranceway. Gallant followed the bootprints stamped on the carpet straight ahead up another darkened patch of stairs to a tall set of double doors.

The heat and the sound of revelry blasted Gallant when he opened the doors of the dining hall. Although calling it a dining hall betrayed the sheer opulence of it. Crossing patterns of red and gold adorned the walls and hanging fabrics in the same blue X symbol as outside hung from the roof. Ornate golden lamps stood single file in between every room-length table. Hordes of knights talked, jostled, laughed and yelled with each other.

Gallant scanned each seat carefully with their engravings made plain across the heads. *Sir Hope of Resus, Sir Galahad of World’s End, Sir Gallant of *and a blank space. And it was on the other side of the table, of course.

A quick round of jogging back and forth and he plopped down on the chair. The men on either side of him peeked their heads out so they could chatter with each other unobstructed. Gallant looked to the far end of the table and spotted Dame Faulkes talking with the knight next to her.

The largest chair on the end, lacking adornment but grand in stature, stood empty. In front of Gallant, suckling, glazed pig and tender, crisp lamb sat alongside fresh, brightly coloured salads with leafy alien vegetables and genetically engineered, meatless steak. One or two of the younger knights picked a few pieces of ham or a leaf of salad, only to be berated by the older knights and put their food back.

The clattering of the latch behind the door unlocking rattled throughout the hall, hushing the crowd. The door opened and green light flooded the hall. Any remaining talking from the knights converted to hushed tones. Gallant was trying to make out the figure with the chair in his way.

“All rise for Lord Commodus,” Dame Faulkes shouted. The knights did so, still chattering amongst themselves. The guards on either side of the door at the far end pivoted to make room.

A figure with silver hair and a gaudy long cloak being carried from behind by two servants exited the door. He descended the few stairs separating the dining hall and his chambers. He stepped to his chair and pushed it back, giving himself room to stand and scan the room.

“Knights!” Lord Commodus shouted, any remaining idle chatter in the room being silenced. “I see some of you have already dug in.”

There were a few chuckles from the more brown-nosing knights. And mumbling from the more guilty ones.

“Please, I invite you all to feast as much as you desire while I talk. My words go down better with suckling pig anyway. We don’t often get to all be together like this. For some of you newer knights, this may be the first time you’ve done something like this. So please,” he said, motioning to the food.

An expectant silence hung in the hall. Lord Commodus swept his gaze across the room like a dad at the dinner table with their kids. A woman two thirds towards the back of the room made the first move to rip some chicken off the bone. Soon a great deal of the other knights quietly joined in, but many still had their gaze fixed on Lord Commodus.

“Not bloody bad,” the knight on Gallant’s left said.

“Not bloody bad at all,” the knight on Gallant’s right replied.

Gallant ripped some pork off of the pig in front of him and took a few uncomfortable nibbles. He looked back at Lord Commodus. Dame Faulkes hadn’t touched a thing, still standing at attention.

“Great. Now that we’re on the same page it’s time to get to business. I have called us all together for news that many of you will be familiar with. And some of you have been keeping a rather close eye on. I mean of course the myriad attacks on civilian ships at the border between our Glorious Empire and The Neo-Saracen Empire.”

Lord Commodus allowed a moment for murmuring speculation.

“How could it not be the Neo-Saracens?” one voice murmured.

“Obviously it’s just pirates,” said another.

“I would like to make clear…” Lord Commodus boomed, halting any further speculation from the crowd, “…that there is zero evidence that this is the Neo-Saracens. And any conjecture that they are involved is calling into doubt a peace between our peoples that has lasted for forty years. I understand that everyone is on edge after the all-too-recent assassination of our great Sovereign, but these rumours have no basis in reality.

Regardless of who has perpetrated these attacks, City 2’s people, hardest hit by these attacks, calls out for aid. The entire planet of Burning Sapphire calls out for aid. A planetful of people are all chanting in unison for anybody to help. And I for one will not let a single more child of The Sovereign be killed by these barbarians.”

Cries of “Hear, hear!” rang out through the halls. Knights raised their drinks and banged their free hands on tables. Lord Commodus cleared his throat.

“Lady Hope of the border territories has reached out to me for assistance. And I have told her that, with no hesitation, we will throw our entire weight behind this. When one limb of our Glorious Empire is under attack, the rest of the body responds. In this way we embody the spirit of The Sovereign themself…”

A noise thumped out from behind the door. Lord Commodus took a moment to study the door in the silence. He shook off the interruption.

“I have sent word that we shall be sending our finest champion. We will be sending Dame Faulkes” he said, motioning to her.

