V.

Weaver knew something was missing from the tapestry, she had magic and heroics, but another aspect of the story was missing. She knew the ending would be whoever won the tournament, got the Right of Marriage of the Princes, and saves the day, but otherwise, there was no unseen trial or struggle, a threshold for the character to pass. This was very frustrating for Weaver because never before, in all her recollections, did she remember a time that she had to think about what to do with the story.

She decided to look at her old tapestries again, for inspiration. This was where she found her answer. Between a world where dragons control politics and a group of Minotaurs were hunted by the sole human in a maze, Weaver saw a world, not unlike her own existence. A young man set in a black found with a dim lamp writing the stories of worlds, not unlike Weaver. This must’ve been one of her older works because she didn’t even remember making this tapestry. He was dark and distant, and handsome Weaver thought. He’d make a great villain

VI.

In the bowels of the Kingdom of Retsabala, an evil sorcerer slept. In a past life, he was a Hooded Man from the Hall of Elders, before he joined the Hooded Men he was a handsome young man, a Lower Earl named Riter. Then under his hood laid ideas of peace, ideas which he had come to share with the King of the time. Ideas of equality that made clear there should be no Higher or Lower classes, but simply citizens that serve each other. Sadly, the King of the time was selfish and cruel and even the idea of sharing his wealth or power made him want to vomit his royal guts out. So, the King imprisoned the Hooded Man and left him there in the bowels of the old dungeon to be forgotten. The Hooded Man, once named Riter, cursed the Kingdom so that if his ideas of equality ever came to fruition that the sign of peace among classes would be sentenced to a fate, not unlike his own.

Nomis was doing well in his matches, to the astonishment of the crowds, which were steadily growing as he went higher up the scoreboard. The spectators wondered how an Under Duke’s boy could fight on par with royals and seem completely unaffected by the spells thrown at him. Just like in his battle with Nollid the Grand’s gravity rush, every lightning bolt or time stop seemed to have no effect on Nomis, as if he were immune to magic. Fans and enemies, old and young would come up to him and ask how he was doing this. He would smirk and say something like, “Hard work” or “It’s genetic” and when someone bothered him a little too hard he’d sternly say it’s none of your business.

They were in the third week of the tournament and Nomis had defeated his last opponent, a Top Earl with a lance, in arena twenty-seven and is now taking a stroll to see the other fights of the evening. Suddenly a group of younglings ran past him.

“Where are you in a hurry to?” Nomis yelled at them.

A small pudgy lad with a toy sword in hand stopped and turned to see that Nomis was asking. “This way the mysterious Marquis is fighting in arena fourteen.”

The kid went to join his friends.

Nomis followed suit wondering if this was the same Marquis that defended him from Nillod.

His suspicions were confirmed when he looked down, in a large crowd, almost as large as one for one of the Prince’s bouts, to see the Man in Black trading blows with Recnal the crimson sword.

Recnal was also a Higher Marquis, ruler of the Red Isles at the edges of the kingdom. He is known to be as adept with a sword as he is at being handsome, and he was very handsome. Recnal entered this tournament because the Over Princes was, in his mind, the only one beautiful enough to be his wife. He carried his family’s crimson sword that had bathed in the blood of the Red Isles invaders for years. He was known to never lose a sword fight, fair or unfair. He is currently tiring in the fight while his opponent seems to not even be breaking a sweat.

“I’ve never seen such a trading of blows,” The Hooded Man announcer called over the fight. “The Higher Marquis of the Red Isle and the Higher Marquis of Effilcdar are swordsmen like no other.”

“You are very good,” Recnal told the Man in Black, between blows. “But I have a secret.”

“What’s that?” The other Higher Marquis asked with a calm curiosity.

Mid-battle Recnal switched his crimson sword from his left hand to his right. “I’m not left-handed.”

Recnal’s skills showed a great increase in his pivots and thrusts. In his eyes, the Man in Black was finished.

“I have a secret too,” The mysterious Marquis said.

Recnal smiled a mad smile. “What’s that?”

