The King Trials 2: Beyond.

Partials of my calm returns.

But only when I feel that I’m mentally ready do I return.

I journey back to the hub, near the entrance and as I do. One by one, I am noticed by more people, ashy faces staring at me with a strange familiarity like they know me, frowning faces trying to decipher where from. I shirk off the gawks and focus onwards.

In due course, I spot the Herems gathered around the dusty steps of the courthouse.

The Avangard and Primus Kelan still dispersed.

I make my approach.

“They are not a terror faction. They may be violent in enforcing their anti-monarchist views, but not to this extent,” a being says, sitting on the steps, the Herems at the base. A squire bandaging his wounded arm. “They are the northern raiders. They gain their wealth by stealing it from others, generally from unprotected towns like ours.”

“Alderman, where are your defences?” Vince asks, his sword held in front of him, the blade planted into the ground. “Why have gates not been fashioned or at least a palisade?”

He releases a bitter scoff and dismisses the squire angrily. She rises and scurries up the stone stairs.

“We lack the means. I sent an appeal to the Decuria—to the Crown, the High King himself but no. He is too occupied crushing unknown rebellions and forsaking the people under his reign. Like all his predecessors, he only cares for power, despite all his talk of peace.”

I gingerly brush my way to the front. “The northern raiders, the weapons they used. Where did nomads obtain such technology?”

He lifts a shoulder and cradles his wounded arm to his chest. “All I know is that it only took a few shots of those things to make the entire town to erupt into an inferno. My villagers, the ones who were struck, were eviscerated, gigantic holes blasted right through them. It was… horrific.”

…. Yet somehow. I survived.

I look up and past Treyton’s shoulder, I can see one of the villagers stare at me intensely. I glance around to observe throngs of them amassing, creeping towards us.

The Alderman releases an aggravated sound. “Those vulgarians. The fire destroyed our entire storehouse, burning grain and all of our sowing seeds, provisions for the frost season. Our harvest was already damaged by the Black Death, now we have nothing.”

“The Black Death,” Solaris repeats, astounded. My bow in his one hand, and his sword in the other. “The plague has reached as far as the outland territories?”

The Alderman nods grimly. “Yes, so even if we had the coin. We cannot even import food or barter for any. In this food crisis, that is quickly becoming a famine. No-one will be willing to part from the food that they do have. Even if they have too much of it, like Nobleman Bumlot.”

What an unfortunate name. But…oddly familiar.

“Who is he?” I ask.

“The richest noble in the region,” the Alderman answers. Disdain clouds his eyes.

“I know him,” Treyton says with mutual contempt. “He is also notorious for being the stingiest noble in the region. My Regnum hosts an annual charity soiree, and he attends, but his donations are equivalent to a peasant’s wage, if not less.”

“His estate is in the forest, just west of here. He has stores of food that will last him five winters, and yet I know he will not even part with a portion of it to help us.”

I shake my head in disappointment. A daring idea flashes through my mine, and suddenly I feel more hopeful. I look up, and the same villager who was staring at me is staring still. He shoots an accusing finger at me, prodding it in my direction.

“It is you!” He shouts, and he shoulders past Treyton. “You are her, the victor of the Pensuem!” His excited yells beckon the surrounding thongs, and the villagers grow around us.

“Hera Aurora!” one says.

“Hera Aurora the warrior!” exclaims another.

“Hera Aurora, the great and merciful!”

Buzzes of excitement surges through the crowd. I scan around to look at the multitude of swooning faces, people ogling at me like I’m some kind of renown figure.

Brennon burns me with a look of fire. He leaps up the staircase and moves to stand halfway. He swivels to face the adoring fans.

He arranges his face for public scrutiny “The famed victor of the Pensuem is here!” he announces jubilantly, throwing up his hands and the crowds blare a deafening cheer.

I look at Solaris opposite me, him and I share an indignant look.

“We all are.” He gestures to himself confidently. “The champions of the Blood Games that conquered the Spartans of Sorcia, then defeated these filthy northern raiders.” He motions theatrically to all the Herems. “The purebloods!”

The crowds release another riotous roar.

The Alderman wobbles to full height, nodding passionately, appearing impressed.

Once the clamour fades, he says, “And we must honour our heroes, our saviours. And fortunately for us, the alehouse survived the fire’s wrath.”

The villagers rejoice with excited whoops.

Louder, he says, “The gods favour us, we have much to celebrate for despite our loss. They have sent us salvation—” his eyes do a deliberate skim of us all, “—though many perished, they live on within us. Including, our alehouse and for that, we shall drink and dance until dawn returns.”

Amidst the cheering crowd. A dangly figure struggles to weave through the narrow gaps to reach the front. Duce Merian winces in disgust at every accidental bump or touch, fingers splayed at his chest.