Dame Faulkes nodded to Lord Commodus with care and basked in the raucous applause that enveloped her. Gallant politely clapped as everyone cheered, whistled, and banged on their tables. Lord Commodus raised his hand and the noise halted in an instant.

“With Dame Faulkes’ assistance, Lady Hope can ensure that our fellow brothers, sisters, and all in between will be safe. And never again will another—”

Bang bang bang. The rapping of knuckles behind the door was deafening, as if it was being slammed by a battering ram.

“Unhand me, I have an urgent message for Lord Commodus,” A gruff voice on the other side shouted. The banging and clattering of metal continued as Lord Commodus nodded at Dame Faulkes. She stood up and took the long trek to the door. She un-barred it as another round of shouts and noise started up. The moment she tossed the metal rod barring the door to the side, the door slammed open in a wide arc almost clocking Dame Faulkes as she stepped back.

A bear of a man and two guards fell into a crumpled heap at her feet. The guards grew red in the face and scrambled to their feet, holding a man about twice their height.

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

“I am from Lady Hope. I have a message that cannot wait for…” He stopped and scanned the room of knights looking incredulously at him, “…whatever this is to finish.”

She nodded at the guards and they unhanded him. Dame Faulkes escorted the messenger alongside the table. Lord Commodus, having shed his cloak, met them halfway.

“I have a private message from Lady Hope.”

“Well it’s a bit late for private!” Lord Commodus shouted, the syllables rattling around the hall. “Come on, lad, just out with it. If it’s from Lady Hope then everyone can hear.”

“Lady Hope would like ask you to read her first message more carefully. Dame Faulkes was not the knight she asked for, and would like for her to not be sent…”

He paused for a moment, and scanned the room.

”…In Sir Gallant’s stead.”

The confused murmurs began immediately. They worked their way from the knights who were closest to the messenger on out. First the news was relayed, then there was the hunt for who the hell this Sir Gallant person was. The crowd looked around, scanning each person at the tables. Lord Commodus and Dame Faulkes, however, in their stunned silence, craned their heads directly towards Gallant.

Gallant sunk as far down as he could in his chair while still being in full plate armour. He took a desperate second to look for another Sir Gallant who happened to share his name.

A lot of nearby knights got the idea and also started staring at Gallant. Lord Commodus, after entirely too long, waved off the messenger who gave an obligatory bow and walked out.

Lord Commodus drifted back to his seat, the rest of the room having been shot into silence. A silence that sat in the pit of his stomach. Lord Commodus made it back to his seat and cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the glaring knights.

“Sir Gallant,” he said with significantly less gusto than before, “Arise.”

Gallant, knocked out of his stupor, shot to his feet. He could just barely make out Lord Commodus raising his hand. 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 said.

Lord Commodus nodded and a pained smile crawled along his 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 said, clapping his hands.

There 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 as if it held the secrets of the universe. Lord Commodus, however, motioned over a servant and said something in their ear, pointing 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 longingly at the exit.

A Sober and More Well Informed Prologue

Magnus looked down, Guy’s crumpled form at her feet, and she sheathed her sword. She glanced back at the inn, and at the kid who was busying himself with cleaning tankards and wiping down table. The light that streamed out of the windows barely touched her and the body.

She crouched down, the tail of her cloak carefully depositing itself in a muddy puddle. The very first thing she did was hold her hand under Guy’s nose. A puff of laboured air blew out, and with it a wave of relief from Magnus.

She wrapped her arms under his shoulders and, with a great heave, pulled the heavy-set man’s frame about half a metre towards the building next door. She knelt down to catch her breath and let the soreness that flowed through her muscles dissipate into the air. She took a moment to compare the size of the alley she pulled him towards with Guy’s width.

“Shit,” she mumbled to herself, standing up.

She scanned the surroundings. On the fence on the other side next to a dilapidated house she saw, barely reflected under a lamp, a tarp. She dashed off to collect the tarp and laid it beside him. She turned him around and rolled him horizontally onto the tarp, folding it over until he was a blue tarp burrito leaning against the fence. And then the sound of footsteps came closer.

Magnus froze for a moment, and quickly ducked around the fence, leaving the body behind. The footsteps belonged to a woman, stocky and wearing the simple garb of someone who was just woken up. She drew closer and closer, Magnus’ eyes flitting back and forth between the body, shrouded and of unknown consciousness, and to the woman.

