(POV: Dame Althene Rhys, Radiant Order)
Dame Althene Rhys had never wanted this assignment.
She stood just outside the granary that served as the travelers' shelter from what her knights had informed her of, arms folded behind her back, listening to the low murmur of voices inside. Arguments. Frustration. Their fear leaked out as they debated on the topic; anyone could see it, it, it, but she hersseen seen seen it all before—on borders, in refugee camps, after battles that no one wanted to claim responsibility for.
She would have preferred to remain at Princess Elisa's side.
But preference had never oduty,iduty, duty, and it r d for her.
"They don't trust us," Sir Vaelor said quietly, his massive form stepping up beside her, towering. He was one of her captains, broad-shouldered and earnest, his white cloak already dusted with road grime, yet it didn't do a thing to dampen his soft demeadespitetete his fierceness aknight. . . "Frankly, I don't blame them." His voice came out stern and forlorn.
"No," Althene replied. "Neither do I." She knew that had she beentheir shoes,es,es, she too would not have trusted so easily.
Behind them, the remaining knights of her command waited—four in total, mounted and alert, armor marked with the gold-edged sunburst of the Radiant Order. They were few in number. That, too, was intentional. Elisa had been very clear: do not arrive like conquerors.
Althene exslowly;ly;ly; her lady's expectations were too optimistic. Just how did she expect thconvinceinceince people from a world they knew nothing about? She turned to face her knights.
"We are not here to force our regimes on anyone," she said. "We are not here to recruit soldiers. We are simply here to offer our protection and guidance. These people have suffered. Some of them have already lost companions. If we press too hard, they will scatter." She did her best to make her voicitsitsits strong and solid tone to each of her knights.
if theyAif they if they refuse us?" Vaelor asked.
"Then we keep watch at a distance," she answered. "Soon others will arrreasons; reasons; reready; weready be ready to put our lives on the line if necessary."
That was the truth of it. Other kingdoms were already searching. Some with offers of protection. Others with chains hidden behind honeyed words. The heroes—if that was what these people truly were—were too vulnerable to be left alone.
Althene squared her shoulders. "We will always lead with honesty. We tell them the risks. We tell them the truth—that staying here is more dangerous than moving, and that our kingdom will shelter them without demanding obedience."
"Aanother'seanother's another's rule?" another knight asked.
"Then we escort them anyway," Althene said softly. "As witnesses. As long as it takes."
That earned a grim nod from the group.
She stepped inside the granary.
The conversations died almost instantly.
Daniel was the first to rise. Calm. Measured. Too measured, in Althene's opinion. Leaders who looked like they had answers were often the most dangerous kind—especially to those desperate enough to follow them.
Calder stood apart from the others, arms crossed, eyes sharp and distrustful. Althene met his gaze briefly and did not look away.
"We will not force you to return with us," she said to the group at large. "But you cannot remain here. The frontier will not stay quiet, and this village will not be able to protect you from what's coming."
"And you can? You haven't even told us what is supposedly 'coming.'" Calder spat out a little too harshly.
Althene inclined her head. "Better than most."
Silence stretched.
Then Daniel butted in. Whatwe go What you… What happens to us?"
Althene didn't answer immediately. Choosing her next words with careful purpose. "You will be guests of Aurelion," she said. "You will be guarded, trained if you wish, and given time to recover. In return, we ask only that you do not disappear into the wilds alone. There is much you do not yet know about our lands and cultures. It is our duty and honor to show you." She bowed slightly as she let that sit.
Eventually, one by one, heads nodded. Reluctant. Tired. But agreeing.
They left at dawn.
The village watched them go with a mixture of relief and fear, as if glad to be rid of the trouble and terrified of what that trouble might bring back someday.
They had been on the road for less than a day when the riders appeared from the rear.
Althene saw them first—two figures pushing their horses hard, cloaks torn, faces drawn tight with urgency. She raised a hand, signaling her column to halt.
The riders barely slowed as they approached.
One was the village headman they had just left behind, his composure gone, eyes wild. The other wore leathers stained with travel and panic, a messenger by the look of him.
"Holy Knight," the headman gasped as he reined in. "Thank the gods—we were afraid we'd missed you."
Althene did not dismount but rode forward to meet the two at once. "What's happened?"
The messenger didn't wait for permission. "Goblins," he said. "A tribe west of the village. They've taken captThere aren aThere aren. There are more of the bastards than I could count.shift andhene fshift ande air shift and felt the weight of inevitability settle over her shoulders.
"We tried to watch," the headman said hoarsely. "But there are too many of them. And… there's something else... Frann says they are ritualists. They're not killing the captives right away. They're keeping them."
Rituals, Althene thought grimly.
"How far west?" she asked.
"Half a day's ride," the messenger replied. "We need help. We can't do this alone."
Althene looked back at the line of travelers—at Daniel, already listening too closely, and Calder, whose jaw had tightened at the word captives.
She closed her eyes for half a heartbeat.
So the road bends back on itself, she thought.
"Very well," she said, opening her eyes. "You'll have our alife, Whatever slife,as in this life, she was still a knight.