Chapter 3

Green moonlight pressed upon me through the wooden window. I woke up sweating. Panting. 

Once again, the plaguing question pressed me. Where the fudge am I? 

The headache lingered. My hand felt the familiar soft sensation of a mattress. My cloak layed on the chair on the side of the room.

"He's awake, Master!" cried a boy, peeking through a door ajar. It is Jon, the fat chicken. I hear tapping footsteps, skittering outside. Three men came in: An old man in a white coat, reminding me of my white old dog. The big hog from the dirt road before. And a man who wore a military cloak of red and black with a high collar.

"Don't speak." The old dog said

. "Let me explain. I'm the town physician, Professor Garvy Welton and you are here in my clinic, young man. I believe you have suffered a stroke of some kind. I'll be giving instructions to see if you have any diseases of the mind. Can you please lift both your hands?"

Most of what he says is gibberish, but I understand the last. I stood up, wobbling a bit, legs shaky. "Don't thou dare order me, old dog! Enough of this secluded backwater nonsense. Urgent matters require my attention. I am in the midst of battle against Nevuchad the Dead at the Rowtown's Edge. My presence is needed there, bring me an archivist so I can go." Anger had run through my veins and my voice. "Now!"

"I carried you all the way here only to insult our physician?! By Solah's name, I should have dropped you in the prison house, spy. Or left you on that dirt road for the wolves to eat you. Show some respect."

"Thou raise thy voice upon me, hog? Thou demand respect?" I spat, wisps of smoke arise from my eyes and mouth. Heat emanating from me. "I, whose kin to kings and emperors that shape this world, hath suffered thy insolence long enough, animals. My name is Lexander Oldblood, Brother of the Emperor, Bearer of the Grandflame, and I -"

Crack! Almost I black out, but I only staggered back. My cheeks burned as the man in red and black punched me in the cheeks. His eyes glowed blue, crackling, staring at my very soul.

Strong he may be, I sense no stench of black majick. His eyes are not gold like I. No touch of the unworldly. No taint of demons.

Another blow struck me from the gut. Another found my chest. Another upward through my chin.

Pair of eyes, pair of ears. Hair black, well trimmed. Sure enough, he is human, but his strength is not. A black leather glove covers his hands, and on them are orbs of blue. 

I grit my teeth, struggling not to fall down in front of these cattles. Half of me wants to burn the world, half of me curious.

Slowly he brandished a rapier. Edges twinkling along the moonlight window. Smooth and sharp. Its guard is well crafted with a design so intricate: curves upon curves of steel. One of the blue orbs cracked and lost its vibrance, then the blade lit up bright blue. For a moment I gaze to awe its beauty.

"What are you doing here, sorcerer?" The man in red-black says. "Your kind plans to invade again, does it not? Speak no more. The Questionnaire will handle you."

"Thou are strong…" I said, ignoring whatever words he spat. "... for a human."

Swift is he, like a bearer of wind, when another orb cracked and darken. The blue blade came at me, aiming at my arms and hands. True enough, his intention was not to kill but to incapacitate, a method is to deal with the practitioners of the black arts. A combat fallacy. The tip of his blade nick a portion of my arm. Skin and tissue sizzling and hissing. I smiled despite the pain for he left an opening he did not know. 

 Outside, below the green moon, my adversary flew, breaking the wooden wall, splinters scattering in all directions as I landed a fist straight to his chest. 

Before he regained composure, I leapt and tore off his orbed glove. Black it is. Soft. Socketed. Leather. The orbs gleam brilliantly under the moonlight. I figured it was the source of his power. I chuckle, remembering a law dictating a penalty to cattles striking a kin from the Grand Monarchy. A foolish law I onced thought, for how can a cattle can possibly land a strike against us Bearers? 

Townsfolk gathered now, gathering to the commotion I brought upon. Nosy cattles. I came to realize the high stone walls. I'm inside a town. Flintenburrow. The structures around were made of wood and stones and a thatched roof. 

"What is going on here?" In the throng emerges another man in black-red coat but this one has a golden star crest on his shoulder. His face stern. Taller. Orbs of blue on his gloved hand. The crowd dispersed as they saw him. Authority in the tone of his voice. There are more of them behind him, nine or ten may be. The leader frowned as he saw one of his men, struggling on the stone ground. His eyes then press upon me, judging.

"I am Hester Oldvine. Commander of the Olsen's Watch. Explain yourself, outsider." 

It took a great deal of effort not to punch this Hester in the face. I loathe being ordered around by lesser beings. Then again, they were strong and strength is something I can respect, and a commander, nonetheless. 

I loosened and breathed long. Mayhaps I have been stubborn in upholding my high stature to ignorant men. The anger has fled now and reasoning has taken roots. 

"This man assaulted me while I was recuperating in the infirmary." I say, turning to the hole in the wall. "Thus, I defended myself." 

Hester lifts an eyebrow and scowls at the man sprawling to stand. ""A man without vright cannot defeat a man who wields one. Jayson, report."

"He is a sorcerer, commander! I am certain. His eyes smoked like a demon. He has strength beyond man. And the way he speaks is… funny." 

"The way he speaks is funny?" Hester repeated, mocking and glowering. From the infirmary the old dog and hog hurried to the commander's side. Quickly, they whispered to him. A moment of mutterings amongst them. 

Jayson had gotten up, hand on his chest, dry blood on his lips. Truth be told, I struck him hard, but the blow was meant for him to withdraw. The chest is filled with vital organs, lungs and heart and I wonder if he will survive the night. He eyed his gloves. Pleading. I threw it to him. Crack! An orbed crack, his body glowed blue. He took a long and deep breath, as if a drowning man came to the surface. Surprisingly, he then strode towards the muttering cattle as if he was never even injured.

"Prince Lexander Oldblood." Hester says after the discussion with the old dog and hog. I grunted. A bow should take place after speaking of a royal name, but then again, these people know not the Grand Monarchy. 

The commander speaks slowly as if choosing his words carefully. "On behalf of my man, I apologize."

A pause.

"Perhaps there is a great deal of misunderstanding." He continued, circling me, observing. "Professor Garvy and Arhnold had informed me you require travel to Rowtowns's Edge, prince. Aye?"

I nodded.

"I may not be a man well versed in the realms of history, but I am certain that the place you mention does not exists."

"What?" I asked quizzically. 

"Forgive me, prince, I do not have the answer. I lack the proper… words to explain." Hester gazed to the north where a stony castle stood and pointed. "There in the keep is the Lady of Flitenburrow, Lady Rossen Redriver. One of her advisors is a trained scholar from the University of Almina, whom I think is best to explain my meaning."

With a gesture of his hand, his men surround me. "I will accompany you to the keep, prince."