The Gyrspine—in the days of old, it was known as Gyrteris' Spine. It has been the seat of every Clovis emperor since the Regnivore.
Gyrteris was the name of Denryn Clovis' familiar, a dragon granted to him by Alabath. Along with adding the dragon to the house sigil, Denryn also forged the throne from its spinal bones after its death.
The passage of time has shortened the name to Gyrspine.
"Emon, Caster, Dyran, Derek. You three would infiltrate—... sorry, you four will infiltrate Dornwick," Daemon said as he sat upon the Gyrspine.
"Another one of your ploys, Father?" Caster asked, his dishevelled metallic-bronze hair dancing to the tune of the night's wind.
"That's enough, Caster," Dyran Listus warned.
"You may be right, Caster. I'm sending you four to Dornwick," Daemon said.
"So what are we to do there?" Emon asked firmly.
"We've lost contact with some of our men in Dornwick. Find out what happened," Daemon commanded.
Emon looked as though he expected it. Caster wore the countenance of one who was tired. Dyran appeared ready to serve, while Derek, who stood at least three paces behind them, was clearly anxious.
"I speak out of turn, Most High, but why am I included?" Derek asked.
"How many people can you take with you in one teleportation?" Daemon asked, as though he had something in mind.
"Just one, Most High," Derek replied anxiously.
"Understandable. But by making a cession, you could carry two, no?" Daemon asked.
"Yes... if I were to stay behind." Derek replied, his anxiety increasing.
"Precisely," Daemon said slowly.
"No! Father!" Emon protested strongly.
It was apparent to all present, including Derek, what Daemon wanted of him—that he might save his sons in the event of extreme danger, even if it meant forfeiting his own life.
Caster and Dyran bore no sympathy for Derek. Caster, by nature, was self-centered, while Dyran remained indifferent. Derek, however, likely saw it as an honoured sacrifice.
Emon, on the other hand, protested loudly. However, his pleas fell on deaf ears.
Derek was willing to die for his friend.
"You will gain more valuable experience in this mission—something even I lacked at your age," Daemon's honest words rang through the silent hall.
"Dyran will see to your protection. To find two dozen men stronger than him in the Empire would be a difficult task," Daemon added, assuring his sons of their safety.
"You honour me, Most High," Dyran replied as his cheeks reddened.
Dyran was not far from Emon's age, being only six years older. He had lived in the castle since his early teens, training with the elite of the Clovis army.
His nearly impregnable armour rendered him immune to most physical attacks. Even among the elites of the Tredecim, he was one of the strongest.
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"That was a good poem, Emon," Talia said, appreciating his words and rhythm.
"Well, I had to tell you I was leaving again. I wanted to do it a different way this time," Emon responded with a blush.
"You're like the jevh—ever blooming and dying," Talia said as she touched a beautiful brown flower.
"Huh?" Emon replied.
The two were seated in a courtyard, with Derek and Talia's lady-in-waiting, Tyana, as their only company.
The courtyard was where Emon spent most of his free time. He read books and wrote poems there. Since their wedding, Talia had also spent a great deal of time with him there. Their bond had grown there, even though they spent half the time in silence.
"One of these days, I am going to go with you," Talia said as Tyana filed her nails.
"Yeah? You're strong, after all," Emon replied with a small smile.
"But your mother would never allow it. Not that I'm complaining," Talia said.
"Do you miss Celmora?" Emon asked.
"I miss my siblings the most," Talia replied, a hint of sadness on her face.
"When I return, I'll take you to Celmora," Emon said with a smile.
"Are you saying I can't go on my own? That you're holding me hostage?" Talia responded playfully.
"No, no—I mean I will follow you," Emon said as he stretched out his hand toward her.
Talia gently slapped his hand away and instead picked up a cup of wine to drink.
"By the way, Emon, you've been smiling much more lately," Talia noted.
Emon's smile faded at her words. Perhaps a realization had set in.
"You seem to be forcing yourself to be happy... rather, you want us to think you're happy," Talia said, reading his emotions.
Emon responded with a clearly forced smile. After taking a deep breath, he stood up and left the courtyard.
Talia reached out to stop him, but to no avail. Meanwhile, Derek gathered his books and followed him.
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Three days after receiving the mission, Emon, Caster, Derek, and Dyran set out.
Dornwick was the smallest of the kingdoms in Vermachor, but vast enough to require assistance for infiltration.
Daemon did not send them in blind. He gave them a twin device linked to the location of his lead spy, making their journey easier.
Despite his perceived coldness, their safety was of great importance to him.
After crossing about a quarter into Dornwick, they arrived at Mekwud Forest—the place where Daemon's spies had been slain, despite their gallant efforts.
The closer they drew to the other half of the device, the brighter the light within their own began to blink.
