The Wandering Sword

Five men moved together through the outskirts of Hezaran, traversing the rows of pines and firs in its forests. Shadows from the dense foliage fell upon their bodies, while the sun discreetly followed their steps from the highest point in the sky. One of them, quite confident and leading the group, remarked:

"Beasts... This is going to be very easy."

He wore metal protective plates on his limbs and a chestplate over lightweight garments. A curved helmet made of the same material, shaped like a hat, covered his head. In his left hand, he held a small round shield, and in his right, a straight-bladed saber, the hilt of which protected his knuckles.

The equipment of his companions didn't vary much, with their choice of weapons being the only differences: a couple of them carried spears, and the remaining two held loaded crossbows. Their beards and strong, broad-shouldered bodies were characteristic of men in their thirties.

"These Holy Warriors... Even the greenest among them think they can come here and treat us like fools," a spearman complained, recalling the audacity of a masked low-ranking agent from the Holy House of the Royal Rose, who had conveniently passed through the city. The said agent had volunteered to hunt down the beasts that had become news in the area since dawn.

You don't need to send your own soldiers. I can handle this problem for you.

The soldiers remembered the words with which the man had introduced himself to the mayor in the town square, just as he was about to dispatch them and at least another fifteen men from the city's forces to search for the beasts in the woods.

While most were more than happy to leave that matter in the hands of the unexpected visitor, the five remained eager to be part of the mission.

Thank you, but I must decline; I prefer to work alone. A beast responsible for such destruction might be beyond your capabilities. It's safer to leave this to a Holy Warrior, was the agent's response to the soldiers' proposal to accompany him on the hunt. His words, though polite, were interpreted as a display of arrogance and disdain by the soldiers. The youthfulness betrayed by his soft, refined tone of voice only reinforced their rejection, giving them a pretentious impression.

In the end, the five experienced soldiers decided to go on their own, with or without the approval of the Holy Warrior. The mayor would reward the first to find and hunt down the beast—or beasts—lurking on the outskirts.

"Those bastards always want to steal all the glory for themselves," the other spearman remarked, sharing with his comrade a similar resentment towards the renowned martial artists. "They're never satisfied with anything."

"If you don't want that snob to steal it from us today, you should stop chattering and focus more," advised one of the crossbowmen with wise and sardonic seriousness, his hands guiding his crossbow, ready to respond to any movement in the silent and solitary vicinity.

"True," the second crossbowman supported, having adopted a similar attitude. "We could encounter those so-called beasts at any moment."

The criticisms struck a chord with the others, who became as cautious and attentive to their surroundings as the marksmen.

A few seconds passed when…

"Uh?!"

The five abruptly halted, having heard something almost simultaneously. Their eyes turned toward its source: a cluster of lush, tall shrubs. Their leaves and branches rustled in pronounced and incessant shakes, further igniting their alarms.

It's there!

Guided by their leader's signals, the soldiers took their positions.

The crossbowmen aimed intently at the bush. The tips of their index fingers brushed against the triggers of their weapons. Drops of cold sweat and their muscles, trembling with nerves, compromised their aim. Even though it hadn't been revealed yet, they and their other companions could tell that what was behind the vegetation was large; larger than they had imagined.

***

Led by the servant, Mavros, Luciara, and her mother Menuha entered a luxurious dining room with a rectangular table that occupied a significant portion of the space. Transparent windows filled the room with natural light. A man was seated right at the front, occupying the head seat of the table with his back to them.

"My Lord, here are your guests," the servant announced.

The man proceeded to stand up and turn towards them. He was abnormally tall and slender; his nearly six feet seven inches of height surpassing Janpelan’s and making Mavros appear as a kid. He had dark, small eyes, a broad and uncluttered forehead; a prominent aquiline nose with a mustache just beneath it. His face was lined with small wrinkles and creases on his fair skin that betrayed his age, as did his short, partially balding black hair. An elegant suit and jet-black trousers covered his body from head to toe.

"Good afternoon," he greeted all three with a slight and jovial bow, "Lady Luciara."

