The road to the capital had been long, and for the lone guard who had fled from the burning ruins of the lord's camp, it felt even longer. His body ached from the journey, and his clothes—once the uniform of a proud soldier in the lord's service—were now tattered and caked with dirt and sweat. But none of that mattered. All that mattered was reaching the city, reaching someone who could inform the king of what had happened. He needed to deliver his message before it was too late.
As the guard crested the final hill, the capital came into view, sprawling beneath him like a glistening jewel in the morning light. The city of Aureth was the heart of the kingdom, a place of immense wealth and power. Tall stone walls encircled the city, their imposing height a testament to the king's might. Banners bearing the royal crest—the golden lion on a field of crimson—fluttered in the breeze, and the gleaming towers of the palace could be seen in the distance, rising above the rest of the city like sentinels watching over the land.
The guard's eyes widened as he gazed upon the capital. It had been years since he had last seen the city, and even now, battered and exhausted as he was, its grandeur filled him with awe. Aureth was a city of wealth—streets lined with marble statues and gilded fountains, the homes of the rich adorned with tapestries and carvings that spoke of fortunes unimaginable to most. The main thoroughfares were wide and bustling with activity, filled with merchants hawking exotic goods, nobles riding in carriages, and soldiers patrolling in gleaming armor. The very air felt different here, as if power and wealth clung to it like a tangible force.
The guard descended into the city, weaving through the crowds with purpose. He barely glanced at the market stalls overflowing with spices, silks, and fine wines. His eyes were fixed on the palace in the distance, its high walls and glittering towers standing as a symbol of the king's dominance. He had no time to admire the splendor of the capital; his mind was consumed with his mission. He needed to find the king's informant, one of the many spies who operated in the city's shadows, gathering information to keep the kingdom's enemies at bay.
As he passed through the city gates, the sight of the king's soldiers reminded him of the power that awaited him inside those walls. Soldiers in polished armor, their faces stern and unyielding, stood at attention, guarding the city's entrance with an air of absolute authority. These were not the ragged mercenaries he had seen in the lord's camp; these were the king's elite, trained to defend the crown at all costs.
The guard shivered as he moved deeper into the city, slipping through narrow alleyways until he reached a dark, unmarked building hidden from the prying eyes of the public. It was here, he knew, that the king's informants operated, gathering whispers from across the kingdom and delivering them to the throne. His heart raced as he stepped inside, the air cool and thick with the scent of old parchment and secrecy.
A shadowy figure emerged from the back room—a man dressed in simple but fine clothes, his face partially obscured by the hood of his cloak. His eyes, however, were sharp, calculating as they studied the guard with cold precision.
"You've come a long way," the informant said, his voice smooth but tinged with suspicion. "What news do you bring?"
The guard's breath came in shallow gasps as he struggled to contain his nerves. He had rehearsed this moment in his mind a hundred times during his journey, but now, standing in front of the informant, the weight of what he had to say seemed heavier than ever.
"It's… it's the lord," the guard began, his voice shaking. "He's dead. The camp was attacked, burned to the ground. It wasn't an army—just mercenaries, but they were organized, and they knew what they were doing."
The informant's expression didn't change, but his eyes narrowed slightly. "Mercenaries? What did they want?"
"I don't know," the guard admitted, his voice faltering. "They came in the night, took down the defenses quickly. They freed the slaves, killed most of the overseers. I… I managed to escape, but I don't know where they went. They disappeared into the night."
The informant remained silent for a moment, his fingers tapping lightly on the table before him. "Did you get any names? Any idea who led the attack?"
The guard shook his head, fear rising in his chest. "No… no names. I didn't hear anything about who they were. Just mercenaries, but skilled—far more skilled than the men at the camp."
The informant's lips tightened. He turned slightly, gesturing for the guard to follow him into a back room. The room was dimly lit by a single lantern, its flickering light casting long shadows on the stone walls. In the center of the room stood a large table, covered in maps and documents—reports from across the kingdom. The informant leaned over one of the maps, tracing his finger along the edges of the kingdom's borders.
"You said they freed the slaves," the informant said quietly, his voice colder now. "Did they take anyone important with them?"
The guard swallowed hard. "I'm not sure. Some of the overseers… they're dead. Others are missing. I don't know if any of the slaves were important, but they're gone now. The camp was completely destroyed."
The informant nodded slowly, his gaze still fixed on the map before him. "The king will want to hear of this," he said, more to himself than to the guard. "If someone is organizing these attacks, gathering forces in secret, it could mean rebellion. The king will not allow that."
The guard's heart pounded in his chest as the informant's words sunk in. The king. He had only seen the king once, years ago, from a distance. King Edric Draven, known as "The Lion of Aureth," was a man of power and ruthless ambition. His control over the kingdom was absolute, his rule enforced with an iron fist. He was a king who brooked no dissent, who crushed rebellion before it could take root. To cross him was to court death.
The guard's voice trembled as he spoke again. "What… what will happen now?"
The informant turned to face him, his expression unreadable. "That depends on the king."
In the palace, King Edric Draven sat in his grand hall, surrounded by advisors and soldiers. His throne, carved from dark wood and adorned with gold, loomed over the room, a symbol of his power. His figure was tall and imposing, dressed in fine robes of crimson and black, his crown resting heavily on his brow. His face, though aged, bore the sharp features of a predator—hawk-like nose, piercing eyes that missed nothing, and a mouth set in a permanent scowl.
Edric was not a king who ruled with kindness or mercy. He was a king who demanded loyalty and obedience, and he was feared by all who knew him. Under his reign, the kingdom had prospered, but it had done so through bloodshed and conquest. Edric had spent years crushing any opposition, stamping out rebellions before they could gain momentum.
As the informant entered the throne room, the king's cold gaze settled on him, unblinking and expectant. "What news do you bring?" Edric asked, his voice low and commanding.
The informant bowed deeply before speaking. "Your Majesty, there has been an attack on Lord Karik's camp. The camp has been destroyed, the lord is dead, and the slaves have been freed. A group of mercenaries is responsible, but we have no names, no location for them now."
King Edric's eyes narrowed, and a heavy silence fell over the room. "Mercenaries?" he repeated, his voice a dangerous growl. "And who leads these mercenaries?"
"We do not know, Your Majesty," the informant replied. "The guard who escaped has no names, no information on where they might be hiding. They vanished after the attack."
Edric leaned back in his throne, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the armrest. "Someone is organizing these attacks. Someone bold enough to challenge my authority." His eyes flashed with anger. "Find them. I don't care how long it takes, or what you have to do. I want those responsible for this rebellion dragged before me."
The informant bowed again, his voice trembling. "Yes, Your Majesty. We will find them."
As the king dismissed the informant, Edric's mind raced with thoughts of the rebellion that could be growing in the shadows. He would not allow his kingdom to fall into chaos. He would crush this threat, just as he had crushed every other before it.
And when he found the ones responsible, they would beg for death before the end.