“What the?” Henric woke in a strange room, and panicked. It was midmorning, the sun already high in a deep blue sky, and he had been sitting with his head down on a table. He recognized the pattern in the stonework, but the furniture was strange, and he didn’t ever remember there being a set of double doors on the outer wall of his bedroom.

  He felt the cool, slick of ink drip down his arm as he lifted his head. Used quills and parchments were scattered around the table, and ink made a small puddle where his hand must have knocked the bottle while he slept. There was a book on the table opened somewhere past the halfway point. The pages were old and yellowed but the words were fresh, only a few hours old. The writing was neat, legible, and not his.

  “It cost me so much to get there,” it began. “But no cost would be too great to confirm grandfather’s suspicions. The Lost One lies below the capitol, and our fears were rightly placed. Draciat has indeed woken.”

  When Henric read the word ‘Draciat’, he felt a stab of pain between his eyes and for a moment saw only blackness. In that blackness he heard a deep, malevolent laughter that chilled him to the bone and knocked him from his chair.

  “What the?” He backed away from the table, stopping when he felt the bed at his back. He left a black handprint on the wood bedframe as he stood. “Ugh, I need to wash this off me.”

  It took him a moment to find the private washroom unique to the duke’s quarters. It was equipped with a pump fed from the river far below by a clever system of lead pipes, which provided fresh water for drinking and washing at the duke’s convenience. It also had a drainpipe for excess water and waste. After a few minutes, he had drawn up enough water that he could wash off his arm.

  “Lord Henric,” came a knock at the door. “Are you awake? I’m coming in to tend you.”

  “There will be no need Ardas,” Henric shouted as he scrubbed at his wrist with a wet rag. “I’m just fine. Although I did seem to make a mess of the table.”

  “Oh, my lord,” the short grey-haired man poked his head into the washroom. “You’re up! I’ll have someone up right away with fresh towels and something for you to eat.”

  “Thank you.” Before Henric could finish thanking him, the chief steward was already gone. Henric though he heard the little man shouting at one of his underlings, who were probably running like frightened rabbits at his command.

  But just as quickly Ardas was back. “Let me take a look at your arm, my lord. I need to change your bandage.” Henric winced as the stewards pulled back the cloth. “It’s healing well.”

  With expert skill, Ardas began wiping away blood from the wound with a rag and a alcohol dilution. “Ah,” Henric winced, but it hurt far less than when the steward had done this the day before. “So tell me Ardas, how did you come to know so much about stitching wounds?”

  “The same way any man learns, my lord. Practice.”

  “But surely someone taught you the right way to do it?”

  “Of course,” said the small man matter of factly. “I did spend a few years at the Unarium. I thought you knew that.”

  Henric blushed. He probably did know that, but Ardas had been with the family since before Henric was born, and told him many things. “No, I didn’t. I always thought you were a doctor though.”

  “You have to be ordained to be a ‘doctor’,” he said. “But I left too early for that. Then I saved your grandfather’s life, and been here ever since.”

  Someone struggled with the door from the stairs, and Ardas stood to help him. “Start wrapping yourself up like I showed you yesterday.” Henric nodded. Once he had the rhythm of it, he joined the stewards in the main room.

  “No,” said Ardas. “Place the tray on the bed and clean up the table.”

  The poor girl was frazzled, holding a rag dripping with ink in one hand and a tray full of bread, cheeses and meats, his breakfast. Henric grabbed the rag from her, and began mopping up the table. “I’ll draw you more water, my lord,” she said as she sat the tray down.

  “Helpless girl,” the head steward muttered when she had slipped into the washroom to draw up more water.

  “Now Ardas,” said Henric. “She’s new, give her a break.”

  “She’s not new my lord, she has served in the kitchen for a year...” Most of the ink had been mopped up, and Henric reached for another rag. “...and she’ll soon be back where she started.” Henric didn’t fail to notice how Ardas didn’t even try to help.

  “It’s all ready for you,” said the mousy girl as she slipped back into the room. As he handed her the inky rags, he noticed her blue eyes and hair that looked like straw. She might have been his age, maybe a little older. It was hard to tell with girls.

