THE KING’S SECRET
Lord Daniel’s hands are lifted into the air in front of him, the only one of our group not yet saddled on his horse. His brown beard is cut neatly along his jaw, his features hard and staring at the boulders of our campsite around us in determination. He slowly lowers his hands towards the earth as the ground begins to shake, the large rocks pushing themselves downward and back into the dying grass where they belong.
Millie prances in nervousness at the rumbling. I drop a soothing hand to her neck and move her farther away from Daniel with a smile. The Discerni Lord watches his own summoning with a grin as a few remaining boulders groan right above the earth. His hand flicks idly in response as we all watch the tips of the rocks finally sink under.
His summoning is truly a sight to see.
From hurling boulders across the training fields of Gaumond to now, where he calls forth the rock from the earth to protect us in the night, his magic is phenomenal, and the smile on his face as he hoists himself onto his horse tells us all that he knows it as well.
We ride all morning along the Great Road, the winds and air becoming the coldest I have ever experienced. Keane warned me this morning about the climate, so I ended up putting on two different layers of shirts and two layers of socks under my boots. I still had the warmth of my plush green velvet cloak and thought I was prepared, but nothing readied me for the lash of cold air against my face as we rode.
Our group stops at midday for lunch, moving our horses off the side of the road and staying close together once again. For all the talk of the many Leviathan riders in these plains, we haven’t ridden by any since we stepped across the border. I don’t know if that’s due to Desmond and his secret scouting skills, allowing us to avoid them altogether, or if it has just been pure coincidence.
Lunch is a quick and quiet affair. I sit with Cal on the ground in front of our horses, the two of us sharing our food. He reminds me as I pass some of Chef’s dried fruit that we will try, if possible, to find a place in Red Falls to do our exercises tomorrow morning. I nod eagerly at my friend and admit that I’m already starting to miss the feel of the blades in my hands.
Prior to setting out after lunch, the three human soldiers within our group raise the banners of Disce above them. It’s the same striking green flag that was use at the border of the Great Road and Fumagalli. The banner stands strong against the dead plains, hosting Disce’s emblem of all three Courts with their circled oaks joining together in the middle.
“Lady Alexis,” Prince Keane motions to me from atop Ash.
Cal tilts his head forward with a small grin as I move Millie to the front of the group, greeting the Prince and his brother in question.
“You will ride with Prince Desmond and I at the front. We will introduce you to His Highness, Prince McQuoid, when we arrive at the fortress.”
I nod at the brothers and glance at both of their calm faces that give off no emotion. The two of them are dressed immaculately as the eldest sons of the King of Disce should be, both of them looking absolutely regal in deep black long sleeve tunics and cloaks. Keane’s attire has etchings of the Shadow Oak leaves outlining the trims of his shirt in a rich emerald green, while Desmond’s black garb has deep brown stitching throughout, reminding me of the large mahogany tables in the Court of Gaumond.
We cross into the border of Pyre just after midday to the sight of a massive mountain gracing the horizon beyond. That mountain spans across the land for as far as I can see, the tallest peak resting proudly in the middle with a few smaller ones at its side. Trees and forests can be spotted cutting across the massive hills at its front, all of their tops dusted in white and reflecting against the sun.
We ride on as the ground around us becomes lusher, still the same tan and brown as the plains before, but thicker and more alive as if the earth is waiting for Spring to finally settle in and turn it green. Woods begin to pop up along the road as well, a welcoming sight that has me grateful to see any form of wilderness and life outside the plains.
As we continue to ride through the outskirts of Pyre, the road begins to line itself with large maroon banners at different intervals. Those banners each host a large black Tarragon stretched across them, the massive rumored beast greeting us in dark welcome. It’s wings extend over the maroon banner with every gust of wind, the creatures looking formidable and creating a bird-like beast that appears to be flying in the sky as we ride.
And we ride with them for a while…
That is, until the woods around us turn into smaller forests and we eventually reach a tall structure in our path. A handful of guards are standing in front of two stone-cut towers, one lining each side of the road and connecting to a gate between them. The sight of the guards brings our group to a stop, but Keane and Desmond continue forward with that same calmness on their features as they announce themselves to the men.
I take in the Pyrenese guards from afar, noticing that they’re dressed in deep maroon undershirts and a thin layer of armor despite the cold. The soldiers nod to the royal brothers and look over our group in expectance, their glances already aware of our incoming arrival as one extends his hand to Keane. I watch as he openly stares at the leaf-shaped ears on the Prince in curiosity.
“What are those of magical descent called in Pyre?” I ask Lord Daniel as the brothers ride back to our group.
Desmond takes up at Keane’s right as we ride under the towers, myself and Lord Daniel on the Prince’s left.
“All the people of Pyre call themselves Pyrenese,” Lord Daniel answers simply, “they do not distinguish between human or magical decent.”
“That’s very progressive,” I nod.
“It is, Lady Alexis,” he gives a small smile.
I pull my hood farther up and glance back at Cal, watching as he smiles in conversation with Holis and Mana at the back of the group. I try to get his attention and flag him down, wanting to look at his friendly face and gauge how he’s feeling, but my big friend is content in his conversation at the back.
Is the sight of new land forming knots in his stomach like it is mine? Or is he riding along like the others in our group, content in his saddle with the promise of food and drink not too far away? Could he just look up and show me what he’s feeling? Provide his familiar face that I desperately crave on travels like these?
“You’re nervous…” Keane notes softly from atop Ash.
I turn around slowly and notice that he’s still looking at the road ahead, his face emotionless.
“Eager,” I correct, eyes darting to the brown and tan forest around us and the white topped mountains forever in our line of sight, “I won’t deny that my stomach is in knots, but it’s not from nervousness.”
Keane’s lips jut up ever so slightly.
