The clock's short hand pointed at 12. The sun rose high, in its peak, shining upon those waiting in front of the humongous iron wood gate of the academy. In order, Hubert, Veronica, Marcus, and Xillian.
Accompanying them, dozens of servants of the academy, all dressed in the finest suits of butlers and dresses for the maids. Beside them, the three stableboys, dirtied, ugly, and smelly, but skilled in their lines of work.
"Why am I here, anyway?" Hubert whispered to Veronica, beside him. His sweaty hand fidgeting, worrying about what's coming, as if the sword on his waist was of any help.
"You'll find out soon," Veronica shrugged as she took a breath of her pipe, filled to the brim with the finest tobacco.
Then she exhaled, and a cloud of smoke came, its shape like a snake, its odor so neutral that it was nonexistent. And the smoke mingled with the smell of her jasmine tea fragrance, so intense that Hubert almost covered his nose.
Soon, the peace was disturbed. The smoke that was once in the air vibrated, creating a wavy and shaky appearance. The birds that nested on the nearby trees fled out of fear from their nests.
The sound soon followed. Dull and strenuous, an echo that filled the early morning sky. A long call of the arrivals of the southerners, coming from the end of the road that led up until the entrance of the academy.
Hubert peeked his head out. The trudges of horses arrived as the dust and gravel on the ground shook. The host came.
In front of the host, a man in light brown scaled armor held a horn to his mouth, its outer side rigged and its wall as thick as his bones. Its size was as large as the blower's own head.
Then the blower separated the horn from his mouth and reigned over his horse, a dark brown stallion, to the side of the road.
"The baron of Soondi, his grace, Varun Soondi, had come!" the blower shouted out loud.
"I can't ever get used to the south's screamer," Veronica muttered under her breath, her unoccupied hand scratching her left ear.
Then the host's appearance was seen. A flock of knights, equipped with scaled armor colored brown on their stallions of dark and brown horses, riding in a two file line. On their waists, scabbards filled with scimitars, and in most of the knights' hands was a long spear made out of metal poles.
In the grips of knights every three ranks of the march, banners of the order, a black dragon with a body resembling that of a worm on a dark brown landscape, with two lines of mustache as long as its body.
In front of them, the leader of the pack of knights, a man with a stubble beard and black silky hair that shone under the day's sun. Composing his face; a long pointed nose, thin lips that seemed to be forever curving downward as if frowning, and pointy ears.
Only when the pack stopped in front of the academy's entrance did Hubert notice the might of the man.
Staring down from atop his horse, the man's eyes of topaz, yellow in color, with pupils so small and light that they were barely perceived. His stare was so intense, as if the sun that shone behind him like a loyal servant to the man's power.
Hubert's knees were seen trembling, and his posture was not as upright as it usually was. His clear black eyes were not even a comparable appearance to the man's eyes of power, a clear difference in their strength.
"We greet the baron of Soondi," Veronica and the others in unison greeted with a light bow.
Hubert did not do the same, as his eyes were stuck, fighting back against the man's, the baron's eyes of topaz.
Veronica realized as she raised her head, before then hitting Hubert's side with her pipe, waking him up from the locked and stilled state.
"Forgive him, my lord," she said.
"Him?" the baron asked, a hoarse voice of thick southern accent echoing through the air as he continued staring down at Hubert.
Thud.
Sounds of falling were then heard from behind. Hubert glanced and was greeted by the sights of dozens of servants and maids falling downward to the floor, each holding their ears in an attempt to close it.
Veronica ignored what happened behind her as she nodded to the baron's question.
"And you are?" the baron eyes turned to her as he asked of her.
"Pardon my lack of introduction, my lord. I'm the first hall master, Veronica Wood," Veronica introduced herself.
The baron stared at her for a few seconds.
"Veronica Wood, the smoking sword master, as I've been told,"
"I-I thank you of the praise, my lord," she said.
"A shame, an academy of such calibre lacks courtesy," the baron commented as he released his hand from his reign.
"We were told of your arrival with a host of knights. But I'm afraid that our stables won't have enough room for all these horses, my lord," Marcus intervened, stepping forward.
The baron's eyes peered at Marcus then.
"And did I give you permission to speak?" the baron questioned, his stiff reign over his stallion strengthening, and the veins in his forearm bulged.
Marcus dropped his face, avoiding direct eye contact with the baron.
"Forgive me, my lord," Marcus pleaded, though his fist was clenched.
"Enough. See to it that my men are fed, their horses too, and their weapons polished and sharpened, in case of any disturbance in my visit," the baron said, his voice pressed in the last sentence.
And the unbuckling of horses and armor began. The stable boys started administering to the beasts while the servants took care of each of the knights in the pack.
While the hall masters and Hubert guided the baron from the entrance to the infirmary, he was, of course, followed by two of the men of the baron.
"My lord, may I speak?" Xillian asked as he walked beside the baron.
"Speak," the baron gave a sharp and quick response.
"I understand the means of security. The southern road had been riddled with bandits as of late, as that has come to the knowledge of all of us. But why the large host, my lord?" Xillian asked, a way of making light conversation with the man.
"And what is it to you, scholar?" the baron spoke as he walked forward, each step he took accompanied by a clank of his heavy boots.
"I understand," Xillian said, retracting his efforts.
Soon, the group reached the infirmary's entrance.
"You two," the baron faced them.
The two knights nodded and stood guard at the entrance.
"The rest, leave," the baron commanded. The hall masters and Hubert nodded as they began leaving the premises.
"Not you, boy," the baron said as Hubert turned around to leave.
"Ye-yes, my lord," there, Hubert knew of his impending doom.
He wasn't told to leave, nor was he told to enter the infirmary with the man of such high influence. With such an unclear direction, Hubert knew of one thing. To wait.
The sun grew bored of him as it began to sink into the horizon, and winds had begun appearing as more than just a blow. It had been several hourglass of waiting for him.
While the knights' stature had remained unchanged since the way they stood guard at the entrance. Hubert's legs were numbing, and his skin covered in cold sweat. Each second that passed was like a feeling of dread for him.
Uncertainty filled his heart. He was scared, for sure, but he knew justice must be served. He never predicted that justice would come with the price tag of his head on a pike. And only now did he feel true fear for his life.
"Si-sir…" he called to one of the knights. Though it was only silence that was given to him. It wasn't his first effort, as countless of others calling he had done, only to result in the same result. Slowly, Hubert understood it was of no use.
Thud
Thud
Thud
The sound echoed from the entrance of the infirmary. His eyes filled with mental exhaustion as he peered into the entrance of the place, waiting for the moment the figure he feared would come out. And the figure did come out.
"Hubert," the baron replied.
"Ye-yes, my lord?" he replied with a shaky voice.
"Take me to a secluded place," the baron commanded, his hand resting on the scimitar that rested on his waist.
"Ye-yes," Hubert affirmed while bowing, feeling as if his back was going to break from a simple bend.
"Don't follow us," the baron turned to the knights and said, his eyes clear as the evening sun's setting.
The knights raised their spear and thumped the floor with its butt.
Hubert led the baron to a secluded place, a place he was familiar with, a home to him. Where the waterfall was at its loudest and even the fish were deafened by its sound and the sun set watched as a testament of their conversation.
"We've arrived, my lord," Hubert mentioned.
"Good place," the baron placed his hand on his scimitar, "For a dead man,"
Swish!
The sharp ringing sound echoed into his ear, overwriting the sound of nature around them. Hubert turned around, hand on his sword, as he realized so, only to be greeted by the scimitar's curved end at his throat.
"You are a daring man...,"
"M-my lord,"