FIREFANGED

Chapter 3 (Vigil's mark)

Four weeks later, everything changed.

The King's Realm Guard led a long parade of troops through the middle of Lockrun. Their steel-plated armor and surety of spirit put everyone at ease; for one late spring afternoon, the knights pushed back the invisible cloud of fear and despair that had descended like a curse upon our city. Though only six in number, a contingent of Realm Guard—knights chosen by the king himself—rode massive mountain bears. Each rider and bear had the air of predators, confident and hungry, and we all kept a polite distance as they strode past.

Corey pointed. "The farthest knight is Sir Tytus, and his bear is named Ganymede. I can't imagine anything standing in their way when a battle starts."

As the son of the town's master blacksmith, Corey had a keen eye for the customers of his father's forge and their choice of weapons.

Following the Realm Guard, most of the troops wore the red of the Duke of Stonnberg, our city's distant liege lord, but I noted a few dozen mounted and heavily armored knights leading a large section of axe-wielding foot. Each man wore a gray tunic with a star-and-eye symbol stitched onto their right breast, and each carried a broad steel shield and a double-bladed axe.

Corey leaned in close. "Holy Shrike! Those are paladins! You can tell by the gray tunics and the huge axes that they wield. They only take to the field for one reason: an outbreak of demons."

He'd whispered the final word into my right ear so that my friend Cat wouldn't hear it. She clung to my left arm, nervous at the sight of so many weapons, and was easily excited, to say the least.

According to Corey, they were sentinels of the Order of the Vigil. To me, the gray-clad soldiers smelled of determination and fear, and I certainly understood why.

The column of almost two thousand soldiers tromped through our city and out the eastern gate, heading to a camp a mile farther up the valley to the northeast. They were on their way into the foothills of the Everest Mountains to engage the enemy.

As if speaking about it would make it more real, no one in Lockrun ever mentioned who that enemy was, but by now, everyone felt the heavy pall that had descended on the town, and there were those of us that knew the truth.

As the last of the gray-clad soldiers marched out of our city's eastern gate, the crowd began to disperse. Corey trotted off, heading back to work at his father's blacksmith shop.

Having recently turned nineteen, Corey was a year older than me, and about as different from me as one could get. While he tended toward stocky, I tended toward tall. As a blacksmith's apprentice, Corey had the focus and frame needed to take on the work full-time, and he rarely ventured outside Lockrun's tall wooden walls. His path in life was as clear as the muscles beneath his shirt, while mine seemed to float in whatever direction the wind blew.

Suddenly, I heard the small shrill voice of Cat behind me, "Ara! Run for it! Run!"

I spun quickly to the left just as a big pair of hands clamped onto my arm. My knees buckled as rough fingers dug into my left forearm, pressing into a savage-looking scar and the poorly healed bone beneath it.

Hector Sims barked, "The lord mayor wants to see you, boy. He's got company and doesn't want to be kept waiting."

As the town's bailiff, Hector was, in my opinion, an overbearing goon. Lately, he'd used my weakened condition to exact a bit of revenge, though for what I couldn't say. Everyone was on edge, and it seemed I was a convenient outlet for their angst.

My vision blurred from the mind-bending pain, not from any tears that might have been leaking from my eyes, I swear.

Sims and one of his helpers lifted me off the ground—keeping my arms well locked behind my back—and dragged me away.