He leaned down to kiss her on each cheek: a traditional greeting between men and women in the Kingdom of Niespal and other nations of the Magnos Sea. He then turned his slightly puzzled gaze toward the wandering knight, clearly not recognizing him.

"Lord Galeras, this is the escort who is accompanying my daughter on her journey," Menuha clarified, noticing his confusion.

"Oh... it's you." The mayor extended his hand with formality. "Lucios of Galeras, Lord Mayor of Hezaran."

Mavros returned the gesture with a firm handshake.

"Segr Mathias of Mandygnog, wandering sword." He replied with a respectful nod. "An honoah to meet you, Lord Mayor."

The two let go of their hands.

"Likewise..." Galeras formed a slight smile with his lips. The knight had made a positive first impression on him. "Mandygnog... so you come from Grianz. Est ce voteg premiar foin Najta?"

His last words were spoken in the distinct tone of Grianzan, the dominant language of the nation that was the knight's place of origin for his false identity. They translated to "Is this your first time in Najta?"

"Ui, sa lé." Mavros nodded, meaning "Yes, it is." He had just perfectly adopted the accent he had been using somewhat. "Yai voyayé poug voig la grand vil de Netzach, et nues espégons, servig Sa Mayesté Renardin."

Menuha, and especially Luciara, raised their eyebrows. The knight's skillful oral delivery was surpassing their expectations.

Not bad, Menuha judged. Her decent understanding of the language allowed her to grasp something like: "I have traveled to see the great city of Netzach, and hopefully, serve His Majesty Renardin."

He speaks it quite well! Luciara thought. For a moment, she had feared he would make a fool of himself, but this demonstration managed to dispel her worries.

“To serve your king, Lord of the Holy House of Lis, sovereign of Grianz and the capital domains of the League of Elvirean Vice-Royalties in Najta... Great and noble aspirations yours are, Ser.” Galeras said, switching back to Vitan, the common tongue of Maskirian kingdoms. “Bon chens.”

"Mersa beaucap." The knight nodded, thus concluding the brief language exchange.

Galeras glanced over his shoulder to the dining table.

"Please, make yourselves comfortable," he said to his guests, urging them to take seats. He turned to the servant, still standing nearby. "Thank you, Enqueri. You may leave now."

The servant nodded silently and turned to depart. Mavros, Luciara, and Menuha proceeded to take seats adjacent to Galeras, who returned to his own.

"Lady Menuha," Galeras addressed her, seated to his right, at the corner. "Without the intention to rush you, how is the progress on the 'Ascension to the Heavens'?"

He referred to the artwork for which he had commissioned her services. The sculpture that her daughter and Mavros had the opportunity to admire.

"It's almost done, I just need to add the final details. I'll have it ready by tomorrow." Menuha replied. "If you wish, I can show it to you after lunch."

"Right at the threshold of the Maskirian Week. Wonderful, just as I wanted." Galeras smiled. "I would love to see it. I have a feeling it will be even more exquisite than the previous ones I received from your grace."

They both continued to exchange some remarks about art. Mavros followed them with interest. Luciara, on the other hand, with anxiety that she could barely control.

Please... don't. Don’t bring any of that up in the conversation, she pleaded, looking at her mother. She feared that her words might invoke an annoying and familiar torment.

"By the way, Lord Galeras, do you plan to publish new poems soon?"

NO!

Luciara clutched her head, restraining her urge to scream. Her mother had just lit the fuse.

"Publish ze poems? Are you a writer, Lord Mayor?" Mavros inquired, genuinely interested in this new piece of information that had just come to light.

You too?!

Luciara looked at him incredulously. He had only made the situation worse.

Galeras formed a broad smile on his serious and reserved features.

"Indeed, Ser Mathias. After my duties as regent, literature is my second occupation. My true passion," he replied.

