The Exalted

Prologue

The forts around the western capital were the last bastion of defense. A Hail-Sumitra (or Hail-any Exalted name here – whatever the speaker preferred) should the worst come to pass. The knights of the crownsguard were the beginning and the end. The strongest of all the warriors, yet the last to come into battle. Naturally, that meant they were low on activity, so they were more than happy to do the grand inspection to make sure the forts and barracks were up to snuff. Had it not been for this inspection, they'd be stuck in Joyeuse's castle going over numbers and armory checks until they could see the numbers in their dreams. Bel de Coeur was a member of the crownsguard, and one of the few who had no issues whatsoever with the deluge of numbers and weapons in their grand arsenal. He felt comfortable with technical details. He was the healer, after all, and what was healing if not a challenge in technical skill? The prettiest stitches to suture a wound, the careful setting of a bone – it was all a matter of technique.

The crownsguard had practically turned into children again when Princess Birdie told them of their duties. Harley Ritter, in particular, was excited. He loved nothing more than to share his wisdom (questionable, to Bel) with his fellow soldiers. Especially the younger ones who reminded him of his own son, only sixteen-years-old. Alesdair, their young leader, had only yawned at the nose while Chelinde, the princess's hand and adviser, smiled. They would have to stay, Bel knew. An advisor was needed by her queen's side, and the paragon of the guard would be his charge's side always. After a filling breakfast in which Harley and Mick Zwingli stuffed their faces with rashers of bacon, they left for the first of the barracks around the capital. Harley gave his son a bone-crushing hug, Mick and Anya a kiss for their Jacqui, and Bel his own hug for his daughter, Jour.

"Pop, you're only going to be gone a day," Luvino groused. Bel knew he was at the age where he believed he was too old for any signs of affection. From girls, apparently, it was fine; but from his father, well, it was just embarrassing. Bel was grateful girls were more accepting of affection. He didn't know what he'd do if Jour refused his hugs.

"A day away from my beautiful son? Tragic!" Harley cried. His fake cries turned into laughter when Luvino tried to squirm away from him.

"I'll be back in two shakes," Bel murmured. He kissed Jour's hair – as pink as his own – and pulled away, clasping her by the shoulders. She looked more like her mother every day: just as beautiful...and much stronger. Never would her future husband have to suffer as Bel suffered, to lose his wife and receive his greatest joy all at once.

"If Luvino even so much as winks at you, Jacqui, punch him in the balls," Mick said gravely. There were great peals of laughter from the crownsguard, and Luvino winked at Mick instead.

They saddled up on their coursers (though the northern expatriate of them, Anya, preferred a sturdier and humbler pony) and met up with the vanguard waiting outside the castle gates. Even in their riding leathers and odd bits of armor, the people of Joyeuse came out to see them. When Bel looked back, he could see the princess, the children (though they disliked being called children), Alesdair, and Chelinde waving. Chelinde and the girls kissed their hands as if they could not bear to stop, and even Alesdair managed a lazy wave as they trotted through the thoroughfares. Even in the most ungodly hours of the morning (Harley's words, not Bel's), the city of Joyeuse was alive with kinetic energy. Hawkers called to the young and the old, weaving sumptuous tales about their wares. Children, waiting for academy to begin, played in the streets and watched the horses walk by with wide eyes. People were crying their names – as if they were riding for the tourney instead or riding to check on barracks.