  “Thank you,” he said as she took the rags and left with them. Henric sat on the bed beside the tray and began picking at it. “If you wouldn’t mind Ardas, I’d like the room to myself.”

  “At once my lord.”

  As the steward shut the door behind him, Henric began to piece together what had happened. Someone must have carried me all the way up the hill. Taking the tray with him, he moved back to the table, grabbing a quill and parchment. Pulling the open book closer, he realized it was the Zakaran’s old leather bound journal. What have I done?

  And how? He tried scribbling a few letters out on the parchment. As best as he could, Henric couldn’t quite replicate the new handwriting in the Book. “Damn it,” he slammed the book shut. Even just looking at the words made his head ache. He needed air, and threw open the double doors the tower’s balcony.

  “I need to talk to Sam and Zak.”

  Below, he could see crowds of people heading towards the canal gardens, a public park along the canal connecting the two rivers. The coronation festival had already begun! He must have slept a whole day away, but he was glad for it. In spite of what must have been a night spent at a desk, Henric felt incredibly well rested, perfect for a day at the festival.

  Opening the wardrobe he discovered that most of his clothes had been brought up from his old room lower in the tower. Grabbing the first shirt and and pants combination that wasn’t horribly egregious, he quickly dressed himself and began the long climb down the tower. If his guess was right he had spent the past twenty two hours asleep. The last time he’d spent even half that much time sleeping was when he was sick with pneumonia when he was little, and his mother had been worried then.

  He found lady Kris in one of the parlors of the south wing, chatting with her mother-in-law. The two widows were each lounged out on long sofas with two cups, a pitcher of wine, and a half played game of cards on the table between them.

  “Mother,” said Henric. They looked up. “Grandmother. How are you ladies doing today?”

  “Henri!” said lady Kris, setting her cup down on the table. “You awake!”

  “No, no, don’t get up mother,” he said. He bent down and met her sitting hug.

  “We were worried about you,” said Ekloda.

  “Not I,” said Kris.

  “You weren’t?” Henric was surprised.

  “No. I have seen for myself, if anything is going to kill you, it will not be sleep.”

  It took Henric a moment to process that through her slurred accent. The shock and confusion on his face must have been amusing because his mother burst out laughing in her rambunctious guffaw, which made Ekloda laugh just as hard. It was clear that was not their first pitcher of wine that day.

  He shook his head, and laughed a bit with them. “Where is everyone?”

  “We were just talking about that!” said his mother, her hand lightly touching her mother-in-law’s elbow.

  “About what?” Ekloda asked.

  “Did you want to go to the festival or not?” asked Kris. “Now we have an escort, so it will not be unseemly.”

  “So everyone else is down at the festival I take it?” asked Henric.

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  “You see, all of our children are already there, let’s go,” said Kris.

  “Fine, you win,” Ekloda conceded. She eyed Henric up and down a moment. “He need’s to change first. Something nice. Then we’ll go.” Henric rolled his eyes and shrugged. It was a fair enough complaint.

  Almost two hours later they finally crossed under the two great oaks into the canal gardens. All around, people milled about from food carts to tapped kegs and games. There was a cacophony of constant murmuring crowds undercut by musicians and performers that began when another ended. He was glad to see that the whole city had dressed their best, even though this whole thing was nominally for him.

  He left the widows with the guards, taking only a single bodyguard for himself, and made his way through the crowds searching for his uncles. The canal gardens were large, a mile on both sides of the canal between the rivers, filled with wide manicured lawns under ancient oaks, and not usually so hard to navigate. There was more comfort in his sword than in the guard behind him when it came to the crowd. Along the canal were fewer people, and thats the way Henric went.

  It was only pure luck that he recognized the thin, lanky frame and black mop of his friend Mathev ahead of him, relieving himself in the canal.

  “Oi Mathev!” He startled the other boy, shaking him and sprinkling urine on the cobbled walkway.

  “Shi... Henric!” said Mathev, hiding himself back over the stream. “Your dukeness surprised me. I’m glad you’re up. I was beginning to think I’d need to find some princess to wake you.” He finished and tucked himself away.