Luciara averted her gaze and covered her eyes with her left palm. The horror begins…

"For years, I have dedicated myself to the pursuit of beauty through the union of the pen and paper," Galeras continued his monologue, his overflowing devotion for his hobby palpable "Many believe that writing is the most trivial of arts because 'anyone can do it.' But not 'anyone' can do it with rigor, not 'anyone' can create aesthetics, music, life from words. Words that awaken emotions, words that make the soul travel to hells and paradises."

He paused briefly, noticing Menuha.

"Although lately my responsibilities have not allowed me much time to write, there is a compilation I finished a few months ago, and I intend to arrange for its publication both in Niespalian and Vitan. I have called it 'Galleries of Sonnets.'"

Galeras stood up. He looked at each of the diners.

"Please, allow me to recite to you the Vitan version of its introductory sonnet, a dedication to my hometown: Dacorbo."

He swallowed, taking a deep breath to prepare himself to recite it.

"Oh magnificent castle, oh golden towers!

“Of honor, of dignity, of lineage's grace

“Oh ‘Río Grande’, Ladumancia's king!

“Noble waters, if not immaculate embrace

“Oh fertile valley, oh regal hills!

“That pay tribute to the sky, exalting the day

“Oh eternal homeland, oh my own land!

“Both for ladies and gentlemen, we sing and say

“If among those remains and cherished lore

“That Nilge and Roda generously share

“Your memory's not the wellspring I implore

“May my distant eyes never bear

“Witness to your castle, your towers grand,

“Your valley, your hills, oh homeland fair, Niespal's own gem!"

A few seconds passed. With his silence, Galeras announced that he had finished.

Luciara couldn't have been more relieved. His verses had felt endless to her. His poetry had always been the most boring and unbearable thing she could read or listen to. In general, she was never a big fan of that literary genre.

However, Mavros and her mother didn't share her impression. The two burst into resounding applause that went straight to the poet's ears.

Seriously? The young woman had no choice but to imitate them so as not to appear rude.

"Thank you, thank you very much," Galeras said, bowing in a gentle gesture of appreciation.

The applause subsided, but one pair of hands continued.

"Uh?"

Everyone turned towards its source.

Luciara?

In contrast to her mother and the wandering knight's applause, her hands conveyed an annoyance and a lack of enthusiasm impossible to conceal with each slow clap.

Dammit…

The young woman immediately stopped, realizing her blunder.

"Lady Luciara?" Galeras seemed eager to delve into her reaction. "Was there something you didn't like about my sonnet?... If you have any feedback, I'm willing to listen."

Luciara smiled nervously.

"No, I have no feedback... I found it... very good, masterful," she stammered.

"Mmm…"

Suddenly, she had an idea that turned her smile from nervousness to mischief. An idea she knew was foolproof for her intentions.

"In fact, your sonnet reminded me of one I read recently," she continued. "I can't recall the title, but I think it was by Lord Azoveda…"

Lord Azoveda! Upon hearing that surname, Galeras' composure shattered like a glass hurled to the ground. His hands clenched into fists, his brow furrowed, and his lips curved in a displeased line.

"How can you compare my poetry to the monstrosities of that ignorant, talentless buffoon?" he reproached. Luciara covered her mouth to contain her laughter. "How can you even read it?" He turned away. "So many authors deserving recognition, yet all the presses in Niespal can't stop publishing the trash of that vulgar drunkard!"

Galeras continued to spew fire and venom at the mentioned character.

"Huh?" Mavros appeared confused by the writer's sudden change of mood. "Who eez zis 'Lord ‘Azoveda’?" he wondered aloud, hoping one of the ladies at the table would have the answer.

"Lord Fedaro Azoveda. Alongside Galeras, one of the most popular poets in the Kingdom of Niespal," Menuha chimed in. Mavros was seated right to her left. "Azoveda has parodied several of Galeras' works and even directly mocked him in some of the poems he has published." She shot a disapproving glance at the still-distracted Luciara, who was enjoying the poet's rant. She was right to the left of the knight. "Galeras sees Azoveda as his archenemy. He can't stand the sight of him, let alone hear his name, and my daughter knows it."

