The Rokkoh Adventures

Rokkoh and the Princess, Chapter 14

The night passes in a haze of expensive booze and cheap women. Torvald disappears with a dark-skinned beauty at some point; I do not see him again until the next morning. We gather some provisions, mostly food for the trip back, and head back east. We travel until the light fades, the setting sun disappearing on the horizon behind us. We make a few stops along the way to eat, but otherwise keep moving. The trip is quiet, a welcome change. Outside Red Bear, I keep an eye out for Elloriana's Cure, the dwarf's little shop. It either hides in the darkness, or she has moved on. I hope for the former, but expect the latter. Perhaps I'll find her again; I need that blue dragon steak again before I die.

"Should we stop for the night?" Torvald asks as we enter Red Bear.

"No," I answer through the wood. "Oakwing isn't far."

We pass through the town, cross over the bridge, and continue onward. Without any interruptions, we pass through the gates of the walled city not even an hour later. We stop where we began: outside the Sheriff's Tower. Crawling out of the carriage, I gaze up at its beauty. Sad I will be leaving it behind. But then again, I'm no stranger to new beginnings.

"Sir Rokkoh?" Torvald calls my name, quiet and shaky. His face is white, frozen in a wide-eyed shock. His eyes are locked on something behind me, his index finger rising to point out the mystery. Turning on my heel, I follow his gaze. A pair of feet lay in the doorway to the Tower, leather boots.

"Stay there," I order the boy, heading to the Tower. His silence proves his obedience.

A body clad in leather armor and a green cape waits there, motionless. The sword remains sheathed at his side. Kneeling beside the guardsman, the puncture in his chest reveals a wound. His young face stares into the void with dead eyes. Poor kid must have been caught by surprise. A quick kill, a quiet kill. Hopefully he did not suffer long. Gentle fingertips close his eyes.

"Pist dibu pavaden pandien Locort Ziotum," the prayer flows over him like a gentle stream, cleansing him whole for his next journey.

Echoes drift down the staircase, faint and teasing. Back to my feet, I follow the sound. Every level I advance, the more the noise grows. Voices grunting, crying, pleading. Metal clashing. I pause on the third floor, my eyes hovering on the sign that reads "Paladin Ward" on the door. Can they hear it? Do they know? Are any of them awake, or even home? Despite the distance between us all, they are all still my kin. We might worship different Novhina, but we are all Paladins. Brethren until death. My hand hesitates on the door knob. I should get them, wake them if I must, gather reinforcements for the scuffle above. Yet, I back away. Something in me, call it paranoia or whatever else suits, warns me against entering the ward. Returning to the stairs, I ascend.

Light escapes through the open doors of the Court of Crowns. The voices have quieted, the action stopped. I get to the landing, careful of my footfalls to not give away my presence.

"Ah, Rokkoh," a male voice comes from within. "How nice of you to join us."

I have never been much of a stealthy man.

The emerald and crimson rug is disheveled, bunching up in various places and kicked around. The pews rest near the walls, toppled over and broken. Where they once sat is a ring of guards, a dozen swords drawn. Strewn about the Court are fallen guardsmen, blood staining the polished stone floor. Beyond them, sitting upon the throne in the center of the line, is a man dressed in an exquisite and intricately designed vest, dark plain clothes underneath. His handsome face, crowned and bearded in a fine black, displays his amusement at the show before him. Diamonds dazzle in the light, set into a golden circlet around his head. Green eyes flit to me as I enter the Court of Crowns.