“My lord, a letter.”

Malcolm put his cards down to accept the letter. He took note of the lion head seal and picked up his cards again, parking the letter off to one side of the table.

“Another love letter from Elyna?” Roland teased.

Ben cast a casual, uninterested glance in the direction of the letter, more concerned with the game at hand. “Warrick,” he corrected the man before Malcolm could speak. “Don’t you see the red lion?”

“Your move.” Malcolm encouraged.


Later in the barracks while Malcolm was alone he went through the pile of letters on his bedside table, one from Elyna he had made reply to but hadn’t found the time to send yet, another from his squire’s family, inquiring about their son, and finally the letter from Jared.

As he lay in bed scanning the words by candlelight, Malcolm’s features twisted into a look of concern. “They what!” He cried and shot up out of bed to light a second candle to make sure he wasn’t mistaken. All season they had been dealing with the troubles a swelling population of refugees had caused in the capital, not for a second considering that there could be issues back home.

He paced the length of his room as indecision warred in his mind. He would need to get permission to travel home, for himself and his crew, and ask the commander for more knights. If the lord commander was not willing to offer, he thought, should he ask the king himself? Was it better to go to the king directly and avoid disappointment and save time, he wondered.

“Those dirty vagabonds!” He said, slamming the letter down on a small writing desk. The best he could do tonight was reply to Jared and encourage Tom’s family to vacate their home in Mayce to travel to the capital where he would allow them to take up residence in his farm cottage, rent free.

Malcolm sat with his hands in his lap holding tightly to the sheathed dagger that lay across it, pinning the lord commander with an icy look. The commander had been appointed by the king to oversee the meeting the duke had hoped to have with his father in-law.

“The king is a busy man,” the commander said, as if to break the ice or perhaps persuade the knight to look upon him with a little less venom in his eyes.

Malcolm’s features softened. “I realise that, my lord. I’m thankful for your time.”

“Your report reads that you request fifty knights and a skyrider to make the trip to Mayce?”

“Correct,” Malcolm said, tense.

“To fight peasants?” The commander asked, his tone mocking. He laughed despite himself.

“Forgive me, my lord, but my men have spent the better part of a year training them. They are far from unarmed peasants.”

The commander smiled and said nothing. He stared at the report and then at Malcolm. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to deny your request, Lord Krome. There is already a skyrider at your command, a miss Emily Le’Sark… and the capital can not spare any knights.”

Malcolm grimaced. “Surely if it means the difference between taking back Mayce—”

“A problem you will have to work out for yourself, I’m afraid,” the lord commander interjected. “I grant you the remainder of the season to take leave of the capital, but that is all I can give you.

Malcolm rose, the move abrupt.

“I suggest you look to your allies, Lord Krome.” The commander looked far calmer than he felt in the presence of The Wolf of Krome.

Malcolm stared him down, biting back the words that jumped to his tongue. The commander said nothing and Lord Krome took his leave.


Burn this letter.

Jared, my dearest friend, I write to you on the eve of the ninety third day of Bloom with all hope for a swift victory in Mayce shattered. The King was too busy to receive me and the Lord Commander took great joy in putting me in my place. Forgive me, these are the words of a wounded man, plain and without elegance, and with only you to turn to now.

By the time you receive this letter I will have made haste west to the foothills with the ten at my command and short the skyrider the capital believes to be stationed with me. I understand if you too will not receive me, but know this… I will never again bow to the power of the crown. My life is finally my own.

Sincerely yours,

Malcolm James Bennett

It was fourteen days to the foothills of the Burning Mountains from the capital by horse. Malcolm had let each individual member of his crew decide whether or not they wanted to join him. Benjamin had sworn his sword long ago, leaving no question he would stand alongside his brother. Owen, on the other hand, had been stationed in Krome most of the season and replied with his excuses in writing. By the time he travelled to the capital and on to Mayce, the battle, if there was any to be had, would be long passed. Katelyn, Heath, and Roland were all in, but Olivia had also been unable to join them. Tom, Malcolm’s squire, had begged to tag along, stating that it was his home as much as theirs. Reluctantly, Malcolm had been convinced to grant his request. Kaje, Marc and William, some of the newest members of Malcolm’s crew had agreed to join them for a small fee.

They had made good time and, on the evening of the seventh day, met up with the Warrick encampment, based in the valley just before the Burning Mountains. Malcolm ordered his crew to wash up and rest for the night. They shared a meal with the knights and skyriders of Warrick before doing just that. At a glance Malcolm counted at least fifty men, but there could have been more. He let his horse roam with the herd after removing her tack and went to drop his gear off before entering the commander’s tent, where Jared sat at a table going on plans.

The golden haired lion got to his feet at once to greet Malcolm with a firm embrace before offering up refreshments. “The king really let you come all this way without extra men to support our cause?” Jared asked, truly shocked to his core.

“Outside of the boys, little about his family and their inheritance is worth protecting it would seem.”

“I don’t understand it… Mayce is an asset—you are an asset.” Jared paused, staring into Malcolm’s eyes.

Malcolm bowed his head to press his temple to that of his friend’s. The two shared an easy smile and stepped apart when Benjamin rushed into the tent. “One of the scouts has come back wounded!”