  “I’d love to hear that story,” laughed Henric. “I’m glad I found you, I’ve been look everywhere for you all.”

  “Well you found me,” said Mathev. “Just me. I don’t know why you’re looking over here, everyone else is over at the Ring.”

  “They set up the Ring?” asked Henric. Of course they did, and there was nowhere else he’d find his uncle Zak than presiding over the tournament grounds. If he wasn’t fighting. “Then why are you here?”

  “Kerra was singing,” he said, as if Henric had just caught him exposed. And it was all the explanation his friend needed. They’d both seen Kerra perform for the first time together a few years ago, and Mathev had been smitten ever since. And nobody could blame him, both her voice and her face were beautiful. “But she just finished and I was on my way back over. Zak should be fighting soon.”

  “Good,” said Henric. “Walk with me.” He made a point to step over the wet stones. “Did she sing Rhunello’s Bride?”

  “Magnificently,” said Mathev. “But it’s a shame you missed her. She has this new song she played... Well you’re duke now, you can hire her to play and hear for yourself.”

  “That good huh? Fat chance. You remember when we tried that three years ago, she wouldn’t even meet with father.”

  “Then you really shouldn’t have missed her,” Mathev shook his head.

  “Did you see any of the fights yet?” asked Henric. “I can’t imagine anyone good’s had time to get here.”

  “The turnout is better than all that. They’ve had two days to get here after all. There’s Varnen, Roban, DuErden’s shown up. Your uncle was pretty excited about the pool when I left.”

  They had to push their way through the crowd on the bridge, and all the way into the area hastily constructed of haybales and wood planks. He saw people standing on each other’s shoulders to see, the constructed risers already filled.

  “There they are!” said Mathev. “In the box.”

  Across the field a large section of risers had been boxed off for the nobility, and their sisters had taken up a sizeable corner of the box. The two of them hurried around the field. Henric’s guard waited for them at the stairs to the box.

  “You can come up,” Henric said to the guard. He wanted to say the man’s name was Karis, but he wasn’t sure. “I wouldn’t want you to miss the fight.

  “I can see from here,” said the guard.

  “Let’s go.” Mathev tugged at his arm, pulling him up the fresh cut wooden steps.

  “Henric!” shouted Megan when she saw him. Those that heard turned and bowed, and those that didn’t followed suit out of habit. She blushed, one of the last to bow along with Henric’s three sisters.

  “Thank you, everyone,” said Henric, waving politely. Most of them turned back to their conversations, but he noticed some getting up and making their way over. He sat in the second row down beside Megan. Alix, her handmaiden Clare, and a suitor took up most of the highest row, Beth, Adelin and Megan banished to the row below. Henric didn’t pay much mind to his sister’s suitor, there was always one or two around, and she drove them off soon enough in the course of Alix being Alix.

  “Sorry,” Megan said.

  “It’s alright,” he said.

  “Yeah, there’s a first time for everything,” said Mathev. “And here comes the first sycophant.”

  The girls giggled, but Henric groaned quietly. Making his way up the steps was a middle aged, thickset man in a green and orange patterned robe. “Your grace,” the man started.

  “Good sir,” Henric tipped his head forward. “I’m afraid you have me at the disadvantage.”

  “Do forgive me,” the man bowed again. “I am Karnas, your humble servant among the Smiths.” Ah, a member of the Smith’s guild. Smiths made the armor and weapons for his soldiers, and that had made many of them rich, but some of the highest ranking members occasionally minted coins as well. Judging by his arms, which lacked the usual tension of a blacksmiths, Karnas was probably a minter.

  “It a pleasure Karnas,” said Henric, he had learned this part well from years of watching his father. Now that he was closer, Henric was sure he’d met this man before. Or probably had. “Are you enjoying the festivities?”

  “It’s certainly a wonderful day for it,” the smith said.

  Henric nodded and grinned almost reflexively. “Certainly is.”

  “I just wanted to introduce myself my lord.” A trumpeter stepped out into the field and inhaled. “My business occasionally brings me to the castle, and I hoped to make your acquaintance less formally.”

