Rika planted herself on a bench in the lush east garden of the palace so that she could enjoy the warm day.

It was 1 moon since Spring was suppose to begin but it instead the bitter cool of the Andalusian winter had waded over the region. She released a clip from the back of her head, which made her long black hair flop onto her breast as she began to situate herself on the sandstone surface. She closed her eyes and began to drift into the spring air of the La Ju’Yuida Valley. Thoughts of calm captivated her entire being. And she sat there a for a great 20 minutes before sighing and smiling at the baby birds who were playing with an arrowhead near the bench she propped on. Spats of blood were drying on the steps leading to the main hall, and a black glove covered in the scarlet ooze stood out in it. Rika walked to where the servant girl rooms were. She entered the room and laid on the cushion, intent on partaking of a bowl of sweet and sticky Afgan. Placing her hand under main her pillow, she fondled the cushion to flush it out. But, It wasn’t there; surprisingly. She is the only person who knows where it is. Or, so she thought. She cried softly thinking not only about lost buds and the instrument but also thinking about her friend.

Thinking of the bad day she was having had driven her to this moment. But, the king was having a catastrophic day. al Shek had lost the key to the kingdom’s treasury, and his palace, city and subjects were all shaken. “What the fuck happened?”, he said to himself over and over again, both aloud and silently. The king was not known to speak in this way. He sat perplexed and at a standstill. But this was all he could ask of himself. He looked at the lush green hills surrounding what he thought to be “an impenetrable bulwark”. The masterful walls pointing to Toledo had been breached. The entry point of the enemy was visible from a throne room window, as if they wanted him to see them as it was being compromised. Perhaps, it was no coincidence at all.

The walls of the palace throne room were washed in color in this hour by the sunlit jeweled dome . Suel, likewise, was thinking about the state of the kingdom. This is why he left the palace an hour before the king sat statically in his personal quarters for most of the day. In order to find solutions to the episode, the royal battalion was in a frantic search for Eria already, riding to every surrounding village in search of leads. Seul was sitting hooded in a musty tavern. He was meeting with Asan, a leader of a squad in the royal battalion. The tavern sported a bunch of loud and burly tar-black fellows who took no interest in state or civil affairs. They usually hung in the tavern, or outside the merchant district to steal, and run rackets. These were former mercenaries who had become pirates, and looters of various sorts. They were the ones who first saw the the masked invaders spread through the city but only stopped, to help themselves in plundering homes for gold, beer, and cheese. One loud black bastard, whose name was Matias, challenged at least three newcomers of the bar a day.

This day Matias was quiet. He sat drinking ale with his bald head lowered to rest on his chin. Seul was waiting impatiently for a late Asan. Asan finally appeared, and only came with more catastrophic news. He told Seul of the impending danger the invaders will bring, and of the identity of the vandals. “These men are primarily destroying key hub villages in order to find the hall, and worse they are soldiers of Kovasio. The reason I know is because a watchman slay one longbowman that he had seen in battle previously. He was the first to warn the palace of the attack”. Seul replied, “has he told others?” “I think not sir. He was alone when I found him amongst the rumble of the wall west.” Seul looked at Asan prudently. “Find him and kill him right now, for we cannot let the identity of our enemy be known! The king has made plans to give the dedication speech mentioning only a arbitrary band of marauders who plundered. Not these powerful men. Not them.” Asan was shocked, but knew he inwardly that he was to follow his orders. “As you wish, sir.” The armies of Lemerola were renowned for their perfect style and cunning in battle. In the two kingdom’s last altercation, the caliph’s grandfather had underestimated their skill. That lasted until the caliph’s armies were crushed in one morning.

Seul dismissed him hurriedly and Asan sped off, bumping into Matias in the process, who smiled crazily as he balled his fist for a strike. Before he could see the royal sergeant, he knocked his head covering clean over, as well as his entire body. Asan lay still on the floor. And the whole tavern roared with astonished chatter. It was the first time many of them had seen a royal guard sergeant so closely. They had never seen a civilian (not that Matias was in any way civil) strike anything royal; not even a notch on the city’s columns.

Seul, before Matias could let off his infamously hearty laugh, at once sliced his arm in two. He only saw Seul stand, and even others saw him still seated. Crying and bleeding badly, Matias rushed at Seul. The old man was not shy in the art of slaying men. Matias crashed into Seul and crushed him with his weight. “Get this man off of me”, Seul shouted. Two of the other tavern men ran over to pull Matias’ limp body off of Seul. As they removed Matias, they saw a point sticking out the back of his shirt, along with blood stains all around it. He now lay back-first with a scimitar sitting in the middle of his abdomen.

[To Be Continued]