“There were three scouts!” Jared said, alarmed.

“Then I fear, my lord, you may be short two scouts.”

“They will have the fort part way up the mountain heavily guarded,” Malcolm said, “if they have any sense.”

“They had sense enough to see Mayce was a settlement worth taking,” Jared said.

“I know your vision for the realm,” Malcolm reminded him, “I still believe we can make that dream a reality.”


A second scout limped into camp some hours later and the third never returned. They had been attacked during their climb and reported that the fort was indeed heavily guarded. Malcolm feared for the people of Mayce who had called the village home for years now. “If they are all on the mountain, there will be very few of them in Mayce itself. If only there was another way up….”

“They know the king cannot spare fighters with all of the rebellion in the capital. He’s left all his duchies with the same problem and, by the seven, I dread to think what is going on in the hamlets.” Jared shook his head. There was visible tension in his shoulders.

“Such a mess… this is my fault,” Malcolm said. “I should have never returned to captaincy in the city when my place is here in the mountains alongside you.”

“Malcolm…” Jared said. “I cannot join you in this… I’m too long from home already. My mother, she is poorly and not in favour of this fight.”

“I understand.” Malcolm sighed and paced the small space surrounding the table. He gripped his hair tightly before dragging his fingers through it.

Jared got to his feet and placed his hands on Malcolm’s shoulders. “Calm, my dearest friend. Rest tonight, fight tomorrow.”

On the morning the battle was due to take place, three riders approached from the east. Two of them held the kings banners while the third and central rider appeared unhindered. He climbed down from his horse after skidding to a sudden halt and plucked from his belt a sheet of rolled leather. Malcolm stepped forth to greet him, only to be presented with the letter and the grim news. The king was dead.

His heart gave a strange kind of shudder, too slow or too quick, he could not be sure, but abnormal all the same. The knight captain fumbled for the right words, looking about blindly for he knew not what. Jared and Benjamin were there at his side in a heartbeat. The letter was a summons for all the dukes and duchesses in the land to assemble at the capital right away to cast their votes on whether or not Malcolm Krome would be made the interim king before his son, it did not name which, could ascend when he came of age some years hence.

“King regent?” Benjamin read. “By the seven…”

Their camp was given no time to weigh their choice. There would be no battle today and the region would remain in the power of those who had taken it. Malcolm’s horse was brought to him and the men and women of his crew were ready to leave within the hour. Jared bid him farewell, though it pained him to part on such news he had said, he would be required to travel home to see to it that his father was accompanied to the capital. Malcolm, still shocked and in a daze, dreaded being away from his most trusted council, but let him go and wished him well all the same.

Atler Krome was dead. Though he was known as a king, he would be buried a duke, like any other regent to the kingdom. His stay as king had only ever been in the interest of his country determining a new king while he held power. The news hadn’t sunk in all these days later. All power, Malcolm had come to realise, was temporary. The notices had gone out and the nobles had assembled to cast their votes, with the official decision due to be announced after the funeral. Malcolm had the backing of House Endor, Gwayne, Burhan, Warrick, and Krome. House Andaris and Venora had withheld their votes but, in doing so, made the count unanimous. Malcolm Krome would be the next King of Renmere.

The funeral was to be held on the twenty-fifth day of Blaze. The ceremony for Malcolm’s ascension would take place the following day. Despite the realm's dislike for magic, looking upon his father in-law, Malcolm could tell the man had been out through a preservation ritual to bind his flesh before his tomb in the Hall of Kings welcomed him to rest. Malcolm took the old man’s hand and held it, unmoved by the ice in his veins, for he was a knight of the realm, one that had witnessed death before. “My king,” he mouthed, eyes stinging, though they did not betray him with tears. “I’m so sorry.”

Jared lifted a hand to his friend's back to offer some comfort. “Whatever do you have to be sorry for? You have served your king and country most honourably since the moment you became a knight and even before then.”

Malcolm was silent, he knew he couldn’t tell his friend. He couldn’t share his horrible secret with anyone else like he had done the king. He was quite sure, after all, that the words in his letter had been the cause of his father in-laws heart failure. Had anyone else seen the letter, Malcolm wondered. Could he retrieve it before the horrible truth was divulged to the masses?

“He looks very peaceful.” Jared offered.

“That is of great comfort to me,” Malcolm said.

“I know it is cruel of me to say,” Jared said, his tone laced with humour, “but at least now you will have the men to take back Mayce.”

Malcolm wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or cry at the words and so a mixed sort of sound burst from him as he bent over the body of the king, his hand curled in the fine silks of the dead man’s robes as he spluttered.

“Oh Malcolm… I’m so sorry.” Jared squeezed Malcolm’s shoulder and pulled him away from Atler and into his arms. The two of them held one another for a long time. Jared wanted to tell his friend it was all right to experience some emotion, that no one would disturb them and that he would never speak of this moment to anyone. No such words were passed between them, however, as the pair just seemed to know the minds and hearts of one another.

“I need a moment,” Malcolm admitted.

“Of course,” Jared agreed. “Please summon for me.”

“I will,” Malcolm promised.

He left the great hall and went to the king's chambers in search of the letter. If he didn’t find it, there was no telling what havoc it might wreck.