  Hernic waited until the trumpeter stopped before he said, “There’s no need to explain yourself, Karnas. It truly is good to meet you, but it seems the match is starting.”

  “Oh, yes,” he said sheepishly, as if the trumpet had not been a good enough indication. “I should get back to my wife.”

  “You handled that well,” Megan said quietly, once the smith was a few steps down. “Maybe you’re not going to be so bad at this after all.”

  “Yeah,” said Mathev.

  “Wait, what?” asked Henric. Two fully armored men entered the ring on opposite sides, one to Henric’s left and one to his right.

  “To the first thing, not the second,” said Mathev. “She slipped that one in on me.”

  “So how was your girlfriend,” asked Beth.

  Mathev turned red. “She’s not my girlfriend. She’s a beautiful singer. You’d know that if you’d come with like I’d asked.”

  “But then we would have missed the fights,” Beth said. Henric’s sister surprised him, he would have thought she preferred songs to sword fights. He noticed a glance between them, and thought maybe he should have the twins switch seats. But then, he didn’t really want to sit next to that.

  “Quiet,” said Henric. “They’re starting.”

  Both men stood across from each other, swords in hand. The herald called out, “Sir Nolan of Marn!”

  Sir Nolan raised his sword and yellow shield in the air and the crowd gave a sportsmanly cheer. “And his opponent, Sir Zakaran Aldrimar!” The crowd roared when Zak raised his red shield in the air and the herald ran out of the ring. Both men crossed their swords, the trumpet blared.

  They circled each other at swords length, waiting for the other to make the first move. It was Zak. He faked left, went right and brought his sword down hard on Nolan’s back.

  He grunted and took a few staggered steps before he swung savagely at the air behind him. Thanks to Zak’s training in the yard, Henric could see how sloppy Nolan’s footwork was, and knew the battle would be over faster than his bouts with Jaren. Roaring applause accompanied Zak’s shield blow that knocked Nolan to the ground. It was over as soon as Zak had him pinned.

  “I yield!” cried Nolan.

  The crowd cheered, but some of the loudest seemed to be coming from the row behind him. Zak sheathed his sword and offered his hand to his opponent, helping him off the ground. Both men removed their helmets, and made their way off the field. The herald stepped back into the middle of the Ring, and called out, “The next round will begin in five minutes. DuErden against Varnen the Gor.”

  A few minutes later, when Zak appeared at the top of the stairs he slipped as quietly as he could into the seat behind Henric, next to Clare. “Oh, Henric,” said Zak. “Good, you’re up. I was going to start worrying soon.

  “Soon?” Was nobody worried about him passing out for almost an entire day? “You looked good out there.”

  “Nolan was drunk,” Zak waved the compliment off. Henric noticed the way the red haired girl’s pinky finger was braiding itself around his uncle’s. “He’s usually not as sloppy... You could have beat him.”

  “I was thinking that too,” said Henric.

  “Now that I’d like to see,” said Beth. “Henric fighting in the Ring.”

  “Me too,” said Megan and Adelin both.

  “Yeah,” said Alix. “It would be pretty funny to see him beat up.” Henric shot daggers at his big sister.

  “Maybe in a few years,” said Zak. “None of us want to beat up on a fourteen year old boy.”

  Henric’s glare shifted to Zak. “Thanks. Actually, I need to talk to you. And Sam, but I haven’t seen him. Do you mind walking with me?”

  “But the next match is just about to start,” said Mathev.

  “I don’t plan on missing it. We should be back in a minute or two.”

  “Works for me,” said Zak.

  When the trumpet blared, the Duke of Zaksburg and his uncle had found a place almost devoid of people where the view of the Ring wasn’t as good.

  “What was it you wanted to talk about?” asked Zak.

  “I wrote something in the Book while I was sleeping,” said Henric.

  “You what?”

  “That was my reaction too.”

  “Well what did it say?”

  “Something is waking.”

  “What is?”

  “Zak, I don’t know. I was asleep when I wrote it and it wasn’t my handwriting.”

  “Hmm...” Zak thought for a moment. “You’re right, we need Sam.”