They were dressed in black, hooded and vigilant, their eyes observing every detail. They remained so until they reached their destination.
The smell of blood and death, along with the calls of crows and vultures, guided them. At a certain point, the device was no longer needed.
When they came upon the bodies, they quickly identified their men—clad in black capes, now soaked in blood.
Dyran, the leader of the mission, rushed toward the other half of the device. Fortunately, it was still attached to their captain's belt.
"Thankfully, vultures do not favor metal," Caster remarked lightly.
"It is important that it does not fall into enemy hands," Dyran replied as he approached the body.
The moment Dyran touched it, the body exploded. His armour reacted instantly, shielding him from most of the blast. However, the shockwave triggered the surrounding corpses.
They were caught in a chain of explosions. Dyran was thrown back, though he appeared largely unharmed.
Derek immediately formed the hand signs to activate his divine trait. He held their hands, ready to send them home.
However, Emon slapped his hands away and raised a barrier just in time.
The horror in the forest worsened—body parts hung from trees, scattered across the ground. Blood covered the grass, and even the carrion birds fled, though the greedy ones were caught in the destruction.
When it finally settled, Dyran was disoriented, while Emon and the others fared better.
The tracking device—lost. The fallen soldiers—lost. Their mission was a failure... or so they thought.
"I see it now," Emon muttered.
"What do you see?" Caster asked, frustrated.
"This explosion... and that of the academy—they are linked," Emon said, a manic edge to his voice as his fingers ran through his hair.
The sound, the smell, the method—he recognized it.
Emon now knew for sure—someone was plotting against the Empire.
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Dyran and his company retired to an inn. He suggested they all share one room, but Emon declined, insisting on being alone.
Emon sat on his bed, deep in thought. Caster entered uninvited.
"I'm here if you need someone to rant to," Caster said.
Emon cast him a curious glance before straightening.
"I am not one to lust for power so greatly that I would condemn lives," Emon said.
"Yet, I understand Father's burden. He must hold power to protect our house," he continued.
"I won't claim to understand your position—and thankfully, I don't envy you," Caster replied.
"It is a miracle that one as arrogant as you does not chase power. Others in your place would try to unseat me," Emon said with a faint smile.
"I long to see every corner of this world. The power you have would only serve as a prison," Caster said calmly.
"As your elder brother, I want to see you fulfill that dream. I will no longer impose my position upon you. Besides, what elder brother would place such a burden on his younger one?" Emon said.
"I am sorry too. I am too self-centered to take that burden from you," Caster replied with a chuckle.
"Do not be. It was always my duty," Emon said.
"I can die for you since I won't feel anything afterwards. But living an encumbered life is not something I could do for anyone," Caster said, rising to pour himself water.
"I hope your wife understands you," Emon said, shaking his head.
"I hope so too," Caster replied as he moved to the door.
Just before exiting, Caster turned back as if he had forgotten something.
"I'll send the innkeeper with food. Be sure to eat—and stop moping," he said before exiting.
Emon then lay on his bed expectantly as he pondered Caster's words.
In his own way, Caster had tried to help Emon. Perhaps the smile forming on Emon's face was due to Caster's interference.
After about twenty minutes, Emon heard a knock on his door.
"I've brought the food, sir," a young lady's voice from beyond the door said.
"Come in," Emon replied.
A beautiful young girl, around the same age as Emon, entered the room. She brought with her carrot soup and bread.
Even though he shared a room with Talia, the server's beauty was something that could not go unnoticed.
And worse, she dressed in an inappropriate manner. Her behaviour was seductive—even strong and loyal men could be swayed by it.
Instead of placing the tray on the table, she sat on Emon's lap and placed the tray on her own lap. The close proximity, coupled with Emon's emotional state, could easily lead to disaster.
She wore thin clothes, allowing her skin to brush against his more easily. Her clothing was loose around the chest, revealing more than it should.
"I offer other services too, should you be willing," the girl said seductively.
Emon hesitated before answering. He shifted his gaze between his shaking hands and her body.
"I am sorry. I have a wife," Emon said as he pushed her away.
She made no further advances. She placed the tray on the bed and left the room.
She returned to the kitchen, removed her apron, and walked out of the inn. She made her way to the chopping area, which was quiet and empty.
"The Lecher Prince has truly changed," she said with a chuckle.
"Dyran Listus—so close, and yet so far. I lack the strength to defeat him—for now," she continued as she paced around.
"One day, his powers will be mine. His metal will be the ladder with which I ascend to greater heights," she said, her thin clothing swaying in the wind, revealing parts of her toned body.
The squad of four have been made into pieces on a board game today. Luckily for them, the game is quite difficult, and the pieces have a will of their own. But would it always remain the same? Or would the pieces claim the board as their own?