“I don’t care what hand you use,” He said, and with a swipe of his wrist Recnal’s crimson blade, the slayer of invaders fell to the ground. The crowd gasped. Nomis smiled, he was glad he would be savior was could fight as well as he spoke.

Recnal stepped back. The Man in Black kicked his opponent’s blade out of the ring.

They circled each other around the stage.

“I am more than a sword,” Recnal said.

The Man in Black smiled. “Show me.”

Recnal pulled out a small dagger and pointed the blade at the Man in Black. “Burn.”

A fireball launched out of the blade toward his unknown opponent.

“Reflect!” The Higher Marquis yelled and the fireball doubled in size and turned around to hit Recnal. The flames knocked the defender of the Red Isles fell off the ring with serious burns.

“Apologies,” The Man in Black said and left the stage as the medics carried Recnal away.

Nomis smiled again, he was extra glad, not only was the Man in Black an opponent, he was a worthy one.

That night Nomis decided to celebrate three weeks of winning with a drink at a local bar he’d heard about, High Haven, but was turned away for his class was to low.

He decided to return to his inn and rest up for tomorrow’s fight. The walkways and alleys of Retsabala at night were notorious for the craftiest thieves and the deadliest assassins, but Nomis didn’t worry, no one wants to rob or kill an Under Duke’s son. He was halfway to his destination when—

“Well, well, well,” A familiar grand voice came from behind. “If it isn’t the cheat.”

Nomis turned to see Nollid the Grand and seven of his entourage of scoundrels.

“Cheat?” Nomis said. “The only rules of a fight are to knock out or kill your opponent.”

“Not the tournament Underling,” Nollid unsheathed his mace and ax. His entourage had circled Nomis and began to close in. “You cheated death when you were born.”

“That sounds rather heroic,” A voice came from above.

Nomis, Nillod, and the rest looked up to see the Man in Black standing on a roof above them.

“You!” Nollid yelled.

“Me,” The Man in Black said and jumped down beside Nomis. “Eight against one, now that’s cheating.”

And with that, they sprung, two against eight. All banter and wit fell from the scene like Nomis and the Higher Marquis’s blades fell upon Nollid the Grand and his entourage. As quick as a wind spirit in a hurricane there were only two men left standing.

Nomis kneeled as soon as the last scoundrel fell. “My liege.”

“Oh, please Nomis,” The Man in Black said. “No, need for that.”

Nomis stood. “You know my name?”

“I know that and more,” The Man in Black said. “Come have a drink with me and we’ll talk.”

Nomis would’ve protested, but the Man in Black was already moving swiftly and he didn’t want to seem rude. Apparently, the word of a Higher Marquis was all Nomis needed to get into High Haven for this time the bouncer didn’t even bat an eye as he and the Man in Black walked through the door.

Inside was the most amazing tavern Nomis had ever seen. Unlike the run down overcrowded hidey holes and part-time flophouses, that carried the scent and feeling of a long dead feline, of his home, High Haven was clean, casually filled with Over Royalty and carried the sweet smell of a field of alcohol-scented flowers. They sat in a booth in the corner to avoid the stares brought about by Nomis’s class and the Man in Black ordered mugs of a purple liquid that when Nomis sipped the beverage he tasted the joy of an evening ride.

“I taste the apples from my father's orchard,” The Man in Black said. “In case you were wondering.”

Nomis nodded, unsure how to speak to the Higher Marquis. He was raised to know that the Over Royalty was better than him, and they usually acted accordingly, but this mysterious man looked at him with the eyes filled with caring and a smile of a friend, which was kind, but off-putting.

“Go ahead and ask, Nomis,” He said. “I know you want to.”

“How do you know my name?”

The Man in Black sighed. “That’s not the question you want to ask. There are many ways I would know your name, for example, the tournament announcers say the damned thing every time you enter. Ask the real question.”

Nomis frowned, he had never heard an Over Royal, much less a Higher Marquis, speak so bluntly, but since he gave permission. “Who are you?”

“Finally,” The Man in Black smiled.

