She was awoken by a pulsating beam of energy at her chest. It was her necklace—a pale blue. Black-Cloak was somewhere in this complex of buildings—if he was in the castle and somehow got near the royal family—Gwyn couldn’t bring herself to think about something like that.
She clambered out of the bed, somewhat awkwardly as she had somehow managed to sleep in her full armour—her aches and sores felt worse than they had before she slept. On the bedstand were honey cakes left by Lysand. What a sweet girl. She chucked one into her mouth and carefully slipped out of the room.
She crept along the dark corridor. Her gem growing in bluish hue as she got further and further from the room. Just what could he be planning…
She heard footsteps and came to a halt. Her gem was still the same hue. She took a deep breath. H e wasn’t that nearby at least. She didn’t want to be caught sneaking around though.
After pausing for a while, Gwyn began to lightly tiptoe around the hallway. Making twists and turns without a sound. She was surprised at how agile she was, but she guessed all her training must’ve had good use.
She eventually came to a large thick wall. The furthest point of the fortress. Her necklace was practically buzzing at this point. Gwyn gulped. The notorious criminal, Black-Cloak Robyn was in the royal castle.
She ran down the stairs, not caring who saw her at this point—she could just tell them she was assigned to a night posting. She had to reach the castle, to protect the royals, to honour her duty as a crystal guard. If she didn’t there could be catastrophic effects.
Outside was cold and dark. She only saw her necklace and her breath in front of her, but she didn’t care. She darted and dived across wet roads and streets. It was raining. Just great.
She approached the exterior of the crystalline palace and hid amongst the bushes. Here comes the first problem, she thought. How to get in without getting caught. She wondered if she should just tell other crystal guard about Black-Cloak but that could open up another can of worms—why was she on such a dangerous assignment in the first place? How come she didn’t tell anyone earlier? Her foreign heritage could even lead to accusations of her being a spy. No, she thought. She would not allow her license that she had worked so hard for to be revoked—she would not become an outlaw; she had seen the sorts of things that happened to them.
As she followed this train of thought, she wondered how Black-Cloak himself got in. No one would let him in… perhaps he made a hole with his magic? Or knew a spot that was guard free? That thought sent shivers down her spine, but it seemed like the only rational way in. She took a deep breath and set off into the night, following her sapphire necklace.
It wasn’t long before she bumped into a door formed into the side of the Palace. It was heavily disguised but her long hours of studying palace fortifications told her it was a new addition. That clever…rat! She swung open the door and slipped through with intensity and passion.
Every time Gwyn entered the palace, she let out the same gasp. It looked like the definition of majesty. Large winding tapestries; revealing the tale of the Grand-Sorcerer, huge swathes of carpeted floor. Everything was polished to a gleam. Crystalline statues of the King and his family stood in full display. Gwyn was in awe.
She shook her head. She didn’t have time for that. She snuck her way up the gigantic staircase at the back at the main hall, nearly jumping at her own shadow. Gods! The trouble I get myself into.
Her necklace kept increasing in its shade of blue. That mongrel...that vermin…the audacity required to intrude on the King himself! She blushed as she wondered if she was doing the same—its different, she told herself. I swore an oath to this nation and his glorious majesty.
She didn’t believe herself to be much of a patriot. She felt her stance was justified—all the sacrifices and bold choices the royals had made to create a stable, prosperous, even, nation in the middle of large Kingdoms and Empires was the stuff of legend to every Calorlander. Even other nations, particularly the Materns and Idanians, recognised such a feat.
She ran through a hall of portraits. King Aren…Queen Gynaeve… Queen Arian…The Grand Sorcerer…The current King Arlen. Just as she was taken in by the majestic paintings—her body froze.
She heard voices. Coming from the main court.
“Was the break-in really necessary, young master?”
It was the King’s voice, recognisable by the sheer smoothness and calm he held it with. It was everything Gwyn had imagined and more.
“I go by Robyn,”
Gwyn nearly screamed but managed to stop herself just in time. What was that fiend doing with the King?
There was an audible pause in the conversation.
“I…see,” the King replied, “What exactly did you come for?”
“I want it to end,” the fugitive said, “Call off your men, I’ll never submit to you!”
Gwyn was in agony. How dare he talk to the King in this way?!
“It is not your choice or mine…Robyn…It is simply destiny,”
“Quit it, old man! I must have a say in something like this—”
“Don’t be a fool boy!” The King regained his temper, “The battle draws nearer with everyday you waste pretending to be an outlaw!”
Battle? Pretending? Gwyn was confused. She leaned closer…closer…and then… a hand grabbed her mouth from behind.
“You’re not a great spy,” the voice behind her laughed.
It was Scadlock.
She had failed her mission. Majorly.
***
Jacien of House Alisand, or Robyn as he was now called, was furious.
The King stood before him. But Jacien didn’t care about his rank. He just saw him as the man who was ruining his life. He closed his eyes and felt a feverish energy flow with in him. A wispy ball of flame formed in his hand, and he held it in front of the king.
“Leave me and my friends alone,”
“You have such great potential—”
“Shut it,”
He increased the size of his fireball.
“Jacien, please listen to reason,”
Jacien flung the now roaring beam of flame at the man in front of him. The room blazed like an inferno. The King stood unscathed.
“Welp, there goes some royal funds,” The King said as he glanced around the room.
Jacien laughed. He tried to hide the fact that he did—you don’t laugh at your nemesis’s jokes. That’s common knowledge. He materialised a giant sword into his hand. That same feverish feeling came back.
The King shook his head.
“Boy, you may have more talent than me, but I make up for it in years,”
Electricity cackled around him as he spoke.
“Submit to destiny boy!”
The two charged at each other—two glamorously powerful soldiers. Ducking and diving as they flung spell after spell at each other. Jacien was confident in his strength—the King was studious but all his time in politics meant he had weakened somewhat. Of course, Jacien had learned to be careful around clever old men; years of bouts with his father had taught him that.
Flames met sparks. Jacien considered whether he should use other types of magic. He was strongest at teleportation, and rain and sand came easy to him. However, he wanted to cause as much destruction as he could to the palace. He was blind with rage.
In hindsight, that’s probably where he failed.
The King shrouded himself with a magical mist and before Jacien could summon another flame he was sprawled onto the flaw with a heavy sword in front of him. Jacien could deal with magic, but fistfights and swords were a completely different world to him.
“Your move, boy…”
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