The woman, her focus on the inn, did not even glance at Magnus’ general direction, nor at the discarded roll of tarp. She rapped on the door and, Magnus peering around the corner to take a look, the kid inside didn’t hesitate to

“Are you okay, Danyll?” she asked with a rasp like a sword being drawn from a scabbard, grabbing him with her meat hooks of arms and pulling him in for an embrace. “One of the patrons came to my house and told me that there was a fight breaking out here.”

Danyll, smiling, pushed himself away with great effort from the grasp.

“I’m alright, Aunt Rhonda. Some guy came in and tried to start a punch-up with a group of knights.”

Rhonda’s eyes raised with intrigue.

“Ah, I see. And did anything happen?”

She turned her face as Danyll moved to another table. Magnus noticed that Rhonda had the same green swirl tattoo on the left side of her face as Guy had on his.

“Nah. The knights defused it by just leaving.”

Rhonda chortled and smirked.

“Of course they did. Don’t stay out too late, now. It’s okay to leave a few things for me to do in the morning.”

“Yes, Aunt Rhonda,” Danyll said, elongating every word in the sentence.

Magnus listened to this exchange, impatience bubbling in her system like a cauldron. Before Rhonda left, hand on the door, she turned back to Danyll.

“Oh, by the way, I think somebody left some rubbish in a tarp here. You mind throwing that out before you leave?” she asked.

“Sure,” Danyll said.

Magnus raised her eyebrows. Rhonda pushed open the door and traced a path back the way she went, throwing a glance at the tarp. The second she left, Magnus checked if Danyll was looking. Making sure he wasn’t, she raced to Guy and rolled him around the fence and over to the other side. Her muscles burned but the adrenaline allowed her to push past this and roll Guy around to the other side of the fence.

The front door of the inn blew open and Magnus, steadying her breathing and making sure she didn’t puff too loudly, peered again around the corner.

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 fence, frowning as he scanned back and forth. He looked around for a few moments, shrugged and, satisfied that nothing was there, walked off, not noticing at all the hand that dipped in and out of his back pocket.

Magnus, key in between teeth, ripped the tarp off of the unconscious Guy and laboriously pulled up his torso by the shoulders. With every part of her at various levels of sore, she made the journey to the inn.

---

Guy groaned as he bled back into the world, breaking Magnus’ concentration as she read her old letter. She folded it up and stuffed it back into her coat pocket.

He groaned about everything: Every corner of his head screamed at him with pain. The light pointed at his face was just a bit too bright. The fact that he was back at the inn despite distinctly the vision of leaving being firm in his mind.

“You don’t return my letters for a month?” she said.

Magnus could see in real time Guy’s vision coming back like a terminal rebooting. Opposite him was Magnus sitting stiffly on one of the inn chairs, a gap behind her between the rest of the chairs placed carefully on the table. Guy instinctively jolted up, but found his arms both immediately pinned back in place, wincing as ropes burned into his wrist.

“Stop fidgeting.”

---

“Now, I’m going to take off your gag. But if you scream, this is going to have to go another way. Do you understand?”

Guy glanced left and right, and shakily nodded. Magnus nodded back and untied the rag, pausing for a second to look at Guy before taking it out of his mouth. There was a moment or two of Magnus waiting to see what would happen, before she plopped it onto the table beside them.

---

“The entire planet’s under quarantine. What do you expect me to do?”

“What do I expect you to do? You’re a smuggler. I expect you to do your job.”

“I’m not a smuggler.”

(beat)

“I know you’re not. That’s why I’ve tied you up here. See, when I didn’t hear from you for a whole month, I suspected something was up. I’ve been following you for the past week. I know you’re a middleman. Barely. I’m not the only client who’s money

---

“I don’t care about you doing your job. I want to know who the real smuggler is.”

---

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

“Great, he’s with us,” Magnus said. “I understand this might breach confidentiality, but that only applies if you uphold your end of the contract. And from what I can tell you’ve made zero progress in getting me off this planet. Seems like all you’ve been doing is getting drunk and soiling yourself.”

Guy glanced down at his trousers, but they were still dry.

“It’s not my fault,” he said. Magnus scoffed. “It’s true! Because of the

He stopped and thought for a moment, his gaze turning into daggers.

“Have you been following me?”

“Since you stopped sending me letters.

Magnus scooched her chair forward, the shrill 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 jeopardise 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 jeopardising 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 inn. 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 have 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 received 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 and stood up, unsheathing her sword.

“Alright, I guess I’m paying your husband a visit.”

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

“Uh huh,” Magnus said, taking a step towards the front door.

“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 purse (not that one) and producing five crowns. She walked over to the server’s area, 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. I hope they catch you!”

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