Fate of the Marked

The Capital City

The cart rattled steadily along the road, the rhythmic clopping of the horses' hooves filling the otherwise quiet air. Eryon occasionally leaned forward, asking Rowan about combat techniques. His questions were straightforward, often centered on precision and strategy. Rowan answered in his usual, no-nonsense manner, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. After a while, even Eryon grew quiet, and we settled into a comfortable silence.

I adjusted my seat on the cart's wooden bench, feeling the chill of the winter air despite the warming spell I'd cast earlier. "Have you ever been to the Capital, Rowan?" I finally asked, breaking the quiet.

Rowan nodded, his tone steady as always. "Plenty of times. The King is the one who pays me the most. When something dangerous hunts his villages or cities—something stronger than his soldiers can handle—he contacts me. I do the job."

I tilted my head. "You've met him?"

Rowan shook his head. "Not personally. I only know him through the jobs he sends."

Eryon, lounging in the corner of the cart, perked up at the conversation. "Susan," he called over his shoulder, "you were a priest of the kingdom, right? Do you know the King personally?"

Susan, who had been fiddling with her robes, paused and looked up. A smirk flickered across her face. "Oh, I know him well enough."

Eryon leaned forward, intrigued. "What's he like?"

Susan's expression softened, her usual sharpness giving way to something more reflective. "King Alden... he's not like other rulers. He's not a warrior—not with a sword, anyway. His strength lies in his words, his mind. People follow him not because they fear him, but because they believe in him."

Her voice took on a wistful note. "He has this presence—a calm, commanding one. You could be in the midst of utter chaos, and he'd say a single word that makes you believe everything will be okay. His conviction becomes yours."

I tried to imagine the man she described. "Sounds impressive."

Susan nodded slowly. "He is. But once you make a mistake for him, he will not easily forgive it. I'm still trying to get his trust back."

Eryon crossed his arms, his brow furrowing. "A King like that must have enemies everywhere."

"Oh, he does," Susan replied, her tone growing more serious. "That's why he has the Knight—to handle the threats diplomacy can't."

The horses let out a soft whinny as the cart jolted slightly over a rock, but the driver quickly steadied the reins. I stared ahead, lost in thought. King Alden sounded like the kind of leader we desperately needed, especially now. If we were to face the demons—Astoroth himself—having someone like him as an ally might just tip the scales.

I turned toward Susan, the wheels of the cart rattling beneath us. "Tell me about your knight friend," I said. "Will he really help us?"

Susan nodded, her smirk softening into a genuine smile. "Oh, he'll help," she said confidently. "Sir Cedric Valenforth isn't just any knight—he's the knight. The perfect one."

Eryon raised an eyebrow, leaning closer. "Perfect? No such thing exists."

Susan shot him a knowing look. "If you'd met him, you wouldn't say that. Cedric is the only reason Astoroth's forces haven't already overrun the Kingdom. King Alden himself said it once: without Cedric, the Kingdom would've fallen long ago."

Even Rowan glanced over, faintly curious now. "What makes him so... perfect?" he asked, his tone skeptical but not dismissive.

Susan leaned back, crossing her arms. "For starters, he's a tactician. He doesn't just fight—he plans. Every move he makes on the battlefield is calculated, like he's playing a game of chess, and the enemy is always two steps behind. His strategies have won battles that seemed hopeless."