“Every announcer has called you the Higher Marquis of Effilcdar,” Nomis said. “But there is no Effilcdar.”

“Oh, really,” The Marquis smiled. “How do you know that.”

“My father’s a cartographer,” Nomis explained. “But the bigger question is, how were you allowed into the tournament?”

“The same as everyone else,” The Man in Black answered and took a sip of his drink. “I got a certificate from the Hall of Elders.”

“But if you aren’t actually the Marquis of Effilcdar then how were you allowed in the tournament?” Nomis asked.

He smiled. “The honor of Over Royalty is never questioned.”

Nomis understood now, the Man in Black may not be a Marquis, but he is Over Royalty, so lie or not the Hooded Men would never question his honor. Nomis, on the other hand, and all of the Under Royalty had to wait in a line and be approved.

“Liev,” The Man in Black said.

“Oh, of course,” Nomis nodded and began to get up.

“No, not leave, Liev, L-I-E-V,” He explained. “You can call me that.”

Nomis sat. “That’s your name?”

“That’s what you can call me,” Liev said. “For now.”

Nomis nodded and took a sip of his own drink.

Liev held his mug up. “To for now.”

Nomis smiled and they clashed cups. They both knew they would have to clash blades later, but for tonight they were allies.

“What’s your story Nomis?” Liev asked. “Why are you here?”

“The tournament brings honor to all participants high and low,” Nomis explained. “I came for that and what it entails.”

“Surely you’ve achieved that already,” Liev said. “You’ve gotten further than any Under Royal has in years, you’re going toe-to-toe with Over Royalty now and winning. Surely that’s enough for an Under Duke’s son.”

Nomis frowned. “That isn’t my title.”

“Would you rather I call you a—

“I’d rather be based on my skill rather than my station in life,” Nomis snapped, taking Liev aback.

Nomis frowned, he had never snapped at an Over Royal, much less a Higher Marquis. “I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologize,” Liev said. “I appreciate the honesty. I know it must’ve been hard growing up as an… Well, you know.”

“A Low Prince,” Nomis said. “The lowest of the low, yes, it can be hard, but you're wrong about growing up.”

“How’s that?” Liev asked.

Nomis smiled. “I grew up in the gutters of Retsabala, but children don’t know their poor till they’re told so.”

“True enough,” Liev agreed. “Children are innocent that way.”

“I used to play in the streets with the Over Prince and Princes themselves.”

“Really,” Liev said. “The Hooded Men must’ve loved that.”

“They didn’t, the second they found out they put an end to it,” Nomis explained. “No more running through mud puddles with royalty for me. Moved my father to another territory and that was the last time I saw Anrak or Ailimac since.”

Liev frowned. “I’m lost for words.”

Nomis stood to leave. “Thanks for the drink.”

Liev caught him by the wrist at the door. Everyone in the bar was staring again.

“I’m proud,” He said.

Nomis laughed. “Aren’t all Over Royalty?”

Liev smiled. “I’m proud to face a Low Prince, for a man’s class has nothing to do with his skill. Promise me you will not lose till our battle.”

The patrons of High Haven, discreetly and indiscreetly, listening to the conversation made an assortment of gasps and groans.

“As you wish,” Nomis smiled. “But I will not lose even when we face each other.”

“Don’t get cocky,” Leiv warned happily.

Nomis nodded and left.

Meanwhile, a Hooded Man, formerly an average looking young man named Eriuqs, sat in his cubicle under the stairs to the privy after a long day of filing various books on varying subjects: Woodcarving for Dummies, How to cast a Restraining Spell, and Jokes for Hooded Men. The lamps of the Hall began to blink bright red. Instantly a group of Hooded Men ran past him toward the basement. The Hooded Man, formerly known as Eriuqs, followed. By the time the Hooded Man stationed under the privy reached the basement they were all running to. This basement was lower than any subbasement the Hooded Man had seen before. All he could hear was cries and grumblings. Something about an old Hooded Man imprisoned here, but he could see nothing, nothing other than a dark empty void.