Suddenly, Galeras fell silent, regaining his composure. After a couple of quick inhalations and exhalations, he turned back to his guests.

"Forgive me, I let my passions get the better of me," he said, embarrassed by his hysterical diatribe. His face slightly wrinkled. "But listen; as long as you're lodged under this roof, I beg you never, ever utter that infamous name again," he told them with resolute and imperative coldness, focusing his attention on Luciara. "Understood?"

Mavros and Menuha nodded.

"Und... Understood," Luciara was the last to comply. "I'm sorry, Lord Galeras, it won't happen again."

"Thank you." Galeras nodded, satisfied with her apologies.

Taking advantage of the brief moment his gaze shifted away from her, the young woman turned her head to the side and covered the mocking smile that appeared on her face.

It was worth it, she thought.

However, the amusement was not meant to last for long. Suddenly, they all heard a series of footsteps approaching from behind the Lord Mayor.

"That must be lunch," Galeras said. He looked at Mavros. "I'm sure you'll enjoy it, Ser. Today's main course is from your homeland: magret de canard," he announced.

The steps halted, just a few meters behind Galeras.

"Hm?"

Mavros and the ladies looked at those who had caused the interruption with a puzzled expression. It was Enqueri, the head of servants, and a soldier in helmet and armor. It was obvious that they weren’t there to deliver the food.

"Lord Mayor!" the soldier called, causing Galeras to turn around to face him. His labored breath indicated the physical effort he had made to reach them. "I regret to report that another farm has just been attacked!"

The dreadful news startled everyone. The mayor moved away from the table to address the soldier.

"Another farm? Do you have more details?"

The soldier nodded.

"The family tending the land watched from their cabin as the beasts slaughtered the cattle under their care. Not a single head of cattle survived," he narrated. "They were so terrified that they didn't dare to fend them off. Their appetite was insatiable, and their brutality perverse."

Beasts... So it's a pack, Galeras deduced from the plural, discarding the hypothesis he and much of the city had about a lone daring bear. "An attack in broad daylight... Have you gone to verify these testimonies?" he inquired.

"No... but from the terror of the head of the family, we have reason to believe he's not lying. He truly fears for his life, as well as the lives of his wife and children," the soldier lowered his voice slightly. "And rightfully so," he added discreetly, leaning closer to the mayor's left ear.

What is he telling him? Why is he whispering? Luciara wondered with justified suspicion.

Galeras turned pale as he absorbed what the soldier had revealed.

Oh no... I've made a grave mistake. I should never have allowed those five to leave, he acknowledged, imagining their dire consequences. The Holy Warrior might have a chance, but ordinary soldiers like them…

Thanks to their sharp hearing, two of the diners managed to catch the same keyword that the mayor received.

Asha…

...im.

However, rather than intimidating them, this word convinced them more than ever that they couldn't stand idly by. Something had to be done, and soon.

One of the two stood up.

"Lord Mayor, allow moi to volunteer to 'unt down zese 'beasts' zat 'arass your lands. I can leave right now."

Everyone turned surprised toward him.

"Ser Mathias?" Galeras looked at him perplexed. "I appreciate your concern, but you don't have to trouble yourself with this problem. You've just arrived in my city, you haven't even had lunch," he turned his gaze to Luciara and Menuha. "I'm very sorry, I have to leave you, but the food should be arriving. Please enjoy the feast without me."

Despite his refusal, Mavros stood firm, refusing to return to his seat.

“Lord Mayor, I must insist on my proposition. I can't just stay and enjoy your food while knowing zat innocent locals are in danger. No matter 'ow petite my contribution might be, I refuse to stay idle."

The strength of his resolution further captivated those present.

"Mavros," Luciara murmured. She covered her mouth upon realizing her slip. Thank goodness, she quickly regained her composure, noticing no one had paid attention. I almost messed up again.

Galeras arched an eyebrow. Discouraging this "ordinary knight" from joining this suicidal mission would be more complicated than he had imagined.

"Ser Mathias... please, come with me."