He reaches the base of the staircase and looks up at the Alderman. He musters a weak smile. “That is truly kind of you, Alderman. I am Duce Merian, the High King’s right hand and the purebloods are on—”

“Stop all that jabbering, prissrat,” he silences. The crowd booms a hearty guffaw. He continues and says, “One night will do no harm. Stay, let all your fine steeds rest and yourselves. Celebrate and let us give you this night as tribute for the pureblood’s valiant heroics. They are doing more to safeguard the realm than the High King himself.”

A livid look flickers across Merian’s face, but he veils it over a charming smile. “The honour is all ours, Alderman,” he says, injecting sincerity and earnestness into his words. “We can spare one night.”

The clamour of thrill swells and the throngs disperse.

I do not begrudge them for rejoicing in surviving today. But of the days that follow, the people will need grain or risk starvation, and it seems the only one that can help prevent that is Nobleman Bumlot.

Heh. Bumlot.

Vince ambles towards with me and stares at me with a long, ponderous look. “What is that beautiful mind of yours concocting?”

I regard the scattering masses. Families embracing one another, mothers cuddling their young, friends clasping hands and pulling each other into enveloping hugs.

“You can wonder. Or this time you can come with me to pay a visit to Nobleman Bumlot.”

Vince sheathes his sword into a scabbard. “And what makes you think he will see us?”

“Because we are who we are,” Solaris says, joining us. He offers me my bow and I take it back with a grateful smile. “In their absence, we are the Decuria. Since our fathers failed to help them, even though it is not their jurisdiction. We will not fail, we can help.”

Treyton saunters to us. His mace resting on beside his neck, the spiked balls hanging off his shoulder. “And you can all use my help; your nobility may get you in but Bumlot—” he snorts a laugh. “I still cannot say that name with a straight face.”

Solaris and Vince break into a smile.

“Bumlot,” he tries again, a smile clings to the edges of his lips. “He knows me, I cannot guarantee that we will broker an agreement. He is the most self-seeking being of all of Urium. But I will assist where I can.”

I take a moment to study him. Though it is not my intention, I must look suspicious of him because his expression hardens into a staid look.

“You wish to help?” I ask for clarification. Guilt forms in my chest the moment I utter those words.

He laughs scathingly and gives me a tiny head shake. “O’ perfect Hera, you are not the only one that cares for people, all people. You would see that if you got off your high horse from time to time.”

In no version of reality, am I even in the same world as perfect.

Vince warns him with a sharp look. He glances back at Solaris and I. “What is our strategy then, how do we approach this? We have nothing to offer, nothing substantial enough to motivate him. Out here, we are only nobles by title, all of our wealth and influence remained with our Regnums.”

I pucker my lips in thought. “Well, only we know that. Urium knows of the King Trials and our participation in it but not the mandate, of what we had to give up and leave behind. In fact, if he is greedy, we can use that to our advantage. This is his prime chance to curry favour with the future Ruler among us.”

I look down and give myself a full body scan. “We do need to, refreshen first. Clean off all the blood and replace our garments, wear the fanciest things you have packed.”

I nod forward and walk ahead. They all join me and we troop together to where the horses are with all of our belongings and clothes.

“What if Bumlot refuses us?” Solaris asks.

“Oh, I am counting on it,” I say vaguely.

Unexpectedly, our path is obstructed by a barricade of red with Primus Kelan in the centre.

“Herems, Hera. Where are you off to?”

Vince moves beyond me. “It does not concern you, soldier.”

Primus Kelan stares back at him, stoic features steeling. But his demeanour remains calm.

“Unfortunately for us both, your safety is my concern.”

Vince places his hand on the hilt of the sword, fingers itching to unsheathe. “My goodwill has exceeded its limit for today. Order your squadron to step aside or I will gladly put you all of you in your place. Must I remind you that you were endowed with authority on our safety, not one over us.”

Kelan’s eyes smoulders like a frozen sun. “You will go nowhere without my approval or per Duce Merian’s instruction. And I dare you to defy me again.”

He lurches forward. I dart forward to stand beside Vince; I clasp a diplomatic hand on his shoulder. “Primus Kelan is merely doing his duty.”

Vince looks back at me and the tempest in his eyes still.

I look back at Primus Kelan. His eyes are fastened on my hand on his shoulder, a taut muscle protrudes through his granite jaw in a strong line.

My hand snaps back to my side. “Primus Kelan, will you accompany us to Bumlot’s estate?”

Vince loudly protests with a maddened groan.

The tension in Kelan’s jaw eases. “Where does he reside?”

Treyton adds his voice, he says, “I know the directions. From here, the ride should be less than three hours.”

Primus Kelan nods brusquely. He swivels around to address his squadron.

A thought occurs to me. Where are Aries and Anthia?

I have not seen them since we breached the village.

Promptly, the bulk of the squadron march towards us, past us and towards the courthouse where the other Herems are. Aside from Kelan, only three remain, enough for all of us to ride horseback.

I lift both hands. “We all look like we came from a war zone, it might scare the Nobleman. Before we depart, I suggest we find somewhere in the village to clean up first.”